Authors: Lizbeth Dusseau
“We could
start the morning over in bed, what do you think?” he suggested, when she
had her biscuits out on the counter to cool.
“I have a
thousand things to do,” she replied, giving him only a very fleeting
smile, and continuing on with breakfast.
“Or,
perhaps we—could start with you over my lap again,” Aaron said, his tone
of voice suddenly quite serious.
“Whatever
for?” she asked looking up at him, a little astounded that he was
mak-ing
the threat.
“I’m not
going to be denied my
privi-leges
as your husband.
I’d suggest that you get that straight,” he warned her.
“You’re
going to bully me into bed?” she asked sarcastically. With an impudent
smirk, she swished her full skirt, and moved right past him to the breakfast
table.
‘You, my dear,
are behaving like a spoiled and spiteful brat,” Aaron said. “And I
won’t tolerate it.”
“So you
are going to bully me,” she snapped.
Just that
little edge in her voice, the wincing expression on her lips, Aaron was fuming,
about to spit fire if he could; but he maintained his composure.
“Abigail,
you will not -blackmail me withholding sex,” he vowed. ‘I won’t let you
use it as a wedge between us.’
“And if I
do?” she said, her blue eyes flashing, that certain set to her jaw quite
apparent. Though he could tell she was quivering nervously too.
“
lf
it takes a birch across your ass, then so be it.”
“You
think that will change my mind about you, Aaron Barrow?” she shot back.
“Perhaps
we’ll just have to find out.” His eyes were lit with a strange dark hue,
that made Abigail shudder.
Seeing no
change of heart in Abigail’s attitude, Aaron strode past his wife out the door,
not another word said. A half hour later, when their breakfast was sitting cold
on the table, Aaron returned to the house.
“Abigail,”
he called. She was in the pantry and out of sight. “Abigail,” he
repeat-
ed
the call.
As soon as the
young bride peered into the kitchen, her eyes caught sight of what her husband
held in his hand: two long smooth well-stripped birch branches. Shirking back
into the small room, she slammed the pantry door behind her, a regular storm
racing everywhere in her body.
“Abigail,
come here,” Aaron called to her.
“Abigail,”
he roared a second later.
Inside the
pantry, Abigail rested
ner-vously
against the door. A
day’s worth of anxiety was caught in her throat, and freezing her in her place.
When the door jerked, she knew she’d been conquered, a fact that only became
more clear, when a grim faced Aaron hauled her bodily from the pantry.
“You
know, my fine brat, I’ve given you plenty of opportunity to change this sit-
uation
, but obviously you’re not about to let go this
stubborn streak. Well, today you’re going to find out that I’m as stubborn as
you!”
Their eyes
exchanged nasty glances as he spoke; and when he was finished, he pushed his
wife over the end of the kitchen table. “You so much as move an
inch,” he warned, “I’ll tie you down.”
Too afraid to
make a move, Abigail remained motionless while Aaron reached for the bottom of
her long skirt and pulled it up to her waist, revealing her two firm
bot
-tom cheeks quivering like jelly before him. How white
they were, the creamy mounds begged to be touched, though Aaron put aside his
lust for something far more important.
“Aaron,
please,” she finally found her voice. “I’m sorry I really am.”
“The
sight of the birch frightens you?” he asked, coming around to the side of
the table so that she could clearly see the ten-
der
saplings he gripped in his hand.
“Yes, I’m
sorry, but please…”
“You had
your chance,” he said sternly. “Now you’d better grit your teeth
because this is going to hurt!”
Taking one of
the birches in hand, and leaving the other on the table, the single sapling
sizzled through the air and came down on her bottom with a nasty sting.
“
Yeeeaw
!” she cried.
Swoosh, snap.
Swoosh, snap. Aaron repeated the treatment, each time the thin birch landing, a
mighty smart rose on Abigail’s behind, a passionate cry issuing from her lips.
“Oh,
please!” she cried. “I am sorry.”
“I’m glad
to hear that,” Aaron said, and he laid another cut on her bottom. “
Ooo
, ouch, please!”
Swoosh, snap.
“I won’t
let you destroy our marriage with this foolishness,” Aaron said. “You
might as well learn that lesson now.:
Abigail dug in
harder, gritting her teeth more firmly and gripping the side of the table for
support. Hearing his stem admonishments, she had a feeling this was going to be
a nasty punishment; and she was determined to get through the rest of her
punishment with as much dignity and resolve as her husband.
Swoosh, snap.
Swoosh, snap. The birch flew against her bottom at least a dozen more times.
After the implement lost its bite, Aaron threw it aside and picked up the
second sapling and began with that. The more composed Abigail bore down harder
still, her knuckles white from holding the side of the table. Try as she might to
get through the horror without another wail, or plea for mercy, she was soon in
too much agony to hold back any longer.
“Aaron,
please,” she cried out.
Swoosh. The
birch came down again.
“Aaron,
please, I’m sorry” she tried once more.
Unfortunately for
Abigail, her husband was not in the mood to listen. Landing another cut on the
center of her bottom, he admired the raw texture of his wife’s behind. Now
crisscrossed with several dozen pink/red lines, he could see that she’d be
feeling this one for some days. And it was just as well, he didn’t want her to
forget this punishment, not ever
Swoosh.
Another cut landed. This one caught her right at the tops of her thighs.
“
Yeeeeawww
. Oh, please,” she pleaded with him.
“So, is
this ridiculous game of yours over?” Aaron asked.
“Oh,
yes,” she assured him, thankful to know that the end was in sight.
Swoosh, snap.
“
Yeeeeawww
.”
“And
you’re not going to pull anything stupid like this again, withholding your
affections?”
“No, no.
I promise.”
Swoosh, snap.
“Ouch,
please.”
“And
you’ll be going to Brighton Springs just as we planned, no more
com-plaints?”
“I
promise,” she affirmed.
Swoosh, snap.
“Ouch,
ow
, oh please.” Even her feet were dancing as if she
hoped they could carry her away from this misery.
“If you
ever so much as hint about anything as demeaning as this game you’ve played
with me, I’ll find a real cane, and you’ll think today is child’s play. You
understand me?”
“Yes,
Aaron, I do,” she sobbed.
The last snap
landed, and Aaron threw the birch aside, while Abigail eased her grip on the
table, relieved that it was over at last. Immediately going to Abigail’s
backside, Aaron’s hand was on her burning red bottom.
“I’m so
sorry, Aaron,” she sobbed. He wouldn’t let her turn about, but was
determined to fondle her tender cheeks, and bring out the desires that they’d
squelched the last day. In a matter of seconds, she was purring like a kitten
in his arms.
“Oh, my
god, Aaron, let’s go take care of this in bed,” she implored him. She was
all over him, her hands on his body, her mouth on his mouth. “I’m sorry,
I’ll terribly sorry.” The last day had been nothing but a mistake.
“I knew
you would be,” he said. “But we’ll take care of what we need right
here.”
“Right
here? She questioned him.
He smiled, and
set her wounded rear on the kitchen table.
“0uch!”
she exclaimed.
‘Just what you
deserve,” he said sternly, though he was smiling now. Leaning her back
against the hard surface of the table, he was inside her swiftly, the husband
and wife coming to a crashing fin-
ish
with all their
pent-up emotion and
sexu
-
al
desire finding a release at last.
“I am
sorry, Aaron,” Abigail said, once they were both satisfied and he was
pulling her to her feet.
“1 know
you are,” he said. “And I know you’re still not happy about Brighton
Springs. All I ask is that you give it try. See if maybe you’re wrong about it,
and then, well … you never know, we might just move back here, or somewhere
else.’
“You
really mean that? We don’t have to stay?” she said excitedly.
“I really
mean that. But you watch yourself,” he said, his eyes narrowing severely
to enunciate his point. “We talk about our feelings, we don’t go plotting
revenge. You understand?”
“I
do,” she said, and with her bottom still smarting so it was tender to touch,
she let Aaron hold her in his arms, her head dropping to his chest for comfort.
The rough
journey across a rocky mountain terrain to Brighton Springs did not forecast a
successful venture in their new home. Their house was not as comfortable as the
old one, and there was - just as Abigail suspected - far fewer people with whom
a young woman of such spirit as Abigail could spend her time. All things con-
sidered
, however, Abigail didn’t offer one word of
disappointment or protest to Aaron. He was a man of his word: if he really knew
she was unhappy with the move, eventually he’d reconsider his decision, and
perhaps they could move back closer to her family and friends. At least for
awhile, she was determined to bide her time and give their new home the
thorough consideration that Aaron expected. Eventually they would return to
their old home, she was certain of that.
As quick as
the wind can change the direction of a storm, just a month after Aaron and
Abigail settled in Brighton Springs, the testy young woman had an abrupt change
of heart about her new home, with the arrival of an unexpected guest.
“Hey,
what are you doing way up here?” Abigail heard a familiar voice exclaim as
she was picking flowers from her garden. Jerking up, she turned and stared, her
mouth wide open in shock, the flowers for-gotten, dropping to her feet.
“Darcy
Greenwood, I should as the same thing to you,” Abigail said, catching her
breath. She darted towards her friend and gave her an affectionate greeting.
“The
mountains agree with you,” Darcy observed, seeing the bright color on
Abigail’s pale cheeks.
“I’ve
hated it here,” she whispered. “But don’t you tell Aaron. He’s sure
to whip my behind if I so much as say one blessed thing against this
place.”
“Has you
that scared?” Darcy asked, surprised.
“No, not
really scared. I just promised him I wouldn’t raise anymore fuss over living
here, at least until we settled in. I guess I wasn’t very kind to him after he
announced the move.”
“You did
something stupid, didn’t you? I bet he
whupped
your
ass.”
“How
would you know?”
“It
figures, coming from you and Aaron. You’re both stubborn as mules, I don’t
imagine that’s going to be the last time.”
“It is if
I can help it,” Abigail said.
“So what
you do, anyway. Run off somewhere?”
“Just
back to mama, but it was more than that.”
Darcy looked
at her as if she wasn’t going to budge from the spot unless she told her
everything.
“I told
him I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t, you know, give him what he wanted in bed.”
“Oh, that
is a bratty notion. But why you’d want to withhold yourself from Aaron Barrow,
I can’t imagine. He’s one man I wouldn’t mind having myself.”
“Darcy
Greenwood! He’s my
hus
-band,” Abigail snapped
indignantly.
“Well,
you’d better mind your man-
ners
so he stays that way,”
Darcy shot back. “You wouldn’t be wanting to steal him away from me, would
you?” Abigail said.
“
Naw
. He’d be fun, I’m sure. But he’s yours, and he
ain’t
the type to go
funning
around with other women.” She almost sounded disappointed.
“No, I
don’t suspect he is,” Abigail readily agreed.
“That
still doesn’t mean you should abuse him,” Darcy said.
“Abuse
him! It’s my butt that’s been burning.”
Darcy laughed
and grabbing Abigail’s hand, they moved towards the house. “You got
anything to eat inside, I’m famished,” she declared.
Darcy was one
person that would never change, and Abigail was glad of that. She couldn’t
believe how much she missed her glorious face and wry wit. Darcy always had a
way of seeing things differently than her, and Abigail was glad of that