Apr 2, 2012 by Devlin O' Neill
In between expertly perusing rubber trees in faraway jungles and eating all the fish in Thailand, Pygmalion, Esq. finds the time to write quite a lot of spanking adventures. That is to say, he writes adventure stories that have the added advantage of spankings contained therein.
Here is a clip from one his more recent, as contained in a volume of other short stories set in times past, where in addition to a lot of bucklers being swashed there were quite few bare bums rosened. So read and enjoy, and do take note of the ordering information at the end of the passage.
That is all.
Devlin out.
Frontier Library, Fine Librarian
by Pygmalion, Esq.
[Excerpt]
When the new librarian of a railroad town takes an unpopular stand for justice, a handsome sheriff and a shady cowboy are her only defenders. The two men decide to take it in turns to protect her, and today the cowboy brought her with him to the railroad camp…
Sandy watched the laborers pound stakes into the rail bed. She was already sweating, but the muscles on the men just seemed to glow in the heat. “Do they need water?” she said, to herself, and looked around for a cistern. Come to think of it, she thought, I need water. She spotted a bucket and walked over, splashing her face and then sipping.
“Can I have a cup?”
“Oh!” she exclaimed, then turned to see Jeffrey behind her. So close to her. She fumbled with the cup on a chain, and dipped it into the bucket. He took it, his hand lingering, then he tipped the cup back and drank. “Should…should they have some water?” she asked, indicating the laborers.
“A fellow goes by every hour on the hour with a water-skin. They’re fine. Now!” He threw the cup against the cistern, then clapped his hands, making her start in surprise. “I’ve got a present for you.”
“Oh?”
She watched with interest while the man took a case out of his satchel, then she took it from him when he offered. “Open it,” he urged.
She opened it. “Oh.”
“It’s a pistol.”
“What am I to do with this?”
“Defend yourself!”
Sandy grimaced, skeptical. “I don’t know how to use it.”
“Ah, I thought you’d never ask.”
“Ask what?”
“I’ll teach you, of course,” said the cowboy, taking the case back. “Miss Librarian.”
She blushed, and he apparently took that for a yes, because before she knew it she was sitting in front of him on his horse and they were riding along the tracks. “Where are we going?”
“There’s a quiet spot down the way a bit.”
“Quiet spot?”
“We wouldn’t want to startle anybody,” he said, then laughed when she looked over her shoulder at him. “With the gunshots, Miss Librarian.”
“Stop calling me that,” she said, pouting, but he ignored her. She felt his chest on her back, and his breath on her neck, and she tried to ignore both. As a Modern Woman, she couldn’t get hot and bothered. Even if it was desert hot, and dessert bothered. The railroad had been cut to grade through a wind-eroded cliff formation, and Jeffrey brought the horse off the line of the tracks and into a little canyon.
“This should do,” he said, as he helped her dismount. There were discarded whiskey bottles scattered around the canyon, the detritus of clandestine breaks or after-work inebriation, and the cowboy picked up a few and set them up on the far side of the canyon, counting out twenty steps back to her. “Ready?”
“For what?”
He gave her another look. “You’re going to shoot the bottles.” He took the pistol out of the box. “It’s a small caliber, and you have four shots. I expect you to hit with at least two.”
“Or else what?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Well, I don’t know. I suppose I could spank you, Miss Librarian.” He winked, to show he was joking. Probably.
“I’d like to see you try,” stammered Sandy. “I’ll have you know, I’m a Modern Woman.”
“Well,” sniffed Jeffrey. “Then you should be able to fire a gun.” He winked again: “Or take your licks.”
“Keep your licks to yourself, mister,” she muttered, holding the gun in an unsteady hand.
“Careful. Don’t close one eye, now.”
“I wasn’t,” said Sandy, quickly opening her eye. She held the pistol in both hands, aimed along the barrel, aligning the sights, and squeezed the trigger, slowly. The shot rocked her arms back, and the echo deafened her. “Did I hit it?”
“You hit something,” said Jeffrey, and Sandy opened her eyes (she hadn’t realized she’d closed them) and saw the bottles unharmed. “Good start, though.”
“I’ll show you a good start,” grumbled Sandy, setting up again. She spread her legs and held the gun straight out in front of her, aiming.
“I like how you stick your tongue out the side of your mouth, when you concentrate.”
“Shut up,” said Sandy, turning to look at him. And then the gun went off.
“F—!” shouted Jeffrey, diving to one side.
Sandy dropped the gun, and it went off again and she screamed as the bullet ricocheted off the canyon wall. “Oh!” she said, over the echo. Jeffrey was on the ground, his hands over his head. “Are you hurt?”
There was a long pause, and then Sandy realized that what she’d thought had been echoes was really the cowboy’s growling. “Oh, I’m not hurt, Miss Librarian. But—”
“Oh, that’s nice,” said Sandy, stooping down to pick up the pistol.
“Leave that alone!” said Jeffrey, making Sandy start.
“I’m sorry!” said Sandy, shaken.
“Sorry’s not enough. I think I’ll give you that spanking after all.”
“But—!”
“That’s a miss if I ever saw one,” said the cowboy, and Sandy watched him unloop his wide leather belt. “And I hope I never see a miss like that again. But you, Miss, I’ll see to proper.”
“Oh,” moaned Sandy, as Jeffrey took her by the arm and led her to the canyon wall. “Please don’t—”
“Put your arms up—high up!—on that rock. Palms down, Miss Librarian. And don’t move, or I’ll miss.”
She stretched as high up the wall as she could with her arms, then realized that the cowboy was pulling her dresses up. “Oh no! Please!”
“It’s not good over all these skirts, Miss Librarian. Stay still.”
A shiver ran through her body as the leather of the belt ran over the thin silk cami-knickers he’d left her. He put a hand on her hip to adjust her position. “Ooh.”
“Quiet,” said Jeffrey, and then the belt descended with a Slap! and a sudden sting of pain. She cried out, and wriggled, but the cowboy roughly dragged her back into position and brought the belt full across her backside again. Her hand came off the cliff, and she felt his hand grab her by the wrist and slap her palm back against the wall, then the belt slapped into her once, twice, thrice! Her bottom throbbed.
“Please, no more,” she sobbed, although a small part of her wanted it to go on forever.
“Last one, Miss Librarian,” said the cowboy, and the looped belt slapped into her bottom after a full arc. She screamed, and, she thought, the echo must be louder than the gunshot! She heard him looping his belt back into his jeans, but she didn’t dare turn to look. Then she felt him regarding her. “You are a pretty thing,” he mused.
“Mr. Vaccaunoy!”
“Quiet. I’m deciding what to do next.”
“What…what do you want to do?”
“What I want and what I ought are two different things, Miss Lib—I mean, Sandy.”
“Perhaps you should…,” started Sandy, feeling the warmth start to leave her bottom. “Perhaps you ought to…do…what you want.”
Sandy felt the silk cami-knickers sliding down, and felt the desert breeze on her bare skin. She stood on tip-toes to raise her bottom up for him.
“Frontier Library, Fine Librarian” will soon be available as an individual story everywhere fine ebooks are sold, but for now you can get it as part of the collection Esquire’s Orders 2, available as a Kindle ebook at Amazon.com (http://www.amazon.com/Esquires-Orders-2-ebook/dp/B007LCPM58) and Amazon UK (http://www.amazon.co.uk/Esquires-Orders-2-ebook/dp/B007LCPM58), or, if you’ve been especially good, you can ask Dev and he may let you have one of the review copies.
Thanks for reading!
Pygmalion, Esq.
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Recently I have been accused of, er, complimented on a forgiving nature and a warm heart.
Moreover, if that deeply felt contrition is mirrored in a well marked bottom, I also am apt to take further forgiveness related measures, such as cuddling, petting, and perhaps even the application of emollient to the affected area. In short, after care.
This often is especially important when implements are involved.
Someone asked me though, while I was in the midst of writing this post, ‘what about her sore spirit?’ 
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