The Cowboy's Secret (Cowboys After Dark: Book 3)

This book is for adults only, and contains scenes of spanking, graphic sex, bondage, sensory deprivation, and are fantasies only, intended for adults. This book is not for children, nor does it condone corporal punishment of children. This book contains scenes of nonconsensual activities, BDSM and other nonconsensual activities. This book does not support nonconsensual spanking or any other nonconsensual activities, sexual or otherwise.

Copyright © 2014 Maggie Carpenter

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

C
lint Hogan studied the spanked bottom as it walked towards the corner, wishing he could see the hot pink skin he knew was under the denim of the jeans. The white shirt had been loosely tied in a knot at the waist, and as the disciplined young woman raised her hands, placing them behind her neck, it lifted the shirt just enough to show the sweet swell of her hips against the narrowness of her waist.

“Kneel, legs spread,” he directed.

Carefully balancing, she lowered herself down to the soft carpet and wiggled her legs apart.

“I’m settin’ the timer for ten minutes. Make sure you think hard and have the right answers, or you’ll feel the hairbrush and have twenty minutes more in the corner.”

She knew not to make a peep, but to close her eyes and think about the reason she’d been sent to Clint for her spanking.

Stephanie Lewis was a new wife, married to an old-fashioned kind of guy named Gary, but Gary adored her to the point of distraction. When Stephanie first began overspending he’d scolded her, then begged her, but nothing changed and the bills continued to pile up. Exasperated he went to his father-in-law, a hardworking rancher who had told him very simply, ‘you put that bad girl over your knee.’

Gary had threatened, but Stephanie was smart enough to know his heart wasn’t in it, and though he did get her across his lap he couldn’t bring himself to smack her butt hard enough to elicit anything but a laugh. Frustrated he’d called his father-in-law back, and heard the two words that would finally get his wife under control; Clint Hogan.

Gary had heard about Clint Hogan and his ‘woodshed,’ and had also heard that the man was a bit of a mystery. None of that had mattered. After Stephanie’s first visit her bad spending habits were vastly improved.

Clint had arrived in the small community just a couple of years before, purchasing a neglected ranch from an elderly man who’d been trying to sell it for some time. Clint not only paid him a fair market price, but helped the old man transition from the ranch to a comfortable house close to town where neighbors could keep an eye on him.

Word soon spread that Hogan was a decent sort, but once the deal had been settled and he had moved into the ranch, he was only seen on the odd occasion when he would drive into town in his brand new, black pickup to buy supplies.

Fascinated onlookers watched as the old house on the knoll was transformed into beautiful home, complete with a guesthouse, two large cabins, and sectioned off paddocks surrounded by white fencing, which quickly became home to a dozen or more horses. A short time later a large white sign appeared on the highway; Train and Trail Horse Farm.

The community saw expensive cars and horse trailers come and go, and it was clear the cowboy had somehow established himself, but while he was friendly and courteous he declined the invitations that often arrived in his mailbox; the man had a desire to keep to himself.

But as Robert Burns said,
The best laid plans of mice and men
often go awry,
and such was true for Clint Hogan, when, on a rainy night in the local drinking hole, a young couple inadvertently upset his very private apple cart.

Tom’s Tavern wasn’t strictly a bar. Until 10 p.m. underage visitors could have a meal in the attached restaurant as long as they were with an adult, but when the restaurant kitchen closed and the magic hour struck, no minors were allowed. Clint was a frequent visitor, but always with one or more of this cowhands. They would sit in a corner, drink beers, order burgers, leave a good tip, and head out.

It had been a particularly grueling day. A weather system that was supposed to provide light sprinkles had transformed into a major storm, and Clint and his cowboys had run around the muddy paddocks gathering up the horses that had been clipped to bring them into the barn. Several had been caught in a downpour and had to be dried before being blanketed. This meant many towels and hand-walking up and down the barn aisles, the horses wearing special covers designed to keep them warm while drying off.

It was nightfall by the time the weary group was finally finished and the horses were warm and settled, happily munching their hay; the cowhands drove off to their cabins and Clint headed to his house.

Winding up the gently sloped knoll, the rain hitting the car with a driving force, the thought of fixing dinner and eating alone sent a frown across his brow, so he decided to head to the Tavern; he’d still be alone, but being alone in the tavern wasn’t like being alone in his home.

Driving his truck into the parking lot he wasn’t surprised to see it was empty. The unexpected storm would have kept everyone off the roads, and pulling the hood of his parka over his head he hurried inside.

“Hey, Clint,” the bartender grinned. “What brings you out here on this ugly night? I was almost thinkin’ I should close up shop.”

“Just need a beer and a burger, Tom,” Clint replied.

The bartender, Tom Hanson, was an easy-going man, and had owned the place for almost twenty years. He’d remained in good stead with everyone; he didn’t get involved in their problems, but always had an ear to listen.

“You got it,” Tom replied, and disappeared through the swinging doors into his kitchen.

Clint ambled to his favorite table. It was set off by itself in a corner near a window, and he had just sat down when a young couple bustled through the door. They were drenched, and while the girl was laughing hysterically, the young man was scowling.

“Lord, what the hell happened to you two?” Tom asked as he returned to his post behind the bar.

“Ask Cindy,” the young man growled, and without looking back he hurried to the restrooms.

Clint tilted his head and leaned back in his chair; the girl was exceptionally pretty. Her long hair was falling in soaked strings to her shoulders, her lips were full and pouty, and her wet, clinging shirt showed off her ample bust.

“You want a towel?” Tom asked.

“Nope, I like being all wet and drippy,” she grinned, tossing her head.

Staring across at her Clint recognized a bratty defiance, the kind that could get a young woman into a lot of trouble if it wasn’t checked.

That’s a spoilt girl if I ever saw one. Cute as could be, and I’ll bet she gets away with murder.

“Okay, Cindy, what have you done now?” Tom asked.

The question made Clint shake his head and sigh.

I was right. Causing havoc is what you do for fun, isn’t it Cindy?

“We were out by Parker’s field, and it was rainin’ real hard, and Stevie wouldn’t come out and play. He’d left the engine runnin’ for the heater, so I pushed the button and put the top down,” she giggled, “and once it starts goin’ down, ya gotta wait for it to stop then heave on it to get it back up,” she exclaimed, and delighted with her naughty prank she burst into a new fit of laughter.

“Stevie had to do that in the middle of this storm?” Tom asked, appalled at the story.

“Yep,” she squealed, “you should’ve seen him.”

“Damn, Cindy,” Tom muttered, clearly not in the least bit amused.

“I reckon he’ll come and play in the rain next time I ask him,” she smirked, her peals of laughter waning.

“Someone should tan your butt,” Tom declared.

“Yeah, well, no-one around here would dare, so I guess I don’t have to worry about that,” she quipped.

Clint pricked up his ears, and having heard all he needed he left his booth and wandered into the men’s room.

“Hey there,” he smiled, greeting the exasperated young man. “Sounds like you had a tough night?”

“Yeah,” he grimaced, throwing away a paper towel he’d been using to wipe his shirt.

“You’re Stevie, right?” Clint asked, extending his hand.

“Yeah, Stevie Hammond. Aren’t you that cowboy who bought the Daniels ranch?” he asked, pulling out a fresh paper towel.

“Yep, Clint Hogan. I just heard what happened. Your girlfriend was braggin’ to Tom,” Clint remarked.

“Oh yeah? She’s impossible. I’ve broken things off a couple of times, but I always end up goin’ back. She’s under my skin, ya know?” Stevie groaned shaking his head.

“Tom made a comment,” Clint said slowly. “I don’t usually interfere with folks and their business, but maybe it’s somethin’ you should think about.”

“What kind of comment?” the young man asked, pausing in his vain attempt to dry himself.

“Tom said someone should spank her butt. Maybe that someone should be you,” Clint suggested.

“Funny you should say that,” Stevie replied. “I’ve thought about it a few times, even threatened her once, but honestly I don’t think I could. All I’d do is piss her off.”

“How would the people around here feel about it if you did?” Clint asked.

“They’d pin a medal on me, even her folks. They worry she’ll do somethin’ real bad and get in big trouble one day. She’s been headin’ that way her whole life, but she’s just so damn cute, ya know?”

“Her mom and dad can’t control her?”

“That there’s part of the problem. Her dad’s been gone a while, he’s over in Afghanistan. When he’s home she’s not as bad, but her mom just can’t get the better of her.”

“Hmmm, well, if you want, I’ll spank her,” Clint offered.

W
hen he’d spoken the words it had startled Clint almost as much as it had startled the young man standing in front of him. Though Clint’s dark passions lurked in the shadowy corridors of his mind, he’d learned to live a life of solitude, allowing himself to indulge in the prurient pleasure only when alone in his bed.

Hand fervently massaging his cock, he’d recall days past when a woman’s flesh was his to enjoy, when spanking a naughty bottom was a frequent occurrence, when he lived an erotically charged life. He would feel his orgasm build, and as he imagined the lovely pink skin blushing red under his spanking hand, remembering the groans and joyous responses of the women once fortunate enough to be the recipient of his artful attention, he would release in a tingling, jerking orgasm.

Such was his life now; his erotic satisfaction was created from memories, and standing in the men’s room at the tavern, Clint heard the echo of his offer bounce of the walls. It was a moment of surreal reality, and he watched the young man, squelching in his shoes, break into a huge grin.

“No shit?” Stevie beamed. “That’d be awesome.”

“Only if you really want me to,” Clint said quickly.

“Holy smokes, I sure as hell do!” he exclaimed. “Uh, but don’t take her jeans off.”