“You Brandy Winger?”
“Yes, I am.”
The messenger handed her an envelope and left without saying another word.
She had two minutes until she was due on stage, two minutes to tear open the envelope, two minutes to feel the lump start gnawing in the pit of her stomach again, two minutes for tears to start welling in her eyes.
One of the bartenders didn’t know she was staying sober that night—that Naughton would have anyone’s head that gave the singer a drink. After the second set, with her emotions ready to explode, the unknowing fellow handed her a double scotch on the rocks. She downed in quickly and was about to stash the glass on a stray table in the hall off stage when Naughton suddenly appeared.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“It was just a single.”
He pickup up the larger than normal glass and sniffed. “A single?”
She felt like a little kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “So, it was a double,” she said drearily. “I’m not going on without it. In fact, I may not go on at all.”
“What the fuck’s going on?” he looked down at her concerned.
“It’s just too much, I’m not ready for this.” The more she talked, the more desperate she sounded.
“No, you’re letting something eat at you, now tell me what it is.”
“Nothing’s eating at me, I’m just having a bad night.”
“You were having a great day,” he reminded her.
“Well all that’s changed.” Her voice turned curt.
He’d taken her by the hand but she shook him away, and tried fleeing for her dressing room without him. But following her inside, Naughton closed the door behind them, and gazed down at her with more anger than she’d seen on his face since they first met.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Nothing’s going on,” she said.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Well, it’s true. I’m depressed as hell, and if you put me on stage again, I’ll probably screw up the whole night.”
“That’s no answer, Brandy, and if you don’t tell me what happened between the first and the second sets, I’ll give you some encouragement with my belt.”
“Go right ahead,” she said. “I really don’t care.” She was defiant on the one hand but sinking deeper into the nasty morass of another depression.
“Fine,” he said. “If that’s what you want.”
Brandy watched as Naughton reached for the buckle of his belt. Mesmerized by the move, she saw him undo the clasp and draw the leather from the loops about his waist. Her mind seemed frozen, though her heart was wildly pounding and between her thighs there was a sensational tingle that make her wonder if this wasn’t sexual.
“You care to explain?” he gave her one last chance, but she was silent. “All right then, Brandy Winger, we’ll see if this will get a response.”
Pulling a chair into the center of the room, he thrust her over the back and started to pull up her skirt.
“On my ass?”
“Yes, on your bare ass.”
“Oh, please, no.”
“I’m sorry, your opportunity for begging is over.” The determined man said no more, but bared her bottom with a few swift motions of his hand. Before Brandy could think of another thing to say, she was feeling the leather belt go down on her ass with an intensity so fierce she would have thought that her last night’s spanking was just mere love play. This hurt from the very first strike. The leather connected with her pushed out derriere so she was squirming, hardly able to control herself.
“Naughton, please!” she wailed.
The smacks kept coming.
She cried as much as she dared, but he paid no attention to anything she said. She was afraid to bolt altogether—afraid the leather would cut her harder if she tried to move away, and afraid she’d only make Naughton more furious. But with the pain beyond belief, she was desperate.
“I’m sorry, please,” she cried sincerely. “Please, no more.” She was in utter despair, but Naughton just kept going. Across her behind there was an angry rash of red. Her plump cheeks glowed brightly from the fiery smacks and each new one just added to the hue and the agony. She was sure she’d simply die. “Naughton, please. I can’t take anymore.”
The next smack seemed as fierce as all the others.
“Please, I’ll talk, I’ll tell you anything, please, just stop!”
“You going to tell me the truth?” he asked.
“Yes, yes, I promise, everything. Honest.” She was gasping for breath between the smacks. The sting, the burn, the heat—anything, she’d do anything to get him to stop.
With a few final strikes, Naughton silenced the belt, though he refused to let her stand. With a hand at her back keeping her in the humiliating pose, he demanded answers.
“Why were you drinking?” he asked.
“I told you I was getting depressed.”
“Like the booze is going to help?”
“Sometimes it does.”
“Tell me more.”
She snuffed and tried to think of what to say, but took too long as far as the bar owner was concerned. He laid the belt on her behind again giving her a fresh reminder of her promise.
“A guy …” she started.
“What guy?”
“I don’t know, some process server, I guess. He knocked on the door just before the second set and handed me these legal papers. I didn’t really understand them, but I think Jerry’s suing me.”
“Suing you for what?”
“I don’t know, but it’s just like him. He probably thinks I owe him money.”
“Do you?” Naughton asked.
She hesitated, and felt the belt on her ass before she could manage to answer.
“Yes, I guess, maybe … I don’t know.”
“What else?”
“That’s all.”
“Is it?” He sounded as if he knew the truth.
“Well …”
He laid the belt on her warm behind again and waited for her to come clean.
“I owe taxes, and back salary to my old band, and I don’t have a pot to piss in, and I’m a drunk and unhappy, Jerry left because I’m so miserable and ….”
Naughton finally released his fast hold on her arm and pulled her to her feet.
“You know you have about five minutes until you’re supposed to be on stage ….”
She was in tears and that was all he could say?
“Think you can make it?” he asked.
“You mean the last set?”
“Yeah, the last set.”
“That’s all you can say after I spill my guts, not to mention let you spank my rear?” She rubbed her bottom gingerly, realizing that it felt as strangely wonderful as it had the first time. Perhaps it was more stimulating even if it hurt twice as much for twice as long. Her body was on fire, her bottom practically begging for more and her thoughts about the man at her side were filled with lust. It was ridiculous but a fact she couldn’t help acknowledging. All this and there was not one problem in her vast array that had been solved in the last ten minutes.
“No, that’s not all I can say. I could probably spend all night getting your problems straight, but right now you are either going to do your job, or you’re not. I don’t care what you choose, you just need to make a decision.”
He was so incredibly calm and without judgment. He meant exactly what he said, and that amazed her. Realizing that half her dour mood had once again vanished with the pain of a well-spanked ass, she was ready to sing again. No, nothing had been solved, but she had the feeling she just might climb out of her impossible hell-hole, that is, if Naughton really meant what he said.
“I’ll sing,” she said. “It’ll be good for me.”
“Good,” he said. “And let it shine, Brandy. Remember, you’re a shooting star that needs a place to shine. Give yourself half the chance, I think you’ll find that.”
Brandy sang her lusty blues with her eye on Naughton the whole time. The mellifluous and honey-hued tones of her gentle contralto sent her sad tales straight to the reluctant hearts and the broken ones and the ones just a little melancholy. She was the right kind of singer for a Saturday night in this kind of lonesome town. The crowd in the bar loved her and it seemed Naughton did too. He beamed at her with the same steady grin she was becoming accustomed to. The only real sadness in her heart came from the bittersweet longing she knew could never be satisfied. No, he might show her some sympathy now, a little pity, but he’d never stick around. She just wasn’t that lucky.
One lovely song led to the next, and the next, until she was at the very end of the night, doing three encores for a well-wishing crowd. She’d obviously revived well after all the fireworks an hour before, and she didn’t even mind the soft aching in her bottom.
Moving off stage, Brandy was immediately accosted by the owner of The Cowboy Grill. And when she faced him and their eyes met she trembled nervously. It wasn’t exactly what she planned, but she couldn’t help the surge of unrequited passion sweeping through her. Maybe it was the music … it had to be the music. After all, there’d only been one small shot of booze before Naughton cut her off cold. It must be the music.
“I’ll give you a lift,” he said, taking charge of his moody and despondent singer—even though she looked considerably improved from earlier that evening.
“Thanks, I could use some sleep,” she answered.
“Sleep?” he replied.
Reminded of their earlier conflict she looked chagrined. They had lots to talk about, so it seemed, a talk she’d just as soon avoid. “Oh, sleep, please, Naughton. I’m exhausted. We can talk in the morning.” She peered up at him with pleading eyes.
Seeing the weariness in her expression, Naughton gave in. “You’re right, it’s late. I’ll give you that much,” he conceded. “But in the morning without fail, you’ve got some questions to answer.”
“I promise,” she said, relieved. Gathering her things, the two headed for his truck.
Once on the road, Brandy gazed outside the window as the nighttime countryside zoomed by. A few minutes out they approached the Squaw Creek Motel and to her surprise, Naughton drove right by.
“What’s going on?” she asked. “I thought I was going back to my room?”
“You can stay at my place tonight. It’s a lot more comfortable and I won’t worry about you getting away from me.”
“I’m really that important to you?” she asked, amazed by this unabashed concern.
“Important enough,” he answered her and she was left to wonder one more time.
***
The middle of the night brought instant panic to Brandy’s heart. She woke from a nightmare, sitting up straight in the big downy bed in the guestroom. She felt like a princess when she laid her head on the pillow just a few hours before … Naughton’s great and bold log cabin in the woods, the beautiful bedroom with a yellow, flowered comforter, and a warm glass of milk to soothe her post-performance jitters. She felt more special than she had in months—since long before, when things with her career and Jerry were really going well. By five in the morning, however, there was panic gripping her so fiercely, she could hardly breathe. She couldn’t sleep for fear the awful pictures would return. And here she was with no way to escape, holed up in this out-of-the-way house in the middle of nowhere. If she tried to leave, she’d certainly get lost and … no that was just impossible. In the irrational moments in the middle of another painful night, being in unfamiliar territory was just one more move on the road to utter hysteria.
Trying to get a grip on herself, Brandy rose from bed and paced for a moment, though the close confines of the small room were too much to handle. Tiptoeing into the hall outside, she descended the stairs to the greatroom with the enormous stone fireplace that covered one end. She imagined in the daytime there was quite a view beyond the two-story windows on the adjacent wall. Naughton said the house was perched on the edge of a hill overlooking the river below. What tranquility, what calm. No wonder he was the most peaceful man she’d ever known.
Yet, even with the serenity of his home to soothe her, Brandy was jittery, pacing the floor, tired and scared to death for all the nasty legal complications facing her. What could Naughton do but lend an ear … she certainly couldn’t count on any man to rescue her from a rapid decline. Who was she kidding? This was a fantasy for a night, but only a night.
The bright crystal bottles along Naughton’s wet bar beckoned her like neon signs on a lonely highway. With their first taunting glimmer, she turned her back on the bar. He’d have her ass again for sure, if she gave in. No, not the booze, not this time.
The clock on the mantle chimed the hour, four on the button, a very dreary time of night. She heard the tick tick tick that followed, like the sound of a drum beating, not some gentle marking of time by a hand-crafted timepiece. She hummed to herself trying to get that rhythm from her head, but it wasn’t going anywhere. Then, the bottles in the bar caught her eye again … amber liqueurs, 100 proof scotch, gin, vodka, rum … even wine.
She turned away again, but they made her turn back … the obsession in her was on fire, the fire driving and forceful, heading her in the only direction she could take to tranquilize her agitation.
The most familiar spirit was scotch. Out of the old bottle, the aged amber liquid poured like heated honey, softly settling in the glass. The elixir went down her throat as easily as a cold beer on a hot day, or coke at the beach, or wine at a wedding … yet this, this warm perfumed tonic had the power to suspend her worries. Even if it was just a minute or two, may five, maybe if she was lucky the lift would last a good half hour … but that half hour would be perfect … perfect.
The second drink was easier to take, the third easier still. She might have tried for a fourth, but the bottle was empty. Maybe there was another bottle of scotch, but no, she’d had enough. She was feeling the way she wanted, happily disconnected from everything. Settling in on Naughton’s leather couch, she pulled a thick woolen afghan over her shoulders and fell asleep.
“So, you couldn’t take it all night.” Brandy heard the voice, but it took some time to remember who it belonged to, and where she was, and how she happened to be passed out on a snug leather couch staring up into the eyes of a very determined soul.
She was still a little woozy but that sensation was leaving her quickly as the reality of morning was settling in. She wasn’t sure she liked the expression on Naughton’s face, but she couldn’t be sure.
“I couldn’t sleep,” she said.
“So, you decided to drink?”
“It wasn’t that much.” She pulled up to sitting, while Naughton sat down beside her.
“And you really think that solves anything?”
“It made me happy, and it made me sleep, and that’s all that mattered to me at four o’clock in the morning.”
“What happened between the hot milk and four o’clock?” he asked.
“I don’t know. I really don’t. But I woke in a panic. I guess I had a nightmare, and then everything seemed wrong and I couldn’t sleep, and my mind kept racing. All I could think about was how I’d get out from under all the debt and judgments. Nothing made sense. Maybe it doesn’t make sense when I’m drunk, and it still doesn’t make sense when I’m sober. I guess it seems easier to take when I’m only half here.”
Naughton gazed at her kindly, yes he had that same steady assured presence about him, but he certainly wasn’t angry with her. She expected as much and was surprised by his gentle composure. Taking her hand in his, he ran the other through her messy hair, trying to straighten out the tangles.
“You know, I think I’ve been treating you too hard.”
“Yeah, I do. I think I’ve should have been a lot nicer. All this nasty spanking, maybe I wasn’t communicating what I really wanted to tell you.”
“Really?” Brandy had no idea what he was talking about. “Could you explain?”
“I think more of what you need is love, not threats, not anger, not penance. Perhaps you’ve paid too much of that. Maybe what you need is something gentle.”
“You mean that?” she asked.
“Yeah, I mean that.”
She didn’t know what to think. “And you’re not going to spank me?”
His face brightened hearing her concern. “Oh, I am going to spank you,” he assured her, “but it’s going to be different this time.”
“Different?” She was completely confused, her heart racing and her loins suddenly so taken with lust, she was afraid of giving away her feelings with the next words out of her mouth. What did he want? Why was he talking to her this way? Why was he caring so much?
So awed by his profound strength of spirit, she was like rag-doll in his hands going over his lap. She felt him raise her nightgown over her bottom, baring the skin he’d managed to spank now twice in two days. As she lay reposed so close to him, she thought she could feel his heart beating, and beneath her she knew his sexual passion was as aroused as hers. The first smack of his hand seemed almost gentle, though it was sharp. The next on her other bottom cheek brought the same warm satisfaction as the first. The smacks fell into a loving rhythm, some hard, some soft, some biting, some seeming as sharp as knife … but they were all delivered with compassion that seem to take all the pain away the instant that they landed and the pain turned to warmth.
It was not a quick spanking. Naughton was thorough, even if he was gentle the entire time. There were dozens that added to the mix of tenderness and flames, which seemed for a while to burnish her skin with heat she couldn’t bear, and then seemed to bathe her in an erotic bath of lust. She wanted to cry, there were tears threatening in her eyes. It wasn’t the pain this time that started the weeping, but a feeling of real joy, the first she had in a long time … she couldn’t remember when she had it last. But there was joy and passion and wildness and relief.
Birches, Cowgirls & Angels Page 19