My Sassy Settler (Willamette Wives Book 2) (16 page)

After cleaning their guns, Anna and Charity thanked him for the lesson, Charity quietly apologizing to him again. Before they climbed into the wagon they'd shared to ride over, they reminded Agatha that Harriet was coming and they were making soap and candles the next day. The two women waved as they drove away.

James and Richard were at Charity's house, watching the children as well as going over the books and planning for the future. While the women appreciated their effort to allow their wives time to practice without their children needing their attention, both mothers always felt a bit anxious when separated from their little ones, even if only for a couple of hours.

"I'm very proud of you, Agatha," Wyatt said, pulling her to him and giving her a kiss before they walked towards the log.

"I'm still not anywhere as good as Anna," she replied as she helped Wyatt pick up the scattered pieces of wood.

"Aggy, Anna's been shooting guns her entire life. Heck, she's probably a better shot than I am," he said, straightening from where he'd bent over to stack the pieces she handed him that could be reused. He dusted his hands off on his pants and pulled her into his arms again. "The important thing is that you've come a long way. I know this isn't your favorite activity, but you are getting better every time, and becoming comfortable handling your gun."

Agatha leaned into him. They'd had a shaky start but the last two weeks had shown her how wonderful not only her marriage could be, but how wonderful it was to feel as if she was truly able to live again.

After they'd eaten lunch, he rode off to tend to some work, reminding her that she was not to leave the house. She could only nod, the memory of that first day of restriction running once more through her mind.

* * * * *

When he'd come home for his midday meal, Wyatt had once more found her in the chicken coop gathering eggs. He'd not been amused, even when she'd thanked the rooster for doing his duty in protecting his harem. He hadn't said a word as she closed the gate, the eggs in her basket. He'd simply followed her into the house and after she'd put the eggs down, he'd told her to bring him her brush.

"What?"

"I think you heard me, young lady."

"Why? Are you going to brush my hair?" Though the tense look on his face told her that it was a stupid question, she could think of nothing she'd done that warranted a trip over his lap.

"No. I'm not going to brush your hair. What did I tell you just yesterday about leaving the house alone without your gun?"

"But Wyatt, I don't know how to use it yet!"

"Then, young lady, you never should have stepped a single toe out of that door!"

His instructions flooded back and she really had no argument. The fact that she hadn't even remembered his edict until now did not negate the fact that he had given her explicit instructions, as well as warned her of the consequences. Despite the fact that the skin on her bottom started crawling, she turned and went into the bedroom. Walking back into the main room, she'd handed him the brush.

"Lift up your skirts and lower your bloomers."

Her face heated at his order. It was harder for her to obey this than she would have imagined. Having to bare herself, knowing she'd disobeyed him and that she'd disrespected his authority, made her feel awful. Tears began to well in her eyes as she untied the ribbon to allow her drawers to fall to her ankles. She couldn't even meet his eyes as she dragged her skirt and petticoat up to her waist.

"Bend over the table."

"Please, I-I…"

"Now, Agatha."

She learned that the only thing worse than getting a spanking was getting one without feeling his arm around her waist or his hand holding hers. Instead she stood alone, her hands gripping the edge of the table, her torso and cheek pressed to the unyielding surface.

"Lift your bottom up and push it out," Wyatt instructed from where he stood behind her. She felt the first tear slide down her cheek; not at his words; but at the fact that her choice to ignore his rule had forced him to utter them in the first place. Lifting her bottom, she arched her back to present herself for her discipline.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

She'd only felt his hand before, flesh on flesh. The brush thwacked into her with a solid sound, and felt far worse than his palm ever had. She honestly couldn't decide what was worse; the paddling, or the fact that he wasn't speaking, he wasn't lecturing, he wasn't discussing how she had disobeyed him, he wasn't asking her to state her transgression, nor was he issuing additional orders. No, there was no question as to what she'd done, and no reason to discuss it further. Her husband was punishing her, and all she could do was show her repentance by pushing her bottom up higher, pushing it out further, and accepting his authority.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

Though she was determined to accept her paddling with dignity and prove she understood that she'd done wrong, she couldn't help but gasp as the hairbrush lit a fire that seemed to burn far hotter than any previous spanking. When she realized the brush had stopped, she also realized she had bent her knees and drawn her hips into the table. Placing her forehead on the cool surface, she took two deep breaths and resumed the position.

"I'm-I'm sorry," she said, her voice cracking but not breaking.

"Four more, Agatha. Tilt up higher if you can. I want you to feel these every time you sit down for the rest of the day."

"Y-yes, sir."

He gave her time to compose herself, to brace herself for the sharper, more intense pain, knowing these last were to go onto even more sensitive skin. When she lifted her bottom as high as she could, she allowed the first tears to escape when she felt his hand softly pressing against the small of her back. She knew it wasn't to keep her in position, it was to comfort her, even though he was causing her pain.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

The moment the four strokes had been delivered and accepted, she was pulled up from the table, turned, and engulfed by his embrace. Only then did she sob against his chest, her arms wrapped around his waist. They stood for several minutes, the only sound gradually softening as her sobs subsided.

He wiped her cheeks with his fingertips and then gently pressed his lips to hers.

"I'm really sorry," she said. "I won't forget again."

"See that you don't," he said, giving her another kiss. "I think I'd rather die than have something happen to you. And, Aggy, if I have to paddle you every day to ensure your safety, I will."

Nodding her head, she reached back to rub her aching bottom. "I know, and I promise to do better."

He allowed her only a moment of rubbing before pulling her hands away. "No rubbing. I want your hot bottom to remind you for as long as possible that I won't take your safety lightly."

Nodding again, she'd blushed as he'd restored her clothing, knowing that he'd find her inner thighs slick. He said nothing, just handed her the brush, and went to wash his hands for lunch. As she took her seat, she wished she'd not yet returned that cushion to Anna. She might not want to admit it, but she had doubts that this would be the last time she'd like a bit of comfort. Perhaps if she had enough of that soft flannel left, she'd be able to make her own cushion.

* * * * *

Pushing the memory of her first hairbrush paddling aside, Agatha washed the dishes and then settled before the fire with her sewing basket. She hoped to finish her new winter undergarments before morning. The days had been overcast and they'd been expecting the snows to start any day. If she were to spend most of the entire next day outside, she'd want to be warm.

As she sewed, she thought about all the little ways her husband had surprised her. When she'd first brought out the cloth one evening and spread it out on the table to begin measuring, he'd grinned and taken the long string from her hand.

"Here, let me help."

"Have you ever sewn before?"

"Naw, but I've done my share of measuring." He'd pulled her close and then wrapped the string around her waist. "You really are just a tiny thing aren't you?" Before she could answer, he'd taken his knife and cut the piece of string.

Shaking her head, she said, "Well, you might be able to measure wood, but honey, since my bloomers go underneath my skirt and petticoats, your measurement is off." She'd reached for the string but he'd tucked it into his pocket with one hand and was reaching for her skirts with the other.

Her protests that re-measuring really wasn't necessary went unheeded as he insisted he do the job correctly, removing every stitch of clothing she was wearing and taking his sweet time measuring her waist, hips, and chest. Then he'd tossed the cut strings down onto the cloth and pulled her to him. Her naked skin against his clothing felt a bit strange, but his large, warm hand cupping one breast and his other roving across her backside had her body filling with delicious sensations.

"Sewing is hard work, I think we need to take a break," he said.

"I've only just started."

"Now I'm gonna start. Get this beautiful tushie to the bedroom." His hands squeezed her buttocks and heat blazed through her, all the way from the top of her head to the tip of her toes. She'd practically run to obey and had removed her boots and stockings by the time he joined her. After he'd removed his own boots and socks, she knelt up on the bed and reached for the first button of his shirt, slowly undoing each one until she could spread it open.

"Gonna measure me?" he teased, and then gasped when she shook her head, bent forward and licked his nipple. When he was stark naked, she looked up, her eyes sparkling, her lips turned up as she reached for his erection.

"It's a good thing this part of your anatomy wears no clothing of its own," she said, her hand stroking up and down his shaft. "For some reason, it can't seem to decide if it wishes to be small and soft, or long and hard. I'd have to constantly be taking measurements."

"Oh, darlin', believe me, you and you alone are the reason my cock grows." He'd fisted his hands in her hair as she took him between her lips, and groaned when one of her hands gently cupped his testicles. Her nipples were rock hard and her inner thighs were slick by the time he pulled out of her mouth, pressed her onto her back, and positioned himself between her legs. They'd made love, her arms and legs wrapped around his body as if attempting to become one person.

Afterwards, she curled up beside him, the sewing forgotten as she toyed with his nipple, smiling as he repaid the favor, his rough fingertips rolling her taut bud until she was squirming. Glancing down, she moved her hand to lift his cock into her palm, watching as it began to shift, to swell and lengthen. She turned her face up and giggled. "It really is rather amazing, isn't it?"

Wyatt pulled her to lie on top of him. "You are amazing," he said, arranging her so that she was sitting up. Putting his hands on her hips, he lifted her up, ignoring her squeal as she placed a hand on his chest to steady herself until she could get her knees underneath her, her expression showing her confusion and the color on her cheeks showing her desire.

His hands moved to cup her breasts, his thumbs rubbing over her nipples. "Since you seem so captivated by my cock, and wish to clothe it, and my hands are busy playing with these sweet pebbles, I guess it's up to you put it inside your pussy. Take that hand that was stroking me so lovingly and guide me inside your warmth."

She'd moved to obey, gasping when she'd felt his cockhead nudge between her cheeks.

"Soon I'll be trying that pretty little pucker on for size, but not yet," he said.

"That's imp—"

"I told you, nothing is improper."

"I-I know, but I meant it's impossible. You are way too… um, you said I was small, remember?"

"Oh, darlin', I agree that it might be a tight fit, but I promise, you'll learn that all sorts of things are possible."

She felt his hand leave her breast to slide between her legs. As his other hand began to pluck her taut nipples, his fingers slid through her curls. She felt his finger brush against her hand which was curled around his throbbing shaft. "Now, put this…" he said, tapping the exposed part of his cockhead not covered by her hand, "in here." His finger moved to stroke along her slit. "After all, we both know how perfectly it fits."

"Wyatt!"

"I so love hearing you call my name," he said, his dimples deep as he smiled, his fingertip running over her clit as she blushed and began to obey.

When she'd positioned him at her opening, she'd watched his face as she slowly lowered herself down. As she continued to seat herself until she had taken his entire length, he'd closed his eyes, moaning with a sound that had gooseflesh popping out to cover every inch of her skin though she wasn't in the least bit chilled. When he opened his eyes, they were filled with a look that made her stomach flutter and her pussy gush every time.

Feeling her climax building, she began to move faster, and his hands moved from her breasts to her hips, helping her and holding her steady as he began to thrust his pelvis up to move deeper into her. She'd arched her back and screamed as her explosion ripped through her only to be instantly followed by his own. Her pussy continued to ripple as she collapsed, her cheek against his chest, his heartbeat audible beneath her ear. When she was no longer panting, she moved her head just enough to look down the length of his body, to where his sex that had been so wonderfully hard and so long as to touch the very depths of her was slowly shrinking, nestling in the thick curls, and smiled.

"Seems like you have no need of my sewing skills," she said, looking up, "your cock has found its own nest and warmth of its feathers."

"Aggy, you have a great deal of services to offer."

"Wyatt! You are impossible." His bark of laughter had her biting back a giggle. However, when he ran a hand over her backside, his finger sliding into the cleft of her bottom to caress her rosette, she felt the urge to laugh being replaced by a moan.

By the time they got out of bed, she'd had to prepare dinner and then, of course, they'd had a bath. The red cloth had been set aside for another day.