Beach Daddies: A Sweet and Dirty Texas Love Novella

by Shanna Handel

  When I was a little girl, I was obsessed with horses. I had never ridden one, but I had as many My Little Ponies as I could get my hands on. Not having a stable home life or amazing childhood, horses seemed to represent freedom, steadiness. And let’s be honest—horses are magnificent creatures.

  When we finally arrived at Corolla—home of the Wild Spanish Mustangs—I just assumed Jake would understand the fact that I needed to touch one. Or many. And maybe ride one or two. And sneak one home.

  Jake’s opinion on the matter had not changed when he met the horses in person. Every time one of those stout little ponies would traipse by our beach house, Jake would give me a warning with that tone. “Don’t even think about it, Buttercup. It’s dangerous. You aren’t supposed to pet them.”

  “But just look at them. They look so gentle,” I would say. The creatures moved slowly, meandering down the island.

  One eyebrow raised and that look. “Buttercup, this subject is closed for discussion.”

  Luckily, distracted by the guys, I had ample time away from Jake to try and pet a horse. Whenever I would spot one over our balcony, I would run down to the beach, grabbing apple slices, carrots, celery, anything I could steal from Ray’s kitchen that might get those precious ponies to like me.

  The closest I had gotten to one was about ten feet. A beautiful brown, stout little horse. He showed some curiosity over the carrot I held towards him, gave me a sniff, then dismissed me, and walked down the beach.

  I was going to pet one of those ponies before we left. I just needed more time.

  I had to get my husband away from the house for a day.

  That was how I developed the idea of a guys’ fishing trip. Well, I can’t take credit. It was actually Carrie’s idea—she had caught wind that the guys had wanted to go fishing and promoted it. Carrie is the naughty one, the troublemaker, and usually the one that gets us all… spanked. But I was so desperate to hop onto one of those horses, and ride it around the island, that I thought it was a great idea—at the time.

  Now… not so much.

  Jessica and Carrie just wanted the guys away from the house for a few hours so they could finish off the pitcher of margaritas in the fridge without their men telling them to cool it on the liquor consumption.

  I just wanted to pet a horse.

  The guys packed up the truck and prepared to head out.

  Jake gave me a leery look as we three girls waved from the main floor balcony. “Bye! Have fun!” I called, smiling what I hoped was a smile of innocence.

  “Be good,” he called.

  “Bye, Daddy!” Carrie called, blowing Wes a kiss over the balcony. He leapt in the air and caught it in his hand, pressing it over his heart.

  Jessica waved and said, “I’ll have the hot tub ready for when you get back, Ray.” Ray must really love hot tubbing, because he got this huge smile on his face.

  We watched as the white truck drove down the sandy beach. When Jake’s truck finally pulled out of sight, Jessica threw her arms in the air, yelling, “Paaaar-tay!” which I think is how they used to say ‘party’, in the nineties.

  Rolling my eyes, I followed my sister-in-law and Carrie back into the house.

  We sat down at the kitchen table. Ray had left us homemade salsa and guacamole. Jessica grabbed the pitcher of margaritas from the fridge, bringing it to the table.

  “Girl time!” Carrie declared, taking a sip of the salt rimmed drink Jessica had made her. “Tell us what’s new with you, Buttercup.”

  The least talkative of the girls, I sipped at my drink. “Nothing too crazy. We’ve been working a ton. We had a remodel in town, a craftsman style—”

  “Boring!” Carrie shouted. “Tell us something more interesting. How is newlywed life? Still hot to trot?” Half her margarita was suddenly gone.

  “Hush, Carrie. I wanted to hear about the business. Leave poor Buttercup alone,” Jessica said. Carrie’s straw made a sucking noise as she pulled the last dregs of margarita from her glass. “Hey—I forgot—have you ever told us why your name is Buttercup in the first place?”

  “Rude, Carrie. And yes, she has,” Jessica said with a roll of her eyes.

  “It’s okay, Jess. I get the question a lot. My mom named me after the princess from the movie, Princess Bride.”

  Carrie slammed her hand on the table. “Oh my God—I love that movie! I saw that they have it here on DVD. Let’s watch it!” Grabbing the pitcher, she filled her glass up to the brim. Sloshing margarita everywhere, she took off for the living room.

  “Sorry about her, Buttercup. Turns out if you are barely five feet tall, it only takes a little liquor to get drunk. Help me get this stuff to the coffee table in the living room.” Jessica stood, gathering the snacks.

  We carried the food into the living room. I laughed as I watched a tipsy Carrie trying to work the remote. Jessica finally took it from her, turning on the TV.

  Carrie was asleep before the first sword fight. Jessica was enthralled with the movie.

  The perfect horse petting opportunity.

  “I might go for a walk on the beach. Collect some seashells,” I said.

  She answered absently, “K, take a Ziplock bag with you to put them in.” Always the mom, that Jessica.

  “Sure thing.” I went to the kitchen, grabbing an apple and a gallon sized zip lock bag. I left, closing the glass door quietly behind me. I stood at the railing of the deck, gazing the shore for Wild Mustangs.

  About one mile down the shore to the left, I spotted three. Two gray and one brown, the horses were huddled together, meandering down the beach. Just my luck! I scuttled down the stairs, almost tripping on the steep steps. Across the boardwalk, down more stairs, and onto the beach.

  I walked casually down the beach, suddenly feeling very naughty. Sweat prickled at the back of my neck as I got closer to the approaching mustangs.

  I wanted to call, ‘here, horse, horse’ but there were people around and so I didn’t. I stared at those beautiful horses, willing them to get nearer.

  They were only twenty feet away. Time for the bait. I held the apple out, completely focused on my task. I was so enraptured; I didn’t hear the four-wheeler approach me.

  A man in a brown uniform and hat, his vehicle marked, Corolla Police Department, called out to me. “Ma’am. Just what do you think you are doing?”

  Startled, I jumped, my heart beating out of my chest. “I… err,” I answered.

  “Do you know that it is illegal to come within fifty feet of these horses?” the officer asked.

  “No,” I answered.

  “They are Wild Colonial Spanish Mustangs—keyword here—wild. They are not your pet. Is that an apple in your hand?” I quickly slipped it behind my back. “Um, no…”

  “Let me inform you that it is also illegal to feed them. Wild horses have a very different diet from domesticated animals. Fruits and vegetables can make them sick or even kill them,” he said.

  “I didn’t know. I didn’t want to hurt them—I just wanted to pet them,” I said.

  “Well, now you know. Don’t let me catch you near those horses again,” he grumbled.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Giving me a suspicious look, he sped off on his four-wheeler.

  Sighing, I went back up to the house.

  Carrie was awake, the music blaring from the karaoke machine and she was dancing around the room. Jessica was swaying in the center of the room, singing into the end of a wooden spoon. The pitcher was empty.

  They hadn’t seen me yet. I was shy, not one to lip sync and dance around drunk—just not my thing. I tiptoed downstairs to my room to throw on my jeans. I knew how the mommy daytime drinking ended. Jessica and Carrie would wear themselves out, then fall asleep and nap the afternoon away. No thank you—I was going horse hunting.

  The officer was gone from sight. The three mustangs had been joined by two more. The little band of five horses had turned and was headed back in my direction. Maybe just one more try. No food this time.<
br />
  I walked slowly towards them, making a clucking noise with my tongue against the roof of my mouth. The one that seemed to be the leader looked up at me curiously, those big eyes tugging at my heartstrings.

  The guys could be back any minute, depending on how the fishing trip was going—they had just four wheeled down the beach a little ways with supplies they had rented by the hour. I was running out of time. Against my better judgement, I started jogging towards the horses.

  To my surprise, the one I had dubbed the leader, lifted his head. He began trotting towards me. The others followed suit.

  I stopped dead in my tracks, holding my breath as the five of them came closer. They began to gallop, their manes blowing behind them. My heart stopped beating in my chest and my breath caught in my throat. Hot prickles crawled up the back of my neck.

  There were five wild mustangs charging straight at me. It was strangely beautiful and utterly terrifying.

  Holy crap. What should I do? I held my hands up as if to protect my face. I was scared to run away—I could never out run them. And I did not want to turn my back on them. I froze, peeking at the horses between my fingers.

  Tears stung the backs of my eyes as they continued to gallop straight towards me, sand flying up from their hooves.

  I didn’t scream or move. The fear of death filled me as I stood, still frozen, squeezing my eyes shut tight.

  The deafening noise of the horses’ hooves filled my ears as I waited to be trampled to death. Wind rushed past me, my hair stirring in the air. I felt the end of a mane brush my upper arm, goosebumps raising on my skin.

  Then it was over. I opened my eyes. The ground was kicked up where they had run by me, evidence of their hooves in the sand were within inches of me.

  I could breathe. “Oh my God!” I called out, tears spilling from my eyes. A huge smile spread across my face as adrenaline pumped through my veins. “I’m alive! And that was freaking amazing!” I cried.

  “Buttercup!” Jakes worried voice carried over the dunes.

  Uh-oh.

  The celebration of survival was over. I looked over my shoulder, Jake was running towards me. “Are you okay? What happened?”

  His hands were on my shoulders, his eyes frantically searching me for injuries.

  “I—I’m okay. I just… got too close.”

  “They stampeded you, Buttercup. We were pulling up to the house—I saw the end. I ran as fast as I could—I was scared shitless. I thought they were going to kill you!” He grabbed me in his arms, pulling me tightly into him.

  “I, I’m o—kay,” I stammered.

  “Let’s get you into the house.” Wrapping his arm around me, he guided me back to the beach house.

  Hours of babying later, when Jake was totally sure I was okay, his concern was replaced by anger.

  Sitting on our bed in the pale yellow bedroom, he said, “I told you to stay away from those horses.”

  “I know,” I murmured.

  “These are not petting zoo ponies. They are wild horses. And they are dangerous. You could have been killed.” he said.

  I flew up from the bed, frustrated. Standing before him, I yelled, “I know. I know! You think I don’t know that, now!”

  He stood over me, anger flashing in his eyes. “You want to spend the rest of our vacation with a plug in that smart bottom?”

  My hands went protectively to my rear. “No, sir.”

  “Then hold that tongue and sit yourself right back down,” he demanded.

  “Yes, sir.” I sat back down on our bed.

  “I trusted you, Buttercup. I told you not to get close to those horses, then left you with Jessica and Carrie thinking you would listen to me. That you wouldn’t do anything stupid, risking your life,” he said, towering over me.

  “Carrie and Jessica had nothing to do with it. I promise. I acted on my own accord. They weren’t even on the beach when the officer came by, so they didn’t hear him when he said—” I stopped my story short. Jake had no way of knowing about the officer’s visit to me. Oops.

  Jake raised a brow to me. “What officer?”

  “Uh, the one that came over and told me not to go within fifty feet of the horses?” I shrugged.

  “You’re telling me not only did you not listen to me, but you were warned by an officer of the law to stay away and you didn’t obey him, either?” he said.

  I gulped. “Yes.”

  “And you endangered your life and got your friends into trouble.”

  “But Jessica and Carrie didn’t even see me on the beach. They won’t get into trouble,” I protested.

  “You think you didn’t get them into trouble?” he asked, raising a brow.

  “But—that’s not fair. They didn’t even know what I was doing! They shouldn’t be… punished,” I said.

  “Carrie and Jessica have very strict Daddy Doms. I highly doubt that Wes or Ray are going to let them off the hook for being drunk, not knowing what you were up to, then not knowing you were almost killed,” he said.

  A flush rose from my chest, up my neck into my cheeks. I had gotten my friends in trouble with their daddies. A lot of trouble. Which only meant one thing—while my husband was punishing me, their husbands would be punishing them. A sick feeling knotted in the pit of my stomach.

  “Oh, Jake! I feel terrible.” I leaned my elbows on my knees, putting my head in my hands. “I never should have tried to pet that horse—you were right—I know that now.”

  “You’ll feel better after you’re spanked,” he said, matter of factly.

  The words made me shiver.

  My husband crossed the room. I gulped hard as out from his suitcase, he pulled a bag. He strode back over to me, placing the bag on the bed beside me. Unzipping it, he pulled out the little, blue, plastic paddle. And, my wooden handled hairbrush.

  Resigned to my fate, without him even asking me, I pulled down my pants, lying down over his lap. I left my panties on—my submission only goes so far; he’d have to bare me completely. Wordlessly he began to spank me over my panties, with his hand. The spanks were not too hard, just kind of stinging and warming my skin. “I’m sorry, Jake,” I murmured as he spanked.

  “I know, sweetheart. Not half as sorry as you’re soon going to be, though” he said.

  Dread filled me as he pulled down my panties, slipping them down my thighs to meet my jeans. “Buttercup, what you did was disobedient and dangerous. Two of the ‘D’s’ of domestic discipline crossed right there. Now, I knew you were thinking about riding those horses, and I made it very, very clear that you were forbidden to do so. Correct?”

  “Yes, sir,” I answered.

  He laid the flat, cool, wood of my hairbrush against the warmed, bare skin of my bottom.

  “And what happens to naughty wives who disobey their husbands?” he asked.

  I gulped. “They get punished.”

  “That’s right. Tonight, you are getting your hairbrush for disobeying, and paddled for being dangerous. Ten with each,” he said.

  Yikes—I’d be lucky if I could sit down tomorrow. I waited for what he would say next, dreading the words.

  “Count for me,” he said.

  Even more humiliating than having your butt smacked with your own hairbrush, was having to count out loud as the spanks came down. Smack! My voice tightened as the first one landed. “One.” Smack! “Two.” Smack! “Three.” I started to squirm as the pain radiated over my skin. Smack! “Four!” My eyes squeezed shut tight as the next one landed. “Ow, ow—f-five!” I said. Smack! “Six.” There were tears stinging at the backs of my eyes. By the end of ten, I was having a tough time keeping my hips still, my body wanted to move to avoid the spanks. For that, I got a sharp slap on the tops of each of my thighs.

  “Don’t even try and go anywhere, Buttercup.” Jake locked his arm tighter around my waist as he picked up the blue paddle from the bed.

  I hated that little, blue, plastic paddle. It only came out when I was in serious trouble. Don’t judge
it by its small size—it carried a mighty powerful sting.

  “Ooooh,” I moaned. “Does it have to be that paddle? Please! I’ll never even ride another horse!”

  That made Jake chuckle. I didn’t see what was so funny. My bottom was on fire and I couldn’t imagine ten licks with the paddle.

  He pushed my jeans and panties all the way down to my ankles. “Spread your legs.”

  Groaning, I obeyed. Despite my pain, my pussy—as it always was during a punishment—was wet. I opened my thighs, the cool air hitting my sex. I groaned, I moaned. Jake chuckled. Mixed emotions of pain, shame, and desire ran though me as his hands went between the tops of my thighs.

  Spreading them further.

  He could see everything—and I mean everything. I just knew it. And I could tell by the suddenly hard lump in his crotch underneath my belly.

  “Please, no paddle,” I begged once more. Smack! “One!” I cried.

  Each spank landed in a different place. The ones inside my thighs hurt the most, but also turned me on the most. He loved that little paddle and how he could get it into tight spaces to spank thighs, and he told me this as he paddled my poor bottom and I counted out loud. By the tenth spank, I was crying and begging. Jake did not yet let me up or pull me into his arms as I so desperately wanted him to. He moved me so I was lying on the bed, instead.

  I gasped as I watched him go back into that little bag he had brought his implements out of. There in his hand was a tube of lube and the plug.

  “On second thought, I think you’ve been naughty enough to spend the night on your tummy. With a plug in your bottom. Reminding you what happens when you disobey your daddy,” he said.

  Whoosh. That little word made my pussy weep. I didn’t have time to process the fact that Jake—yet again—called himself, my daddy because the cold lube was on his fingertip, then his slippery fingertip was pressing into my bottom hole. I closed my eyes, groaning in shame as he commanded, “Relax.” Slowly, he slipped the plug within me, filling my aching bottom.

  Giving my bottom a pat, he said, “Properly punished.” Then he let me up, sitting me on his lap. I winced as my paddled butt contacted his jeans. I wiggled, trying to find a comfortable position in his arms, but between the plug and the spanking I had just endured, it was impossible.