Birthday Bride

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–
the
man 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 learnin’ to know her husband would switch from his bare
hand to his thick leather belt at any hint of sass.

“You
will when I’m done with you!” The gorgeous man
–looking
suspiciously like one of the men staring at me from the next table over–
proclaimed. 
The gleaming brass rod on the wooden bar elevated Abigail’s buttocks, which was
framed perfectly by her garter straps, putting her  sit-spot directly in the
path of her husband’s outstretched arm.  The arm came back, drawing up steam
for a hefty whallop–

“Sorry,”
the guy next to me apologized as he jostled my shoulder trying to reach the bar
through the crowd.

My
eyes closed and I took a deep breath, bringing myself back out of my erotic
daydream.  If I kept this up, I would be just like Glennys!

“Thirsty?”
I laughed on opening my eyes, looking at the two empty beer pitchers he clunked
on to the bar.

He
shot me a glance and chuckled.  “Five soldiers.  One pitcher goes too quick.” I
recognized him from the next table over, and forced myself to keep breathing.  It
was the husband from my daydream! Forget being a cowboy, military was so much
better.

The
bartender returned with my margaritas and I handed over my credit card.  “ID,
please?” he asked.  “Sorry, we’ve had a rash of identity theft.  It’s not that
I’m carding you.”

“I’d
rather you lie and say I look twenty-one,” I responded with a smile, giving him
my driver’s license.

He
didn’t comment on my appearance, darn him.  “Hey, happy birthday,” he said,
handing the cards back.

“It’s
your birthday?” Glennys squealed, reaching over me for the pitcher. 

Great,
just great.  I disappear into a daydream and Glennys walks up behind me looking
for alcohol.

“Happy
birthday,” military man whispered in my ear as I walked by, his husky voice
sending shivers down my spine straight to my butt, which started tingling.  I
imagined his hands were as rough as his voice.  Surely, since he was a soldier,
he was used to working with his hands.  Those nice, big hands, with long,
slender fingers, that could probably palm even my larger rear end.  I saw their
size when he dropped the pitchers off.  Then I watched him heft the full ones
like they were feathers.  Oooh, I wonder what he could do with feathers, just
tickling my bum lightly with them.  Just the thought rekindled the tinglies.

Glennys
beat me back to the table.  With my luck, they would greet me back with a
rousing verse of “Happy Birthday.”  

However,
the skeevy waiter who sucked at serving our table (the other reason I went to
get my own refill), now perched in my chair.

“Come
here,” he ordered with a leer, patting his lap.

“No
thanks, I’ll stand.” I started to reach for the pitcher Glennys had put on the
table, but changed my mind.  With the way the evening was going, my two glasses
would be enough.  I might fantasize about the soldier in current times, and not
throw us back to the Old West.  That would be dangerous.

Skeevy
Waiter took advantage of my outstretched arm, and grabbed it in a grip tight
enough to bruise.  “No!” I shouted over the crowd noise, loud enough to catch
the attention of nearby tables.  Loud enough to get the attention of Military
Man and his buddies, just in time for them to look over to see me pulled over
Skeevy Waiter’s lap unceremoniously.  Now I fully knew how embarrassed the Saloon-Girl
me should have felt! My skirt was knee length, but the force of Skeevy Waiter’s
pull had flipped it up, showing my Victoria’s Secret cotton panties caught on
one cheek.