“I just might,” he said, and I shuddered at the thought.
For a long time that night, I drove around. Not that I actually enjoyed sitting on my sore ass, but I couldn’t imagine how I felt, or should feel after being so humiliated. I needed time to think. One side of me was blatantly aroused, that was certain. I think if Rys had taken me into Whitcomb’s bedroom just after he finished, I would have made love in a heartbeat, despite how angry I was. But with a little distance between me and that horror, all I could dredge up in that hour’s drive was my great anger. Rys Montgomery would not hear the last of this, not in a long time, I was sure of that.
By the time I pulled up to the house, Rys was already there. And when I got inside, there he was waiting up for me, looking as righteous and arrogant as he had at Whitcomb’s.
“Where’ve you been?” he asked, his tone accusatory.
“Around.”
“Around where?”
“I drove around,” I spewed out sassily. “Anything to stay away from you.”
He raised his eyebrows, apparently not upset by my remark.
“I’ve never been so humiliated in my life,” I went on. “To think that my own husband would put me through that ordeal. It’s one thing to spank me in private, but before all those people. I should leave you right now, or kick you out, or …”
“Have you said enough?” he interrupted me.
“No, I haven’t said enough. If you think I’m going to sleep with you, you’d better think again. Don’t you try coming to bed, because I will cry rape and daddy’ll be on you with his shotgun before you can stop him.”
“You’re making a big mistake, Blair,” Rys warned.
“I don’t really care what you think.”
I could have said a lot more, but instead, I stormed up the stairway and slammed the bedroom door behind me, despite the fact that it was after one a.m. and I might easily have roused my father from sleep. I think secretly I hoped for that to happen. Let Rys explain why we were fighting, it would be an interesting conversation.
In the morning, I had another shock. When I finally came downstairs, timed purposely so I’d find myself alone in the kitchen, I discovered both my daddy and Rys still sitting drinking coffee. They rarely talked and this conversation looked suspicious, though they continued with their remarks about the next group of horses that need to be worked. It seemed, contrary to my first impression, they weren’t talking about me at all.
Helping myself to a cup of coffee, I then grabbed a piece of bread to make some toast.
“So, what was all that commotion going on last night? You two were enough to wake the dead, let alone keep an old man from sleep.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” I started to soothe him, but Rys chimed in.
“Your daughter and I were having a fight,” he said.
“You don’t have to tell him,” I said, looking at him peeved.
“No, I don’t have to,” he replied. “But I think I will, since it’s likely there will be gossip.” I didn’t need him to remind me, and the pain in my ass started in again just hearing him say so. “Fact was, Mr. Trabor, I spanked your daughter’s ass in front of my poker buddies. She barged in on a card game, ordered me home like a jealous shrew and then insulted my friends. She wouldn’t apologize and she wouldn’t leave unless she had my balls in a vice grip. I’m not going to put up with that behavior in any woman, especially my wife.”
My father looked from Rys to me and then back again, certainly stunned by the announcement, but he remained quite calm. “Good for you, boy,” he finally said. “Keep that up you might actually tame that brat.” Ambling from his chair, daddy left the kitchen, with me standing shocked, staring at the door, my toast starting burn. Rys eyed me, knowing he’d won round two.
My angered brewed all day. Rys was smart enough to stay away from me, and I certainly kept my distance from him. At lunch we barely talked. Then at dinner, there was only a stilted conversation. While we ate, no one really paid any mind to my icy silence. Daddy, Rys, and a fellow rancher eating dinner with us had a lively conversation about an upcoming horse auction. I kept quiet, quietly nurturing my revenge.
As we were about to go to bed that night, Rys slipped into the bedroom while I was still in the bath and I could hardly order him out of the room, even though that’s exactly what I wanted to do. When it was time for sleep, I climbed in bed and turned a cold shoulder to my husband’s affectionate overtures.
“Don’t you think it’s time to mend the fences?” he asked me.
“No,” I stated flatly.
“So, you’re going to hold on to your anger?” he wondered.
“As long as I can.”
“Hummm,” he was considering his next comment. “I suppose two can play this game, Blair,” he finally said, and without another word, he rolled over to his side of the bed and fell asleep. I remained awake for a long time, wishing I hadn’t put another wedge between us. I had the feeling that I’d started something that wasn’t going to have a pretty end.
Rys bided his time. For two days, he let me stew in my anger and my revenge in bed. On the third day, about lunch time, he asked me to come to the stable. He said he wanted my advice on a new colt that arrived that morning. When I reached the stable, I searched for Rys in the paddocks, but not seeing him there, I looked for him in the stable office, finding him casually waiting for me to appear. He was sitting in his chair, leaning back, one ankle resting on his knee, his hands behind his head.
“Where’s the colt?” I asked.
“The colt’s taken care of.”
“So, why am I here?” There was a little defiance in my voice, but also a lot of fear, I’m sure Rys heard.
“So I can take care of you.” He changed positions, leaning forward.
“Oh,” I ventured carefully.
“I’ve had enough of your cold shoulder and your sharp retorts. I didn’t get married to be treated this way. We’re going to get it taken care of once and for all time.”
“Really?” I quipped.
“Yes, really.” He stared up at me with intense eyes. “Blair, you are the most beautiful, sexy, spirited woman I know. Not to mention, the best damned horsewoman I’ve ever seen—even if you sometimes scare the shit out of me. You know I almost gave up my poker game for you, until you came barging in the other night?”
I looked at him completely stunned.
“But let’s get one thing straight. You’re married to me, I’m your husband, and there can be only one person in charge in this relationship. That’s going to be me. You can cry and whimper and rant and rave all you want, but that’s the way it is. Not only will you mind my wishes, you’ll be cheerful about it, and you’ll be the lusty little vixen in bed that we both know you are. From now on, Mrs. Montgomery, you’re not going to disobey me, or get suspicious, or coming running after me for no reason, or get yourself all worked up because something upsets you. If you’ve got a problem, we’ll talk like rational human beings. But don’t try to blackmail me, or hold sex over my head, or anything that smacks of revenge. I’ve had enough. This is the last time, never again, ever. You understand?”
“Yes, sir,” I gulped as I spoke. The oddest feeling came over me, one of being harnessed and scolded and loved and reprimanded all in the same breath. My whole body was racing wildly with delight and shame and fear and love. I was so topsy-turvy I really had no words to speak at all. Though, I suspect that words weren’t really important.
“Now, turn around,” he ordered.
I did as I was told, though I was initially stunned by the command. With my ass to him, I waited for him to speak again.
“Take down your jeans.”
Ah, I knew then what was going to happen, and I cringed both with sexual desire and mortal dread. Of course, he’d spank my ass. I certainly deserved it for my silly behavior—it all seemed silly now even if it didn’t an hour before. Obeying him, I undid my pants, pushed my jeans to my knees and waited for his next instruction.<
br />
“You’re going to get the paddling of your life,” he informed me. “Now grab that stool and lean over. And you’d better hold on for dear life because this one’s going to hurt.” I heard Rys rise to his feet, his boots shuffle on the wooden floor. Doing as ordered, I pulled the thigh high stool close to me and leaned over the top, letting my tummy rest on the seat, so my bottom was pushed out for him to spank. Conveniently, with my pants still around my calves, my feet wouldn’t be flailing away this time, and with Rys’s next demand, neither would my arms.
“Grab the forward legs,” he said and I hastily complied.
Looking back over my shoulder, I’m sure I gave out a worried gasp, seeing that he held an old school paddle in his manly grasp. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his shirt so his tanned forearms showed beneath. At the sight of them, I could hardly watch the way that picture made me shudder; and yet I was held spellbound by the awesome strength of purpose that seemed to flow from him at that moment.
“This is gonna hurt like hell, Blair. But I’d suggest you keep your cries to a minimum unless you want an audience again. Besides, screaming and wailing are not going to do any good. I’m going to give you a full thirty licks of the paddle, not one less.”
I winced hearing the sentence passed, but at least there was an end that I could see, even if it seemed a long way off.
When Rys reared back, I closed my eyes. I couldn’t look as much as I was tempted to. And when the first strike landed I knew I was in for a wicked ride. More than the leather belt and far more than the palm of his hand, this was going to hurt like crazy and I’d be crying inside, if not on the outside, after just a few smart whacks.
The paddle landed hitting me squarely on both of my ass cheeks. I gritted my teeth, the first strike never as painful as the ones to follow. He laid into me with three sharp ones right in a row all in the same place. Just three and the sting was grueling. I wanted to cry out, but I locked my teeth tight, a seething gasp my only reply. The intensity made me grasp the rungs of the stool even harder, as if somehow I could pour a little pain into that lifeless object.
The next four or five strikes were quick and sharp and perhaps not as intense as the others had been. But then I couldn’t tell, since Rys was giving me a thorough going over, making sure that I’d feel the sweltering heat of the paddle in every place possible. He went on, returning to the middle of my ass where the first strikes had hit, laying the paddle on the two sore spots at least a dozen times before he stopped. This I couldn’t take, and after six or so, I let out a nasty howl. Immediately swallowing my next cry, I held on, but only by a thread. This was the worst pain I’d ever felt in my life, and I was about to scream. Audience or not, I had to reply.
“Please, stop …” I finally wailed when that screaming dozen was over. My voice was hushed but the intent of my plea was no less real for my attempts to keep quiet.
Thankfully, Rys did pause a moment, perhaps to catch his own breath.
“Think about this, brat,” he started in with the lecture again, “you’ll think about it next time you’re tempted to get sassy and try to control me.” Oh, I’m sure I would I thought to myself. Never, never would this happen again. Maybe a good hand spanking, that was almost erotic. But not this. No, never the paddle again.
When Rys picked up where he left off, he started low, smacking the school paddle against the tops of my thighs. The skin screamed with pain, as one, two, three, then four smacks landed. Every moment was agony, as with every instant a fresh new bite burst through my system. I could imagine my ass was flaming red, it felt so vilely hot. Five, six, seven, eight, my only hope was that the magic thirty was almost there. Tears were streaming down my cheeks and I didn’t care how much noise I made. Nine, ten, eleven, twelve and a final smack ripped a whole new wave of terror on my behind, leaving me with a sting that seemed to go on endlessly.
Finished, Rys backed away, waiting for me to recover, while I felt the burning sting change into warmth, and the warmth into a glow that, terrible as it was, still had an erotic feel.
For a time, my husband placed his palm on my hot ass, gently massaging the wounded orbs.
“Have you got things straight, Blair Montgomery?” he asked me.
“Yes, sir,” I replied.
“No more fits of rage? No more revenge? No more testy attitude? No more distrust.” He seemed especially annoyed when he made that remark, and the palm of his hand whacked my ass, just as a reminder.
“No, sir.”
“And I’m in charge, it that clear?” he asked.
“Yes, absolutely,” I made sure he had no doubt.
“Well, then,” he said, as he began to help me to my feet, “get upstairs, I’m coming up to have sex, and you’d better be sweet-smelling and sweet-tongued or I’ll march you right down here and we’ll start over with another thirty. Is that clear.?”
Clear as glass. Three days without the raucous sex I enjoyed, and I was practically orgasmic feeling the sensations in my heated bottom. “Yes, sir,” I replied immediately.
And then as if he still wasn’t sure I understood, he leveled me with his cold, stern stare and added, “If you ever try this revenge stunt again, you’ll have your ass bared and your bottom blistered so fast you won’t know what happened. There’s only so much I’ll take from a high-strung wife, and this is not something I’ll tolerate again. Unless, of course, you want me running off to the town whore to get my jollies.”
“No!” I practically shrieked. I jumped back in horror as he pulled my jeans around my aching ass.
He smiled, seeing my alarm.
“Then get going,” he blared. That commanding order rushed through me with a wave of excitement that practically made me strip down right in front of him, but of course I’d been ordered to the bedroom.
As horny as I was, I hardly noticed the luring grins of several stable hands that watched my retreating form. I’m sure they’d heard just about everything that took place, but I really didn’t care at that moment. I was on orders from my husband, and I wasn’t about to deny him a thing.
We spent the afternoon in bed, Rys handily in charge. The heat and exhilaration of being back with him, riding his lovely cock to three wicked climaxes, only seemed to punctuate my great need for him, and indeed, my need to be conquered by this wonderfully arrogant bastard—my husband. The sassy bitch I’d been for so many years finally found some satisfaction, and though it seemed so completely absurd, I just couldn’t argue with the remarkable feelings.
Rys has been the lord and master of this ranch ever since those incidents early in our marriage. When my daddy died suddenly in a freak riding accident the next year, I inherited his entire estate. And yet, it was infinitely clear who would be the boss—a job I happily handed to my husband.
I guess that I never realized how deeply I needed to be conquered and how much Rys was perfect for that job, how much of an old-fashioned girl I really am. I still break horses for a living and I’m still the mistress of an enormous ranch, but I willingly defer control to my husband. And yes, I still get my butt spanked regularly, because I can still be sassy and defiant. But as long as Rys comes out on top in all our battles, I’m contented. It’s the way things are and should be between us. I thank God that Rys figured that out so soon in our marriage, because I’m sure it’s saved us a whole lot of grief.
Even as I tell this, I’m sitting on my behind nursing two sore cheeks. I was just a little too sassy with Rys this morning, and he unfurled his leather belt on my naked rear right in front of two ranch hands. That doesn’t happen often, but it’s something I can count on when I get “out of hand.” I’d be wise to remember it too. I’ve been assured by my husband, that there’s no place or circumstance too sacred that he won’t bare my behind and give me a good wallop to turn me into the compliant wife he expects.
Shooting Star
Naughton stretched his denim-covered legs, pulling himself from the barstool and rising to his boot-clad feet. A little dust kicked u
p as he moved, but no one seemed to mind. The Cowboy Grill was closing for the night—it had been a long one. This misbegotten town lived Friday nights long and lazily, a little blues and a little country dancing, a lot of beer and a lot of liquor sliding down the throats of its crowd, slowly lulling them to sleep. The lucky ones got sex before they slumbered, but these were languid fucks that sometimes didn’t finish with much of a bang. Naughton seemed above these moods that dulled the senses and depressed the heart. His smile was always broad and kind, and his eyes were always the same sharp sky blue clear. Despite the fact that he drank his share of the Grill’s Southern Comfort, he always looked sober and he never acted drunk. Some women came to rely on Naughton’s sobriety and generosity when, by closing time, they were too drunk to make it home alone. Naughton never made any judgments of moral character, but then too, he never slept with drunks.
Same old guy from day to day, he was steady, unremarkable on first glance, and yet he had that kind of quiet verve that set women on edge. They’d remember him long after their first meeting, not really knowing why. Those initial impressions could be dangerous though, a bit of tender subterfuge. It was what he did to women after they were distracted by his easy-going nature that never left their souls once he got “under their skin”.
Brandy Winger had finished her last set, and polished off a fifth of gin as easily. She had her guitar case in hand, trying to bat away a lock of her caramel-colored satin hair. It still shown softly in the dim lights, looking like the mane of a well-brushed pony, moving gracefully around her face even as she tried an ungraceful exit from the bar.
“I’ll take you home, Brandy,” Naughton suggested reaching for her faltering arm.
“That’s okay. I’m walking,” she answered. “I promise you, I can’t kill people with this guitar case.”
His laugh was easygoing, and he took the guitar case from her hand in spite of what she said. And with his firm hand guiding her through the door, they made their way to the pale green pick-up truck where he helped the boozy singer climb inside.
Birches, Cowgirls & Angels Page 17