Claimed on the Frontier (15 page)

My fingers trembled, not from cold but fear, as I removed my dress. I slipped it on the hook on the wall, then removed my petticoats, my head hung in shame. If I’d only minded him, I wouldn’t have had such trouble. Next, I removed my drawers and folded them over the edge of the bed. My stays followed, then my shoes, and lastly my stockings, until I was dressed exactly as Aaron had instructed, nothing but the white cotton chemise protecting me from Aaron and whatever chastisement he had planned.

It seemed like I waited forever. Would he ever come? Was he purposefully making me wait to increase my trepidation, and affect the impact of the punishment without having to thrash me more severely? Or
was
he preparing a severe whipping? I shuddered as I squeezed my eyes shut. He’d punished me with his bare hand when I’d fallen in the water, and the sting of that had lasted well into the following days. But I’d not been punished often. Would deliberate disobedience and risking danger to myself, now as his wife, make my situation even worse?

But as I waited for him, even then, as I feared my impending punishment, I did not fear Aaron.

I trusted him. Countless other emotions surfaced but at the moment, my only concern was facing him bravely.

I heard the door of our bedroom creak open, and Aaron’s heavy footsteps behind me. I did not move. A warm rush of air followed him, lifting my chemise ever so slightly. Our room was cooler than the main room of the cabin. It seemed fitting he brought the warmth in with him, as if his presence alone could heat the room.

“Very good,” he said, his voice thick with anger. “Good to see you obey at least one of my instructions.” He paused. “You’ll stay in position while I punish you.”

Would he not take me over his lap, then?

I kept my eyes shut tight, and tears clogged my throat. I did so hate to disappoint him, or make him angry. And it was much harder than I’d anticipated, lying over the bed with no touch from him, without feeling his strength beneath me. I felt removed, as if he didn’t want anything to do with me.

I heard the jingle of his belt buckle. My breath caught, my limbs shaking. He’d never taken his belt to me before, and I feared the sting of leather. I heard him pulling it through the loops of his trousers. I imagined he was folding it over in his hand as he prowled closer to the bed. I jumped as I felt a warm hand on my lower back.

“You jump as if you’re frightened. Are you frightened, girl?”

I swallowed, my voice shaking as I responded. “Yes, sir.”

He stood then. His voice hardened. “Good. You ought to be. I don’t want to have to do this again. Twelve sound licks with my belt ought to form a lasting memory.” My chemise was yanked up and I was bared to him.

And with that, the first searing lash of his belt fell. I gasped. It stung much harder than his hand had, and it was quite a different sensation. I felt it deep, my skin burning, and I’d hardly recovered from the first bite of his belt before another one fell, lower this time, on my upper thigh, and the pain was intense. I cried out at the third, and after that I lost count.

There were several seconds in between each swish through the air and punishing
whap.
I gasped with each stroke. I tried to maintain my position, to be brave, and to take my punishment well. But after the first several licks, I felt as if I could not bear the pain. I don’t think it was even a conscious decision, I just knew I had to get away. The lash of his belt fell again, and I scrambled across the bed. I could not bear it. It was too much. It hurt too badly. But in the split second it took me to register that I’d disobeyed him in the middle of the punishment, I felt a pang of fear. Would he intensify the licking because I’d tried to get away?

Aaron was quiet as he came to me. I heard his belt buckle hit the side of the bed as he picked me up in his arms, sat down on the bed, and laid me across his knee.

“You’ve gotten six. I said twelve, and I mean to finish your punishment.”

But this time he held me over his lap, and one strong hand wrapped around my waist, anchoring me. I grasped his leg, dangling over his knee, and heard him pick up his belt again. He released my waist for a moment and I was dimly aware of him wrapping his belt around his hand, before his hand returned to me. The tears that threatened to fall began then, a slow trickle as I squeezed my eyes shut and held onto him with everything I had.

“Six more licks,” he stated, and I felt his arm raise before I felt the biting sting of his belt again. I took it, each hard lash burning my skin, as he spoke to me.

“You’ll not disobey me.”
Whap!
I gasped as he raised his belt again. “You’ll take care not to hurt yourself, most especially when I’m not here.”
Whap!
It felt like fire, my skin was aflame, and the licks hurt no less than they had when he was standing behind me. “You could’ve burned yourself badly.”
Whap!
“And so help me, you’ll take care of what’s mine.” Another searing zing.

I could not count. I did not know how many swats he’d given me. All I knew was that I needed the pain to end.

“And if you ever do such a thing again, you’ll get a whippin’ with my quirt. Am I clear?” His quirt was a stout whip I wanted no part of.

“Yes, sir,” I moaned, crying freely now. His belt dropped to the floor.

“Good!” He punctuated his words with a resounding wallop from his hand, and atop the pain of my strapping, it hurt like the dickens. I howled as he delivered several more swats with his hand. His hand upon my already sore skin was unbearable. But then he was done.

Now his hand smoothed over my flaming hot, sore bottom. I laid like that for a while, his hand rubbing out the sting in soothing circles, as I wept. Now that he was done, the floodgates opened. I cried and cried. I could not stop. That was when he did what I’d hoped he would the first time he punished me by the water. Lifting me up, he laid me across his lap so that my head fell to his chest. He cradled me then, rocking gently back and forth. I’d wondered how it would feel, having been firmly punished by his hand, then held in his arms while I wept, my head on his chest as he rocked me. I was unprepared for how it felt.

My tears flowed freely, but they were not merely tears of remorse. They were tears from something deeper, something that had lain dormant perhaps my whole life. The knowledge that this man, my husband and my lover, cared enough about me that he’d taken on the role of disciplinarian, moved me. He loved me so, he did not want me to harm myself. He’d whipped me, but he’d been in control the whole time, even taking me over his knee when I could not face the chastisement alone. And now he soothed me. Now he allowed me the cleansing cry with my head upon his chest.

His shirt dampened with my tears. I sniffled as the lump in my throat and chest dissolved. Never had I felt more cherished than I did then, his whiskery kiss upon my forehead, his strong arms holding me in his.

“There, shhh,” he whispered as I wept.

“I’m-I’m—sorry,” I wailed. “I-I—don’t mean to weep so, and get—my tears—all over you.”

“Shh, little one.” His low voice was like balm to me. “Let it out, now. Just get it out while I hold you.”

I cried until I had no more tears to give.

I was not one to cry. When the Fitzgeralds hurt me, I would scurry away and fume, wishing all sorts of ill upon them. I would plot my vengeance or ignore them altogether. When I hurt myself, I rarely cried. The only time I recalled crying when I lived back there was the time I’d helped deliver four little puppies in the barn, and the tiniest one struggled and tried to make it, but died in my hands, a wee, helpless little thing. It had seemed a devastating loss then, as if I’d personally been responsible for its death. But now the tears were different. Now the tears were for
me.

I felt sorrow for not having had the nurture and care I needed as a child. Sorrow for having been punished by the man I loved. But something more. Thankfulness for his discipline that I knew was deeply rooted in his love for me. If he didn’t love me, why would he discipline me? He wouldn’t care for my well-being or my obedience if he wasn’t bent on my protection.

“You need to go,” I said. “I know we need to eat breakfast, and you have chores.” I sniffed, my voice wavering. “And—and you don’t have to keep holding me like this.” I felt guilty for holding him up, as I couldn’t stop the flow of tears.

“No, darlin’,” he whispered softly. “You take as long as you need.”

His assurance at meeting my needs then made my tears start afresh.

How could someone so stern be so gentle? How could he have taken his belt to my backside, but now be so soothing? The tears weren’t from the pain of the whipping, though. It was more than that. No, I was capable of taking pain in stride without tears. These tears came from something far deeper than that. And Aaron knew it.

When the tears finally stopped, a calmness settled upon me. He handed me his handkerchief and I blew my nose. I closed my eyes, my head against his chest. I could hear his heartbeat and feel the light prickle of the hairs on his chest beneath his dampened shirt. I felt the strength of his arms around me. He smelled like hay, sunshine, and coffee. He lifted me then and laid me upon the bed.

“Sweet girl,” he crooned, bending down to kiss me. I felt his hardness as he pressed against me. Had punishing me aroused him? It was an odd thought, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it, but I shoved it away as his mouth plundered mine.

“You don’t like being punished,” he murmured, taking my wrists in his hands and pinning them above my head.

“No, sir,” I whispered.

His mouth traveled to my neck and his tongue flicked out. I moaned, shifting beneath him, my senses roused by the variety of feelings he was provoking within me. As one strong hand held my wrist, the other traveled between my legs, his hand unabashedly dipping between my folds and stroking. I was shocked at how easily he moved his fingers, and how quickly my arousal flamed. Had the punishment excited me? I hadn’t thought so. But now, my body seemed to think otherwise.

I yearned for him, even as I shifted with the pain still lingering on my heated bottom.

“Please, sir,” I begged.

“Please what?” he whispered, his tongue dipping lower and flicking at one of my nipples.

“I want you in me.”

His eyes crinkled with a wicked grin. He released my wrists, his fingers nimbly unbuttoning his shirt. It fell to the floor as he undressed, unfastening his trousers next as he slipped out of them. He came back to me and held my wrists again. I loved when he did that, as it sparked excitement in me. There was something about knowing that he was more powerful than I, stronger, that evoked every feminine emotion within me.

Wasting no time, he thrust into me. He made love in a savage, reckless way, almost painful but not quite. I toppled over the edge into ecstasy as he did, my senses on alert, my limbs weak from the feelings he wrought from me.

We lay spent in the bed. But as I lay there in the peace and quiet, I heard a knock on the door.

Crickets and cattails!

“Aaron!” I hissed, sitting up and pulling the quilt about me. “Oh, heavens, it’s your mother and Geraldine! You need to get the door.”

He pushed himself up on his elbow and looked at me, his eyes unrelenting yet dancing.

“Just after I take my belt to you, you have the audacity to order me about, young lady?”

I dipped my head shyly. “No, sir. I’m sorry. Please, husband, will you answer the door and protect my modesty?”

He grinned then,
grinned
,
as he pushed himself out of the bed and tugged on his trousers.

“Husband, is it? All right, then, wife, if you put it that way. I’ll answer the door. You right yourself, and we’ll see to it that my mother and Geraldine don’t suspect I just took my wife to bed.”

“Aaron!” I hissed.

He was finishing buttoning up his shirt as he gave me a lascivious wink.

Haphazardly I gathered my clothing, lamenting aloud that it wasn’t fair we women had a trunk full of clothing to don daily when men had a much simpler ensemble, which elicited a chuckle and a teasing swat from him as he ambled to the door.

My cheeks flushed. Did the man care naught for my modesty? I shook my head, even as my heart thumped at his commanding yet loving way. The man was not to be swayed. He knew his mind, and cared little for the judgment of others. He knew what he expected and would not falter. The door shut behind him as I deftly pinned my scorched petticoat and righted my clothing. My bottom burned from the whipping he’d given me, my limbs still weakened from having made love, and my heart was full.

I loved him so.

I yearned to be worthy of his love.

I scurried out of the room after tidying the bed quickly, tucking my hair behind my ear.

“Good morning!” Geraldine and ma stood by the table, ma unpacking a basket of food items, and Geraldine standing with her arms crossed, scowling at Aaron. A scowl so soon in the morning? She was quite the little vixen.

I busied myself in preparation as Aaron sat down on one of the chairs and tugged on his boots. I sliced a loaf of bread and buttered a piece, placing it in front of him, before I quickly went to the fire and removed the pot of boiling water for his coffee.

“Pearl.” His voice was deep and corrective. I turned to him, looking up at him shyly.

“Yes, sir?”

He frowned, pointing at the hearth. “You be careful over there today, young lady. I want no more accidents. You hear?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, my head bowed low. I was embarrassed at being corrected in front of Geraldine and ma, but I knew they were familiar with his ways. Ma didn’t even bat an eyelash as she continued to unpack her belongings, and I did not look at Geraldine. Instead, I cracked three eggs on the oiled skillet I’d secured over the hearth.

“Would either of you like some eggs?” I asked.

“No, thank you,” ma replied.

“Oh, I’ve already eaten breakfast some time ago,” Geraldine said, her reply laced with judgment, naturally. I deftly turned the eggs onto a plate and brought them to Aaron, handing him a fork and taking my seat beside him with a slice of buttered bread. He bowed his head and thanked me, grasping my hand so we could say a prayer over our food before we ate. After giving thanks, he tucked into his food. To my surprise, his eyes went to Geraldine.