The Strong, Silent Type

by Patricia Green

  "Just a little...Drake. Please?"

  "I could get fired."

  "No one will find out."

  Could they keep it secret? Secrets had a way of becoming eleven o'clock news. He fought another lurid flash of Mae's wet pussy under his hand. "Shed down at the end of the fruit tree row. Five minutes. Try not to let anyone see you go inside."

  "Yeah, okay!" She turned to head to the shed.

  "And, Mae, only this one time."

  "Got it."

  He smiled and she trotted off. It was a mistake and he knew it. All hell could break loose. But some temptations could not be ignored. Her perfectly round ass made a fluid infinity sign as she walked down the gravel-lined path. He realized the tomato seed packed was crushed. His seeds were dribbling out all over the floor. Oh shit was he in trouble.

  * * *

  The metal shed was dark and cool. Mae knew that by noon it would be blistering hot inside, but for now it was pleasant. There was a little, square window high in one wall near the peaked roof, but it was so dirty that only weak light shone in. She could smell oil and gasoline and a glimpse around while the door had been open revealed tools and a couple of small ATVs. She climbed on one of the small vehicles and sat in its seat to wait for the Chief. For Drake.

  She didn't know what crazy bee had been buzzing in her bonnet when she propositioned him. She'd been behaving like Virginia Swet. The woman had gravitated toward the big police chief at the last community event, like an orbiting moon. It was obvious that she wanted something from him. There were rumors that there had been a fling between them when they were teenagers, but Mae hadn't hung out with Virginia's arrogant crowd during their school years together. If Virginia and Drake had something going then, maybe it would explain Virginia's clinging attitude now.

  It had been several days since Mae had seen Drake, and yet the spanking in the back of the patrol car just wouldn't get out of her head. She fantasized about it morning, noon and night. Especially at night when she was alone in her little apartment on Becker Street. She'd seen pictures of spankings before. She'd been searching all the fetish magazines since then, looking for more. Those publications were hard to get, too! She had to search the internet for hours to find what she was looking for. She'd never been so obsessed about anything before.

  In a way, it worried her. Now that she'd experienced it, she didn't know if she could take on a relationship with a normal non-spanking kind of guy. The helplessness, the tingles, heat, even the pain of being spanked were all so delicious.

  There was no one in her life now, anyway. And little likelihood that anyone would just miraculously come along. She knew practically all the bachelors in Fire Gorge and had dismissed all the interested ones already. Not that they weren't nice guys. And not that she hadn't gone out on dates with many of them, giving them a chance to knock her socks off. But no one gave her goose bumps, or made her girl parts weep with joy.

  Drake had, though.

  As though called forth from her recollections, the tall man stole into the shed. "Mae?"

  "Here," she said softly. It would take him a minute to let his eyes adjust. "On the ATV."

  Heat raced through her as she saw him find her in the darkness. "Get off the vehicle, and pull down your shorts."

  Apparently, he wasn't into preliminaries.

  Mae climbed down and unbuttoned her khakis, letting them fall to the floor around her ankles. Her white cotton bikini panties were like a beacon in the darkness.

  "Panties, too."

  She watched him as she shimmied out of the underwear and stood, half-naked next to the ATV.

  "Turn and put your hands on the seat."

  "Like this?" She did as he bid, and found herself bent over with her rear sticking out.

  "Yeah, just like that." His voice was soft and gravely, and she felt him approaching; the heat of his body was burning her up.

  When his hand connected sharply with her butt, she jumped and squeaked.

  "Quiet," he admonished.

  "You didn't warn me."

  "No. I didn't." He smacked her again, and she bit her lip to keep quiet. His hand kept coming down on her rump, one side then the other, down to her sit spots, then further down her upper thighs. She gasped with nearly every whack, and moaned as quietly as she could. Slippery liquid pooled at her pussy lips and sent a trickle down her inner thighs. Her nipples peaked, getting thick and achy.

  "Touch me," she begged, then held back a cry as he connected with her ass again.

  "No."

  "Please..."

  "No."

  "You don't understand. I want--"

  "No, you don't understand. What I want is to fuck the hell out of you, but this is all we can have right now. Shouldn't even have this much."

  "Oh, God, Drake," she groaned. Her ass was on fire. Every smack was a clarion call to her clit to buzz like a vibrator on high. She'd have given anything to have him take her. When he stopped, she sagged against the side of the vehicle, boneless.

  Drake caught her up and held her against his body. He was warm, though not as hot as her rear. She wondered if he could smell her arousal as clearly as she could. The thought was embarrassing, but also sexy. His hand slid over her burning flesh gently, and his calluses were rough and scratchy.

  She squirmed against him and he sucked air through his teeth. His erection. She'd pressed against that big, hard mound in the front of his jeans. It was naughty of her, she knew, but she squirmed again. This time he squeezed her bottom until she gasped.

  "Mind your manners, Mae."

  "Or there will be consequences?"

  His laugh was low and throaty. "You test my resolve, woman."

  She pressed her face against his t-shirted chest. The muscles there were so hard, it was like pressing her face against hard-packed sand. She wanted a wave to wash over her and cool the fire on her butt and in her screaming pussy. Mae slid her hand down from his waist to cup his hard cock, but he quickly pulled her fingers away.

  "No. No more." He stepped back, and Mae felt a sad longing come over her.

  "I'm sorry, Drake. I couldn't help it."

  He grunted. "Pull up your clothes and get the hell out of here."

  She began to dress. "Are you mad at me?"

  "I'm mad at myself, Mae. This was a mistake."

  "I'm sorry."

  "Go."

  Mae knew she'd done something wrong to make him mad at her. She couldn't believe that he'd be mad at himself. He'd shown so much self-control--unlike her. Maybe next time she should just keep her hands to herself. Next time? After he'd so pointedly dismissed her, there would be no next time.

  * * *

  Drake couldn't concentrate on gardening after his clandestine meeting with Mae. The woman twisted him in knots. He wanted to be around her, wanted to experience her, even her chattering, but he had to consider his job. He remembered very clearly a time in high school when he dated a girl from Fire Gorge: Virginia Swet, the mayor's daughter. She and her family and some friends had come to the Paiute Reservation's annual summer festival. She was walking around with her girlfriends and paused to watch Drake in the archery competition. He was a good archer, and was in the finals that year. He took first place, and among the many well-wishers and people congratulating him was Virginia. Virginia was ripe for the picking, too, and not too shy to let it be known.

  He was young; it was hormonal for both of them. When her father had gotten wind of it, he'd immediately gone to Drake's father and made a stink. The result was that Drake was no longer allowed to see Virginia, and, although his father proudly patted him on the back when he was drunk and they were alone, in public he sternly derided Drake for straying off the Reservation.

  Drake had gone away to college the next year, and after college he'd joined the BIA and found excuses to confine his visits to the Reservation to holidays twice a year, and of course he'd gone home when his father died. He rarely went to Fire Gorge on those trips home.

  Visiting, what there was
of it, was generally limited to his family coming to see him in Las Vegas.

  Now that he was local, he hoped to spend more time with his folks. His four siblings were establishing themselves, though the youngest, Alberta, was still in high school.

  Uncomfortable as he was within his own skin after his encounter with Mae, he thought it might be calming to visit with his older brother, Buck.

  Buck had a nice house on the Reservation, not too far from the house they grew up in. His wife greeted Drake enthusiastically when he knocked on the front door screen.

  "Drake! Come in, come in! You didn't need to knock. You're welcome here anytime."

  He smiled and hugged her. Jenny was a handful of woman, round and soft and with the sweetest temperament possible. She completely doted on Buck, though Buck protested it half-heartedly.

  Drake hurried forward to shake his brother's hand as he rolled into the wide foyer. As Drake bent down, Buck clapped him on the shoulder. "Little brother! I've been wondering when you were going to drop by again. It's been more than a week."

  "Yeah, well. Life."

  "I can relate. Come sit down. I don't want to be the only one in a chair."

  They laughed. It was an old joke. Buck had been in a wheelchair since age five. He'd been thrown out of the back of their father's pick-up truck as they traveled down a rutted road. Paralysis had been instantaneous. He was lucky not to lose his life. Drake's father never forgave himself, and that was when the heavy drinking began.

  As Drake settled on the comfy leather couch in the family room, a wet-nosed Great Dane ran over to him and barked. It was a friendly bark, followed by snuffling against Drake's hand.

  "No treats for you, Whiskey," Drake told him. The dog huffed. Smiling, Drake scratched between his ears and that got a doggy grin.

  Jenny brought out some sweet tea and served them all glasses. She was about to sit down when she exclaimed, "My cookies!" and ran into the kitchen.

  "Getting forgetful as the baby grows. She's always like this when she's pregnant," Buck explained.

  "I guess after three kids, you ought to see a pattern."

  Buck nodded. They drank a little tea. "So, duck-head, what brings you over today?"

  "Can't just come for a visit?"

  "Yes and no. It's not like you to waste time jawing when there is anything more active to do."

  Drake couldn't disagree. As he was thinking about what to say, how much to reveal, his brother took a guess.

  "You've got woman trouble."

  Even after being apart for so long, Buck could still read him like a dime-store novel. "I guess."

  "Mighty quick, if you ask me.Someone from Fire Gorge, right?"

  Drake nodded, not meeting his brother's eyes. He was embarrassed. Buck knew about Virginia Swet, knew about how Drake came to leave the BIA. An intelligent man, one less driven by his own dick, would have figured out a way to avoid woman trouble by the advanced age of 32. While in college, he'd kept to himself, had a few one-night-stands, but no one was hurt. Those were the kinds of relationships--if you could call them relationships--he should stick to until he really got established in Fire Gorge. Then he could meet some nice Paiute mamaci and make a life.

  In many ways, he envied Buck. Jenny was attractive and loving, sometimes a little bit of a brat, and Buck's three children were smart and full of energy. Buck's accounting practice was always busy. He had a good life.

  "Is it Virginia Swet again? I told you fifteen years ago that that girl was bad news. She only wanted you because you were exotic."

  "Well, I like to think she wanted more of me than that." He held up his hand when Buck opened his mouth. "But I hear you. No, it's not Virginia."

  Buck waited.

  "It's a girl named Mae Weston."

  "Isn't Weston the guy with the used car lot? Cousin Manuel bought a car from that guy and it was purely shit."

  "Yeah, that's the one. And he has already warned Mae to stay away from the Indian cop."

  "Fuckin' bigots. They're everywhere. Even right under your nose."

  "Yeah, well, she isn't staying away very well, and I'm not helping matters. I keep thinking about her."

  "Only thinking?"

  "Well..."

  "Are you sleeping with her?"

  "No." His brother visibly relaxed in his chair. "Not that I don't want to. I want to fuck her so bad my balls ache. But... You read about that robbery attempt?"

  "Yeah, it was front page news in the local rag. Oh, hey, the Westons own the Gas N Gulp, too, right?"

  "Right."

  Buck frowned. "You're about to get hit by a flash flood, brother."

  "Yeah, I know."

  They sipped tea for a minute. "You want my advice?"

  "I think that's why I'm here," Drake admitted.

  "Cut your losses. If no one is the wiser now, keep it that way by getting over it now, before it's too late."

  "I've tried."

  "Try harder."

  Drake sighed. He knew he was obsessed, and he'd managed to keep away from her for much of the week, but then she'd approached him and the insane drive to possess her had overcome his common sense.

  "It's not that one-sided, bro. She isn't particularly coy."

  "Won't take no for an answer?"

  "I made the mistake of whippin' her ass for being willful and now she wants more of the same."

  Buck laughed. Laughed so hard that the dog stopped lounging next to Drake and went over for attention from his master. Wiping tears from his face, Buck finally said, "So you spanked her."

  "Yeah.Twice so far. I'm going to work at making today's event the last one."

  "Today, huh? No wonder you look so worn out."

  Drake muttered. "I can think of better ways to get tired."

  More laughter from his annoying brother.

  "Ha, fuckin' ha."

  Buck's grin was unrepentant. "Did you bring your swim trunks?"

  "In my car."

  "Go put 'em on and take a dip in the pool. That ought to cool you off some."

  Feeling a little better now that he'd shared his problem with someone he trusted, Drake took his brother's advice.

  Chapter Three

  When the fingerprint results came in Drake's email he had to read them three times before the full force of them registered.

  There were three sets in the Chevy. One belonged to Lloyd Canto, age 23, last known residence, Las Vegas. He had a history of petty theft and vandalism. Another set was from Billy Warwick, age 19, from the Paiute reservation. And finally--and this was the set of prints which made Drake's breathing stop--there was a set from Lindy Oldman, age 18, of the Paiute reservation. Drake had known her since she was a baby--she was his cousin.

  He had heard from one of his sisters that Lindy had some issues with depression, but he didn't realize she was in with such bad company.

  As he drove into the central town on the reservation, he thought about the poverty and misery he saw there. The unemployment rate was incredibly high, and education was often seen as optional rather than emphasized as it was in Drake's household growing up. Drug and alcohol abuse was common. It was a huge waste, and led to the depletion of the tribe as people left to find greener pastures. Not everyone on the reservation was destitute or downtrodden, but there were too many who were; far too many.

  He went directly to Billy Warwick's address and was fairly impressed. It was a well-kept, sprawling ranch house. Outbuildings, including a stable and a barn, were prominent features as he drove down the gravel road. A few horses were secured in a corral and a golden retriever hurried over to Drake's police vehicle as he parked.

  The dog wasn't behaving aggressively, so Drake cautiously opened the door. The dog barked once, but its tail wagged a welcome. It was mid-afternoon and the sun was beating down harshly, but the little rancho was calming, even baking in the heat.

  Drake flattened the placket of his uniform shirt, then knocked on the door. It opened in a few moments, as though someone was walki
ng toward it before he knocked. A smiling Paiute woman greeted him kindly.

  "I've come to see Billy, ma'am," Drake told her. "Is he here?"

  "Yes, officer. Won't you come in?"

  She was genteel and graceful, a curvy woman wearing khaki slacks and a yellow polo shirt. Her hair was long, graying a bit, but pulled back neatly into a tail. Once again, Drake was impressed with what he found at the Warwick's home. This didn't seem like the kind of place where a criminally-inclined young person might reside. But then, you never knew. He'd seen some unexpected things over the ten years he'd been a police officer.

  The home was cool and clean, and he could hear the hum of an air conditioner in the background. The dog stayed outside by the door.

  "I'll get Billy for you. Would you like some iced tea or water? It's mighty hot out there."

  "No, thank you, ma'am. I just need Billy's time."

  She smiled and hurried off into the back of the house. A pair of minutes later, a young man preceded her into the living room where Drake waited. He was tall for an Indian, over six feet, but his features were ethnically Paiute.

  "Hi. I'm Billy."

  Drake offered his hand. "Nice to meet you." They shook. "I'm here to ask you a few questions."

  "Okay."

  His mother spoke up. "Why don't you both sit down?"

  Nodding, they sat. Drake in a wing-back chair, and Billy on the over-stuffed couch.

  "I'll leave you to your chat." The woman walked away self-assuredly. It appeared that she had full confidence in her son.

  "Billy, I came across your fingerprints in a disturbing place."

  "My fingerprints?"

  "Yes. They were on a car used in an attempted armed robbery."

  The boy's eyebrows shot up. "I didn't try to rob anybody!"

  "Okay. I'm glad to hear that." Drake was inclined to believe him, but reminded himself that looks could be deceiving. People could be deceiving. "But, nonetheless, your fingerprints were in the car. Do you know Lloyd Canto?"

  "Yeah. He's dead now. I read it in the paper." His gaze was steady. "Oh, that's what this is about. That robbery of the Gas N Gulp in town."

  Drake nodded. "Can you explain how your prints got on that car?"