Taming Tori

by Amelia Smarts

  Frank halted the punishment. “Relax your body, Tori,” he said sternly. “It will be easier to bear the next part if you’re not so tense.”

  She hadn’t realized that she’d been clenching until he said so. Her shoulders were tight and her toes curled. It was a relief to unfurl herself, shoulder by shoulder, toe by toe, bottom cheek by bottom cheek.

  It wasn’t until she was as loose as a half-full sack of flour that he spoke. “Are you ready for the lecture, or should I continue the spanking?”

  “Spanking,” she said bravely.

  “Very well. I need a better hold of you.” He hauled her forward over his leg. “Here, spread your legs a little. Just like that, yes.” With gentle maneuvering that was markedly different from his punishing hand, he guided her thighs apart and positioned them over his leg. Her bare pussy felt every ripple of material pressed against it. His trousers made of wool lightly scraped her sensitive lower lips and clitoris. To her horror, her belly tightened with unmistakable arousal, and her legs quivered. She wondered if this sexual humiliation was part of the punishment. Why else would he press her bare womanhood against his muscled leg and spread her legs so obscenely. No doubt he could see every bit of her private parts. She couldn’t find any words to protest, and wasn’t sure if she would want to protest even if she could.

  Cool wood tapped against her bottom. It was so unexpected that she arched her back and gasped.

  “I told you to relax,” he said, and pressed her shoulders gently so that she was loose again. “You knew you’d be punished with your hairbrush. I’m not going to lie, this is going to hurt. You’ll learn an important lesson from it, and that’s not to delay punishment in the future.”

  “I thought you were going to spank, not lecture,” she hissed as her heartbeat quickened. Fear had the effect of making her snippy.

  He no doubt understood that she was reacting from fear because he did not respond to her statement. Instead, he responded by comforting her. “It will be over soon, and I would never cause you any harm, just a little well-deserved pain.”

  She relaxed upon hearing his words, mostly because it was comforting to know he understood that her snippy remark was born of fear. Frank always seemed to understand her, which was why, she supposed, that she was willing to submit to something as embarrassing as a bare-bottomed spanking while straddled over his knee.

  “Six with the hairbrush,” he declared, before bringing it down smartly across the fleshiest part of her left cheek. She let out a high-pitched yell. The pain was sharp and searing, as though he’d placed a branding iron on her flesh. Before she could recover, he branded her right cheek the same way.

  “Oh, my god!” she cried. “That’s awful, it hurts like the devil.”

  “Four more,” he said blandly. He landed the hairbrush on her left cheek once again, a little lower than before, catching the upper part of her thigh. She screamed again as he landed the identical stroke for her right cheek. If she had thought the first two hurt, the second set was torture, leaving a deep, bruising sensation that brought tears to her eyes.

  “Please,” she whimpered. “I’ve learned my lesson, and I won’t delay punishment again. Please, I’d rather you lecture me now.” It didn’t escape her notice that he was right that she would eventually beg for the lecture instead of the spanking. Frank seemed to be right about everything.

  “You have two more, and then we’ll have a little talk.” He tapped the dreaded brush against her bottom. She could only imagine that by this point, her cheeks were inflamed and cherry red. Her skin had always been creamy and white, so the redness of her bottom must appear in stark contrast to the flesh of her thighs.

  The next two swats were layered over portions of her bottom that had already received the same punishment, and the effect was to double the amount of pain. She screamed and writhed, then reached back and clutched her poor bottom. It was hot to the touch. She heard the hairbrush clatter on a nearby table.

  Frank took hold of her hands with a tsking sound and moved them up against her back, preventing her from rubbing away the sting. He stroked her bottom instead with a feather-light touch that felt like heaven, and she realized his ability to soothe away the sting exceeded her own, and had the simultaneous effect of bringing her pleasure.

  “Now, I want you to thank me for your punishment,” he said, his voice stern. “You’re very proud, and a little humility will do you good.”

  She groaned, but she was in no mood to argue. “Thank you for setting me straight, Frank.”

  “You’re welcome. Now, let’s talk about why you became so angry with me when I said I invited Mary.”

  She sighed, wishing she didn’t have to explain to him but not possessing the will to fight him on it. “I like to keep things as planned.”

  “Yes, you said that, and I’ll remember it in the future. But is that all that bothered you?”

  She closed her eyes and stifled a moan as his hand made slow, circular patterns on her inflamed flesh. The gentle touch on her throbbing skin felt better than she ever would have imagined. It was almost worth enduring a spanking just to be soothed afterwards. It also had the effect of making her feel more open and honest, so she admitted the truth to him.

  “I don’t want you to like Mary more than you like me, and I fear she is quite a bit more likeable.”

  He stopped stroking. “You’re the only woman who interests me, Tori.”

  “Why? I’m quite flawed, as you’ve pointed out.”

  “Teachable, though. You respect me, and that makes me feel needed and less flawed myself.”

  “I don’t see you as flawed, except for your limp. But even that flaw makes you seem stronger, in the way a crack in a pie’s dough reveals sweet fruit or how a brown leaf on a stem makes the flower look more colorful.”

  He didn’t respond right away. When he did, his voice was soft. “I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me. Thank you, Tori.”

  “I mean it. To me you seem just right, and I want you all to myself.”

  “You have me, darlin’. I promise you that,” he said, his tone as gentle as his touch was possessive.

  “You have me too,” she admitted. “I’ve never felt about anyone as I feel about you. You make me feel so… good,” she finished lamely, for want of a better description.

  “I know.” His voice was gruff. He moved his fingers between her cheeks, spreading them as he made his way to her pussy. “Your tender pink little folds are slick with proof that I make you feel good, even when I’m punishing you.”

  “Yes,” she gasped, as he drove two fingers inside of her. The walls of her channel clenched around him. Never had any part of a man been inside her, and her desire both shocked her and made her want more. “Please…” she whimpered.

  He withdrew his fingers, leaving her bereft, but she had no time to complain. He lifted her from his knee, revealing a large wet spot that made her flush with embarrassment, and stood from the chair. Then he lowered her into a sitting position in his place. He knelt on his knees in front of her and spread her legs apart wide. His face was level with her naked, dripping cunny, while the skirts of her petticoats circled her legs as though framing her jewels for display.

  Frank took hold of her hips and dragged her forward until her smarting bottom was perched right at the edge of the chair and his mouth connected with her pussy.

  She cried out, shocked by the onslaught of embarrassment and pleasure she experienced as his tongue swirled in and around her womanhood and his beard and mustache tickled her sensitized flesh. When she thought she could not handle any more intensity, his tongue suddenly flicked against her nub. “Oh, Frank! I cannot bear it!” she cried.

  Her words only seemed to spur him on, for he did not stop. He languorously applied his ministrations to every inch of her pussy. When he stroked inside of her with his tongue, she found herself simultaneously wanting to shove his face tighter to her to make it continue and arch away to save herself from further t
orture.

  Frank did not give her any choice in the matter. Just as he’d trapped her over his lap to endure punishment, his hands held tight to her hips, keeping her in place as he attended to her. “This pussy is mine,” he said, his hot breath brushing her folds. “Make no mistake, I’m yours and you’re mine, princess. Understand?”

  “Yes,” she whimpered, reaching her hands behind her head to grasp the top of the chair as his lips and tongue worshiped her womanhood. Pleasure grew inside of her, gaining force and speed so that she felt at any moment she might burst apart.

  “Let go for me, Tori,” he ordered. He swirled his tongue around her nub and flicked it, back and forth, up and down, with light, quick strokes.

  She let go of the chair and reached down to thread her fingers through his hair, holding his head in place as she continued to accept his erotic tongue lashes against her clit. When she orgasmed, she screamed and gyrated her hips. Waves of pleasure crashed one after the other over her as his lips continued to fondle her pussy.

  When the pleasure finally abated, she rolled off the chair onto her back on the floor, laughing as her skirts made a frilly mess around her. Frank lay beside her and took her hand in his. He stroked his thumb over her fingers as they stared up at the ceiling.

  “Who knew that punishment could lead to such pleasure?” she observed, once she’d caught her breath. “I’m almost willing to be spanked every day if that’s the end result. Almost,” she clarified, giving him a sidelong glance.

  He chuckled. “I have a feeling there will be many times in our future where we’ll have one without the other. Spanking without pleasuring and pleasuring without spanking.”

  She sighed. “My bottom is still smarting something fierce.”

  Frank turned to his side and gave her a firm kiss on the mouth. “You earned it, so I don’t want to hear any bellyaching about your bottom hurting. Complain again, and I’ll give you a dozen more whacks. Just watch me.”

  “My goodness, Frank! You needn’t be so strict.”

  “Oh, I think I need be,” he said, rising to his feet. He collected his cane and reached down to help her stand. “You need a firm hand. That was clear from the moment I met you.”

  She blinked and looked at the window, though it was shuttered and she couldn’t see out. “Perhaps you’re right,” she said quietly. It felt strange to her that she seemed to be thriving with a man who disciplined her. It was softening her, somehow, and making her less rough around the edges. It was taming her, she realized, the very thing Frank had vowed to do, and she had to admit she liked the tamer version of herself.

  Chapter Eight

  After a month in Thorndale, Frank was more than confident he’d made the right choice taking the teaching position. The town already felt like home, and Victoria was an unexpected surprise that planted his roots even deeper.

  He grew fond of the children he taught, especially little Bobby, who he made a point to give money to every Friday so that he would have food to eat over the weekend. Frank made inquiries around town about the lad. Marshal Clyde Shaw told Frank that Bobby and his mother lived on the outskirts of Thorndale in a small yellow house set back from the main road. Bobby’s father had died of malaria, and his mother, though nice enough, was a bit of a recluse according to Clyde.

  When Frank told Clyde about the boy’s emaciated appearance and his admission that he wasn’t being fed at home, Clyde had a similar reaction of disbelief as Victoria. Neither Clyde nor Victoria thought it in Susan Taylor’s character to not feed her child.

  One morning, for the first time since Frank began teaching, Bobby didn’t show up to school. Frank tried not to worry, but he eagerly awaited the end of classes so he could check up on him.

  When the school day was over and the children were heading home, Frank walked in the direction of Bobby’s house. He brought a tin bucket containing a cup of barley soup, a loaf of bread, and a copy of Chatterbox, a new magazine donated to the school that he needed to read that evening in order to teach from it the next day.

  The glare from the sun was directly in his eyes, and he tilted his Stetson down to shade his face. A hot wind picked up, blowing dust around him so high that he could taste it. His leg was aching by the time he spotted the large live oak and faded wooden post Clyde had described as a marker. According to the marshal, the house was just north of it.

  Frank hobbled off the beaten path and trudged through the weeds and brush. After a few moments he was able to spot the yellow house, though it could barely be called that. It was little more than a shack and so small it was difficult to spot through the trees and brush even in the daylight. As he neared, he saw that the paint was peeling in more places than not, revealing rotted wood. Russian thistles and tumbleweeds adorned the front and sides of the structure.

  In sharp contrast to the sad look of the place, the land around it was dotted with colorful flowers Frank had only seen before in a picture book—some kind of rose not native to Texas. He took a moment to bend down and smell one. The fragrant scent was so unusual and lovely he thought to himself he would have to pick some for Victoria later.

  The shack looked like it had been abandoned for years. When he approached, however, he heard a hacking cough through the thin walls and knew at least one person was inside.

  He knocked on the door. “Hello! It’s Mr. Bassett. Bobby, are you in there?”

  The coughing continued. When it ended, a small, hoarse voice reached his ears. “I’m just a little sick, teacher. You don’t need to come in.”

  Frank turned the doorknob and walked inside. He wasn’t prepared for the stench. The smell of human filth hit him square in the face and caused a tightening of nausea in his throat. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim space. When they did, he viewed the room with a quick sweep. Dirt covered every surface, except where dishes and debris took its place. Bobby lay on a small cot in the corner of the room, next to an unlit stove. Susan was nowhere to be found.

  Frank rushed to the boy and laid the back of his hand on Bobby’s forehead, finding it hot and clammy. “You’re burning up, son,” he said. He looked around and found a strip of cloth that looked clean enough. “I’ll be right back.” He took it out front and pumped cold water onto it, then returned to the room and patted Bobby around the face. “You’ve got a fever. I need to get you to the doctor.”

  Bobby mumbled something, and Frank bent to hear him. “Don’t take me away. I want to stay here. I don’t want to go.”

  Frank didn’t understand his reticence to leave, but he wasn’t about to obey the whims of a six-year-old boy—and a very sick one at that. “Come on. I will carry you. It’s only a mile away or so.”

  “No!” Bobby cried. His eyes widened with fear, and he gripped Frank’s shirt with surprising strength before he dissolved into a coughing fit and let go. “I have to be here when she comes back, else she’ll think I left for good.”

  Frank guessed he was speaking about his mother, but otherwise didn’t understand him. Bobby was usually gone every day for school, so it didn’t make sense that he wouldn’t want to leave now. Frank assumed he was delirious with fever, but there was no time to get to the bottom of it. The boy needed to see a doctor, and somehow Frank had to convince him of that. It would be enough of a struggle to carry him while managing a cane in his other hand, without the boy putting up a fight about it.

  “Look here, Bobby,” Frank said, swiping at his head again with the cool cloth. “I’ll write a note telling your ma I took you to the doctor, in case she comes back while we’re gone. How about that?”

  Bobby seemed to be considering it between coughing fits. He finally nodded, and Frank went in search of something to write with. He found nothing, and he grew annoyed that he was engaging in a fool’s errand, when he should be on his way to the doctor by now. Still, he didn’t feel right about breaking his promise to the boy, so he found piece of wood and carved into it with his pocketknife.

  Took B to Doc.

 
Good enough for a note that wasn’t likely to be read anyway. Frank didn’t know the circumstances behind Susan’s absence, but he didn’t imagine she would be coming back soon, if at all.

  Frank left carrying Bobby on one hip, accidentally leaving behind the bucket he’d brought containing the magazine and food. He realized he’d forgotten it when his stomach growled with hunger as he arrived with Bobby at the doctor’s office, a log structure with a false front composed of a massive cornice and a single window. Frank was relieved to find the grizzled old man present in the front room, reading a newspaper.

  Doctor Mansfield examined the boy, checking his eyes, ears, throat, temperature, and breathing. As he placed his stethoscope back around his neck, he addressed Frank in a casual drawl. “You’re the new Thorndale teacher, aren’t you? He one of your students?”

  “Yes,” Frank said, relieved to hear no urgency or fear in the doctor’s voice.

  “He’s got a mild fever and cough, but I don’t think it’s serious. It’s not in his lungs like you see with consumption. He needs rest and fluids, some broth to keep his strength up, and I’ll give you some onion syrup and linseed oil for the cough. I assume his parents can take care of him while he’s ill?”

  Frank glanced at the boy’s face. His eyes were closed, his breathing heavy with sleep. Frank shook his head. “His pa’s dead, and I can’t find his ma. Can he stay here?”

  “Afraid not,” Doctor Mansfield replied. “I only use this office during the day and lock up at night. I can take him in my buggy somewhere to convalesce, but it can’t be here.”

  Frank considered his options. He couldn’t take Bobby to the boardinghouse without raising the ire of his landlady, and taking the boy back to the filthy shack didn’t seem like a good option either. He thought of Victoria, and he knew at once that she was the answer.

  “Take him to the seamstress’s shop. She lives above it and can care for the child until he’s recovered.”