“Perhaps so,” Aaron agreed. “I’m glad you’ve come to your senses about it,” he added.
Sidling up to him, she smiled again sincerely and gazed into his eyes with a longing look. For an instant, she thought she had her husband captured by her charm - he even reached out and fondled her hair, the back of his hand caressing her cheek. But then he backed away.
If only there had been another thunderstorm, it might have saved her. But there was none.
“Sometimes, Abigail, you make it difficult for me to see things clearly, but,” he cleared his throat, “I still see this incident very plainly.” He shook his head. “No sweet flirtation is going to alter my decision. You can go in that stall,” he said pointing to one nearby. “Remove your dress, I’d like you in your chemise and drawers, nothing else.”
“But Aaron,” she protested.
“What happened in your father’s house was rash and brief, for your father’s benefit - to show him who will be taking care of your disci pline, and for mine - to allay some of my anger. What you did not get last night was the thorough punishment your behavior deserves, something much more exacting. Now go.”
Her eyes already brimming with tears, Abigail scooted across the barn and into the empty stall. Unbuttoning her dress, she was reminded of times with her father when she was disciplined with such ritual. Wearing nothing but a simple shift, her father found the task much easier without the worry of her bulky clothes to impair his work. She could figure that Aaron felt the same way. It had been a long time since she’d gone through this kind of disrobing to prepare herself for a strapping, her father giving up the practice by the time she was thirteen. Now a grown woman, doing it for her husband, she had so many savage feelings rushing through her, she couldn’t decide how to feel, except scared.
Removing her dress, she folded it carefully and laid it over the top of the stall. Her heart was racing fast, her mind spinning wildly, thinking of Aaron’s slow burning anger and how his sternness did such incredible things to her - even if she hated that.
When Aaron finally appeared some minutes later, he stood at the stall door for several seconds just staring at her. Where his eyes had flashed so hotly over the last day, they were subdued now, even a little cold. Witnessing the long black strap hanging from his hand at his side, Abigail shivered all the more. This scene bore no resemblance to the sessions she’d had with her father - and for that matter, they weren’t anything like the brief and turbulent sessions she’d already had with Aaron the day before. She could see instantly that he was prepared to make her pay for the reckless folly of her journey in a way she would not easily forget.
“Remove your drawers,” he said.
“Those too?” she queried meekly.
“I’d suggest you’d comply without balk-ing,” he said. There was not one ounce of com-passion in his steely voice.
Turning around, as if she had to be mod-est with him, Abigail lifted the waistband of her drawers and pushed them down to her knees. Wobbling a little on one foot, she lifted the other and drew the garment off her leg. Repeating the process with the other leg, she stripped herself of her drawers, left naked from the waist down, her quivering bottom giving away the terror that raced anxiously through her aroused body.
“I suspect that if you grab the rail in front of you, that will do,” Aaron said, pointing to the side of the stall, while she looked over her shoulder at him. “And stand away from it, I’d rather just hit your bottom.”
Bending over as Aaron suggested, Abigail’s bottom was presented for her husband’s view, the two white cheeks clenching and releasing uncontrollably as she waited for the strap to strike. Strange, all the punishment she’d had the day before, the effect was gone. The sting she thought would never go away was gone within hours, hardly leaving any soreness at all. By the determination in her husband’s manner, she had the feeling that it wouldn’t be that way this time.
“I don’t suppose you’ve been corrected like this in some time - then again I don’t know the extent of your father’s punishments. Let this simply remind you, wife, that you bear a responsibility to me, and I to you.”
Enough said, Aaron Barrow, stood to one side of his wife’s quaking bottom, and rearing back with a long strap, he let the leather rage through the air coming down on Abigail’s behind with a sharp, reverberating smack!
“Yeeeowww!”
The leather whisking through the air again, landed another strike right over top of the first. And another, and another, and another still, Aaron beginning a steady pace, that left poor Abigail crying in mere seconds.
“Oh, please, husband, no!” she sobbed. Aaron’s only reply was to pause just long enough for both of them to catch their breath.
“I’m afraid, my love, this punishment will not be over quickly like the others,” he informed her. Having waited long enough, he let the strap go once more, this time, hitting her deliberately lower than the first strikes.
“Yeeeeawwwwww!” she wailed louder than ever. The blows coming down at the tops of her thighs and the very base of her bottom were horrid, the sting so mighty, she finally collapsed to the straw for some kind of relief.
“Abigail,” Aaron spoke harshly.
“Oh, please, no more!” she pleaded with him.
“Stand up!” he ordered her.
As she sat in the prickly straw, she knew there was little choice but to follow his orders, though she took as long a time as she dared, in order to recoup from the last painful stings. Rising to her feet at last, she looked back to him pleading.
“Please, Aaron, I’m so sorry!” she cried.
“Perhaps you are now, but we’re not done. This lesson is going to last,” he vowed.
Turning back to the bar, Abigail held on once more as Aaron let the strap fly. The sharp sound of the leather against her red posterior was as dreadful as the sound of her own cry rising anguished into the steamy air.
“Oh, no, no more!” she wailed. The leather struck again.
“Please, no!” She danced her feet as if she could get away from the awful sting.
“Oh, gawd! Oh, no!” she lamented.
The leather was a harsh reply, striking yet again and again, after each of her impassioned pleas.
Once the young wife’s ample rear cheeks were covered with a blotchy scarlet, Aaron paused again. This time, it almost seemed as if he might consider ending the harrowing chastisement.
“You think you can get your wits about you, Abigail Barrow?” he asked when she’d calmed enough to listen.
“Oh, yes, I’ll never do anything so stupid again,” she swore.
“I won’t have you running away from me?”
“No, never. I promise.”
“And you’ll be coming along with me to Brighton Springs as you should?” he asked.
To this last question, Abigail hesitated an instant, but knowing that there was no other answer but the one that her husband wanted, she gave him the reply that he was looking for.
“Yes, sir. No more complaints. I promise, I really do.”
“Good,” he replied.
She held her breath, hoping that the punishment was over, but it was not. Wanting to punctuate his message with a flourish, Aaron wielded the strap again, this time for a dozen severe and measured strokes, the pain of it mak-ing Abigail burst into even more fretful sobs.
“Please, please. Oh, gwd, I can’t … ” she wailed.
And to her relief, Aaron ended her torment; this last flourish finished, he flung the strap over the back of the stall door.
Aaron stood for some time, waiting for his agonized wife to recuperate. When she finally came to realizing that her red rear end was dangling like some amusement for his eyes, she quickly stood up, and grabbed for her drawers. She was about to put them on again, when Aaron was at her side, his hand going readily for her burning cheeks.
“I hope I won’t have to do that again, my love,” he said.
“I hope not too,” she snuffed. She want-e
d more than anything to fall into his arms, and feel the comfort of his affections. She could feel her body responding, her thighs quivering, her tingling rear dying for the caress that would bring satisfaction to the wild erotic desires that now rampaged through her sex.
But no!
Suddenly her husband’s gentleness pained her as much as his heavily wielded strap pained her. A war in her raged like nothing she’d ever felt before, and she tried to pull away from his touch.
“Please,” she said, shaking him off.
“I can understand,” Aaron said of her reluctance. “We’ll repair things as they should be tonight.”
To that comment, she shook her head, shook it violently. “Oh no!” she roared at him - a quiet roar, so lie wouldn’t be taking up with the strap again at the sound of her isolence. I couldn’t in to give myself to you!” she declared. “Don’t bother coming to our bed tonight, because you won’t be welcome!”
Grabbing her dress away, Abigail was quick to exit the barn before she was even dressed. She ran for the house as fast as she could go, and slammed the door behind her. Never, never, she was thinking to herself, could she ever allow this man access to her body and bed! Never could she enjoy that marital bliss again!
In the barn, Aaron sighed heavily, knowing that his hurt and bewildered wife was going through a necessary aqjustment. He’d been told that life with her wouldn’t be easy, and now he was very certain of that fact. Finishing the work lie had in the barn, he soon left for the mill, thinking only of the evening hour, and what lie hoped would be a tender reunion with his dear and rebellious Abigail.
Chapter Three
Abigail turned a cold shoulder on Aaron, rolling over in bed, as soon as her husband climbed in beside her.
“Abby,” he said, tenderly. “It’s time to put our past disagreements aside.”
Abigail was silent, and Aaron shook her shoulder lightly, trying to get her to budge from her fixed place. She wasn’t budging.
“If you’re still fuming about this morning, I think you’d better stop,” he said. He hoped Abigail would accept the move to Brighton Springs without anymore fuss, though now he wasn’t sure. When she’d told him, “Don’t bother to come to our bed tonight, because you won’t be welcome!” he assumed that was just an empty threat that a few calm hours would take of. Apparently he was wrong.
“Abigail,” he whispered her name softly, thinking she might respond to a little gentleness. But she still said nothing, and too tired to argue with her, Aaron turned back over in bed and fell asleep, assuming that his wife did too.
Lying awake that night, Abigail was still smarting from the rude punishment that Aaron had given her that morning. At the same time, all she thought of all day long was how excited she was, thrilled all the way to her toes, tingling with the most indecent sensations - and indecent thoughts - at least indecent for any young married woman. As much as she wanted to respond to Aaron however, she was determined not to. If he thought he could teach her a lesson, that was fine. But she’d teach him one too. He may move her to Brighton Springs, but she wouldn’t like it. No manner of punishment would change her mind. She missed the warmth of Aaron’s embrace, but this was a war they were engaged in, one she was determined to win.
The next morning, Abigail jumped from bed before Aaron was up. Putting on her dress, she was already in the kitchen cooking breakfast when he came down the stairs.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked her, admiring for the hundredth time, her beautiful face, the soft blonde curls, and the dazzling blue eyes.
“I slept just fine,” she said pleasantly.
She seemed amiable enough, Aaron thought to himself, but she was still distant. Approaching her, he put his arms around her from behind and held her tight. “Time to mend the fences, love,” he said.
“Oh? Are there fences to be mended?” she asked, innocently.
“I don’t mean real fences, Abby, but the one between us,” he said.
“Oh.” While he still held her, she moved to one side, shaking him off in the same motion. She was opening the oven.
“We could start the morning over in bed, what do you think?” he suggested, when she had her biscuits out on the counter to cool.
“I have a thousand things to do,” she replied, giving him only a very fleeting smile, and continuing on with breakfast.
“Or, perhaps we—could start with you over my lap again,” Aaron said, his tone of voice suddenly quite serious.
“Whatever for?” she asked looking up at him, a little astounded that he was mak-ing the threat.
“I’m not going to be denied my privi-leges as your husband. I’d suggest that you get that straight,” he warned her.
“You’re going to bully me into bed?” she asked sarcastically. With an impudent smirk, she swished her full skirt, and moved right past him to the breakfast table.
‘You, my dear, are behaving like a spoiled and spiteful brat,” Aaron said. “And I won’t tolerate it.”
“So you are going to bully me,” she snapped.
Just that little edge in her voice, the wincing expression on her lips, Aaron was fuming, about to spit fire if he could; but he maintained his composure.
“Abigail, you will not -blackmail me withholding sex,” he vowed. ‘I won’t let you use it as a wedge between us.’
“And if I do?” she said, her blue eyes flashing, that certain set to her jaw quite apparent. Though he could tell she was quivering nervously too.
“lf it takes a birch across your ass, then so be it.”
“You think that will change my mind about you, Aaron Barrow?” she shot back.
“Perhaps we’ll just have to find out.” His eyes were lit with a strange dark hue, that made Abigail shudder.
Seeing no change of heart in Abigail’s attitude, Aaron strode past his wife out the door, not another word said. A half hour later, when their breakfast was sitting cold on the table, Aaron returned to the house.
“Abigail,” he called. She was in the pantry and out of sight. “Abigail,” he repeated the call.
As soon as the young bride peered into the kitchen, her eyes caught sight of what her husband held in his hand: two long smooth well-stripped birch branches. Shirking back into the small room, she slammed the pantry door behind her, a regular storm racing everywhere in her body.
“Abigail, come here,” Aaron called to her.
“Abigail,” he roared a second later.
Inside the pantry, Abigail rested nervously against the door. A day’s worth of anxiety was caught in her throat, and freezing her in her place. When the door jerked, she knew she’d been conquered, a fact that only became more clear, when a grim faced Aaron hauled her bodily from the pantry.
“You know, my fine brat, I’ve given you plenty of opportunity to change this situation, but obviously you’re not about to let go this stubborn streak. Well, today you’re going to find out that I’m as stubborn as you!”
Their eyes exchanged nasty glances as he spoke; and when he was finished, he pushed his wife over the end of the kitchen table. “You so much as move an inch,” he warned, “I’ll tie you down.”
Too afraid to make a move, Abigail remained motionless while Aaron reached for the bottom of her long skirt and pulled it up to her waist, revealing her two firm bot-tom cheeks quivering like jelly before him. How white they were, the creamy mounds begged to be touched, though Aaron put aside his lust for something far more important.
“Aaron, please,” she finally found her voice. “I’m sorry I really am.”
“The sight of the birch frightens you?” he asked, coming around to the side of the table so that she could clearly see the ten-der saplings he gripped in his hand.
“Yes, I’m sorry, but please…”
“You had your chance,” he said sternly. “Now you’d better grit your teeth because this is going to hurt!”
Taking one of the birches in hand, and leaving the other on the table, the single sapling sizzled through th
e air and came down on her bottom with a nasty sting.
“Yeeeaw!” she cried.
Swoosh, snap. Swoosh, snap. Aaron repeated the treatment, each time the thin birch landing, a mighty smart rose on Abigail’s behind, a passionate cry issuing from her lips.
“Oh, please!” she cried. “I am sorry.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Aaron said, and he laid another cut on her bottom. “Ooo, ouch, please!”
Swoosh, snap.
“I won’t let you destroy our marriage with this foolishness,” Aaron said. “You might as well learn that lesson now.:
Abigail dug in harder, gritting her teeth more firmly and gripping the side of the table for support. Hearing his stem admonishments, she had a feeling this was going to be a nasty punishment; and she was determined to get through the rest of her punishment with as much dignity and resolve as her husband.
Swoosh, snap. Swoosh, snap. The birch flew against her bottom at least a dozen more times. After the implement lost its bite, Aaron threw it aside and picked up the second sapling and began with that. The more composed Abigail bore down harder still, her knuckles white from holding the side of the table. Try as she might to get through the horror without another wail, or plea for mercy, she was soon in too much agony to hold back any longer.
“Aaron, please,” she cried out.
Swoosh. The birch came down again.
“Aaron, please, I’m sorry” she tried once more.
Unfortunately for Abigail, her husband was not in the mood to listen. Landing another cut on the center of her bottom, he admired the raw texture of his wife’s behind. Now crisscrossed with several dozen pink/red lines, he could see that she’d be feeling this one for some days. And it was just as well, he didn’t want her to forget this punishment, not ever
Swoosh. Another cut landed. This one caught her right at the tops of her thighs.
“Yeeeeawww. Oh, please,” she pleaded with him.
“So, is this ridiculous game of yours over?” Aaron asked.
“Oh, yes,” she assured him, thankful to know that the end was in sight.
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