by April Hill
“Stop it!” I gasped, reaching back with one hand to cover at least part of what he’d just bared to the moon and the elements. “This isn’t funny!”
“I’ll try my best not to make it funny,” he said, and even from my face-down vantage point, I just knew he was grinning. “But I can’t guarantee what the passing tourists think. Or the muggers.”
“Let me up, you sonuvabitch! If you…O-O-O-W-W-W! Oh, holy SHIT!” (Mike’s first blistering smack had just landed, catching me directly across the highest point of my perfectly elevated rear end and leaving the first of the many, many bright red handprints I would discover later—in my bathroom mirror.
Some years later, Mike confessed to me that he’d been concerned about whaling the daylights out of a relative stranger in a public place, but more than pleased with my response. “Hey, give me a break, here,” he explained, grinning. “I put my whole heart into that first smack, and a lot of muscle. It was the first time for me too, you know, and I wanted to get it right.”
Now, when I think back on that evening, it warms the cockles of my heart to know that my reaction to having my ass set on fire had pleased my beloved. Not that I did anything special. As I recall, I simply responded in the time-honored manner—by rearing up in shock, opening my mouth wide in a full-throated howl, and wailing at the full moon at the top of my lungs. Then, obviously encouraged by my agonized screeching, Mike went to work on my behind with a song in his heart, and renewed vigor.
“OhmiGOD! ARRGGHH! *^%#(@)^%#&%!! O-O-WWWW!” This outburst of unladylike invective went on until the seventh or eighth smack, when I remembered with horror where we were. From there on, I made an effort to muffle my shrieks, but I was still mad as hell, so I was also digging my nails into Mike’s lower leg and trying my damnedest to bite him anywhere I could. When I did manage to bite him, Mike got an even better grip around my waist and laid a scorching, rapid-fire volley of swats across the backs of my naked thighs. Actually, he once told me he hadn’t heard that much unrelieved obscenity in one short stretch since his stint in the U.S. Marine Corps.
Eventually, after what felt to a novice like an hour of unrelenting agony, he stopped spanking and dumped me on my feet. I hopped around for a few seconds, then tried pulling my twisted underwear back up over my throbbing buttocks, an act of attempted modesty I instantly regretted.
“I’m going to report you for this, you know!” I hissed, breathless with anger.
Mike smiled. “No, you’re not.”
“The hell I won’t! That was a clear case of police brutality! Why wouldn’t I report it?”
“Because I’d get fired, and then I couldn’t afford to take you to dinner at Perigrine tomorrow night.”
“And what makes you think I’d go anywhere with you after what you just did?” I cried.
“I don’t get dressed up in a suit and tie and drop two hundred and fifty bucks on feeding every woman I meet,” he explained affably. “If you’re not interested in a seven-course candlelit dinner and a bottle of vintage champagne in one of the top five restaurants on the east coast, just say so, and I’ll find someone else to wine and dine—someone who doesn’t think I’m a corrupt cop, grinding the face of the poor.”
“That could be considered a bribe,” I pouted, already considering the offer. “To ensure my silence, maybe?”
He laughed. “It’s a little late for that. With all the howling you did, I’m having trouble hearing anything with my left ear. People probably heard you six blocks away. I just hope none of them show up at Perigrine tomorrow night.”
I tried rubbing my inflamed hindquarters, and decided against it. “That really hurt, you know,” I growled.
“Glad to hear it. I did my best to get it right, but paddling strange women isn’t something I do on a regular basis.”
“Then why did you?”
“I thought you needed to get a few things straight before we got involved.”
“And what makes you think we’re going to get involved?”
Mike leaned down and kissed me. “I think we already are.”
So did I, but I wasn’t about to say so. Not while my rear end was still throbbing. “Why?” I asked. “You don’t know anything about me, and all I know about you is that you like being the boss.”
Mike pulled me back down on the bench next to him. The feel of hard, scratchy wood on thoroughly spanked flesh made me wince, but being next to him felt safe, and very good—in a funny way. “Actually,” he confessed, “I know a lot about you. I ran you through Central Records, which is how I know that you’re basically honest, and marginally wiseass. There’re no criminal or drug arrests on your sheet, but you have three priors for illegal turns and four or five unpaid parking tickets you might want to take care of in the very near future. Your most recent brush with the law was just last night—for driving without headlights.” He grinned, and continued. “You flaunt the seat belt laws, have minimal respect for authority, and you never get your car inspected. I know how you vote because you apparently never wash your car, and your rear bumper is plastered with a faded peace symbol and campaign stickers from the last three elections. The stack of library books I noticed on the front seat of your car tells me you like history and police thrillers, but not taking books back on time.
“Is that it, or did your exhaustive investigation turn up the rent check I bounced a couple of years ago?” I grumbled
“There were two, actually—in January and August. But you made good on them, so you’re okay there. Let’s see, now. Where was I? You’re bright, but your curiosity sometimes gets you into trouble. We both know that you don’t like backing down from a fight, even when you’re dead wrong—like you were tonight. You pushed too hard and paid for it, which made you mad, but even after what I did, you’re not afraid of me. You have a sharp sense of humor, a foul mouth, and a small brown birthmark high up on your left cheek.” He chuckled. “Hell, I was once engaged to a woman I didn’t know this much about.”
“Yeah, but what do I know about you,” I asked sullenly. “Other than you have to be right all the time, and that you’re strong enough to…to do what you just did to get your way?”
Mike thought for a moment. “Okay, let’s add up what you do know about me. I’m a cop and yes, that makes me a fairly straight arrow about a lot of things, but I’m also pretty broadminded, as cops go. And you’re wrong. I don’t have to be right all the time, but I don’t back down easily, either. That may be a problem in the future, but I’m willing to admit when I’m wrong if you’ll do the same. So, on the plus side, I share you politics, your taste in books, and please try to remember that I did laugh at your jokes, even when they were at my expense. I don’t smoke, I drink in moderation, and as a rule, I’m pretty easy to get along with. But you’ve probably already noticed I do have my limits.”
“I noticed,” I said glumly. “And in your spare time, you’re into bondage and S/ M, right?”
He laughed. “Nope. Not my style. I solemnly promise never to handcuff you to a bed or to string you up and flog you, no matter how much you deserve it. I’ll even swear never to gag you, however tempting it may be at the moment.”
“And exactly what do you call what you did a few minutes ago?” I asked, blushing down to my shoes.
“I call it a well-deserved and long-overdue spanking, and simple justice. You slugged me and bit me, and you got your butt blistered pretty hard for it. In my book, we’re even, and if you try acting even remotely like a lady from here on out, it’ll probably never happen again.” He grinned. “But, from what I’ve seen so far, I wouldn’t make book on that.”
Okay, so not actually a proposal. More like a meeting of the minds by moonlight. Just over two weeks later, Mike made it official with a ring and a prenuptial weekend in Bermuda. When a hurricane hit, we were trapped in our hotel room the entire time. We never even got to the beach, but all in all, it was a weekend to remember. (I’ve often wished we’d videotaped portions of it, to prove once and for all to that
snotty trainer at my local gym that my endurance, agility, and physical stamina can be nothing short of astonishing, given the right workout partner.) Anyway, it was lovely, and I didn’t get spanked even once, despite being a very, very bad girl.
* * *
Okay, now that you’ve heard about the proposal and the preemptive honeymoon, would you like to hear about the wedding day? You should, really. It made all the local papers, and headlined the TV news that evening.
It all started so well, too. Beautiful, but hectic. Since the lease on my apartment was almost up, Mike and I decided to go ahead and move my stuff into his place, and get married the following weekend. A simple, late-afternoon ceremony in a quaint little stone church not far from Central Park. Twenty or thirty guests, mainly immediate family and Mike’s cop friends, with a small reception in the church. Mike couldn’t arrange much time off, but right after the reception, we planned to drive up to Cape Cod for four days. Since I call myself a writer and even get paid for it now and them, my time is my own. I have no money, but lots of time.
I chose a simple but very pretty wedding dress of ivory silk, with an empire bodice and puffy little lace cap sleeves—very Jane Austen. Mike balked at wearing a cutaway coat and breeches, and opted for a dark blue suit, instead, but I did look sweet—something like Keira Knightly in Pride and Prejudice. (If Keira Knightly was just a tad plumper, of course.)
The morning of the wedding, Mike put our honeymoon luggage in his car, then went off to pick up his partner and best man, Dave Simmons. My sister Kate and I (Kate was my hugely pregnant matron of honor) headed off in my car to get our hair done, a la Jane Austen. I laid my dress in the trunk in its long white plastic bag, along with a small last-minute suitcase I’d decided to take along.
After we got our hair and makeup done, Kate and I headed off to the church. Our Regency curls were tucked neatly under small lace veils, and adorned with fresh Baby’s Breath and Lilies of the Valley. The effect would have been more Regency if Kate hadn’t been as big as a house and outfitted in what looked like a lavender pup tent. Not to be outdone in the sisterly frump competition, I was wearing a pair of ragged cut-off jeans and one of Mike’s old sweatshirts. Anyway, there we were, moving through traffic at a snail’s pace when I suddenly remembered a slightly shorter route to the church. Over Kate’s hastily shouted objection, I hung a quick right and scooted merrily along through much lighter traffic. Half a block down the street, a burly cop in short sleeves stepped off the curb and motioned me to stop. Kate groaned.
“Didn’t you see it?” she shouted.
“See what?” I inquired.
“What are you, blind? You didn’t see the one-way sign at that last corner?”
I decided to spare her a lengthy explanation of my attitudes concerning one-way streets.
The thing to do was take the ticket, add it to the pile, and blackmail Kate into eternal silence. What else could I do on my wedding day? Everything would have worked out perfectly—if it hadn’t been for the warrant for my arrest.
For unpaid traffic tickets. What else?
The officer who arrested me and impounded my car didn’t know Mike, but he assured me that marrying a member of the NYPD wouldn’t have helped. “Now, back in the thirties, things were different,” he said, waxing nostalgic. “My granddad used to fix grandmom’s tickets all the time.”
I called Mike from the grubby stationhouse where we ended up, and listened to thirty seconds of stony silence on the other end of the line.
“Let me talk to the desk sergeant,” he said, finally. “It’s going to take me a while to get over there.”
When Mike did arrive, I responded meekly to his stern questions, then waited on a bench with my folded Jane Austen dress and my small suitcase while he went off somewhere to bail me out. Kate sat next to me, muttering. “Count yourself lucky you’re not married to my husband, sister dear,” she whispered. “If I’d gotten into a mess like this before I was pregnant, Jim would have shown up carrying a ping pong paddle or a rubber spatula. Maybe both, and…well, let’s just say it wouldn’t be pretty.”
I stared at the older sister I’d known my whole life. Or thought I’d known. Was she joking? Kate caught my quizzical look, and grinned. “Don’t look so shocked, sweetie. You think I haven’t seen that glint in Mike’s eye when you pull something stupid? Maybe it’s in our genes—and theirs.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied, blushing.
Kate laughed. “Sure. And you’re not going to get your ass blistered for this, right? That’s some way to start a honeymoon, sis. Just make sure you keep the ice bucket filled. With the mood your groom’s in right now, you’re going to need it. One word of caution, from an expert. Afterward, don’t try sitting down on the beach, right away. The sand on Cape Cod beaches can get really hot this time of year. Get yourself an inflatable duck or something.”
I was getting ready to tear the stupid little Jane Austen veil off my matron of honor’s head and cram in it her mouth when Mike reappeared. “Well, that sort of blows the hell out of Cape Cod,” he growled, stuffing his noticeably thinner wallet back in his pocket. “C’mon, let’s get out of here. We’ve got a wedding to go to, and I’m about one step short of changing my mind.”
Kate got awkwardly to her feet. “You’ll have to give me a couple of minutes to use the ladies’ room,” she said. “It’s one of those pregnant women things. Every fifteen minutes, like clockwork. Besides, I have a feeling you guys want to talk—or something.”
Mike nodded. “Thanks, Kate. We’ll be just outside.”
I picked up my suitcase and my dress and followed Mike out onto the front steps, waiting for the ax to fall.
“You told me you’d taken care of all those parking tickets,” he said simply. “So, you lied to me?”
I nodded miserably. “I’m sorry, darling. I really meant to, but everything just got so busy…I’ll agree to anything you want to do to me. Honestly, I will. Well, anything that doesn’t involve serious bloodletting.”
Mike didn’t smile. “This isn’t funny.”
“I know that. And even if you want to spank me, I’ll understand. I won’t like it, but I won’t try to…”
With a sigh, Mike leaned down and kissed me. “What kind of sonuvabitch would spank the tar out of his bride on their wedding day?”
I wiped away a tear. “I love you, Michael David O’Hanlon. I’m a very lucky woman.”
Mike winked. “Not that lucky. Tomorrow’s another day.”
“Mike!”
“Just kidding,” he said, laughing. “Nope, just this once, you’re getting a pass. It’s too late in the day to get your car out of impound, so we’ll have to take care of that and the rest of your legal mess when we get back.” He reached in his pocket and took out his car keys. “You and Kate take my car and go on to the church. I’ve still got some paperwork to finish here. I’ll grab a cab and get there as soon as I can. By the way, you look beautiful in that veil. Just like Jane Austen.” He patted my bottom. “And the ripped shorts are a nice touch, too.”
I heaved a sigh of relief. The ceremony was going to be a little late, but everything was still on track. And I wasn’t even going to get spanked—not ‘til after the wedding night, anyway. So far, so good.
I was wrong, of course. Mike was barely out of sight when I heard a commotion behind me, and as I turned to look, a bunch of people tumbled out the door of the station and onto the steps. Most of them were laden down with cameras and portable microphones, and a second later, a flurry of flash units began going off in my face.
“This’ll make a terrific lead-in,” I heard one of the guys calling to another. “Human interest. Cop’s Bride Nabbed on Way to Church. Or maybe, Here Comes the Jailbird Bride? Hey, I know! What about The Bride Makes Bail?”
“You can’t do that!” I screamed as someone else thrust a video camera and a microphone in my face. “I’m a private citizen! I have rights!”
One of the wannabe papara
zzi grunted and turned to me. “Not anymore, lady. You just got yourself booked on a buncha’ outstanding warrants. On your wedding day, yet! Your ass is in the public domain, now. Give us a big smile, why don’tcha? Love the outfit, by the way.”
I would have liked to have fainted, but I’ve never had a talent for fainting in the midst of a crisis. I usually just throw up on someone’s shoes. As quickly as it had begun, though, the feeding frenzy was over. I guess I wasn’t all that big a scoop, after all. My tormentors had apparently dashed off to make their deadlines—and to make me briefly immortal. Kate found me sitting forlornly on my suitcase, holding my badly wrinkled Keira Knightly gown in its long plastic cover, and sniffling. I had a big wad of pink gum on my shoe, and all my lilies-of-the-valley had wilted.
“What was all that shouting about?” she asked.
“Don’t ask. Do you think it’s possible to drown yourself in a public drinking fountain?” I stood up and waved Mike’s car keys. “Come one, matron. Let’s get out of here before Mike comes out. I haven’t got the heart to tell him he’s marrying Lindsay Lohan.”
So far, the only positive thing that had happened today was that Mike hadn’t spanked the you-know-what out of me. Then again, the day wasn’t over.
* * *
The good news is that once we all arrived at the church, the wedding went beautifully. Picture perfect, really, except that the bride seemed a bit frazzled—and wilted. Kate suggested that I sprinkle water on my head, which rejuvenated the bedraggled flowers a little, but took most of the Regency curls out of my hair. One hundred and twenty-eight bucks at the beauty parlor, and our wedding photos look like I’ve just emerged from the womb.
But aside from that, everything was perfect. As the reception was winding down, Mike came over and whispered to me. “You about ready to take off?” He had my small suitcase in one hand and a bottle of leftover champagne in the other.
