Fort Laramie

by Courage Knight

  The water was perfect! It was pleasantly cool, but nowhere near as cold as Lake Michigan could be. She quickly scrambled over the edge, her feet slipping on moss-covered rocks until she fell in with a splash. Julie screamed, but Carrie quickly emerged, shaking her wet hair out of her eyes. "Oh, does this feel good!" she hollered.

  "That's nice," Julie said flatly.

  Carrie kicked and splashed. She swam out into the middle of the river, feeling the pull downstream stronger there. She swam back a bit closer to the river bank. Rolling onto her back, she gazed up at the cobalt sky, feeling blessedly cool and relaxed for the first time in two days. "Hey, Julie? Toss me my shampoo, will you?"

  "You're not going to wash your hair in that, are you?"

  "Might as well. I hadn't intended to fall in."

  Julie fetched the plastic bottle and gave it a toss. It splashed just in front of Carrie's face. Carrie swept her arm across the surface of the river, creating a small tidal wave that lapped at the rocks on the riverbank and splashed Julie's legs.

  "Cut that out," she snapped.

  "You cut it out. Come one, Julie. Why don't you just come in with me?"

  "I do not bathe in septic tanks."

  Carrie lathered up her long, tangled locks, scrubbing her scalp vigorously. Then she slipped under water to rinse. Rising again, she tossed the shampoo up on the shore and called for the conditioner. Julie paced back and forth anxiously, almost spoiling Carrie's pleasure, so she decided to get out sooner than she wanted. She swam to the riverbank little further down from where she'd entered, but the bank looked a bit less steep and like others might have used it in the past. The long grasses were bent over, revealing something of a path. Carrie planted her right foot, reached for a hand hold, then stepped onto her left - lost her balance and slipped again on the slick moss and screamed. This time she didn't fall into the river. This time something was wrong. Her scream wasn't a girly sound of surprise, but of real pain.

  "Carrie! What's wrong - what happened! I knew this was a bad idea, didn't I say so?" Julie babbled, hurrying to her friend's aid. She knew she had to help, but she was afraid, as well. What if there were blood? Julie wasn't any good in a crisis. And she was angry with Carrie at the moment for putting her in that situation.

  Carrie extended a hand, letting Julie help her up over the bank where she plopped immediately down onto the grass. She grabbed her foot, blood leaking out from under her palm. It was her foot, not her head. Julie took a deep breath and tried to settle the panic attack that was threatening to take over. She knelt next to her friend, brushing her long, soggy hair out of her face.

  "How bad is it, Carrie? What happened?"

  "It was a broken beer bottle," Carrie snapped. "Damn! Why are people so stupid! Oh, it hurts, it hurts. Go get help, I don't think I can walk."

  "Help!" Julie screamed.

  Henry was already halfway there, having been alerted by Carrie's original scream. He put on a burst of speed, then knelt down beside Julie. "Let me see it," he said.

  Carrie moved her hand a bit, but quickly clamped down on the jagged cut again to staunch the blood flow.

  "That's bad," Henry said, stating the obvious. "I'll get Adrian and the first aid kit. Just sit there, kid."

  Carrie nodded, clenching her teeth. She wasn't going to cry - she would not cry! She wasn't a cry-baby, but it really did hurt.

  It wasn't Adrian who came, but Tom, and he looked fierce. He didn't offer any words of comfort as he plastered a bandage around the wound. Then he lifted Carrie as easily as a sack of potatoes and marched back to the camp. He plopped her down none too gently on a picnic table and glowered at her. "Don't move!" he barked. He ducked into his tent, returning moments later with the same zippered hoodie he had loaned to her just that morning. "Put this on," he said, shoving it at her.

  Carrie looked helplessly at her bloody hands, thinking she should clean up a bit before she put stains on the shirt.

  "Now, Carrie," Tom yelled.

  She shoved one hand into the sleeve, then the other. She fumbled with the zipper until Tom slapped her hands out of the way. He zippered it up all the way to her chin. For a brief moment, he gave her such a tender look, but then the fury returned. Carrie suspected then that his anger was a cover for his true emotions. He really cared about her, and she had scared him. She had scared herself, too. The tears she'd been struggling to hold off finally broke free and spilled down her face. She sniffed, looking away, but not fast enough.

  "Go ahead and cry," Tom said gruffly. "But we're not done, young lady. You heard me tell the group to stay out of the river until I'd asked around to see if it was safe. We aren't from around here. It's not like they could print on a brochure, 'don't swim in this river because the local thugs hold beer parties there' now is it?"

  "I'm sorry," she said, her voice breaking. She didn't know why she was crying, really. It hurt, but she'd been hurt worse. She felt hyper-sensitive, a little dizzy, and nauseated. Ah, the adrenaline rush. That's what it was. And now she was coming down from the fight-or-flight response. "Please don't yell at me," she said. "I know I screwed up. Would you just maybe hold me?"

  Tom pulled her into his arms and held her tight - too tight. She almost couldn't breathe. For a moment she didn't even care. His arms felt so nice around her, like she was safe from the world and nothing was going to hurt her ever again. She closed her eyes, snuggling into his embrace.

  He was silent as they sat in the Emergency Room waiting area. Carrie cried again when the doctor scrubbed her cut prior to stitching it up. Then he packed it with an entire roll of gauze and set her up with crutches. Finally, he filled out a prescription for pain pills and sent them on their way.

  Tom remained silent on the drive back to the campground. Carrie gave up trying to talk to him. There were only so many times she could apologize, and it wasn't like she'd planned to get hurt. They were called accidents because they were just that - accidents! She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, probably helped along by the prescription drugs she'd swallowed.

  She woke up when the van came to a stop. It was completely dark outside, dark like out at Grandpa's farm - no street lights, no yard lights, not even any stars tonight. She blinked, a moment of disorientation making her wonder if she'd lost her eyesight, but then shapes started to form, and she remembered where she was. In the van, next to Tom. She rubbed the last of sleep from her eyes and removed her seatbelt.

  "Thanks for taking me in," she said.

  "It's my duty," Tom said. His voice sounded strange. Sort of flat and cold. At least he didn't sound still pissed.

  "And you make it really hard for me," he continued. "How can I keep you safe if you refuse to listen to me?"

  "I said I was sorry."

  "This time. You're sorry this time, because you got hurt. But I don't believe for a second that you are really sorry for not listening to me in the first place. This just isn't going to work, Carrie. I'm sending you home in the morning."

  "No!"

  Tom chuckled sadly. "See what I mean? You still aren't ready to listen to me."

  "You can't send me home. What about the program? You need me-"

  "I need someone I can count on."

  "But you can count on me," Carrie said, tears swelling again. Damn, why was she so tearful tonight?

  "You are stubborn, rude, and self-centered. I thought you were as passionate about history as I am, and that together we could create a really great program here. But this is only our first day - our first day!" he repeated, his voice stronger. "And I had to take you to the emergency room. Imagine how that's going to look when I complete my project paperwork? We might not even be allowed to finish the summer. If the university feels I cannot keep you students safe, they'll pull my funding and insist we return immediately. Have you even thought about that?"

  She shook her head. "I'm so sorry, Tom. Really, I am. But please, let me have a second chance. Please?"

  "I'll give you a choice. Either I put you on a plane
to Wisconsin in the morning, or you accept my punishment tonight."

  She gasped, feeling a strange tingle run through her. It was part dread and part excitement and part she didn't know what. "Punishment?"

  "I will punish you exactly the way Colonel Bart would have punished his wife back in 1887. I'll put you over my knee and spank you hard."

  Carrie laughed. It was undoubtedly the wrong response, but she just couldn't help it. "Spank me? Come on, get real. Men don't spank their wives. Spanking went out of fashion along with child labor and prohibition, because it didn't work."

  "No, Carrie, it didn't go out of fashion. Google spanking sometime, and you'll see that there is a huge community of spankers who believe that it is the right way to maintain a healthy relationship. Both men and women. But I'm not going to argue the pros and cons of spanking with you. The choice is yours: go home or be spanked. Which is it?"

  Carrie was silent for so long, that Tom started up the engine as if to drive her to the airport right then. She put her hand on his arm. "I don't want to go home," she said quietly.

  Tom turned off the engine again. "Good. I don't want you to, either. I saw this rest area on our way in. We're about a mile from anywhere, so no one will interrupt us."

  Carrie swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. That odd feeling inside intensified and her panties felt damp. Tom got out of the van, came around to her side and opened her door. He undid her seatbelt, then lifted her in his arms again, carrying her over to a picnic table. He sat down on the table, holding her on his lap. "Carrie, tell me why you are going to be spanked."

  "Because I don't want to go home," she said immediately.

  He chuckled. "That's true. But what did you do that put you in this position?"

  "Hell if I know," she muttered.

  He tightened his hold on her. "Carrie," he warned.

  "Because I cut my foot on a broken beer bottle," she said.

  "Carrie!"

  "Because," she snapped, irritated with his line of questioning. Why didn't he just spank her and get it over with? This was stupid. And embarrassing. "Because I didn't listen to you," she said.

  "Yes. Because you didn't respect me."

  "I do," she argued.

  "No. You don't. If you respected me, you wouldn't disobey me. I don't issue commands because I have a Napoleon complex."

  She gasped, ready to argue, but he gave her a gentle shake.

  "Yes, I heard you say that to your friend. Tents are not as private as dorm rooms. The walls are thin nylon instead of cement block. You might remember that when you are talking with your friends and be careful about what you say. I have not said one single thing just because I want to throw my power around. Every order I have given had a reason. And some of the things I've said wouldn't have to be said, if you students were a little more thoughtful. You could have all come up with a schedule for who was going to cook meals or clean up. You had two days in the car to discuss this. I even suggested more than once that you do so. No one did, so I did."

  She hung her head. He was right about that.

  "If you students don't want to be ordered around all the time, then grow up. Act like adults and take on a bit of responsibility."

  "Yes, Tom."

  "And in the past, if Mrs. Burt had disobeyed her husband, he could have done anything to her. A wife was as much his property as his house or his mule. That is disrespectful, too. I will not do that to you, Carrie. A spanking is not disrespectful. It will not cause any long-lasting physical or emotional scars. It is very intimate. It is a husband and wife clearing the air between them, and then all is forgiven."

  "Okay," she huffed angrily. "Just get this over with!"

  "As you wish," he said with a chuckle, quoting from a popular movie.

  He helped her over his lap, mindful of her injured foot. He twisted so that her upper body was supported on the picnic table, rather than suspended awkwardly over the bench and ground. He rested his hand on her bottom, which was easily accessible since all she had on was her bikini and his sweatshirt. The bikini was mostly dry now, but cold. Although it had been in the upper nineties earlier that day, the temperature had plummeted with the sun. Carrie shivered, and he wasn't sure if it was from nerves or the chill of the desert night. He wrapped an arm around her upper torso, getting a solid grip as he just knew she was going to fight him on this. Then he raised his hand.

  This was all so strange. He had never spanked anyone before. He had wanted to! Oh, lord, had he wanted to. He'd been the man of the family when his father passed away, and his younger sisters had been in and out of trouble all through their teenage years. His mother wouldn't let him discipline them, though. And now she regretted that. She'd told him as much the last time they had to bail Jackie out.

  Carrie could have been seriously injured! She could have hit her head on the rocks. She could have drowned! Fear drove strength to his arm as he brought his palm down on the rounded target.

  Carrie gasped, already wiggling. He raised his arm and swung again. This was harder than it looked. He wasn't sure she was feeling this. He'd read all he could about spanking online after Adrian has first suggested it. The guys would spank their wives fifty, sixty times, and he'd naively thought that ten or twelve would be enough. But no - his swats were not strong enough. Ten or twelve spanks would only be enough to get her attention, not teach her a lesson. He settled down, backing off a bit to settle in for the long haul. Then after ten spanks, he tugged on the bikini to get it out of the way.

  "Tom!" Carrie cried. "No!"

  "Respect," he repeated. "You will not tell me what to do."

  "But this is wrong!"

  "Mrs. Bart, this is what you deserve." The next spank sounded loud as his hand met her naked flesh. Her gasp was louder, too. As small as it was, the fabric of her bikini had muffled some of the sting from his previous swats. Note to self - all spankings would be on the bare from now on.

  His hand landed again and again. Each slap made a satisfying splat against her bottom and was answered by a more and more remorseful moan from the miscreant's lips. She kicked, she wiggled, she cried, she pleaded, but Tom remained steadfast in his resolve.

  Finally, something happened. It was like the starch came out of her. She went limp across his lap. She was crying, but not excessively so. It was as though she finally submitted to him. He would give her ten more, and then this would be done. Ten good, solid whacks, because this was the real spanking. The rest had all been a warm up to get to this point. Now, she was submitting to him, and he would not disappoint her.

  He counted each one in his head, but in the future, he would make her count them. And there would be a future. He knew it. And deep down inside, she must know it too. She wouldn't have let him spank her if she didn't like him at least a little bit.

  Three, two, one. One last, firm, purposeful spank to her now heated bottom. Then he let his hand just rest there a moment before he tugged her bikini back into place. He helped her up and held her on his lap, holding her close while she cried. He swayed gently, as though comforting a child. He didn't know what it was about this girl that affected him so strongly, but this was the girl he would marry. He kissed the top of her head, then held her as he got down from the picnic table and returned to the van.

  Back at the campground, he carried her into her tent and laid her on top of her sleeping bag, after Julie had unzipped it enough to fold back the upper part. He pulled it over her and zipped it back up. "She's groggy from the pain pills," Tom told Julie. "I think she'll want to go right to sleep now. She'll be fine. She got eleven stitches in her foot. She'll be on crutches for two weeks, and I'll have to take her back in a week to have the stitches removed."

  Julie patted Carrie's shoulder. "Good night, girlfriend," she said.

  It was a long, long night for Carrie. She had fallen right asleep, thanks to the medication. But after a couple of hours, the pain in her foot was as bad as the pain in her ass. She was freezing, it was dark, she couldn't find a flashlight an
d she had to pee in the worse way. Julie wouldn't wake up, and Vicki wasn't even in the tent. She had zipped her sleeping bag to Henry's and they were sleeping together under the stars. Carrie cried, she was so frustrated. Then she dried her tears. It was time to use her head. Tom was treating her like Mrs. Bart, so she would act like it. She fumbled for her crutches. Outside the tent it wasn't quite as dark as it had been earlier. A quarter moon was out, with a sky full of stars. The earlier fog had lifted. She hobbled over to Tom's tent, then poked at it with a crutch. "Tom? Tom! Wake up, I need help," she said.

  He was instantly awake. "Carrie? What's wrong!"

  "Sh! Nothing that I want to share with everybody. But I could really use your help," she hissed.

  Tom grinned at her. She could tell he was grinning, as the moonlight highlighted his even, white teeth. "I can't find a flashlight," she began. "I'm freezing, I need another pain pill, and I have to pee."

  "I'm sorry, Carrie," he said sincerely. "I should have thought of that myself."

  "You are not responsible for my urinary needs," she said, with more than a touch of sarcasm.

  "No. But I could have made sure you changed out of your swim suit before you went to sleep, and set out your pills and a water bottle in case you woke up. I'm sorry."'

  Tom wiggled around inside his little tent, emerging moments later as he tugged up the zipper on his pants. Carrie wondered if he'd slept in the buff, or with his drawers on, then bit her lip to distract her. It was none of her business how he slept!

  "What do you want first," Tom asked. "The bathroom?"

  She nodded.

  He flipped on a flashlight and scooped her up, carrying her easily across the uneven ground.

  "I could walk," she said.

  "Yes. But this is faster," Tom said. "And it's an emergency."

  They both chuckled. Carrie leaned her head against his shoulder. Her bottom was still burning, her foot throbbed, she was shivering, but she had never felt more protected.

  Tom handed her the flashlight once she was inside the dirty rest room, which was a lot better than it had been before. Someone had started cleaning it. Then Tom waited outside until she called for him. He carried her back to her tent, and held the flashlight for her while she dug through her duffle bag for pajamas. He shook two tabs of the pain medication into her palm, then opened a water bottle for her. She swallowed back the pills. It would be a while before they kicked in, and they hadn't done anything for the pain in her bottom - only her foot. She didn't know how medication could be so smart like that. She knew it was time to go back to bed, but she didn't want to go. If he asked her to join him in his tent, she would in a heartbeat. Not for anything more than just to be held... she wasn't ready for more yet. Annoyed with herself, she was a little rude when she thanked him and crawled back into her tent.