Widows Whiskey and Willow SwitchesChapter 2
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April 21, 1890
Kansas City, Missouri
Being married wasn’t so bad, after all. She still hated the idea of Caleb giving up on his claim to move to Kansas City, even though they’d paid the fee to buy the land outright before the five year term had been completed. She especially hated that he’d gone back to medicine when he’d purposely left it behind.
When she’d objected, he’d only said, “This is Kansas City, a fair piece from Boston. I can treat whoever I damn well please.” Clucking her chin, he added, “Which means whoever needs it because I’ve caught myself a clever wife who keeps us in bread and butter.”
The distillery itself had been a mess. It was filthy and stank of rotted stillage. It had taken them weeks to clean up. Tony had been a godsend and was well on the mend from his injuries, thanks to Caleb’s skills. Benjamin made noises about destroying her business, but the heart had gone out of him when Martha up and left him to return to her family in Virginia. He slunk out of town himself a few weeks later, and nobody missed him.
Caleb had given up his future for her, sacrificing his dreams to make her happy. She could barely countenance such a thing, but he woke every day with a smile on his face after pleasuring her all night. Everything was perfect, and she knew she loved him as deeply as she had Matthew. The love might be different, but it was no less strong.
They led different lives. He treated patients in an office down the street from Archie’s, while she labored in the brewing rooms, yet there was no dearth of conversation and time together. Instead of work, they talked about literature, art, and many other things over supper cooked by Tony’s wife. They went to plays and parties, galleries and musicales. All in all, it was a rich, satisfying existence in a white clapboard saltbox house just outside of town.
He was uncharacteristically silent one evening after their cook had left for her own home. He kept looking at her as if he would speak, but held his peace. It was almost bedtime before she gathered up the nerve to ask him his troubles.
There were so many things that could have gone wrong. He could be upset at her failure to get pregnant, or he might have come to resent her for the loss of his life savings. Thanks to Benjamin’s mismanagement, it would be months before the distillery started showing a profit. He might simply have grown tired of her not being a good housewife. Her belly tumbled uncomfortably and she laid a hand on her abdomen to still the butterflies.
She’d already changed into her nightgown and braided her hair for the night. Caleb was in bed, reading a medical journal. She sat down next to him and laid a hand over his page. “Will you tell me what’s bothering you?”
He closed his book and leaned against the headboard of their bed, his warm brown eyes meeting hers. “It’s April twenty-first, a year to the day since the first time I laid eyes on you, and I realized this morning that I’d forgotten a promise I made to you.”
“No, you haven’t! You’ve kept every single promise you’ve ever made!”
He smiled gently and tugged her braid, pulling her close to him. “Except one. I failed to keep one promise.”
She shook her head. “I...”
“I promised to give you a stripe for every day that you were away from me, and by my calculations, we still have one hundred and fifty to go. It is the only promise I’ve ever broken, and I can’t decide how I feel about it.”
His strong arms wrapped around her and he kissed her hair. “Don’t fret. I’ve got you now, and we’re happy together. You tell me you love me every day, and better yet, you show me. I can live with that one broken promise.”
She shook her head and wriggled from under his arm. He might be able to make peace with his failure to keep his promise, but she couldn’t. Not after he’d done so much for her. Her hands fell to the hem of her nightgown and she lifted it over her head.
“What are you doing, Abby?”
“I want you to keep your promise. Ten strokes every day for the next fifteen days.”
“I’m not asking you to do that. Put your gown back on.” He turned away from her and picked up his book.
“You’ve given me so much, Caleb!” She climbed back on the bed and rested on her knees facing him. “And having to go back to doctoring! I want to...”
He scowled and opened his book. “You don’t owe me a damned thing, and I’m certainly not going to whip because you feel the need to whore yourself...”
Her hand met his cheek in a stinging slap that made her palm hurt. “Don’t you ever say that to me again!” She leaped out of bed and tugged her nightgown over her head, still glaring at him. “I didn’t offer because I think I owe you, you damned fool man! I offered because I want to help you keep your promise. I want you to feel right and whole, and if finishing that damned whipping will do that, then that’s what I’ll do because I love you. And if you’re so damned pigheaded you can’t see that...”
“Abby...”
Ignoring him, she scrubbed angry tears from her face. “Well. If you can’t see that, then I don’t know what else to say.”
He stood up and grabbed her neck, squeezing just hard enough to let her know he wouldn’t let go. “Ten with a strap for cussing, and then you’ll get your ten with the quirt. I’m going to forgive the slap because I insulted you and I shouldn’t have. Take off your nightgown and bend over the bed, feet apart, toes pointed in.”
She stared at him in surprise, and a little fear. Maybe she’d been too hasty, and she probably shouldn’t have slapped him.
“Now, Abby. I know you like that nightgown. It would be a shame to have it ripped up.”
She jumped to obey as he rummaged in the bottom drawer of their dresser, retrieving a leather strap and that evil quirt. He turned around and glanced pointedly at their bed. She hurried to get into position, even though every inch of her backside dreaded the coming stripes. It would be worth it though. Every last one would be worth it to make him smile again.
Caleb rubbed her bottom, his warm hand caressing her flesh as she relaxed into his touch. It was going to hurt, but she didn’t care. He loved her and that was all that mattered.
“You don’t have to count these, but...”
“I have to count the ones with the quirt, starting with twenty-one.”
“Good girl.” The first blow with the strap fell and she tried not to flinch. It hurt, but as her punishment continued, her bottom got hot, the sensation traveling down into her core. Her cunny tightened and she felt a trickle of moisture leak down one thigh. How was it that a lashing with a strap could make her aroused? Maybe it was the loving touch of the man wielding the leather.
She let out a squeak as he delivered the last blow to the crease between her bottom and thighs. That one hurt, but she didn’t object. This was too important for her to be a coward about a little whipping.
“I’m proud of you, sweetheart.” He dropped a kiss to the base of her spine and she shivered. “Are you ready for the rest?”
“Yes, sir.”
“All right. What number will you start on?”
“Twenty-one, sir.”
“Good girl.”
Back in October, he’d started at the top of the fleshy part of her bottom, working his way down. This time, the lash fell right on her sit spots. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to hold still. “Twenty-one.”
The whip fell again, just below the first, and her hands clenched in the bedding. “Twenty-two.”
Tears pricked her eyes and she sniffed at the third stripe on the tops of her thighs. Her knees shook and she tried desperately to keep them steady. “Twenty-three.”
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