‘Braska Ch. 01: O’er the Barrel

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I lined up my last shot, eight ball to the side pocket. I didn’t need to take my time; it was and easy shot. The game was already over and my opponent, some cowboy hat wearing guy named Rick or Rich had only had one turn. I was cleaning up, like I did. I never bet money out in this tiny ass town’s only bar. I had money. Vegas had opened its coffers to me, but unfortunately it had also offered up a few too many enemies. So, I played for rounds. This particularly night I’d already had a couple beers, and I didn’t really want more since I was already tipsy.

As a black woman in the wild west, it wasn’t smart to be too drunk to function, even if the bar was mostly Indian cowboys with just a few whites. Even the bar tender was ambiguously brown, which out in Nebraska, in Indian country, meant one of the few tribes the region still supported. My own father was from this very area, but that wasn’t common knowledge. Sure, I remembered the town of Apostrophe from summers of my childhood, but I’d stopped coming back in my teens when my dad had vanished. But that’s another story. I’d spent the rest of my childhood on the east coast, with my mother, or in Morocco, with her family. It was her last name that was on my ID, her people and heritage and traditions I knew.

My father’s people, the Cheyenne, where strangers to me, vaguely familiar strangers. I wondered which of the people from this town I’d known as a child, but none of them recognized me and I liked it that way.

I knocked the ball into the pocket and waved at Cole, holding up my empty glass and one finger to place my order. A chorus of groans around the table rang out.

“Well, that’s a wrap.” I said, scooting around the table to meet Cole, the ruggedly butch bartender, halfway. She handed me my beer. I knew she’d add it to my tab, and I’d settle end of week like always.

I turned and handed the beer to the Rick, or Rich’s girlfriend, who giggled as she took it. “I like this deal, I win the game, I get to buy a pretty girl a drink.” I winked at the woman. She was my height, most likely white with her light hair and blue eyes, and she looked a tad young to be in the bar, but Cole was a hard ass about age limits, she had to be twenty-one.

“You tryin’a move in on my woman, now?” The angry cowboy loomed in front of me, reeking of cheap beer and whiskey shots.

“Hey, you agreed to the terms, man.” I said lifting my own drink and my free hand defensively, even as my legs shifted into a defensive stance as well. “It’s not like the bet was for a kiss, just a beer.”

“Kiss this, bitch.” And with that his arms snapped out shoving me away from his girl, who squealed in protest.

“Rich, stop it!” The girl cried out. I didn’t wait to see if he’d stop it, I sucker punched him right in the nose, feeling the bone crack on my knuckles as my other hand dropped my beer. The glass rolled and splashed against my boots but I ignored it and followed up with an uppercut aimed at his chin but just grazing his eye socket, then a cross that caught him in the throat. I shuffled forward, moving in to throw a knee into ribs as his hands flew up and his body was left open. I’m not an MMA master or anything, I knew a few moves, as a curvy girl at 5’5 with more soft bits than muscley bits, I know that winning a fight against a guy is about speed. Get in, do enough damage to disable him before he can even react, then get the fuck out before his friends can decide between teasing him or jumping you.

The knee never landed though, instead I felt my feet leave the ground as a rough hand grabbed me by the scruff of my flannel wild west disguise, and tugged me nearly off my feet. I let out a squeaky, “Eep!” and flailed a little, my heart pounding.

But it was only Cole, who slid between Rich and I, setting me down behind her as she seized Rich by the front of his shirt and heaved him up. She glanced back at me and barked, “You, back room, now!” and jabbing a finger at me.

I took a step back but paused to watch. Opening my mouth too late to warn Cole as Rich instinctively lashed out, his fist connecting with her middle, but Cole didn’t even flinch. She simply walked him towards the door, her long steady stride contrasting with his sputtering backward stumble. At the door his hat fell from his head as someone darted forward and pushed the door open. Cole tossed him out, and I imagine he landed on his ass on the dirt between the door and street. Cole kicked his hat out the door after him.

“Rich, you know better than to start shit in my bar.” Cole shouted at him, “You’re banned for a week, then you can come on back and behave yourself, or else I’ll personally beat your ass, you hear?”

His response must have satisfied her, because Cole turned and strode back into the room. “Okay, dollar shots for the next ten minutes people, then business as usual. Nor more funny stuff or else.” Cole pointed to a wall where a worn old frat style paddle hung, and a few drunken chuckles rang out, some sounding rather nervous. Her eyes found me and narrowed, and I hurried myself güvenilir bahis around the bar and ducked into the backroom.

I expected her to follow, to come in read me the riot act at some point, but she didn’t. The bar closed down an hour later and I was still sitting on the couch in the backroom, which was like an office and living room at the same time. It was Cole’s private living space, her sleeping quarters being the only other occupied bedroom in the inn above the tavern aside from my own.

Finally, the sound of her shooing the last customer out floated in, and the jukebox went silent. I jiggled my leg, the heel of my boot tapping nervously. I hoped she didn’t kick me out. I didn’t think she would, I was a paying customer, and at the low prices of her booze I knew that the rent I paid weekly was a great boost for her sales numbers. Plus, I think rumors of a cute girl that was undefeated on the pool table brought a few curious extras in. I was good for business. Or so I told myself. Maybe not if I started beating up customers.

Cole slipped into the room; her dark blue shirt unbuttoned to reveal a black ribbed tank top underneath that clung to well-formed muscles that indicated that she must work out. I wondered if she kept a weight set in her bedroom upstairs. Her short black hair was a little mussed, like she’d run her hands through it a time or two. It had a little salt and pepper thing going just above her ears where she kept it shaved close. Her lips, the most feminine thing about her body, frowned into a distractingly sensuous line of disapproval. Her black jeans disappeared into cowboy boots, also black with silver etchings. She wore a thick dark brown belt with an eagle engraved in the buckle.

“You saw right?” I said tentatively when the silence stretched on, her black eyes boring into me. “He shoved me and started it all.”

“I saw what happened.” Cole said, then went back to staring at me.

“I had to do something.” I mumbled, looking down at my hands that were fidgeting with the button on my sleeve of my flannel shirt. It was suddenly very hot in there, and I wanted to take the shirt off, but that would be weird, even though I had on a white t-shirt underneath.

“You could have de-escalated the situation at any point.” Cole said. “You ain’t even drunk. No excuse.”

I chewed on my lip, then mumbled some sort of apology.

Cole sighed. “If you weren’t renting here, I’d’ve tossed you out too, as soon as I knew he’d cleared out.” She said. “But I wasn’t joking when I told the bar that any more funny business would end with that paddle on the wall out there. I don’t usually need to demonstrate the seriousness of that threat more than once every year or so, when new crops of 21-year-olds roll in and get cocky.”

I peered up at her to see if she was joking. “You’ve really paddled customers?”

“Not good ones.” Cole said with a nod. “Though they tend to behave after that.”

My eyes widened, then darted down to double check her hands, which were empty, her arms folded across her chest. I wondered if she still planned to ask me to leave instead.

“Please don’t kick me out.” I pleaded.

“I won’t.” Cole said. “It’s the middle of the night, and in general you’re a good kid.” I wanted to protest that I wasn’t a kid, I was 26! But I realized as I opened my mouth to do so that it would probably prove her point. Her meaning settled down a little more then, slipping into my mind. She’d brought up the paddle, and said she wouldn’t kick me out…she wasn’t going to paddle me for real right? It was just a threat…just to scare me.

“Please, Cole. I’m sorry. I messed up, I get that.” I said, struggling to keep my voice steady. “Please, don’t use the paddle one me.”

Cole narrowed her eyes at me for a moment, then gave a nod. “I won’t. This time.” I felt myself relax a little, but she continued. “Only because you didn’t start it and Rich is a jack ass. But you could have walked away sooner, not flirted with his date, or de-escalated at any point and you didn’t. You chose to cause a ruckus, and you went too far in your attack on him. Broke his nose at least.”

Her arms unfolded and she began rolling up her sleeves, exposing intricate tattoos I couldn’t quite make out on her forearms.

I sank back into the couch, uneasy, getting the feeling that I was very much still in trouble. “Cole…” my voice came out as a whisper, my eyes darting to the stairs off to my left. I wondered if I could make a run for it, though I knew even as the thought occurred to me that it was silly.

Not only could she catch me if she wanted, but what would I do if I got away? Lock myself in my room that she owned a key to? Besides, whatever she was going to do, it would only be so bad. I’d come out in one piece. Cole had been friendly with me, more-so than anyone else, though no-one had really been rude, just distant.

Folks were probably distant because I was distant, but I saw Cole daily, and nightly. I hung out reading in the bar as she closed, and usually güvenilir bahis siteleri helped her move the empty kegs to the back shed. I brewed coffee in the mornings while Cole mopped the floors, and we drank a cup together before I left for breakfast, sometimes with a to-go order from Cole for when I returned.

We mostly shared companionable silences, sometimes we talked music or literature, but I didn’t really know much about her, and she didn’t really know much about me. Or so I thought.

“Catherine Ann Brightwing, don’t you even think about running from me.” Her voice was hard and stern, and I froze, blood draining from my face as I heard a name I hadn’t used in nearly a decade. After I’d turned 18 and realized my daddy wasn’t coming back, I’d changed my last name legally to Bashara, my mother’s maiden name, but I’d started using it even before that.

“You…know…” I stammered.

“I know who you are.” She said. “Not many curly-haired green-eyed Indians around these parts. It’s been fifteen years or so, but I remember you riding on the the back of your daddy’s Hog. He used to ride with my crew. Figured it had to be you. Nobody sticks around out here middle of nowhere for nothing.”

“Oh.” I said, not knowing what else to say. I wondered if that’s why she’d rented to me in the first place. I wanted to ask if she knew what happened to my dad. But it was futile, my mother had asked everyone back when he’d first vanished. She certainly would have asked any members of his biker crew. Wherever he was, I’d never know.

“Cat, you’ve always been a good kid, and I believe you still are.” Cole said, advancing to stand just in front of me, maybe a couple feet away. “You’ve always got a room here, I won’t kick you out. You can’t behave like you did tonight though. There will be consequences any time you break the rules or make stupid decisions. Stand up.”

I sank further into the couch and she just stared at me. Hearing my old name, seeing her stern gaze, her muscled arms…I felt young and small and a little stupid. Slowly, after a few more moments of Cole’s penetrating gaze, I climbed to my feet.

She reached out and took my upper arm in her hand, her grip firm but not bruising. She led me around the side of the couch, then pushed me down over it.

“Cole, please,” I begged, my mind shorting out as I wondered what she was going to do to me. I heard the clink of her belt buckle, the sliding of leather against denim and I started to get a pretty good idea. “Please, don’t whip me, Cole, I’m really sorry.” My voice was slightly muffled from the way my face was buried in the couch. Cole’s hand gripped the sides of my jeans, not bothering with my belt or buckles, and yanked them roughly down over my hips, my ass, ample from years of sitting around doing graphic design on my computer, popping free of the confining denim, my panties being pulled down along with my jeans. She tugged them down until they were halfway down my thighs, locking my legs together, my ass up in the air, a perfect target.

My chest felt tight, and my breathing quickened. I knew in a few minutes I’d be hyperventilating but it never got that far. A shuffle of boots against floorboards, a moment of silence, then the belt, snapped across my ass at a slight angle. I yelped, more at the sound than anything, as the pain didn’t set in until after the second stroke fell.

I clutched the pillow under me desperately as the belt fell again and again, criss-crossing my ass with lines of fire. After a few moments, maybe a dozen strokes, I couldn’t take it anymore and one of my hands flew back to block the blows. Cole’s hand gripped my wrist, holding my hand in place across my bottom, palm up.

“Cat, this is why you hold position.” Cole said calmly, and the belt fell sharply across my palm three times before I could even draw a breath to cry out. I moaned wordlessly, and Cole released me. I dragged my stinging hand back up towards my chest hissing at the pain.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself, young lady?”

“I’m…I’m sorry. Won’t happen again.” I managed, my voice tense.

“We’re going to start from the beginning now. When you’re ready for me to start over, you may ask.” Cole added. And for a few blissful moments no blows fell. I realized that I couldn’t lay there all night, and I didn’t want to find out what would happen if I tried, so, my voice shaking I finally spoke.


“Yes, Cat?”

“Will you please…” I trailed off, heat flushing through my face. I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t actually say the words.

“Finish your sentence.” Cole commanded, and I felt like I’d been vampire-level compelled to do so.

“Please start over, ma’am.” I mumbled.

“Start what over?” Cole pressed.

I sniffled, shifting my hips a bit. “My whipping.” I answer miserably.

Cole didn’t wait after that and began laying into me again. At first, I had to struggle to maintain position, my hands shifting as far down as the bottom of the cushion near the couch arm, then back iddaa siteleri up to cling at the opposite side of cushion just past my head. I did this a few times, the belt snapping painfully across my bottom the entire time. The blows were heavy, and steady, no varying in speed, and moving from the center of my ass down to the seat then back up again. As much as I longed for a break, I didn’t want more of the belt across my hand, the humiliation that followed, or the feeling of remorse for restarted a whipping that might have been over if I’d only behaved.

After a few solid minutes of me moaning helplessly into the couch cushions, finally having submitted to the whipping fully, Cole finally let up. I lay there for a few minutes listing to the rustle of denim. I peeked back Cole to find her putting her belt back on, and finally breathed a sigh of relief. Cole helped me up, then, hands on my arms, marched me over to an unoccupied corner behind her desk and stood me there, bare ass still out.

“You stand here while I finish my closing routine, I’ll be back to finish with you after.” Cole said, then her boots clicked across the floor and she was gone. I chanced a glance over my shoulder to make sure I was really alone, then my hands flew to my ass, trying to rub out the burning sting. To my surprise there was a warmth between my thighs I hadn’t expected. I was definitely aroused, but I chocked it up to being naked and exposed to a very attractive older woman.

Cole had been an adult when I was a kid, or at least in her late teens and old enough to ride with the biker crew. I wasn’t sure how old she was, but I had placed her somewhere in her forties. Her face was clear of lines, except laugh lines around her eyes, but she did have a bit of grey on the sides of her hair, and she carried herself like a real adult, not like me. Not like a 26-year-old kid who might get whipped by the bartender for fighting over pool and girls.

My face burned with the shame of it, my eyes stinging a little. And what had she meant by finishing with me after? Finish what? She’d put the belt back on, so surely, I was safe from more of that, right? She just wanted me to stand there and stew, my ass heated, and feel embarrassed while I regretted not handling Rich better. She’d come in, scold me a little, I’d plead for forgiveness, then she’d send me up to bed and we could forget this whole thing happened. I peered over my shoulder again, she was still gone. And I was still standing there, not daring to move. I wondered suddenly if maybe I’d be in trouble for putting my hands on my bottom and rubbing out the sting, (not that it was working).

I moved my hands to my sides, then one snuck back again, feeling the slightly raised welts along my ass and the very tops of my thighs. One hand seemed to be wandering of its own accord to the heat at the apex of my thighs, the pressure there that was almost as distracting as the pain in my ass.

I wondered if I had time to rub one out, just really quick, make myself cum so I wouldn’t have to embarrass myself with being obviously aroused when Cole came back just in case she bent me over something else. My clit was at attention, swollen and twitching when I touched it.

The click of cowboy boots across the wood floor of the bar send my hands dashing back to place at my sides, fists clenched.

Cole walked into the room, not stopping until she was right behind me.

“Cat, you can turn around.” Her voice was low and soft.

I turned, finding myself taking a shuddering breath. Her presence was powerful and overwhelmed me with its strength and a sense of safety I hadn’t felt since I was a kid.

Cole examined my face.

“What did you do wrong tonight?” Cole asked, and I looked down to avoid her gaze, my eyes suddenly finding the pointed toes of my boots fascinating.

“I chose not to de-escalate a situation I knew was volatile.” I said, my voice coming out small, but steady, despite the tightening of my throat. “I took my violent reaction too far. I…I caused a scene in your bar.”

“Are you going to that again?” Cole asked.

“Never.” I said quickly. “I’ll…I’ll do better. I’m sorry.” My voice cracked a bit on the last word.

“Okay, I know you are. You made some bad choices, and you took a whipping, quite well I might add.” Cole said, on hand coming up to rest on my shoulder. “You’re forgiven now. Clean slate, okay?”

I nodded, squeezing my eyes shut against the tears that threatened. Could it really be that easy? Accept a punishment, learn a lesson, and clean slate, move on?

“Anytime I have to punish you with the belt or the paddle,” Cole said, squeezing my shoulder, and prompting me to look up at her, “after you’ve had some time to think on your action, I think I’ll give you a spanking by hand. I wouldn’t normally do that for someone, but I think it’ll help you release some of whatever your holding in, Cat. You don’t have to do that, you know.”

I felt my lips turn down into a pout. A spanking? Hadn’t I just gotten a whipping? Wasn’t that enough? Why did I really need to be spanked on top of it? She didn’t mean now did she? Or was time to think like, a few days, after the fire department was called to put out the smoldering coals currently smoking butt used to be?

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