Free Birthday Bride by Marie Pinkerton

Chapter 1
     
    “I’m hiring a
prostitute,” my friend and fellow bridesmaid, Glennys, announced to the table,
loud enough for the men at the next table to glance over.  I hid my head in my
hands, wishing the floor would open up and swallow me.  Or better yet, Glennys.
    “Guy or girl?” the
bride, Jackie, had the audacity to ask.
    “Guy, of course.  Think
I can request one with big hands? And rock hard thighs?”
    My hands weren’t big
enough to hide behind.  The empty pitcher of margaritas became my salvation,
and I grabbed it and headed through the crowd towards the bar.
    Glennys’s announcement
failed to surprise me.  She’d always been vocal to us about liking to be
spanked, and she dumped her previous boyfriend for refusing to bend her over
his knee.  “Her butt’s been itching for it,” for months, Glennys said, on the
drive over from southern California.  Since prostitutes were legal in Nevada, I
could get behind her desire to hire someone to spank her.  However, I didn’t
understand the itching.
    My butt tingled.
    I admit it– all of
Glennys’ chatter the past few years had sparked an interest with me.  I
listened to her descriptions of sessions with a bare hand, or a wooden
hairbrush, with baited breath, wishing I could take her place over the back of
the couch.  Or strong, muscular thighs.  Or park bench, although I’d prefer a
less-trafficked hiking path.  She probably gave the Boy Scouts that walked up
on them wet dreams for months afterwards.
    Her frank speaking didn’t
embarrass me.  Okay, yes, I blushed when she spoke of her rear end matching her
new red silk thong.  I’d spent enough time around her and others with no filter
on their mouths to get too worked up about people talking about sex and kinks
around me.  No, I was afraid she’d discover my shared interest.  She was the
extrovert in our group of friends.  Glennys thrived on being the naughty
college librarian.  I was the more sedate–bland, some exes had said–admissions counselor. 
I liked being bland.  Vanilla was the most popular ice cream flavor for a
reason.  With vanilla, and me, you know what you’re getting.  No surprises.  My
fantasies could stay safely in my head until I was married, and then they’d be
shared with my husband, not everyone within hearing distance.  Unless I was spanked
somewhere with thin walls… or the aforementioned hiking path.
    “Refill, please,” I told
the hotel bartender, really needing the slushy beverage, and put the empty
pitcher on the oak bar.  I couldn’t help but admire the brass rail that
surrounded it while I waited.  Hmm, that would provide good elevation, I mused,
angling the hips up.  My thoughts went back in time....
     
    “You’re my wife now, you
will not be a dancing girl showing your wares to everyone in the saloon,” the
man scolded Abigail, shaking the woman dressed in the revealing saloon dress.  “If
you ever get the desire to exhibit yourself again, hopefully you’ll remember
your lesson.”
    Abigail looked at her
handsome cowboy– theman in my daydream switched outfits as my fantasy changed– husband,
confusion debating with love and trust on her face.  “What lesson?”
    “This one!” He grabbed
Abigail by her exquisitely narrow waist, which didn’t even require a corset,
and threw her up on the bar.  Her petticoats– was that the historically accurate term…
or maybe that just from the Halloween costume that Glennys wore last year– remained
full, not allowing her skirt, or a single petticoat to provide protection from
the impending spanking… or from watching eyes.
    “But sir! I’ll behave, I
promise!” Abigail’s plea fell flat on perfectly shaped, wonderfully
proportioned ears.  She didn’t dare point out to her new husband, the one true
love of her life, that he was showing more of her skin to the saloon’s
inhabitants than she ever did.  She may not have had formal schooling, but it
didn’t take no book