by Leland Mays
Lady Caroline Southcott's eyes blazed with fury. Still breathing hard, she drew back and slapped the hell out of me. Who would have guessed that a well-bred dame in her mid-forties could pack such a punch? But she did. My cheek stung like fire.
"Ooh, you monster!" she hissed. "Hound! I'll see you in jail for this!" She paused to catch her breath, and then went on, "You may treat those poor women back on your godforsaken prairie this way, sir, but not here! Here in England a woman is shown respect and dignity!"
Now, I will admit that I had rubbed a little of the lady's dignity off. Her blonde curls, normally perfectly coiffed, were frazzled and mussed. Her stylish belted silk dress was scrunched up almost to her waist. And those white French knickers, or panties as we say back in Wyoming, were down around her ankles.
The lady realized this, and quickly reached down and pulled them up to where they belonged. Once her undies were in place, she slapped me again for watching. Her voice as cold as an English parlor, she said, "I'm telling Lord Charles what you did. Then the police will deal with you, sir! Assaulting a woman! Oh, you'll pay dear!'
"Strictly speaking, Ma'am," I replied, "I only assaulted your fat behind. And if you don't mind my sayin' so, you had it comin'."
That got me another slap in the face. "I wish you'd quit that," I said tersely.
The lady and I were standing on a walking path in the back of the formal gardens at Loxton Manor, the country retreat of Lady Caroline and Lord Charles Southcott. I was a guest here. But until I bent the lady over my lap and gave her a good spanking, she had not treated me as a guest.
The way I see it, she earned that spanking. Earned it by looking down her nose at me from the moment I arrived. Calling me a ruffian; poking fun at my Wyoming accent in front of her husband and his friends.
So when by chance I had met Lady Southcott at the back of the gardens, we had a showdown of sorts. She had launched into another tirade, letting me know in no uncertain terms that I was both uncouth and unwelcome. This in spite of the fact that Lord Charles had invited me to come visit the Sceptred Isle where he would show me around.
Charles Southcott, you see, was an avid photographer. He had recently travelled to Wyoming to photograph the daily life of cowboys on the Box A, my ranch along the Niobrara River. We hit it off immediately. Royal blood ran in his veins; my own blood was a blend of Crow Indian mixed in with the white. But the bond of friendship was forged, one thing led to another, and here I was, his guest in Britain.
Lady Southcott did not warm to her husband's cowboy visitor. You're not fit to associate with a gentleman like my Charles, she declared angrily. The sooner you leave the better.
Call me old-fashioned, but I've never had any patience with bad manners. And yes, I do have a bit of a temper. I admit it. If she had been a guy, I might have punched her in the nose. But you can't do that to a lady. With them, there's a different solution.
So I had sorta lost my temper, and grabbed Lady Southcott by the collar. Her eyes got as big as saucers when I sat down on the bench next to some rhododendron, laid her across my lap, and pushed her dress up past her hips. At the same time, I used my right hand to pull down her fancy silk knickers.
Stunned by it all, Lady Southcott finally found her voice. "Oh my word!" she screeched. "What the bloody hell are you doing? Let me up at once, you fool!"
I paused for a second to admire her great round derriere, which had a pucker or two but was, all in all, a fine womanly ass, or arse as they say over here. But I'm a man who gets down to business. I raised my hand and came down hard on Lady Southcott's butt cheeks, pleased with the resounding smack! sound when my palm struck her behind.
She gasped in surprise, and then cried, "Ooh! Dear God help! I'm being raped!"
I was holding the lady with my left arm, and leaned down to say, "Now, hush up, woman. I'm just givin' you a good paddlin', that's all. One that you've been needin'. So hold still and take your medicine."
For the next moment or so, I gave that lady's naked butt a good working over, soon pleased to see rich color appear where I was smacking her soft cream-colored flesh. Lady Caroline may have been a blueblood, but what gathered in her butt cheeks was a pleasing rose pink hue.
Oh, she struggled and squirmed like a young steer at branding time, but I'm lean and muscular, more than a match for the dame. She got an old-fashioned spanking, and I suppose I should have released her before I did. But I did enjoy it, I won't deny that. There's something satisfying about paddling a woman's behind when she's been irritating the hell out of you. Ask any fellow who's done it. He'll agree.
Of course the lady was madder than a wet hen when I finally did let her up. After she had slapped me a couple of times, she said menacingly, "You stay right here in the garden, you bastard. I'm telling Charles, and then calling Constable Willis. You'll spend the night in jail, you son of a bitch!"
She marched off in high dudgeon as I sat back down, lit a Marlboro, and watched what passes for a sunset in this hazy soggy part of the world. Wonder if they serve fish sticks and Tater Tots in the jails here, I thought, like they do back in Wyoming. I knew this from experience, living near a town where Saturday night barroom brawls are a weekly event.
Finally giving up on the police, I walked back to the main house, where I was greeted heartily by Lord Charles, his son Duncan, and Duncan's wife Anne. They needed a fourth hand for bridge, saying that Lady Southcott was not feeling well and had retired for the night. We passed a quiet evening.
The next morning when I saw my hostess, she gave me a chilling glower. If looks could kill, they would have carried poor ole Wyatt Hegel out of Loxton Manor feet first. Her glances were as cold as the Niobrara River in January, but Lady Southcott made no more disparaging remarks about me, about Wyoming, or even my cowboy boots. As the hours passed, I began to imagine that I could see a certain guarded respect in her eyes whenever she looked my way.
Two nights later, Lord Charles and I repaired to a local pub, the Cat and Fiddle, to down a few pints. I was finishing my second glass of Theakston's Old Peculiar when his lordship began to wax philosophical.
"Wyatt, old man, I wonder if your history of getting divorced every five or ten years is not the best plan for a fellow."
"Now why do say that?"
"It's Lady Southcott, God bless her. I love the dear, but she is just so high-strung. And what a tongue that woman has! These past two days, she's been so ill-tempered I can scarcely bear to be around her."
"Tell me," he went on, "are there women like that in Wyoming? And what do you do with them?"
"Well, Charlie," I replied, "with a gal like that, first thing you do is kiss her on the cheek and tell her how much you love her."
"I've tried that. It doesn't help."
"Oh, but then you lay her across your lap and spank the livin' tar out of her."
"I beg your pardon!"
"Then you let her up and tell her again how much you love her. Works like a charm."
"Hmm," Charles murmured. "You Yanks do take a direct approach."
"Yep. That's what I had to do to Lady Caroline to settle her down."
There was a long pause as Lord Southcott looked at me in blank astonishment. "You ... you spanked my wife! Where?"
"On her fine bottom, where else?"
"No, I mean, where did it happen?"
"It was at the far end of your garden, two days ago. Didn't she tell you?"
"No, it must have slipped her mind." The gentleman paused and gave me a hard look. "Ods bodkins, old boy, you accept a man's hospitality, break bread with him, then go and spank his wife! Seems rather ... well, presumptuous, wouldn't you say?"
I started to reply, but Lord Charles went on, "Come to think of it, though, the old girl was rather harsh in voicing her opinion of you the first few days. But since then, she's been entirely quiet on the subject."
"Yep. Now I ain't sayin' me and Lady Caroline are close chums now, but after that spankin', she has been real polite. It's an improvement, at least."
"Quite so. Well, bloody hell!" Gesturing to the bartender, Lord Charles said, "Publican, fetch my audacious friend here another pint, and be quick about it!"
The next night, Lord Charles and I were sipping brandy in his library, debating the merits of English and Western saddles. Lady Caroline appeared at the door, elegantly dressed as usual in her Harrod's cashmere sweater and A-line skirt.
I must say that woman was a treat to look at, with her shapely figure, soft rosy cheeks, and big brown calf eyes. She smelled good too; even across the room. But she was still as prickly as a cactus, that one.
"Charles," she said haughtily, "I've decided that tomorrow you and I shall visit my mother and Aunt Helen in Bognor Regis. Your ... friend shall remain here."
"As you wish, my love," Charles said meekly. Then the damnedest thing happened. A strange gleam came to his eyes. He rose up and quickly walked to the door and closed it. Then he turned to Lady Caroline, took her by the shoulders, and gave her a warm kiss on the cheek.
"Charles, for heaven's sake, mind your manners!" the lady said.
That odd gleam persisted in Charles' eyes. "My dear," he said, "you know that as far as I'm concerned, you are the bee's knees. I do love you with all my heart."
"What are you up to?" Lady Caroline said in an even voice.
Ignoring her question, Charles said, "I must say, however, that living with you can be trying, to say the least. You've vexed me on many occasions. That time you pushed my father off the quay at Shoreham-by-Sea comes to mind."
"What is this?"
"My dear, I aim to adjust our relationship, so to speak. What I intend to do is ... how did you phrase it, Wyatt old chap?"
Then it came to me. "Lady Caroline, he means to spank the livin' tar out of you."
The woman blanched, her mouth a perfect O. Then she growled, "You wouldn't dare!"
"Oh, quite the contrary," said Lord Charles. "I'm inspired by my friend here. His spanking seems to have greatly improved your manners toward him."
"He told you about that!" the lady cried. "Oh, you two are like gossiping old women."
"That reminds me, Lady Caroline," I interjected. "How come you didn't have the cops haul me off to jail the way you threatened?"
"I wanted to, but then how could I?" she said bitterly. "A lady of my status, spanked like a common barmaid by a ruffian cowboy! I would have been the laughing stock of West Sussex!"
"Be that as it may," Lord Charles said, "you'll be getting another spanking tonight, love, at my hands." Turning to me, he said, "I may need your help, Wyatt. She's stronger than she looks."
"Charlie," I said, "I'll be glad to hold her down. My pleasure."
The woman sized up the situation, looking at her husband, to me, and back to Lord Charles. Then came the most amazing episode in all my stay in England. Even now I just shake my head in wonder at how you never know the way some folks will act. A look of acceptance, perhaps even a touch of excitement, came to her face.
Lady Caroline Southcott calmly pulled up her skirt and slip, reached for the top of her knickers, and drew them down, then stepped out of them. She then raised her clothes back up almost to her hips.
"You don't have to resort to violence," she said quietly. "Sit down, Charles."
An astonished look on his face, Lord Charles sat down on a divan. His wife came to him and laid herself across his lap, drawing up her skirt and slip as she did so. Her smooth round buttocks literally glowed in the soft light from the room's small chandelier.
Lord Charles and I gaped at each other in stunned silence. After a few seconds Lady Caroline looked up at him and said expectantly, "Well?"
Still flummoxed by what his wife had done, the man grasped her by the shoulder and gave her a smack on her butt cheeks, which brought a faint "Oh!" from Lady Caroline.
Turning to me, he asked, "How was that?"
"Charlie, I reckon the lady needs a tad more. Try putting a little oomph into your backswing."
"Right you are," he said. His next smack left a bright pink outline of his hand on the lady's buttocks. It elicited a much louder "Aah!" from her.
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