Over the Barrel

by Breanna Hayse

  Blair looked at them and forced a smile. "That is very nice of you. I would love to join you. But it may only be for one drink and then I must be leaving. I am expected back home before dinner, and I do not want to cause anyone to worry."

  "Miss …"

  "Don't worry, Madeline. These gentlemen just want some gentle company. They mean no harm, do you?" Blair asked, leveling her gun at his chest.

  "Not at all, ma'am. Now put that toy away before you get hurt," the man touched the barrel with the tip of his finger and pushed it to the side. "You need to learn to use a gun right before you point it at a man, sweetheart."

  "Like this?" Blair pulled the trigger, shattering a sign across the dirt street. She released another round and popped a rail off a hitching post. She returned her weapon to level with his chest, pleased with the Dragoon's response.

  "Don't touch my gun again, understand? I will ask this question one time and one time only. Will you all behave like gentlemen, or must I send a round into something more, um, delicate?" Blair shifted the barrel to point at his crotch.

  The man laughed and raised his hands, "The gal has nerve. Let's buy her a drink!"

  Blair followed them into the saloon, placed the revolver on the bar, and raised the glass of whiskey before downing it in a single gulp. To Madeline's horror, Blair swallowed a second glass and then bought rounds for her five companions.

  "Keep them filled," she told the bartender, slapping coins in his hand. "Keep mine watered," she added with a whisper. "Madeline, go let Skinwalker out of his bridle."

  Madeline wrung her hands. "Miss Blair, how will we get home?"

  "He won't go anywhere as long as I am here. Go on."

  Madeline nodded, releasing a loud squeal as she was smacked on the rump by a man that stood watching the joviality. Blair sat with the group to play poker and tipped glasses with them as they imbibed the potent liquor.

  "You really are a looker, Miss Blair," one man grinned as he wobbled in his chair. "Most lookers end up in the brothel down a ways. Bad place, that is."

  "Why is that?" Blair asked, tapping the table for another card. "I was led to understand that the prostitutes were respected in the territories."

  "By most. Show your hand, ma'am. Damn!" He slammed his cards on the table and downed another glass.

  "Full house. This hand is mine, boys. Another round!" Blair announced, finishing off her drink. "So what is the difficulty with this particular brothel?"

  "Deuce don't like whores. Said they gave him the clap," another man proclaimed. "Took his manhood."

  "That is terrible! Who is Deuce?" Blair asked, tossing her bet into the center of the table.

  "The boss. He runs the longhorns up from Texas. He is meaner than a rattler with a sore tooth. Don't like running much cuz of his condition."

  "I imagine it to be very painful."

  "Yeah, he even went to the Chief to see if the Medicine Man could help him. Old chief laughed," the man slammed down another drink, "said he got what he deserved."

  "That sounds rather cruel. Why would the Chief say that? Hit me," she patted the table for another card.

  "Deuce thinks himself a lady's man. Went after the chief's daughter and was shot in the thigh. He never quite got over that injury—or the insult. Still has that bullet lodged in there. Makes him even meaner when it rains."

  Blair bit her cheek, considering his words. "That poor man. How long has it been?"

  "Dunno, about five or six years, give or take. Why ya ask?"

  "I just feel sorry that the poor dear has suffered for so long. It must be difficult for him to get around during the winter because of the cold."

  "Yeah, he holes up in an open town to rest out the snow. Lead poisoning is also messing with his brain. He's not in good sorts lately."

  "I can't blame him for feeling so terrible. Please forgive my ignorance. What is an open town?"

  "No real lawmen, big saloon, nice bordello. The necessities."

  Before Blair could comment, Madeline tugged her sleeve. "Pardon, Miss, but Mr. Sloan and Mr. Malcolm just road up. Mr. Sloan looks positively livid."

  Madeline's observation barely scratched the surface of the clouds covering Sloan's face as he stared down at Blair.

  "Time to come home," he growled, grabbing her arm and pulling her up from the chair. Several guns clicked and were aimed at him. "Put those away, boys. This is my wife."

  "Maybe the lady doesn't wanna go, cowboy."

  "Boys! Boys!" Malcolm's loud voice echoed through the room. "Put the guns down. The girl is my granddaughter, and this sour-faced chap is her doting husband."

  The men slowly complied, moving aside when Malcolm joined them. "Give them another round on me. Is anyone interested in playing a hand and winning back some coin that my sly little girl pocketed from you?"

  "I'm going to take Blair back to the ranch, Malcolm. Madeline? You will come with me."

  "Leave the woman here, Sloan. I'll take good care of her," Malcolm said with a grin.

  "Yes, sir. I'll hitch your mount to the wagon and Blair can ride Skinwalker."

  "That crazy horse tried to bite me," one of the men stated. "Women shouldn't be allowed to ride a devil like that."

  "I ride as well as I can shoot," Blair stated proudly, straightening her back and walking towards the swinging doors with Sloan gripping tightly to her arm.

  "That's my girl," Malcolm stated. He slapped the table, "Are we gonna play or what? Madeline? You are in charge of coin. If I run out, we leave."

  "Yes, sir, Mr. Malcolm. Miss Blair?"

  "Don't be concerned about your mistress, Madeline," Malcolm said. "She is in good hands."

  Blair stayed silent as Sloan unhitched Skinwalker from the wagon and replaced him with Malcolm's mare. After securing her purchases to the back of the wagon, he handed her a bridle to slip over Skinwalker's head. Sloan's hooded eyes did not once miss the opportunity to make contact with hers, his expression dripping with disapproval of her behavior. She swallowed dryly, wishing that she had indulged in a less diluted amount of liquor.

  "Sloan, I need to tell you something."

  "It will have to wait. Right now, I am madder than hell. What were you thinking, woman?" he snapped as they began to trot in the direction of the ranch.

  "May I answer or are you going to silence me?"

  "I suggest you take that nasty tone out of your voice to start with. You are dangerously close to getting your bottom toasted right here and now."

  "I apologize. Please, allow me to explain."

  "You have until we arrive at the spread. Start talking."

  Blair launched into a description of the events and the story told to her. When she had finished, the only sound between them was the clapping of the horse's hooves upon the dry ground.

  "Sloan? Are you going to spank me?"

  "What do you think?"

  "Well, to start, I must say that …"

  "You deliberately disobeyed me about coming straight home. You deliberately went into the saloon and started drinking. And I taught you to play cards to pass the time on the trail, not to gamble!"

  "I won, though!" Blair said brightly. She sobered up when she saw the sharp look cast at her under the moonlight. "Sloan, please consider my words. It was not my intent to disobey. I did so in order to avoid an incident and perhaps learn something that we needed to know. This man, Deuce, appears to be the one killing those women."

  "It was not for you to be involved in this, Blair. How many times have I warned you about the men in these parts?"

  "I did what I thought was best," Blair said quietly, her heart pounding as the amber lights of the ranch house came into view.

  "I will also do what I think is best. I will not have you disobeying me and putting your life in danger. I love you too much to ignore foolish choices."

  "What was I to do?" Blair's voice became more frantic the closer they came to their destination. "I could not have just pushed past them, could I?"

  Sloan pull
ed up on the reins. "What did I tell you about firing a gun?"

  "That it is a means of protection or food."

  "What else?" His voice was low and gravelly.

  Blair winced, "That is it not a toy to show off with and that if I ever draw it in the presence of men, be prepared to use it to kill."

  "And?"

  "They had to see that I was not afraid of using it, and that I could actually hit something!"

  "You opened yourself up to be killed. You are never to draw a gun in public!" he hissed, unhitching the horse and walking her to the corral to hand her off to the stable boy.

  "Don't raise your voice to me, Sloan Adkins!"

  "You have not heard me raise my voice, little girl. Get off that horse and march your bottom right into the house, Blair."

  "Please …"

  "Go to our room and strip every stitch of clothing from your body. You may sponge off the dirt from your ride, but I want you with your nose in a corner as soon as you are done."

  "I am not going to stand in a corner like a child!" Blair stomped her foot.

  "Remember the strapping you got over the barrel for drinking at the saloon before? It is nothing to what you are going to feel on that lovely little bottom this evening. Go."

  Blair swore as she kicked the corral post. "This is unfair!"

  "Blair Lorraine, I am very close to putting you over this fence, lifting yours skirts to bare your bottom, and then turn it into the color of burning coals right now. Defy me further and it will be done. I don't care who is here to witness it, either."

  Blair felt the burning in her cheeks as she glanced at the stunned stable boy. Sloan stepped up before her and cupped her face between his warm, calloused hands.

  "Mind me like a good girl," he said quietly, kissing her forehead. "Please, don't make this worse on yourself."

  Blair lowered her eyes, nodded, and turned to obey.

  Chapter 14

  Blair felt the trembling in her knees as she ascended the staircase and entered the bathing area. Quickly, she pumped water into the copper tub, stripped off her clothing, and stepped in to wash away the dirt and grime that had attached itself to her during the ride. She wrapped a towel around her body, grateful that the house was empty but for old Carlos snoozing in a chair in the study.

  She opened the door to her bedroom and gulped audibly. A water barrel, laid upon its side, was propped with one end against the foot of the bed and anchored in place with iron wedges. Hanging over the top was a wide razor strop. She picked it up and turned it over in her quaking hands. The well-oiled, thick, heavy leather was smooth after years of sharpening straight razors, and the length was at least the stretch of a man's arm. She had no doubt this 'gift' was from her grandfather, heightening her embarrassment and humiliation. She timidly laid it back in place, draped her towel over the edge of the bed, and proceeded to the only bare corner of the room.

  Despite the late summer warmth, she shivered as she waited for the telltale sound of Sloan's boots. Minutes ticked by before the heavy stomp of his heels against the wood steps caught her attention. He entered the room and tossed her purchases upon the bed.

  "I am going to wash off. Put your belly across this barrel and make certain your bare backside is poking high in the air. I want your hands holding the boot scraper." He placed his pocket watch on the floor next to the barrel. "You have until ten minutes after nine to get yourself comfortable. We are going to be here for a while." He pulled off his soiled shirt, turned on his heels, and left the room.

  Blair felt weak as she obeyed. She removed the strap from the barrel and folded it over the back of a chair. She then placed her damp towel over the rough wood to protect her delicate skin and bent over the severe arc. Wiggling to find a comfortable position for her pelvis, Blair was chagrined to find that she had thrust her bottom higher into the air than she had planned. She then wrapped her fingers around the horns of the cast iron boot scraper to steady herself and keep the blood from rushing to her head.

  The pocket watch ticking before her eyes was torment. She watched the second hand move slowly into position and held her breath, dreading Sloan's promptness. She looked up as he reentered the room, cleanly bathed and shaved smooth. He had simply wrapped a towel around his waist and remained stockingless.

  "Where is your nightshirt?" Blair asked nervously.

  "I do not wish to wear one right now. I need to be able to move freely if I am to punish you adequately."

  "Sloan, I beg your forgiveness and your mercy. Please, do not beat me," Blair pleaded.

  Sloan ran his hand over her silky flesh and smacked one cheek sharply. "I do not beat you, I discipline you. This bottom," he landed a smart smack upon her, bringing up color from pale white to a flushed pink, "will pay the price of your disobedience."

  He lifted the razor strop from the chair and balanced it in his hands. "Your grandfather commented that my beard gave me an unkempt appearance and felt it was due to having a dull razor. He donated this strop after making a statement that ladies did not enjoy having their fragile skin scratched by prickly facial hair. As I was sharpening my razor, I realized what a wonderful device this would be if I needed to punish you. I did not expect it to be used so quickly."

  "I feel you are unfair and cruel, Sloan Adkins. I will not give you the satisfaction of seeing my tears, no matter how hard you beat me."

  "You stubborn, stubborn girl. I am not going to beat you. That would require I not care for you or the lesson that needs to be taught. I wish you would try to understand that. No matter …." Sloan moved to the end of the barrel and to Blair's left side. He raised the strop over his shoulder, and without warning, sent it snapping against her snowy mounds. Blair struggled to detach herself and not show any reaction but knew it was only a matter of time, and a few more licks, before she broke. He swung the strap again, leaving a road of red welts upon her quivering bottom. Her knuckles whitened as she clutched the unyielding metal scraper in an effort to maintain her composure. A muffled sob, buried in the flesh of her right arm, crept into his hearing. He aimed the strap for the undercurve of her bottom—the delicate creases that were guaranteed to touch the hard leather of a saddle. Blair yelped, lifting her head and arching her back in protest.

  Sloan waited until she returned to her position, tapping his foot impatiently as she lowered her chest to rest against the curve of the barrel. Once she grabbed the boot scraper, he cracked the strap against the same tender spot twice more, paused, and struck again. A deep red stripe blazed angrily.

  Sloan rested his hand upon it and bent over her back to whisper in her ear. "Do you still refuse to give me the satisfaction of seeing your tears?" Blair did not answer, turning her head so that he could not witness the wetness upon her face. He sighed sadly. "Stubborn. Very well, have it your way."

  Blair's eyes flew open as the leather smacked soundly across her upper thighs. "Enough! You win!" she relented in a flood of tears.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't hear you." When she did not reply, Sloan released an audible sigh and landed the strap once again across her sit spots.

  "No more!" Blair released her right hand from the scraper and attempted to protect her throbbing bottom.

  "Remove your hand, Blair. We are not done here."

  "I'm begging you," Blair wept, slowly bringing her hand back to grab the cold, iron handle. Her crying grew louder as she twisted and rocked, desperately trying to force him to miss the spots that had already tasted the bite of the strap.

  Sloan paused after three more lashes and walked in front of her. He squatted and placed his finger upon her chin to raise it. She blinked at him through wet, red-rimmed eyes, trying frantically to catch her breath.

  "I love you. Because I love you, I will do whatever is needed to keep you from harm. Since I cannot lock you in a cage and protect you, I have to trust you to make wise decisions when you are out of my sight. This is a punishment, Blair. I am the one who decides when you have had enough. Is that clear?"

 
"Yes, Sloan," Blair sniveled. "I'm sorry."

  "Good," he kissed the space between her eyes. "You may come off the barrel, but we are not finished. I want you to place your hands on the chair and bring your bottom up again, please."

  "I'm begging you, no more!"

  "You wanted to make your point. Now I am making mine. You will obey me for your own good."

  Instead of the razor strop, Sloan used his hand to even out the color of her bottom, turning it to a shiny, cherry red. Blair's fingers gripped the edges of the chair as her tears pooled in the center of the wood under her face. The spanks slowed and lessened in intensity, yet Blair's howling grew.

  "The corner, Blair. No rubbing," Sloan said softly, helping her to stand. He brushed his lips across hers and led her to the spot. "Stay here until I release you."

  "I never want to speak to you again," she whimpered.

  "Yes, I know. Every time you do something that warrants punishment, you get angry with me. I am becoming used to it," he said, his hand running over her shoulder. "One day, you will understand, and this anger will disappear."

  "I doubt it. You are an arrogant, self-righteous …"

  "Isn't your bottom sore enough that you don't want to risk another spanking for being disrespectful?" Blair snapped her mouth closed, leaning her forehead to the wall. "That's better. I am going to get a bite to eat and will be back soon. I expect to see you in this spot and ready to change some of your disposition by the time I return."

  Blair turned her shoulder to him, her fists pulled to her chin as she leaned against the wall. Her bottom burned worse than she could remember. How could he have been so cruel? Her sobbing renewed as she reflected upon the unfairness of her situation.

  By the time her lamentation had turned to hiccups, Sloan had returned. With him was a tray of food and cool lemonade. He placed the tray on the dressing table and sat on the edge of the bed.

  "Come here, Blair." His voice was mournful.

  "I don't wish to hug you," she susurrated through her hiccups.

  "I don't care, baby; I want to hold you. Come now," Sloan ordered softly. "Obey me."

  Blair trudged begrudgingly to stand in front him. She felt self-conscious in her nakedness and wanted to hide from his watchful eyes. Sloan spread his knees and pulled her to stand between them.