Romance with a Hint of Kink
Birthday Bride
Book One of the Vegas Brides Trilogy
© 2013 by Blushing Books and Marie Pinkerton

“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.

Damn it. I should have picked that wedgie.

The waiter let go of my arm to try to keep me from wiggling off. I brought my left arm down alongside my body and a sharp jab in his junk did the trick. He pushed me off onto the floor. A hand barely made it to slide between my head and the very hard, and much stickier than I wanted to think about, floor. Military Man helped me up, and stuck his body between mine and the hunched over waiter. I took advantage of the soldier in front of me, adjusted my undies, and smoothed my skirt back down. Yeah, I was ready for the floor to swallow me up still.

“Abby was supposed to get a Birthday spanking,” Glennys said, pouting.

Oh really? Maybe next time she could fill me in on that plan? And possibly choose someone less icky!

“She said no,” my soldier said firmly, glaring at the waiter until he limped away, with a glare over at Glennys for instigating the whole situation, just for good measure.

“You okay?” My soldier’s gaze ran up and down my body, and heat pooled in various parts of my anatomy as he did so.

“Other than my pride, I’m fine.” My head was pounding from adrenaline and margaritas, and I gladly sunk into the vacated seat. I put my head down on my arms against the table and ignored the chatter and moving chairs around me. What was Glennys thinking? Just because she wanted to be spanked, and even spanked publicly (there was a club she had mentioned once), didn’t mean that others liked public humiliation. Yeah, I didn’t mind the concept of a birthday spanking. I had been the recipient of one several times growing up. But in public, with strangers watching me? That might titillate Glennys, but not me. When I got spanked in real life and not my daydreams–and for me it was a when, not if – it would be in private. Like, in a bedroom. And after I was married. “The only person touching my butt will be my husband.”

“Good to know,” I heard rumble next to me.

Oh my God. Military man was still here… and eavesdropping on me talking to myself! I lifted my head up, and gave him a weak smile. “I’m not normally like this.”
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