Swept Off Her Feet (Swift Justice)

by Dinah McLeod

  “Put your bottom in the air, Mags.”

  “Oh, please don’t call me that,” I begged as I followed his instruction. “I can’t hear that, now. Not when you’re about to…”

  “What better time, darlin’? I need you to know I love you, always. I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t.”

  “I know.”

  I tried not to watch, but I couldn’t help but stare as he walked to the wall and removed the strap. It was long and thick; thicker, I thought, than the one my father had, but then, it had been some years since it had seen any use. Perhaps I was mistaken. I arched my back, pushing my bottom out, and waited for the first stripe to land on my bottom. When it did not come, I turned my head to look at Clay. Perhaps he had relented?

  One look at his face, and I could see that he had not. “Why are you getting’ this whippin’, Maggie?”

  “Because I went out unescorted after you told me not to,” I replied, having rehearsed my reply many times before.

  “Why is it important that you listen to me?”

  It was a question I hadn’t been expecting, and I took a few moments to think it over. “Because you’re my husband, and you have my best interests at heart.”

  “Exactly, darlin’. Got it on the first try. I ‘spect I won’t have to repeat this lesson any time soon, will I, darlin’?”

  “I’ve learned it so well already,” I told him.

  Clay chuckled. “I was more thinking of the fact that I intend to make it a good lesson.”

  I groaned. “Might I have a pillow, please?”

  Clay answered my subdued request by reaching over and grabbing one. The moment he offered it to me, I buried my face into the goose down. Long before I was ready, I heard the strap whistling through the air. It landed on my bottom with a loud smack that had me squeezing my pillow. Clay delivered each swing of the strap about thirty seconds apart—just long enough for me to feel the welt rise, stinging, onto my bottom before he made another one.

  I quickly lost count, thinking of nothing but the strap’s mean bite and my poor, tender flesh, which was aching horribly. I started sobbing into my pillow, clasping my hands so that I wouldn’t be tempted to reach back and delay my whipping—I wanted it to be over with as quickly as possible. I was already having a hard enough time keeping my feet on the ground, instead of lifting them to protect my bottom from his aim.

  I begged until my throat was clogged with tears; still, it went on until my pleas became unintelligible cries for mercy. I cried until I didn’t have a single tear left, and still, the strap delivered swift, stinging strokes to my bottom.

  “Almost done, Maggie.” It was the first thing Clay had said since the ordeal had begun, and hearing his voice produced fresh tears that I didn’t know I had.

  The next stripe was made on my tender thighs and had me screaming in pain. Yet another joined it, and then another. I was sure my brothers were looking up from whatever they were doing right now, ears turned toward the sound of my screams. With the next lash, I fell forward on the bed, well and truly spent.

  Thankfully, Clay threw the horrid piece of leather to the ground and joined me on the bed. I could tell he was taking extra pains to be careful, and yet, I still winced with every movement of the bed, no matter how small. I felt myself being lifted—still face down—into his strong, comforting arms. With loving fingers, he caressed my face, wiping it free of tears.

  “Are you OK, darlin’?”

  “I think so,” I said, but the effort it took to speak made me wince.

  “They won’t always be like that,” he assured me. “While I’m sure you’ll earn your fair share of spankins’, and maybe even another whippin’ or two, I pray to God you never give me cause for it to be like that again.”

  I nodded my agreement, pressing myself into him, hiding my face from him as I sniffled. Even though my punishment had finally ended, my bottom seemed to sting and ache more than ever. It was the most uncomfortable I could ever remember feeling, and the thought of a “wedding night” was almost unbearable.

  “You want something cold to drink?”

  “Yes, thank you,” I whispered, gratefully.

  “Sorry, darlin’,” he said before shifting his weight and getting off the bed. I bit down on my lip, but all I succeeded in doing was muffling my cries. “I’m gonna get something for your bottom, too. Be right back.”

  The concern I’d seen in his face made me wonder just how bad it could be. Pretty darn bad if it looked anything like it felt. In all the times I’d daydreamed of what it would be like to be married, a hard whippin’ had never been a part of those imaginings. I felt, rather than saw, Clay sit down on the bed beside me.

  “Shh,” he said when a whimper escaped me. “I brought something that will help.”

  When I felt the cool liquid hit my bottom, I sighed in relief. “What is that?”

  “Not sure, Mags. Just know my ma used it to treat burns, and I’ll get some more, if need be.”

  “That could get costly. What do you say we just burn the strap instead?”

  Clay chuckled. “Was that your first jest as a married woman?”

  I realized with a start that was exactly what I was—a married woman! My mama had always said the day would come—I only wished she’d lived to see it. For the first time since she’d passed, thinking of her didn’t make me feel sad; instead, I felt myself smiling at the sound of my husband’s laughter.

  * * *

  Maggie

  Clayborn, every bit the gentleman, did not insist on taking his marital rights that night and put me to bed on my belly before tucking me in. It had been a long time since I had been so well cared for. I sighed as the crisp linen fell around me, followed by the quilt.

  “Join me,” I suggested warmly, right before I yawned.

  He chuckled at me but shook his head. “There’s a lot to do still. I won’t be long.”

  Clay was hardly out of the room before I shut my eyes, and I didn’t open them again until morning, so I never knew how long he’d been away. When I awoke, I peered at the unfamiliar room badly in need of a woman’s feminine touch. I smiled at the reminder that it was mine to do with as I wished.

  “Mornin’,” Clay said, coming out of the bathroom.

  I smiled shyly at him, watching as he buttoned his blue collared shirt. “Good morning.”

  “Did you sleep well, darlin’?” He joined me on the bed, patting my knee.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  He frowned, mock-stern. “Is that it? I don’t even get a kiss from my wife?”

  I giggled, feeling my cheeks flush. Somehow, he managed to make me feel so young and vibrant under his gaze that was tender, yet full of yearning. I obediently raised my face to be kissed and was surprised when all he did was touch his lips lightly to my own. What had happened to the passion that he’d displayed a few weeks ago?

  “Hurry and get ready, Maggie.”

  “For what?” I asked, stretching. “Are we going somewhere?”

  “I thought we might go to town. You can see to some new clothes and some groceries. We might eat lunch there, if it gets late.”

  “Don’t you need to go into the fields?”

  “Not this morning. Now, can you manage on your own, or do you need me to help you out of that nightdress?”

  My blush deepened as his eyes laughed at me. “I can manage.”

  “Oh, I think I better watch, just to be sure you obey me, wife.”

  I dropped my eyes. “Clayborn! How can you tease me like this?”

  “You are my wife, Maggie. I should be allowed to watch if I want to.”

  I turned away. I couldn’t bear to look at him. I started toward the bathroom when Clay grabbed my wrist.

  “Let me help you,” he suggested in a murmur that made my stomach fill with butterflies.

  I nodded my assent and turned obediently so that he could undo the buttons. Feeling his fingers working at them made every inch of my skin tingle with hope that his touch might
land there. When he finished, he set a hand on my waist and turned me around to face him. I wondered at the fact that he hadn’t taken it off. “Should I…” I blushed hotter still. I hadn’t the faintest idea what to do next. Surely, Clay had no desire to take such a foolish ninny to his bed!

  Yet, the warm way he spoke to me belied that fear. “Come here, sweetheart.”

  I took two tentative steps toward him, but he did not make a move to touch me. With shaking fingers, I slid my nightgown down until it fell the rest of the way, becoming a puddle at my feet. I shivered in the cool of the morning and wrapped my arms around my chest, trying to cover my bared breasts. At the same time, I pressed my legs together to keep my drawers firmly in place.

  “Maggie.”

  I trembled at the sound of my name on his lips, and a warmth spread through me at the gentle, yet commanding way he called to me. Still, I kept my eyes on the floor, too embarrassed to look at him.

  “You should answer when I call you,” he admonished gently.

  Only then did I summon the courage to raise my eyes to his face. The way he met my eyes, with adoration in his own, made me go weak at the knees. “I’m sorry.”

  He smiled at my meek apology. “You’d be warmer under the sheets,” he said in invitation.

  The moment he pulled back the sheet for me the butterflies lying in wait in my belly took flight. With tenuous steps, I made my way to him and laid down on the bed. Clay quickly covered me and I watched as he began to undress. I reminded myself that a proper lady wouldn’t watch, but the minute I looked away, I found my eyes pulled back toward him. Proper or no, I couldn’t turn away.

  His chest was muscular and covered in dark curls. When it was bared, I reached up a hand and tentatively traced my fingers along the trail of curly hair. It was soft under my fingers. Clay smiled his encouragement, and I felt something loosen within me.

  I knew in that moment that I wanted him. I wanted him to kiss me like he had the night he’d rescued me from the panther—hot and fierce, like he’d wanted to spank me almost as much as he’d wanted to kiss me. I wanted to feel that kind of passion from him again.

  “What are you thinkin’?” Clay chose that moment to ask.

  I shook my head, lowering my eyes again. I couldn’t find the words to tell him, even if I wanted to. I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye and saw that he was sliding down his trousers. My breath caught in my throat as I watched, unsure what I might see. As I waited for what seemed like an eternity, I cursed my own naivety. I felt like such a green girl who had no clue what to do with herself—which was, of course, exactly what I was.

  Seeming to sense my apprehension, Clayborn found my eyes on him and smiled reassuringly. “You OK, Mags?”

  “Mmm-hmm,” I said, not trusting myself to speak.

  “You look spooked, darlin’.” His hands stilled, and he beckoned me with a cricked finger. “Come over here.”

  I wanted to resist, but the warmth in his brown eyes reeled me in. I didn’t know quite what to expect, but all he did was take me in his arms and pull me close. I laid my head against his chest and listened to the rhythm of his breathing and the pounding of his heart. If it was any indication, maybe he was just as nervous as I was.

  Before I could decide whether or not I would come out and ask him, he brought his lips to my bared shoulder. He put a sensual kiss there that made me shiver. Then he placed another one lower, and another lower still, until his mouth was on my breast. Despite the fact that the feel of his cool lips on my hot skin made me feel like swooning, I tightened my arms around them.

  “Tsk, tsk,” Clayborn clucked his tongue. “You don’t get to hide anything from me anymore, Mrs. Callahan.”

  I realized with a start that that’s who I was now and that he was right. Still, out of some sense of modesty, I persisted. Clay reached over and lowered my arms, kissing my wrists as he did so. As soon as my breasts were uncovered, he covered every inch of them with warm, wet kisses until I was arching my back and moaning.

  “I promise to always be gentle with you,” he vowed, locking eyes with me for a moment before turning his attention back to my nipples which were stiff with yearning for him. He obliged, putting his mouth around one while his hand caressed the other.

  I felt warmth like I’d never known shoot through me, making me tingle from head to toe. As much as I tried, I couldn’t seem to hold back the mewlings of desire. I covered my mouth with my hand, but Clay reached up and moved it.

  “You don’t have to hide here, darlin’. You can make as much noise as you want. It’s just you and me.”

  I gave a short laugh. It might not make a difference to him, but I didn’t know how long it would take me to feel comfortable voicing my desire for him. “Do I get to touch you?” As the words left my mouth, I was shocked by my own boldness.

  Clay had no such qualms and grinned. “You do. But I’m not done just yet. Lay back for me, sweetheart.”

  I obeyed, resting against a soft down pillow and watching his every move. His shoulders rippled with muscles and made me feel so small next to him. I jumped, a jolt of electricity shooting through my body as he slid a hand into my drawers. He ran his fingers over the hair that covered my lady parts, and I gripped the bed sheet tightly in my hand. Before I knew what he was about, he’d slid a finger into my pussy, which was dripping with my longing for him.

  He shushed me gently, trying to soothe me much as he would a skittish filly. “There, sweetheart. That feels good, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  “No, please. Don’t stop.”

  Clay obliged by sliding his finger in and out. I was surprised at the wetness that I felt dripping from me. “You want me, don’t you, Maggie.”

  It wasn’t a question, and I blushed, because he obviously knew the answer. Still, his eyes pinned me down, waiting, insisting on hearing it from my lips. “Yes.”

  “Why are you so shy, wife?” he scolded lightly. “Is it so bad to admit wanting your husband?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied tartly. “I’ve never had one before.”

  Clay threw back his head and laughed, but before I could add my laughter to his own, he flipped me over and started peppering my bottom with slow, stinging spanks. Even though they smarted a bit, it felt different somehow. His fingers were relaxed, and something inside of me clenched tight at the feeling of his hand on my bottom. Before I could figure out what that feeling was, he was pulling down my drawers. I started to murmur a protest, but he shushed me again. “We are man and wife,” he reminded me.

  I shut my eyes tight, prepared for what I imagined would be pain. It was the only thing any married woman ever admitted to feeling, and though I’d never inquired further of the hurried whispers I’d overheard over the years, I’d accepted it as an inevitable part of marriage. Surely, it couldn’t hurt any more than the strapping I’d gotten earlier.

  “Lift your bottom, darlin’.”

  I hurried to obey his command, and his fingers stopped spanking. Instead, they rubbed gentle circles on my bare cheeks until I was practically purring like a cat in heat. I had no time to be embarrassed by my behavior; before I could check myself, I felt something begin to enter me. I gasped and then cried out, but Clay’s hand was at my shoulder, caressing me and murmuring reassurances.

  “It will only hurt for a moment,” he promised. “And I will go slowly.”

  I furrowed my brow, squeezing my eyes even tighter together. Don’t think about it, I coached myself. Think about something else. But I found that I could distract myself with nothing else at the gentle insistence of his member that was knocking at my door. I found myself spreading my legs wider to allow it entry. When he thrust inside, I could not help but cry out.

  “I love you, Maggie,” he was whispering in my ear. “You are so precious to me, love.”

  I knew his words to be true. I had seen it in his face that night, the night that he’d killed an
animal before it could take me, the night he’d insisted we must marry soon. I found myself tightening around him, taking him in deeper as he thrust in and out.

  “Are you alright? Talk to me, darlin’.”

  “I’m alright,” I replied, but my voice sounded piteous to my own ears. Even now, I was afraid. I was afraid of the way my body was responding—I felt lighter than air, as though any moment I would float away. I felt so many emotions all at once, such ecstasy that I felt my body was too small to contain it all. And then there was the pain, the necessary stabbings of pain trying to distract me from my newfound joy.

  “Don’t be afraid,” Clay whispered. “You don’t have to be afraid of me. Not ever.”

  We lapsed into silence, cries of pleasure the only words between us. I focused on no other sound than that of his frenzied breathing and the excited thudding of my own heart. When I found release it literally took my breath away. Clay was not far behind, and when I felt him pour into me, his juices warmed my insides all over again.

  We lay panting in silence for many long minutes. My eyes were still closed, and I might have been asleep except for the smile on my lips. I felt dangerously close to falling back asleep again, although before I’d married I would have been up and busy with chores by now.

  “How do you like being a married woman?” Clay asked at last, his voice husky.

  I turned toward him and opened my eyes. His face seemed quite lovely to me, indeed. “Oh, I like it very much.”

  Epilogue

  Maggie

  Christmas came not even two weeks later, dawning cold and dark. “Fog,” Clay observed, looking out the window. “I will need to come back before long to check on the livestock.”

  “I could take the buggy and ride ahead,” I offered. “That way you could—” I lapsed into silence at the warning glare he gave me.

  “Have you yet to learn your lesson, Maggie Callahan?”