He wordlessly–and wisely–led the way into the parking garage to his late model GMC Jimmy. He tossed the suitcases in the way back, and I more gently put my shopping bag back there. Like a true gentleman, Mark unlocked and opened my door for me, and was ready to give me a push up into the seat. I think he was just looking for an excuse to goose me again. I glared him away, and seated myself in the surprisingly comfortable seat, smoothing my dress down as Mark closed the door.
While Mark rounded the truck, I pulled the paperwork out of the envelope. Glennys had put a post-it on the top, with a simple “I’m sorry,” scribbled on it. Applications for both divorce and annulment were there. My husband climbed in the driver’s side, and looked down at the papers.
“Do you want to talk?” he asked his voice gentle.
“Not right now. Can we just go home?” I answered, my voice giving away my miserable feelings. He squeezed my hand and we hit the road.
While Mark and I had figured out that Glennys and Carlos had planned this out, Glennys’ involvement still hadn’t fully sunk in until I saw her apology. Setting Mark and I up to meet at the bachelorette weekend was one thing. That, I was okay with. My husband was a nice guy, quite handsome, and a pretty good match for me. I was still hopeful, possibly optimistically so, that our marriage wasn’t intentional.
It was possible that Glennys and Carlos had meant to get married themselves. I could see that they wanted to come to Vegas to tie the knot. Maybe the alcohol caused them to sober up, so to speak, and have second thoughts. That didn’t excuse them from putting Mark and my names down instead on the paperwork. Realistically, that was illegal. I loved my friend, and know she had good intentions (road to Hell, and all that), so I would never even think of filing charges against her. It wasn’t a small deal, and nothing to shrug off, but in our case it wasn’t something to fracture our friendship over.
That thought stopped me. Getting me married without my permission wasn’t something to break a friendship over? Friendships had been lost for much less than that. I had lost a friend in fourth grade over a Polly Pocket toy set, for crying out loud! Ten year olds were old enough to know better than to have such a small thing be contentious. So why was I so willing to forgive Glennys?
Did that mean I didn’t want to fill out the papers she had left? That I didn’t want to divorce or annul my marriage to Mark?
A part of me did not want to file for divorce. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I loved Mark. I had only known him for two days, after all.
Two days? Was that really it? It seemed like so much longer. Heck, at the time my un-birthday spanking felt longer. My sensual spanking didn’t feel longer, but I know I wished it had been. I wiggled in my seat, reliving the memory of Mark’s hand coming in contact with my bare bottom, setting the skin on fire. I liked that. I really liked the spanking. I almost wished that we didn’t have sex on the couch before we left the room, but that he had spanked me instead.
That thought also derailed my current train of thought, and I turned to look out the side window at the passing desert so Mark couldn’t see the tears spring to my eyes. I liked spanking that much? So much that I wanted a spanking instead of sex? Not forever of course, the love making I had done with Mark was wonderful and made me look forward to being married for real so I could do it every day. The spanking was also wonderful. It heightened the sex, made it more intense. The spanking itself had turned me on, and as evidenced by the time in front of the air conditioner, could bring me to orgasm with barely a touch by Mark.
Would my “real” husband spank me? Would I even have the guts to ask my husband to spank me? I had never mentioned my interests to anyone before. It only came up with Mark because he... well... spanked me and apologized for the light birthday spanking. He could tell that I enjoyed it, and that I wasn’t just saying it. Both of us enjoyed it enough in the past day that if we had met under “normal” circumstances, it probably would have come up at some point. And yeah, after dating a bit, hearing that my boyfriend was fine–more than fine, really–giving spanking a try would set him more solidly in the “The One” category. Ostensibly, I wouldn’t choose a spouse that wouldn’t spank me, shared interests and all that.
But, I already had Mark. He was willing–more than willing–to spank me. Without me even asking, he took it easy and didn’t hurt me. The spanking wasn’t humiliation or punishment. It was foreplay, I guess.
Mark interrupted my thoughts by squeezing my hand. “What are you thinking? Are you about ready to talk?”
Yeah, like I really wanted to tell him I wanted to be spanked again. Even though I had just thought about being open with him, I was still chicken to tell my feelings. The thought of being over his strong, muscular thighs set my body to tingle, though, and I squirmed in my seat.
“You okay? You need a rest area? You don’t seem able to sit still.”
I could feel my cheeks flush. “It’s the thong,” I lied. “I’m not used to wearing them.” While that was true, it wasn’t the reason for the squirming.
The steering wheel jerked as Mark turned to look at me. “You’re wearing a thong?” His eyes seared my skin, almost willing my dress off so he could see. “Right.” He cleared his throat.
“You wanted to talk,” I reminded him, hoping to change the subject away from my panties.
“Yeah. Um, yeah.”
I almost took pity on the man, and gave him an out. I decided against it, and dove right in to where my thoughts had been. Why not? What’s the worst that could happen, he get upset and divorce me? Best case scenario was that I got spanked. Oh, shucks.
“I was thinking I wanted you to spank me again.”
This time when Mark jerked the wheel it was to catch an off-ramp at the last minute. He turned right at the stop sign at the end of the ramp, and started driving down a rather desolate road.
I let him drive in quiet for a few minutes, but when he turned off the paved street onto a gravel road, I broke into his thoughts. We were still technically in sight of the highway, so I could make a run for it if need be. I asked, somewhat joking, “Is this when I find out you’re really a madman taking me into the desert where no one can hear me scream to kill me?”
He took his focused eyes off of the road, and raked them down my body. “No, this is where I take you into the desert so no one can hear me spank you, then make you scream with pleasure.”
Happy shivers ran down my spine, gathering in my nether region. Honesty was getting me a spanking, so why not say what was on my mind? “Okay, that just turned me on and made me wet.”
“Oh yeah?” This time Mark didn’t take his eyes off the road, which I was a bit glad of as we bumped over potholes. Good thing we were in his Jimmy. Mark reached his right hand over, squeezed my thigh, and ran it up my inner thigh under my dress. “Yep, you’re wet,” he said, pressing his fingers against the thin satin thong.
“Um,” I said, resisting the very large temptation to press my thighs together and trap his hand in place. “You’re driving.”
“We’re in the desert. I can pay attention enough to avoid cactii,” he said wryly. He flicked the thong to the side, and stroked my sex. I shifted on the seat so my back was more towards the door and my left knee up on the seat, so that Mark could have better access without breaking his wrist. He rewarded my movement by inserting first one, then two fingers into me. I pressed my hips against his hand and moaned. Yes, honesty was the best policy!
It felt so good, it had to be illegal. Of course, while driving, it probably was. Mark could be about to drive off a cliff, but my eyes were closed, just enjoying the sensations. Hopefully he wouldn’t kill us in an accident, but right now my body was saying it would be worth it.
Mark brought his thumb into play on my clitoris, and I groaned in ecstasy as my orgasm came over me in waves. I rested my head back against the window, and relaxed, the stress from thinking about divorcing my husband was blown away by the orgasm. Screw a divorce. I wanted to screw again. Well, after my body re
covered.
I may have fallen asleep for a few minutes, but woke up and sat up when Mark stopped and turned off the Jimmy. “I’d ask if we were there, but this lonely patch of road looks similar to the ones we’ve already passed.”
“Don’t be a smartass. Would you like your spanking in the backseat or tailgate?”
“Now?”
“That’s an extra ten, missy.”
I scowled at him–the little girl thing didn’t work for me. I made a mental note to discuss that later. “Tailgate.” More room to move, I thought.
We went to the back of the Jimmy, and Mark put the tailgate down. I glanced at it, then at his height. My husband was taller than me, and his waist fell at the tailgate, while mine was several inches shorter. Well, if he thought it would be a good angle for him, it was worth a shot. I knew you could be spanked over the back of a couch or chair, so why not a tailgate? I used my arms to elevate my body, and leaned over the end of the tailgate.
“That’s not exactly what I had in mind, but this will work,” Mark said.
“What were you–” I cut off my statement as he brought his hand on home for the first swat. He let loose with a flurry of smacks over my dress, and I immediately started to regret wanting another spanking. What on earth was I thinking? This hurt!
He paused and lifted up the skirt of my dress, and now I regretted wearing the thong. He left it in place, for what little (or no) benefit it would provide. My ass was now on display for any passing road runner or coyote. SMACK!
CHAPTER 4
“Holy–” My hands flew back to protect my bum. Mark gathered both of my hands in one of his, and held my hands together tightly in the small of my back. His palm had to be stinging as much as my butt cheek did from the last spank. He seemed to take pity on me, for even though he was holding my hands firmly, the next dozen swats weren’t nearly as hard. Hard enough, though, where I was getting close to tears.
Mark stopped, and I relaxed thinking the spanking was over, but then he lowered my thong. “No!” I wailed, and he instantly backed away, dropping my hands from his grasp. I threw myself off of the tailgate, but the thong around my thighs tripped me up. Mark caught me before I completely fell, scooped me up in his arms, and sat himself on the tailgate, cuddling me securely in his arms.
“I’m sorry, hon, I’m so sorry,” he murmured to me, comforting me. I held onto his shirt with a death grip and cried.
I didn’t understand what was going on in my mind and body. I wanted to be spanked–I had, literally, asked for it. In my dreams and fantasies I wanted, craved, the pain of the blows. And in my fantasies they were blows, not light spanks. I didn’t have bruises in my dreams, but it sure felt like Mark had left a few.
The reality sucked. I didn’t want bruises. I wanted love, and tenderness, and closeness. I liked being over the tailgate–that part turned me on. Mark staring at my bottom worked for me as well, once I got over the embarrassment of my large butt. And the lighter spanks I liked, a lot. They set me tingling in all the right places. But... they were too light. They made me feel like we were playing with a spanking and not doing it for real.
My crying had calmed down to hiccups, and Mark ventured to talk.
“I’m sorry I hurt you, Abby. Are you okay?”
“I’m okay, just confused,” I told him, wiping the tears from my cheeks on his shirt. “I thought I wanted this–I do want this but... it’s not what I thought.”
“It’s my fault, Abby. I wanted this too, but charged ahead without thinking. We haven’t talked about it. We haven’t discussed limits, or even set a safe word.”
I winced, and not from my sore rear. Safe words were kink 101, according to Glennys. “Mark, I’m sorry. I should have known better, too.”
“We’re even, then. Shall we hit the road again?” he asked gently.
I considered. Any thoughts I had of making love were gone. My body was not interested. “Yeah. Can we talk? Set some limits?”
“Of course,” he answered, carefully lifting me off his lap and down onto the ground. I pulled up my thong, wincing as the waistband dragged across my tender skin. His eyes pitied me. “I should look,” he said firmly. “I need to check for damage.”
I closed my eyes, and wordlessly nodded. It was one thing for my husband to stare at my butt while spanking or having sex, and another to have him examine it for flaws. I hopped back up on the tailgate and pulled up my dress.
Mark’s fingers flew lightly over my skin, barely touching. Any fantasies of playing doctor flew away. This was too humiliating for me to take. “Mark–”
“I’m done. You’re good,” he rushed to assure me, pulling my skirt back down and helping me off. He gave me a big hug, and I melted into his warm embrace. Mark gave good hugs. His big military bearing gave him several inches on me, and the muscular wide frame easily surrounded my larger-than-average body. I could stay in his arms all day, just like we had done yesterday.
We got back in the Jimmy, and headed back for the freeway and towards southern California. The poor suspension in the older truck was laboring with the bumps on the gravel road, and I had to hold on to the sissy bar. Each bounce brought my flaming rear end down hard on the seat, rekindling the fire there. I was so glad when we reached the pavement, and let out a big sigh.
Mark cocked an eyebrow over at me as he pulled into the lane.
“The bouncing,” I explained. “A bit rough on the tush.”
“Abby, you have to communicate. Tell me these things!” He hit the steering wheel in frustration. “I can’t fix what I don’t know about! I would have slowed down.”
“Oh,” I was quiet again.
“Abby, I want to make this marriage work. That means we need to talk. Communicate with each other. Being married isn’t just about asking ‘how was your day’ when you get home from work. My parents struggled each day with that. They didn’t talk, and it led to their divorce when I was fourteen. I saw it first-hand. I don’t want that to happen to us.”
I snorted. “Mark, come on. How long did they know each other before they got married? If they couldn’t make it work having known each other, what chance do we have?”
“They didn’t try to make it work. They just... didn’t try. We can. If we set our minds to it, and are intent on making this marriage work, we can do it. We just need to communicate.”
“It’s not that simple!” I insisted. “My parents talked, but that didn’t stop the fact that they were different. I probably would have preferred them being divorced over hearing them arguing every night.”
“Yes, but–” Mark stopped mid-sentence to pull to the side of the road and put on the flashers. “Did they talk, or did they communicate? You can argue about money until the cows come home, but if you don’t communicate and get on the same page, you would never understand that the reason Dad didn’t want Mom to buy a new dishwasher was that we were about to lose the house.”
I grabbed his chin and forced him to look at me. “We’re not your parents. We’re not my parents. We can learn from their mistakes. We can learn from our own mistakes.”
He chuckled, and kissed my hand. “I think we’re arguing in circles.”
I agreed with a laugh. “So if we want to do this, we talk.”
And really, that was the crux of the matter. I looked down at the divorce papers. Did we really want to stay married?
*****
When we reached my apartment several hours later, we still hadn’t decided what we wanted to do. The pros and cons list I wrote on the manila envelope was equal. We had, however, chosen a safe word–cactus. That wasn’t a word that would normally come up in the middle of a spanking. At least, not in any spanking I wanted to be on the receiving end of.
I stopped Mark when he reached for his bag, but held mine tight. “Would you mind? I think we should probably be apart tonight. So we can think.”
He took a deep breath. “I don’t want to, but it’s probably for the best. May I kiss you?”
I nodde
d, and leaned in for what I thought would be a quick peck. Nope, it was another of his lovely toe-curling adventures in French kissing. “Yeah, that’s why we should sleep separately,” I said breathlessly when we finally parted. I so just wanted to drag him inside and get naked together.
“I’m leaving now, while I still can,” he told me but didn’t move.
“Go!” I laughed, and pushed him away. He stumbled to the front of the truck, looking like a little boy with his toys taken away.
Two hours later, I relaxed in a hot bath, wineglass in hand. The hot water soothed tight muscles that I didn’t know existed prior to our horizontal games. I still hadn’t any further thoughts towards making a decision. I could see both sides, and would be happy with both. Well, maybe more content than happy with the single status. After experiencing sex, and spankings, I wouldn’t mind those continuing, but I still wanted to be married for both.
I downed the rest of the red wine, and grabbed my dogleg bath brush to scrub off the memories of the weekend. I paused, and looked at the brush speculatively. I’m alone, in my own home, I thought. Nobody would know. I smacked the brush against my palm, and jumped at the sound. It sounded a lot harder than it felt.
I took a deep breath, and leaned my torso out of the bathtub, my weight supported by my hips and one hand on the floor mat. I rested the wood side of the brush against my hip, then with a flick of the wrist brought it back and made contact with my right buttock.
“Cactus!” I shouted to the room, throwing the bath brush across the room in response to my blazing cheek, falling back into the bath, sloshing half of the water out and onto the floor. Good gravy, I didn’t know my own strength. Mark’s spanks, even his heavy ones, paled in comparison to the wooden brush. Ow, ow, ow! What was I thinking?
I glared at the brush while drying off and cleaning the mess I made in the bathroom. I glared some more after examining my butt for bruises. I glared even more as I laid myself, naked, across the foot of my bed ready to do it again.
Birthday Bride Page 4
