by Dinah McLeod
“She shouldn’t have lied, but I don’t know. Seems kind of wrong to hand her over to a stranger. No offense meant,” Trent replied.
“None taken,” Clay replied, his voice soft and relaxed—in sharp contrast to the wild fluttering of my heart.
“Well, Clay,” Wes said, considering our guest. “What are your intentions toward our sister?”
I took deep, quavering breaths to calm the racing pulse his words inspired, but none of the men turned toward me. Intentions? Why would he have intentions toward me?
There was a smile on the corners of his mouth, almost obscured by his mustache. “I intend to whip her good, and then I will come callin’ on Sunday.”
I felt near-dizzy with his declaration. This was all happening so quickly, and I didn’t know what to make of it. There was an odd buzzing filling my ears, and when I saw Wes nod and Trent’s mouth go down in a no-nonsense frown, I wavered on my unsteady feet.
Clay reached out and took me by the arm. I knew he meant it to be helpful, but his touch sent fire shooting through me, and I swooned. He caught me easily, bending his face close to my own. His eyes were warm, and he tsked softly as he looked down at me. “All this fuss over a whippin’? I do believe you are trying my sympathy, Miz Maggie.”
It was the first time he’d said my name, and hearing it from his lips made me want to hear it again. “No, sir,” I whispered.
Clay helped me to my feet, still keeping his face close to mine. “Even if you are, it won’t work. Make sure you understand that before you accept my attentions. Once I decide a hide needs tanning, I get on with it. Understand?”
I stared at him with large, fretful eyes and nodded. He took it as my assent, and taking me by the arm, he led me out of the house. I walked with him, out onto the porch, down the steps. I was scared by the prospect of a hard spanking, even though I knew it was deserved. I wasn’t sure what to expect from the man that took my arm so possessively. At the same time, I was riveted by his commanding presence, and even more so with the way my body seemed to respond to it. Surely, I could have run if I really wished to try, but one look at his stern profile and something inside me bent, yearning to submit to his authority. Besides which, I doubted I’d get very far, and it was sure and certain that Clayborn was not a man to be trifled with.
As we began toward the woodshed, I felt myself stiffen. Clay felt it too and gave me a firm tug that kept my feet moving, however reluctantly. To my surprise and utter relief, we walked right past it and kept going. We walked on in silence as I tried to turn over the situation. What did this mean? Was he going to let me off after all? Perhaps he’d only meant to let my brothers think—
But no. When we arrived at a fallen tree trunk, Clay released my wrist and sat down, looking up at me expectantly. I was surprised that he hadn’t pulled me down over his knee, that he didn’t command me to bend over—anything. He just sat, watching me and waiting.
When it hit me, I felt myself go cold despite the hot sun bearing down on us. He couldn’t mean for me to—surely not. I felt myself weakening again at the mere thought. Did he mean for me to place myself over his knee? Why, I could never do such a thing!
“I am not a patient man, Maggie,” he said, and despite his low tone, his voice held an edge that demanded attention. Indeed, he was not patient—a thrill slid through me, making all my nerve endings tingle and stand to attention, aware that something unspoken was happening between us.
“I can’t,” I told him. I’d tried to make the words sound firm, but it came out as a whimper.
“You can.” He was tapping his foot on the grass—he indeed was not a patient man. “And you will, or I don’t think there will be any need for me to come back on Sunday.”
I blinked rapidly. Was he saying what I thought he was? “So, if I don’t let you punish me, you…”
“I can’t have a wife that won’t obey, Maggie,” he explained, not unkindly.
Nothing more needed to be said. My heart thudded loudly in my chest as my mind warred with my desire to flee. I didn’t want to be spanked. Though it had been a long time, I remembered all too well how much it would hurt. I knew I would cry and look silly in front of Clayborn. Perhaps he’d change his mind anyway after he saw me teary-eyed and sniffling. But if I didn’t take my punishment from him, one of my brothers would do it anyway, and I got the feeling they were just as uncomfortable with the idea as I was.
I took a deep breath and said a small prayer for courage, whispering it to the wind that whistled by, blowing my hair in my face. I nodded to Clay, and he patted his knee. With trembling, tiny steps I went to him and lowered myself over his lap.
“Now there’s a good girl,” he murmured. “Sweet Maggie.” He rested his hand on my head, stroking the coiled braid of my hair.
My breath caught in my throat and strangled any reply I might have made. I knew that my brothers might not appreciate him caressing me, but it made my body hum in a way that I hadn’t known possible. I idly wondered if every woman felt this way when touched by her love. Were those men, like Clay, gentle and strong at once? Were they so achingly tender as he was? I hadn’t been touched by another man in many years—and I didn’t go about gossiping about such things—but I doubted it with every fiber I possessed.
“I’m going to ask you to lie still, Maggie. Make any sound you need to, but no wiggling. D’you understand?”
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
“That’s my girl. Now, listen, for this first time, I am going to leave your skirts as they are. Once I come courting, if you should require any more correction, which I ‘spect you will, it will be done on the bare. Understand?”
All I could do was nod again, feeling my stomach cramp at the promise of other, harder spankings. This one hadn’t even started yet, and I was caught somewhere between dread and excitement. It was certainly different from any other whipping I’d ever received.
“D’you know why I’m going to spank you, Maggie?”
I nodded, and he gently shook my shoulder.
“I need to hear you say it. I will never ask you a question I don’t expect an answer to. No more of this shaking your head business from here on out, understand?”
I was about to nod again, but caught myself in time. I got the distinct impression that Clay didn’t like repeating himself, and he could still change his mind about not spanking me on a bared bottom. “I understand.”
“Very good. Now, why are you getting a whippin’?”
“Because I went for a ride with you,” I muttered into his knee.
“Speak up, please.”
“Because I got on your horse, and I didn’t know you,” I said, suspecting that he’d heard me all along.
“That’s right. And?” He had such a calm demeanor that I wished I could borrow some for myself. Then again, he wasn’t the one waiting over the knee for a licking.
I searched my memory, scrambling to find the answer he was looking for. “I don’t know… sir,” I added, hoping it might soften him.
“Alright then, my naughty Maggie. Let’s see if this doesn’t refresh your memory some.” Without further discussion, I felt him lift his arm. I braced for it, but nothing could have prepared me for the swat that landed on my upturned behind. Despite the layers of my muslin dress, petticoat, and drawers, I still felt my bottom burning from the impact. Another came, right on top of the first, and then another.
He’d forbidden me to move, yet I found myself thrown forward as slap after slap kissed my bottom. My lips were trembling from the effort to not cry out; though he’d given his permission, I didn’t want to risk Libby hearing and gloating over the predicament I’d gotten myself into. Thinking of her, waiting anxiously by the window as the men sipped tea, made my insides churn. I suddenly remember Abigail. I could imagine her waiting anxiously, fretting over this welcome. What a first impression to make on my new sister-in-law, I thought ruefully.
I didn’t have much time for other thoughts as the swats came closer
together. I hadn’t gotten a spanking in so long I was completely unprepared for how much it stung. I was digging my toes into the dirt, grinding my teeth together as I fought for control over myself. The next spank landed low, and a moan passed through my gritted teeth. It was as if I’d given him a signal that he’d been waiting for, because though I hadn’t thought it possible, the barrage on my bottom hurt more than ever before.
He continued raining down smacks, each one making me groan or cry out. On and on it went until I was sniffling, tears blinding my vision. I hardly noticed when he stopped, because my bottom continued to throb with the attention his palm had paid to it. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he soothed, rubbing his hand on my back. “Cry it out.”
I was so surprised by the sudden sweetness that I didn’t even blush when he called me sweetheart. My Pa used to leave me to my tears in the woodshed until I could collect myself. Being spanked by a man who soothed you afterward, who called you sweetheart, was a different thing indeed. Perhaps I sniffled a bit longer than necessary, just to keep myself over his lap.
When he let me up, I saw immediately that our ordeal wasn’t over. “That was for getting on a horse with a man you didn’t know. If I ever hear of you doing such a fool thing again—”
“But Wes knows you,” I objected, shuddering as I remembered his earlier threat. His hand had brought so much pain to my now-tender rear that I couldn’t begin to imagine what it would feel like without any clothing to protect it.
The look he gave me made me wish I’d kept my mouth firmly shut. “But you don’t. Perhaps we should have this discussion again?”
“No, sir,” I replied, but the words were useless. He turned me around and slapped my bottom good and hard, landing another dozen strokes before he was satisfied. I was crying again by the time he turned me toward him again.
“Now. Why else do you deserve a spanking?”
“Ah, but…” I spluttered. I began thinking in earnest when he flexed his palm, as though it were itching to deliver more stinging swats to my hiney.
“You truly don’t know?”
“No,” I admitted, my voice filled with regret.
“Then I’m afraid you’re going to need an extra-special lesson to ensure that you remember.” I began to protest, but he shook his head, one jerk to the side that told me to be quiet. “Go fetch me a switch.”
I gasped at his words, my eyes widening in surprise. I used my eyes to beg him for mercy, but he only stared back, the mirthless look of his mouth telling me that he had not and would not change his mind. I trudged in the direction of a nearby tree, sighing to myself over my fate. Surely, a switch was too harsh! Surely, Wes or Trent wouldn’t have—but no, they had promised me a whippin’, same as Clay. I knew they would have delivered on that threat, however reluctantly.
When I made it back to him, I handed him the switch I’d chosen. He inspected it for a moment before pronouncing, “Too thick. Get me one that’s nice and thin.”
I knew from experience that a thinner stick imparted much more of a sting. Apparently that fact was not lost on Clay, either. It was humiliating being made to procure switches that would soon punish my bottom, but I suspected that that was the point. I returned with four more for his inspection, hoping that at least one would prove satisfactory. I got more than I bargained for and Clay pronounced three of them good enough before tossing the other—too short, he’d said—to the ground as I stared at him in amazement. Did he truly intend to whip me with not one, but three switches? The thought was daunting, but I turned around obediently.
“Bend over and hold onto the log,” he instructed, and with shaking hands, I complied, putting my bottom in the air for his painful attentions.
I did not have long to wait. With a whistle as it slashed through the air, the switch landed on my bottom. How it sliced through the layers of clothing I did not know, but the pain was immediate, burning across my bottom as though nothing protected it from the chastisement. A sob stuck in my throat, but it burst free at the administration of the second stroke. The third caught me on my lower bottom and spread to my leg, and I screamed.
Clay paced them out nicely after that, landing a stroke only after the burning had faded from the previous one. Still, my body shook from the impact of each one, and my wails increased until I was shrieking shrilly with each application of the switch. I heard the branch snap and waited, shuddering at the thought of him picking up another switch. Clay seemed to be waiting too, though for what I did not know. I knew by now that no plea for mercy would sway him, so I said nothing, save for whimpers of pain.
“Have you learned your lesson?”
I nodded, and then remembered: “Yes, sir.”
“You will never leave with a stranger, ever again?”
“I will not, sir.”
“Or lie to me?”
“I won’t, sir, I promise.”
“Hmm,” he considered. “Alright then, I believe you. A few more with my hand, I think, to finish you up.”
“But I promised!” I wailed, turning on him, my features distorted in pain.
Clay took no sympathy on me and pulled me to him, upending me over his knee. To my utter dismay, he lifted my dress and petticoats until only the thin layer of my drawers separated my behind from the full force of his hand. “I am spanking you because I believe you need it, d’you understand that, Maggie?”
“Yes, sir,” I replied, a tad too sulky for his liking. I could tell, because as soon as the words left my mouth he landed two scorching whacks to each cheek in turn. I screeched loudly, stunned by how much his hand could sting my bottom.
“Say again?”
“Y-yes, sir,” I stammered, crying hard.
Paying my tears no mind, Clay continued to spank my bottom, leaving me no time to be embarrassed at the fact that he was seeing them in the first place. By the time he finished, my bottom burned as though by fire itself, and I wondered if it would ever heal. Somehow, I doubted it.
“I expect you to behave as a lady should, from here on out,” he instructed me, his tone once again commanding and authoritative.
I nodded meekly at his order. “Yes, Clay.”
Something changed on his face just then. It was like magic—at the sound of my voice, his eyes took on a glow, and his face split into a smile. “Say it again.”
“What?”
“My name. Please, Maggie; I love to hear how my name sounds coming from your lips.”
I blushed, but obliged. He was so handsome, so captivating, that I would have done so even without the sore bottom. I whispered his name over and over again, liking the sound of it as it rolled off my tongue, enjoying the taste of it in my mouth.
Afterward, he walked me back to the house, whistling with his hands in his pockets. The closer we got the more I blushed. I wondered how much of my spanking had been overheard. And if they had not overheard, it didn’t matter anyway because they would be looking for the signs of it, smirking behind their hands when I sat down. Come to think of it, Wes and Trent probably wouldn’t bother to hide that.
But I’d misjudged them. From the time Clay called “howdy” announcing our presence, everyone acted as if nothing had happened. Abby put tall glasses of iced tea sweetened with white sugar in front of us and smiled at me as though I’d just come in from a stroll. I didn’t know if the boys had instructed their wives, but either way, I was grateful.
Still, I couldn’t help but blush when Clay took Wesley aside. “I had to spank her over her drawers after her switchin’.”
My brother looked at me and sighed as if he was not the least bit surprised.
* * *
Abby
As soon as Clayborn and Maggie had left, Trent suggested that he take me around the property for a tour. He showed me Maggie’s room, which had been offered to us for the time being until other arrangements could be made. I admired the sweet pink quilt covering the bed, fingering the soft yarn and imagining putting my own works of labor around our room one day. It did
n’t matter that it would take a little while. I thought I could wait forever, if Trent asked me to. I was almost shocked at how completely loyal I felt to him, how much I cared for him already.
“I’ll show you the barn tomorrow and introduce you to the horses,” he winked. “Might be that I’ve picked one out for you already.”
I glowed back at him happily. I was so excited I could hardly wait. “That would be great!”
“Are you always so easy to please, Abby-mine?” Before I could answer his gentle question, he continued. “We’ll go to the fields, and I’ll show you the garden, too.”
“I used to grow tomatoes back home,” I replied. “Papa used to sell them in town.”
“Did you now?” he cocked his head to the side. “You never told me that. Full of surprises, aren’t you, Abigail?”
I flushed with pleasure at the warm way he’d said the words. Every time he talked, he gazed at me with adoration like I was the most important person in the world. I ate his attention hungrily, sure that I would never get enough of it. His words stayed with me throughout the rest of the afternoon. Full of surprises. I couldn’t help but think of our wedding night, although I tried to distract myself from such thoughts.
Maggie and Clay came back right before supper. I offered her a tentative, sympathetic smile, but she only blushed and looked away. I took in her red eyes and tearstained face, but with Clayborn at her side, she seemed happy despite it. She seemed at peace somehow. Wesley immediately offered Clay a place at the table, which he accepted.
When the six of us were sitting around the table filling our plates with green beans, fried potatoes, and ham, I couldn’t help but keep stealing glances at my husband. Could he be as nervous as I was? More than likely, he’d know what he was doing, whereas I hadn’t the faintest clue of what to expect. I’d hoped my mother would offer a word or two of advice, but she’d stayed strangely silent throughout my preparations to leave, and I couldn’t bring myself to ask her. I could hardly bear to think about it, so how could I speak it aloud? Would it hurt? For some reason, I got the feeling it would. I was nervous, I couldn’t deny it, but every time Trent looked at me, he smiled in a way that lit up his entire face and made me less afraid.
