by Lulu Astor
His wife.
And then she was there in front of him and he took her hand.
Toward the ceremony’s close, they each read a few lines of poetry to each other that help express their feelings. Ian recites his first, a poem by Henry Dumas, entitled Love Song.
After a moment of silence, Ella, not as publicly inclined as Ian, begins her recitation in a soft, halting voice. She recites 100 Love Sonnets XVII, by Pablo Neruda.
After the simple poetic lines, quiet descends for moments as they look into each other’s eyes. The moment feels profound to everyone there, as if a spiritual communion is taking place, sealing the vows they just spoke. After a few moments, the reverend takes their hands in his own, looking out at the crowd of onlookers, and says with a smile, “I now pronounce Ian and Ariel husband and wife. Ian, you may kiss your bride.”
Ella did opt to wear the small half-veil over her face so when the reverend pronounces them, Ian turns to her with a beaming smile and lifts the veil. She winks at him, knowing that only he could see it and they kiss lightly. The audience applauds with decorum as the bride and groom turn toward their guests, radiant with love or maybe just relief that it’s finally over, to walk back up the aisle, this time as a married couple. They stop at the end of the aisle, where they are joined by both sets of parents, forming a line to greet each guest personally as they exit the outdoor chapel. This part will take a while, since over four hundred people are in attendance.
Ian and Ella never did have any particular song they considered their own so they chose to play the standards at the wedding, music that would suit a wide range of ages. Later in the night there would be jazz and some alternative for the younger guests. Selected arrangements were from varied singers such as Sarah Vaughn, Frank Sinatra, Billie Holiday, and Nelson Riddle’s last ones, those he created for Linda Ronstadt. For the couple’s first dance together, the small orchestra plays I’ve Got a Crush on You, followed by Isn’t it Romantic, and Round Midnight. The female singer Faith hired is exceptional, belting out one song after the other, each one sounding better.
Ella looks up at her gorgeous husband. Her husband. It sounds strange to her ears. “It’s a very good thing you could dance otherwise we’d have had to take lessons for the wedding.”
As he spins her around the dance floor effortlessly, he grins. “My mother insisted we all learn at an early age so as not to embarrass her on the rare occasion it would be called into requirement. Today is the first time it came in handy.”
“Didn’t you go to your senior prom in high school?”
“Yes, but there was very little slow dancing. How are you feeling, Mrs. Blackmon?”
Smiling, Ella begins singing the lyrics. “I’ve Got a Crush on You, Sweetie Pie,” and Ian swoops down to kiss her.
“Now you can’t escape me ever, Ariel. You’re officially mine.”
“Wasn’t I always?”
“I don’t know. Were you?”
She bats her eyelashes. “I’m afraid so.”
“Didn’t you think to tell me?”
“Of course not. A girl never gives up her secrets, silly.”
“So I chased you to Britain for nothing because you were always going to come back to me?”
“Well, you might have expedited the timetable if you’d shown your ugly mug.”
“Hmmm. Well, I could kick myself now. All those months kickboxing out my frustrations. I could have been having my evil way with you.”
She looks up and smiles. “Yes. Silly you. But look at the bright side: all that kickboxing did marvelous things for your legs. And you got a much-needed lesson in self-control. Didn’t you?”
“I suppose so…” he leans in to whisper in her ear, “but now I have an irresistible urge to spank you for making me suffer for so long.”
“I suppose then it’s lucky for me that I’m wearing this long and hard to remove wedding gown.”
“Oh, ye of little faith. Is our song over yet?”
She laughs. “You still have to dance with your mother and mine and I have to dance with our fathers. Remember?”
“Fine. Immediately afterward, we rendezvous at twenty hundred hours, upstairs in my old bedroom. Got it?”
Her cheeks flushed pink, Ella peers up at him, trying to decide if he’s kidding. “Twenty hundred hours, upstairs, your old bedroom. Got it.”
The rendezvous is not to be, however, since they have hundreds of guests to see to. After the dances, Mariah grabs Ella to scold her.
“Why did you push me at Mason so soon? I mean, there is a virtual smörgåsbord of men here, Ella. A cornucopia. Quentin and Nathaniel, for example, are rather stunning specimens of the male human. And that Daniel Butler, ooh la la.”
Ella rolls her eyes. “Keep those little purple panties on, Mariah. First off, I told you that Daniel is oh so happily married, newly married at that. And—”
“Pish-posh, he might change his mind. Can’t a marriage contract have a period of rescission like other legal contracts? Anyway, Ian’s brothers aren’t married, are they?”
“No, but I don’t know them very well. For all I know, one or both might be gay. And what’s wrong with Mason, pray tell? He’s strong, handsome, buff…”
“True that. It’s just that I’m like a hungry girl at an all-you-can-eat buffet. Seems a shame to focus on just one dish, delicious though it may be, you know? That Quentin is smokin’, don’t you think?”
“He’s not bad looking,” Ella replies dryly.
“Ha, the queen of understatement. Hey, your dad is adorable by the way, Ella. And I promised him a dance so I’ll go make good on that. Ta-ta.” She sashays away in her short little dress, men’s eyes following her closely as she makes her way.
Gasping, Ella sees why, when Mariah gets ahead a few paces: the little slut is wearing a thong under that slinky dress so one can see every jiggle as she walks.
She feels hands from behind her, wrapping around her waist. “Do I have to guess who?”
“There’d better be only one guess or I’ll have to fight in my tuxedo. How are you doing, love? Feet hurt from dancing?”
“Not yet. These glass slippers are way comfortable. Hey,” she spins around, “I noticed that Jeff Benson, your dad’s partner, is here solo tonight. How did that happen?”
Ian’s eyes are twinkling. “I hear tell his lovely wife is feeling poorly today and couldn’t make the festivities. She sends her apologies.”
“Oh? And what, pray tell, is ailing her?”
Grinning wickedly, Ian shrugs. “Perchance, she had a visit from a rather large gentleman suggesting she send her regrets?”
“Aha. Of what large gentleman do we speak?”
“I believe his name is Justin Mason, if memory serves me correctly.”
“Oh, I’m going to have to give him a big, sloppy kiss for that kindness.”
“Better not make it too big or sloppy or I’ll have to take him on… and that I wouldn’t bet odds on in my favor.”
“Okay. A peck on the cheek it is.”
“Do you think we can get away soon? The plane is fueled, ready and waiting to whisk us to the Emerald Isle, and Scott’s spinning his wheels in the cockpit.”
“I think in another half hour we’ll be able to slip out.”
After saying goodbye to their parents and the wedding party, Ella throws her bouquet—it’s caught by one of Ian’s young cousins—and they wave goodbye to their guests and take off for the airport. They’re spending their honeymoon in Ireland with a foray into Scotland, since neither have ever been there, so they have a long flight ahead of them. Fortunately, there is a small, private bedroom on the Gulfstream where they could celebrate their nuptials in the way they know best.
Chapter 54
My feet are killing me. I feel as if I’ve been standing in these dainty yet torturous-as-medieval-contraption heels for a week straight. The thing is, whenever I get a glimpse of my bridegroom in his formal attire, I’m willing to have my feet pinched in these heels
for another week, just to see him in these clothes, in this milieu—out of the corporate rat maze and having fun.
Luckily we are now boarding the Gulfstream to begin our three-week honeymoon. Just the fact that we can take off for three weeks makes me elated. Another thing that makes me elated is that I can take off these shoes in just a few minutes.
Our wedding was storybook perfect, with nothing to mar it. We got lucky with the weather, getting a beautiful late spring day, with crisp, clean air coming off the sound. Our guests were spectacular and didn’t happen to include Ian’s ex-girlfriends or lovers (that I know of, anyway). I didn’t even have to withstand Diana Benson, treacherous cradle robber extraordinaire, since Mason saw to it that she wouldn’t attend. I gave him a big (and sloppy) kiss for that kindness and Ian didn’t even fight him over it.
“So, Ian, tell me something that I’ve always wondered about: why were you drawn to me in the first place? You know, at Archipelago?”
We’re sitting in the main cabin of the Gulfstream. When we boarded about twenty minutes ago, the crew, headed by Scott, were all at the door awaiting our arrival.
“Congratulations, Mr. Blackmon, and welcome aboard.”
“Thank you, Scott. I think I speak for both myself and my new wife when I say we’re relieved and happy to be on the jet and finished with all the festivities.” He looked at me and I nodded.
“Yes.”
“And congratulations to you too, Mrs. Blackmon. This is Edward Kessler, my co-pilot on this trip, and Nanette McDonald, your attendant. Please make yourselves comfortable; we’ll be taking off shortly.”
Ian glances at both Edward and Nanette and nods to each, and then guides me over to the deep leather chairs in the cabin. When Nanette comes over to serve us, I check her out. She is a pretty redhead, late twenties, I’d guess. She seems friendly enough, I suppose, but I get jealous whenever any female capable of ovulation gets within ten feet of Ian. I just can’t help myself. Not that he’s ever given me reason to be jealous. I just am.
Nanette has just served us a bottle of Perrier Jouet chilled to perfection, and a platter of chocolate-dipped strawberries with crème fraiche. Can life get any better?
“What about you?” Ian brings me back to my question. “Do you really need to ask me that question?”
I nod. “Yes. Let’s examine this scenario objectively: a very wealthy, very eligible young bachelor strolls into a small, pricey boutique one fine evening, needing a birthday gift for his cherished and delightful little sister.”
He snorts at my description of Zoe.
Ignoring his audible commentary, I continue. “A young, nondescript sales clerk waits on him and—”
“Are you really describing yourself as nondescript, Ella?”
“Well, I know I’m unique to people who know me, Ian, but back then you didn’t know me from a hole in the wall…” I gasp. “Is that expression dirty?”
Ian laughs heartily. “I don’t think so but it sure sounds like it right now.”
My face heats up so quickly. Of course it’s an expression that Mariah favors, enough said. I regroup, swallowing a sip of my champagne. “To you, I was a young salesgirl. Right? I mean, there was nothing dramatically eye-catching about me that night, was there?”
“As a matter of fact, there was, baby. You looked up at me with those impossibly blue eyes and called me sir. That’s all the eye-catching I required.”
My mouth drops open—I have to work on that habit. “Because I called you sir, you wanted to get to know me?”
Grinning like a fool, he nods. “To some extent, yes. Look, Ella, here’s what I saw and now that we’re married, I don’t have to mince words.”
He leans in, a devilish gleam in his eyes. “I saw a hot, young brunette with a beautiful face and eyes to get lost in. I saw an innocent angel who was ripe for defrocking.” His voice drops to a deeper register. “I saw a girl with gorgeous fucking tits and a smokin’ ass on killer legs with long, silky dark hair, and lips that could inspire dreams so wet you could backstroke out of them.
“And… perhaps most significantly… a woman who called me sir. You brought out the Dominant in me, Ella. Big time. You still do.”
“A kitten can bring out the Dominant in you,” I grumble good-naturedly.
“Exactly. You’re my kitten. Now come here and sit on my lap.”
We still have on our wedding clothes, since neither of us wanted to wait to start our trip. I would have had to do the whole traditional thing with my mother and Mariah helping me change, and I wanted to avoid all of the sentimental crap as much as possible. I’m not the emotional type who cries at weddings or things of that nature, though my mom assures me that will change after I have children. Mom swears that maternal hormones can ruin a good bitch in no time. Something to look forward to, I guess.
So now I obey my new husband and crawl onto his lap—I’m nothing if not obedient. I can feel the heated steel under my butt and I wiggle around to torture him further. Since he used naughty words, I suppose it’s my turn. Let’s see if I can up the ante and shock him. I wrap my arms around his neck, leaning in enthusiastically to whisper in his ear, “How’s about I trip the trigger on that giant, hard cock you’ve got locked and loaded in those trousers? I have a special place to do it. Hot… wet… tight…”
Lazily, I rear back to look at his expression and yes, he looks somewhat startled but then he tosses his head back and laughs. And right there, right in the cabin where Nanette can possibly see us, he flips me over his knee, pulls up my wedding dress, and spanks me—hard. As promised.
I’m sputtering and gasping. “Ian, stop this moment or I’ll bite your leg!”
“Do it and I’ll spank you harder and then gag you once I’m done.”
“You wouldn’t…”
“Of course I would,” he says, his breathing getting labored. He’s hitting me damn hard. But now, after every slap, he rubs away the sting… to the extent possible. I’m so horrified that Nanette might come in from the galley or wherever she is and see us that the pain barely registers. Of course, I’ll feel it later when I can’t sit down.
“Ian, can we please go into the bedroom? Pleeeease?”
He laughs again and sets me on my feet. “I’ve wanted to do that for hours now, Mrs. Blackmon. Your dirty mouth pushed me over the edge, you know. And now I might just have to take out some of the toys I packed for our destination and use them right… this… minute.”
“Promises, promises.”
Standing up forcefully, he grips me by the wrist and tugging me behind him, leads us to the tiny bedroom… where he has a bed with narrow wood posts of a sort capped by finials, perfect for clipping cuffs to each corner. Ahh, how am I going to suffer this sexual torment on a plane? I can never be quiet, no matter the incentive or how high the ante is. I might just have to ask for that gag.
He strips me slowly, taking his time with each piece of clothing. When I’m standing in nothing but my garter belt, stockings, and very skimpy panties, he steps back to appraise me.
“Very nice, Ella. Even nicer,” he says, looking around on the floor and picking up my shoes, “would be if you were still wearing these.” He hands them to me and though my sore feet silently scream in protest, I force them back into the heels.
“Perfect.” He steps back to appraise me, one elbow leaning on his crossed arm, an index finger tapping his lips. His delicious, sultry lips that make me—”
“Math can be fun,” he interrupts my carnal musing. “I’ve been subtracting—now I’ll add something.” He walks behind me and in a moment I’m gagged with a soft leather strap of sorts. “Or things,” he adds in a wicked voice, buckling cuffs on my wrists and links them together behind my back.
“Here’s how we’re going to play it,” he whispers, taking time to nip gently on the outer shell of my ear. “You’re going to be entirely quiet while I do whatever I want to do to my spanking-brand-new wife. Or should I say my spanked brand new wife? Any little sound you m
ake, even with the gag, will be heard by at least Nanette, and maybe even by the whole crew.” He gently tapped the wall behind the bed. “They’re right on the other side of it. Understand, my pretty?”
Oh, he’s evil. He knows I can’t be quiet, even at risk of intense nipple pain. But others hearing me? The ante is up, the stakes never being higher than now.
“Oh, almost forgot: if you need me to stop, I can still hear you speak through the gag—you just won’t be quite as loud or articulate.” He pats my cheek. “Now, stand up straight, and widen your stance.”
I slide my legs wider by about two inches and he slaps my thigh with something he’s holding in his hand. It’s soft but it stings. “Legs open, Ella.”
What is that? He puts it behind his back so I can’t see it. So I open them much wider now… and wait. He circles around me once, and then again, sending my nerves into high alert. What’s he going to do?
I have my answer in seconds as he drops down to his knees in one fluid motion and buries his face between my legs. I look down and see the straps of my garter trembling with the thighs they’re resting on. How am I supposed to stay vertical when his relentless tongue is going at me? My whole world becomes just his tongue and what it’s furiously circling right now. But just as I’m moving into my inevitable orgasm, he stops. Cold.
What? Why does he love to torture me? And now he probably feels officially sanctioned by our marriage license. Methinks, perhaps, that I’m in for it.
“Let’s add a few more variables, shall we?” He pulls down the gag, leaving it hanging around my throat. “Do you like math, Ella?”
“No. I hate it.”
“Tonight you’re going to have a change of heart. Close your eyes, baby, and do nothing but feel.”
“Hey, not that I was expecting you to go all sappy on me, but this is our wedding night. At least for tonight couldn’t we be a titch more romantic?”
His mouth drops open in mock surprise. “I am being romantic, Ella. Don’t you think?” He can’t disguise his mirth.