week.”
Before she knew it, he
was across the room, removing his coat and draping it on the back of her chair.
He had a seat opposite her and slowly removed his boots, letting each one fall
to the floor with a loud thud. He pulled a thin cigar out of his inside coat
pocket and tugged a flint lighter from his front trouser pocket.
When he lit it, Madison
jumped up in protest. “Please extinguish your cigar. The smoke does not agree
with me.”
The marshal raised one
eyebrow and pointed at her with the lit cigar. “Sit. We have business to take
care of, but first I am going to enjoy my cigar and have a glass of whiskey.
I’m going to need both to calm down enough to keep from breaking you in two.”
Madison plopped back
into her seat. She was getting nowhere with getting rid of the marshal. She had
no idea what he had planned, but she knew it wasn’t good. He was madder than
mad at her and she knew he had good reason. But then, being nervous always had
an extremely loosening effect on her tongue.
“You know, there is
strong evidence that smoking shortens one’s lifespan. I would hate to see you
unable to hasten after the criminals and ne’er-do-wells of the territory due to
a sudden bout of asthma.”
“Shut up, Madison.” He
blew a series of smoke rings toward the ceiling, each one forming concentric
haloes above his hat.
“I was merely trying to
be helpful.” She tossed a pouty look in his direction.
“That’s it!” The
marshal threw the cigar into his whiskey glass and slammed the glass on the
dining table. He was back in front of her in less time than it took her to
blink once.
“Up.” He ordered.
“But I though you
wanted me to…” she was yanked unceremoniously from the chair. He then sat down
and roughly pulled her face down across his lap. “What are you….oh, oh,
noooooo!” Madison howled as his hand made contact with her behind. The many
layers of clothing kept it from being too painful, but the humiliation was just
as painful for her.
His forearm held her
tight against his upper thighs, making escape impossible. A few more swats and
she hoped he’d have that out of his system. As if in confirmation, his hand
stopped and rested on her bottom, giving it a rough knead.
“Well that was a bit
uncalled for,” Madison tried to get up, but was still pinned by his iron grip.
“Oh it was completely
called for. You have been begging for it and we’ve only gotten started. I
don’t think you’ve felt nearly enough of my wrath through all of these fancy
layers.” The marshal peeled her floor length skirt up, flinging it over her the
back of her head.
Madison gasped. In the
shrouded darkness created by her upside down skirt, Madison felt a very real
shudder of fear. The marshal was a keg of gunpowder ready to blow and she’d
been foolish enough to light his fuse. Instead of the candlelight seduction
she’d long been dreaming of, he was about to beat her bloody.
His hand at the waist
of her petticoat had her jumping again. He slowly pulled the tie of first one
side and then the other. His hand brushed against her bottom softly as he went
from one side to the other, tugging the waistband further down with each turn.
In several agonizing minutes, her petticoats were bunched around her knees and
her thin underpants were all that separated her bottom from the marshal’s
view. They were very expensive, very transparent underpinnings ordered from
France. Oh how she wished she was wearing some rough homespun version right
now. Her French panties were open at the bottom, allegedly to allow more
healthy air flow.
The marshal’s hand was
stroking the thin fabric that barely covered her, inching slowly closer to the
center. Madison clenched in worried anticipation as he found the slit.
“Ah, ah, ah.” He
admonished. “You have to hold very very still.” His voice was rougher; his breathing
had grown more rapid and much shallower. “Now, you’ve not been behaving very
ladylike
Before she knew it, he
was across the room, removing his coat and draping it on the back of her chair.
He had a seat opposite her and slowly removed his boots, letting each one fall
to the floor with a loud thud. He pulled a thin cigar out of his inside coat
pocket and tugged a flint lighter from his front trouser pocket.
When he lit it, Madison
jumped up in protest. “Please extinguish your cigar. The smoke does not agree
with me.”
The marshal raised one
eyebrow and pointed at her with the lit cigar. “Sit. We have business to take
care of, but first I am going to enjoy my cigar and have a glass of whiskey.
I’m going to need both to calm down enough to keep from breaking you in two.”
Madison plopped back
into her seat. She was getting nowhere with getting rid of the marshal. She had
no idea what he had planned, but she knew it wasn’t good. He was madder than
mad at her and she knew he had good reason. But then, being nervous always had
an extremely loosening effect on her tongue.
“You know, there is
strong evidence that smoking shortens one’s lifespan. I would hate to see you
unable to hasten after the criminals and ne’er-do-wells of the territory due to
a sudden bout of asthma.”
“Shut up, Madison.” He
blew a series of smoke rings toward the ceiling, each one forming concentric
haloes above his hat.
“I was merely trying to
be helpful.” She tossed a pouty look in his direction.
“That’s it!” The
marshal threw the cigar into his whiskey glass and slammed the glass on the
dining table. He was back in front of her in less time than it took her to
blink once.
“Up.” He ordered.
“But I though you
wanted me to…” she was yanked unceremoniously from the chair. He then sat down
and roughly pulled her face down across his lap. “What are you….oh, oh,
noooooo!” Madison howled as his hand made contact with her behind. The many
layers of clothing kept it from being too painful, but the humiliation was just
as painful for her.
His forearm held her
tight against his upper thighs, making escape impossible. A few more swats and
she hoped he’d have that out of his system. As if in confirmation, his hand
stopped and rested on her bottom, giving it a rough knead.
“Well that was a bit
uncalled for,” Madison tried to get up, but was still pinned by his iron grip.
“Oh it was completely
called for. You have been begging for it and we’ve only gotten started. I
don’t think you’ve felt nearly enough of my wrath through all of these fancy
layers.” The marshal peeled her floor length skirt up, flinging it over her the
back of her head.
Madison gasped. In the
shrouded darkness created by her upside down skirt, Madison felt a very real
shudder of fear. The marshal was a keg of gunpowder ready to blow and she’d
been foolish enough to light his fuse. Instead of the candlelight seduction
she’d long been dreaming of, he was about to beat her bloody.
His hand at the waist
of her petticoat had her jumping again. He slowly pulled the tie of first one
side and then the other. His hand brushed against her bottom softly as he went
from one side to the other, tugging the waistband further down with each turn.
In several agonizing minutes, her petticoats were bunched around her knees and
her thin underpants were all that separated her bottom from the marshal’s
view. They were very expensive, very transparent underpinnings ordered from
France. Oh how she wished she was wearing some rough homespun version right
now. Her French panties were open at the bottom, allegedly to allow more
healthy air flow.
The marshal’s hand was
stroking the thin fabric that barely covered her, inching slowly closer to the
center. Madison clenched in worried anticipation as he found the slit.
“Ah, ah, ah.” He
admonished. “You have to hold very very still.” His voice was rougher; his breathing
had grown more rapid and much shallower. “Now, you’ve not been behaving very
ladylike
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