Rocky Mountain Discipline

by Lee Savino

  “I want it.”

  She swallowed, and knelt.

  “This is how you come to atone for your sins.” He left the divan and stalked in a slow circle around her. With careful movements, he drew her hair pins out, letting her dark locks fall over her bare shoulders. Somehow, she felt more naked.

  He reseated himself on the chaise.

  “Crawl to me.”

  Her pussy clenched with the order, but she was too far gone to care. Every time he hurt her, she felt release and now she craved it. She’d do anything to feel clean again.

  Even crawl.

  Panting hard, she put her hands on the rug and started moving forward on hands and knees. She couldn’t help moving her body sinuously over the floor, wanting him to watch her. She met his eyes, and suddenly couldn’t bear it. She let her head fall to the floor.

  “That’s right, eyes down. Crawl to your master.”

  She whimpered again, an animal sound, calling out from deep inside her.

  It seemed right, so she followed her instincts. When she reached him, she dipped and kissed the tip of his boot before settling back on her haunches. A slight crinkle appeared at the corner of his eyes, telling her he was pleased. He studied her a long while, until she was afraid he’d changed his mind.

  “You’re the only woman I know who can look haughty on her knees.” He almost chuckled. “Now, come up here.” As he helped her over his knees, her vulnerable position hit her and she shook. His hands stroked down the curve of her back, soothing her even as he reminded her she was totally bare before him. Again, she felt the sharp prickle of need down between her legs.

  “Give yourself over to this, Francesca,” he breathed, cupping one buttock in the palm of his hand. After her belting, she’d soothed her skin with balm. The pain had gone, and as soon as it left, she’d craved it again. She relished his touch on her bruised bottom—savoring and dreading it. He’d beaten her with sticks and a belt, but for some reason getting spanked with his palm on her flesh was the worst. She could handle the ache, but not the heat of his hand, more intimate than any implement.

  His fingers dipped between her legs and she bucked involuntarily.

  “Still,” he ordered. “Right now, this belongs to me.”

  His reminder lifted a weight off of her and she relaxed. She’d given herself over to him; there was no going back.

  “Part your legs.”

  With a whimper, she obeyed.

  He stroked her with the lightest touch, swirling around her lower lips. Her hips shifted to meet his fingers. All too soon he took them away, and held the sopping digits to her lips.

  “Lick.”

  Her insides clenched with humiliation, but she obeyed, tasting herself. Her musk and sweetness. His finger fucked her face, and she let him, her cheeks burning in shame.

  “Oh my darling,” he murmured. “The things I’d do to you, if you were truly mine.” His cock pressed into her belly and he shifted.

  “Now point your toes in, so you can’t clench your bottom as I spank you. You’re going to feel everything I give you.” He kneaded her cheeks, speaking in a soothing tone. “Let go, Francesca. Everything’s going to be all right.” One hand closed on the back of her neck, holding her. “I’m going to give what you need.”

  He started spanking her, pausing after a minute to remind her to breathe. She sucked in air, her everything focused on the hand crashing onto one cheek, then the other. His palm beat into her bottom to the rhythm of her heart.

  “Let go, Francesca,” he repeated. “I’ve got you. You’re going to be all right.”

  It started as a little cry within her, barely audible. The swats continued, one stinging blow blending into another, until her whole bottom felt hot and abused. The spanking went on and on and she heard a low keening, a wild, broken sound. It filled her ears before she realized it was coming from her.

  The slaps rained down harder, and her arms jerked back to protect her poor backside. He stopped only to catch her wrists and pin them in the small of her back, and throw his leg over hers so she was held fast. Unable to struggle, she could only focus on the sting. There was nothing in the world besides his hand and her throbbing bottom. No worries or cares, his control locked everything else out, and after a lifetime of struggle, the relief was sweet.

  The spanking continued, relentless, pushing her further and further to the edge of pain and release, and, at last, she cried. The tears came all at once, and in a torrent. Sebastian kept spanking her, but she only felt the pain in her heart as something inside her broke and poured out of her. All her sorrow and secret shame, the feelings she’d locked up for years. She cried as she hadn’t at her mother’s funeral, at her father’s, at her husband’s. They’d all been taken from her, and she’d had to stay strong. She howled at the unfairness of it all. Deep down, she’d believed that they’d been taken from her because of her many sins.

  Her sobs stretched her mouth until her jaw ached. When they stopped, she sagged over Sebastian’s lap. The spanking had stopped, but he was still touching her, not punishing but stroking the curve of her back and buttocks.

  “It’s all right, my darling. You did well. You’re going to be all right.” His fingertips sent goosebumps from the back of her neck to her knee, and back again.

  Her bottom stung, but her heart felt easy and light, as if the pain and tears had washed it clean.

  She hiccupped, and he helped her into a sitting position. Huddling in his lap, she relished the curve of his body around hers. He’d been so strong, so harsh, and yet so caring. He’d given her what she needed.

  “Feel better?”

  “Yes, thank you.” With no worries in the way, wrapped in that perfect calm, she did the first thing that came to mind. Twining her arms around Sebastian’s shoulders, she kissed him.

  He tasted delicious. His lips pressed against hers, soft and strong, and she felt she’d never get enough of him. Her body started to shift over his, ready to straddle his hips and bear down to satisfy her aching need…

  He jerked his head back so his blue eyes could catch hers.

  “I’m leaving in the morning,” he said. “I think it’s for the best.”

  Pain stabbed through her heart, but she managed to nod. She pushed off of him, still naked.

  He was clothed, neatly groomed, and in control. Her bottom throbbed, reminding her of the past hour. The warm glow of the spanking receded, leaving her with the harsh pain. He’d said he’d give her what she needed, and he did. But she’d given her all. She’d even crawled for him.

  A coldness settled over her from her unbound hair to her aching bum. Normally she would reach for her anger, but it was not there. As long as she lived, she would never forget the gift he’d given her. And she’d never forgive him.

  She spoke in a flat voice she didn’t recognize as her own. “Thank you. I wish you well.” Scooping up her clothes, she left.

  An hour after spanking his hostess, Sebastian sat staring into the fire, taking stock of his sins. There were many, and since meeting Francesca, he’d only seemed to add to them, despite his best intentions.

  His father wouldn’t be surprised.

  He realized he’d spent the last two years hating his father for sending him to America. What little hopes he’d had of impressing his sire disappeared when he was clearly told “you are not good enough to have in my company.” The worst part of it was the relief. Even he didn’t expect much of himself, and at least now he could squander his life in peace.

  Something inside him cried out for more, and then came the little widow, armed with nothing but a revolver and her own passionate pride, blowing a hole in his daily goal to be drunk by noon. And she was intelligent, and strong, and beautiful, and came with a whole slew of problems, enemies and friends.

  Oh, and she liked to be whipped.

  With Francesca, he had a chance to redeem himself. He’d taken the first steps to using his resources to help a woman he’d come to care for. But if he was going
to really help her, he’d have to commit.

  What would it be like to build a life with someone? To work by their side every day, and grow old in their company? He wanted her, but that wasn’t enough. He’d have to do it right—he’d have to marry her.

  Would she have him? The princess marry a court jester? She saw him as a gangly fool, who played white knight only when it suited him. Of course, he’d never had anything to fight for.

  He did now. Hell, half the time they were fighting each other. Could their marriage survive their passion?

  His fingers pricked and he stabbed out his cigarette before it burned him further. Ridiculous to sit here wondering about his worthless life, and whether he could make something of himself by marrying her. She probably wouldn’t have him. In the morning, he would ask. Her face when he told her he was leaving…her stricken expression would haunt him forever if he didn’t bare his heart.

  He’d failed the last woman he’d made these promises to. He would have to make sure that didn’t happen again.

  He was just rising to go to bed, when he heard a noise in the hall. He stepped out of the dining room in time to block Francesca, hurrying from her room swathed in a dark cloak.

  “Francesca,” he caught her and she sprang back with a hiss, as if his touch burned her, “where are you going?”

  “None of your business, Englishman.”

  He said nothing, just waited, still blocking the hall.

  “Out. I cannot sleep.”

  He glanced down. She was barefoot. “The hell you are. It’s not safe for you to be going about at night.”

  “What do you know of it?” He sensed her glare even in the dark.

  “Know about scoundrels who lurk in the night, waiting for pretty women? Everything. I am one.”

  She huffed. “Another joke. Do you ever say anything serious? Your words are made of straw.” She pushed past him into the great room, and he followed catching her arm and forcing her to turn. His joking manner was gone.

  “Francesca, I mean it, you’re not leaving. Roaming about at night isn’t safe.”

  Caught in his grip, she struggled, her hood falling back. “Why do you care? You are not my husband. You are not even a friend. You are…I do not know! A complication.”

  “You’re angry because you feel things for me you think you should not. That’s why you want me to leave.”

  “You are leaving… what I want matters not.”

  “It might. I’ve thought about it, and I think I should stay.”

  She stilled in shock, and he took advantage of the moment and stroked an affectionate finger against her cheek.

  “I think you need me more than you realize.”

  He waited for her thoughts to work themselves out behind her stone face. The passionate Francesca was back, and he almost anticipated whatever outburst that would follow.

  She didn’t disappoint. Her arms shoved at him. “I don’t need a boy. I need a man.” Twisting, she escaped, and he grabbed for her a second time.

  “Let go of me, you fool.” She swore in Spanish.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Sebastian saw a torch flame in the garden. He dropped her arm and she scuttled back, still cursing him.

  He wasn’t paying attention. “What’s that?” he said. “I heard something.”

  “Probably the goat.”

  He pointed through the windows at the lights in the garden, torches coming their way. “That is not a goat.” Something told him he was going to want his gun. “Francesca, get away from the window.”

  “No, it is a patient. I am needed,” she said, hurrying forward.

  A second before the first shot fired, Sebastian knew something was wrong.

  He leaped forward just as the first bullets broke the glass. His body hit Francesca’s, driving her to the ground. She cried out.

  Above their heads, the shots continued to fire, breaking the glass, sending down a rain of shards. Bullets hit the opposite wall. Paint and plaster chips hailed down on their heads.

  Sebastian tightened his hold, tucking Francesca closer to him and shielding her as best he could. The glass shattered and she cried out, burying her face against him. They held each other through the seconds of hell.

  It was over before they realized it. The shooting stopped and the torches receded, but it was another minute before they rose off the floor, a loud ringing filling their ears.

  “Are you all right?” Sebastian’s hands skated over her body, checking for wounds.

  “Yes, yes.” She gripped his shirt, as if reassuring herself he was real.

  In other parts of the house, he heard others rousing. Shouts outside told him that Juan and Cage had heard the shots and were rallying.

  Torches outside were gone, as quickly as they’d come.

  “A gun, a gun, my kingdom for a gun,” Sebastian muttered. Whoever was outside was amply armed. They’d come prepared. He glanced out the broken windows, wishing he could run out after them. The shooters outnumbered him, but with the rage coiled inside him it could be ten to one odds and he’d win.

  But nothing would take him from Francesca’s side.

  She stood in the center of the room, staring at the destruction. With the torches gone, the room was dark, but he felt her tension and watched as violent shivers overtook her body.

  “Francesca?”

  “Sebastian,” she choked. He’d never heard her sound so terrified.

  “Darling.” He pulled her close. “It’s going to be all right. I’m here.”

  Morning brought no answers, only a better view of the wreckage. There were boot prints all over the garden; the attackers had been careless about where they stepped.

  Ana had found her goat hiding in the apothecary. The animal had made quite a mess in Francesca’s retreat—the flagstones needed a good scrubbing—but even the señora was cheered to see the white beast’s return. It did Sebastian good to see a tired smile on his little widow’s face.

  After cleaning up, Ana had convinced Francesca to lie down for a little while. The señora seemed to have shrunken overnight. Sebastian forgot how small and slender she was compared to the force of her personality. He’d do anything to wipe the broken expression from her face. This attack had shaken her to the core. They hadn’t damaged her fields or cattle, but come with torches and fired shots into the house. They’d breached her sanctuary.

  That evening, Sebastian stood on the flagstones just outside the garden, smoking endlessly. Cage came to stand beside him, waving a hand when Sebastian offered the tobacco pouch. The man offered a flask instead, and after they’d pulled on it in silence, Cage turned the container over and over in his weathered hands.

  “Tell me,” Sebastian finally said.

  “Seven men. Five to shoot, two to stay with the horses,” Cage reported.

  “They came under the cover of night. Cowards.”

  “This wasn’t an attack meant to kill. Maim and destroy, maybe,” Cage said. “Scare tactics.”

  “The Royal Mountain Gang. It has to be. Francesca said her father owed them money. They came to scare her into paying off the debt.”

  “The Royal Mountain Gang.” Cage nodded. “From what I hear the gang was tied to a big boss named Doyle. But he died last summer of a bullet in the gut. Since then, his empire’s been crumbling, but there are always scavengers to pick up the pieces. If Francesca’s father and husband borrowed money, it would’ve been from Doyle. Now that Doyle’s dead, the gang is run by two brothers named Bigs and Johnson. They’re not as smart as their old boss.”

  “So, mean and stupid. Not a good combination.” Sebastian grimaced.

  “Not at all. But if they knew of the debt, they probably see a way to rake some money in. Doyle’s victims are fair game now. Without Doyle to reign them in, they could harass Francesca until she caves, or burn her whole place to the ground.”

  “They’ve destroyed crops, waterways, made trouble. And then they shoot into her home. The outbuildings: the apothecary, Juan’s ho
use, the barracks, Ana’s suite, all left untouched.”

  “Feels personal,” Cage said. “Whatever this girl’s husband did, it pissed them off, and bad.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe they’re just stupid and desperate and looking for low hanging fruit. A widow struggling to keep her ranch might look like easy pickings, and they wanted to speed things along.”

  Cage sighed. “Don’t know, boss. I’ll keep mulling it over.” He kicked a chunk of fallen plaster.

  Sebastian tossed his cigarette to the ground and stepped on it. Little slivers of glass crunched beneath his heel.

  “You didn’t sign on for this,” he said to Cage “I am paying you a livelihood, but I would not presume to ask you to risk your life. I understand if you want to go.”

  Cage met his boss’ eyes with his own weathered blues. “I take it you’re staying.”

  “I am.”

  The silver head nodded, and Cage seemed to come to a decision. “I’ll hang on. I don’t mind a little gunshot now and then. I’ll see this to the end.”

  “Thank you,” Sebastian said. He would have to wire to his father for more money, but he intended to do so, and put everything he had into protecting his Francesca.

  “What now, boss?”

  “Now we set a guard. And we stay smart.” Sebastian took a purse out of his pocket. “Go into the town and hire some help. Big, strapping farm boy types who can stand watch. I want this place guarded morning, noon, and night. I’ll also take a shift.”

  “That won’t stop the gang.”

  “But it might stall them while we figure out what’s going on.” His fingers itched for another cigarette, and he gripped it into a fist.

  Cage grunted. “I guess. Might keep someone from dying, if that’s their next aim.”

  “What if she had protection?”