Page 36 of Dirty Discipline, Vol. 1

“Let me get this straight. You were not only driving after drinking alcohol on snowy and icy roads, but you were doing it without a cell phone? For Christ’s sake, it’s like you’ve lost your ever-loving mind.”

“It was fine. I didn’t hurt anyone!”

“This time. Traci, you could have killed yourself. Scratch that, how would you feel if you had hurt someone else? I know you. You could never live with your guilt. It would ruin your life.”

“My life is already ruined. I’m a thirty-year-old spinster!”

He would smile more at her melodramatic over-reaction if he didn’t know how upset she was. He’d hoped the spanking would relieve her of her guilt, but he’d stopped too soon. “I’m sorry Traci, but we aren’t done yet. From now on, you need to have your cell phone with you when you’re out driving. No exceptions. Keep it charged and ready for emergencies.”

“Fine. I promise I’ll keep my phone with me, but seriously, Troy. I’m done.”

“That’s not how this works, and you know it. I can hear it in your voice. You haven’t learned anything, except that you remembered just how much you didn’t like Mom’s brush. Well, I’m about to reintroduce you to how much you hate the belt.”

Her anguished sob confirms he is on the right track. “Oh please, not that. I promise it’ll never happen again.”

“I’m sure it won’t after this lesson. Now stay in position.”

Troy releases her long enough to step back. He unbuttons the cuffs of his dress shirt, rolling up the sleeves several layers before reaching for the buckle of his two-inch wide leather belt. The sound of the leather sliding through the hoops of his trousers sends a visible shudder through Traci. Her crying is getting stronger at just the promise of the belt on her bottom. Doubling over the leather to fashion it into a sturdy strap, Troy measures the length and adjusts his stance to line up.

Troy takes a deep breath before proceeding. The crack of the leather whipping his sister’s backside startles him. There’s a loud clap followed by a split second of silence before Traci’s anguished cry confirms he’s getting through to her. Before he can lose his nerve, he delivers two more solid belt strappings, one above and one below the first stripe.

He recognizes she’s finally surrendering to her punishment. Her cries have changed, from angry disbelief to truly repentant wails of regret. For several long minutes, he continues with the final stage of her punishment at a slow and steady pace. Each slap of leather helping his sister to finally purge the guilt and anger she’d been carrying since her arrival home tonight.

His arm is pulled back, ready to deliver his final stroke when a loud bang crashes into the space followed by a gust of freezing cold air, carrying in snow. Before he can turn around to see the source of the commotion, Troy is tackled from behind. His first thought is Ronnie has returned, but he quickly dismisses that idea when he not only remains on his feet but is able to carry the weight of the intruder easily on his back. Cold, wet, snow-covered jeans circle his waist from behind, legs hooking together in front, while one damp arm wraps around his neck as if to strangle him and a second arm begins punching him on his right shoulder.

A hoarse shout directly into his eardrum comes next. “Stop beating her, you asshole!” It’s the strained voice of a young woman.

Troy is momentarily confused by the strange intrusion into his sister’s living room. Traci has righted herself, letting her long flannel gown cover her, while turning to check out the brouhaha firsthand. The look on his sister’s tear-stained face tells Troy she’s as confused at what’s happening as he is.

The attack from the waif of a woman on his back seems to be running out of steam. Dropping the belt, he easily pries her wrapped legs free and grabs her flailing, snowy arms. He turns to face his attacker, surprised when he has to look down nearly a foot to take in the ragamuffin standing in front of him. It looks like the only warm thing on her is the fire he sees burning from her deep, green eyes. They are strangely mesmerizing, yet he pulls his attention away to assess the rest of her, trying to piece together who she is.

Nothing he sees is adding up. Every inch of the woman is covered in heavy, wet snow. The coat she’s wearing is suited more for a cool fall evening than a Colorado winter’s night. The high-heeled boots, he suspects the only thing responsible for her topping the five foot mark, look more like they should be on a dance floor than hiking through snow. The gloves on her hands are the thin, one-size-fits-all variety you pick up for a dollar in the checkout lane at Wal-mart.

Troy sees her body is paying the price for her ridiculous choice of clothing. He has no idea how long she’s been out in the elements, but every exposed inch of her skin is an angry, wind-blown red. Her long sandy blonde hair, matting to her head like a helmet, is dripping wet as the snow melts onto Traci’s floor. When his perusal returns to her face, he can see the angry bruised knot jutting from her forehead where it looks as if she’s recently banged her head. Troy thinks he sees a hint of an older, yellowing bruise peeking out on her otherwise wind-whipped cheekbone.

By the time his inspection returns to her eyes, he can see the fire that had been there just a minute before has extinguished, leaving pain and fear in its wake. The three of them had stood frozen in place, taking stock of the strange moment. Troy is quick to notice their trespasser has started to visibly shake, from cold or fear, he’s not sure. He takes a step closer, reaching out to stabilize her.

“Stay away from me!” She takes a tentative step backwards, wobbling on her heels.

Troy speaks softly, trying to keep things calm. “Traci, why don’t you close the door? I think we’ve let enough snow in for the night.”

From his peripheral view, he can see his sister tentatively moving around them to go and secure the door before returning to the middle of the room, stepping up behind the woman dripping onto the carpet, placing her between the two siblings.

“You look cold. Why don’t you let us help you get dried off and warmed up?” Traci’s voice is calm. Troy recognizes her therapist tone of voice and is proud of his sister that she can shift gears from punished sister to assertive psychologist in the space of a few seconds.

Their uninvited guest refuses to take her eyes off Troy but answers his sister. “I can’t believe you aren’t calling the police. I’ll keep an eye on him while you call.”

Traci and Troy’s eyes meet over her head before Traci calmly asks, “Why would you think we should call the police? Are you just breaking in so you can get arrested?”

The girl’s anger flares again. “No! Don’t call them for me. You need to call and report him. He was attacking you. He needs to pay.”

Recognition flashes in Traci’s eyes. “You have it all wrong. He wasn’t hurting me; he was helping me.”

The confusion in the intruder’s eyes is easy to see as she answers Traci. “He just has you brainwashed. I know a little bit about this. You don’t need to put up with his abuse. You can leave, you know?” Her voice is losing much of its earlier passion. Troy suspects her adrenalin rush has been spent. Just as he has the thought, he sees her eyes glazing over. She’s beginning to sway and he fears she’s about to topple over.

Troy has no clue what brings this young woman to Traci’s at this hour of the night, but his heart goes out to her. Anyone can see she’s in need of help. “Please, miss. Let us help you get warmed up and then we can talk about everything.”

Troy has barely finished his sentence when her eyes close just before she begins to crumble to the floor. He swoops in to scoop her up into his arms just in time to prevent her face planting onto the carpet. Even with the wet, heavy snow covering every inch of her, she is still light in his arms. He cradles her close in an attempt to share his body heat. Her eyes flutter open briefly as he looks down at her. He barely catches her whisper. “Please… don’t hurt me, too.”

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