Rocky Mountain Discipline

by Lee Savino

  Susannah stared up at him.

  "Can you trust me to keep you alive?"

  Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes a second, and then opened them to his green ones. "Yes."

  "Stay here, Susannah. Don't open this door for anyone but me. Promise?"

  She nodded, and he returned it, nothing but seriousness in his stubbled face.

  But as soon as the door closed on his black-clad form, fear washed over her, and she paced back and forth.

  Had she really just put her life in the hands of a man she'd only just met?

  She cursed the happy dream she had of going west and marrying. The whole West could go up in flames, and she'd just laugh and watch it burn.

  Her aunt always said she was too impetuous. First joining the abolitionists, then wearing bloomers to scandalize every suitor, even going to college and becoming a teacher instead of immediately settling into matrimony.

  After her first engagement ended, her aunt had been afraid Susannah would be a spinster, the woman had started to throw all manner of men in her niece's path and finally laid down the ultimatum: marry by her twenty-fifth summer or be completely cut off. Even idealistic Susannah knew she couldn't afford the finest silk on a schoolteacher's salary. As distasteful as marriage was, she figured she could find a well-to-do gentleman who would be so enamored by her looks and charm that she could twist him around her little finger, and continue as before.

  Perhaps, she'd hoped, he'd even love her.

  Jesse's letters had come at the exact right time, and flattered her, especially when her spirit was in tatters with the end of her engagement.

  Why had she married him? She wished she'd asked Carrie for confirmation of his character sooner. Did her friend in Colorado really know this rogue, or had it all been a lie?

  He said he'd never lie to her, but that was just the thing a liar would say!

  And now she was waiting here for him to come back and save her? The man who robbed her, tied her up and left her, swooped in and married her, seduced her, put her in a situation where her life was in danger and she was being chased by evil, unwashed men.

  This was madness!

  Pulling out her money, she counted it. For a moment she was tempted to paw through her groom's bags to find any valuables, then cast the thought aside. Jesse's outlaw ways were rubbing off on her; all the more reason for her to run.

  She crept down the hallway, heart jumping in her throat at the rumble of male voices downstairs. At any moment she expected Jesse to come around the corner and order her back to her room. Perhaps when he tied her up he'd take awful liberties. His big body pressing her back in the bed, the easy way he manhandled her. The thought made her flush, and she abandoned it.

  The first man she met in the hall wasn't a vision of rugged beauty like her Jesse. The greybeard stopped short at the sight of her, mouth dropping open to show a line of filthy jagged teeth.

  "Excuse me, sir." She pressed herself into the wall to scurry past him. His head turned to follow her, and she hoped he wouldn't call her back. The next two men were on the stairs, and though they stepped aside for her, their eyes crawled over her bosom. Susannah bid them good day in a breathless rush, and scooted by. This was worse than the docks in Boston! At least the men there acted like they had seen a woman before.

  It was worse downstairs. A few men gathered in the grubby parlor/dining room, and as soon as she stepped off the stairs the whole room eyed her.

  A few of them made indelicate suggestions as she passed, one even cursed. Susannah winced and wished she'd looked for a back door.

  She'd almost made her escape when two big men stepped in front of her. "Hey, missy, why you leaving? We haven't gotten our chance with you."

  "No whores allowed," another man called from the corner of the room. He wore a waistcoat and was counting money behind a counter, a shotgun plainly in sight.

  Susannah had started to stiffen and defend her honor, when the two burly men did it for her, one turned and took a threatening step forward.

  "She's not a whore," the other said, pulling on one Susannah's bedraggled curls. "She's a lady, and she's with us, ain't that right?"

  "Wrong," a voice thundered at the door. Jesse swept in, tall form dwarfing all the others, his green eyes glinting with menace. Susannah nearly sighed in relief as he collected her to his side with one arm, pistol in the other raised in obvious challenge.

  "This is my wife," Jesse said. "Any man who touches her answers to me."

  The two thugs didn't look happy.

  "Better keep her close then," one spat, before his companion pushed him out the door.

  Susannah pressed close to her husband's body, grateful for his powerful form sheltering hers. Jesse's gaze swiveled back and forth across the room, pistol still raised, looking for threats.

  "Hey," the proprietor called. "No whores, no wives either. Don't need women here, causing trouble."

  "Don't worry." Jesse started herding Susannah towards the stairs. "We're leaving. Just need a word with the missus."

  At his tone, Susannah raised her eyes, and winced when she met Jesse's smoldering gaze. His hands guided her with mocking attention, until she hesitated, then he pulled her roughly up the stairs.

  She went with him, tugged along. He opened the door and flung her inside, she staggered a few steps inside.

  "What were you doing?" he thundered.

  "You were gone so long... I thought—" Her eyes darted nervously. He seemed so angry.

  He stepped forward, and his angry heat washed over her, reminding her that her husband was a dangerous man.

  "You thought what?" Jesse bit out, and Susannah hastily assembled her thoughts.

  "I thought you had left me."

  "I told you, I was securing your things. Arranging for them to be sent to a town where we could collect them." He still advanced in that long, measured tread, and Susannah backed away, feeling like prey faced with a hunter.

  Her back hit the wall and she gasped. "I'm sorry."

  "You aren't, but you will be." He turned on his heel.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Lift your skirts and bend over the bed."

  Her mouth dropped open. "What?"

  "You heard me. I told you to stay in the room. You promised. I told you, you break a promise to me, there will be consequences."

  "You wouldn't strike a woman."

  "Strike a woman? No. Spank her bottom red, so she learns her lesson and obeys me next time? Absolutely."

  "Jesse, please, you must listen to me." She scooted along the wall, looking for a way out even as she begged.

  "You have until the count of three to bare your bottom and lean over the bed." Jesse pulled off his coat, and rolled up his sleeves.

  The door was too far away.

  "One," Jesse ground out.

  "No, wait." Susannah stiffened her back and called on all her courage to bring her a few steps closer. "If you hit me, I will scream."

  "Two." It wasn't a man, but a green-eyed devil who faced her, his handsome face set in stone.

  She backed away, looking wildly for an escape route. The bed was too small to hide under, and there was no window. Nothing even to throw at him.

  "Three."

  In fear, she darted for the door, and he caught her easily around the waist.

  "No, put me down," she shrieked, as he carried her to the bed and set her into place: torso draped over the bed and legs hanging down, presenting her bottom to the room. Pinning her with one hand, he stuffed his handkerchief into her mouth with the other.

  "I'm punishing you for giving me your word and then leaving the room anyway. If I'm to help you, I need you to obey." As he spoke, he pushed her skirts up, gathering her wrists and holding them in the small of her back to keep her from flailing.

  "You put both of us in danger," he said. "If we're to survive, we must work together."

  Susannah felt him pull up the last of her layers, and then part her drawers. She gasped as the bare ai
r hit her skin.

  "Very nice." He paused to admire her. "Pity you're not truly my wife. I'd spank you every day, just to see this pretty sight." His hands were rubbing her skin, taking liberties.

  She squirmed, and he smacked her flesh. Her body bucked in response, trying to throw off his grip, but she couldn't move.

  "Ready for your punishment?"

  "No!" she yelled through her gag.

  Chuckling, he started spanking her. At first the smacks were surprisingly light, just enough to alert her the punishment had started. Then his hand fell harder, sharp blows that brought the sting to the top. She shrieked, body writhing.

  "Hold still," he ordered. "Or it'll go worse for you."

  When she only struggled harder, he just laughed and reaffirmed his grip on her. "As you wish," he mocked, and rained smacks onto her flesh until her bottom felt like it would burst into flame.

  Pinned and helpless, Susannah shouted her outrage into the gag. She'd been disciplined before, as a young girl in her aunt's home, but most of the time it was carried out by a servant who had the sorry job of watching the bratty ward. As a schoolteacher, she'd been tempted to strike her students, and the principal had given her a hard strap for that purpose, but she could never bring herself to do it.

  This spanking was nothing like she'd ever seen or felt. Her outlaw had a hard hand, calloused and rough from a working life. It may as well have been made of granite. It didn't matter that the other hand pinning her was gentle. She was in the grip of a strong man who wouldn't brook any argument, and was helpless to the onslaught of his punishing hand.

  She yelped over and over again into the gag, her begging turning into incoherent sounds. Her bottom was burning, the pain searing her mind. Her punisher took care to deliver smacks to every part of her bottom, even laying a few on the backs of her thighs, Worse, she knew as her bottom reddened and her legs jumped with each spank, her cunny was on display, framed by blonde curls. As she shifted on his iron thighs, she could feel his manhood growing against her, poking her as it had last night in sleep. Through the handkerchief in her mouth, she let out a despairing wail. God forbid the man spank her, and enjoy it.

  Finally she stopped struggling and sniffled loudly. She'd always found any man in her life could be swayed with tears.

  Not so with Jesse. It wasn't until she began to well and truly sob that he slowed the spanking, delivering ten odd smacks to her sit spots in between rubbing. His caresses felt so good, she let her head sag onto the bed and sighed.

  "This is for your own good," Jesse spoke, deep voice gentle. "I don't want to see you hurt. It's been a few days, and you've faced death and tried my temper." A slap on her bottom, hard enough to resound, but then his palm squeezed her flesh, rubbing away the sting.

  "I understand that you don't know me very well. But I want you to be safe. You're still my wife, even if it's in name only."

  Hands soothed her, and Susannah shut her eyes. As much as her behind hurt, she wanted to stay like this, in the grip of a strong man, who may punish her, but would also protect her.

  When he drew her up to face him, she kept her eyes down, reluctant to meet his gaze. Her emotions were raw and ragged, contrition and sorrow and submission passing over her face, all on display.

  Still holding her hands behind her, he lifted her chin, lessening the severity of the session with the tenderness in his touch. "Do you understand why I punished you?"

  She nodded.

  "Can I trust you to behave until I can get you on the coach to Boston?"

  For a moment her body quivered, and she wanted to tell him: she didn't want to go back to Boston, there was nothing for her there. But her mouth was still gagged, so she simply nodded.

  "Good girl," he said, and released her. He stood, kissing her forehead. "Do as I say and we'll get along."

  Part of her stiffened at his patronizing tone, but he was already moving about the room, grabbing his bag and packing his rifle into it.

  "We're going to try to sneak out of here. I'd say we need to lay low, but I don't know how long it will be before one of the men below report a pretty blonde woman, and Doyle's men come looking for you."

  Susannah pulled out his handkerchief and threw it on the bed.

  Jesse turned and a swath of dark hair fell across his forehead, framing his masculine good looks. Pity he wasn't ugly. It would be easier to hate him.

  "Susannah," he said, and held out his hand. With a sigh, she crossed the room and took it.

  They started down the hall, Jesse carrying his bag and keeping a strong hand on her back. They'd reached the top of the stairs before their luck ran out.

  "There she is." One of the thugs from the lobby was at the foot of the stairs, pointing up at them. Two more men started to push past him, guns out. Susannah froze, but Jesse didn't.

  "Go." He pushed Susannah behind him, and fired down the stairs before turning and running with her. He pushed her past their bedroom, all the way down the hall, then kicked open a door at the end. He practically threw her into the room, waving his gun at the man on the bed who turned with a shout.

  "Just passing through," Jesse said. "Don't want any trouble."

  This bedroom had a window. Susannah hurried to the window and tried to draw up the sash; Jesse followed, and sweeping her aside again, put a boot through it.

  The glass shattered, and taking care of the shards, Jesse thrust Susannah through the open frame, keeping a hand on her arm to stop her from falling.

  Jesse climbed out behind her, gun still pointed at the surprised man. He whistled, and a horse came trotting up the alley. Susannah recognized the black stallion with a white star on his forehead.

  "Here, Jordan," he called, and the horse moved forward. "Come on." Grabbing Susannah, he lowered her from the room down into the saddle, and handed her his bag. He was settling behind her when bullets flew from the window above him.

  Pistol in hand, Jesse fired back, gaining them some cover as he finished seating himself and prodded Jordan forward.

  "Hang on, Susannah."

  The stallion shot forward and left the town in a cloud of dust.

  They galloped for miles, stopping only briefly at a stream to get water. Jesse filled the canteen, and handed it to her to drink first.

  "You all right?" he asked when she was finished and wiping her mouth.

  "Yes." It was the truth, more or less. After two days with her rogue, she was beginning to equate a good hour with one where she wasn't being shot at or held at knife point.

  "We'll ride for a bit and sleep out here tonight. Lay low."

  Susannah took a moment to look around. 'Out here' was a harsh, rocky terrain boasting only toughened bushes, red earth, and a long range of mountains rising in the west. "Are they following us?"

  "Probably." He finished off the water before refilling the canteen. "But I'm going to keep you safe."

  They finally dismounted at dusk. Susannah wandered around the clearing that would make their campsite, stretching and sighing. Jesse unbridled Jordan and let the horse roam to graze on the few grassy patches by a small spring. Thinking to help, she took up the water canteen and headed for the little stream.

  "Watch out for snakes," Jesse called.

  Susannah froze. Sloshing the remaining water in the canteen she decided that they had enough water to last them awhile.

  He set out the saddlebags and bedroll on a nearby rock.

  A thought struck her. "Jesse, where are my bags?"

  "Well, baggage, let me put it this way. The good news is I don't think anyone's following. The bad news is I sent your luggage to Denver, and we're going the other way."

  "What?" she shrieked.

  "I figured if Mrs. Marsh gave them your description, they'd follow your luggage north. I can put you on a stage back to Boston, and ride up to Denver to send your bags on later."

  "I can't believe this. What am I to wear?"

  Jesse shrugged. "You like the dress you've got on? Wear that."

&nb
sp; "I can't just—"

  "Susannah, most women out here would be lucky to own one dress half as fine as that one. You're a frontier gal now. Besides, a little dirt might do you good." He turned back to his bags with a grin, laying out flint and a small frying pan.

  "I hate you," she said.

  "I know." He winked at her. Taking up his rifle, he started striding into the brush.

  "Wait. Where are you going?"

  "Get us some food before it gets too dark. Do me a favor, and start a fire."

  Muttering under her breath, she started looking for bits of sticks and wood, poking gingerly into the brush to check for snakes first. She'd never started a fire in her life; that's what servants were for. But how hard could it be?

  Piling brush into the center of their camp, she cried out at a sharp pain on her finger. Her nail had broken.

  She moaned. Who was she kidding? This was ridiculous. She'd wanted romance and adventure, a handsome husband who would redeem her from past romantic pain. And what did she get?

  Her backside throbbed where Jesse had imparted her "lesson." Her inner thighs burned from gripping the horse. Her face was sure to be red and dirty from the journey, her hair an awful mess, and her nice purple taffeta a disgrace. She looked like a naughty child playing in the mud. She could almost hear her aunt scolding her, telling her to be a lady.

  A shot rang out in the distance, and she sank down, quivering. She was still huddled in the dirt, praying Doyle's men hadn't caught up with them, when her outlaw husband returned with rifle and dead game in hand.

  "We've got a nice rabbit for dinner," he said, holding up the long, furry body. "Where's the fire?"

  Feeling relief, she rose, her lower lip trembling. "I didn't know how to do it."

  He didn't mock her, just knelt and motioned her to come and watch. As the sun faded behind the mountains, Jesse showed her how to collect bracken and strike the flint. He was a patient teacher. She broke another nail, but hardly noticed it when the blaze caught and took, flaring up before her eyes.

  "We did it!"