Moisture pools between my thighs despite the weighty dread that presses down inside me. My fingers tremble as I close the cabinets. I turn back to face him, my hands going to my bottom as if I can protect it. “Ah—”
“Now. And bring that wooden spoon with you.” His eyes lead to the crock he keeps on the counter, filled with utensils. One, shiny, lacquered wooden spoon stands amongst the spatulas and whisks.
Tall. Proud. Threatening.
He looks back to me. Hand tapping double speed. His palm makes a slapping noise as it lands. I manage to squeak out, “That? Are you sure we need that?”
“You need much more than that spoon. If that spoon isn’t in my hand and you aren’t over my lap by the time I count to three, I’ll be giving you a taste of my belt.”
I swallow hard, looking at the thick leather belt around his waist.
“One.”
I leap to the crock, snapping up the spoon.
“Two.”
In three long strides, I’m over to where he stands. Quivering between his spread legs. I hold out the spoon.
He pats his left thigh.
I don’t want to put myself over that thigh, willingly. But his lips are forming the word, ‘three,’ and I’m eyeing that belt, imagining the sting of it biting into my flesh. I throw myself over his leg. My hands press into the floor. My hair flies around my face.
“Good girl. I almost got to three. I still might take my belt to you anyway after that stunt you pulled.”
I throw my head over my shoulder in protest. “But you said—”
“I know what I said. And you know what you did. You deserve to have this pretty bottom blistered, don’t you?”
“I…I…” I have no argument. I was wrong. I put myself and him in danger. “I’m…sorry.”
“Not half as sorry as you’re going to be.” Fear trembles through me. He throws his right leg around mine, locking me between his legs like a vice. He grabs the hem of the shirt, pulling it up and over my bottom. The soft material rests on my lower back. “Now where do we start? With that little temper tantrum, you threw in the kitchen at the Hall? What have I told you about your temper young lady?”
“Control it so it won’t control me?” I wince, ready for the first spank to land.
His hand lands with a sharp stinging smack, right on the center of my bottom. I suck air in between my teeth. The pain spreads like wildfire. His hand comes down again. Same exact spot. “That’s right. Then, there’s the matter of you directly disobeying a town elder. Where were you told to go?”
“Home!” His hand comes down, hard, on my right cheek, then left cheek. The pain doubles.
“But you didn’t listen, did you? Had to do things your way. Now, we’re going to do things my way.” His hand comes down in steady, punishing spanks. He’s spanking every inch of my bottom with that huge paddle of a hand of his.
The pain takes over. It’s the only thing I can focus on—other than the thought that I won’t make it through the stinging of the spoon after this—and he’s not even taken down my panties yet!
“I’m sorry! I just. You know how I get.”
“Naughty.” A spank lands on my upper thigh and I cry out. “Disobedient.” A matching print lands on the other side. “Stubborn.” A big spank right on the center of my bottom where this whole process started. “Now stand up so I can take down these panties.”
He unlocks his legs and I quickly obey, scurrying up from the floor and standing before him. My cheeks are flushed from shame and being over his knee. My bottom stings. I can’t meet his eye.
He reaches up, his finger beneath my chin, forcing my gaze to his. “Are you going to remember this spanking next time you want to do things your way?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good girl. But let’s make sure of it.” His fingers slide beneath the shirt. Tickling the bare skin around my waist. Goosebumps dot my thighs as he tugs on the elastic waist. He peels the panties down over my hips.
The fabric is trapped between my thighs. And I know it’s very, very wet. I part my legs.
He pulls them down, my shirt covering my bare pussy. He rolls them down until they are around my knees. His hands come up, resting on my hips over the shirt.
“Let’s see how wet your spanking made you.” I gasp in surprise as he ventures back beneath the shirt. His fingers slide between the swollen lips of my pussy. “Just as I suspected. Dripping wet.”
He leaves me and I moan with frustration. Between my legs is a pulsing ache that can only be fulfilled with his cock. “Back over my leg.”
I shuffle over into position, the panties around my knees tight and hindering my ability to move. I lay over his left thigh.
His right leg locks back into place. He lifts the shirt up and over my already hot and sore bottom, now bare to his line of vision.
My hands press into the floor. Heat rises in my face, my bottom so bare, so exposed. I know if I were to part my thighs even slightly, he’d be able to see everything from his vantage point.
My slick pussy. My swollen lips. My tiny rosebud.
I squeeze my eyes shut tight and hold my breath. Waiting for the stinging assault of the wooden spoon to land on my bottom. Instead, I gasp in shock. “What are you doing?” I feel the handle of the spoon sliding between my legs. Despite my protests, I widen my legs, letting him in.
“I’m going to fuck you with this spoon. Then I’m going to wear your ass out with it.”
A whine rises in my throat. The humiliation is too much. But the shame is competing with the aching in my core, the pressure between my legs. I need release. Any kind of friction. I’ll take any attention he will give my aching, wanting pussy. Even if it means losing my self-respect in the process.
I spread my legs further. The tip of the smooth lacquered handle enters my pussy. I’m so wet, there’s no need for lubing it first. It slides in a few inches, rubbing the walls of my sheath. He pulls it back out. Pushes it in.
Fucking my pussy with the implement he’s about to punish me with.
I press my hips into his thigh. Pushing my swollen clit against his jeans. I know there will be a wet patch on his denim, courtesy of me. I don’t even care. I moan, rocking my hips, stealing every ounce of shameful pleasure I can from the spoon.
Suddenly, it’s gone, sliding from me until it’s all the way out. “No!” I cry but before I can further protest, the rounded end of the spoon comes crashing down on my bare ass.
“Bad girl. You get too much pleasure from your punishment.”
It comes down again. Stinging and quick, like the lash of a whip. He spanks the curve of my bottom over and over with hard smacks. The sound of the spoon whacking my bottom fills the kitchen.
The pain is more than I imagined. Soon, my skin is throbbing, absolutely on fire from the snapping wood. I’m crying out apologies. Tears are brimming in my eyes.
I hear the spoon hit the tabletop. I take a deep breath, relieved the punishment is over.
But, I’ve underestimated him.
Now, his bare hand is coming down. Hard and fast over my hot bottom. “You’d best believe you pull a stunt like that again, I’ll be taking you over my knee at the next town gathering. I’ll spank your ass right there in front of everyone. You’ll be squirming and crying, your naughty bottom exposed for all to see. Do you understand?”
The tears are falling now as I gasp, “Yes, sir! You have my word.”
“Don’t ever run off like that again. You scared me half to death.” His voice is thick with emotion, making my heart tug, thinking of what I put him through. His hand rests on my aching flesh but no spank comes. He grabs a handful of my bottom, kneading it. He switches to the other cheek, doing the same grab and knead motion.
“I won’t. I promise.” My bottom hurts. But that massaging thing his hand is doing to my punished bottom, it gets the juices flowing again. My pussy is clenching. I try to press my thighs together, to find some relief from the building desire, but his fingers slip i
n between my legs, stopping me.
“You going to be my good girl from now on?” His voice is thick, gruff.
“Yes,” I sniffle. Holding my weight with one hand, I use the other to quickly dry my tears.
His fingers slide inside of me. I let out a moan as they press in and out of my slick sheath. It tightens around them, milking them of all the pleasure he’ll allow me. I raise my bottom higher in the air, unabashed.
He’s fucking me with his fingers and I’m humping the air like an animal. A whimper rises in my throat as the friction builds. I move my hips back and forth, rubbing my clit hard against him as his fingers find a pumping rhythm that’s bringing me to the brink of ecstasy. “I’m going to come.”
“Not a chance.” Everything stops.
His fingers leave my poor, aching pussy. I hang over his thigh, defeated. Like a rag doll that’s been used up. “Don’t do that, Buck. Do anything you want to me, but don’t do that.”
“Do what? Delay your pleasure? I think it’s a lesson you need to learn, little girl. Not getting what you want right when you want it.” He gives my ass a smack that makes me squeal. He lifts me to my feet. Stands me between his legs, making me look at him.
My hair is a tangled mess. My face damp and hot. My ass burns beneath my shirt, my panties are still wrapped around my knees.
And between my legs is a wet, pulsing, aching mess of hellish frustration.
His hands slip beneath my shirt, cupping my punished ass. He holds my gaze. “I didn’t give you what you wanted in the kitchen. So, what did you do? Threw a fit and stomped off. Putting us both in danger.”
“I know. And I am sorry.” I sniffle.
“I know you are. But before you get your pleasure, I want you to think about how bad you were. I want you to spend some time, practicing being obedient when you’re not getting what you want.” He gives my ass a squeeze.
“Sounds terrible,” I murmur.
“What do you want most right now?”
Is he really going to make me say the word out loud? I read the expression on his face. My eyes travel down to his belt. He’ll not wait long. I swallow hard. “I want… you to make me come.”
“And I will. If you’re my good girl, first.”
“What are you going to do to me?”
He stands up. Looming over me. He leans down, his mouth by my ear. His words rumble though me, making me tremble with desire. “I’m going to leave you here. Sitting your bare, spanked bottom on this wooden chair. You’re going to hold your spoon in your lap like a good little girl. And think about me eating your pussy. Without touching yourself.”
He places a soft kiss on my cheek. He gathers the hem of the shirt, pulling it up around my waist. He takes his time, getting an eye full of my bare pussy. My red bottom. He turns me, pushing me down on to the chair.
I land with a loud plop. My pussy slaps against the seat. My bottom aches against the wood. He hands me the spoon.
I take it, eyeing him wearily. I hold it in my hands. He takes my hands, pressing them into my crotch. I moan with frustration as the handle presses against my swollen clit.
He gives me his harshest warning look. “Sit just like that. Don’t move or this belt really will come off.”
I want to squirm. I want to rub between my legs, relieving this intense desire. But I do as he says, sitting perfectly still.
He strokes my hair. Gathers it, wrapping it around his hand. He pulls my head back, roughly. Leans down and whispers in my ear as he tugs. “Now imagine how it will feel to have my mouth between your legs. Tasting you. Kissing you. Licking that sweet little bud till you come.”
He drops my hair from his hand. Turns on the heel of his boot. And leaves the room.
After about ten agonizing minutes that seems like hours, he’s back. He stands in the doorway, giving me a stern stare. “Have you been a good girl?”
I nod. “The very best.”
He crosses the room. Takes the spoon, tossing it onto the tabletop.
He lifts me up, gathering me into his arms. His hand is heavy as it strokes my hair down my back. “Babygirl, I don’t ever want anything to happen to you.”
My arms wrap around his neck, tight, as I cling to him. My damp cheek rests against his chest as I whisper, “I know. I’m sorry.”
“I’m so glad to have you here, where you should be. Safe with me.” His eyes lock onto mine and within his gaze I feel his fierce protection. Devotion.
It sends a warm shiver of electricity through my body. “There’s no place I’d rather be.”
He lifts me from the ground, my legs wrapping around his waist as he carries me across the kitchen. He sits me on the countertop. Pulls my panties from my knees, dropping them to the floor. My hands go behind me, pressing into the cool wood. He spreads my legs, one hand on each knee.
And kneels before me.
My ass is pressed into the counter, my feet rest lightly on his shoulders. I scoot to the very edge of the wood. He flashes me a wicked grin.
And disappears between my legs.
His tongue is wet and hot and it flicks my throbbing clit, over and over. My head leans back, my eyes close, a low moan rises from my throat.
It’s so sexy, dirty. Being spread on this counter, knowing he’ll not be able to brew a cup of coffee without thinking about tasting me. My core turns to a pool of molten lava as he licks harder, faster. I was already on the edge of orgasm sitting on that chair and now, one more second of his tongue teasing me and—“I’m coming! I’m finally coming!” After being spanked and fucked with a spoon and played with and teased, I’m finally getting that sweet burst of relief. It shudders through me, making my legs tremble. My back arch. Waves of trembling pleasure rack my body.
I’ve barely come to and he has his arms around me. Kissing me. Carrying me over to the kitchen table. He sits me down on the edge. I wait, wide eyed as he tugs his shirt up an over the back of his head. Undoes his belt and jeans, freeing his cock.
He stands between my legs. Hard. Ready.
I spread my legs further. A renewed craving welling in my core. He thrusts within me. His cock filling my every inch. I need him deeper, harder, faster. I clutch at his lower back, pulling him into me.
And he delivers.
He fucks me the way I need to be fucked. Hard and fast and dirty. Cowboy rough. Pummeling and breaking down the boundary between pleasure and pain. He pulls out and I cry out in protest, thinking he’s going to leave me wanting again.
Instead, he grabs my hips, flipping me and bending me over the table. The edge of the wood digs into my hips. My arms splay across the table. My sweaty palms press into the tabletop. “Fuck me. Fuck me.”
A hard slap lands on my ass. “What’s the magic word, babygirl.”
“Please.” I rise my bottom higher in the air. Demanding what I need.
Finally, the head of his cock finds my slick entrance. And with a hard thrust, he’s back inside me. From this position, he’s even deeper. Each punishing push sends me further into delirium.
I’m sweating. Flushed. Tingly.
My mind is numb to the world, my only focus the force with which he enters me. The intense rush of desire builds inside of me. The walls of my sheath tighten around his hard rod.
In, out, in, out. My fingernails scratch at the wood as I lose all ability to speak. What comes from my mouth are just sounds. Moans. Cries from the very center of my being as I reach the peak. A mind-bending tightening. Then a wave of ecstasy. I ride the wave for every ounce of pleasure, coming and crying out. When I can take no more, I hear his victorious growl.
Feel the burst of his own climax. His seed filling me and spilling down my leg.
I collapse on the tabletop. Sweaty and wrecked.
Feeling more whole than I have in years.
He gathers me in his arms. Moves the damp hair from the back of my neck. Kisses my sweaty flesh.
Carries me to his bedroom. Dresses me in one of his white tee shirts. It’s huge on me. He
comes back from the bathroom with a warm cloth. He washes my face. Cleans gently between my legs. Tucks me into the covers and lies beside me. I drift off to sleep in his arms.
14
Ava Marie
I wake in the middle of the night. Hot. Sweaty. My back pressed to Buck’s chest. It feels as if my skin is facing an open flame. I turn to face him.
He’s sleeping deeply. But his brow is furrowed, sweat beads at his temple. I place my hand over his forehead.
He’s on fire.
“Buck. Buck? Wake up.” I shake his shoulder.
He gives a low groan, but his eyes don’t open.
Panic grips my heart.
I leave the covers, wearing only his long white tee shirt, I tiptoe to the bathroom. I turn on the light, squinting against the brightness. When my eyes have adjusted, I see my reflection in the mirror.
Fear flashes in my eyes.
I tug on the edge of the mirror, revealing the shelves of the medicine cabinet. I take stock of anything that might be useful. He’s got fever reducer, pain reducer and a few cold remedies.
I find what I need most. It’s a red and white thermometer, the kind you hold up to a forehead, press the button and you know their temperature. I’m glad for that because in the state he’s in I don’t know if I could get him to hold one underneath his tongue.
I close the cabinet. Mumble a quick prayer, though I’m not the praying type, and dash back to the bedroom. I climb onto the bed trying to make as little movement as possible, not wanting to disturb him.
I hold the thermometer up to his forehead and press the button. A light comes on the display and three lines appear. “Come on, come on.”
Finally, it makes a beeping sound. I bring it closer to read the number.
Shit.
103.1
I’m no doctor but I know that’s bad. Really, really, bad for an adult. I go to the kitchen, grab his phone from the counter. Go through his contacts till I find Dr. Moore’s number. It rings seven times before he picks up.
“Hello? Buck?” His voice croaks with sleep.
“Ah…actually it’s Ava calling on Buck’s phone.”
Tamed by Her Cowboy Page 14