Chapter Eight
Bridget Bennington and I were married on the first ofMay. She was dressed in white satin, her hair long and loose falling in gentlecurls around her shouldersthe way I like it best. She was a picture ofinnocencebut noting the saucy gleam in her eye, I knew our marriage wouldnever be an easy ride. I had some assurance that wed manage to survive eachother, as long as I could influence her behavior by taking her over my knee. Ithink that knowledge was as reassuring for her as it was for me. What ourwedding guests didnt know that joyous afternoon was that my blushing bride hadtwo pairs of blushing cheeksher bottom ones as richly colored as her rosyface. As though she couldnt start our marriage without a spanking, Bridget hadher last one as a single woman high in the
