by Zoe Blake
It was her wedding day.
After a month of church picnics, supervised buggy rides, barn raising parties and endless rounds of evening parlor games with his parents, their wedding day had finally arrived…without her groom doing more than holding her hand.
Emma closed her eyes and ruthlessly tried to push back memories of Horn. The scandalous way he kissed her. That first spanking in front of the fire. The feel of him as he forcefully entered her body. The rough brush of his unshaven jaw against her skin. The confident way he took charge.
No! Stop it! You are marrying Gerald. Calm, sweet, steady…boring Gerald.
Emma opened her eyes and focused on her reflection again.
Dressed in a cream damassé silk with a long train of pale peach brocaded satin embroidered with small orange blossoms, the luxurious ensemble required a laborious amount of unmentionables. A tight-laced, whale-bone corset, chemise, hoop skirt, two ruffled bustles. Her thick tresses had been pulled and yanked into an intricate up-sweep with both sides pulled toward the crown and a cascade of ringlets and small braids carefully arranged in back.
After becoming accustomed to wearing a light, calico dress with only a simple day corset with her hair loosely secured in a bun since traveling to the West, the effect of this ensemble was stifling.
Emma struggled to breathe.
She pulled at the high lace collar. It was secured by a large, almost garish, pearl and garnet brooch. A gift from her future mother-in-law. As she clawed at the pin, desperate to loosen the clasp, there was a ruckus outside.
Emma absently wondered if the shivaree had started early. Apparently it was the custom in the West, to serenade, as it were, a newly married couple loudly with hoots and shouts while banging on pots and pans. If the couple did not give the crowd a treat of coins or drink for their serenade, they were likely to carry the groom away to dunk him in the nearest creek. Emma briefly thought about hiding the bags of treats her mother-in-law had prepared by the door in an effort to stave off the inevitable wedding night but then thought better of it.
It was not that she was worried about her groom learning of her missing maidenhead. Women were in scarce supply out in this part of the country. Emma was fast learning that most men were not nearly as fussy about that sort of thing in deciding on a bride as they were in the East. However, that did not mean the community was willing to look the other way when their school teacher beds down with a notorious gunfighter swinging through town, thought Emma ruefully.
The sounds of splintering wood and smashing glass continued.
Perhaps she should see what was going on, thought Emma.
Just as she reached the door, it crashed open.
There, filling the doorway, stood over six feet of pure, angry male.
“Horn!”
Emma fell back a few steps, tripping over her long train.
Horn took one ominous step into the room. Then slammed the door shut. His narrowed gaze scanned the sparse boarding room. She had only a heavy, old wooden bed, a washstand with a small vanity and her meager traveling trunk. The mirror having been brought in specifically for her wedding day. Without saying a word, Horn grabbed the sturdy frame of the bed, dragging it across the carpeted floor, he pushed it against the door, headboard first. Trapping her inside with him.
Turning to face her, Horn ran his hand over his mouth and jaw in an angry gesture. Emma noticed the bleeding and scuffed knuckles. She took another step back.
Where once she thought him powerful and strong, he now looked wild and untamed. Gone was the sharply dressed, handsome gunfighter. In his place was something primal…barbaric. His hair had grown long. Hanging in thick, unruly locks almost to his shoulders. His jaw was covered in thick, black hair giving him a feral appearance. Even his skin was darker than usual, as if he had spent days in the desert, making him look like a savage. Mostly it was his eyes. They glowed with a fierce, raging hunger.
“One month,” he snapped. His voice sounding gruff and harsh, as if from disuse.
“What?” she breathed. Her eyes shifting about the room, looking for a weapon.
“One month. That’s how long it took to find you. To track down what’s mine.”
Even during the worst depravity and desperation of the war, Horn had never felt fear gnaw at his gut as when he returned to Wickenburg to find Emma gone. At first he thought it would be a matter of days to track her down. She was a female with no family or resources. How hard could it be? As the days turned into weeks, Horn started to despair. He was like a man possessed. Imagining all the horrific scenarios that could fall upon an unprotected woman out in the West. He tore apart brothels, saloons, mining camps, churches. He would burn in eternal hell and fire damnation but he didn’t care. All he cared about was finding Emma. Even his quest for revenge had never come close to the kind of obsession he felt now. He had to find her. He would find her. He needed to find her.
He finally tracked her to Santa Fe, only to learn it was her wedding day. She was going to marry another man.
Not while there was still breath in his fucking body. Not even after then.
“You’ve got nerve bursting in here on my wedding day after ditching me without a word!” accused Emma as she launched the washing pitcher at his head. Horn ducked in time. The pitcher shattered against the wall. Leaving a large water stain on the faded, painted wallpaper.
“I left you a note. I told you to wait for me,” shouted Horn.
“I never got any note,” Emma barked back before pitching her hairbrush at him.
Damn that stupid, son-of-a-bitch deputy of Doolin’s, cursed Horn. Although he knew the true fault was with him.
He crossed the room just as Emma was raising the large wash basin over her head.
He wondered if this counted as her trying to kill him yet again.
Horn snatched her upper arm with one hand as he wrenched the wash basin free with the other. Pulling her close, he said, “You should have still waited. You should have obeyed me. I told you I was taking you with me when my business was done. You should have known I would return.”
The harsh words were whispered close to her lips. The familiar scent of woodsmoke and gunpowder assailed her. Man. Her man.
No! Emma just shook her head.
“You’re not allowed to think that word let alone say it, Bunny. Remember,” he said, his voice dark and low.
Emma’s eyes filled with tears at the endearment.
“It’s too late, Horn,” she said with more firmness than she felt.
“The hell it is. You’re mine.”
It wasn’t going to play out like this. He couldn’t let his asinine quest for revenge cost him everything. Cost him her.
Emma pulled free. Going over to her trunk, she lifted the lid. She pulled free from it the saddlebags he had left behind that morning. Emma had lost count how many times she had held and caressed each and every item as if they were her own. Every time she thought she should ditch it or use the coin she found tucked away inside, she just couldn’t bring herself to do it. She liked to think she was being upright and moral, but deep down she knew she was just being stubborn. If she ever did see him again, she wanted to prove she could make it on her own without his protection, help or money but the truth was, she wasn’t doing very well. Leading a dull, dreary life about to marry a dull, dreary man. At least she had this, she thought without mirth.
“This is the only thing of yours in this room,” Emma challenged as she tossed the leather bags to him. Her green eyes lit with defiance.
Damn he had missed her. Her spirit and fire. It was almost as if she were begging to be punished. Horn stopped to look at her. Really look at her. The bright eyes. Flushed cheeks. Quickened breath. Parted Lips. Begging to be punished.
Horn undid the heavy buckle of his gun belt and let the Colts fall to the floor. Next he shrugged out of his black leather vest. Slowly, methodically he began to roll up the cuffs of his shirt.
Visions of him doing the same movements b
ack in her little school room cabin flashed before Emma’s eyes. The first time he kissed her. The first time he spanked her. The first time he made her feel…everything.
“You’ve been a very bad little girl, Emma darling,” he drawled, arching one eyebrow.
Emma backed away. “Horn! I’m warning you! Stay away! This time you really don’t have the right!”
Horn took several threatening steps forward. “I guess I’ll just have to take the right. Just like the last time.”
Emma let out a startled yelp as Horn captured her around the waist. “First we have to get you out of this god-awful getup.”
From the moment she had opened the door, he had despised how trussed up and formal she looked. He wanted his prairie woman back. The woman he first saw bouncing on that dilapidated buckboard in her simple straw bonnet with no bustle or feminine trappings. Just simply beautiful.
Reaching into his boot, Horn pulled free his Bowie knife.
Emma struggled in his arms. “Horn! Don’t you dare! Horn!”
With a mischievous smile, Horn made quick work of the delicate silk of her dress. The room filled with the sounds of rending fabric and Emma’s protests. “Jesus, woman! How many bustles do you have under this dress?” asked Horn in disgust.
Using his knife, he cut through the stiffened fabric of her hoop skirt, the ribbons of her chemise, and the laces of her corset.
Emma could finally breathe again.
Tossing aside the knife, Horn used his bare hands to tear the pantalets off her body, exposing the creamy white skin of her bottom.
Emma was now naked except for her silk stockings and garters.
Horn pulled her close. The rough wool of his shirt brushed against her nipples. She could feel the thick ridge of his shaft through his denims. Plunging his fingers into her hair, Horn wrenched her head back with one hand. His other hand rested against her lower back, just above the swell of her bottom.
“I want you to listen carefully. I was wrong. I was wrong to chase after the past when I had the future right here in my arms. I’m sorry it took me all those weeks to realize it.” Horn’s voice was hoarse with emotion. His eyes dark with regret. “But, baby. You did a foolish and dangerous thing by running. I told you I would be back. You should have trusted in that. You should have obeyed. I don’t want to hear about those imbeciles kicking you out of your school job and having no money. There was a small fortune at your disposal in my saddlebags and you knew it.”
“But that was your money…”
“Don’t even finish that sentence or you’ll make your punishment even worse, little one. You and I both know it was your mule-headed stubbornness. That ornery streak that keeps getting you into trouble. That same voice in your head that convinced you to head out into the desert to fire a gun at a gunfighter or disobey that same gunfighter after he warned you…repeatedly…that if you should ever run, he would pursue you…always. The reason why you need someone to discipline you and keep you in line.”
Emma stuck out her lower lip. She really hated when he was right.
“Are you going to punish me?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think it’s really fair that I get a spanking. You did leave me after all!” she complained.
“Oh, Bunny. I’m not going to spank you.”
“Really?” asked a hopeful Emma.
Horn leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Remember that time in the tub, when I told you there would come a time you would require an extra special punishment?”
Emma’s hands went back to cover her bottom. “Oh, Horn. Please. Not that,” she begged.
Horn tossed her face down onto the bed quilts. Emma tried to rise, pleading for mercy.
Horn pressed a restraining hand on her lower back as he undid the buttons of his denims. His erect shaft sprang free. He hadn’t even looked at another woman let alone touched one in the time away from Emma. He was more than ready to bury his cock inside her sweet, tight body.
Looking around, he saw a small jar of cold cream on her vanity stand. It would have to do. Lifting the cork, he swirled two fingers into the porcelain jar, coating them with a thick, white cream.
“Emma I want you to hold open your bottom cheeks,” he ordered.
Emma sniffled into the bed covers but remained still.
Horn gave her one warning spank on her bottom. The red imprint of his hand, appearing quickly on her alabaster skin.
Emma howled at the unexpected burning pain from the stinging slap.
“Open your bottom cheeks.”
She awkwardly reached back and dipped the tips of her fingers into the crest of her bottom. Pulling the cheeks open slightly.
“Wider.”
Emma obeyed. Feeling cool air drift across her intimate, hidden core.
Horn swirled his two fingers over her puckered hole, coating it liberally with the cold cream. Emma yelped, her bottom jiggling from the contact. Working the cream into her skin, Horn pushed his two fingertips in, forcing them past the tight ring of resisting muscle.
“Ow! Ow! Ow!” whimpered Emma as her toes curled.
Ignoring her pleas, Horn reached for the jar again, scooping the remaining cream onto his fingers. He fisted his cock. Stifling a groan. Soon. Rubbing the cream up and down his shaft, working it over the tip.
Horn shifted his hips forward. Placing the head of his cock at her tight entrance. He placed one hand on her lower back, pushing down, forcing her bottom and hips up. Gripping his cock at the base, he thrust forward. Watching as the smooth, reddish head pushed through the thick cream which coated her back passage. Squeezing past her rigid resistance, he buried the first two inches of his shaft.
“Oh god! Oh god! You can’t! Something’s wrong! It hurts too much!” cried out Emma. It was so much worse than the time in the tub with this fingers. It felt thicker, stronger, and more powerful.
Horn felt the relentless clench and stretch of her body as it fought against the pressure of his thrust. He could see the delicate pink skin of her bottom hole turn white as it was pulled open to accommodate the width of his shaft. Still he thrust forward, forcing her bottom to swallow another two inches. Six more to go.
Emma shifted her hips to try to ease the pain and pressure. She could feel his every movement. From the ridged bottom edge of the tip of his cock to the throb of his shaft from deep inside of her. The pain came in piercing waves. Each one sharper than the last. Just when she felt as if her body was easing, bowing under his demand, he would push in further and the struggle would begin again. A sheer mist of sweat appeared on her skin, making it glow under the lamplight as she strained to accept her punishment.
Horn pulled back slightly, watching her body grip and slide along his shaft before he plunged in again, the cold cream easing his way. Three more inches to go.
“Where is my cock, Emma?” he breathed heavily. The effort to not bury himself straight to his balls costing him.
She whimpered in response.
Horn splayed his large hands over her narrow hips. Tilting them upwards, pulling her body further onto his shaft.
Emma shrieked from the stab of pain. It was only a slight tilt of her hips but it felt like he was now piercing her straight through her body.
“Where is my cock, Emma?” he demanded.
“In my bottom,” she sobbed.
“Why?”
“I can’t…I…don’t….”
Horn thrust again. Her hidden hole weakening under his assault. His shaft sliding in more easily now. He knew that did not mean it would lesson her torment.
Her stomach started to cramp as her whole body tightened and clamped with each thrust. It was agony.
“Emma?”
“Because I was a bad girl. I ran away,” sniffed Emma. Her hands fisting the bed quilts.
“Do you believe it now? That I will always pursue you?”
“Yes! Yes!” she cried out as his thrusts increased.
Horn could feel his blood rise as his shaft swe
lled. Primal possession. A deep need. A feral need.
“Are you mine?”
“Yes! I’m yours, Horn. Only yours.”
Horn leaned over her back, covering her chilled skin with the warmth of his body. Reaching under her hips, his fingers found her sensitive bud. Swirling the tip with his finger, he whispered into her ear, “And who has the right to punish this bottom?”
Emma’s could barely focus on what he was saying. The feel of his cock. The feel of his fingers. Two conflicting emotions. Twisting and churning inside of her.
“Please, stop. I can’t take it! It’s all too much,” she begged.
“Who has the right, Emma?”
“Only you!” she screamed.
Horn thrust harder into her tight ass, as he pinched and rubbed her cunny. Despite the pain, he could feel she was close. He could feel her body shudder and quiver beneath him.
“You’re goddamn right,” he roared as his cock swelled. Rearing back, he forced himself to the hilt, Horn spilled his seed deep inside her forbidden hole. Collapsing on her body in time to feel the tremors of her own release as it overtook her.
Emma laid among the quilts, curled up along Horn’s side.
“What do we do now?” she asked.
Before Horn could answer, there was a banging on the door above their heads. Someone tried the handle but the door would not open, still being barred by the bed.
“Emma? Emma? Are you in there? Speak to me? Some madman is tearing through town looking for you. Emma? I demand an answer!”
Emma covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh god,” she whispered to Horn. “It’s Gerald.”
“Who the fuck is Gerald?”
“The man I was going to marr….” Emma did not finish her sentence. Horn had started to growl like an angry beast at the mere mention of her marrying another man.
“I’ll take care of this,” said Horn. Rising. He pulled the bed, with Emma in it, away from the door.
“Horn, no! Wait!”
At his warning glare, Emma quickly tightened her lips.
Horn opened the door.
A shocked Gerald took in Horn’s disheveled appearance, the ramshackle bedroom, Emma’s naked form wrapped in quilts on the bed and lastly, the enormous semi-erect cock still on full display through the open flap of Horn’s denim.
