Dudley Do-Right Gets Dirty
Hot, Humorous Erotica by Ilsa Laslow
The hard-working sheriff of Red Neck County shuffled through his front door and collapsed into a recliner. Spotting his wife fiddling with the TV remote, he asked, "Did you remember to pick up my white suit at the cleaners?"
His wife shrugged. "I must have forgotten, Dud. I'll have to do it tomorrow."
Dud groaned. He was dressed absurdly for a sheriff, in brown sweats and a cartoonish, "Dudley Do-Right" tee shirt, saved from his fifteen minutes of fame.
Mrs. Do-Right, Sweet Gwendolyn by name, smirked. Maybe this time he'd be annoyed enough to...
Dud interrupted her musing with a soft kiss to her cheek. "Never mind, darling, it will wait another day." He left the room to duck into a before-dinner shower, and Sweet Gwendolyn sighed. If only she could get him a little riled at her, all her planning and effort wouldn't be necessary.
"I married a Dud, all right," she muttered to herself as she set the table all wrong. She placed the silverware exactly where Emily Post said it wasn't supposed to go. Then she sat silently through dinner, nodding her head in a bored fashion while Dud regaled her with stories of his ploddingly dull day. All right, he gave out four speeding tickets and busted some college kid for swilling Southern Comfort out of a paper bag. What a hero!
Once, long ago, he'd rescued her from certain death, untying her from the railroad tracks just before the train roared through. He'd run off Snidely Whiplash and threatened to see him hung if he ever returned to their little town.
But Snidely returned, and Dudley let him stay. Years passed, and the only things Dud found on the railroad tracks nowadays were discarded beer cans. Somehow, fining the miscreants for littering no longer made him a dashing hero in Sweet Gwendolyn's eyes, even if he did look resplendent in his white sheriff's uniform. When it was back from the cleaners, that is.
Suddenly the Do-Rights heard a series of loud raps on their front door, and Sweet Gwendolyn tensed. Dud rose to his feet, belched in a most unheroic way, and said, "Don't get up, dear. I will answer the door."
He strode purposefully to the door and asked, "Who's there?"
A wavery voice, like that of a frail, old woman, replied. "My car's got a flat, Sheriff, and my cell phone's busted. May I please use your phone?"
"Certainly, my good woman," Dud said as he opened the door.
He staggered back with a gasp as the evil visage of Snidely Whiplash greeted him. Dud made an ill-advised reach for his holster, considering that Snidely's revolver was facing him at point-blank range. But Dudley's own holster was empty. Where was his gun?
Sweet Gwendolyn rose to her feet slowly and stood as if rooted to the floor. She watched as Snidely backed her husband through the living room and up against the couch.
"Sit down, Sheriff," Snidely rasped. He twirled the gun and then leveled it right at Dud's forehead.
Dud sat down, but blustered, "Look here, Whiplash, you've gone too far this time. What dastardly deed are you up to tonight?"
"Just a bit of amusement, Sheriff, nothing more." Snidely twisted his over-waxed mustache to a needle-sharp point and laughed his maniacal laugh. Then he leaned forward, his gleaming eyes boring into Dud's.
"Sheriff, I'm here to watch you spank your wife."
Gwendolyn blushed. Her mouth dropped open, and her pupils dilated.
"What? Snidely, I always knew you were insane. I will never lift a hand to my Sweet Gwendolyn!"
Gwendolyn rolled her eyes, but kept silent. Snidely sneered.
"Perhaps we'll all take a little stroll down to the railroad tracks then, eh? I've brought a bit of rope." As if on cue, a railroad whistle sounded in the distance.
Gwendolyn wrung her hands and faced her husband, her eyes wide.
"Do as he says, Dud. Can't you see it's the only way to save me?"
"She's right...what did she call you? Dud?" Snidely guffawed and twirled his gun again. "Over his knee now, Mrs. Do-Right!"
Sweet Gwendolyn didn't have to be told twice. She scooted to her husband's side and bent over his lap. By an odd coincidence, she was wearing a short, pleated skirt, black thigh highs, and scanty panties. Dud tried to protect her modesty, but Snidely jabbed the gun into his ribs.
"Skirt up, panties down, or I'll tie her to the tracks in time for the 8:40 to Dallas!"
Gwendolyn held very still. She didn't seem frightened at all as her sheriff husband reluctantly flipped up her skirt and took down her panties.
"Snidely, you bastard, you'll never get away with this," Dud growled. But his right hand, as if of its own volition, was caressing his wife's soft bottom. Sweet Gwendolyn squirmed.
"Now get on with it, will you?" Snidely ordered. "I've got a 7-11 to knock over in an hour!"
"Sweet Gwendolyn, forgive me, darling," Do-Right moaned. "I am only doing this to save your life. I hope you can someday forgive me." His hand rose and fell with a meaty smack, leaving a pink imprint on Gwen's snowy buttocks.
"That's the idea," Snidely prompted. Dudley slapped Gwendolyn's bottom again, eliciting a low moan. Snidely goaded him on, giving him a prod with the revolver from time to time, and Dudley spanked harder and harder. Gwendolyn kicked her slim legs and yelped and yowled, giving both men an enticing view as her rosy bottom wriggled. Dud couldn't help himself -- he was starting to like it!
Snidely paused his taunting long enough to consult his gold pocket watch. "Well, folks, it's been real. But it's time for my next villainous deed! A pleasant evening to you both." He waved the gun menacingly once more, tipped his hat, and slithered out the door before Dudley could react.
Sweet Gwendolyn slid to the floor and knelt there, her blond curls askew, while Dudley locked and triple locked the front door. Then he returned to her, lifting her up and tilting her face to his, expecting to kiss away her tears. To his surprise, her cheeks were flushed and she was smiling a wicked smile.
"Are you all right, my poor darling?" Dud asked. Gwendolyn began to laugh.
"All right? Of course I'm all right. I've burned your dinners, left your suit at the cleaner's, done just about anything I could think of to get you mad enough to do that, but nothing worked. Why, if you were the old Dudley Do-Right, Snidely says..."
"What?" the sheriff barked, grabbing his wife by the shoulders. "You mean to say you and that villain cooked this up together??"
She was over his lap again, before she could say, "Dudley Do-Right!"
Originally published August 2009
