by Jade Cary
“Palm’s itching so bad to tan your hide, woman. I didn’t get a chance to do it last night, what with all your carryin’ on.”
“My carryin’…oh!” His finger impaled me.
“Get ready, babe. This gorgeous ass is mine.”
“Shit.”
The first slap had me gasping. His hand lingered over the spot briefly before delivering another whack someplace else. He spanked slow, deliberate. His hand was shockingly hard after weeks without it; the burn it left behind, exquisite. Over and over again, he scorched my flesh, and all I could do was raise my ass up for more. I wanted him to stop; I wanted him to tear me up. The single thing I did not want him to do was let me go. The sound of solid flesh connecting with less solid flesh was a symphony to my ears. The scent of dominance wafted off him with each fluid motion of his hand. It smelled like leather, like pine in winter, like a favorite blanket, like honor.
His arm wrapped over my back and around my waist, and he lifted me up, separating my legs with his foot. His finger glided feather-light through my arousal, teasing with slow, deliberate touches.
“Please, God, Jed…” I clutched the sheets in my fists and rose up in need of a firmer touch; all I got in return was a barely-there graze of a thick digit across my rigid nub. I would get no more than what he wanted to give at this moment. I was ripe with fear over losing myself forever.
“Would you like to come, Chandler?”
“Yes…yes, please…”
“I understand you needing a break after the day we had yesterday, and why you need to come so badly tonight. When I punish you with my cock, you don’t come, do you?”
Oh, lord…that. How could I forget? “Jed…” I buried my face in the mattress. “N—no.”
“No, not until I make it happen for you. Would you like me to make you come now, Chandler?”
“Yes…please.”
“I like that. A little bit of the fire has gone out of you, hasn’t it?”
“Mmmm.” He rubbed my bottom and the small of my back.
“Feel good?”
“Yes.”
“Good girls get to feel good. Naughty girls get their bottoms spanked hard. Don’t they, young lady?”
“Yes.” Oh, Christ in a U-boat and damn him. I’d been tamed.
“I’m going to finish your spanking, Chandler, and then you will come for me.”
My cry was the perfect blend of shock and ecstasy as he brought his hand down hard and fast on too-tender skin, sensitive beyond endurance to even the slightest wisp of air.
“You are getting a spanking for thinking you can lead me around by the nose and I’ll just allow it.” Each connection bled into the next until it felt as though I’d taken a seat atop a most delectable fire.
“You lied to me about your arrival and you went to someone else instead of coming to me. I should take a paddle to you.” He spanked on. “You won’t do that again, will you?”
“No,” I cried.
“Leave me that long again and I’ll tie you to my bed for a week,” he growled, hot and firm in my ear.
He spanked.
“Argue with me over the phone again like you did Saturday, and the minute I get my hands on you I will take you over my knee and spank your bare ass ‘til you can’t sit down.”
He spanked.
“Throw something in a fit of temper again, like you did my phone, and I’ll take my belt to you and then stand you in the corner with your panties down like a naughty six-year-old.”
He spanked.
The man was making up for lost time, and he forgot nothing, the bastard. I was on fire. He was not spanking hard. I’d had hard from Jed before, and this wasn’t it. He stopped and glided his hand over my tender bottom, and then up over the small of my back.
“Do you understand me, Chandler?” he whispered.
“Yes,” I breathed. I didn’t know where I was. This was a dream I did not want to wake from. A finger traced a slow line between my legs.
“Would you like to come for me now, sweetheart?”
“Yes…please.” I could barely speak.
Jed released me and turned me onto my back. With my legs still dangling over the edge of the bed, he lifted them and spread me wide. He went to his knees and dropped agonizing feather kisses between my legs, caressing tender lips with the tip of his tongue, tasting the entrance to my core with reverence.
“God…god, god god…”
He wedged his left arm between my legs to keep me wide, and unbuckled his belt with his free hand. I heard him open his pants and attempt to get them off his hips and still keep contact with me.
“I could live here,” he whispered as his tongue worked. I arched my back and tossed my head in near panic as lightening flowed up my legs, through my core and into my hair like a slow motion current. He separated from me long enough to shuck his clothing, then came up on the bed and pulled me higher. Straddling me, he kissed his way down my body to resume his exquisite torture. I wished to be plundered, but Jed Brooks had his own ideas. Every time he felt me come close to release, he backed off.
“Jed, please…”
“You want what you want, don’t you baby?”
“You’re…you’re mean.”
“Uh huh.” He traced around my core with his tongue and followed with a finger.
“Jed…”
He laughed. Laughed. “Yes, babe?”
“Would you…oh, lord…would you be so terribly kind as to fuck me…right now?”
This time he tossed his head back and laughed, deep and throaty.
“Since you asked so nice…” With the flat of his tongue, he laved the length of me, up and then down…up and then down… And with the rigid tip of his tongue, he circled the hard nub and I came apart.
“Oh! Oh, God…ah!” Jed wedged his shoulders between my legs to keep me wide and held me down with a strong forearm across my stomach. Tears of ecstasy slid down my cheeks and into my ears as the little death engulfed me like a raw flame, licking at all my tender spots until I could stand it no longer.
“Jed! Oh…!” His soft-hard tongue worked me into a frenzy, and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it except ride that exquisite wave until every ounce of me was drawn out and laid bare. I throbbed with need as I spiraled down, down, down; an ache pulsed high and deep inside me, still waiting, Still wanting.
“Jed, please,” I breathed.
He arched a dark brow. “Not done?”
I felt near insane with unreleased tension, all that I’d kept inside still penned in and locked up tight. My need throbbed like a toothache, deep and untapped. I had to be filled.
As if reading my mind, Jed came up and knelt between my legs. “Like there are two kinds of spankings, there are also two kinds of orgasms.” He set the bulbous head of his penis against my aching center and, with one thrust, entered me to the hilt. I tightened around him and raised my hips to take him deeper, crying out into the quiet room as I pulsed in rhythm with my heart.
“I’m coming, Jed…oh, sweet Jesus…” I gasped, sobbing through the joy and the pain and the sheer ecstasy of a climax that rolled through me with such potent force I was certain I would not survive it. Jed held my arms above my head and fucked me with reverence; his cock stroked my soul with tender mercy, his heart beating in sync with mine. I was owned. Me, myself and I flew out the window, and everything I thought I knew of love, of little girl wishes and adult dreams comingled into one coherent symphony. I died a thousand little deaths under the tutelage of Jed Brooks.
My orgasm went on, and on and on, until the ache inside me was reduced to an annoying itch, which I knew would have to be scratched soon. I was done; it was over for me. No other man would please me the way this man did. He had ruined me. I’d do anything for him now, be anything for him now.
I would never again be the same.
Wind Dancer
Chilly October days bled into cold, star-filled November nights. The aspens were bare, their yellow leaves having falle
n early due to an unexpected cold snap in mid October. The mix of rain and brief snow flurries muddied the roads and froze the hay we kept in piles around the north and west pastures. Charlie, unused to me here full time, treated me like a tourist. He dragged me to the haunted ghost walk in Virginia City, we attended a haunted barn party in McAllister, and shopped for Christmas gifts in Kalispell. I’d hung up my dresses, tank tops and sandals for jeans, sweaters, flannels, sheep-lined coats and boots. I was thrilled.
I’d been back a month, and Jed had taken full possession of me in a way I could only assume was a fantasy for some. Was it my long absence while I took care of business in New York? Was it going to Dane Holland for answers about my father instead of Jed? Was it the danger that seemed to lurk around every corner, the edge everyone on the ranch seemed to be on, over this oil/land nonsense? I did not know, but whatever it was turned Jed into something unrecognizable. He was at my side most of the time, and kept me wrapped in his arms at night. He no longer drove me up to the main house after rounds of lovemaking in his bed. I was a permanent fixture there from eight p.m. until we awoke the next morning to begin another day.
I left most of the ranch work to Jed and the men, helping when absolutely needed. I had my own job to do, and it seemed as though since I left New York, the jobs only increased. A week into my return to the ranch, both Jed and Maria got tired of the farmhouse table in the kitchen being covered in architectural plans. Jed set up a drafting table in the spare bedroom in the ranch manager’s house, which he’d been using for an office. He moved his work into Dad’s office in the main house. I was now firmly ensconced in his domicile, and he grew impatient with anything less than my full acceptance on the subject.
“What’s this?”
Charlie was bent over the plywood table I’d set up between two sawhorses.
“It’s a architectural model of the facility.”
“Did you build it?”
“Yes.”
“How?” He was wide-eyed, having seen my idea for the Wind Dancer Equine Therapy Center for the first time, in 3-D.
“Come here,” I said to Charlie. “I’ll show you.” I set my current work aside and brought the rolled-up plans for the equine center to the drafting table. I unrolled the stack of papers and set weights at the corners. A fire crackled in the fireplace in the living room, and the smell of freshly brewing coffee filled the house.
“This first one is a drawing of the main building, what it will look like from the outside. From this, I made that model over there so I—and you and whoever else wants to—can see how the buildings will look as it relates to the land around it.” I stood and walked over to the table. “See, here’s the creek that will run along the front of the building, and over here is the Madison. You’ve got your trees over here, and some pastureland, the corrals there. Oh, and what do you think of this barn and stables?”
“Really cool. What’s this over here?” He pointed to blocks of space without a top, some blocks bigger than others, and a sweeping staircase in the middle of it all.
“That’s the interior. See, this is the entrance, the lobby or whatever you want to call it, and this is the staircase up to the ten bedrooms. What do you think of the staircase?”
“It’s so beautiful. I can’t believe you did this. Do you do this for all your buildings?”
“Depends on the client. Some want to see this type of thing; others don’t care. Come here. There’s more.”
I pulled another stool over to the drafting table and sat my brother down. “This next page is the interior, like the model. See how the rooms are laid out, each with their own bathroom?”
“These numbers are the square footage?”
I chuckled, surprised. “Yes, exactly. And this is the dining room, where the students will take their meals. And right here, under this big staircase will be where you guys can hang out, have a big fire in the fireplace, great big comfy couches and chairs around, books here on the shelves, maybe a snack area.”
“So cool…”
I flipped pages to show where the lights would all go, then the electrical, and then the heating and air ducts—details of building a structure that were necessary but not very sexy.
“Wow.” He looked over at the model. “What did you build it out of?”
“Cardboard and foam board mostly.”
He went over and ran his finger over the lines and edges of the buildings that would carry a part of him, seeped into every inch. “When can we start building?”
“Spring, remember? It’s too wet now and the ground’s about to freeze.”
“Oh, yeah.”
I set the Wind Dancer plans aside and resumed my work. I was deep in thought about a structural problem I was having with the plans before me when Charlie shrieked and stumbled back from the makeshift table.
“What is it?” I jumped up and went to him.
“I did a bad thing! Ah! I did a bad thing!”
“What?” I was in a panic now. “What did you do, honey? What’s wrong?” Did he cut himself on the X-Acto-knife? Did he murder someone on the way home from school? He was white as a sheet and hyperventilating. He opened his hand and the roof of the solarium fell to the floor, mangled in his attempt to hide the evidence.
“I’m sorry. I—I—I…I’m s-s-s-so sorry.”
“Charlie.” I took him by the shoulders and held him firmly. He needed to feel me, know that I was here and he wasn’t alone. “Charlie, listen to me.” When his eyes met mine, I said, “You did nothing wrong.”
“It fell…it fell off, I only…I only…”
“Charlie, stop it. It’s fine.”
“But…”
“It’s no big deal. Here, let me show you.” I picked the remains of the roof off the floor and tossed it in the trash. “We can make another one. It’s easy. I’ll show you.” I took some foam board off the shelf, got the plans and an X-Acto knife and sat at the model.
“See in the plans how it’s fan-shaped, but round so the ends meet…hey, Charlie. Come on. Breathe. This is no big deal, really.” I took his hand. “You didn’t do anything wrong. It was an accident and it’s nothing that can’t be fixed.”
“Really?” Fat tears sat in his eyes.
“Oh, honey, yes. Really.” I held him and planted a noisy kiss on his forehead. “My goodness, I thought you took a finger off with the knife.” He did the disappearing finger trick and we both laughed. I wondered if these outbursts happened at school, and if they didn’t, how he kept his cool in such a sometimes stressful and competitive environment. It was the first time I’d seen my brother lose it, and it was over nothing, yet he quickly bounced back with humor. I admired him more every day.
I explained scale as it related to models and how taking note of the dimensions in the plans let you calculate scale and thus build a model that was proportionality accurate. I expected this to sail over his head, but he got it, and calculated the rest of the pieces of roof after I’d cut the first one. “Do you want to try and finish the roof yourself? You saw how I cut this first piece.”
“What if I screw up?”
“Then you get another piece and keep trying. I have a whole pile of foam board there.”
And in the time it took me to solve my structural problem, make a few calls and neck with Jed for ten minutes in the barn, Charlie had dismantled the entire model and rebuilt it. Backwards.
The following day I ordered more foam board and had a new drafting table set up next to mine, for Charlie.
Words and Actions
The incident in the pasture weighed heavy. It had been a month since it happened, but I was still reeling. I rode through the pastures daily, checking on the animals, watching out for them, as if I could do something to stop whatever another intended—one who looked at life differently than I did. I could not compete with a sociopath intent on taking what he wanted, but I could give it the ol’ college try.
I rode Mugsy down to the calving barn, about a mile from the main house as the c
row flies. It was hitting dusk. A day ago, the hands found a heifer by the river in full labor. Unable to help her birth, they transported her to the calving barn, and after several attempts to help her birth, a C-section was performed. Now the heifer was rejecting her calf.
The calving barn was warm and smelled like an old set of keys and sour milk. Gordie Bryan stood with his arms over the wood stall and spoke low to something living on the other side. It seemed as though the man hadn’t aged in fifteen years, yet I knew he had. Irish and ruddy, his bulk was suited to cutting calves out of their mamas and wrestling uncooperative bovine into submission if needed. He’d always been kind and patient with me, and I held a warm place in my soul for him.
“How’s our girl doing?” I asked.
“Well, she’s able to stay in the same stall with her calf without trying to stomp it to death; that’s a start. How you doin’, Miss Dutch?”
I shook my head; my nose stung and I wanted to hide it, from this man especially. Men like Gordie Bryan didn’t know what to do with an emotional female; he and my father were cut out of the same bolt of fabric on most things. I needed this little one to live; I needed something good to come of something bad and totally unrelated. The burdens of this heifer had nothing to do with bad people and poisoned cattle, but I believed that grace had its place amongst the ruins of skewed juju. I said as much.
He pressed my head against his chest. “Good things can come out of the ashes of evil, kid. I believe that. We’ll wait and see on this one. For now, mama and babe are doing as well as can be expected. Nothing will die tonight. That I can promise you.”
“Thanks, Gordie.” He kissed the top of my head and as I walked out of the barn, the soft refrains of “Danny Boy” echoed into the quiet, his baritone soothing beasts both savage and tame.