The Tempest

22Apr14

spanking cow girlThe sky had a purple hue and Tom Daly knew a storm was brewing. From the way the cottonwood was still against a turbulent sky, he guessed a twister was on its way.

“Where’s Abby?” he barked in the general direction of the other girls.

Mary-Lou and Stephanie exchanged glances and then returned a shrug.

“I told you all to stay close to the house,” Tom growled.

He was a big man who had originally hailed from Texas. He told everyone he had come to Kansas for the quiet life, but he hadn’t figured on tornadoes. Now he ran a hand through his tightly shorn sandy hair and scanned the cottonwood forest that skirted the edge of the farm. There was definitely going to be a storm and now the boss’s eldest daughter had run off somewhere.

“She took Benjie,” Mary-Lou offered.

The 19-year-old was smirking, perhaps from the prospect of putting her elder sister in his bad books or perhaps she was just enjoying her sister’s defiance.

Benjie was Abby’s horse; the two of them were inseparable.

“Get on up to the house and I’ll find her,” Tom ordered.

“We don’t take orders from you and nor does Abby,” Stephanie pouted.

Even Mary-Lou shot her 18-year-old sister a look of horror. That wasn’t what Pa had said, whatever their mother may say and that was the kind of talk that earned a girl a trip to the woodshed.

“Get on now, or I will take this up with your Pa,” Tom said with a flash of his eyes. He had more pressing concerns about Abby just then.

Mary-Lou shoved her younger sister and they both broke into a trot as they headed for the house. By the time they had looked around Tom was already on his own horse and racing for the woods.

*

Abby had seen the darkening heavens and wheeled Benjie around to take in the sky. A dark cloud licked the horizon with a finger of slate grey and she shuddered. Tom had told her to run some feed up to the lower barn and take care of the chickens, but that was kids work. She was as good as any man, well almost, and she had decided to take off to play hooky. But now the sky bothered her and besides she had been away too long and even Ma might scold her for ducking her chores.

She took another look at the sky and watched the twist of black touchdown on the land. Damn, she knew what that meant. So did Benjie and her old faithful began to rear.

“Whoa boy, come on,” Abby soothed.

She was a tall girl and healthy, with an unruly mop of reddish brown hair and a row of even white teeth, which she bared with malice to anyone who crossed her. She was given to wearing gingham shirts and blue-jeans despite her mother’s misgivings, but no one could deny it wasn’t practical on the farm. But now despite her strength, she could not rein Benjie in.

The horse reared twice more and then bucked her to the ground.

“Benjie,” she screamed as the spooked horse broke for home leaving her sitting firmly on her tail. “Damn,” she cursed.

To make matters worse the wind had picked up and the racing sky had closed in to become dark. Five minutes later Abby was fighting just to stay on her feet as cottonwood branches and hickory lashed around her.

The farm could not be far, but at a stagger the twister would reach her long before she gained the house.

A wet gust threatened to lift her away and she ducked as a limb of a tree skidded overhead. There was nowhere to run even if she could have.

Then something else seized her and hurled her into the sky. But as her heart lurched she felt a hard saddle under her and firm solid back of Tom Daly.

“Hold on,” he yelled and powered his mount through the woods.

In moments they cleared a fence into open fields and the house heaved into view.

“We’ll never make it,” Abby yelled.

The twister was in the forest now. They could hear the growing whistling roar and the snapping of tree trunks.

“The storm cellar,” Tom made himself heard, his hat now lost in the tempest.

Sure enough Abby could see that they had broken through the woods a quarter of a mile from the old shack used by her grandfather. In those days the only haven from a twister was the storm cellar cut 30 feet from its door. Already they were racing towards it and before the storm finally broke they were close by.

“What about the horse?” Abby screamed.

“Too late to think about that now, come on,” Tom bellowed.

It was the last thing Abby heard above the tornado and even then they had to crawl the last few yards in a sudden downpour of rain.

*

The storm hatch clattered as the roar of wind tore at it and onwards across the fields. It was hard to talk down in the cellar, but possible.

Tom was worried about the horse, although the odds were it would make it. Horses weren’t as dumb as people. With that thought he glared at Abby.

“I could have made it,” she spat at him.

They both knew it was a lie. But Tom didn’t expect gratitude from this brat.

“The chickens didn’t get fed and they were scattered all over when the twister hit,” he told her glumly.

Abby swallowed. She thought of crushed dead birds and of the ones that would never be found again even if they lived.

“I told you to stay close to the house. I told you to fetch feed for the chickens,” Tom said icily.

“Ma says…” Abby began haughtily.

“Your mother has no say in this,” Tom cut her off, “What will you tell your Pa?”

Abby sucked in her cheeks and began fiddling with the tail of red hair that hung like a wet rag over one shoulder. She hated it when Tom was right. Then as if remembering something she suddenly blurted, “The horses.”

“Benjie passed me at lick and will be safe by now,” Tom said evenly, “Barney too, I shouldn’t wonder.”

A huge sigh escaped Abby, but she hated the admission and spat, “Stupid animals.”

“Stupid…” Tom gaped, “I ought to tan your backside for you.”

“You wouldn’t d-dare,” Abby said quickly as a knee-jerk. But there was uncertainty in her voice.

Tom sniffed and looked her up and down.

“Once this storm is over if I find that anything has happened to my horse I’ll make you cut a whole parcel of switches and I’ll blister your bare bottom with every one of them right in front of the house,” Tom growled.

The woodshed already beckoned once Pa heard about the chickens and she wasn’t sure he wouldn’t let Tom take a turn first.

“I’d spit in your eye,” Abby said scornfully.

“You know Miss Abby, just when was the last time you were taken to the woodshed?” Tom asked as if reading her thoughts as he meaningfully folded his arms.

Abby caught his eye and not liking the look of determination written there lunged for the hatch.

“You little fool,” Tom growled as he caught her.

He tumbled her easily over his lap and blasted her denim covered rear with a bear paw that extracted a yell. Then spying a foot and a half long broken shard of plank, he reached out and took it up from the floor. It was tapered at one end to form a kind of narrow stretch like a handle and he hefted it over Abby’s prone bottom as she struggled over his knee.

“Get off me you… you beast,” she wailed.

It was enough to end Tom’s contemplations and he hooked a finger in her waistband and tugged until the buttons popped and the fabric stretched down and off her white thighs. The rasp of cotton hauled at the silk scanties beneath and in a moment her bottom was as bare as her legs.

“Mr Daly,” Abby screeched, suddenly remembering some respect.

The flat surface of the improvised paddle landed with a satisfying splat and she gasped. But it was followed with too many to count and in short order she was panting like a pony after a chase. If she could but see her bottom was deep rose-pink and padded welts rose in ovals on each hind-cheek.

Not that Tom was ready to stop. The storm was a long way from over and neither of them had anything better to do.

“Ooh, Mr Daly… Tom please,” she shrieked.

“You ungracious, ungrateful, disobedient brat, if your Pa doesn’t take some leather to your tail after this then you and me will go another round in the woodshed tomorrow. Do you hear?” Each word coincided with a hard spank to the crimson dome of her by now sore bottom.

“Yes Tom, ah… I mean… ow, please… yah-ugh I’m sorry,” Abby spluttered the words framed in dampness as they tumbled from her mouth and she continued to buck and squirm across his lap.

As long as Tom spanked her, and he spanked her a long, long time, Abby’s spanking did not outlast the storm. After 20 minutes or so even the cowboy’s arm was tired and he brought the paddle to a stop on two sizzling rounds of red-hot skin.

Abby herself had long since surrendered to hiccoughs of long broken sobbing and hugged into Tom’s thighs.

“You going to mind me in future?” Tom asked.

“Yes Sir,” Abby replied in eager misery.

“You sure?” Tom swatted her hot tail for emphasis and she yelped.

“Yes Sir,” the girl said emphatically.

“Good girl,” he chuckled, “Now until the storm passes you can go stand in the corner.”

Abby’s eyes widened in horror and she gaped.

“And do leave your unladylike breeches where they are,” he warned, “I want your blisters hanging in the breeze to cool while I admire my little chore.”

“Yes Sir,” Abby sniffed in agreement and hobbled by her demin pants tottered over to the bare wall and hid her face.

*

The storm had passed and mercifully the house and barn still stood. There were even a few chickens still scrabbling about in the mud as if nothing had happened, but far fewer than before. But Benjie and Barney were both safely corralled and as Abby’s mother saw her she let up a squeal and hurried across the yard.

Tom nodded at his boss’s wife and strode on past to tend to the farm leaving a rather morose Abby limping in his wake.

“Are you alright darling?” Abby’s mother fussed.

Abby nodded and pulled away. She shot in a confused sad look at Tom’s retreating back and then at her shoes.

“Are you hurt?” her mother asked.

Abby’s hand strayed to her seat, but she didn’t reply.

“Abby, what a storm, did you see it?” Stephanie gushed as she too ran over followed by Mary-Lou.

“We were in the old storm cellar,” Abby replied in a sullen voice and winced.

Mary-Lou frowned and saw where her sister was rubbing. Although Stephanie was oblivious and added with an excited grin, “It was terrifying.”

“I fell off Benjie,” Abby mumbled.

“Did you and Tom have words?” Mary-Lou asked.

“We had something to… eh discuss, yes,” Abby muttered, adding, “I gave him a piece of my mind.”

But as she watched she saw her father emerge from the barn and shake Tom’s hand. Gratitude was written on his face, but the cowboy only nodded modestly. Then her father glared in her direction.

“Abby, the woodshed right now,” he growled.

Stephanie clapped a hand to her mouth and Mary-Lou grinned.

“B-but… Tom…” Abby blushed.

“Tom saved your life and I bet you didn’t even thank him,” her father snapped.

Abby dipped her head and glowered at the floor, it was true.

“On second thoughts, never mind the woodshed just yet, cut me three switches first,” Pa barked at her, “You’ll feel it on top of my belt you foolish girl.”

Abby went tomato red and clapped her hands to her bottom.

“Sir I…” Tom started to say.

“It is alright Mr Daly, I am sorry for my behaviour; I guess I do have it coming.” Abby said meekly.

This brought a round of hushed gaping from all three of the other women and a firm nod of satisfaction from Abby’s father.

“Thank you Mr Daly,” Abby continued quietly, “For everything.”

But inside she was feeling a warm confusion and she guessed the storm wasn’t over.

The end



5 Responses to “The Tempest”

  1. 1 paul1510

    Damian,
    thanks, a lesson well learned. 😀
    Paul,

  2. Damn,the belt too? Ouch

  3. 3 Lethal

    Thank God you are back!!

  4. 4 DJ

    Thanks guys

    glad to be back 🙂

  5. 5 markiee

    Nothing like a spanking at the beach where the sun don’t shine!


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