by India Heath
Black Jack, Douglas County, Kansas. 1865.
He was invading her dreams again. She couldn't discern all his features clearly; she never could, but she knew it was him by his overwhelming presence: it was a magnetic force that drew her into a deep sleep where her mind was free to wander and explore the dreamscape.
She was dressed in red, wearing an elaborate regency gown of deep cranberry, with a corset so tight she could scarcely breathe, and a full skirt supported by a cane-sided hoop beneath the layers of silk and lace. There was orchestral music playing in the grand house behind her and she glanced back through the wide open French doors to see people dancing and socialising. But his silent call and the darkness lured her down the wide stone steps and through the rose garden. Her dainty slippered feet skipped lightly over neat lawns, past the orange trees towards the pagoda nestled in the corner of the beautifully landscaped garden.
He stood in the darkened shadows: silent, still, and dressed in black. Despite his size he remained almost invisible, but she knew he was there. It wasn't just his voice in her head that drew her, it was the sheer power of his will. She was compelled to obey his summons.
"Hello, Master." There was a nervous tremor in her voice. She could hear it as she stood in the centre of the trellised gazebo, her hands clasped in front of her, head bowed.
He stepped forward, put one cold finger beneath her chin and lifted her gaze. "You were flirting with Viscount Graziani again." Colour tinged her high cheekbones. He saw everything. He knew everything. Dry amusement quirked his lips. "Was it your intention to thwart me, my love, or make me jealous?"
Her embarrassment deepened. "Neither, sir. I was just being polite. The Viscount insisted I partner him for the first waltz."
Eyes of the deepest indigo blue with an almost purple ring around the iris studied her beautiful face so intently she felt as though he were actually looking into her soul. "You've had three dances with him this evening, my little butterfly. Not to mention the coquettish smiles aimed at him from behind your fan."
She pouted prettily. "I'm surprised you even noticed."
He chuckled, revealing startlingly white teeth. "Ah, now I understand. You are cross with me for having been absent these last few days." His finger brushed her pale cheek. "I had business to attend to, sweet one. I did explain that to you. Besides," he tapped her nose, "you know full well I don't need to be standing beside you to know exactly what you're up to."
"Well that's fine for you, but I am not blessed with your insights! I've missed you."
His amusement faded. "Nothing about me or my existence is blessed," he stated bitterly.
Her grey eyes widened warily. He was such an indomitable force, every inch of him as dangerous as it was alluring. He noticed her silent alarm and immediately relaxed his mouth into a dry smile. "I'm glad you missed me, my love, but it does not excuse your misconduct. What did I say I would do if you flirted with the Viscount again?"
Heat stained her high cheek bones. "I am a grown woman, Master," she snapped, ignoring his question.
"Indeed you are, sweet one; a very beautiful woman - but that does not seem to prevent you from behaving like a brat on occasion. Now answer my question."
She could feel herself squirming with humiliation beneath his penetrating gaze. "You-you said you would spank me."
"Very good."
"But you wouldn't, would you? Not really?"
He lifted her hand and kissed the back of it, breathing in the scent of her innocent flesh. "So young," he murmured. "So naive and pure." He tugged her gently over to the wooden bench. "Come, little butterfly. Put yourself over my knee."
She looked at him, aghast. "But..." The protest evaporated on her lips, along with her own free will. As though hypnotised, she bent over and settled herself across his lap. He wrapped an arm around her trim waist and pulled her close. The back of the rigid hooped underskirt was propelled high above her bottom as the front was pressed between her body and his thighs. It held her red dress and petticoats out of the way quite efficiently, allowing him unhampered access to her drawers. He pulled the silk ribbon loose and swept the drawers down past her creamy buttocks. Never was he more appreciative of his night vision than when he looked upon her naked beauty. She was perfect, her twin alabaster orbs quivering in the warm Napoli breeze.
She remained passive, despite the indignity of being bare bottomed over his knee. He smiled. It was tempting to leave her imprisoned by his will, unable to struggle or object as he spanked her delicious bottom bright red. But then again, her umbrage and writhing protest would no doubt be part of the delight. With a sigh he tightened his grip and released her from the enforced inertia.
"Oh!" She gasped as suddenly she was free and conscious of her position. "Master, no! Let me go at once." She hated his ability to control her with his mind. In the blink of an eye he could render her powerless to resist any command, no matter how thoroughly disagreeable it was. Now she dangled over his lap with her drawers around her knees and her bottom on show. It was all too mortifying.
She felt him stroke one cheek, his touch like cool marble running over her silky flesh. Even humiliation could not douse the flame of desire that shot through her lower stomach. She groaned and parted her thighs by an inch or two. A cold finger traced the valley of her bottom, hovering over the darkened rose.
"Who do you belong to?" he demanded.
"You, Master," she replied immediately.
Clearly pleased by her response his finger journeyed lower until he touched the moist sweetness between her thighs. "You will be mine for all eternity," he vowed. "Whoever you are, wherever you are, I will always find you."
His words confused her slightly and she frowned. With him touching her so intimately she couldn't think rationally. The slap that suddenly seared one cheek made her scream in shock.
He watched as a satisfying red hand print formed on her bottom. "Do not test me, my love," he warned. A second slap scorched the twin buttock. "I am a very possessive man and I will not share you with anyone, let alone an odious buffoon like the Viscount. Next time you are tempted to dally with him to spite me, remember how sore your bottom will become as a result."
Before she could respond, he began to spank her hard. His hand descended swiftly, laying slap after stinging slap to her rearward curves. The smooth flesh jiggled and trembled beneath the barrage of well aimed smacks, turning from white to crimson in minutes. She squealed and squeaked her displeasure, wriggling over his lap in a desperate bid to escape.
"Oh-ow! Stop!" The heat in her bottom grew and tears of humiliation and pain pricked her eyes. She wanted to keep still, to preserve a crumb of dignity, but the intensity of the fire tormenting her flesh made it impossible. Instead, her legs peddled and her hips jerked to the beat of his punishing hand.
"I'm sorry, Master," she cried at last. "I promise I will not flirt with the Viscount ever again. I'm so sorry." The tears dripped unheeded onto the floor beneath her nose and her small hands gripped his lower calf, seeking comfort from his muscled strength.
He nodded in mute acceptance of her apology and stopped spanking. He felt her go limp across his thighs and surrender to contrite sobs of self solace. Her bottom looked even more perfect to him as he studied the rich warmth of her skin, now suffused with mottled hand prints. He adored her with every fibre of his being. He existed only to be with her. She was his weakness as well as his strength and he would spend eternity keeping her safe.
"Hush, little butterfly," he soothed, rubbing her swollen behind with gentle reverence. Such was her distress that he was tempted to use the power of his thoughts to remove the sting. But that would only dilute the lesson, and he wanted her to learn to behave when he could not be there with her.
He pulled her drawers back up and secured them with a bow before lifting her back to her feet. Immediately her hands flew to her bottom. Her lower lip pouted as he rose and offered her a pristine handkerchief. Reluctantly she stopped rubbing her rear and accepted the handkerchief, wiping her tears and then blowing her nose.
"You, sir, are a cad."
He chuckled, straight white teeth glinting in the moonlight. "And you, my love, are a bewitching little madam. Now return to the ball and dance." He kissed the tip of her nose. "But remember, I am watching you, so be a good girl."
She bowed her head in brief compliance, only to raise it and find he had vanished. The crumpled handkerchief in her hand was the only proof he had been there at all... that and her throbbing behind. In the distance she could hear the orchestra playing. It was a minuet. She smiled and retraced her steps back towards the house. She would indeed dance and know that the warmth of her bottom would be a reassurance that he was still there with her. He was always there.
Karissa opened her dove-grey eyes and squirmed in her bed. Her fingers crept beneath the blanket to feel her behind. So vivid had her dream been, she fully expected to find her bottom tender to touch. After several tentative prods assured her she was not in possession of a freshly spanked bottom, she sighed in relief... and disappointment!
She had no idea who the tall enigmatic man was or why he haunted her nights so often. She only knew they were becoming more frequent and ever more real to her. It wasn't a repetitive dream. Locations and eras varied, as did events, but the consistent thread that linked them all was him.
"Karissa! Get down here, girl. What's a man gotta do to get breakfast 'round here?"
Karissa jumped nervously and leapt out of bed. "Coming Pa." She threw on her clothes and scooted downstairs as swiftly as possible. Despite the fact that it was barely daybreak, her father would be mad that she was not up and cooking already. "Morning Pa. Sorry, I didn't realise the time. Breakfast won't be long."
Amos Duval was an intimidating figure. Unlike his petite daughter, he was tall and stocky with the large hands of a farmer. His bullying ways had chased away his young bride nearly twenty years ago and now bitterness added to his menacing character. Karissa had learned from a young age that it was better not to be seen or heard around her father, especially since she had inherited her mother's dark hair and soft grey eyes. It seemed just the sight of her sometimes stirred Amos's anger and caustic resentment.
"Just like the bitch who bore you," he would snarl at her. "That pretty face and dainty body disguising a treacherous heart. Your mother made a fool outta me. She ran off with another man as soon as my back was turned. I won't let you whore yourself like she did, girl. You'll behave or feel my strap."
Consequently, Karissa had reached the grand age of twenty-two, having never had a beau. She didn't dare to go courting. Not that she particularly missed dating men, she had yet to meet anyone who even tempted her to stand up to her father's overbearing attitude.
Not to be reposted, reproduced or distributed, in part or whole.