Stranded: A Christmas Story (5 page)

“You can’t be serious!” she cried, reaching for the waistband of her jeans. But Mason wouldn’t allow her to pull them back up. Instead he threw her back over his lap.

“You, you…motherfucker!” she cried, afraid to bite him again for fear of what that might bring.

“Profanity, too? Tsk. Tsk…”

He hooked his fingers in the waistband of her panties and Lydia howled with indignation as he pulled them down. Her second spanking was delivered firmly on her bare bottom, and it was the most embarrassing, painful experience of her life. Mason’s steady spanking soon had her in tears. Her blonde hair, hanging by the side of her face, was soaked with them. She kicked and writhed and bucked, but to no avail.

For his part, Mason believed the task at hand was necessary. He had not saved Lydia to have her die from bad judgment. And it wasn’t an entirely thankless task. Lydia had obviously worked very hard to get the body she had, and Mason couldn’t remember seeing a finer, firmer ass than the one he was relentlessly reddening. But this was discipline, he told himself, and it was wrong to be attracted to a woman he was trying to correct.

He concentrated his last blows on the lower portion of her upturned cheeks, thoroughly reddening the sit spot in a manner that guaranteed she’d not sit comfortably for quite some time. When he was assured that he’d gotten his message across, Mason tilted Lydia to her feet and gave her a stern look as he pulled up her panties.

“Out here you have to listen,” he said. “It’s not an option. Doing something foolish can get you killed.” He paused as he buttoned her jeans. “That’s probably why I’ve been alone out here. It’s dangerous, and being with you has made me realize how protective I’d be over someone I cared…about someone else.”

But Lydia had heard, and had taken note of how he’d caught himself. The shock of it would have made her stop crying if her bottom didn’t feel as if it were completely on fire at that moment.

He looked away. “You know where to go.”

“I don’t need to stand in the corner to know what I did was wrong, Mason,” she said, wiping her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Mason thought about making her go anyway, but he’d spanked her hard, very hard, and he had no doubt that she was being genuine in her contrition.

She looked up at him from under tear-sodden lashes.

“I suppose you’ll be glad when you can finally be rid of me,” she said.

“No. I won’t be glad,” he said.

For a moment neither of them said anything and then Mason muttered that he had to go check on the snow machine. Lydia stood in silence as he walked back outside. She watched from the window as he walked to the boulder where the machine had crashed. It was starting to snow again. Fortunately it wasn’t a heavy snowfall, but Lydia couldn’t imagine that the sky could hold anymore.

Mason worked nearly an hour removing the snow-machine from the drift. He used a come-along in the shed to haul it to where it could be examined, his ears trained for the sounds of the returning bears. Their presence had worried him, particularly the more ardent of the two. It was lean and far more aggressive than most black bears he had encountered. He wondered if he’d been wrong in not killing it. Mason didn’t like to kill any animal unless it was absolutely necessary. The previous winter he’d been forced to kill a bobcat that was hiding injured in the corner of the shed. He’d wanted to help it but knew that the animal was in too much pain to safely approach. It had bothered him for weeks.

But bears were something else. He’d tried to make the shed bear-proof, but most of them that came sniffing around were easily dissuaded. But these animals had seemed more determined, probably because of the early winter. If his snowmobile were operational, he’d take the remains of the elk he’d dressed and put it in the thicket a few miles up the path, where the predators could eat it. But as he assessed the wrecked machine, he grimly determined that this vehicle would not be going anywhere anytime soon. The accelerator had apparently stuck and the machine had struck the rock with such force that it crumpled the front and cracked the engine block.

Lydia knew when she saw his face that the news wasn’t good.

“I made a mess of things, huh?” she asked.

He sighed. “Well, let’s just say you’re not the only one stranded until they can get vehicles through the pass. I am, too. The damage is….extensive.”

“Oh…” It was the only word she could mutter over the lump in her throat. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” he said. “And like I told you, that’s behind us. I’m just glad I shot that elk when I did. At least we have plenty of meat. We’ll be fine for food and wood; that’s really all we need.”

“That and a bath,” she said, and instantly felt guilty.

He glanced at her. “Yeah, I forget that women aren’t as comfortable going a couple of days between baths as men are. But we can fix that.”

Mason picked up a bucket by the kitchen sink and began to pump water into it. He poured the water into pots to heat on the stove.

“It’ll take a few trips, but I’ll have a warm bath ready for you in no time,” he said.

“Mason, you don’t have to,” she said.

“No, but I want to.”

It was the best bath she’d ever had. The clawfoot tub in the bathroom did indeed take a long time to fill, but Lydia had never felt more relaxed or cleaner. The water helped soothe her sore bottom, too, and by the time she emerged and put on pair of exercise pants and a form-fitting long-sleeved t-shirt she felt like a human again. She put her hair up in a ponytail and decided against makeup, something she would never have done in the city. But that morning when she’d emerged with coffee, sans makeup, she couldn’t help but notice how Mason stared with appreciation at her natural complexion. And it was nice not to have to put on a false face, in more ways than one.

She got another surprise when she came out of the bathroom.

“Merry Christmas,” he said, pointing to a small square wrapped in paper on the table.

She looked at him in disbelief.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“You should know by now that I’m a pretty serious guy,” he said. “And it is Christmas. I wanted to celebrate having the companionship. So don’t ruin it for me, OK?” He nodded towards the package. “Open it.”

Lydia picked it up and tore away the paper. It was a painting of Fletcher’s Meadow in spring. It was breathtakingly beautiful.

“I can’t accept this,” she said. “It’s beautiful. You must have paid a fortune for this at one of the galleries in town…”

“Not really,” he said. “I painted it.”

Lydia wasn’t sure she’d heard right.

“Seriously? Oh my god…it’s….this is amazing, Mason!” She couldn’t stop staring at it. When she looked at him her eyes were full of tears. “It’s the nicest thing anyone has ever given me.”

“I find that hard to believe,” he said. “I’m sure guys have given you all kinds of nice things.”

“Nothing like this,” she said, hugging the picture to her chest. “Nothing they made themselves.”

He smiled. “Well, I’m glad you like it.”

She frowned. “I just wish I had something to give to you.”

“Don’t feel bad. You didn’t know you were going to make a new friend and it’s easier for me on my home turf. But I tell you what. Since it looks like we’re going to be stranded together for the next week or so, what do you say you fix me dinner on New Year’s Eve? I haven’t had a New Year’s Eve celebration in a couple of years, living up here like a damn hermit. It’ll be fun.”

Lydia nodded. “I’d love to,” she said.

They stared at each other, each thinking the same thing: “Would it send the wrong message if I moved in for a kiss?” Each looked away, convinced that the other might read the thought in their eyes.

“Thanks again for the picture,” she said. Lydia retreated to her room to sit on the bed and stare at the painting. It had turned into a wonderful Christmas - a wonderful and unique Christmas despite all that had happened. Her  family knew that she was safe, and were probably so grateful that they were happy, too. And she had gotten a wonderful gift.

But best - and most terrifying of all - she felt like she was starting to fall in love.

Chapter Five

It snowed again on Christmas night. Lydia and Mason watched it fall from the sofa, where they enjoyed cups of mulled wine, another surprise she wasn’t expecting. He showed her his sketch book and a few paintings he was working on - all scenes from around the cabin. One was of a bull elk bellowing in a frosty meadow. The other was of deer drinking from a stream. There were landscape shots and detailed studies of flowers.

Lydia didn’t have any hobbies other than shopping, and felt a little inadequate with nothing more to show him than snaps on her cell phone. But Mason seemed interested about her life in Middleburg and her job as an IT specialist.

“This must be like withdrawal for you, being here without a computer,” he said.

Lydia looked at him, surprised by the epiphany generated by his words.

“You know, it’s weird, but I haven’t even thought about it,” she said. “That’s crazy, huh? I mean, so much has happened with the crash and then just being here in such an unusual situation. Before I couldn’t get by without Facebook or email and I don’t even miss it, at least not now. At some point I will…”

“Yeah, the novelty of living like this wears off pretty quickly if you’re not prepared for it,” Mason agreed. “I’m too far off the beaten path to get wireless service. When I go to town I check my email, but that’s just once every couple of weeks. I sometimes order things online, cooking ingredients, art supplies, stuff like that. I have a PO Box in town.”

“Do you ever socialize in town?” she asked.

“Oh, when I go I hang out for the day to remind myself how to talk to people. There’s a little artist guild in town. A couple of older men and a really cute girl.

“Oh..” Lydia felt herself growing jealous, and then feel silly for feeling jealous.

“She and her lesbian partner moved here two years ago.”

That cheered Lydia up somewhat.

“We discuss art, and then I go to get hunting supplies and we discuss hunting, gardening, whatever at the general store.”

“At least you get to talk about what interests you,” Lydia said. “I go out almost every weekend and we talk about the same stupid stuff - who’s dating who, fashion, stuff like that. Sometimes I feel like I’m back in high school.”

She looked at him. “You know, Mason, my conversations with you have been the first real conversations I’ve had in months. Being here these past couple of days have made me think about a lot of things.”

“Thinking is good,” he said. “Everyone should do it.”

“Even women? Even
submissive
women?” She laughed.

“Submissive women have done more thinking than most other women,” he said. “Imagine the pressure…well, you don’t have to imagine. You know what the pressure is like in modern society for women to be ball busters. So any woman who has submissive tendencies and decides to live as the feminine
yin
to her man’s masculine
yang
probably knows herself a lot better than a woman who resists what she secretly wants to fulfill societal expectations.”

Lydia stared at him and then laughed. “My god! Who are you? Are you a backwoodsman, an artist or a philosopher?”

“I’m all of those,” he said. “I can be whoever I want. And so can you, Lydia. You just have to ask yourself the Big Question.”

“And what is that question?”

“The question is ‘What do I want?’ Not, what do I need to do to fulfill everyone else’s expectations of me, but what do I, Lydia St. Clair, want?”

“What if I don’t know?” she asked.

“Then you have to do some soul-searching. I think we all know down deep what we know. We all have different motivators, different drivers, if you will. But sometimes we’re afraid to be guided by them for fear of how others will react. If you’re someone who seeks validation and approval, then it will be even harder to get what you want.”

“Hey,” Lydia said defensively. “That’s not fair…”
“I’m not saying that’s you,’ he said. “But it’s 99 percent of people. No one wants to walk out on the ledge alone.”

Lydia thought about how she felt two nights ago, when she looked out over the roof of her car and saw the valley below. She had been absolutely, completely terrified. She’d never felt more alone or helpless in her entire life. What Mason was describing was the emotional equivalent of what she’d felt that night. She was looking out into the valley of her future and was pretty sure the view of what she wanted was getting clearer. But could she do it? Could she take the jump? If she did, the next time she saw her family she would be a completely different person.

“I guess I should turn in,” she said, standing up. “Thanks for the wine, the gift, and for giving me an unexpectedly wonderful Christmas to remember.”

Mason stood, too. “Oh, thanks for making mine wonderful, too.”

Lydia slept comfortably for most of the night.  She dreamt of Mason, of his mouth on hers. She dreamt of being over his knee and awoke rocked by a powerful orgasm that rocked her awake. The shame she felt was more acute than what she’d experienced over his lap, but she could not stop thinking about how he made her feel. She’d spent so much time trying to look feminine and alluring, spending thousands of dollars on expensive dresses and sexy boots. But with Mason, she felt more feminine than ever, even when dressed in sweats or blue jeans. She decided that it was because he was - without a doubt - the most masculine man she’d ever met.

She wondered about what it would be like to share her life with a man like Mason, to live with such a man in a setting like this. Lydia had found herself romanticizing his life - and him - more and more. Even the spankings - after the fact - were remembered almost fondly. He’d been trying to keep her safe, and was willing to go toe-to-toe with her to make sure that happened. He’d risked her anger and disdain, but she’d not been able to harbor either. He’d been blunt with her about the way he ran things. With a man like Mason there were no head games; what you saw was what you got.

“Stop it,” she said. “He’s hardly thinking of you. So…just stop.”