Birthday Bride (6 page)

“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
recovered.

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
nodded, 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.

Light
taps, this time, to start it off.  There, that’s not so bad.  Little bit harder. 
Okay, move around the cheek a little, spread it out some.  That’s pretty warmed
up, switch hands and get the other side.  Stay light, get the skin used to it. 
Man, this is much easier when Mark spanks me, and not me spanking myself.

I
increased the swats to medium intensity, and immediately felt the difference.  And
felt my clitoris throb in time with the swats.  I gave myself a hard whack, and
gasped.  Oh yeah.  Now I got it.  Build it up, and you can take much more.

However,
I didn’t know how much more I could take.  My last remaining bits of
self-restraint tossed the brush down onto the floor, and I climbed up on my bed. 
I fell asleep dreaming of Mark finishing the spanking where I left off.

*****

A
knock sounded at my front door while I was gathering my stuff together for work
the next morning.  I opened the door, then launched myself into Mark’s arms.  He
returned my kiss and held me tight.

“I
missed you,” he whispered.

 
“You
almost missed me completely.  I was about to leave.”  I kissed him again.  “I’m
glad to see you, though.  What brings you by?”

It
probably said something about both of our mindsets that we were making out, and
not handing the other divorce papers.