Hazel and the YouTube Tutorial
She did not doubt it. She very carefully walked away from the new building to the house. Hazel was sitting in the living room with a laptop open on the coffee table watching YouTube videos on hair styling. She seemed to be attempting some sort of milkmaid braid. It was not going well. The braid lofted over one ear and sort of slumped down over her forehead. “God, I look like Hitler’s mother,” she said.
Cass laughed with her the easy familiarity of women who see each other every day and couldn't love each other more. “Do we know what Hitler's’ mother looked like?”
Hazel gestured at herself. “Umm, yeah. This.” She shook out her hair. This did not improve the situation.
“What are you doing?” Cass asked.
“I need to revamp my look. I’m getting frumpy.” Cass was shocked by this revelation. Hazel was a quirky, confidant woman. She had recently married Lloyd, who was clearly besotted with her.
“I need a total makeover.” She gestured at her jeans, crocs and baggy sweatshirt.
“You're beautiful,” Cass assured her.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” her mother-in-law rejoined. “It’s time to try something new.”
“Well, hold on there…” Cass laughed. “Too much new might push Killian over the edge.”
Hazel gave a gentle smile. “He misses his dad”
“I know, but how hard is it to say that? I mean, relax, Rambo.” Cass’s laughter stopped while it was still on her lips. Looking over her mother-in-law's shoulder, she could see the angry glare of her husband. “Hi, honey,” she quickly said in a significantly subdued manner. Hazel hustled herself out of there as fast as her crocs could carry her. He had overheard her making fun of him to his mother. Oh Lord Almighty, she thought. He held his hand out to her. She began making excuses even before his fingers had closed on hers. “Honey, I was just teasing. It’s no big deal.”
“I know what you were doing,” he said, and his quiet voice lent a certain grimness to the proceedings. He walked her out to cabin eight; it was the cabin she had stayed in when she first came to Slick Trench. It was not the cabin that contained all of the appliances and countertops, you couldn't swing a cat in there, and Cass was fairly certain Killian was going to need a fair amount of elbow room. He locked the door behind them and without preamble nudged her to the arm of the couch and bent her over it longwise. She had been spanked straddling something before, but it had always been a sexy spanking. This was not. He had never belted her before so she did not recognize the noise of him unbuckling it at first. The first lick was a burning stripe where her bottom met her upper thighs. She gasped and then the second one was upon her. Three, four, five up to twenty hard and fast. She was squirming. The end of the belt seemed to catch the baby skin on her inner thighs and she was very grateful that she was still wearing her jeans. She was fairly certain that mercy was not to last, however. He let her lay there, breathing hard trying to slow her heart down while he put his belt back on. He helped her stand and then he sat down. He looked her full in the face. “Would you like it if I made fun of you for crying when we moved away from your both still living parents?”
She winced. “Honey, I wasn't making fun of you.”
He glared at her and proceeded to unbuckle her jeans. In a thrice they were rolled down and her panties peeled off her already lined with red stripes backside. Once again she was amazed at just how adept he was at hauling her over his lap. Killian had large, hard hands and he set to work making her as sorry as possible. It didn't take long until she began to cry. She felt horrible that she had upset him so much. She hadn't meant to humiliate him. That was the last thing she would ever want to do. “I’m sorry, I’m really really sorry,” she whimpered. Once she used her voice, the sobs rolled from her like storm clouds before a west wind. Her guts were wrenched with her deep throated cries. He suddenly stopped and lifted her off of his lap. She slumped down onto the couch still crying like a banshee.
Killian stood up abruptly. “The two things that matter most to me in the world are my mother being proud of me and being your hero. I guess we don't all get what we want,” he said and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
Cass buried her face in her hands and gave herself over to her crying. He was her hero. Hazel couldn't be more proud of him. Once again her damn mouth had screwed things up. After several minutes, her tears began to subside. She had been wrong, totally wrong. But he had left her. The son of a bitch had spanked her hard and then left her by herself. Fuck that. She had earned some money from her TV show. She would call her parents and say, “My childhood home—the one that's on the market? I am coming home and buying it.” Then she’d call Jen or maybe Sarah—hell, maybe both. They would help her divorce Killian and then the the three of them would move through Chicago drinking cocktails and visiting restaurants. Both Sarah and Jen were married, but she would cross that bridge when she got to it. Her intention was to yank her Levi’s up and stalk back to their apartment and give the man a piece of her mind. Turned out that yanking stiff jeans up over a bottom that's been roasted like the noonday sun was not exactly easy. She left her fly unbuttoned and smoothed her tee shirt down to cover herself up. Gingerly she was mincing her way back to the lodge when she had to stop to rub the sting from her burning cheeks. She ducked into a cottage and sidled between the appliances. Shutting the door behind her she began to massage her backside, running her fingertips over the lines left by her husbands angry belting. He might make their rules, but he just broken a cardinal, albeit unspoken one. He had made her vulnerable and then he had abandoned her. Sighing, she realized that she adored her husband and she loved their life and she wasn't going anywhere. The thought of pulling those jeans up was ghastly. Spying the marble countertops she shuffled over and turned around pressing her enflamed posterior against their blessed chill. This was probably not allowed, but she rationalized, that if Killian could break their contract, by god, so could she. She was about to square her shoulders and stand up, accepting the sting in her backside and go find her wronged husband, when he walked in. She leapt up, horrified that she had been caught out. Frantically, she gave a little hop trying to pull her pants up. “Umm. yeah It’s not,” she began and gave up. Even if he hadn't just seen her, the steaming bottom print on the cold marble gave her away. With a look on his face that Cass couldn't read, he strode to her. She braced herself to be tucked under his arm and spanked within an inch of her life. That’s not what happened. Dropping to his knees he buried his face into her belly. “I am so sorry, baby. Forgive me please.” She stroked his hair and said that, of course, she forgave him. She had been wrong; she hadn't meant to humiliate him. She would never want to do that.
“I love you,” he whispered, kissing her pale belly, over and over again.
“I love you too.” As if she hadn't already cried enough, the waterworks began in earnest. “You don't get to leave me,” she sobbed.
He stood and clasped her to his chest. “No I don't. I was wrong. So very, very wrong. Baby doll, I am so sorry.”
The marble warmed quickly under her fevered skin as Killian slammed into her. She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him deeper and deeper into her. Her nails raked his shoulders as she arched her back and cried out for more of him.
If pulling up her jeans after her spanking had been tough, doing it after being spanked and then fucked like a freight train was nearly impossible. She barely got them over her hips and once again smoothed her shirt down. She pressed her lips against his. “I am so relieved you came to find me,” she whispered.
“No, you really aren’t,” he whispered back, “you are getting a dose of the hairbrush when we get upstairs.”
“Are you going to leave me alone afterwards?”
His hands slid down to squeeze her already aching bottom. “Absolutely not. Never again.”
“And that,” she thought, “Might almost be worth it.”
The Roof Raising
The morning after the
spanking to end all spankings Cass woke up to find the lodge swarming with people. Word had gone out that the Nelsons needed help and by god, every Slick Trenchian had shown up. She pulled on her jeans, not the ones from the night before, that would be disgusting, pulled on some tennis shoes and began her day. She busied herself making coffee and went out to see how she could help. Even Travis, the shiftless, but mostly well meaning cousin of everyone and mayor of Slick Trench was wielding a hammer.
“How are things going?” she asked him.
“Well, the roof will be done tonight. By tomorrow we can start hanging drywall. The frame is solid, so that helps.”
“Yes, I guess it does,” she answered, assuming it to be true, but really having no idea. She moved back and forth filling coffee mugs. It was nice to catch up with her neighbors after her time away. Women were climbing the scaffold and, if not hammering, were assisting in some way. Libby, of course had her own tool belt that fit perfectly around her slim hips. She worked next to Torsten and could clearly hold her own, even at construction. It was like an Amish barn raising with more plaid flannel.
“Watch yourself,” said Danny, perhaps the largest man in Alaska. His tattoos covered every part of him but his face. He had giant gauges in his ears and a Mohawk slicked back into a ponytail. According to Killian he was the best drywaller around.
“Huh?” Cass was confused. He pointed down and she saw the nail sticking out of the edge of her tennis shoe. “Oops,” she said, trying to laugh it off and thinking she best get the hell out of there and into the flaming boots of painful death.
She finished pouring the coffee and turned quickly, but not so quickly that she didn't hear one of the older men yell, “Hey, Killian, you need to get that pretty city mouse wife of yours some decent boots.”
The mere thought of another spanking made her guts seize up. The muscles of her bottom were still achy and the places where the belt had landed were still fiery and tender. Why was she always so stupid?
She changed into the damn boots. She did a quick review of the fridge and, spotting the thawed ground meat that she was going to use to invent the perfect meatball, decided on meatloaf sandwiches. She sautéed aromatics, minced garlic and horseradish and packed it into Bundt pans. Once that was in the oven, she sliced bread, opened bags of potato chips and arranged carrots, celery, cherry tomatoes and ranch dressing. Hazel had already thought to fill coolers with ice and soft drinks. “Should I put some beer in there?” Cass asked.
Hazel shook her head. “Not till they are done with the roof. We really don't want helicopters to have to come rescue some guy who broke his neck falling off our roof.”
Cass had to agree. Hazel continued quietly, “On the roof everyone thinks I shouldn't be building anyway.”
“No one thinks that but Killian and he’s coming around.”
“No, a lot of people think it. They blame Lloyd. It’s hard on him. He felt awkward enough before. Folks think I’ve gone all fancy.” The way Hazel said “gone all fancy” it was clear that it was not a compliment.
“You are bringing a lot of business to the town,” Cass said.
“That’s true, but not everyone likes changing things,” Hazel said sadly.
“You are right and it is going to be great. They’ll see that and get over it.”
“We’ll see,” Hazel concluded. “I need to take a fresh cup of coffee to that husband of mine. He’s on the phone with her daughter.” Hazel bustled off. Cass was relieved to be alone. Just to be on the safe side, she pressed her back against the wall and only then rubbed her aching bum. She slipped a hand down her panties and ran her fingers along the ridges left by the belt. She tried to reassure herself that he might forget. He would not forget. No way. With a sigh, she started typing.
CassCooks Blogpost
Meatloaf - It doesn’t have to suck
I know, I know, your mother made meat loaf on Wednesdays and it was covered in gloppy ketchup and you did not learn to cook so that you could go make loaves of meat. Got it. However, the simple fact remains, as my grandfather used to say when I was in chef’s school and throwing balsamic reduction and tarragon in everything, “Honey, a man likes a tune he can whistle.” So true, Poppa. Therefore, I present to you a flavorful, juicy meat loaf. Magnificent alongside scalloped potatoes. Even better in a sandwich. (Recipe in index)
I let it get to just warm before slicing thickly and serving atop white sandwich bread with mustard and white cheddar. I can't even whistle (I can’t—not a single note—so I gave up my goal of being a Native American tracker early in life) and I know this is a lunch to sustain anyone—whether they are roofing or getting ready for a parent-teacher conference. Make it today. It’s delicious!
To be clear, I am not roofing. I tried to put the stickers in the right spots on my Barbie townhouse when I was eleven and learned right then that construction was not for me. Unlike me, Killian can do anything he decides to do. It’s one of the many irresistible things about him. The most amazing thing about living here is the intense bonds that exist. Most of Killian’s cousins live near us. So a swarm of family members and long time friends have arrived to help us finish the new lodge building. We are humbled and grateful. It’s gong to be amazing.
I’m feeding the army of helpers and keeping it delicious!
Cass
The roof was going together astonishingly fast. Cass set the sandwich fixings on the lodge’s porch and hollered that lunch was ready. No one stood on ceremony. The roofers came lumbering down, leaving their hammers where they had stood. Plates were filled, cans of soda opened and men and women plunked down wherever they could find a spot.
Cass would never get used to small town Alaskan life. Since everyone was related somehow, (Cass just chose not to think about cousins getting married—the thought made her a little unsettled) there was a certain forthrightness about interactions. No point in standing on ceremony. Wendell, (or was it Wyatt?) one of the identical twins who owned the only hardware store in town approached her. “We need pickles, you forgot to put them out,” he said. In Cass’s former life when someone served you lunch, you did not criticize their choice of condiments. Of course, in her former life, no one dropped whatever they had planned to do to get a roof on your new building before the rains started. So fine, she thought, pickles he shall have. She hurried down to the cellar and retrieved tiny sour pickles and her grandmother’s bread and butter pickles. Her guest, took a bite of a small cornichon, the French style pickles she prided herself on, and made a horrible face. “Blech—you could wash a window with one of those.”
Cass worked hard to not remonstrate the elderly man in overalls. “Try these,” she said, proffering him the sweet and tangy bread and butter pickles.
He looked at her balefully, clearly weighing whether or not to trust her again. He took a sliver of pickle. He broke into a toothy grin. “Now that's a decent pickle. I guess you can cook a little, after all.”
“Just a little,” laughed Cass.
“Well, next time you need American cheese,” he continued. She froze—there were limits to her being good natured after all.
“That will never happen, W—” she paused afraid of calling him by the wrong name… “Never, ever. That's not cheese, that's post nuclear waste,” she continued.
She was astonished to see several of the men load their sandwiches with enough bread and butter pickles that the bread nearly split around them. She shuddered at the idea of combining her perfectly flavor balanced meat loaf with the slightly sweet pickles. “Oh well,” she thought, “if it fuels them to finish the roofing.”
Slick Trenchians were the hardest working humans in the galaxy, thought Cass. When you spend every waking moment eking a living out of a beautiful land that would have zero compunctions about killing you, you learned some serious focusing skills. Cass thought of a conversation she had had in the drug store. Bea, a distant relative of Hazel’s and the first person from Slick Trench that Cass had ever met in person—was in the store bu
ying magazines. She loved magazines, the trashier the better. This scrappy, retired first grade teacher who could gut a deer in less than a minute, and favored JC Penney cardigans, wanted to know every single thing there was to know about the Kardashians. It baffled Cass. “Will you race home to read your magazine?” she had asked.
Bea and the other customers had frozen, as if she had asked the elderly woman something untoward.
“What? Tonight?” Bea asked, slightly aghast.
“That’s what I was thinking,” Cass answered, regretting the years she had wasted taking French and wishing she had taken “Alaskan as a foreign language” in college.
“It’s summer,” Bea had said. As if that was some sort of answer.
“Oh, yeah. I forgot,” Cass muttered. Libby, who was the town’s pharmacist, on top of dating Torsten, once again had to translate. “People are too busy setting food by in the summer. She stockpiles those for the winter and then catches up.”
“Wait. too busy to read?” The mind boggled, thought the comparatively lazy cook.
“Yeah, they make use of the daylight to harvest the garden, dry fish, fish, set wood by, make salves, render seal oil.”
Yea, the basics, Cass thought. Just like Mom used to do. Of course, Barbara Harper, had been a PTA stalwart and an avid tennis player and had never heard of using seal oil as a condiment.
Cass considered going out to help, and decided she was better used to tidy up from lunch. She watched the roofing from the window above the sink. Killian and Torsten were in the thick of it. People hurried up and down ladders, the dark shingles were nailed on in neat columns. She felt a wave of love for the community she had been married into. From his perch atop the roof Killian caught her eye and winked at her. She felt a second wave of love that washed over her being.
Rare: A BBW Romance (The Cass Chronicles Book 4) Page 5
