This was not fun and games. Or a sexy power exchange, though everything about the way Ray was carrying himself right now was drop dead sexy. This was the punishment spanking that Ray had warned Jessica would come. She was tough, she could take it, but she was scared.
Eyes locked on hers, Ray grabbed ahold of the waist of Jessica’s jeans and tugged her closer to him. Skillful, nimble fingers unbuttoned her jeans, Ray lowered the zipper. Running his hands along the waistband of the denim, Ray pushed the material over Jessica bottom and hips, resting them around her mid-thigh.
Wondering what panties she was wearing, Jessica looked down in despair, hiding her face in her hands. They were an old, pale pink cotton pair, with bunny rabbits dancing along the fabric.
Ray said, “Cute. Now, get over my knee.”
Feeling hopeful that Ray might leave the little bunny panties on for her punishment, Jessica quickly positioned herself over Ray’s lap, resting her upper body on the bed.
Squeezing her eyes shut tight in embarrassment, Jessica felt Ray slip the pink panties over her bottom and down her thighs to meet her jeans. “My wife will always be spanked on the bare, though you look more like a naughty, little girl than a grown wife, right now,” Ray said.
Placing a hand on her bare bottom, Ray waited a moment before raising his hand and bringing it down on her right cheek with a hard smack. Several more spanks landed in the same spot, and Jessica sucked in a breath through her teeth. Ray moved to the other side, placing five swats in the same spot on the left cheek.
“Is my message getting through to you, Miss Jessica?” his voice called out over the sound of the spanking.
“Yes, sir,” Jessica answered. The punishment continued, sharp slaps alternating sides. Bottom stinging, Jessica began to wiggle and groan.
“Punishment spankings hurt, don’t they, young lady?” Ray’s deep voice thundered.
“Yes, sir,” Jessica answered, tears stinging her eyes as Ray continued to spank her bottom. The slaps came down one after the other, leaving no part of her bottom unpunished. When Jessica thought she could take no more, the spanking stopped.
“Cherry red,” Ray said, sounding satisfied. “Now, stand up and go look over your shoulder at your bottom in the mirror. I want you to see what color that little tushy is going to be any time you decide that rudeness is the answer to a problem.” Ray helped Jessica to a standing position.
Knees weak, her body facing Ray, Jessica looked over her shoulder at the dresser mirror that was across from them. She gave a little gasp when she saw that Ray’s lap was on full display, sure that Ray had enjoyed not only spanking her but watching her face during the punishment as well. Panties and jeans around her thighs, Jessica stared at the sight of her bare bottom. The normally creamy cheeks were uniformly colored a bright red.
Standing, Ray took Jessica’s hand in his. “Now, for the kitchen. Grab your spoon, please.”
“Let me pull my pants up, first,” Jessica begged.
“No, ma’am. That bottom is going to be on display to me for the rest of the day.”
Holding in a groan and double eye roll, Jessica picked up the spoon. It seems light, she thought hopefully to herself. Shuffling along, spoon in one hand, Jessica let Ray lead her, hand in hand, into the kitchen.
Pulling out a kitchen chair, Jessica watched enviously as Ray took a comfortable seat. She was sure she would not only not be sitting the rest of the day but also sleeping on her tummy that night.
“Do you know why I chose the spoon and the kitchen?” Ray asked.
“I’m sensing a bakery theme,” Jessica answered, holding her tongue from several rude responses that crossed her mind. Looks like the spanking was already working, she thought.
“Exactly. I like to tie memories to punishments. It’s more effective when teaching the naughty girl a lesson. I want you back over my lap.” The look on Ray’s face as he spoke had Jessica melting.
Jessica handed Ray the spoon and kneeling on the floor, laid over his lap trying to imitate the positioning Ray had placed her in for the first spanking on the couch.
“Good girl,” Ray said, adjusting her hips a bit so that her bottom was perched over his thigh. Jessica’s hands pressed into the kitchen floor, balancing her upper body. “Ten licks with the wooden spoon and I want you counting.”
“Yes, sir.”
The spoon came down right on her sit spot with a loud, whack. Though thin and light, the utensil stung. Jessica counted, “One.”
Ray continued to focus his attention where her bottom met the top of her thighs, alternating sides. ‘Whack, whack, the little spoon cried. Tears flowed from Jessica’s eyes as she counted out the numbers, “Eight, nine, ten.”
As soon as the final spank landed, Ray pulled Jessica up, helping her onto his lap. When her bare, sore bottom hit the denim of his jeans, Jessica quickly hopped back up.
“No, no,” Ray said softly, guiding her back down until she was gingerly sitting on his lap. “You sit right here.”
Not one to cry, Jessica was finding relief in the post spanking tears that covered her face. Her bottom was on fire and she was feeling like a very well punished little girl. Gently, Ray rubbed Jessica’s back as she sat, pants now around her knees, on his lap.
“That’s daddy’s good girl,” Ray murmured as he continued to rub. Laying her head on Ray’s chest, Jessica melted into the size and strength of the big man. This was not a position Jessica had ever envisioned herself. To her own surprise, Jessica embraced the safe, cared for feeling that came with having a loving daddy to punish her when she was bad.
“Are you ready to go back to the bedroom?” Ray asked quietly.
“Yes, Daddy,” Jessica answered, realizing she was going to have to pay up. Carrie would be getting her five dollars.
“Thanks, Glenn.” With a tip of his hat, Wes took the mail Postmaster Glenn handed him and headed back to his truck. The feed bags were piled high in the truck bed and Wes was grateful to have just completed his last errand of the day. It had taken weeks for things to get back to normal after the wedding. Finally, back into his usual routine, Wes had enjoyed making the monthly purchases for the ranch.
In the passenger seat, Carrie was happily sipping a strawberry milkshake. Wes had promised a visit to Burger Barn to entice Carrie to make the trek to town with him. Already finished with her fries, Wes watched, chuckling from the window, as Carrie helped herself to what was left of his share.
Wes rapped his knuckles against the glass, laughing, as a startled Carrie looked up with a guilty expression. She gave a small shrug and smile, mouthing the words, “I’m hungry.”
Wes went over to the driver’s door, making a face of mock surprise when he saw what was left of the Barn Double Burger he had ordered. Looking over at his tiny wife, seated in a sea of empty wrappers, Wes asked, “Carrie, is there something you need to tell me?”
“Like what?” she replied, taking a final, loud suck on her straw. “All gone,” Carrie said sadly, placing the Styrofoam cup reverently down in the graveyard of trash.
“You seem to be eating for two lately.” Wes turned the key and headed down Main Street, back to the ranch. He could only be off his land for so long before he begun to feel the ache to return.
Carrie turned to Wes indignantly. “Weston. Are you calling me fat?” she asked, astonished.
“That’s Wes, or Daddy to you, little girl, and no, I am simply asking why my itty-bitty, little thing of a wife is suddenly eating more food than me?” Wes had meant it as a joke, but as he said the words he realized Carrie had been a bit obsessed with food lately. She had eaten enough brisket to feed three grown men at the wedding and had put away a half a pan of leftover Banana pudding the next morning.
“Bah,” Carrie said, waving her hand in Wes’ direction. “I’ve always been this hungry.”
With a shrug Wes dropped the subject, navigating the curves of the familiar roads back to the ranch.
A few moments later, Carrie asked, “Would
it be a problem if I were eating for two?” while gazing out her window, her voice quiet.
“What do you mean?”
“Have you ever thought about us having kids?” Wes caught Carrie sneaking a shy glimpse at him out of the corner of her eyes.
Wes’ focus was on the present, not one to spend time dwelling on the future. At first, with Carrie, Wes’ energies had been spent making her his. Then there was the renovation of the bunkhouse and planning their own wedding. That was the time when Carrie had become so ill. Wes’ only thought was of keeping Carrie alive. With the everyday running of the ranch, Wes really hadn’t had the time to think about starting a family. Or so he had told himself.
“Not really, Carrie. We have plenty of time for that. Things are just getting settled here.”
Carrie’s silence told Wes everything he needed to know. There was plenty of time, that was his truth. But his wife wanted a baby now, and that was hers.
“It’s never even crossed your mind?” Carrie asked in a small voice.
“It’s not that it had never crossed my mind, per say.” Wes shrugged, unable to express his fears. A baby had crossed Wes’ mind and he had a problem with it. A very big one. It wasn’t the idea of the actual child that bothered Wes. Whenever he pictured Carrie pregnant, it was like he was at the hospital all over again, her limp hand in his, the only response to his voice a tiny flutter of her closed eyelids. He owed his wife the full truth.
“It scares me, Carrie. The thought of you,” Wes cleared his throat to ease his breaking voice, “the thought of you in any physical danger, it tears me up inside.”
“I see,” Carrie said, softly.
“So, it’s not that I don’t want to have children with you, eventually. It’s just that I’m scared to death of the risks involved with pregnancy. I can’t come that close to losing you again, Carrie.”
“That must have been a scary time for you,” Carrie answered. “I can’t imagine how I would have felt if the tables were turned.”
“I worry that it’s not safe for you,” Wes said, gently.
“I don’t think a ruptured appendix can affect your pregnancy. And I’m all better now, Wes.” Carrie put a hand on Wes’ knee. “But I understand if you want to get a good doctor. One that will listen to your concerns. When we want to cross that bridge,” Carrie said.
Knowing his thoughts were based on fear, Wes still couldn’t shake the sick feeling in his gut. He wished he could wrap Carrie in a protective bubble, never to be in danger again. Why risk complications?
“Wes,” Carrie said in a queer voice. Wes took a quick glance over at Carrie. Her pink cheeks suddenly looked ashen. Wes’ heart raced as his mind went to the memory of his sick wife, laying in the hospital bed. Pulling the truck over into the shoulder of the road, Wes asked, “Carrie, are you okay?”
Throwing her hands in front of her mouth, Carrie mumbled behind them, “I think I’m going to be sick.” Wes quickly unlatched his safety belt, flew out of the truck, leaving his door open, and ran to Carrie’s side. As he opened the passenger side door, a great heave came from her body, releasing everything Carrie had just eaten.
The mess was all over Carrie, all over the dashboard, all over the seats of the truck. Crying, Carrie looked up at Wes. “Ugh,” Carrie groaned, “I think I ate too much Burger Barn.”
Wes silently hoped that was the case.
Chapter 6
Pulling up to the Bledsoe house, Ray glanced at Buttercup in the passenger seat of his Jeep. Her skin had more color than it did when she arrived, her cheekbones less pronounced. There was also another slight difference in her looks, a sweet smile was on her face. Saying a quick goodbye to Ray, Buttercup shut the door to the Jeep. Eagerly, the young woman ran up the front walkway to the white colonial style house. Diana Bledsoe, looking like the picture-perfect glow of pregnancy opened the door and gave Ray a wave, as did Buttercup. Waving back, Ray drove down the road heading for the bar.
Seated at a table with Buttercup at the wedding, Diana had grown attached to the young girl. Her husband was leaving town for a few weeks, and she was hoping Buttercup could stay with her for a few days, painting and prepping the nursery and keeping her company. Having extended her stay by another week, Buttercup had been happy to help.
Knowing Buttercup was safely in the hands of a woman that he respected, Ray got to work at the bar. Flipping on the lights and music, Ray felt the absence of his enjoyment in his familiar routine. As he readied the glasses and polished the bar top, Ray felt out of sorts. With Buttercup in town, Evan growing like a weed, and Jessica constantly turned on by his taking her in hand, the dim room that smelled of stale beer, no matter how well Ray had it cleaned, had suddenly lost its appeal as a place to be spending his time.
Maybe the bar was just a waiting room. Somewhere to be until something better came along. And now, something had come along, and it was so much better it had shifted the entire paradigm on which Ray had built his existence.
The floor beneath Ray’s feet was scuffed to a lighter color, the result of the large man standing in the same spot practically all his waking hours for the past twenty years. Ray stood on the spot, and made the decision to do what he had imagined doing many times before. Grabbing a piece of paper, Ray picked up the marker that would forever change his life.
Careful to use his neatest handwriting, Ray printed the words that had played over in his mind for years. Satisfied with his work, Ray grabbed his roll of duct tape from its home on the bar. Picking up his handiwork, Ray walked to the door of the bar.
The heavy oak door swung shut behind Ray as he went out into the daylight. Sunshine warming his back, Ray taped the sign to the front window of the bar. Standing back with his arms crossed, Ray read the words out loud to himself. “Ray’s is closed. Maybe forever.”
“Now just what in tarnation are you playing at, Ray Stevenson?” The crotchety voice startled Ray and he looked to his left. Mr. Callaway stood, hands in his Wranglers, shooting daggers from the sign to the bartender.
“Read the sign, Mr. Callaway.” Whistling, Ray took the bar door keys from his pocket. The lock made a click, as he turned the key, finalizing Ray’s decision. Singing Closing Time at the top of his lungs, the sound of Ray’s voice drowned out Mr. Callaway’s arguing. Ray hopped in the Jeep, slammed the door, and headed down Main Street.
Finding the house empty, Ray laughed at himself. Of course, Jessica and Evan were out, Jessica wasn’t expecting Ray for dinner. He usually came in from the bar at about half past two in the morning, just another reason to get out of the bar game.
Switching to singing old Garth Brooks classics, Ray flipped the radio to the game and began rummaging around in the refrigerator, taking out the fixings for an omelet. Placing the ingredients on the counter, Ray heated up the cast iron skillet he kept on the stovetop. Ray was just getting to the chorus of Friends in Low Places, when his phone rang.
“Hello,” Ray said, over the sizzling of the butter pat hitting the hot pan.
“Ray,” Buttercup’s voice wavered on the other end of the phone, sounding panicked.
“What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“It’s Diana, she is in the bedroom, screaming and clutching her stomach.”
Diana’s due date was still weeks away. Ray’s midwifery skills kicked into high gear. “Screaming continuously or in bursts? How often?”
“About every one to two minutes. It started just a bit ago. I called you right away.”
“Buttercup, hang up with me and call 911. Describe the situation and tell them that you have a woman with you that is possibly in preterm labor. I’ll be there in five minutes.” Three if he could get the Jeep to go over sixty miles an hour.
Flicking off the heat on the stovetop, Ray quickly scribbled a note for Jessica, grabbed his keys from the counter and raced out the front door.
Greeted by a very pale-faced, but calm Buttercup, Ray followed her to the back of the house. As they entered the hallway, a loud guttural scre
am came from the bedroom. Recognizing the sound, Ray knew there wasn’t much time.
Despite how the media inaccurately loved to portray emergency home births, an irritation of Ray’s, they just aren’t common. With only about one baby in two hundred arriving suddenly at home; women have been known to give birth unexpectedly in cars, in the back of an ambulance, or anywhere else the baby had decided to make their arrival. When a baby was ready to be born, it was like a tornado heading towards your house, there was just no stopping them.
“Crank the heat up, Buttercup,” Ray spoke calmly as he approached the young Mrs. Bledsoe. She was laying on her back, knees up, panting in between screams. Trying to give Ray a smile, Diana’s face crumpled as she howled in pain. Ray’s hand smoothed the damp hair from her forehead as he kneeled by her side.
“Diana, I’m here now. You may not know it to look at me, but I have attended more births than most doctors.” A terrified look crossed Diana’s face as Ray said, “I’m just going to get scrubbed up and be right back.”
“The baby can’t come yet. My husband is out of town and the baby isn’t even due.” Diana grabbed Ray’s arms, clenching her teeth, “Don’t leave me,” she stuttered. Buttercup returned from the thermostat, grabbing Diana’s other hand in hers.
“Buttercup is with you. I am going to wash my hands, and then I will be right back,” Ray assured Diana.
“Squeeze away, Mrs. Bledsoe, you can’t hurt me,” Buttercup cooed softly.
Leaving the women, Ray washed as thoroughly as he could in the small master bedroom. As he was drying his hands, he heard the words, “I need to push! I need to push! Ray!”
Returning to the bedside, Ray locked eyes with Buttercup. “Quick as you can, gather these things.” Buttercup nodded. “Large towels, an empty plastic bowl, and a big pot of warm water, tap water will be just fine. Bring me a few towels for the floor, first.” Buttercup nodded.
The Bartender (Sweet Texas Love Book 3) Page 9
