Friday, September 26, 2014

A litte necessary discipline


Back to my literary roots today with a bit of domestic discipline between a sassy wife and her cowboy husband in this sizzling spanking tale.
Image licensed from Shutterstock

The Confessions of a Sassy Wife
Spanking Short Story

Part One

    Half of me despised him the day we were married, the other half was passionately in love. I must say, we’ve had a most unusual love affair.

    A month before our wedding day, Rys Montgomery showed up at the ranch, a ne’er do well cowboy with a tight ass, plenty of muscle and rugged good looks. Seeing his bleached hair tossed by the June wind made me shudder with interest. It was the first hot day of summer and he needed a job. My dad needed a man to break horses, so he was hired. Daddy didn’t like him but he was desperate for a decent cowboy, with all the stallions pawing dangerously in the paddock.

    He did warn me first thing after he hired Rys, with his finger wagging in my face, “Stay away from him, Blair. He’s trouble.”

    I gave Daddy my patented smile, deciding that I’d do as I pleased with Rys Montgomery, or with any other man I met for that matter. Frankly, I didn’t think I’d like Rys in the first place. However, seeing that finger in my face, I decided to take another look. If it would piss daddy off, I was game.
 

Unfortunately, I didn’t like Rys much better getting to know him—the way he treated me. I’d been breaking horses on my daddy’s ranch for years, and considered myself an excellent horsewoman. To have this haughty bastard treating me like an incompetent damsel pissed me off. If I hadn’t fallen off that horse and broken my wrist, he’d have never been hired.

    Still, for all his haughtiness, he had a helluva sexy swagger. He was quite a sight to look at and his smile could make up for a lot of faults. We settled into a gentle war of wills, a tiff or two on the side, but mostly we ignored each other. He thought I was a peevish brat and I didn’t change my mind that he was an egotistical jerk.

    The day I suddenly found myself in bed with him was clearly a jolt to my sense of order. We’d been tussling with words over the ‘right’ way to break the chestnut stallion, suddenly words flying so fast we could hardly spit them out, and then like a textbook romance we were fighting to get our clothes off and scramble upstairs to his bunk. It was a wordless fuck, lots of grunts and groans and the most terrific cum I’d had in months … maybe a year.

    When it was finished, we lay on our backs side by side – me trying to come to grips with the fact that I’d just fucked a man I practically despised – and suddenly, he let loose with the most startling proposition I’d ever been offered.

    “Let’s get married,” he said.

    “What?” I thought he was joking.

    “Let’s get married.”

    “Whose universe are you living in?” I answered sarcastically.

    “The one where people that love each other get married,” he stated flatly.

    “You think sex is love, you’re wrong,” I snapped. I almost laughed in his face.

    “We have all we need – great passion. You can’t say our exchanges aren’t filled with uproar and heat.”

    “You think great passion is enough to build a life on?”

    I turned over so I could look in his face, see if he was just pulling my leg. He wasn’t.

    “Some of the best marriages are built on less than that.”

    He stared at me, the gritty style, the winsome smile, the philandering twinkle in his soft brown eyes.”

    “Besides, I’m completely in love with your hair,” he said running his hand along the smooth black surface. And your face.”

    “You like my face?” What a sweet compliment.

    “I guess a poet would say you have alabaster skin.” I could tell he wasn’t used to sentiment, that’s why this was so especially endearing. He was obviously being honest, which made me wonder if he was more of a person than I believed him to be.
    “You really are serious about getting married, aren’t you?”
 

    He smiled, not the snicker I was used to, but a genuine smile.                                                                                           ***


    Daddy hit the roof when we told him the news. I thought he was going to break something seeing us hand in hand, the marriage certificate on his desk.   

    “Of all the idiotic things you’ve ever done, girl … I ought to horsewhip you. And you too.” He glared at my new husband. There was that finger again, waving in Rys’s face this time. “I swear, you don’t take care of her, you run off, you get mean and start drinking like your kind do, I’ll horsewhip you too, before I kill you!”

    “Mr. Trabor, Blair’s my wife,” Rys replied quite calmly. “I will take care of her.”

    Seeing my father’s face was one of the prettiest pictures I’d ever seen. The old coot didn’t know what to say. He had no choice but to welcome my husband into his house, and nothing could make me happier! 

    My father had been brutal, not ever physically, but his emotional power over me was something I needed to shake. Marrying Rys in defiance of his wishes was just the act I needed to declare my freedom from the tyrant. Some of my friends told me I should just leave the ranch, but I love it too much, the horses, the open land, and my place in this tough world. No, getting married was a good accommodation.

    It wasn’t until a few weeks later, after our initial honeymoon was over that I began to wonder if I shouldn’t have been more careful picking the man to mock my father. Living with Rys had certain challenges. If it weren’t for great sex, and the fact that my father would chortle meanly in my face, I would have kicked him out after the second week.

    First, there was his obstinate streak. As soon as we went back to work following a brief post-wedding hiatus, Rys started to get pretty nasty about my taming horses. Said it was too dangerous. I bristled instantly at that judgment and we argued about it often. The war eventually led to the second challenge my new husband posed, one that hit me out of the blue. I never would have guessed that my life could take such an amazing turn.

    We’d been sparring for three days about breaking Brassy, a young colt that liked to buck and rear. His temperament was one of the worst either of us had ever seen, but he was a beautiful horse and would bring a handsome price once he let someone sit in the saddle and ride. Regardless of Brassy’s nasty nature, I was quite sure I could handle the animal. After all, he was still small, and to me, not as tough as many of horses I’d worked.

    “You’re not going to take this one, Blair,” Rys told me, giving me this stern, ‘I’m not budging an inch’ kind of look. “Your arm's just healed; you’re going to break something else.”

    I stared at him as a saucy malcontent, something malicious from my tongue about to spew, but then I stopped. Rather than piss him off with utter defiance, I decided on another tactic that I thought would get what I wanted, just in a different way. Exiting the stable, not another word said, I told him I’d make him lunch and he seemed pleased I relented.

    Later, after Rys had eaten—while he was still jawing with another ranch hand—I slipped out the back door and returned to the stable to start working the colt. The young animal was wild, but manageable, at least a first. With a little coaxing, I almost had him in bridle and bit. However, when the sound of a truck in the yard made the animal rear back, I scrambled to get away from his descending forefeet. Slipping on a puddle of water, I scurried to avoid the enraged Brassy. I’m afraid I shrieked in fright. By the time I got to the paddock fence Rys was on the other side, while I was on my hands and knees looking at his muddy boots.

    “What the hell, Blair,” he roared. He leaned in over the fence and pulled me to my feet. Not stopping there, he drew me over the fence with a jerk so powerful that it shocked me. Dragging me to the stable in short order, I was flung over a sawhorse having my ass spanked like a naughty brat. I kicked and shouted and tried to wench away from him, but he managed to keep one arm firmly grasping me so I couldn’t break free.

    “Don’t you ever do anything like that again, do you hear me?” he roared.

    “Take your hands off me, you bastard!” I shouted back.

    “Oh, I’ll spank you as long as I think you need it.” The palm of his hand came down so fast I was beginning to feel a burn through my jeans. The more it hit, the more I struggled, the more Rys gripped me tightly. “You defy me like that again, I’ll take off my belt and thrash you!”

    “Just you try!” I threatened, even though I had little to back up that challenge. He had me handily under his control. He pinned me with his left hand, while his mean right hand just kept slapping my buttocks. There was nothing I was going to do about it but submit. He kept on for several minutes. Once he thought I’d had enough—perhaps because I’d stopped fighting him so much, I was getting awfully tired—he finally stopped and let me up.

    My face must have been as flushed as my ass was underneath my pants. He held me still, but not as firmly, and looked down at me with a glare I hadn’t seen since before we were married.

    “You hear me, Blair Montgomery, you’ll work the horses I tell you to work, and you won’t challenge me again.”

    I was stunned. Another time, another place, I would have spit in his face, but I was too dazed to offer him one decent protest. Not to mention the fact that I was weirdly aroused by the whole ordeal.

    “You understand me?” he asked, just to be sure.

    “Yeah, I guess I do, but …” I said weakly.

    “But what? You think a husband doesn’t have a right to punish his wife?”

    Of course, I was thinking that, but oddly that wasn’t my question.

    “Is this something I can count on?” I wondered aloud.

    “You bet it is. We’ll do just fine, Blair, if you subdue this willful streak in you. You don’t, I’ll deal with it just like this. And trust me, your ass will be bare next time. I’ll give you something that will really hurt.”

    “What’s going on here?” I heard my father’s voice. Brushing my hair from my face, I looked up flustered, seeing him standing in the stable door.

    “Nothing’s going on, sir,” Rys answered.

    Surprisingly, that seemed to be enough of an answer for the man and he turned and walked away.
   
    When it came to taming horses and women, Rys seemed to have a similar ability. He certainly had me in his control. I’d never considered myself a shrinking violet, but I was totally dumbfounded by the spanking and what it did to the image of my marriage and my husband. I suppose I figured that I could control Rys, just like I controlled every other man in my life. But that day changed everything. To my chagrin, I found myself being much more careful around my husband, a little more respectful. Though there were times that I could hardly hold my tongue, I made more of an effort to do so and keep the peace between us.

    I remember the night after that first spanking, when we were together in bed. It seemed as if we’d upped the ante in our already steamy sex life. My body quaked with desire far beyond anything I’d experienced with Rys before. I was as wild as that stallion, and with Rys’s hand clutching me where he spanked my ass, bringing back the memory of the pain he inflicted, I thought the fierce orgasm would never end. I wasn’t sure what was happening to me, but that that moment I was feeling too my pleasure to object. I know Rys noticed, but we didn’t say a word about that amazing fuck.
   
    Spanking wasn’t mentioned for at least three days, until I’d become a little more used to the idea and not so embarrassed. We were sitting at lunch, eating our meal casually when I finally mentioned that alarming moment.

    “I still can’t believe you did that,” I said, not bothering to tell him what I was referring to.

    “Can’t believe what?” he asked.

    “That you did that, you know … in the stable, when I tried breaking Brassy.”

    A smile broke out on Rys’s face. “You can’t even say the word, can you?” Seeing his expression I regretted having broached the subject. “Yes, you got spanked, didn’t you?” He deliberately emphasized the word.

    Yeah, I was rattled by it. “So, how come?” I asked.

    “Because I love you. And because I was so worried about you taking chances with no one around, I’ve never been so pissed.” He looked like he was getting pissed again.

    “And that’s how you show love?” I ventured again.

    “One of the many ways, Mrs. Montgomery. Face it, you married an old-fashioned guy, and for better or worse, you have me just the way I am. You’re not going to change me, likely any more than I’m going to change you. But I will give you a piece of my mind and a piece of my belt, if you screw up again.”

    His expression was tough, his eyes were focused and clear, and it was clear to me that he meant every word he said. I’d better face the truth now as fight it.

Part Two coming soon!

From my Spanking story collection, Cowgirls & Angels. Copyright 1998 ©  by Lizbeth Dusseau, all rights reserved.

Monday, September 22, 2014


It's a war between Doms for this lovely sub. And now, Eden's former Master returns in the dead of night to stake his claim...

Excerpt from Adam & Eden
For information on this novel



    Jacob stared in the window at Eden Rose from the patio outside her back door. Her apartment was easily accessible from the street, up the fire escape. 

    Midnight, Eden was at the piano playing music, looking melancholy.  A bottle of scotch sat on the edge of the baby grand, a shot glass beside it.  One hand played a melody while the other held her head in her hand.  She hummed as she played, words beginning to trip through her brain, but not yet put on paper.  She was strangely methodical in her manner of writing music, though it was a method only she understood.  It didn’t matter that anyone else did, only that she was getting attention in the music world for what inspired her.

    When Jacob slipped into the room through the unlocked door, Eden was so immersed in her work that she didn’t hear the quiet footfalls of his approach.  Not until he was at her back, and she jumped feeling his hands clutching her shoulders, did she realize the intruder was there.

    “Jacob, no!” she shrieked, but then his hand was over her mouth.  She tried to bite his fingers, but he slapped her face and then clamped his hand back over her lips with a bone-crushing tightness.

    “Don’t say a word,” he whispered.  “Not one word.”  To ensure her obedience, he pulled a ball-gag from his pocket and opening her mouth with his fingers pressed it inside.  The strap was fixed behind her head.  She was at his mercy.

    He extinguished the single lamp in the room as he dragged her from the piano bench, her arms flailing as she tried to pull away.  But with his large hands and strong grip, the fight was useless.  After stripping her of her robe, it was easy work to have her wrists bound behind her.  Jacob knew where to find the leather straps and harness, the playthings that would raise her body heat.  Pushing her toward her bedroom, he chuckled knowing he had her won.  She wasn’t resisting at all.  Eden was so easy.

    “You think you can get away from me, bitch,” he chortled in her ear as he undid the wrist cuffs from behind and then fastened them to the rod swinging over head.  “You are so na├»ve and foolish.”

    He slapped her ass with his hand, then buckled the collar around her neck tightly so she could feel the constriction in her throat.  She had to gasp for air.

    “Relax, slut, you’ve got a long and welcome night.  That femme uptown you played with doesn’t hold a candle to me.  Why she didn’t even leave marks.”

    Eden was sinking into him, intoxicated by words.  Dizzy from the constraints, she let the surging in her abdomen turn erotic, her hips undulating against his hand. 

    “That’s it,” he purred.  Pressing his palm over her pubis, he held it tightly in his fist and pulled down.  She squirmed and cried with the shot of pain, while fingers in her vagina teased the syrupy concoction of sweat and sex juice.  

    A clamp came down on one nipple and the pain sparked.  She jerked and he slapped her face.  A second clamp on the second nipple, more pain, another jerk and another slap.  Preordained, ritualized, but yes, very welcome.  He was right. She didn’t want to tolerate the abuse but the fire in her now was too severe for her sex to ignore.  The wild rush was as sweet as words of love, and she let her head fall back as he began with the whip and crop, one in each hand.  She traveled light-years in seconds, joyriding through a wave of delicious heat and pain. Exhilarating pain turned her insides out while he turned her outsides into raw, scorched flesh.
   
The multi-taloned leather whip flailed on her breasts and belly, sensation streaming like ocean swells crashing as breakers on hard sand.  The crop cut hard against her flesh.  He was erratic and sporadic, mocking her as he stalked her quivering body, then going eye to eye with her so she could see the vile expression of triumph on his face.  The laughter, the scorn, the jubilance of his sadistic mien shot right through her.  When she closed her eyes, he slapped her face again.

“Don’t do that again.  You’ll look in my eyes, bitch, and remember who I am.  How I’m the champion of your greatest cause—this perpetual sex machine.  He gripped her cunt and shook it hard, then fixed a clamp over her clit so she screamed a muffled scream into the gag.

From behind, he let the whip fly fast and hard, with not a second between the strikes.  On her back, then to her ass, so they were heated and hot.  Then the crop again, that horrifying one with the thin end and the little tied tail that bit viciously into roughed-up skin.  She'd be marked with bright red weals before he finished.  A terrifying reason to rejoice. 

She was losing it by the time he burnished her thighs and lay into that tenderness creating another horror.  Her mind simply vanished and there was nothing but pain, and then nothingness, and then nothing at all … she’d disappeared without a trace … gone … flown away and lost forever on a river of erotic feeling that could never be better than this. This was why she loved him ... once.

She returned to the real world with the feel of Jacob’s hand between her thighs, his fingers pressing her to climax … a long mellow spasm, then and the beautiful sensation afterward … softly moving through her body.

“I’m so good to you, darling Eden. You treat me like shit trying to fend me off.  You suppose you’re going to tell your attorney about this little caper?  About how easily you give in to me?  You going to try and change your name again?  Try to hide, maybe?  If I didn’t think you were so scrumptious for my own needs, I’d find you pathetic.” 

He was undoing her from the bar overhead, but he left her hands manacled together at the wrists.  Removing the gag, he pushed her to the floor and pressed her head down against the wood with the heel of his boot. 

“You look good like that, whore, don’t you?”

She didn’t reply.

“Don’t you?” he pressed harder, angrily.

“Yes, sir,” she answered.

“And you’re mine, isn’t that so?”

“Forever and always, sir,” she replied without thinking.

“I will always own you,” he swore.

She did not reply.

“I WILL ALWAYS OWN YOU!”   He let the crop rip against her upturned bruised butt, the narrow end landing in her ass crack.

“Ah, nooooo!”

“Say it bitch!”

“You’ll always own me, sir,” she spit out loud and clear.

“That’s better.  Now suck my cock.”

He helped her to her knees, and pulled her toward a chair where he sat back and she remained between his open thighs.  Her hands couldn’t play with him easily, but her lips could and they covered the erect stalk.  With his hand at the back of her head, he pressed her down on the organ and fucked her mouth.  It made her gag, but he made her relax.  Opening wide for him, her lips and tongue worked hard bringing him off.  Then pulling her head back, he shot on her face, on lips and hair and down her chin.  The smile on his lips was reminiscent of times before when he was ecstatically jubilant mastering her.

She didn't want this. A new master was waiting in the wings...and yet, there was something about this master, about Jacob, she simply couldn't resist. 


Copyright (c) Lizbeth Dusseau. All rights reserved. May not be used without permission.