Let’s face it, hardly a western was made prior to the 1960’s and the women’s movement without seeing some sassy woman being upended over a cowboys knee and finding her petticoats over her head for a good old-fashioned spanking. This included TV as well as the movies. A partial list includes:
Tugboat Annie Sails Again (1940) with Jane Wyman
True Grit (1969) Yes, the Duke was a spanker!
The Cowcatchers Daughter (1931) Yikes! With a strap
A more detailed list can be viewed @ http://chross.blogt.ch/moviedb/index.php?s=western
So, the question is was this Hollywood dramatic license to titillate and sell movie tickets, or was it in fact a way of life in the Old West? We may never know for sure, but either way there is something a bit wicked and exciting to be said about a strong, rugged man taking his woman in hand and applying a few licks to her fanny, either over the skirts or on the bare—even if it is fantasy or role play.
Remember, much of the Old West ways that we love so dearly, such as the shootout at the OK corral, life in Deadwood and the exploits of Billy the Kidd, Jesse James and Wyatt Earp, happened during the Victorian Era where it was common place for men to be the head of the household and disciplinarians for the family. In fact, the “rule of thumb” comes from actual laws on the books that made it legal for a man to take a stick to his wife, as long it wasn’t wider than the width of his thumb. Thank goodness, these archaic laws have long since been removed and domestic assault made illegal. However, in an adult consensual relationship or a fictional, western drama… a good spanking may not be too beyond the pale, so to speak.
Just some food for thought as you take a look at my first western/time travel fantasy, imagine being a modern woman waking up in 1878 Wyoming and falling in love with a hard handed Marshal.
Blurb for Marshal’s Law:
When Janelle Prescott is thrown from her car as it careens off of an
icy road, she expects to wake up in a hospital. Instead, to her utter
disbelief, she wakes up in a jail cell which looks like something from
an old western movie set. It is there, hurt and alone, with no idea
what happened or how she will get back home, that Janelle first meets
Aaron Jackson. As she regains her wits, however, Janelle realizes that
something is terribly amiss, and her worst fears are confirmed when
she learns that Aaron is the marshal of Cheyenne County, Wyoming… and
the year is 1878.
When an injured, apparently addle-headed woman falls into his lap,
Aaron takes it upon himself to keep her safe and nurse her back to
health. Truth be told, he is instantly attracted to her despite her
sharp tongue and her bizarre story—a story which he is quickly forced
by the evidence to accept as genuine. After Aaron takes her under his
wing and into his family’s home, the two clash frequently, but Aaron
is more than ready to lay down the law… even if that means a good,
hard, bare-bottom spanking for this feisty brat from another era.
Having little choice, Janelle must learn how to live as a woman in
1878, including submitting to the firm-handed marshal who, in spite of
everything, seems to have laid claim to her heart.
Heavy steps thudded against the wooden floor as they moved. A slamming door and a waft of warm air hitting her face told her he’d carried her outside. Flinching against the bright sunshine, Janelle put a hand up to shield her eyes, squinting as she tried to open them and focus on the man who carried her. All she saw was a broad chest covered with a rough, textured leather vest with a gold star pinned to it that read “Marshal”. Raising her eyes, she couldn’t make out his face, shaded as it was by a wide-brimmed hat.
“I know. Doc’s office is just right up the street.” She felt his eyes on her face and grimaced. She knew she must be a mess, and she could smell the mixture of blood, sweat, and vomit that clung to her. In too much pain to care, she lay limply in his arms. “I can’t believe he put you in that filthy cell as sick as you are.”
She flinched as his voice boomed above her.
Why was he yelling in her ear?
“Doc, hold up. I’ve got a young gal who needs seeing to.”
“I was just about to head on home, Marshal. You almost missed me. Bring her right in and set her on the examination table.”
“No, I’m fine.” Her feeble attempt at a protest came out in a whispered, husky voice. “Please, I just need to lie still for a bit. Then I can call my parents to pick me up.”
Janelle’s protests were ignored, however, as she was jostled and placed on a hard surface. The room had a strong pungent odor, like nail polish remover. Not the strong, sterile, antiseptic smell of a usual doctor’s office. Looking around, she was shocked at her surroundings. Rough wood plank cabinets and floors, an old, wooden cane-backed wheelchair, and was that a hand pump at the sink? It looked like something she had seen in an Old West museum in an amusement park once. She tried to sit up, wondering what in the world was going on.
“Lay back now, miss. You’ve got a nasty cut on your forehead” the doctor stated the obvious before looking up at the marshal. “She’s going to need stitches, Aaron.”
“Technically, she’s my prisoner, so I’ll cover the expense.”
“That wasn’t my worry. This is likely to hurt, and I’m out of chloroform. I’ll have to use the ether.”
Ether? Chloroform? Dear God, had she heard him correctly? Was she dreaming, or trapped in some sort of old west delusion? It seemed very real to her, and she couldn’t just lie there meekly and do nothing.
“Are you freaking nuts? You can’t use ether! At the very least, you’ll blow us all to kingdom come with that shit. Not to mention, I’ll probably never wake up from it.” Her vision was finally starting to clear a bit, and she looked up into the face of a startled white-haired gentleman who she assumed was ‘Doc’. “Don’t you have some butterfly bandages or steri-strips? Just clean it up with some Betadine. Who the hell uses ether for a gash on the head, for crying out loud?”
“Marshal, I barely understand a word coming out of this poor child’s mouth. Except for the cuss words, that is. She must have taken quite a blow; she’s addled.”
“I am not addled, sir. I am a registered nurse and know what I’m saying. Give me a mirror, and I’ll do it myself.”
“Give me a minute with her, will you, Doc?” The familiar deep voice captured Janelle’s attention, and she turned her head toward its source. Her jaw gaped in amazement, because looming over her, not an inch away, was the spitting image of Joe Manganiello, her favorite werewolf from her favorite show—True Blood. His dark hair and soulful brown eyes, along with the scruff of a dark beard, were the same as werewolf Joe’s from her sexy dreams. Only this man was taller, hotter, and a lot more muscular. He also appeared to be a heck of a lot angrier.
The doctor nodded, tucking a soft wad of linen into her hand. He quickly gave her instructions to hold pressure against the wound to slow the bleeding and then quietly left the room.
As soon as the door clicked shut, Joe’s lookalike walked closer to the table and stared down at her. “Let’s get some things straight, right now. You will do exactly what the doctor says; you will do it politely and will thank him when he is done. And if I hear another foul or disrespectful word out of your mouth, I will turn you over my knee and paddle your little butt until you can’t sit for a week. Is that understood?”
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