The Rancher's Little Girl (5 page)

BOOK: The Rancher's Little Girl
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Ross let go and stood up from the bed. Victoria shuddered as she reached her hands down in front of her waist and undid the buttons of her fly. Being careful to show him nothing but the pert ovals of her bottom, she pushed her tight jeans and her lacy black panties down. When they had reached a point just below the tops of her thighs, Ross said, “That’s enough, darlin’. Now put your hands out and hug the pillow. That’ll help.”

Her face had been turned into that pillow while she pulled down her pants and panties. Now, as she took it in her hands, Victoria turned her right cheek so that it rested there, and she could see Ross, who smiled to reassure her.

“Alright, darlin’, I’m going to start with just my hand at first, because that won’t hurt as much as the belt will, and I want to help you calm down a little. I know you’re scared and I don’t want this to hurt you too much. But you need to trust me. Okay?”

Victoria whimpered again as he laid his work-hardened hand against her bottom, and as he soon as he touched her, a tiny sigh escaped her lips. Without pausing to caress the soft, white skin, he brought his hand down in a firm smack against her right bottom cheek, paused for a couple of seconds, and then spanked her left bottom cheek. “Oww, Mr. MacGregor!” she whimpered, looking back at him, her eyes accusing.

“Darlin’,” he said, stifling a smile, “don’t look at me like that. You know you earned every single bit of this.” With that, he began spanking her a little harder and faster, his palm cracking against her pale rump until every inch of it was pink and beginning to turn red in spots. She offered little resistance—that surprised him, and made him wonder again about what kind of girl Victoria Mason might be, deep inside. When the pink began to turn red, he paused. Victoria gave a little sigh and even seemed to thrust her bottom up at him a tiny bit, as though in a silent plea for more.

He reached to his belt buckle. Seeing it, Victoria gave a little whimper.

“Please…” she said, “not too hard, Mr. MacGregor.” A very different note had come into her voice. That note was very well known to Ross, but he couldn’t help feeling even more surprised to hear it in Victoria Mason’s words. A hint of littleness had entered her demeanor, and thus also their dynamic—not only could he hear the sound of the scared little girl in the way she spoke to him, but her face had set itself in a sweet, penitent expression that seemed to him utterly foreign from the hard journalistic set of her eyes and her chin when she had first entered under his roof just an hour before.

“Don’t worry, darlin’,” he said. “I won’t whip you hard unless you’ve done somethin’ very wrong. As far as I’m concerned, we’re just makin’ sure we understand each other tonight. And it’s your very first whippin’, I know.”

She sniffled in response and gave a little nod. Ross had his belt off now, and he doubled it in his hand, taking hold of the buckle and wrapping the leather around his fist to produce the foot-long strap with which he would punish Victoria, the same way he had punished littles so many times. For Ross, a belt whipping was less personal than a spanking with hand or with hairbrush, but also more paternal and old-fashioned. It was definitely very well-suited to helping Victoria understand what to expect in his house.

Just as important, it kept Ross’ hands off her backside, something Ross felt to be a very good idea, since that backside had made him hard as a rock when Victoria had revealed it. Not that he hadn’t been hard when he’d had to struggle against her to get her down over the bed, and when for a brief moment his fingers had been inside her waistband and he had felt her tender skin and even, he thought, a crinkly hair that might have escaped her panties. He should simply acknowledge it, at least to himself: Victoria Mason turned him on more than any woman had in years—maybe ever.

All the more reason not to spank her with his open hand, the way that he had always used with Sally Mae, after she had taken off all her clothes so that after he spanked her he could have bedroom time with her, here in this little pink bed.

Victoria seemed to notice him taking his time sorting through these things, and a quizzical expression came into her eyes for a moment. Ross lifted his head slightly, the way he did when he wanted to set things aside in his head for later, and said, “Alright, darlin’, I’m gonna whip you twenty times now.” He leaned down and put his left hand on the small of her back, covered in the pretty light blue cotton top.

Victoria made a fearful sound in her throat, and her lips pursed in a little moue that for a moment seemed to Ross very dangerous to his peace of mind. Could she be a little, somewhere deep inside? Maybe he would find out, he supposed, but it seemed a stretch.

He brought the belt down with a sharp crack, right at the lowest part of her bottom, where her pretty cheeks rounded out most. He wouldn’t whip her hard, but she did need to know that when he whipped her, it would hurt.

“Oh!” Victoria cried, more surprised than hurt, but then she said, “Ow! Ow!” as Ross kept up the quick steady rhythm he always used, striking five times in the same spot and then moving to the right cheek, then the left.

“Oh, please… ow! Mr. MacGregor… please…” Victoria panted as she held tightly onto the same pillow that Sally Mae had always held during her spankings. Ross had to admit that it was nice to see it in use again—and even nicer to see Victoria taking comfort from its softness.

He returned to the middle of her bottom as the curls of red began to appear there, and he put a little more force into it. Victoria was definitely sniffling, but she wasn’t even yelping, really—let alone anything more strenuous. He couldn’t help admiring his handiwork—lovely red traces on the perfect roundness of her milky white cheeks—though it made him feel a little guilty at how his cock stirred as he looked.

“There you go,” Ross said, putting his belt back on. “You did very well, Miss Mason.” He sat on the bed, unsure of what kind of aftercare she would benefit from most, but ready to try to provide it.

Victoria sniffled into the pink pillow, still clutching it hard. “You can call me darling,” she said. “I don’t mind.”

Ross smiled, feeling his brow wrinkle a little in disbelief. “Alright, darlin’,” he said. “You did very well. Would you like a hug?”

Victoria drew a weepy sort of breath and nodded vigorously against the pillow.

“Go ahead and pull your pants up first,” Ross said.

Victoria blushed crimson and turned her face back down into the pillow as she complied. Then Ross reached his right hand around her shoulder and gathered her into his arms as she came up to a kneeling position on the bed. He smelled a floral shampoo and felt the soft skin of her cheek against his own stubbly face. He wrapped his arms around her ribs securely, knowing that she would feel how strong he was and glad that it seemed to make her snuggle against him as he rubbed her back.

“Was that so bad, darlin’?” he asked.

“No… Mr. MacGregor.” She seemed to hesitate over his name.

“Would you like to call me ‘Ross’?” he asked softly.

“Um, yes,” Victoria said, but Ross heard something else, as if maybe she had wanted to call him by still another name, a moment before.

He gave her a final little squeeze and held her at arm’s length. She had a little smile on her face, though the bright tears still stood in her eyes. “Do you want to come back down to finish your pie?” he asked.

Victoria shook her head. “No, thanks. I’ll just get ready for bed, if that’s alright with you. I really like this room, Ross. I… I know I don’t seem much like a doll kind of person, but I love them. Can I ask whose room it usually is?”

Ross smiled. “It was a girl’s who I almost married.”

“Almost?”

“She moved back east.”

Victoria seemed puzzled. “And she slept in her own room?” Then she realized how impertinent the question was, and she quickly added, “Don’t answer that—I’m sorry to be so nosy.”

Ross smiled. “Maybe I’ll explain some time. But I understand about being nosy—and thanks for understanding my not telling you just yet.”

He took her into his arms for another quick hug before he let her go and stood up.

“G’night, darlin’,” he said.

“Good night, Ross. Thank you… for taking me in and, I guess, for, um, communicating with me so forthrightly.”

“You’re welcome, darlin’. Who knows how this will turn out, but I’m really glad to be returnin’ Jack’s favor, and I’m even gladder to be helpin’ you out.”

As he closed the bedroom door behind him, Ross thought about the look on Victoria’s face when she asked about Sally Mae sleeping in her own room. She had definitely thought it strange, but had he seen in her eyes a sort of fascination, too?

After he had finished his pie with Jack, who kept shaking his head at the thought that Ross had actually just whipped Victoria, Ross lay in his bed down the hall from the two of them trying hard to get the image of Victoria’s well-punished bottom out of his head, without much success. He knew he could take good care of her, and he didn’t worry that they wouldn’t be able to come to an understanding, though there would probably be more spanking in their future. He couldn’t help feeling anxious, though, for what it might cost his heart.

Chapter Six

 

 

Victoria lay awake until well past 2:00 in the morning. As soon as Ross had shut the door behind him, she sat down on that bed with the pink comforter and the pink pillow now wet with her tears. She struggled hard against the wickedness—the feeling she couldn’t help thinking of as wickedness no matter how independent she knew herself to be, and how in charge of her own body. But the struggle was in vain, and she had known it would be in vain from the moment she had felt Ross’ strong arms around her, and thought that one of those strong arms had just whipped her bare bottom.

It had taken every ounce of mental strength just to keep herself from calling him ‘daddy.’ How could she keep herself, now that she was alone in this perfect little girl’s room that she knew now had belonged to a grown-up little—a grown-up little whom Ross had almost married—from putting her hand back to touch the bottom he had whipped?

How could she keep herself from cupping that cheek tenderly, through her jeans and panties… from rubbing gently, from moaning softly?

A mirror sat atop the dresser, on a swivel. Feeling as self-conscious as she ever had in her own company, Victoria angled it downward a little and turned around to look back at it over her shoulder. She wondered if the woman who had lived here had done this same thing, to get a look at her rear end after Ross had punished her. She hesitated a moment, still not wanting to give into her wickedness so easily, but then she found that she had begun to run her fingers up and down the front seam of her jeans, around the buttons of the fly and down between, just looking at the cheeks of her bottom still covered in denim and remembering that a cowboy had taken his belt to her there.

With a little whimper, she unbuttoned the jeans and, trying not to think about anything but the burning need in her pussy, she pulled them back down to her knees, lower than she had pulled them down for Ross when she had finally given in. She remembered what his arms had felt like, and how her pussy had got so terribly wet when she realized that he really would pull her pants down that she had given in instantly, just so that he wouldn’t know, though a part of her wanted to go on struggling.

She looked at her backside, still mostly covered by her lacy black panties—though with a little thrill of embarrassment she realized just how translucent they were, and how they revealed the evidence of her discipline in the mirror. She could see some of what Ross’ belt had done, and without even thinking about it she worked the fingers of her right hand down under the elastic waistband of the panties. The feeling of the curly hair there seemed to strike her as wrong, and she wondered for a moment if Ross’ almost-fiancée had shaved between her legs, or waxed, the way Victoria had thought about so many times. Was that part of ageplay?

Pushing her fingers further down to rub gently up and down, and, with her middle finger, to give a little soothing pressure to her clit, Victoria had an impulse, and reaching backwards she pulled opened the top drawer of the dresser, wondering if something might be left there that could tell her reporter’s instincts what ageplay was like—or that might feed her fantasies.

There was one thing in the drawer—or rather a stack of one thing: cloth diapers. Victoria gasped and closed the drawer. She must have had a toddler—the almost-fiancée. That could be the only reason. Trying to push the memory of the sight back, but also somehow shamefully turned on by the hint of the taboo fantasy the diapers had called up—a fantasy Victoria refused to look straight at but which lurked on the outside edge of her imagination—she pulled her panties down to sit atop her jeans, and looked back again in the mirror at her punished backside.

The red marks from his belt had started to fade, and for a moment Victoria thought she might be going crazy because she had a pang of sadness at that. But, no, she had earned those marks—her very first whipping. She would be darned if she couldn’t be proud of them. Giggling a little and feeling rather giddy, she grabbed her phone from where she had put it on the dresser and held it down under her bottom to snap a picture. When she looked at the photo, she shook her head in disbelief at what she had just done, and how this sudden unexpected realization of one of her oldest, most embarrassing fantasies seemed to have suddenly swept her into a strange world where she did stuff like taking pictures of her well-whipped bottom.

She put the phone back down and brought her right hand, whose fingers were slippery already, back between her thighs to rub a little quicker, delicately parting her outer lips and running naughtily along the inner ones. Her breath came in little gasps, and she gave in to an even wickeder impulse and put her left hand behind, whimpering when she felt her fingers on the places where Ross had whipped her.

Then the naughtiest part of all, but she seemed to have no control over the passion that finally having her first spanking, by a cowboy and against her will, seemed to have ignited: she parted her little bottom-cheeks with the fingers of her left hand, and touched herself on the little ring there.

BOOK: The Rancher's Little Girl
5.71Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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