"Wake up, princess."

I did. Why not? Steve had never asked anything unreasonable of me, except maybe when he'd insisted on old-fashioned vows at our wedding. What did I care? I always did agreed with what he said, anyway.

Okay ... well, maybe not always. There was that time when we were first dating, when he'd asked me to slow down and obey the speed limit. I'd laughed and opened the sunroof, enjoying the wind whipping through my hair as we raced down the highway.

He hadn't appreciated the thrill.

That was fair, I guess. I hadn't appreciated the way he'd bent me over the hood and spanked the bottom of my jeans until I babbled apologies. It hadn't hurt my butt as much as it had scalded my pride, what with the smacks echoing down the empty street, loud enough for anyone with an open window to hear.

But that was then. We'd gone on dating despite the disastrous night. I chalked it off to scaring him; perhaps he just wasn't a thrill-seeking sort. Maybe he just couldn't handle high speeds and racing cars.

We were married a day ago, and today we would be flying off to Jamaica for our honeymoon.

"Wake up, princess."

I groaned. I'd been enjoying my doze, drifting in and out of sleep with thoughts of our new life weaving into my dreams. My fianc--er, husband now--was a doctor, and he'd gone and bought my dream house for our new life together. He'd upped and moved from across the country after we met on the Internet.

I forced my eyes open to look at my new husband.

"How's it feel, your first day as a wife?" he asked. His eyes twinkled--his Santa Claus eyes. Thankfully, he cut a much leaner figure than Saint Nick.

The wedding and reception was an exhausting blur, despite the months we'd spent planning it. I'd always thought people go on honeymoons to celebrate the beginning of a marriage. Turns out, they take honeymoons to recover from the wedding. "What time is it?"

"Time for you to turn over."

Yummy, sex again. "It hurt a little bit last night." I smiled though, because it hadn't been that bad, and he'd sure made up for that moment of pain. My body moved easier, as if my joints had been given a tune-up. I felt pliant, flexible, and ... sexy.

"I told you it would." He gave me his boyish grin. "Was I worth the wait?"

One could never accuse Steve of having a self-confidence problem. I rolled my eyes at him, and then I compliantly turned over.

Steve grinned. "Are you sore?" he asked in his doctor tone.

"A little, but it feels good, kind of."

He made an agreeing sound, a soothing sound he'd perfected at his patients' bedsides. "Open your legs."

I did--had no choice, really, as a jolt of pleasure ripped through me at his words. He ran a hand up my leg. I tensed, but then he just kneaded my bottom until I sighed with pleasure. If this was what marriage to this man would be like every morning, I could certainly get used to the idea. He slid his hand between my legs, taking his time, as if I were an object to be stroked and touched and loved. Then his hand moved up my legs until he gently parted my folds.

His fingers did something that made me gasp, and then they slid back and deep into me, owning me. His finger buried in me, I felt both helpless and strong; vulnerable and powerful. I gasped as his fingers worked at manipulating me into pleasure.

And then he hit me.

My bottom, that is. He did it again. I sucked in a breath. I was torn between yelling at him and begging him to put his fingers back where they'd been. When he smacked my bottom a third time, I flipped over. "Ow! Hey! That hurt!"

The man I'd married yesterday smiled. His eyebrow curved up. "Sting a little?" he asked.

"A lot!" I used my foot to push at his shoulder. He chuckled, and then got up to dress, leaving me wanting and unfulfilled.

"What's it going to be like, this marriage thing?"

He studied me as he pulled on his jeans. "You worried about something?"

I realized I was more worried than I'd thought. I smiled and forced a laugh. "Of course not."

He pulled on his shirt, and then scrutinized me, his arms folded over his chest. He started to say something, but then he shook his head. "We have to be at the airport in an hour."

I nodded eagerly and smiled again, clearing my throat to speak. "I'll be ready in a half hour."

I fretted about the spanking of sorts as I took a shower. There'd been a lot of naysayers against my marriage. For one thing, we'd met online. For another, we'd only met in person five or six times. Finally--and worst of all in my friends' eyes--we'd never had sex.

My mother was happy; her daughter was marrying a doctor. It was about the only thing I'd ever done right, in her eyes.

When I stepped out of the shower, Steve was waiting with a big, fluffy towel to dry me warm. His eyes twinkled in that playful way that told me he loved me.

Come to think of it, marrying Steve was just about the only thing my mother and I agreed on.

The first three days of our honeymoon were wonderful. The travel took a day and the recovery from jet lag took another day. On the third day, we'd scheduled a snorkeling lesson.

"Come here."

I recognized the look in his eye; I'd seen it every morning since we'd been married. It was always followed by a stinging bottom on my part. "We don't have time for that." I wasn't sure I wanted to encourage this new habit, anyway.

He cocked his head to the side and smiled, managing to look concerned. "You can't miss your morning spanking, princess."

"My morning what?"

His voice sounded so smooth and level in comparison to mine. "Your morning spanking."

I tried matching his tone. No go; my voice squeaked and cracked all over the place. "What, you ... you think this is going to be a habit?" I busied my hands rooting through my purse, trying to find the room key.

"Yes, princess."

I shook my head and walked to the door. "Come on, let's go. We're going to be late."

"Come on, now," he said in his patient and condescending doctor voice. "Time for your medicine."

"My medicine?" I cleared my throat. It didn't work. "What? A woman needs to be spanked every day to keep her in her place?"

His face grew dark, and I suddenly realized I'd never seen him upset before, because instinct was telling me to back up. I willed myself to do the opposite and take a step towards him. He almost smiled, as if he were amused by my spunk.

"Who the heck are you? I didn't sign up for a life spent barefoot and pregnant."

Steve's eyes seemed to get greener when he got emotional. The normally calm blue tones to his eyes just disappeared.

He sat down. He said, softly, "Come here."

I backed up. "No! You'll spank me again!"

I discovered what Steve looked like when hurt. "Ellen, is this how little you trust me? Come here," he said again.

When I finally obeyed, he guided me between his legs. For a moment, I was unsure whether he was going to tip me over one knee or have me sit on the other. It was thankfully the latter. I felt a little like I was sitting in Santa's lap.

At least he didn't bounce me like a baby as he collected his thoughts. "Do I scare you, princess?"

I huffed. "We're late! What does that have to do with being scared?"

"You seem scared," he said. He rubbed my back and sat there, waiting for me to speak.

"What, you're a psychiatrist now?"

He leaned back. "Is this going to be the first fight of our marriage?" He made it sound like it would be a special and notable event.

The more relaxed he was, the angrier I felt. I pushed at his chest. "Stop it. Come on, let's go."

"Ellen Adams, you push me again and your spanking will be more than a few love taps."

I pushed him again.

He tipped me over his other knee, and slapped my bottom roundly. At first, it didn't hurt through my jeans, but then a tingle started as he rested his hand on the seat of my shorts.

"Okay, fine, that's enough now," I said as firmly as I could.

He spanked me again.

This time I had to swallow and clear my throat before saying, "Okay! I won't push you. Now let me up."

He just rested his hand on my bottom, as if it were his and not mine. "Ellen, you're acting surprised, like we haven't discussed all this."

"All what?"

He started kneading my bottom as he talked. "About the fact that I'd spank you every morning and every time you stepped out of line."

I let out a snort. "Well, what do you expect? We didn't talk about that!"

He slapped my bottom again, and this time it really stung. "Young lady, we had quite a few discussions about it, starting with the one when I bent you over the hood of the car and spanked you for speeding."

I made some outraged squeaking sounds before I could find words. "But I don't listen to you when you talk nonsense!"

He went still. He went very quiet. After a few moments, I felt him take a deep breath and heard him let it out slowly. When he finally spoke, his voice was very, very quiet. "You don't what?"

I gulped. "You know," I said. "I don't listen when you start prattling ... er, talking ... um, about stuff that doesn't make any sense." I swallowed and added, "to me," just to be on the safe side.

After another long silence, he said, "I suggest you listen to everything I say, and if something doesn't make sense to you, you better speak up." The next two smacks to the seat of my shorts didn't sting; they burned. They were hard ones that brought tears to my eyes.

When he stood me up, I watched him while I rubbed some of the sting out of my bottom. He didn't look at me as he got ready to go, grabbing his wallet and putting his watch on. He held the door open for me. I angled my bottom away from his hand as I went through the door.

We missed our snorkeling appointment, of course. We walked along the beach, not talking. I feigned relaxation and pretended that I was enjoying companionable silence, while he held my hand and walked in silence.

We stopped at a small vendor selling little pastries filled with meat. After ordering a bunch with a couple of drinks, I laid out our blanket and we stretched out on the beach.

"You've got a cute little butt," he said when he finished his pies. "I'm a butt man," he said matter-of-factly.

I just blinked at him.

"I have a spanking thing," he said, all of a sudden sounding like an awkward English gentlemen. "I guess you didn't hear me tell you that."

I took another bite of my meat pie.

"I also have a cave-man thing, I suppose."

I coughed and sputtered, almost choking on my pie. "Excuse me?" I asked, wiping the tears from my eyes. "You have a what?"

He shifted to his side so he could face me. "I asked that you vow to obey me because I really expect you to obey me. I expect to lead my family, and that includes looking out for you and your well-being."

"Cave man thing?" At this point, he could've told me that he wanted to grow his hair all shaggy and I think I would have believed him. "Is this the cave man thing, or is there more?"

"When you disobey me, there will be consequences." He looked at me pointedly. "Spanking consequences."

I blushed.

"And every morning, I'll spank you," he added.

I felt tears come to my eyes involuntarily. "But why?!"

"For lots of reasons," he shrugged. "So that you remember the order of our household, so that you remember not to get yourself in trouble, so that you feel safe, and so that you know I'm consistent." He stared off into the blue sky and shrugged again. "And because I like spanking you."

Oh, boy.

He turned to me again. "Doesn't it turn you on, sometimes?"

I glanced around us. "Can you keep your voice down?" I whispered. One woman looked at us curiously before reading her book again.

He chuckled, but lowered his voice. "Well, doesn't it?"

My face felt hotter, and it wasn't the sun. "Sure, once in awhile, but that time you ... you know, over the hood of the car ... that was embarrassing, and it really hurt!"

"Sometimes it will." He shrugged. "Most days it'll just be a nice warm-up to the day."

I gaped at him.

"And I've been thinking about our conversation this morning, and I think you need a good spanking to help you remember to take me seriously and listen when I talk."

"But you already spanked me!" I cried. The book lady looked over again. When I looked at her, she quickly went back to reading. I stood up and started gathering our things. "This is just embarrassing."

"Let's go back to the room."

I pouted. "Fine, but you are not spanking me."

Despite my resolve, the first thing he did when we returned to the room was spank me. Well, not the first. First he stood, feet wide apart, hands in his pockets.

"Take off all your clothes and put them on the bed."

It's not like he was holding a gun to my head. So why did I do it? Even though my fingers were trembling a little, it was easy to take off my shirt. Easy to remove my shoes, and easy to slide off my socks.

But then I couldn't do more. I looked up at him with his stance all alpha male--one big man of muscle and determination. I shook my head. "You're going to spank me!"

He nodded. "Yep."

I wrung my hands together, staring at the floor.

"Strip 'em off," he said again, this time a little more gently.