Wedding Night

by Frenulum

Not here, but in another place. Not now, but in another time...

Carolyn and Andrew danced. Their families and their friends watched with loving eyes, blind to the occasional misstep, seeing only the loveliness of the bride, or the way that her husband looked at her as if they were alone in the room. Parental hearts were full of pride and pleasure; married friends sighed and remembered; and between some of the younger people glances were exchanged that said “Someday,” or perhaps “Soon.”

There was applause when the dance ended, and the newlyweds responded with a bow and a curtsey of mock formality that drew laughter from the guests. Then they were off to change from wedding garb into something suitable for traveling, while the reception resumed and the dancing went on, with hardly anyone sitting out.

In a short time the couple returned, comfortably dressed, and the well-wishers assembled outside the ballroom to see them into the hired carriage that would whisk them away. They had kept their honeymoon plans quite secret — only their parents had all the details — because there were one or two dedicated pranksters in each of their families who would consider a wedding night as the opportunity of a lifetime. Their departure was delayed by hugs and kisses and pumped hands and good wishes, but eventually the young couple rolled away with the sound of cheers ringing behind them.

The guests went back to the ballroom to enjoy another few hours of celebration and dance and drink, little knowing that Andrew and Carolyn had completed their trip before the last of them was back inside. The carriage had taken them half way around the block, to the back door of the hotel, and the young husband and wife had scooted straight into an elevator and up to their suite.

They did have a honeymoon trip arranged, as they had told everyone. But it did not begin for another three days, and they had reserved that time to be alone with each other, undistracted, uninterrupted, and unscheduled. For three days, not a soul in the world would trouble them, and they could begin their married life in perfect peace.

When the door of the suite closed behind them, Carolyn was in Andrew’s arms in a heartbeat. “Finally,” she sighed happily.

“What?” said Andrew teasingly, “Weren’t you enjoying yourself down there?”

“Oh, I was,” she agreed, “The whole day has been a dream come true, and not a thing went wrong! But I was tired of being the center of attention, and I’m glad to be alone with you.”

“You’re still the center of attention, you know,” Andrew said with a smile.

Carolyn gave him an extra squeeze at that. “Well, that’s different. That attention I like.” She turned her face up and drew her new husband into a kiss.

It was not just the kiss that left them keyed up and breathless. It was the knowledge of what was to come. “Well, Carolyn, here we are. Our wedding night,” said Andrew softly.

“Our wedding night,” she replied. “Oh, darling, I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long.”

“Feeling any... anxiety?”

“Yes,” the lovely young bride admitted, “A little bit. But no doubts. No doubts, my love.” They kissed again with utmost tenderness.

“I need half an hour or so to get ready,” Carolyn told her husband. “You just relax here in the sitting room, and I’ll call you to the bedroom when I’m ready.”

“Half an hour?” Andrew protested. “I can’t live for half an hour without you!”

“You sweetie.” Carolyn replied with a smile. “It’ll be time before you know it. Why don’t you just sit here and think about all the things you want to do in the next three days — you know, together... in bed... naked?” With that remark and a sultry look she went into the bedroom, and closed the door behind her.

Alone in the room, Carolyn found the box that held her gown. She and Andrew had chosen her wedding dress together, but Carolyn alone had planned this ceremonial gown, so that its design would be a complete surprise to her new husband.

It was white — that went without saying. The sleeveless bodice was satin, with a wide, deeply scooped neckline, below which it was fitted corset-snug to Carolyn’s slim waist. It was, in essence, a device for presenting and enhancing her beautiful breasts. Properly adjusted, the neckline would just hide her nipples, leaving the upper slopes of her breasts naked and exposed to Andrew’s view. The bodice fastened with three tiny, hidden snaps, which the dressmaker had assured her would surrender easily to the slightest tug.

The skirt was floor-length and full, but made of a material so sheer that, whenever it happened to drape so that only a single thickness covered her, it was no coverage at all. Walking in that skirt was like a continual strip tease show, one leg bared, then hidden; a thigh or buttock revealed, then covered; a slender calf flashed for only an instant.

The skirt was joined to the bodice by the traditional pull-cord, woven alternately into the fabric of each piece, and tied at one end into a large, intricate knot.

Carolyn stripped out of her traveling clothes. Protecting her hair with a cap, she took a very quick, refreshing shower, then dried off and annointed herself with powder and scent in the appropriate places. She slipped into the bodice of her ceremonial gown, carefully adjusting her breasts to achieve just the right effect. She stepped into the skirt and, holding it in place with one hand, inserted the unknotted end of the pull cord first through a channel in the waistline, then through one in the hem of the bodice. Once she had done a few of them she was able to use two hands, and in just a minute had the cord all the way around, the dress appearing as one piece, with the ornate knot coming to rest at the front.

Finally ready, Carolyn froze.

This was it. Tonight would be her first time. She would become a woman, no longer a girl. An irrevocable, once in a lifetime step. The marriage ceremony had united her with Andrew in the eyes of their families and the community, to be sure, but now she would truly give herself to him. Now it would not be words and promises, it would be her body that with absolute clarity would define her love for him. Her trepidation was natural. She knew that there would be pain, but it was not the idea of pain that held her motionless, it was the significance, and the permanance, of the offering she was about to make.

“Don’t be a silly girl,” Carolyn said to herself. “This is love. This is how you make love real.” And with that thought she found her resolve. She opened the bedroom door, and retreated to the opposite side of the room. “Andrew?” she called softly, “I’m ready.”

His footsteps were inaudible on the thick carpeting. Suddenly he was there, in the doorway, looking at her. She made sure to take advantage of her gown by walking slowly across the room to meet him, noting with pleasure that Andrew couldn’t decide where to look: first at the quivering mounds displayed so delectably above, then at her sexy legs flashing in and out of view below, then back again to admire her breasts. But ultimately he settled on her face, framed by the unrestrained waves of soft hair tumbling to her shoulders, with its loving smile and excited eyes.

They met. They kissed. Carolyn felt Andrew’s arms wrap around her, one cradling the back of her head, one stroking her back through the soft satin, as their lips met. Overcome by passion, it was only seconds before their hungry mouths were open, turning and pressing and renewing kiss after kiss, as their tongues reached out to caress lips and teeth and tongue, probing and teasing and satisfying. They kissed forever, pouring their hearts into each other through parted lips, clinging fiercely and tenderly.

When the wave of passion finally broke, they eased their embrace. Carolyn looked at Andrew with shining eyes. Her voice was husky but certain as she said, “It’s time, my love.”

Andrew nodded. He took a seat on the side of the bed, half way between the foot and head, and Carolyn came to stand before him. He could just discern the smooth, puffy delta of her mons through the sheer gown.

He began the ritual, using words that were generations old.

“What do you bring me, new-wedded wife?”

Carolyn took a deep breath, summoned all of her courage and all of her love for her dear, beloved Andrew, and replied.

“I bring you obedience, for all of my life.
How will you answer if wayward I be?”

“I’ll answer you thus, lying over my knee.”

With the old words said, Carolyn took a final step closer to Andrew, who reached up and took hold of the knotted cord. Their eyes met, and Carolyn realized that Andrew was giving her one last chance to back down. If they continued, she would be bound to him in obedience for the rest of her life, and would cede to him the absolute right — in fact, the duty — to discipline her for even the slightest transgression. It was what they had decided over the course of countless discussions: to hold to the traditional ways, to take preemptive action against marital strife and vexation by investing all of the authority in one master alone. Carolyn smiled. “Yes, my love, this is what I want,” she reassured him.

Andrew pulled hard on the knot and the cord whipped through its loops, coming free. Carolyn’s skirt fell to the ground, leaving her naked below the waist, the whole point and purpose of the spanking-gown. She climbed onto the bed, gave her husband one firm, lingering kiss, and stretched out face down across his lap, her torso over his legs, arms and legs stretched out to the head and foot of the bed.

Carolyn felt Andrew’s left arm grasp her around her slender waist, and then his right hand lay warm and heavy on the swell of her bare bottom. There was no more to say. She had pledged to be his wife during the wedding ceremony, and now she had pledged her obedience. It was therefore time, as the tradition ran, for Andrew to give Carolyn her ritual spanking, to instill in her body’s memory, rather than her mind’s, the price of future misbehavior.

Custom called for one hundred and forty-four spanks. Some brides counted them aloud, some couples did so together. Carolyn had asked Andrew to keep silent count in his head, as one more sign of the trust she placed in him. That would leave her free to concentrate on the ritual and to fully commit herself to a life of wifely submission.

Andrew looked down at his bride, her sweet, beautiful ass smooth and warm beneath his palm. He loved that part of her: loved to walk behind her and watch the subtle rocking of the firm cheeks beneath a tight skirt. He had never spanked anyone, of course, but a week earlier Carolyn’s father had bent her mother over his knee, bared her bottom, and shown Andrew how and how hard to strike. He still remembered her mother’s words of advice, spoken as she was rubbing away the sting of the demonstration. “Carolyn can be a willful girl,” she had said, “So you make sure that first lesson is a strong one, and you two will have a good start together.”

Carolyn felt Andrew’s hand lift off her rear. She arched her back, drawing her knees up just a little, so that her bottom would be high and proud and inviting, to make her cheeks look round and full, to demonstrate how much she welcomed what was to come.

SMACK! The first spank of her young life fell on Carolyn’s upthrust bottom.

The pain of it was indescribable: far worse than Carolyn had expected, though she had spent hours imagining what the spanking would be like. Her hands dug into the bedcovers, her teeth clenched, and her lips drew back in a grimace as her breath whistled between her teeth. The crackling heat of the slap blazed on her ass cheek and began to percolate into the muscle below. Her whole body tensed for the second spank — which inexplicably had not yet fallen.

But Andrew was heeding the advice his own father had given him just days before. “Most times a woman misbehaves,” his dad had told him, “It’s little stuff. Just the usual sort of female annoyances: whining or what-not. Now for heels-dug-in flat-out disobedience, sure, she’ll earn herself a forty-eight-smacker. But Carolyn’s a good girl, and like I say, it’ll mostly be little stuff, kind of thing you treat with one or two dozen or even a sixer.” Andrew had nodded to show his understanding. “Now, you start whooping away at a girl’s ass like bam-bam-bam,” his father had continued, “You find that a twelve-smacker takes less than half a minute. And that’s no way to make an impression on a woman’s mind. No, you got to pace things. Let every spank take hold, work its way all the way up to her head, which is what you’re really trying to reach. So on your marriage night, you leave plenty of time, do it right.”

And so he watched his handprint bloom on the fair, delicate skin of Carolyn’s ass, before striking again. SMACK! The same bun, a little to the side of his first blow. Andrew marveled at the springy resiliance of Carolyn’s firm, fit bottom. He could see the asscheek compress as his hand struck home, but it rebounded so quickly that nothing was left of the impact but a rapid tremor as the globe vibrated back into stillness.

SMACK! He addressed the other side of his beloved’s beautiful posterior.

Carolyn had yet to cope with the pain, had not yet wrapped her mind around its intensity. She had resolved long before that she would honor Andrew and the ritual by accepting it calmly: no squirming, no crying out. The fourth spank fell, SMACK! and the dam of her resolve washed out in a flood of searing pain. She uttered a wordless cry, and tears began to leak from her eyes. Four strokes into her spanking, she had been overwhelmed.

SMACK! Andrew took his time, spacing out the spanks. He tried to think about every one, not only to place it well and land it with proper force, but about its significance, and how discipline would be a shaping force in their marriage. He was a kind man, and at some level was dismayed by what he was doing. But generations of couples had learned that a dose of physical pain was the best way to keep real pain — soul pain — out of their lives. Andrew recognized that the ritual was not just for Carolyn to absorb the consequences of misbehavior, but to steel himself, so that the first time his bride earned a dozen spanks it would seem a minor thing, and there would be no hesitation in doing his duty.

SMACK! The swat tore another yelp from Carolyn. SMACK! The blow must have been especially awful, because her whole body jumped, and she was now crying hard.

The spanking went on, and on, and on. At one point Andrew changed the angle of his strokes a bit, so that his hand could catch the sensitive inner curve where Carolyn’s lovely ass-globes met, and during those smacks her crying became full-throated sobbing. The bedcovers beneath her face were soggy with tears.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! now striking for the first time at the juncture of cheek and thigh. Carolyn’s legs parted, and the sweet smooth bulge of her snatch came into view, pink and puffy and inviting. Her prominent inner lips protruded between the outer pair, practically begging to be fondled. An entrancing, enticing sight to be sure, but Andrew was dedicated to his current purpose. SMACK!

At seventy-two strokes, half way, Andrew paused to survey the situation. Carolyn’s rear was a blotchy deep pink from the first swell of her buns down to her thighs, and her skin was far hotter than usual. He could see the mark of his last spank on her right cheek, paler than the rest of the skin, but reddening to blend in as he watched.

Carolyn was weeping, her face pressed into the bed. She cried out loud at every spank, now, but had not said a word. She would not say “Stop” or “No more” or “Please” for anything, no matter how much it hurt. Because she wanted this, wanted this to be her place in the world, Andrew’s wife with every single implication of that possessive.

SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! SMACK! And so it continued, at a slow measured pace, as Carolyn’s bottom turned scarlet and the pain worked its way deeper and deeper into her flesh, every spank as intense as the first.

Half an hour after the spanking had begun, Andrew delivered the final stroke, a strong swing that landed right in the middle of a tender bun. SMACK!

“That’s all, Carolyn,” he said, “That’s all honey. We’re done.” At his words, Carolyn drew a deep breath, and then her weeping intensified, propelled now by both the awful pain and the relief that the announcement brought.

Andrew helped her rise off his lap to a kneeling position beside him on the bed. Carolyn was shaking from her ordeal, and her face was covered in tears and flushed crimson. Her eyes were red from constant sobbing. She embraced her husband, burying her face on his shoulder, feeling his comforting arms wrap around her, holding her safe and snug, gently stroking her back. She cried and cried, holding nothing back, for the long minutes it took to gain control of herself and her breathing.

“Oh, Andrew, I love you so,” she sniffled.

“I love you, my darling Carolyn,” he replied, glad that the ritual was over, and hoping that it would be a very long time indeed before Carolyn gave him any reason to punish her. He reached into a pocket and pulled out his hankie, and used it to softly blot the tears from his bride’s beautiful face. A losing battle, as the tenderness of the gesture merely provoked fresh tears.

Andrew gathered his bride back into his arms, hoping that the refuge of his embrace would be enough to help her calm herself. In time, it did, or perhaps Carolyn simply exhausted herself crying; in either case, they reached a point together where the freshly spanked girl’s breathing was normal and quiet, and no new tears fell.

Andrew had enough sense not to belittle Carolyn’s ordeal with a silly remark like “There, there, you’re all right now”; enough sense not to dismiss it with a feigned return to normalcy; enough sense not to ask her to talk about it; but knowing very well all the things it would be foolhardy to say, he found himself not knowing what to say or do. In that sense, the continuation of their quiet embrace was a haven for Andrew as well.

Carolyn ultimately solved the problem, slipping out of his arms and standing, wincing with pain at the motion. “I look a wreck,” she said, “I need to wash my face.” Andrew nodded and Carolyn turned and walked away, her steps halting, barely willing to make any move at all that flexed her bottom or thighs. He watched her go, eyes riveted to the scarlet flame of her beautiful ass.

When she returned a few minutes later, her hair was brushed and her face clean, still somewhat rosy but free of tearstains. She smiled as she approached, in part to hide the pain that still screamed from her well-spanked rear, but also because despite that pain she was genuinely happy. She was also, somewhat to her surprise, in need of more comfort than a simple hug could provide. Very much more.

She stood half-naked before her husband. He was still seated on the bed fully dressed, looking at her with an expression that mingled deep affection and real concern. “Darling?” she asked, “Would you please make love with your bride?”

Surprised, Andrew stood up. “Are you... sure you want that now?”

“More than anything.”

“I was just worried that — I don’t want to — are you sure I wouldn’t be hurting you?” he asked, concern clear in his tone of voice. “I really don’t want to hurt you any more.”

“Andrew, you haven’t hurt me tonight.” Carolyn put her hands on his shoulders and looked directly into his eyes. “You spanked me, and the spanking was... excruciating. But you haven’t hurt me.” Her voice was soft and deliberate. “Please, darling, I need you to make love to me. Fuck me, Andrew. I need you inside me.”

Although he was clearly still unsure, Andrew began to unbutton his shirt. Carolyn brushed his hands away and took over the job, working slowly, leaning in to kiss his chest as each button came open. Andrew fumbled with the bodice of her spanking gown, until he had to give up and ask. “Um, how does this open?”

“Rip it off me,” Carolyn urged, moving his hand to the plunging neckline. “Go ahead, it’s all right.”

He pulled; the snaps gave in and the garment pulled straight off her, leaving Carolyn nude, her generous breasts exposed at last in all of their tempting glory. Andrew flung the top aside and reached for his favorite playthings. “Now, now, let me get you naked before you get carried away,” said Carolyn, though pleased at the way Andrew could never resist her charms.

By the time she finished undressing her husband he was hard. They stood together, embracing again, kissing deeply, and she reached down to wrap a hand around his stiff, beautiful shaft, stroking gently up and down as their tongues played. Breaking a kiss, Carolyn said, “Just one request, my love.”

“Anything.”

“I want to ride you. I can’t be underneath, not yet.”

Andrew understood that she was in far too much pain to allow her bottom to be rubbed against the bed by lovemaking. “Sounds great to me,” he answered. “Then you’ll finally have to let me play with your titties.” Carolyn smiled broadly at her dear husband, her first completely relaxed grin in a long time. She helped Andrew get settled on the bed, with a couple of pillows beneath his head, and then took the opportunity to bend over and suck his stiff cock briefly into her mouth, just long enough to get it nice and wet. Andrew moaned at the sweet sensation of her sliding lips and the gentle wash of her tongue.

She climbed onto the bed and mounted him, straddling him on her knees, and lowered herself carefully onto his rampant cock. She used one hand to guide the head to her opening, and then sank down slowly, his staff slipping effortlessly into the tight sheath of her slick passage, as it had hundreds of times before. She rose back up and Andrew fucked up into her cunt, burying himself, and soon they had established their just-off rhythms, Carolyn rising, falling, and rocking her hips, while Andrew thrust up and down in her tightly clutching quim. He used one free hand to slip between the pink lips of Carolyn’s hairless pussy, reaching in to twiddle her sensitive clit as she rode his cock. While they fucked, Andrew raised his head and began to suck on his wife’s plump, full breasts, coaxing each pink nipple into full stiffness. The familiar pleasures coursed through Carolyn’s body, casting the raging pain from her fiery ass into shadow; and after only a few minutes of steady, sensual fucking, her nipples were straining at attention, her toes were curling, and her well-stuffed cunt was clamping down on Andrew’s plunging pole.

“Oh, oh, honey, oh, I’m gonna cum, I’m — I’m cumming, oh, oh, I’m cumming, oh, oh, yeah, oh, keep going, oh yes yes cumming so hard!” Carolyn gasped. Andrew continued his thrusts into her spasming cunt unabated. Carolyn collapsed onto his chest and rocked her hips in a frenzy, rubbing her swollen clitoris against him, and triggering another orgasm. “Oh, baby, again, oh, oh, yeah, just like that ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh ahhhhhhhhh!” she cried. Andrew wrapped his arms around her and held her, letting her climax play out around his embedded cock. Slowly, Carolyn’s motions stilled, as the orgasmic tide ebbed from her body. The couple kissed, tongues playing, and Carolyn felt a deep sense of peace as she lay in her husband’s embrace.

“You didn’t cum yet, did you?” she asked, aware that she might have missed the signs in the throes of her own powerful climaxes.

“Not yet. Don’t worry, there’s time. I just like holding you right now.”

“Mmmm,” she purred, “That feels good to me, too.” They lay there for a while, just embracing, enjoying heartbeat and breath, while Andrew slowly stroked Carolyn’s back. His cock stayed stiff and long, buried in her steaming cunt, enjoying its own particular embrace. Carolyn, in the mean while, was paying the price for the energetic fuck session, her poor tender ass flaming with renewed pain; and she lay very still as her husband caressed her.

After a long while, Andrew said, “I want that sweet mouth, now. Suck me off, Carolyn.” Without a word she lifted free of his cock, and slithered down the bed until she lay between his parted legs, propped up on her elbows, holding his juice-coated ramrod in a delicate grip. She lapped at his hardon with broad strokes of her tongue, eating up all of her fragrant cunt lube, washing his cock and balls until her searching tongue found no more traces of girl-honey. Only then did Carolyn suck Andrew’s cock into her mouth, the massive shaft distorting her lips as she strained to fit it.

Carolyn had never managed to take Andrew’s cock all the way down, despite many happy hours spent in trying to master the feat, but she sucked as much of the thick staff as she could manage. With every downward stroke of her face she filled her mouth right to her gag point, so that her artful cocksucking was accompanied by a quiet “Ggk... ggk... ggk,” music to Andrew’s ears. Concentrating on her husband’s pleasure, the beautiful young fellatrix tried her best to ignore the throbbing pain in her tender, fresh-spanked bottom.

Andrew had been close to cumming earlier, when they had paused for respite, and Carolyn’s plunging mouth and agile, active tongue had him back to the brink in only minutes. “Close,” he said, “Getting close.”

Carolyn lifted her head off his marble-hard prick and tongued the sensitive little spot below the tip. “Mmmmm, cum in my mouth,” she begged, punctuating her words with licks, sucks, and kisses, “Give me all your hot cream. Give it to me. Cum for me, cum right in my mouth, I want to taste it, I want to drink it, I want your hot creamy cum, shoot it on my tongue, cum in —” She felt a surge where her thumb gripped the base of his cock, and plunged the fuck-pole back into her mouth just in time to make her wish come true. Hot globs of salty cock cream fired one after another into Carolyn’s sucking mouth, the acrid scent filling her nose, the taste rich and heavy and familiar on her tongue. She kept sucking hard on Andrew’s pulsing prick, wanting to empty him, wanting every drop of his precious cum. He continued to fill her mouth, the spurts softer now, and Carolyn began to wonder if, for the first time ever, he was going to feed her more hot spunk than she could handle.

Andrew’s tense body slumped back onto the bed. Carolyn let his dick slip out of her mouth, closing her lips so as not to lose any of her prize, and rose to a kneeling position between his outstretched legs. She did not want to risk sitting down yet. She took his cock in one hand and stroked it fondly. “Aa uz ang ungeliegagle loag,” said Carolyn. “Look aa ih!” She pointed proudly to the deep pool of cum in her mouth, and, when satisfied that Andrew had seen it, eagerly swallowed the mouthful. Then she lapped up all traces of jizz from the hand that had been stroking him, ran a questing tongue around her mouth, hoping to find a little dessert, and beamed a happy smile at her husband.

“C’mere, you saucy wench,” Andrew said, holding out his arms. Carolyn fell happily into his embrace once again, and snuggled up under his chin. We’ll rest some, she thought, and then we’ll make love some more, no matter how my bottom feels. And maybe then I’ll model my new nightie — which, knowing the effect revealing lingerie has on Andrew, will stay on me for about thirty seconds — and we can make love again. She purred as Andrew slowly stroked the back of her neck, one of her favorite spots. She was suffused with a deep happiness. Married to the man she loved. Pledged in obedience to him. Lovingly spanked to begin their traditional life together. Even the pain, still blazing fiercely in her poor bottom, was a source of contentment.

“Honey?” said Carolyn.

“What?”

“Do you like my spanking-gown?” Carolyn slid off her husband to lie prone beside him, propping her head up so she could see his face.

“Wow, yeah, I sure do!” Andrew replied. “I, um, I’ve seen them in stores, you know, but I never saw one that was... sexy. They’re usually just some kind of plain cloth, or maybe with a little embroidery.”

“I had it made specially, because I know how much you like me to wear sexy clothes. And I figured, why not? I mean, there’s no reason not to look nice for you just because I’m about to get my ass whipped.”

Andrew took advantage of Carolyn’s posture to slip a hand underneath her and fondle a breast. “Thank you for that,” he said, “Thank you for thinking of what I’d like.”

Carolyn was quiet for a moment, enjoying her husband’s gentle touches, appreciating the occasional stab of pleasure as he brushed a nipple. “Do you think I should buy a spanking-gown for everyday?” she asked.

Andrew, startled, withdrew his hand and turned to look at her. “What? I don’t — I mean you’re not — I mean, good grief, every day? You’re — you’re —”

“Oh, hush, you big silly,” chided Carolyn. “No, I’m not going to need to be punished every single day. I’m planning to be a very good girl indeed, I’ll have you know. No, I meant everyday, like ordinary — for when you have to spank me because I did something wrong, not for a ceremony. Gramma always wore a spanking-gown for her discipline, even if it was something little like a twelve-smacker or even a six-smacker. She said she liked the way it marked things off: changing into the gown, and feeling the pull of the ripcord. ‘Puts a frame around a spanking so you can keep it in your mind,’ she said. And she said great-Gramma felt the same. But on the other hand my mom just says, ‘As long as skirts go up and panties come down no woman’s ever more than five seconds away from a bare bottom, and that’s the only thing that really matters.’ So, what do you think?”

Andrew thought it over for a while. “It seems to me,” he said, “That it comes down to what feels right for you. If you feel like your Gramma did, then I’m not against a little formality. But you wouldn’t have to buy a new spanking-gown — couldn’t you wear the one you wore tonight? It’s so pretty.”

“Oh, no,” replied Carolyn. “I want this one to be special. I want to save it just for our wedding anniversaries, and only wear it when I renew my vow. When I put this gown on, I want to know that I’m about to go over your knee for another twelve dozen, just like tonight.” She leaned in and kissed Andrew tenderly. “By the way,” she added, “I neglected to thank you. You did a really good job.” Another kiss, and then Carolyn breathed a dreamy sigh. “I will always remember our wedding night, and my first time.”

Author’s notes on Wedding Night:

I like to write about transitions from innocence to experience, but I had never written a wedding night cherry popping scene. The reason being that it has always seemed to me the very height of folly to find out if you’re sexually compatible hours after you’re married.

Then one day I was musing on ritual spankings — in what context or culture might they arise — and the idea for this story came to me: that a painful step on the way to maturity, delivered by a loving husband on one’s wedding night, need not be about tearing a hymen. So I created a culture in which “saving yourself for marriage” would be a laughable idea, but in which uxorial discipline has a permanent, traditional, and respected place.

The sex scenes wrote themselves in just hours, largely I think because they’re not all that relevant (just fun). The spanking took tons of work.

Did you like it? Write and tell me.

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Wedding Night

by Frenulum

Read more stories by Frenulum