Birthday Bride

by Marie Pinkerton

  These rooms, as it was a suite. A really, really big suite.

  “Mark, this is bigger than my apartment. How much is this costing?” I looked at him with concern on my face. All of us girls had chipped in on the suite we stayed in, and even then, it was more than I liked to spend on a hotel room.

  “Abby, we just got married last night. Regardless of what tomorrow brings, we’re married today. Let’s have a honeymoon and enjoy ourselves. Each other.”

  I think I just fell in love a little bit with my husband. Who, yeah, I had just tried to leave, but I changed my mind again. I’m female, I’m allowed. I swallowed, and took a step closer to him. How do you ask the man you just married to kiss you again? Where do the hands go? We’re going to be intimate, probably pretty darn quickly, yet I was scared to reach out and touch him.

  Mark reached out and cupped my face in his hands. I just about melted into the touch. His hands were large, like I had thought, and rough and calloused. Not sharp callouses, like the ones you get on your feet that snag nylons, but manly, I-work-with-my-hands-and-I’m-not-afraid-of-it. And they were warm. By golly they were warm and tender. I couldn’t wait to have his hands touch my bare bottom and warm it up more. “You’re not just a virgin, are you?” I looked at him in confusion. “You’re innocent. You haven’t done any of this before, have you.” It wasn’t a question, but more of a comment.

  I wanted to look away, anywhere but at his deep blue eyes. “You’ve done it before. Touched a woman, had sex with her. Why would you want me? Wouldn’t you prefer someone who has experience?”

  “I’ve done things in the military, things that you do in the moment during war. I wouldn’t want my new bride to have done those things, either. And yeah, I’ve had sex. But I don’t plan on having sex with you. I plan on making love to my wife. Do you understand the difference?”

  I blinked rapidly to prevent the tears from falling. I’ve been waiting my whole 28–wait 29–years to find someone that would say that to me. And the man that I just met, just accidentally married, was saying it! Why on earth should I look into how to annul our mistaken marriage? I nodded, not being able to say anything.

  “Do you want to go freshen up?” He suggested gently. I nodded again, and high-tailed it past the half bath (in a hotel room?) through the combination kitchen and dining room, past the living room, and into the massive bedroom. I stood for a second looking before finding the bathroom through the closet. I closed the door firmly behind me, and with a second’s thought, locked it.

  I stared at myself in the mirror. My cheeks (face, not rear) were flushed. Embarrassed, or adrenaline? Maybe both.

  Can I do this? Did I really want to do this? Mark–my husband–had just given me a real spanking. In an elevator. I made sure the bathroom door was locked, and lowered my jeans, checking my reflection in the mirror. Slightly pink, but no real evidence of the whacks I had just received. I wasn’t even sure if I wanted there to be evidence.

  I leaned on the vanity, sticking my bare bottom out, looking in the sets of facing mirrors. This is what my husband sees. This is what “does it” for him. I didn’t see the draw, but was that more because it was my own butt? I had no desire to spank him, or anyone else. It’s not that it was a turn-off for me, just not something that interested me. But lying over his knee? Oh yeah! Just the thought of being over those muscular thighs, jeans and panties around my knees, one strong hand holding me in place, the other calloused hand palming a butt-cheek, that turned me on.

  So yeah, I wanted this. I wanted a real spanking. Not a quickie in the elevator, although that worked. Not an in-public birthday spanking. A real, bare bottom, over the knee spanking. Followed by sex. No, not just sex–love-making with my husband.

  Smile firmly pasted on my face, I strode out of the bathroom. I spotted the open curtains in the bedroom, and headed over to pull them closed.

  “What are you doing?” Mark asked, curiosity tinged with amusement in his voice.

  “What does it look like I’m doing? Closing the curtains so no one sees my spanking.”

  He openly laughed. “Abby, no one can look in.”

  “I can see the tower from here. If someone looks our way, they could theoretically see in.”

  “I can spank you in front of the window and no one would be the wiser.”

  I blushed, instantly hot. “You wouldn’t dare,” I threatened, hoping he’d take me up on it. He lifted an eyebrow, and I tilted my chin defiantly. What was I doing? I was purposely antagonizing my husband. I think he could tell I was kind of joking, but I wasn’t sure. That he could tell, or that I was joking, I mean.

  Mark quickly moved the ottoman into position closer to the window, and rested his hands on the button at my waistband. He looked up at me, his eyes questioning. I nodded wordlessly, any attempt at speaking frozen in my throat. I can do this. I let him unfasten and lower my jeans, shimmying my hips to let him easier get them past them. In my dreams I was thin; in reality, I carried around extra pounds. I was more embarrassed to have him look at my naked butt than to have him spank it. I chuckled, thinking this was a good test of whether he wanted to stay married to me or not.

  CHAPTER 3

  He had my jeans and panties around my ankles and me over his knees before the chuckle finished. He placed his large rough hand on my bottom, and I did a ragged intake of breath. It was really going to happen. Not a fun birthday spanking, but a real, honest to God, bare skin spanking. Mark seemed to notice my hesitation, and just sat still, his hand rubbing circles on my skin.

  Did I really want this? I felt like I was standing on a precipice, about to jump. There would be no going back. Yes, I could tell Mark to stop, and get a quickie divorce to match the quickie wedding. No doubts filled my mind on that–I trusted him to stop.

  The air conditioner turned on, and blew freezing cold air right on my ass. That broke the tension–I squirmed, and asked Mark to turn it off.

  “Trust me, cold is not going to be a problem.”

  With no further delay, Mark started in with a good sized whack on the nearest cheek. I yelped and jumped. He steadied his hand. “You okay?”

  Instead of nodding like a bobble-head doll again, I lifted my butt up, awaiting the next flash of fire. He took the hint, and swatted the far cheek.

  After the first few searing spanks, he lightened the blows for several, then a few harder spanks. He was right in that the air conditioning wouldn’t matter to me anymore–all that mattered was the heat building on my rear and between my legs. My wiggling had caused my shirt to ride up around my throat. Auto-asphyxiation wasn’t on my list of kinks. Not that I had a full list, but spanking was the only thing on it. “Stop,” I choked out, moving my arms to try to get the shirt off. Mark immediately stopped the spanking, and helped me remove the offending piece of clothing.

  He gave me a few seconds to catch my breath, and warned me that he was letting me catch my breath from being suffocated, not from being spanked. Unsaid was the implication that not only would he not give respite from a spanking, but I shouldn’t try choking myself on purpose. No worries on that front.

  Mark started back in while I was still ruminating, and my brain quickly went back into spanking mode. Oh. My. Goodness. Ouch, it hurt! Yet as Glennys had said, it was also quite erotic. I don’t know what it is about the spanking that’s such a turn-on. The butt being an erogenous zone, being naked (at this point, I had kicked my jeans and panties off), being on your spouse’s lap, feeling your spouse’s erection pressing into your side, or the nearness of his hand to my privates; they all come into play. I’m sure it’s not for everyone, but it was definitely working for me. Definitely.

  The spanks started to slow down in frequency, and I could feel the air blowing on my rear again. Mark was right, the cold wasn’t an issue–in fact, it felt quite nice. I opened my legs a little wider, and started twitching when the air blew across sensitive skin. Calloused fingers spread apart my folds, and I left out a shuddering gasp. Oh. My. Mark barely touche
d my clit, immediately sending me into the lovely spasms of an orgasm. He steadied his hand so as not to overwhelm me, and just let me ride it out.

  A few minutes later Mark picked me up and moved us over to the bed, him leaning against the pillows at the headrest, me in his lap. I relaxed into the cuddle, and was about to fall asleep before I realized he was still hard. This was so contrary to everything I’d heard about men–my friends had said that taking care of them happened after the guy had come. Mark was delaying his pleasure for me? I fell a bit more in love with my husband at that realization.

  I shifted to get more comfortable, and noticed I was sitting on a wet spot. I patted his shoulder with one hand to get him to release me, and moved off his lap.

  “Oh, God. I got you all wet.” I blushed, realizing that came out wrong. “I mean, I did that, didn’t I?”

  Mark wasn’t embarrassed, even though I was. “Yep.” In fact, he sounded awfully proud of himself. “You know, you can take my pants off.”

  I can do this. Brazened, I reached for the snap of his jeans, and undid it. His penis twitched under my hands. I sat back. “Maybe I’ll start with your shirt.”

  His chest rumbled under my hands, and I thwapped him. “Don’t laugh at me!” Apparently smiling while saying that made my comment not faze him. I pulled his undershirt out of his waistband, and lifted both it and his golf shirt up to his armpits, revealing a six inch scar on his chest. I outlined the injury gently with a fingertip. “Will you tell me about it, sometime?”

  He hesitated.

  “It’s part of you, and I want to know everything about you.”

  He nodded. Good enough.

  I took his shirts off, and returned back to his jeans. Taking a deep breath, and I undid the zipper. He lifted his hips, and I pulled the jeans down, leaving the boxers in place. I got the jeans off one leg, then the other, and sat back, examining my husband.

  A fine specimen, indeed. There was something about a man in–or out of–a uniform. The military regimen kept Mark in trim shape. He had broad shoulders, and now that there were no clothes in the way, I could see a narrow waist to match. The dark blond hair on his head and five o’clock shadow was also echoed in his wiry leg hair. I ran a finger through some of the curls, and he jumped. Ticklish? That could be fun.

  “Ahem. You missed a piece.” He thrust his hips up to draw my eyes towards his boxers. Not like I wasn’t already looking there. I was. I was just intimidated. I’d already admitted to being a virgin. Did I have to spell out for him that he was the first I’d be seeing in real life? I didn’t count Playgirls or movies.

  “I’m getting there,” I finally said, and grabbed one of his feet and gave it a tickle. Mark about jumped to the ceiling.

  “Hey! You just earned yourself another spanking!” His smile told me it was a fun spanking, not a punishment. If that’s the case…. I snagged his other ankle before he moved it away. “Don’t you dare,” he threatened. “I’ve got no qualms about making your other cheeks blush again.”

  I giggled, and climbed up him, settling my naked body down on top of his partially clad frame. Our lips joined, and we kissed. Mark groaned in pleasure as I ground my hips on top of his, giving his member the friction it desired. He cupped my buttocks, and the tender skin from the spanking made it my turn to groan. He slid a hand between us, and eased his dick out of the boxers and at my entrance. My clit was the next recipient of his touch, and I leaned into the sensation, lowering myself slowly onto his entirety.

  A few seconds later, Mark said, “Now is when you move, Abby.”

  “Oh! Sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you!” I started to lift off, but he grabbed my hips and slammed me back down. “Oh! Got it.” Apparently he didn’t need much stimulation after all of our previous activities, because it didn’t take long at all before it was his turn to come.

  I collapsed on top of him, enjoying his warmth and closeness, and I have to admit, a certain level of pride. I was a virgin, and an innocent virgin at that, but I could still make my husband satisfied.

  He was still in me, and I didn’t know what the next step should be. Does he just pull out? Do we go again? We never got under the covers–do we need to strip off the bedspread? My thoughts went to CSI, cheap motels, and ultraviolet lights. So that’s how it happened.

  “What now?” I asked softly near Mark’s ear, meaning my above thoughts. Which apparently he couldn’t read, as I got my answer.

  “My turn to be on top,” he said, quite pleased with himself, and flipped us over. He proceeded to take my body to pleasures never before known.

  *****

  I pawed through my overnight bag, searching in vain for a piece of clothing Glennys missed. “If she wasn’t dead before, she is now,” I fumed. “Look at this! She cut my clothes!”

  Mark smiled at me, clearly amused at the situation. I was not. “It’s just clothes, Abby. You probably have a closet full back at home.”

  I glared at him. “It’s the point, Mark.” I threw a slashed t-shirt at his face, and he smoothly caught it. “I have the jeans I wore yesterday, and the t-shirt I was sleeping in. I guess she missed cutting the jeans because they were hanging in the bathroom, drying out from the margarita she spilled on me. Oh, she probably did that on purpose, too. Why, that little–”

  Mark cut me off before I said something I would regret. When we parted from the kiss, I was calmer. I could handle this form of stress relief. “How did she even do it?” I wondered out loud, putting the sliced remains in the trash can.

  My husband produced a knife that I hadn’t seen on his belt. “She probably borrowed Carlos’ Ka-Bar. We all carry them.”

  “But why?”

  “Think of the military as grown-up Boy Scouts,” he offered. “Be prepared!”

  I pushed him onto the bed, and launched myself on top of him. “I meant ruining my wardrobe, but thanks for the lesson.” He grabbed me about the waist, and shifted so we were more comfortable.

  “Oh no, I shall have to take my wife shopping. Heaven forbid she buy something pretty, and not another pair of jeans and t-shirt,” Mark teased.

  “Hey! I dress up for work every day. So what if I want to be more comfortable on the weekends? And we were coming to Vegas for Jackie, not to meet guys. And besides, you liked me enough to marry me.” I challenged him in my voice and in a glare.

  He rolled us over, and forced my legs apart with his, settling himself down strategically. “It wasn’t your skirt Friday night that I liked–work clothes, I take it? I liked the glimpse of the bare cheek.” He smiled to offset his cheeky statement.

  “Oh, you!” He eased his way into me. “Oh….” I lost the train of our conversation, and proceeded to join my husband in love making.

  After our second shower of the morning, we dressed, and gathered up our belongings and headed toward the suite door.

  “Can we also see if there’s a Victoria’s Secret in the canal shops?” I asked, referring to the shopping center that was part of the hotel. At his questioning look, I blushed. “She destroyed my underwear, too.”

  A gleam entered Mark eyes. “So what are you wearing?” His husky voice turned me on. I had always thought it would be creepy if someone asked me that–it wasn’t. At all! No wonder phone sex was so popular.

  I waggled my eyebrows. “Nothing, I’m going commando.” I squealed as he dropped our bags and reached for the button at my waistband to check. I backed up, hit the arm of the couch, and fell back onto the cushions. “We still have a few hours before checkout, right?”

  “Uh-huh,” he affirmed distractedly, tugging his jeans down before jumping me on the couch. Yeah, I was liking this married thing.

  I had surprised myself by getting a dress at one of the canal stores. It was a fun, flirty dress, not something I would wear to the office. Not something I would normally wear for a five hour drive either, but something to wear on a first date. Being our first “real” time together outside of the hotel room, our drive was our first date. I was looking forw
ard to learning about what my husband’s interests were–outside of the bedroom.

  Husband or not, I wasn’t letting Mark follow me around the lingerie shop. It’s not that I was embarrassed. I could just tell, without looking at him, or without being in the situation, that he would be visualizing me in and out every piece clothing in the store. That wouldn’t bode well for us actually checking out of the hotel. I had left Mark outside the store with our luggage while I bought my unmentionables, and quickly changed into the dress in the changing rooms there.

  I left the store to find Mark still on the bench outside where I left him. It always humored me that there were seats outside Victoria’s Secret. I guess I wasn’t the only one not wanting the significant other to tag along. I gave a little twirl to show off my new outfit, and gave Mark what I hoped was a sexy grin.

  “Ooh, twirl again. Faster.”

  I made a face at him, but obliged. My arms down at my side, however, so he didn’t get the flash he was hoping for, even from his seated position. He made a face back at me, but got up.

  “Come on, brat,” he said, giving me a swat on my butt before resting his hand on the small of my back as we walked back into the hotel proper. A nearby couple chuckled at my eep! of exclamation and I was mortified. And rather turned on.

  At checkout, the clerk handed us a manila envelope along with our receipt. “What’s this?” I asked, but answered my own question by seeing Glennys’ handwriting on the front.

  “Package left for you,” the clerk answered, redundantly at that point.

  I undid the seal, and pulled out the stack of papers a few inches, enough to see the title of the top page. “Application for dissolution of marriage”, it read. I jammed them back in, and grabbed the crook of Mark’s arm in a death grip. “Shall we go?” I asked him, but it wasn’t really a question.