Satin and Leather

Creative writing around the themes of spanking, domination and submission

Spitfire 3

The Spitfire , Part 3, Roz & Pete

disclaimer... the continuity of this chapter is not as good as it should be... if you haven't read parts 1 & 2, it may feel like a lot of what's going on between the characters makes no sense at all... eeep! but hope you'll muddle through any way... l)

(This is a continuation of the story Spitfire.)

by Patty, copyright 2002

(Roz and Pete’s Story)

“Rosalind! How many times do I have to warn you not to interfere, and not to argue when the decision is made?” Pete spoke to his wife of 44 years as she paced around the ranch kitchen. The pattern she paced was so well worn; Pete wondered how the plank pine floors lasted the years with out developing a trench.

“Interfere!” Roz’s tone of voice snapped. She hardly skipped a beat in the rhythm of the tasks she was doing. “Telling you reason is not interfering. That poor girl could have used some understanding. You men and your hard nose take on things. You’re all the same!”


“Don’t sass me woman, You know what will come of that!” Pete warned.

“You mean you haven’t already decided old man!?” Roz stopped her movement and directed a stern glare at the man who sat arrogantly at the table.

“Might be I have. Might be I haven’t” Pete answered, his expression just as stern, and filled with warning.

“I know you old man! The day you change your mind once you’ve made it up will be the day the angels come for you,” Roz huffed.

Mebe so,” Pete nodded. You want to make things worse for yourself then do you woman?”

“Ha!” Roz smirked into the pot of soaking potatoes. “Bad is bad. Ten or twenty give or take makes no difference when it comes down to it.”

Pete chuckled wickedly. “You’ll sing a different tune tonight I’ll wager.”

Roz said nothing. With her mouth set in a grim line she got back about her chores.

“You’d think you’d know by now how to behave yourself,” Pete commented into the center of her activity.

“Go away and make yourself useful old man,” Roz spoke quietly with annoyed resignation. Her husband was in the way now, and he was annoying her. He would have his say and his way in good time. After all the work was done, and the hands, and John, and Kim were off to bed, he’d have his chance to make everything perfectly clear to her.

“Mind your manners Rosalind, or we’ll take care of business here and now,” Pete spoke equally quietly, but with very clear warning.

“Yes dear,” Roz’s answer was absent and automatic, her mind had moved on from the subject that was, and onto the things she was doing and others that needed doing before supper could be put on the table.


Roz gave Kim a sympathetic look when John escorted her through the kitchen. The young girl’s face was still flushed, and streaked with grimy tear tracks. Apart from the obvious evidence of recent crying, she was surprisingly well composed. In fact Roz, noted, she had a down right peaceful look about her.

Considering how angry he had been not an hour ago, John also seemed at peace.

The chatter at dinner and after was the most pleasant Roz could recall it being in months. It was clear that the reckoning in the woodshed had done the trick to settle Kim’s sassy ways down. Her tall brooding son was settled too. It was nice to see him smile and laugh during a meal, instead of the brooding he’d been doing over the past months. Roz was sure she saw genuine affection in her son’s eyes for the little spitfire sitting so gingerly across the table from him. “Poor girl,” Roz thought. “She has no idea what she’s in for linking up with this family.” Twice now she’d had a taste of just how the men here dealt with unruly and sassy women. Id didn’t seem to have scared her away at least. “Maybe?” she wondered. “Just maybe I was right all along. My Johnny’s found the girl for him?”

“Just might be they’ve both met their match in each other,” Roz nodded and smiled to herself as she sat back over her coffee and cobbler and watched the small group at her table. Comfort settled into her heart too.

That first time Pete laid into her backside all those years ago was far from the last. Roz shuddered to think how many times her “set-in-his-ways, my-way-or-the-highway” husband took her by the arm, or sent her on a head of him, down to that infernal woodshed for a reckoning over the years. Had to be in the hundreds, she calculated.

“Goodness!” she thought. “Figuring once a month for 45 years and that’d be near six hundred spankings.” It was no doubt many more than that. Those first ten years were pretty rocky, what with her temper and his hard-nosed outlook. Roz could remember a time early on when she half laughed and half-cried thinking she’d never have a butt that wasn’t welted or bruised ever again in her life.

Pete could be so unyielding. “Always was set in his ways, even when he was a boy,” she smiled. “And his son is like him in every way.”

Her family visited with each other, and Roz wandered back in time, and visited with her memories.


“Pete, please honey! I didn’t mean it,” she complained. She had meant it tough. She’d meant it in spades. All the reverend wanted was two hours of her time each day for the next two weeks, so she could help distribute the birth control literature in the colonias. Pete was dead set against it.

“Those damned squatters don’t get any charity from my family do you hear!” he’d bellowed when she asked the first time.

Roz tried to argue with him at first. Pointing out that the small shack towns that sprung up on fallow fields on the ranches in the region were there because of the poor wages paid by the growers and ranches. “You want the workers for ten dollars a day! They have to live somewhere!”

Pete nearly blew a gasket when she’d said that. Even at 24 he had firm ideas about things. “My workers have homes here on this property! They don’t need to go squatting on private land!”

He was right of course, but the problem was broader than their homestead, and their ethics. Pete’s peers were not so ethical. As a result squatter camps were a constant problem. Some were so well established that the ownership of the land they were on was now in questions. The State of Texas and county governments were not inclined to help the landowners either. “Possession is 9/10ths of the law was a hard reality for landowners in south Texas.

They went around and around on the subject, with some acrimony, more than once before that Sunday. So when it came up in the hall after church, it was no real surprise that Roz would say what she said, or that Pete would react to it the way he did.

The Reverend approached them, asking Pete if Roz’s hands could be spared at home for a few hours. Pete politely told the Reverend that his wife was too busy to help. Roz glared at the two men. “First of all! How dare that dithering old minister speak to Pete about what Roz could do, instead of speaking to her!“Second of all! How dare her husband not be honest and say she was available but HE didn’t think the project worthy!”

In the end Roz made her feelings on the subject and both of hose sticking points very clear. So now she was faced with the consequences. The words she’d called both men were vulgar and cast aspersions on more than their parentage and the facts of their birth. It communicated colorful images and innuendo about illicit things they might engage in behind closed doors. Her invective was strong enough to make both men blush, a few bystanders laugh and a few others frown.

“Rosalind! No more talk! You pull those pretty little panties down, tuck your dress under the sash and bend yourself over that stump right now!” Pete commanded.

“But honey you can’t use that on me now! You’ll kill me! You need to cool down first! Please!” Roz whimpered.

“I’m not going to kill you woman! But I am going to burn some sense into your backside with this paddle. If I cool off, I doubt I’ll accomplish that either, now bend over, NOW!” Pete nodded in agreement with part of her observation.

All those years ago, Pete rarely ever let himself cool off before spanking her. Fortunately his youthful temper burn as fast as it was hot. Most of those early spankings were hard and fast. Not that one though. That one was hard, and it was long. One of the hardest most severe she’d ever had to take.

Roz was crying before her trembling hands reached up under her skirt and slipped her lacy cotton panties down to her knees. Her long lean legs quivered as she trembled, turning her backside to her husband as she lifted the full skirt and slip of her light summer dress, and tried unsuccessfully to tuck them under the sash that tied at the back of her waist.

The picture of his pretty young wife getting ready to be spanked almost melted Pete, but he steeled himself to her gamin charms by helping her tuck the skirt and bend herself down.

He took his belt off first, and laid into her with fury. She whimpered and yelped at first, but before ten licks were applied, she was wailing and screaming. Pete had to move so that she was held firm against his right hip. His strong southpaw swings barely faltered.

The supple thick belt was a cruel instrument of punishment. Each lick delivered a flaming stripe of white-hot fire, and the welt left behind throbbed and burned. Roz was sure her flesh must be torn apart before he stopped. Every inch of her bottom was stripped deep red and some of the welts were beginning to fill in with the dark blood red color that would be purple by the next day. She would wear the remnants of those welts for a good ten days or longer, and she would feel their sting for the next two or three days.

Finally Pete put her in the corner, where she sobbed for the next twenty minutes.

“Come back here now my girl, let’s get this done,” Pete spoke softly. He would paddle her where she sat, and make sure that she would never have another shameful outburst like that again.

Roz’s wails renewed when she saw he meant to spank her more, but she obeyed him.

Pete kept to his intent. Twenty-five very hard stinging swats were delivered to the tops of her thighs, just below the crease of her buttocks. And then twenty-five more were delivered to the sit spot just above that crease. Her thighs took on a very deep red hue with thousands of dark red freckles appearing just under the skin. Her bottom already a deep shade of red became darker around the edges, with deep purple bruising blooming under mottled white bull’s eyes.

When Roz stood, the flesh on her bottom felt thick and numb. When she walked, the thick skin didn’t fold right, and it felt funny. On the surface, her skin was raw, and stung when she touched it.

The next morning the white bull’s eyes were gone, replaced by deep purple bruises, that were very painful for her when she sat down. Her thighs itched for days.

“Well, I never did cuss him out in public again now did I?” she chuckled to herself.

She also remembered the aftermath in their bedroom when the got back up to the house, and again later in the afternoon, and again when they went to bed, and the next morning and at lunch time the next day. “No one can say he ain’t a passionate man,” she chuckled again.

“What’s that Mom?” John spoke and broke here reverie.

“Oh nothing young man! Just lost in thought,” Roz answered quickly, her blush escaping and washing over her before she could call it back.

Pete gave his wife a meaningful look, and indicated it was time to clear up the dishes, and get the house situated for the night. The next two hours flew by, and before she knew it Roz was down in the woodshed listening to her husband lecture her about her manners, and her sass.

She pulled up her nightgown, and leaned down over the large stump. Pete spanked her soundly. First using his hard weather worn hand, and then using the paddle. As usual he made sure to leave her with those two bulls eye bruises that would stay with her as reminders for the next two or three days.

Roz could tell as they walked together back to the house, that the sound had carried. The soft whine of a harmonica from a mile away could be heard from their porch. The crickets and the rustle of the leaves in the trees told her that the sounds of her spanking had not upset the balance of things. She looked up at the house, and saw the breezes lifting the soft white lace curtains away from the open sashes.

She wondered if little Kim heard, and if she had, what she thought? It was a part of Roz’s life after all, and if she stayed on, it would be part of Kim’s too.


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