by Lee Savino
She raised her tear-stained head.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“I know.” His calloused thumb swiped across her face, brushing away her tears.
“I was wrong to challenge you and throw disrespect. I don’t want to be a shrew. Please forgive me.”
“Of course I forgive you.” He gathered her into his arms and settled them both onto the bed. “You’re my sweet Carrie. I knew you couldn’t be sour for long.”
For a moment he rocked her.
“It didn’t help that you ate little yesterday, and no dinner the night before. The bad dream meant you had little sleep. You were tired and hungry, and I need to take better care of you. But I also need you to talk to me.”
She nodded. “Can I still have dinner, then?”
Miles chuckled. “You may, though not corn. The cobs are going to the horses. But I’ll make you some porridge.” He let her down, and then told her to bend over the bed.
She hesitated, paling at the thought of more punishment.
“I just want to check,” he said. When his inspection was done, he pronounced her paddle to be the worst implement he’d used. “You’ll have bruises tomorrow.” He made her stay in position while he got balm and smoothed it over her aching cheeks. After the balm, the throbbing died down, but it still hurt.
“I think you’ve learned your lesson. How do you like your paddle, wife?”
“Not very much, husband.”
“Good.” He leaned down kissed her nose. “I expect you won’t give me much cause to use it.”
He let her lie in bed on her belly while he made a porridge for their dinner. When he brought it to her, she reached for it and he tutted. Instead he made her roll to her side so he could feed her.
Feeling strangely warm all over, Carrie ate the spoonfuls he gave her, quiet and obedient as a babe. While she swallowed, she studied the big man beside her, his hands rough and calloused, and yet so careful as he fed her.
“Full yet?”
“Yes, Miles.”
He set the bowl aside, and used his handkerchief to wipe her mouth.
Raising herself up, she kissed him. All too soon he broke away.
“I think you deserve a night of bed and gruel. No pleasure.” He rose to clear the bowl.
When he came back to bed, she was pouting and he raised a warning eyebrow.
“Yes, sir,” she sighed.
He went around the bed and lay on the other side, pulling her against him. They fit together perfectly. Too well, Carrie thought when her bruised rear bumped against his hardness.
At first she tried to squirm away, but then she had an idea. As she settled in his arms, she made sure her bottom brushed against him several times, feeling satisfaction as his length grew until it was poking her.
She heard him suck in his breath as his arms tightened around her. “Carrie, what are you doing?”
“Does it not feel good?” she asked coyly.
“It does.” He didn’t sound happy. “Continue and you will have another paddling, bruises or no.”
She inched away, and rolled to face him. “Even if I can’t receive pleasure, may I still give it?”
His tawny eyes seemed to burn in the low firelight. “Yes, wife.”
Smiling, Carrie slipped her hands into his small clothes until she felt his firm length in her hand.
“Stroke it.” He pulled off his drawers and showed her how to slide her hand up and down the hard shaft. It grew more into her hand and she studied it with wonder.
“May I kiss it?”
“Yes,” Miles gripped her hair as her head went down, guiding her. “Gently. Always gently.”
She kissed the warm flesh and it jumped against her lips. She looked back up at Miles for instruction.
“Lick it. Use your tongue.”
Her tongue tasted him, then licked all around the throbbing head. Miles’ hand fisted in her hair, just shy of pulling it tight. She didn’t protest as he moved her head around, letting her lick the spots that made him groan and tighten.
“Now put your mouth over me. Careful. No teeth.”
“If I use my teeth, will you paddle me?”
“Oh, yes, Carrie, then carry you out to the stable, truss you up and whip you. You won’t share my bed again for a month.”
Bending her head submissively, she put her mouth around his thick member and sucked lightly.
“Ah, yes.” Miles tugged her hair, pushing her head down a little and then drawing it back up. “You’ll sleep in the stalls, in the hay. I’ll hobble you like a horse and feed you hot mash. And every day, I’ll come with a whip to train you.”
She moaned, feeling her secret parts clench at his fantasy. Her mouth filled with saliva and she let it spill over his flesh, moving her mouth faster as he guided her.
“Yes.” Miles’ voice grew rough and his hips thrust up. He stiffened and pulled her up. Her mouth came off with a pop, just in time for his cum to splash against her face and breasts.
She touched the sticky stuff, bringing it to her lips to taste it. Miles groaned.
“So sweet and so wild,” he said, using his handkerchief to clean her, then lifting his head and kissing her.
She let him pull her into his arms,
He fell asleep quickly, and she lay awake, ignoring the secret parts of her that cried out for release. It made her happy to think that he’d gotten his pleasure, even if she got none.
The next day, Carrie felt like a corked bottle ready to explode. Her secret parts throbbed with need and her aching bottom only made it worse.
At the stream to get water, she undressed and waded in. She didn’t care whether or not she might be seen; she burned so. The cold water stung her nipples to points as she splashed and rubbed herself down to get clean.
“Now there’s a pretty sight,” her husband drawled. He stood on the bank, looking down with a smile.
She scrambled to gather her clothes. Miles closed the distance between them and stopped her from pulling her dress over her head.
“What do we have here?” His eyes got intense as he stroked her nipples, teasing their dusky peaks.
Carrie closed her eyes as his large hand roamed over her. When one dipped between her legs, she dropped her clothes and had to hang on to him for balance.
“Spread for me,” he murmured, and she rocked her legs further apart. She was totally naked in the forest, where anyone might come and see, and she didn’t care so long as Miles kept his hands on her.
At last his finger came up to coat her lips with her own juices.
“There,” he said, as she stared at him in a fog of need. “That’s better.”
He stepped away and she almost fell forward. Her whole body was taut with desire, screaming for release.
A mewling cry left her lips as she pleaded with him. Miles grinned and smacked her bottom. “Back to chores.”
Inside the homestead, she could barely function. She stood at the doorstep for a few minutes, trying to see her way out of the haze. He’d teased her and tormented her, and left her.
When she went to put on her corset, she noticed the stain on the bodice and remembered him painting her with his seed the night before, and leaving her trembling and ready.
Climbing back into bed, she slipped her fingers between her legs, closed her eyes and thought of that moment. Her orgasm rocked through her seconds later.
She opened her eyes, her own moans echoing in her ears. The door to the homestead was open, but nobody came to stop her.
Settling back in the still warm blankets, she reached between her legs again.
“What are you doing?” Miles said from the door.
Carrie blinked at him and tried to rise. Several orgasms later, her fingers were stiff and her folds felt sore.
“Nothing.”
He stalked inside, a little smile playing on his face. “You couldn’t wait for me?”
His large hand traced down her front, making her shiver and clench again. Her cl
imaxes alone were nothing like the ones with him, which is why she’d kept trying for them.
When she sat up, she noticed the fire was out. Her clothes still were spread over the chest, along with Miles’ shirt she’d promised to finish darning.
The grin left Miles face. “Did you do nothing today but seek your own pleasure?”
“What?” Carrie scrambled out of bed and looked for the sun in the eastern sky, feeling horror shoot though her when it wasn’t there.
“What time is it?”
“Well past noon,” Miles said.
The blood left her face. “I’m sorry.”
“Get dressed,” Miles told her, and left the cabin.
Drawing on her layers quickly, she wondered how bad her punishment would be. Out here, laziness was the worst sin; it would fester and put everyone’s life in danger. And what she did, selfishly seeking her own pleasure, was the worst sin of all.
Miles returned with a few pieces of rope. One he tied around her neck so it hung down loosely, and then he knotted a second to the first loop, and used both ends to secure her wrists. The result was that she couldn’t move her arms further down than her waist.
“That should keep you to supper. I expect a good, but simple meal, and all your same chores done.”
“Wait,” she cried when he headed to the door. “I’m to stay like this all day?”
“Aye, wife. You’ve just received a paddling, so I’m going to wait to give you that part of your punishment. But until you can be trusted to put your hands to good use, the binding stays.”
With despair, she watched him leave, then spent the rest of the afternoon struggling to reach the things she needed, either bending down or standing on a chair. Making the fire was the worst, she had to kneel almost in the ashes to place the logs. When she went to sweep, the rope limited her movements so it took twice as long.
By the time Miles came home, she was so frustrated she could cry. She’d found a bit of pork fat and roasted some vegetables in them, but felt ashamed at the simple meal. Miles dug in without complaining, but when he asked if she was eating she shook her head.
“That’s not part of your punishment.” He took her on his knee and fed her, saving her the trouble of stooping through the whole meal to use her fork. Cheeks burning with shame, she humbly bent her head to take food from his hand. She felt so helpless, and she realized how true this was. His care, his protection, her whole life was in his hands. And she thrived within his care.
She wished she didn’t feel so strongly for him. It would be easier for her to be a good wife, and obey, if she wasn’t struggling with her lust.
When the meal was done, he kissed her softly. “So sweet. I wish I was not so tired.” He carried her to bed and untied her. “Can I trust you tonight?”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
He stroked her back, but thankfully didn’t torture her, or ask for her to pleasure him.
She slept fitfully, and in the morning, after she dressed, he bound her hands again.
“How am I going to fetch water and do the chickens?”
“You’ll figure out a way. I’m off to the far pasture and can’t have you frittering the day away.”
“But—”
Miles leaned down, tawny eyes serious. “Complain anymore and I’ll hobble you, too.”
All day long, she struggled with her chores. After noon, Carrie heard a cow lowing outside and went to see Miles leading one of the cattle.
“What’s that?”
“This is Bessy, for milking. Her calf’s all weaned and we need the milk more than it. Tomorrow we’ll head into town and get more supplies. Martin ordered a churn for me, so you can make butter.”
She bit her lip, excited at the thought, but wondering how she’d fit in more chores. The day had been the longest of her life. She’d never realized how much she needed her hands. For lunch she’d found a berry bush and picked all she could reach and put them right in her mouth. It was delicious, but the activity left her aching.
Miles seemed to know what she was thinking. “It’ll be a funny sight to see you churning butter with your hands tied.”
She scowled at him.
Miles spent the afternoon building a shanty off the chicken coop for the cow to live in. Carrie sat in the garden, miserable as she stopped to pick beans and pull carrots. The rope chafed and her arms and shoulders were sore. Every passing hour made it worse.
“Got enough for dinner?” Miles stood at the fence, eyeing her bowl of beans.
She nodded.
“Then let’s go. I’ll make the hoe cakes.”
Back in the cabin, she sat at the table and sulked as Miles dumped the beans in the large iron pot, and started mixing the meal for the hoe cakes.
“Have you ever milked a cow before?” he asked, and she nodded. He indicated that she should take the pail and go.
Dragging her feet, she went to the pail. With her arms bound, she had to bend down almost in half to pick it up. Milking the cow would be nigh impossible. With a sorrowful look at Miles, she started out the door.
“Wait.”
She stopped and her husband came to her side.
“I’m proud of you for obeying without complaint.” He undid the ropes and she moved with a sigh, working out the kinks in her aching shoulders.
“I’ll give you a rub down tonight,” he promised, and then smacked her bottom lightly. “See to Bessy.”
Even untied, her arms were stiff and protesting as she coaxed the cow out of her pen, and then sat on a stump and leaned into finish the chore.
As the milk filled the pail, she thought about Miles.
She’d allowed sin to creep into her life, even though she tried to fight it. Even now, the place between her legs begged greedily for release.
She sighed. When had she become such a wanton woman?
Miles surely hadn’t helped. The punishment had just made her chores a hundred times harder. She shuddered to think what it would be like to have her feet tied as well.
Maybe she just wasn’t cut out to be a good wife. With that last sad thought, she made her way back to the cabin, where her husband had plenty of food on the table.
He was humming, still in a good mood. Her scowl deepened.
When she flounced and set down the milk pail on the table almost hard enough to slosh it over.
“Sorry,” she muttered. “My arms are tired.”
“Tomorrow we’ll go to town. Buy supplies.” He glanced up at her to see if she was pleased, but she ignored him, shoving hoe cakes in her mouth.
“Carrie.”
She glanced up, realizing he’d called her name twice.
He grinned at her. “You like the cakes?”
“They’re tolerable,” she said. Back home they’d been her favorite, and he did a good job making him, damn the man. She swallowed her last mouthful and jumped up to clear her plate, unwilling to sit across his smug, smiling self.
He caught her arm. “We’re not done talking.”
She sat with a huff and he glanced over at the paddle meaningfully.
Quieting, she let him ask his questions about what they needed from the store.
“We’ll stock up,” he promised her. “I know it’s been a hard adjustment, but you’re doing well.”
The compliment didn’t soothe her. If he knew how hard it was, why did he punish her so harshly?
“After the store, we can go to church, if you like.”
She stared at him. “Tomorrow’s Sunday?”
“Yes.” He smiled. “Have the days gotten away from you?”
“Of course they have,” she snapped.
“Excuse me?” His smile left as quickly as it came.
“You heard me. We live in a godforsaken wilderness, with barely enough food to last the week.” She banged her plate down to emphasize her point. “We’re so far away from civilized company I don’t even know if the Union’s won the war!”
She saw the warning look on his face, but couldn�
�t help it, standing up so quickly her chair toppled over.
“Carrie, you will speak to me with respect.”
She felt frustration boil out of her. “Oh, and what else am I to do?” she shouted. “I am doing the best I can.” Whirling, she stomped out of the cabin, standing on the edge of the porch, unwilling to set foot on the wild grass. Why would anyone live in this godforsaken place? It was as if he’d chosen it just to test her.
Turning, she saw Miles standing there, his face like a storm cloud. His broad form filled the doorway, and she almost gasped at the longing that gripped her. Her body was aching with need, like an itch she didn’t know how to scratch.
“Go inside, and undress. You’ve earned a punishment.”
His stance radiated quiet displeasure, and she couldn’t help fanning the flames. She wanted him wild and raging as she was, his strict control be damned. “Why not here?” She gestured to the porch. “You’ve not been shy to punish me outside before. Afraid some travelers will come by and see your wife’s naked form?”
Frustration flashed through his face. He came towards her and she backed away, wondering if she’d poked the bear too hard. He must have seen some fear on her face, because he stopped. “Carrie, you’ve been surly and upset for days now; let me settle you.”
“I’m not a mare you can quiet,” she snapped back, but she turned on her heel and went back inside, knowing her attitude was probably making things worse. Tearing off her clothes, she sat down on her sewing stool to wait for him.
He took his time coming inside, and once there, she noticed his frustration was tightly in hand. Stupid man.
“Stand up,” he commanded.
Unwilling to test his control again, she did so.
“Next time I tell you you’ll be disciplined, you’ll go inside and undress, take the paddle off the hook and lean over the bed.”
“I didn’t—”
“Silence, Carrie. Talk back or dally and I’ll double your punishment. Now go get the paddle.”
She stood rooted to the spot, determined not to be a willing part of this.
After a moment, he came towards her.
“Turn around.” He lay a blanket over the trunk and then guided her over it. As soon as his hands touched her, she jumped. She couldn’t fight him, she knew, but she trembled a little for her poor bottom.
