Birthday Bride Read Free Page B

pointing with his chin down at my bare legs.  Oops.  I
dashed off his lap, grabbed the throw, and cuddled back up with him, now
covered from the waist down, by the time the bridesmaids danced in. 
    Literally.
    The
conga line came by, with each woman handing me part of a mimosa–first the
plastic flute, then a few drops of orange juice as justification of the time of
day, then a very full glass of champagne was poured.  By the empty bottle they
put on the coffee table, they’ve been at it for a while.  No wonder Jackie
slept on the couch.
    “Glennys
told us the good news–congratulations!” Marcy said, raising her glass from
across the room in a toast.  I elevated my glass along with the rest of the
girls, and sipped the contents while her statement sunk in.
    “You
were right,” I told Mark in a low voice.
    He
chuckled.  “We’re off to a good start to our marriage if you’re already
admitting that.”
    I
slapped him lightly in the chest.  “Don’t get cocky.  I mean Glennys and Carlos. 
That confirms it.  They planned this.”
    He
nodded, looking around the room at the inhabitants.  Glennys was conspicuously
absent.  “Now we just need to figure out why.”
    I
think I knew, but I wasn’t going to tell him.
    “Oh
hey, now that you’re married, you can have your birthday spanking,” one of the
bridesmaids said with a gleam in her eye.
    Oh,
good gravy, no.  I need to get less turned on at the moment, and having Mark’s
large hand on my panty-clad rear wouldn’t get me any less aroused.  “Sorry, but
the window of opportunity passed.  It’s no longer my birthday.”
    There,
take that.
    “They
aren’t going to give up,” Mark warned into my ear.
    “Neither
am I,” I whispered back.
    “It’s
your un-birthday! You need an un -birthday spanking!”
    Shit. 
Okay, think fast.  “Isn’t it your un-birthday as well?” Let’s see how she feels
when the shoe is on the other foot.
    “Ooh,
yes! Move, Abby, so I can get over his knee.”
    “No!”
Great.  I wasn’t going to let my husband spank five women.
    “I
think you lost,” Mark chuckled.  “I won’t spank hard.” I drained the rest of my
champagne, wishing the rest of the bridal party hadn’t already finished the
second bottle.  Maybe they’ll be too drunk to remember this tomorrow ?  I
wouldn’t be so lucky.  Then again, I’ll probably be replaying it in my dreams
for the next few nights.  Why was I fighting this again?
    Mark
scooted forward in the chair, and gave me a quick kiss on my forehead before
flipping me over.  The throw blanket fell off.  Of course it would.  Why would
I get extra padding?
    True
to his word, my soldier used a light hand.  Still, I yelped by the tenth smack. 
The girls giggled, but continued to count.  I was glad they were, for I had no
shot of keeping track.  I was too busy trying not to die of embarrassment, and
hoping like hell that Mark couldn’t tell the spanking was turning me on.  Because,
honestly, I was totally turned on.  My dreams of being spanked were coming
true, and other than the fact that my friends were witnessing it, the reality
was living up to the fantasy.
    My
simple cotton panties–even though I was bland, my panties weren’t, Victoria’s Secret
prints, thank you very much–did nothing to diffuse the heat from my husband’s
hand.  The nearness of his fingers to my privates made each spank that much
better.  The fingertips might lightly brush the area covered by the panties, or
the heel of his hand might rub briefly after smacking the far cheek before
lifting for another spank.
    He
stopped when the girls counted twenty-nine, and the party argued over the “one
to grow on”.  One hard one, some said.  Between the legs, others insisted.  Jackie
settled it, saying it should be one hard spank between my legs.  Great.  If
Mark couldn’t already tell I was horny, the wetness of the fabric would be a
dead giveaway.
    The
thirtieth spank came right where the