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“You,
my child, need a good whipping, leaving your husband like
that.”
“No, sir!” Abigail answered indignantly.
Her father’s eyes didn’t alter their grim expression.
“You have no more right to defy me now than you had
before you married,” he countered.
“But you’ll not whip me!” she vowed.
“We’ll see about that,” he said.
“Neville, please,” Margaret pleaded.
Jerking her away from her mother, Neville McPhearson
hauled his daughter out of the room, down the front stairs and
into the library. The whole house was peering around doors and corners,
listening to the tormented young bride plead and kick and wail
for mercy, none of which Neville was likely to give her.
Her mother following closely on their heels could do
nothing but sigh out of weariness.
“I can’t believe such foolishness from a married
woman,” Neville went on.
“Why I’d be paddling your mother’s behind if she
did anything so senseless.”
“But you can’t, you won’t whip my bottom,”
Abigail said jerking away from him.
Grabbing her back with a mighty tug, Neville had run out
of words. The first
implement from his closet that he could find was in his hand;
and thrusting his daughter over his desk, the wooden paddle came
down on his daughter’s rear end with a vengeance.
“Father, stop!” she roared, trying to wiggle away.
“You don’t remain still, I’ll tie you down!” he
vowed, the paddle hitting its mark.
Abigail’s lightweight skirt did little to protect her
from the ferocious sting.
“I hate you!” she roared once more.
“Neville,
stop!” The sudden
sound of Aaron Barrow’s voice rose wrathfully above the
thunderous din of father and daughter.
For an instant time stopped in the sweltering
library—and for that matter, everywhere else throughout the
stunned household.
“Aaron!” Neville McPhearson said, acknowledging his
son-in-law.
“What’s happening here?” the man demanded to know.
“Quite obvious, I think,” Neville answered.
“Your wife has behaved like a negligent brat.
She’s getting her due.”
“I appreciate your concern, Mr. McPhearson, but if my
wife’s bottom is to suffer for her disobedience, I’ll be
punishing it.”
Neville nodded.
Rising from her bent over position, Abigail looked at her
husband’s offered hand. She
was shaking like a leaf, the young wife not knowing which was
worse, her father’s stern reprimand, or her husband’s potent
rage, so evident in the dark demeanor of his face and the scowl
on his lips.
“Abigail!” Aaron barked at her.
Seeing his firm resolve, feeling how it had the power to
command in a way her father never could command her, her
resistance to him melted away, even though her fear did not.
Taking his hand, she moved to his side though she was
hardly comforted by his waiting arm.
“If you don’t mind, the paddle will do, sir,” Aaron
said, not at all interested in comforting his wife.
Neville McPhearson handed his son-in-law the implement,
admiring the younger man’s staunch determination.
“You’ll bend over the desk and do this properly,”
Aaron said, staring down at his wife and giving her a bit of a
shove.
“Here?” she asked meekly.
“Here,” he confirmed, his eyes making clear his
motive, so there was no doubt in her mind.
Pushing her to the desk, she was obliged to bend over as
she had before, though without the protest and struggling that
had accompanied the row with her father.
Once in position, Aaron flung her skirt up over her
bottom, and yanked her drawers to her ankles.
Her gleaming white cheeks with just a faint blush of red
appeared for the eyes of her parents and husband to see.
“And I’d better not hear you wail, my love, or I’ll
be going on all night,” he warned her.
Standing to her side, Aaron aimed the implement for the
center of her posterior and let it fly.
The paddle smacked her soundly in the center of her naked
cheeks.
“Oh, ouch,” she moaned, even though she tried keeping
the distress to herself.
The paddle was harsh and firmly laid, the wound inflicted
a wicked sting that began where it stuck and radiated outward,
so it seemed that Abigail was feeling it everywhere.
Smack after smack, Aaron’s strong arm came down with a
mighty vengeance. Though
he wasn’t cruel, he was passionate and severe, a testament to
the raging anger that he’d nurtured on the anxious journey to
find his missing wife. Seeing
her bottom quickly turn a blazing scarlet, he began to slow the
pace. The punishment was meant to be brief and to the point
until his anger was somewhat spent and Abigail was sobbing
miserably—as much from humiliation as pain. Though the pain was hardly as much as he knew she could
endure, it was certainly enough to get his point across. Regardless of the intent however, he didn’t consider the
punishment complete just yet.
But ending the spanking for the time being, he caught his
breath, and the three adults stared at Abigail’s punished
bottom for some seconds.
“I think that will do for a while,” he said, and he
pulled his wife to her feet.
The poor young woman was feeling horribly mortified. The whole house heard, she was certain of that.
And the way her own parents stared at her, she couldn’t
help but blush.
“We’ll be riding home now,” Aaron said, turning to
Neville.
“Such a late hour?
Perhaps you should stay the night,” he offered.
The man looked quite bewildered.
For the first time in Abigail’s life she’d seen her
father bested by another man, though that was hardly something
to celebrate.
“There are matters between husband and wife that need
to be settled in the privacy of our own home,” Aaron said.
“I assure you, Abigail will not be running off to you
again. Now,” he said turning to his wife, “apologize to your
parents.”
The chagrined young woman looked from her father to her
husband, to the tear-filled eyes of her mother.
“I . . I . . I’m so very sorry,” she said, her face
still as flushed as her bottom.
Her father nodded, while her mother reached out and
stroked her hand briefly. Aaron,
seeing that his business in this house was done for the night,
nodded to his wife to restore her clothes.
Once done, the two left Neville and Margaret McPhearson
standing somewhat awestruck in their library.
Doors were gently closing through the house as the young
couple left. The
hoopla over for an evening, a strange feeling of finality
gripped the place. Abigail
had indeed been handed over to her husband; there would be no
doubt in anyone’s mind after this rude night.
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