The Marshall Spanks The New Schoolmarm
In The Lawman’s Lessons by Patty Devlin, there’s a new schoolmarm in town but if they want to keep her (and they do) somebody has to marry her. The marshal looks to be volunteering, and the courtship is going… well, pretty good, actually!
Let go of me, you wretched man!”
“No, it was going to come to this sooner or later anyway. I won’t let you treat me that way. It’s clear you need a firm hand.” He’d sat on the edge of her desk and pulled her over his lap, pressing her upper half down under his arm and holding her there, locked against his side, over the top of the desk.
“You can’t manhandle me like this. What do you think you are doing? You can’t see me like—EEE-Yow!” He’d scrambled under her dress, pulling her skirts up over her back to bunch them there, and then he’d smacked her derriere! “Stop it, you fool!” Her words had no effect on him. His large hand covered her bottom, hot and hard, smacking first one full swell and then the other.
“This is obviously something you need. You’ve been asking for it since we met. I’m happy to oblige, and if I’m going to marry you, it’s better you know exactly the kinda man I am ahead of time.” Each time his hand came down again, it brought with it a wallop of heat so intense Celia could barely catch her breath in between her cries, let alone tell him exactly what she thought of him and his barbaric treatment of her.
She tried her hardest to wiggle, roll or crawl away, but he had her clamped down tight under his arm and nothing she could do would change that. His huge palm landed on each cheek in a steady rhythm, tapping out a tune, and it wasn’t a cheery one, more like a marching order. He gave singular attention to each curve in turn, spanking in rounds and lecturing her at the same time.
“I’m a patient man, but if I have to do this to get your attention and teach you a lesson, I’m more than capable. I don’t want to hurt you, but it’s better this than seeing you hurt or mangled by someone more sinister.” His speech had a surprisingly comforting tone to it, and Celia almost understood. Why, she’d provoked him to this point, hadn’t she?
“Pl-ease, I’ll be good.” She shimmied from one foot to the other, trying in vain to do anything to alter the course of her present situation. “I’ll do anything…” But he showed no signs of slowing anytime soon.
“You should have thought about that before. I warned you time and again.” His voice wasn’t loud or unnecessarily mean. It was low, however, and stern, as he lectured and continued the steady tattoo on her bottom. Perhaps he had a map or a plotted grid of the area he planned to cover back there before he decided to let her up. It might have been one minute or an hour, but Celia was sure she would die before he finished.
When she realized that he’d stopped and dropped her skirt again, she stood up and flung her arms around his neck before he could get up.
“I’m so sorry…”
“It’s all right now, little dove. It’s forgotten, forgiven and we can move on.”
Whether it was his intention to hold her or not, he tucked her in his arms anyway, careful not cause her any more discomfort, and held her until she was ready, stroking her hair, rubbing her back and occasionally kissing her forehead.
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