The Humiliation of Hannah

by Lizbeth Dusseau

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Humiliation of Hannah

  by Lizbeth Dusseau

  ISBN 13: 978-1-934349-30-4

  ISBN 10: 1-934349-30-5

  A Pink Flamingo Ebook Publication

  All rights reserved

  Copyright ©2004 Lizbeth Dusseau

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without prior written permission from the publisher.

  For information contact:

  Pink Flamingo Publications

  www.pinkflamingo.com

  P.O. Box 632 Richland, MI 49083 USA

  Cover Art Copyright © Surreal

  surreal.art@btinternet.com

  Email Comments: lizbeth@pinkflamingo.com

  PROLOGUE

  Some stale, moldering and smoky smell made her almost turn around. A cold chill raced down her spine. Such feelings—and in such an innocuous place. Shopping for dry goods was normally such a pleasant experience. But there were men, strangers jostling her and that stale smell growing stronger, until someone standing directly behind her leaned in and gruffly whispered in her ear.

  “If you know what’s good for you, Hannah Crowe, you’ll find that bastard brother of yours and give him a message from Mr. Cain.” The man’s large hand moved against her bottom, squeezing repugnantly.

  “I beg your pardon, sir,” she whipped around, eyes flashing vehement scorn, “Get your hands off me.” When she looked up at the massive man, the sneer on the unshaven face put a fearful wedge in her resolve and she shrank back.

  “Yeah, you best mind what I say, pretty lady,” the fellow glowered, “we have ways of dealing with cheating scoundrels and their pretty sisters.” He grabbed a lock of her long dark brown hair and twirled it between his grimy fingers. His nails were nearly black and he reeked of liquor enough to make her suddenly feel light-headed. He was just a ruffian, but a big, crude, unpleasant one who made her belly jar oddly. Beyond his uncleanly appearance, the man was curiously handsome and this surprised her. He reached for her breast and squeezed it before she could think to back further away. She let out a tiny scream and slapped his hand. “How dare you!”

  “Eh, I see the light in those pretty eyes, Mrs. Crowe,” he gloated.

  “Get the hell out of my store,” Terrance Somersby suddenly blared behind them.

  The three men crowding Hannah Crowe turned to answer the order, sniggering.

  “We was just leavin’,” the offensive brute sassed him, then turned back to Hannah for a parting comment.

  “We’ll be meetin’ again, little lady, if that no account brother of yours doesn’t show. Count on it.”

  The man turned and stalked away, grabbing a pack of jerky from the counter. Followed by two equally loathsome young scoundrels, he left a trail of fear and a fast beating heart behind him.

  “You okay, Hannah?” Terrance Somersby moved her way, placing a comforting hand on her arm. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  “No, no, I’m fine.”

  “You sure? The Tremaine boys can be pretty wicked.”

  “I’ll be just fine,” she said, as she nervously pressed her skirt with her hands. She took a deep breath to clear the fear from her trembling body, then attempted to smile.

  “I’m afraid your brother’s in a pack of trouble. You don’t go angering Jarrett Cain, if you know what I mean.”

  Hannah’s weary look betrayed her worry, but then quite surprisingly she smiled warmly as if her confidence instantly was restored and she’d made some crucial decision. “You know, Mr. Somersby, I think I’ll wait on the shopping for today. You wouldn’t happen to know where Millie Peacock lives?”

  “I sure do. She lives just down the street, right next to the barbershop. Has a room upstairs.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “But, you know, Millie Peacock is not fit company for a fine woman like yourself.”

  “I don’t aim to ‘keep company’ with the woman.” Her gaze narrowed meaningfully. But more composed now than before, she straightened her dress one more time and graciously nodded to the shopkeeper as she swept from the store, heading in the direction of the barbershop. Her mission was quite clear.

  Terrance Somersby watched as Hannah Crowe left with her single-minded air plainly in charge. She was a beauty, with a lustrous mane of russet colored hair, a natural pink blush to her porcelain-white cheeks and wide sparkling brown eyes. They could dance with merriment or lash out in righteous indignation. What spirit! Her fine body and ample curves drew the eye of every man in the county. And that smile could kindle their affection, although everyone knew that her lively but gentle heart beat only for her husband, Daniel Crowe.

  Some thought their marriage was a terrible mistake—he was so beneath her learned upbringing. Some thought she married the man to spite her venomous mother. Others vowed the pairing wouldn’t last; she was simply on a young woman’s foolish adventure and would soon tire of the homespun farmer and trapper. He was an unschooled country boy of modest means. A handsome fellow, to be sure, but no good match for a woman of Hannah’s breeding, despite his wit, intelligence and strong work ethic. Yes, there were those who thought their union wouldn’t last, but Terrance Somersby didn’t agree. In his mind, there was still after five years, the same look of love in Hannah Crowe’s eyes that he’d seen when she first came to town on Daniel’s arm. One had to remember that their tiny village was no fine Eastern city, or even an upstart Midwestern town like Springfield where one might put on airs, where one’s social background determined who you married. No, in these wild and sometimes savage places, a girl like Hannah could do a lot worse than Daniel Crowe. He was a man used to danger who would know how to keep safe a beauty like his lovely wife.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Hannah was a bedraggled sweaty mess. At one point on that hot night, she’d been so tired after walking miles upon miles that she lain down beneath a tree and napped—she had no idea how long, although it was still dark when she awakened. By then, her hair was stringy and her dress dirty and torn from a sudden fall she’d taken some hours before. It had been a long night and a futile search for her brother, Beau. Damn him! She silently swore. The brash little tart, Millie Peacock, led her on a wild goose chase. Hannah almost believed it was a deliberate ploy to keep her from finding her delinquent brother. Now facing home, she wiped her brow and trudged the last few hundred yards from the road to the white frame house where she and Daniel lived. It was just before dawn and the sky was becoming brilliant with the ethereal glow of a new sunrise. Somewhere she heard a cock crow, and looking toward the house, she noticed a trail of smoke curling from the chimney. Perhaps Jolie had lit a fire. Daniel wouldn’t be home; he’d left the morning before to check his traps on the high ridge and wouldn’t be back for at least two days.

  Hannah had no intention of telling her husband about the impromptu excursion when he did come home. The less he heard about Beau and his shenanigans the better for them both. All she could think of now was washing her hands and face and dropping into bed for a long sleep. Gazing downward with unseeing eyes, she wearily put one foot in front of the other, and on reaching the fence she pushed forward the swinging gate that opened into the
yard. On looking up, she immediately stopped short, her eyes barely believing what she saw.

  Daniel! Yes, it was Daniel standing on the porch, hands on his hips, watching her. Her body immediately leapt with the desire to run to him for comfort, but then the impulse quickly passed and her heart sank when she realized what this meant. A painful jolt of shame made her blush long before she reached the porch. When she did, she looked up into her husband’s coal-colored eyes.

  “You’re home, sir?”

  “I guess I am.” He coolly appraised her, saying nothing for an interminable period. Then he finally broke the terrible silence. “Do I dare ask why my wife is not at home in bed where all good wives should be at such an hour?”

  “Oh, it’s such a terrible story, Daniel, and I am so sorry. You must have been so worried.”

  The firm set of his jaw said it all. He was a tall, lean and muscular man, with sharp clear features, dark, longish hair, and skin the color of copper. There was native Indian in his blood, and Irish and Welsh and some French. He had a keen eye, a strength that made her strong and a passionate love for her that warmed her soul. But he was also a no nonsense man and for deliberately defying his wishes, she knew with little doubt the price she’d pay.

  “Does the story begin with Beau?” he asked, his voice hardening.

  Her blush deepened. “Yes, sir, it does.” She stared him in the eye. A falsehood at this point would only double her punishment. “I can explain, sir…” she rushed on.

  But he cut her off, saying grimly, “After you’ve taken a turn in the woodshed, wife.” She could feel his anger and indignation boiling beneath his surface calm. Her body fluttered wildly in reply, as if it actually loved that righteous rage and even what it would do to her in the next half hour. She watched as Daniel moved back into the house—he’d be retrieving his razor strop. Before he reappeared, she abruptly turned, gathered her skirt in her fists and moved, head down, toward the woodshed on the far side of the yard. Daniel always said he liked to separate the punishment from the rest of their marriage, from what happened inside the house where their love was more affectionately expressed.

  Although she moved swiftly, Daniel was only a stride behind her by the time she reached the shed door.

  “Please, sir, won’t you let me explain?” she turned about abruptly and confronted him with a pair of begging eyes, which were now lustrous and wet with tears. The tension between them seemed to explode.

  “Not as angry as I am, wife. If you need to explain, you’ll get your chance. Right now, you can bend over and bare your ass; show me how sorry you really are.”

  The words ripped through her body like the strike of lightning. So weary, so utterly weary after just an hour or two of restless sleep, she felt strangely faint with the reality of the situation becoming clear to her. She so desperately wanted some mercy now, and fraught with despair, for one very brief moment the fire in her flashed as the heat of the moment obliged her desire to fight him.

  “And what if I’m not prepared to bare myself for you, sir?” she took a deep breath, renewing herself. Her eyes danced with a fiery, defiant glow.

  Daniel’s anger engaged the instant his gaze met her impudent stare. He resisted the urge to slap her face for such insolence. He was not a brutal man, given to reckless displays of anger. But he was not so self-controlled that he didn’t respond. He swiftly grabbed her by the arm and in one sure and steady movement he had her captured under his one arm and her bottom perfectly poised for spanking. Daniel struck her with his open palm, again and again, spanking her bottom with sharp smacks that scorched her bottom and stung the air with a reverberating sound that seemed to shake the flimsy woodshed walls.

  Even with the protection of her thin summer skirt, Hannah could feel the heat and the sting mount at a vicious rate. The pain made her struggle more. Oh, he’ll work for it! she silently vowed. And yet, Daniel was so much stronger, so much more determined than she was, that her spirit quickly weakened. The truth came crashing down about her tired soul. She was no match for him. He would not quit; he never quit … not until he won the battle.

  “Please, Daniel!” Her small cry was so filled with sincere anguish that Daniel abruptly stopped the spanking and set her on her feet.

  “Through defying me, Hannah?” he asked.

  She knew he’d only start all over again should she dare oppose him.

  She breathed heavily, fighting off her fierce emotions. Staring back at her was the face of a resolute man who loved her with his whole heart, and on this matter was unbending. The only way she could answer his question was to do as she’d been ordered to do in the first place. Torn, exhausted and in tears, she finally turned about and bent over a waist-high pile of freshly split wood. Reaching for the hem of her skirt, she drew it up over her bottom and prepared to lower her underclothes. But before she could finish, Daniel reached in and tore away the last remaining garment between him and her bare behind.

  This was more than simple justice, more than the right of a man to discipline a disobedient wife. A fire for this brand of passion brewed strongly in them both. It was basic to their make-up. It was elemental and sexual, as if it were an act ordained by the powers that ruled the heavens. It was the one way the two could find peace with each other in the midst of such a crisis. With a few notable exceptions, the rest of the world had little clue that their relationship required these moments; this was their secret. For those very necessary times, Daniel Crowe blistering his wife’s beautiful ass with the cruel blows of a razor strop was the best perhaps the only way to set things right.

  Daniel backed up, viewing the target of Hannah’s proffered cheeks with both lust and purpose. He thought of Beau—the thorn in his side—and how the boy had twisted his wife’s world with his reckless behavior. It was as much Beau’s behind he’d like to be thrashing today. But for now, Beau was nowhere to be found and his wife would pay the price.

  With the doubled leather strap clutched firmly in his hand, he reared back and let the first of many blows strike her twin pink cheeks. The earlier spanking would pale in comparison to the punishment she’d now receive. The leather struck, her body jolted, and the round globes jiggled from the impact. In seconds a thick red line of red appeared across her naked flesh.

  He struck her ass again.

  And again.

  And again.

  The smacks were intended to hurt, intended to resoundingly deliver a message she could understand no other way. Each harsh strike deepened the color of her bottom from rosy pink to a heated scarlet. Daniel paused only long enough so they could catch their breath, then he started in again. With the second round of punishment, he dropped his aim to apply the hurt to the back of her tender thighs, and the base of her bottom which would easily bruise.

  Hannah reacted to each blow, struggling as if she were bound and unable to escape, resisting but not resisting, fighting the pain but not fighting enough to bolt the woodshed—she would not face the consequences that would result. She hated every blow, but gritted her teeth against the string of epithets that threatened to spew from her mouth. She clenched one moment, then made every effort to relax the next, all the while praying for all she was worth that Daniel would grant her some degree of mercy and end the terrible strapping.

  Once Daniel’s anger had vented, the blows came less often and with less force. As had happened in the past, Hannah found some strange satisfaction in the warmth that followed. A sexual fire in her flamed and quickly built to a furious peak, producing wildly crazy sensations in places far beyond the skin of her ass end. Her tears flowed and she moaned with hate and love so mixed up inside each other that she didn’t know what she honestly wanted.

  Then suddenly, the blows stopped.

  The razor strop clattered to the floor.

  Suddenly Daniel’s arms surrounded his wife and he pulled her upright and clutched her close. Her raw bottom rubbed against the rough exterior of his pants, but she didn’t mind this. His hands grabbed for her bre
asts and caressed them coarsely, as the crude man in town had done. This time it was appropriate for her respond.

  “Oh, Daniel, I am so sorry; I am; you must believe me,” she said. She laid her head back against his chest and writhed erotically inside his arms.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you disobeyed me just to enjoy the aftermath.”

  His fingers moved tenderly across her face, and her tongue and mouth made love to them. She felt his organ harden against her raw behind, throbbing there with the effect of making her wanton lust explode and her thighs naturally part in expectation. She ground her bottom into his groin invitingly. Her attempts to appease her husband’s wrath were hardly veiled.

  The invitation was accepted without comment, and in the silence of the early morning, as the cock crowed again, Daniel bent her back over the rough woodpile and plunged his aching erection into the deep valley of her crotch.

  “Oh, dear God, yes!” she cried as the first thrust speared her inner body. All her previous woe seemed forgotten now.

  Daniel grunted while holding on to her hips and plunging with the same ruthless determination that he’d just wounded her ass. Looking down, he saw her bruised behind. The fiery color had faded, leaving red striations in the flesh and rising bruises that would linger for some days. It had been a good beating, a start, he thought, feeling righteously pleased, and one she was sure to remember the next time she dared to defy his wishes. And this now, this was right as well to appease another need.

  “Yes, yes, yes, yes, my love!” Hannah cried, with her body on the verge of a sweet explosion. Tears of joy she’d been holding back came streaming down her cheeks. Her spirit softened, her rage was gone, the fight in her vanished as if it never existed. There was only room left in her for love and sex and the sumptuous aftermath their spirits yearned for. She could feel the crest about to take her when Daniel came in her with a cry on his lips. He held her firm to him, one hand clutching her hip, the other hand threaded through her hair as his member spewed the warm gushing cum.

  “Don’t you dare take your pleasure!” he abruptly seethed in her ear.