Over the Barrel (27 page)

"You opened yourself up to be
killed.
 
You are
never
to draw a gun in public!" he
hissed, unhitching the horse and walking her to the corral to hand her off to
the stable boy.

"Don't raise your voice to me, Sloan
Adkins!"

"You have not heard me raise my
voice, little girl.
 
Get off that
horse and march your bottom right into the house, Blair."

"Please …"

"Go to our room and strip every
stitch of clothing from your body.
 
You may sponge off the dirt from your ride, but I want you with your
nose in a corner as soon as you are done."

"I am not going to stand in a corner
like a child!"
 
Blair stomped
her foot.

"Remember the strapping you got over
the barrel for drinking at the saloon before?
 
It is nothing to what you are going to
feel on that lovely little bottom this evening.
 
Go."

Blair swore as she kicked the corral
post.
 
"This is unfair!"

"Blair Lorraine, I am very close to
putting you over this fence, lifting yours skirts to bare your bottom, and then
turn it into the color of burning coals right now.
 
Defy me further and it will be done.
 
I don't care who is here to witness it,
either."

Blair felt the burning in her cheeks as
she glanced at the stunned stable boy.
 
Sloan stepped up before her and cupped her face between his warm,
calloused hands.

"Mind me like a good girl," he
said quietly, kissing her forehead.
 
"Please, don't make this worse on yourself."

Blair lowered her eyes, nodded, and
turned to obey.

Blair felt the trembling in her knees as
she ascended the staircase and entered the bathing area.
 
Quickly, she pumped water into the
copper tub, stripped off her clothing, and stepped in to wash away the dirt and
grime that had attached itself to her during the ride.
 
She wrapped a towel around her body,
grateful that the house was empty but for old Carlos snoozing in a chair in the
study.

She opened the door to her bedroom and gulped
audibly.
 
A water barrel, laid upon
its side, was propped with one end against the foot of the bed and anchored in
place with iron wedges.
 
Hanging
over the top was a wide razor strop.
 
She picked it up and turned it over in her quaking hands.
 
The well-oiled, thick, heavy leather was
smooth after years of sharpening straight razors, and the length was at least
the stretch of a man's arm.
 
She had
no doubt this 'gift' was from her grandfather, heightening her embarrassment
and humiliation.
 
She timidly laid
it back in place, draped her towel over the edge of the bed, and proceeded to
the only bare corner of the room.

Despite the late summer warmth, she
shivered as she waited for the telltale sound of Sloan's boots.
 
Minutes ticked by before the heavy stomp
of his heels against the wood steps caught her attention.
 
He entered the room and tossed her
purchases upon the bed.

"I am going to wash off.
 
Put your belly across this barrel and
make certain your bare backside is poking high in the air.
 
I want your hands holding the boot
scraper."
 
He placed his pocket
watch on the floor next to the barrel.
 
"You have until ten minutes after nine to get yourself comfortable.
 
We are going to be here for a
while."
 
He pulled off his
soiled shirt, turned on his heels, and left the room.

Blair felt weak as she obeyed.
 
She removed the strap from the barrel
and folded it over the back of a chair.
 
She then placed her damp towel over the rough wood to protect her
delicate skin and bent over the severe arc.
 
Wiggling to find a comfortable position
for her pelvis, Blair was chagrined to find that she had thrust her bottom
higher into the air than she had planned.
 
She then wrapped her fingers around the horns of the cast iron boot
scraper to steady herself and keep the blood from rushing to her head.

The pocket watch ticking before her eyes
was torment.
 
She watched the second
hand move slowly into position and held her breath, dreading Sloan's
promptness.
 
She looked up as he
reentered the room, cleanly bathed and shaved smooth.
 
He had simply wrapped a towel around his
waist and remained stockingless.

"Where is your nightshirt?"
Blair asked nervously.

"I do not wish to wear one right
now.
 
I need to be able to move
freely if I am to punish you adequately."

"Sloan, I beg your forgiveness and
your mercy.
 
Please, do not beat
me," Blair pleaded.

Sloan ran his hand over her silky flesh
and smacked one cheek sharply.
 
"I do not beat you, I discipline you.
 
This bottom," he landed a smart
smack upon her, bringing up color from pale white to a flushed pink, "will
pay the price of your disobedience."

He lifted the razor strop from the chair
and balanced it in his hands.
 
"Your grandfather commented that my beard gave me an unkempt
appearance and felt it was due to having a dull razor.
 
He donated this strop after making a
statement that ladies did not enjoy having their fragile skin scratched by
prickly facial hair.
 
As I was
sharpening my razor, I realized what a wonderful device this would be if I
needed to punish you.
 
I did not
expect it to be used so quickly."

"I feel you are unfair and cruel,
Sloan Adkins.
 
I will not give you
the satisfaction of seeing my tears, no matter how hard you beat me."

"You stubborn, stubborn girl.
 
I am not going to beat you.
 
That would require I not care for you or
the lesson that needs to be taught.
 
I wish you would try to understand that.
 
No matter …."
 
Sloan moved to the end of the barrel and
to Blair's left side.
 
He raised the
strop over his shoulder, and without warning, sent it snapping against her
snowy mounds.
 
Blair struggled to
detach herself and not show any reaction but knew it was only a matter of time,
and a few more licks, before she broke.
 
He swung the strap again, leaving a road of red welts upon her quivering
bottom.
 
Her knuckles whitened as
she clutched the unyielding metal scraper in an effort to maintain her
composure.
 
A muffled sob, buried in
the flesh of her right arm, crept into his hearing.
 
He aimed the strap for the undercurve of
her bottom—the delicate creases that were guaranteed to touch the hard
leather of a saddle.
 
Blair yelped,
lifting her head and arching her back in protest.

Sloan waited until she returned to her
position, tapping his foot impatiently as she lowered her chest to rest against
the curve of the barrel.
 
Once she
grabbed the boot scraper, he cracked the strap against the same tender spot
twice more, paused, and struck again.
 
A deep red stripe blazed angrily.

Sloan rested his hand upon it and bent
over her back to whisper in her ear.
 
"Do you still refuse to give me the satisfaction of seeing your
tears?" Blair did not answer, turning her head so that he could not
witness the wetness upon her face.
 
He sighed sadly.
 
"Stubborn.
 
Very well,
have it your way."

Blair's eyes flew open as the leather smacked
soundly across her upper thighs.
 
"Enough!
 
You win!"
she relented in a flood of tears.

"I'm sorry.
 
I didn't hear you."
 
When she did not reply, Sloan released
an audible sigh and landed the strap once again across her sit spots.

"No
more!"
 
Blair released her right hand from the
scraper and attempted to protect her throbbing bottom.

"Remove your hand,
Blair.
 
We are not done here."

"I'm begging you,"
Blair wept, slowly bringing her hand back to grab the cold, iron handle.
 
Her crying grew louder as she twisted
and rocked, desperately trying to force him to miss the spots that had already
tasted the bite of the strap.

Sloan paused after three more
lashes and walked in front of her.
 
He squatted and placed his finger upon her chin to raise it.
 
She blinked at him through wet,
red-rimmed eyes, trying frantically to catch her breath.

"I love you.
 
Because I love you, I will do whatever
is needed to keep you from harm.
 
Since I cannot lock you in a cage and protect you, I have to trust you
to make wise decisions when you are out of my sight.
 
This is a punishment, Blair.
 
I am the one who decides when you have
had enough.
 
Is that clear?"

"Yes,
Sloan," Blair sniveled.
 
"I'm sorry."

"Good,"
he kissed the space between her eyes.
 
"You may come off the barrel, but we are not finished.
 
I want you to place your hands on the
chair and bring your bottom up again, please."

"I'm
begging you, no more!"

"You
wanted to make your point.
 
Now I am
making mine.
 
You will obey me for
your own good."

Instead of
the razor strop, Sloan used his hand to even out the color of her bottom,
turning it to a shiny, cherry red.
 
Blair's fingers gripped the edges of the chair as her tears pooled in
the center of the wood under her face.
 
The spanks slowed and lessened in intensity, yet Blair's howling grew.

"The
corner, Blair.
 
No rubbing,"
Sloan said softly, helping her to stand.
 
He brushed his lips across hers and led her to the spot.
 
"Stay here until I release
you."

"I
never want to speak to you again," she whimpered.

"Yes,
I know.
 
Every time you do something
that warrants punishment, you get angry with me.
 
I am becoming used to it," he said,
his hand running over her shoulder.
 
"One day, you will understand, and this anger will disappear."

"I
doubt it.
 
You are an arrogant,
self-righteous …"

"Isn't
your bottom sore enough that you don't want to risk another spanking for being
disrespectful?"
 
Blair
snapped her mouth closed, leaning her forehead to the wall.
 
"That's better.
 
I am going to get a bite to eat and will
be back soon.
 
I expect to see you
in this spot and ready to change some of your disposition by the time I
return."

Blair turned
her shoulder to him, her fists pulled to her chin as she leaned against the
wall.
 
Her bottom burned worse than
she could remember.
 
How could he
have been so cruel?
 
Her sobbing
renewed as she reflected upon the unfairness of her situation.

By the time
her lamentation had turned to hiccups, Sloan had returned.
 
With him was a tray of food and cool
lemonade.
 
He placed the tray on the
dressing table and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Come
here, Blair."
 
His voice was
mournful.

"I
don't wish to hug you," she susurrated through her hiccups.

"I
don't care, baby; I want to hold you.
 
Come now," Sloan ordered softly.
 
"Obey me."

Blair
trudged begrudgingly to stand in front him.
 
She felt self-conscious in her nakedness
and wanted to hide from his watchful eyes.
 
Sloan spread his knees and pulled her to stand between them.

He took her
hands in his and kissed her knuckles.
 
"I love you.
 
You are my
life, and if anything should ever happen to you, I don't know what I would do
with myself," he explained.
 
"I know that you come from a place where people never really cared
or became a part of who you are.
 
Those people no longer matter.
 
I do.
 
You have to learn to
allow me to protect and to love you."

"I'm
sorry."
 
Blair lowered her
face, suddenly filled with shame and remorse.
 
He
was correct
.
 
"I will try
to be more considerate of your feelings."