by Lee Savino
Glowering, he strode to her side and lifted the weapon out of her hands. “This is not a toy.”
“I know that,” she snapped. “I wanted to protect myself.”
Her husband’s scowl dropped away. “By shooting me with my own shotgun?”
“How do I know who is at the door? You or some vagabonds come to harm me?” She crossed the room in a huff, sitting at her sewing stool facing the wall. “You were gone, and I was left all alone. Those men came and they could’ve…”
Miles followed and put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
She huffed. “It’s all right for you. You’re in the fields all day, on a horse. You could escape. I’m here all day.” She waved at the cabin.
He turned her to face him. “You don’t feel safe here.”
“Not without you.”
“Have you ever fired a gun before?”
“What?”
“The rifle. Do you know how to use one?”
She shook her head.
“It won’t be easy for you,” he said thoughtfully. “But perhaps I can teach you.”
*****
A few hours and one sore shoulder later, Carrie could fire the gun.
“It’ll take a while to learn to aim. And firing both barrels might be too much for you. But keep to one trigger, and you’ll be able to get off a warning shot,” Miles said.
She brought the gun up as he’d taught her to do, sighted down the barrel and squeezed the trigger.
Miles waved his hat to clear the smoke, then drawled. “Well done, ma’am. That is one dead stump.” He tipped his hat to her. “You’re real frontier woman now. Prettiest shooter in Colorado Territory.”
With a wicked grin, she leveled the gun at him.
Miles didn’t hesitate. In one move, he’d disarmed her and twisted her around, his arm around her. “This is not a game,” he growled. He let her go and she staggered forward without his arm to hold her. Whirling around, she paled as he loomed over her with a furious expression.
“This is not a toy.” He shook the rifle at her, before checking the barrel.
“It wasn’t loaded.”
“You didn’t know that for sure. With a weapon you never act in jest.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not as sorry as you’re gonna be.” He set the rifle down and started towards her.
“Miles, please, not here,” she said, backing away. “The men might come back and see.”
He stopped, considering. “Carrie, come here.”
She did, trembling. She waited for the punishment to come, but instead, he caught her chin and raised it. “You truly are frightened of the strangers.”
“I keep thinking that they might come for me.”
“Can you trust me?” His tawny eyes held her gaze.
In answer, she slipped her arms around his broad chest. Even in the face of discipline, his body gave her comfort.
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he whispered. “You’re too precious.”
She nodded against his shirt, breathing in his wild scent.
“I won’t punish you now. But never jest with a gun again.”
“I won’t, Miles. I promise.”
*****
She was on the porch shucking corn when Miles rode back from the far pasture just before dusk. After the shooting lesson, he’d taken a side of salt beef and some potatoes to their guests.
“Are they still here?” Carrie had a pile of corn ready, but her stores were too low to feed four hungry men.
“They’re gone.” Miles dismounted. “Here.” He handed up a smooth piece of wood carved into a rectangle as long as her arm and a handbreadth wide.
“What’s this?” she asked.
“A gift from the miner. To us.”
“What’s it for?” She lifted the long, carved wood, thick and sturdy, with one side whittled down into a handle.
“It’s a paddle, for punishing wayward wives.”
She almost dropped it. “Why would he give us such a thing?”
Miles’ tawny eyes twinkled. “He saw you were sitting lightly at dinner, and told me it was an easy way to make you mind without wearing out my hand.”
She flushed straight to the roots of her hair.
Grinning, her husband bent and kissed the top of her head before taking Monty to his pen.
When he returned, the first thing he did was pick up the paddle where she left it on the porch. He threaded a thong through the little hole on the handle, and hung it on a nail beside the door. Turning, he saw her watching, and winked at her.
Frowning, she turned back to the fire before she mouthed off and gave him an excuse to use his new toy. It certainly seemed to amuse him.
His grin left when he saw what they had for dinner. She piled high roast corn on his plate. “No meat?”
“You gave it away,” she told him.
He sighed and started on the pile. “I thought you would tell me when our stores were low.”
“I can’t when you’re gone all day with your precious horses,” she snapped. “And then invite strangers to eat us out of house and home.”
Miles regarded her silently and she flushed, knowing her temper was getting away from her. She couldn’t help it though; her anger was growing and she clung to it like a weapon.
“Well then, wife,” Miles said. “What are the things you feel we need to fill our larder?”
“Beef, obviously. Unless this is to your liking.” Picking up her plate, she dumped the contents over his. Corn on the cob rolled over the table, one even falling on the floor.
Miles rose to his feet, but she was already stomping outside to the garden to get more vegetables.
“Carrie.” Her husband called to her from the porch, but she kept going.
Who did he think he was? He said he’d care for her, and then he let men come around and frighten her and gave away their food.
“Stop,” Miles ordered, voice cracking like a whip.
She halted and he walked to her side.
“Now tell me. Why are you so angry?”
“You let them come here and eat our food. We’re all alone out here, already in danger, and you—” She stopped her tirade to scrub away tears. “I feel so afraid out here. All the time.”
“What are you afraid of?”
That he’ll come for me, she wanted to say. He told me he would find me and take me away. But she could only stare at her husband with sorrow-filled eyes.
Miles sighed and clasped her to him. “Sweet wife, when will you learn to trust me? I would never put you in danger, never, never.”
“I know that. I know that, but I’m still afraid.”
“Come back inside.” His hand slipped down and enveloped hers; she felt the thrill at following his strong, confident steps.
Back in the homestead, she saw the disaster on the table, and remembered her surliness. Before she could speak, Miles swung around to face her.
“Don’t ever run from me. If we have a problem, we talk it out.”
She huffed at that.
He nodded. “I should’ve punished you earlier. I’m regretting it now.”
“What?”
“Dress off. Over my lap.”
“Why?” she cried, then clamped her lips shut at his warning look.
Sniffling at the unfairness of it all, she pulled off her dress. He helped her with it and her shift until she stood in her corset and drawers. His large hands pulled her over his knees, then began to knead her bottom.
“You needed this earlier, when I chastised you about the gun. I thought it didn’t warrant a full spanking, and I see my error now. Next time I’ll give you the proper correction so you know you’re forgiven.”
Frowning at the floor, Carrie tensed as her husband’s hands started smacking her bottom lightly.
She grew restless under the warming taps, wondering when the harder strikes would fall.
“This should settle you.” His hand slapped down, hard. “Yo
u will respect me, at all times. Even when you are upset, you will bring the matter to me so we can talk. You will not run from me. And you will always treat me with respect.” He punctuated his words with a hard spanking that went on and on.
Yowling, Carrie kicked her legs. Tears welled up and she forced them down. She would not cry. She would not give him the satisfaction.
But she couldn’t help her harsh gasps, loud enough to be heard over the rhythmic smacks.
Many minutes later, he stopped and helped her up. She glared at him. Her right hand snuck down to rub her aching rump and he tsked her.
“Have you learned your lesson?”
“Yes,” she said in a sulky tone, and leaned down to pick up her dress.
“Wait. Go get the paddle.”
Her mouth dropped open. “What? Why?”
“Are you disobeying me?” Miles’ stern look should’ve had her scurrying for the paddle, but Carrie was too upset.
“It’s not fair!”
“Your attitude is mine to correct. And right now, it’s not to my liking.”
She stamped her foot. “What about when you’re in the wrong? Why am I the only one who’s disciplined?”
Miles lowered his voice instead of raising it. “Because I’m the leader of the house, and you’re acting like a spoiled child. And if I’m ever in the wrong, you can bring the situation to me, and I’ll think it over and apologize. I’m not a tyrant.”
She snorted and he raised an eyebrow.
“The longer you wait, the worse your punishment will be.”
Stomping a little, she got the paddle, and came back and handed it to him.
“Bend over the bed.”
Once she was in position, he pulled her drawers down and inspected her reddened cheeks. He touched her back lightly. “This is going to hurt.”
A hideous pause, and then the paddle came down with a “whap!” that made her yelp and jump forward, almost onto the bed. The wood board left a painful ache that went deep. She’d never felt anything so horrible before.
Of their own volition, her hands slid around to cover her bottom, but Miles caught her wrists.
“You know better than that. Back in position.”
He tapped her bottom lightly before slamming the wood into her smarting backside. This time when the pain blossomed, Carrie couldn’t stop her strangled cry, and tears sprung into her eyes.
“Three more.”
She pulled at her wrists but he held them fast. The next whack broke her vow of silence, and she sobbed out in pain. “It hurts, it hurts.” Her feet danced under her, as if they could avoid the next blow. Miles let go of her wrists and ordered her to stand.
“Lie on your back, on the bed.” She did so, careful to let her bottom hang just off the bed, hoping he’d let her get away with this.
Miles didn’t correct her, but positioned himself at her side. “Legs up,” he said, and she realized she’d given him a perfect target.
With a whimper, she lifted her legs, and he used the drawers bunched at her ankles to hold her legs fast. With his right hand, he tapped her bottom with the paddle.
“Be sure to keep your hands out of the way, so I don’t hit them. If you don’t, I will bind them, and give you four more.”
Carrie’s hands had already been creeping around to protect her bottom, but at his warning, her fingers gripped the blanket instead.
She cried through the next two blows, partly from the deep, throbbing ache, and partly from the humiliating position. When it was done, Miles let go of her legs, but she didn’t dare let them down for fear the weight would go onto her bottom.
“Go to the corner and think on why you were punished. Keep your drawers down.”
She shuffled to her place and put her hands on her head. With her drawers around her ankles, Miles would be able to see his handiwork from anywhere in the room.
Unlike the strap stripes, the stinging ache didn’t fade as quickly. Carrie focused on breathing through the pain.
Her thoughts drifted, lulled by the rhythmic throbbing in her bottom.
Miles was trying to take care of her. Protect her—even from herself. And when she made mistakes, he was always patient and kind. Any man could deal out discipline, but only Miles made her feel loved and protected. Cherished, even.
She sniffed and finally let her head hang down and the tears spill out. Her body shook with deep sobs, but she held her position until she felt Miles at her back. When he turned her, she fell into his arms, holding him tight while he stroked her hair and whispered comforting things to her.
She raised her tear-stained head.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“I know.” His calloused thumb swiped across her face, brushing away her tears.
“I was wrong to challenge you and throw disrespect. I don’t want to be a shrew. Please forgive me.”
“Of course I forgive you.” He gathered her into his arms and settled them both onto the bed. “You’re my sweet Carrie. I knew you couldn’t be sour for long.”
For a moment he rocked her.
“It didn’t help that you ate little yesterday, and no dinner the night before. The bad dream meant you had little sleep. You were tired and hungry, and I need to take better care of you. But I also need you to talk to me.”
She nodded. “Can I still have dinner, then?”
Miles chuckled. “You may, though not corn. The cobs are going to the horses. But I’ll make you some porridge.” He let her down, and then told her to bend over the bed.
She hesitated, paling at the thought of more punishment.
“I just want to check,” he said. When his inspection was done, he pronounced her paddle to be the worst implement he’d used. “You’ll have bruises tomorrow.” He made her stay in position while he got balm and smoothed it over her aching cheeks. After the balm, the throbbing died down, but it still hurt.
“I think you’ve learned your lesson. How do you like your paddle, wife?”
“Not very much, husband.”
“Good.” He leaned down kissed her nose. “I expect you won’t give me much cause to use it.”
He let her lie in bed on her belly while he made a porridge for their dinner. When he brought it to her, she reached for it and he tutted. Instead he made her roll to her side so he could feed her.
Feeling strangely warm all over, Carrie ate the spoonfuls he gave her, quiet and obedient as a babe. While she swallowed, she studied the big man beside her, his hands rough and calloused, and yet so careful as he fed her.
“Full yet?”
“Yes, Miles.”
He set the bowl aside, and used his handkerchief to wipe her mouth.
Raising herself up, she kissed him. All too soon he broke away.
“I think you deserve a night of bed and gruel. No pleasure.” He rose to clear the bowl.
When he came back to bed, she was pouting and he raised a warning eyebrow.
“Yes, sir,” she sighed.
He went around the bed and lay on the other side, pulling her against him. They fit together perfectly. Too well, Carrie thought when her bruised rear bumped against his hardness.
At first she tried to squirm away, but then she had an idea. As she settled in his arms, she made sure her bottom brushed against him several times, feeling satisfaction as his length grew until it was poking her.
She heard him suck in his breath as his arms tightened around her. “Carrie, what are you doing?”
“Does it not feel good?” she asked coyly.
“It does.” He didn’t sound happy. “Continue and you will have another paddling, bruises or no.”
She inched away, and rolled to face him. “Even if I can’t receive pleasure, may I still give it?”
His tawny eyes seemed to burn in the low firelight. “Yes, wife.”
Smiling, Carrie slipped her hands into his small clothes until she felt his firm length in her hand.
“Stroke it.” He pulled off his drawers and showed her h
ow to slide her hand up and down the hard shaft. It grew more into her hand and she studied it with wonder.
“May I kiss it?”
“Yes,” Miles gripped her hair as her head went down, guiding her. “Gently. Always gently.”
She kissed the warm flesh and it jumped against her lips. She looked back up at Miles for instruction.
“Lick it. Use your tongue.”
Her tongue tasted him, then licked all around the throbbing head. Miles’ hand fisted in her hair, just shy of pulling it tight. She didn’t protest as he moved her head around, letting her lick the spots that made him groan and tighten.
“Now put your mouth over me. Careful. No teeth.”
“If I use my teeth, will you paddle me?”
“Oh, yes, Carrie, then carry you out to the stable, truss you up and whip you. You won’t share my bed again for a month.”
Bending her head submissively, she put her mouth around his thick member and sucked lightly.
“Ah, yes.” Miles tugged her hair, pushing her head down a little and then drawing it back up. “You’ll sleep in the stalls, in the hay. I’ll hobble you like a horse and feed you hot mash. And every day, I’ll come with a whip to train you.”
She moaned, feeling her secret parts clench at his fantasy. Her mouth filled with saliva and she let it spill over his flesh, moving her mouth faster as he guided her.
“Yes.” Miles’ voice grew rough and his hips thrust up. He stiffened and pulled her up. Her mouth came off with a pop, just in time for his cum to splash against her face and breasts.
She touched the sticky stuff, bringing it to her lips to taste it. Miles groaned.
“So sweet and so wild,” he said, using his handkerchief to clean her, then lifting his head and kissing her.
She let him pull her into his arms,
He fell asleep quickly, and she lay awake, ignoring the secret parts of her that cried out for release. It made her happy to think that he’d gotten his pleasure, even if she got none.
*****
The next day, Carrie felt like a corked bottle ready to explode. Her secret parts throbbed with need and her aching bottom only made it worse.
At the stream to get water, she undressed and waded in. She didn’t care whether or not she might be seen; she burned so. The cold water stung her nipples to points as she splashed and rubbed herself down to get clean.