Girls of Summer

by Vicki Blue

  Brett shut the door behind her. It took her a moment to realize that he was just standing there. She turned.

  “So you needed to take care of something before you took me home?”

  “Yep. And that’s what I’m about to do.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Do you know who called when I was pulling in just now? It was Coach Fuller. He happened to be watching the game and saw a live news brief from the beach..”

  Sunny’s heart sunk.

  “Oh no…”

  “Oh yes,” he continued. “He’s pissed, Sunny. He wants to kick you off the team, revoke your scholarship…”

  Her eyes widened in shock. “Why? Because I almost drowned?”

  “No. Because you’re a role model for younger kids and what you did today is bad PR for the swim team and for the school. And can you blame him, Sunny? I mean, how mature was it for you to run out in the ocean with rip current warnings posted just so you could defy me?”

  “Is this what you think that was about?” she asked.

  “I know that’s what it’s about,” he said. “I saw that little smirk you shot me before you took off. That was a ‘fuck you,’ move if there ever was one. I know you resent listening to me at practice. Ignoring me today was your way of sending me the message that I can’t tell you what to do. And the only reason I’m going to go to bat for you with Coach fuller is because I know you’re better than that.”

  “You’re going to keep me on the team?”

  “Yes,” Brett said. “And Coach Fuller will listen to me. I know you’re better than what you showed me today, which is why I’m going to do this.” He paused. “But it’s going to cost you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What you did can’t go unpunished, Sunny. You’re a smart girl and a talented swimmer. But you’re a brat. And there’s only one way to deal with that.”

  He turned and sat down on the couch. “Come here.”

  “Why?” Sunny got an uneasy feeling.

  “Because I’m going to spank the hell out of you.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “I’m completely sane,” he said. “I come from a big family and you won’t be the first brat I’ve spanked. I’ve got eight younger siblings and lost my dad when I was fourteen. I helped raise my brothers and sisters. Mom couldn’t do it all. Somebody had to be the heavy and it was me. But there’s not a brat in my family thanks to my willingness to apply some old-fashioned discipline.”

  “You’re out of your mind,” she said and walked to the door. “And I’m out of here.”

  “Suit yourself,” Brett said. “But once you leave just know that my argument will swing against you. And I won’t change my mind.”

  Sunny’s hand was on the doorknob, but she couldn’t turn it. Everything he’d said had been true; she had gone into the water just to piss him off. She’s almost drowned. She’d put her safety, the safety of the rescuers and her school’s reputation at risk. She wasn’t a wealthy student; her parents had to struggle to make up what the scholarship didn’t pay. Without it, she’d be forced to leave.

  She began to cry.

  “Look,” she said. “I understand that I need to have consequences. But seriously? Assault? I’m supposed to agree to assault?”

  “It’s not assault. It’s a spanking. And I think you know you deserve it. But it’s your choice. I’m giving you to the count of five. One…”

  “Wait…” She began to pace, her heart pounding.

  “Two..”

  “Just let me think!”

  “Three…when I get to five that’s it.”

  “Brett…!”

  “Four..”

  “All right!” Something about him had Sunny believing that if he got to five it was all over for her. She wiped away a tear. “All right. But you can’t tell anyone.”

  “I don’t plan to,” he said, beckoning her over. “This is going to be just between us. Come here, Sunny.”

  It occurred to Sunny as she walked over that she was still in her bikini. It was a miracle that it had stayed on and now she regretted having chosen this over her one-piece, which provided more coverage.

  “Please…,” she began. “I don’t even have shorts.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’m going to be spanking you on the bare anyway..”

  “What?” she cried, but she was already over his lap and Brett was hooking his fingers in the top of the skimpy bottoms. Sunny protested as he pulled them down, but he ignored her.

  Sunny had never been spanked, and the first smack from Brett’s punishing hand convinced her that she’d made a terrible mistake. Who needed a scholarship? She’d rather go to community college than endure this, and that’s why she told him using some very colorful language as she tried to shield her bare bottom with her hands.

  But Brett did not acknowledge her words - or her distress. He merely caught her hands and continued to spank. It did not take long before the alternating spanks turned her bottom from cool pink to smoking, painful red. Sunny kicked and squirmed and sobbed, going from curses to threats to apologies to open-mouthed bawls when nothing worked.

  She was sure she was going to die before it was over. Her bottom felt like it was throbbing now, the sting from the punishment going well below skin surface. She rocked her hips and kicked her legs, unaware - at least - that her coach was getting a nice view of the shaved pussy between her scissoring legs.

  Brett had always found Sunny attractive, and this wasn’t changing his opinion. Her exercise in defiance had given him the perfect opportunity to confirm for himself what a spankable bottom she had, and to finally teach her some manners. Bonus.

  It was over all too soon for him, but for Sunny the relief of feeling the punishment cease was short-lived as the blistering pain was replaced by a steady, aching throb. Brett held her in his arms and comforted her. His chest was cool and muscular beneath her cheek, and Sunny felt small in his arms. But she felt safe, too. He’s saved her - first from drowning and again from being ejected from the swim team.

  “You won’t tell anyone?” she asked, looking up at him through tear-laden lashes.

  He smiled, eager to kiss her soft lips but suspecting that would come later.

  “Like I said, it’s our little secret.” He paused. “But we’ll always know, won’t we, Sunny?”

  She nodded. No truer words were ever spoken. This was one hazy summer day neither of them would ever forget.

  Cowgirl Up

  I

  It wasn’t like she was expecting Claremont Stables to hire her on the spot, but even so Gigi DeVane had been hoping that she’d be treated respectfully. The stable manager - an uptight looking man in a crisp polo, white breeches and black tall boots - sat behind a desk in the office at the entrance to the main barn.

  Gigi knew what he was thinking. This was a hunter barn, and she had cowgirl written all over her, despite a resume outlining a background with horses that she knew - knew - made her overqualified to serve as a counselor for Claremont’s hoity-toity summer camp.

  She could see Malcolm Darby glancing from her resume to her and back again, as if trying to justify her experience as three-day eventer, instructor and associate trainer with a large barn in Maryland with the woman sitting across from him wearing a pink John Deere T-shirt, blue jeans and cowboy boots. Gigi had decided that if she was going to apply for a job - even a job she needed - she would apply as who she was and not some artificial version of herself.

  She’d already ridden the glitzy route, having boarded at and worked for barns where everyone wore $600 helmets and rode $100,000 warmbloods. She’d hung with the best of them, and smirked down her nose at struggling riders who took their backyard ponies to schooling shows because they couldn’t afford the rated ones. But then her best friend Casey - a promising rider - had lost her father in a car accident. Everyone in the equestrian community that Casey and Gigi hung out with was very supportive, until some distu
rbing facts emerged about Casey’s father. He was deeply in debt and the “accident” was no accident. It had been vehicular suicide, and that determination nullified the life insurance policy that he’d hoped would clear his debts. Casey was forced to drop out of the prestigious riding school she was attending and had to sell her horse. Her mother, grieved over her daughter’s despair, bought her a modest horse and budgeted enough money to board it at a local community stable. Now out of the elite circle of riders, Casey found herself shunned by her former friends. Except for Gigi.

  The experience had soured her to the world of high dollar horses. Gigi had pulled her horse Wingman from the barn despite her parents’ protests and moved him to the community barn where Casey’s new horse, Magnus, was boarded. The two of them began trail riding and hanging out with the group of young people who affectionately called themselves “barn rats.” Some of them showed, but they were all amateurs who supported one another.

  That had been a year ago, six months before Gigi’s family suffered their own upheaval. Her father lost his job, and the stress of the cut in income resulted in the quick dissolution of her parent’s marriage. Her father took up with a much younger woman and turned his back on Gigi and her mother. The days of living worry free were at an end. Gigi decided she needed to get a job. She did not want to crawl back to the show barn where she’d worked and trained before, so when Claremont opened its facility and advertised for a camp counselor, she figured it wouldn’t hurt to apply. But she wanted them to know from the outset that even if she was working among them, she didn’t plan to be one of them.

  “You’ve got a lot of experience,” Malcolm Darby was saying. “You rode locally with Quinby Farms. I checked out that and all your other claims.” He said claims as if he doubted it. “They check out.”

  “Why wouldn’t they?” she asked.

  “Well, it’s just that a rider of your obvious caliber usually chooses a facility that meets all her professional needs. And then there’s your lack of associations. The people over at Quimby said you just moved without explanation, dropped out of sight and that you were at the Essex Community Barn housing Wingman with grade Quarter Horses.” He put down her resume. “Is this true?”

  “It is,” she said.

  He stared at her. He was handsome, Gigi noted, in the way that privileged men of good breeding sometimes are. Tall, muscular, square-jawed and glowing with the kind of health that wealthy people usually take for granted.

  “Look, Mr. Darby,” Gigi said. “If you think my decision to move to a community barn and leave the A Circuit show world is some stain on my character, then you aren’t the kind of person I want to work for. But if you are willing to look past your prejudices about where I keep my horse and where I ride, then you’ll be hiring the most knowledgeable person to walk through these doors, and you know it.”

  “You think highly of yourself,” he said.

  “Why shouldn’t I? I’m a top notch equestrian, no matter where I choose to ride.”

  Malcolm Darby stood and walked over to an oak cabinet in his office. Reaching in he pulled out a polo matching the one he was wearing that bore the Claremont logo. He handed it to Gigi.

  “The job is yours. You won’t be able to dress like Annie Oakley while you’re here,” he said. “I’m assuming you still have decent breeches and tall boots and a helmet. You’ll be expected to wear them, along with a stable polo whenever you’re on the grounds. I don’t know why you left the show world, but I’m thinking that I’m not the only one in this room guilty of prejudices. Leave yours at the door when dealing with the kids who come to this camp or else. Your duties will include instructing, leading camper activities and warming the horses up before your day starts. This way, please.”

  He walked briskly from the room and she followed him into the long aisle way of the barn. Either side was flanked by roomy stalls housing expensive horses.

  “You’ll be working with three horses - Mastermind, Jackson and Big Bart. Camp starts at ten so you’ll need to be here at seven to groom and school the horses to get them in a work frame of mind before the kids get here. They are intermediate riders, but they’re still kids and we don’t like to take chances.”

  Malcolm Darby stopped in front of a stall holding a intelligent looking chestnut.. It was a thoroughbred, about seventeen hands high. It whickered at the barn manager and he patted its neck. Gigi smiled and reached up to scratch the animal on its forehead. It dropped this huge head down and nuzzled her.

  “That’s a good sign,” he said. “Mastermind is picky about who he likes.”

  He looked at her. “You know, if you wanted to bring Wingman here to show the kids I’m sure they’d love to see him. He’s a legend.”

  “Not any more,” she said. “Now he’s just a horse.” Gigi patted the thick gray neck. “That’s what they all are - just horses. Wingman is no more important than any other horse whose owner loves it.”

  She turned and walked ahead of Darby, not looking back. Jackson was the next horse he’d mentioned. He was a dark bay and had the demeanor of a horse that had probably done everything.

  “Let me guess. This one is the schoolmaster,” she said.

  “Good eye,” Darby said. “Jackson is eighteen, although most people are surprised to hear it. He’s packed every student at the farm around at some point. He’s a good man.” But this one….He walked to he next horse, a huge gray draft cross with a thick neck. “Big Bart is strong but he doesn’t realize just how strong. If you point him at a fence you’d better be ready for him to take it because he doesn’t refuse. He takes them big. He’s the horse we use to teach kids not to take horses for granted.”

  “Good man,” Gigi said.

  “The tack is kept here.” He led her to another room, this one large and more worthy of a house than a barn. There was a lounge area with expensive leather furnishings, a wall full of prints of horses at various events and more ribbons than Gigi could count. One wall was lined with saddles. Each horse’s name was above its saddle, blanket, girth and bridle combination.

  “Take Bart out first,” he told Gigi. He’s got the most energy in the morning. Ride him fairly hard and only put him up after he softens and starts seeking contact with the bit. Jump him a couple of rounds and don’t let him rush. If he gets an attitude with you, make him do about ten figure eights. He hates that. He’ll test you because you’re new, but you can handle it.

  “Any questions?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so,” she said.

  “Good, because there’s something else you need to know,” he said, turning to her. “I’m a fair manager, but a strict one. I expect the best out of anyone who comes to work wearing the Claremont logo on his or her chest. I’m always observing and if I’m displeased with you, I won’t keep it to myself. Understand?”

  “Sure, as long as you know that I’m the same way.”

  He looked as if he wanted to say something but instead nodded.

  “I think it will be interesting working with you, Miss DeVane,” he said, extending his hand. “As the ad said, you’ll be paid $24 a hour and will have the option of half-price board if you should decide to move your horse here while in our employ.”

  “He’s fine where he is,” she repeated.

  “Good enough,” he said. See you in the morning.”

  Gigi went out to her pickup, feeling triumphant. But she was also ambivalent. She’d vowed never to move in the upper crust show circles again, and yet here she was. The only difference was the players. Malcolm Darby was as much a snob as anyone she’d encountered, only he was more sure of himself, more officious. She got the distinct impression that he was going to assume she’d defer to him simply because of his rank. He was a mover and a shaker in the show world, having made it to the Olympic trials several times and placing in the World Cup twice. But the definition of what impressed her about a person had changed, and if he though she was going to fawn over him like everyone else at the stable probably did, then he
was in for a surprise.

  She backed away, and caught a glimpse of him standing in the window of the office, watching her drive away.

  “He’s probably making sure I don’t spin out on driveway,” she laughed to herself, but in fact her driving was the last thing on the barn manager’s mind. This young lady was gifted, but she had an attitude problem. Anyone else would have turned her away as soon as she showed up at a hunter barn dressed like she’d just come from a honky tonk bar.

  But Malcolm Darby wasn’t just anyone. He was drawn to Gigi DeVane for the same reason he was drawn to horses so unschooled and wild-eyed that any other trainer instantly rejected him. He recognized talent, and spirit. And he recognized a spirit that could be bent to his will without being broken. He’d decided as soon as Gigi challenged him that she’d be his next project.