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It was the most definitive evidence of an old-world wedding that I’d ever come across in my life.

I kept going, wanting to see everything.

After the ceremony, the happy couple went off on a journey of sorts.

I wasn’t certain which locations they visited, but the regions appeared mountainous and perhaps somewhat Mediterranean.

I’d have to do some research to be sure.

Maybe what was once Italy or maybe even Greece?

Those places were underwater now.

When I got to the end of the picture album, I paused at the last several pages.

The pictures had turned more candid and far more sensual than the rest. One pictured the redheaded woman standing in a corner, her hands on the back of her head.

Another was of her lying on the bed, with her lacy panties pulled down in the back, revealing her bare bottom rather salaciously.

She looked nervous. Why would she be nervous?

I swallowed, suddenly anxious that I’d come across something infinitely more dangerous than just evidence of an old-world wedding.

Without breathing, I turned the page once more.

There were only three more pictures, but they were the most shameful things I had ever seen. In the first one, she was over her husband’s knee, completely naked.

Her bottom was red, and his hand was high in the air.

He was spanking her.

I’d heard of such things only in passing and vague references in the books I’d procured in my work as museum curator. I’d brushed them aside, simply noting that it was a barbaric practice that couples occasionally dabbled in long ago. I’d only read about it, never seen it.

Not like this .

I expected her to look angry in the picture, but she didn’t. She looked like she was enjoying herself. Her legs were parted, and the picture was of sufficient resolution to reveal the shine of wetness on her inner thighs.

I swallowed hard.

The second picture was her standing in the corner once more, but her backside was bright red. She was looking back at the person taking the picture. Her lower lip was protruding in a soft pout and her cheeks were damp with tears.

Was she sad? Contrite? Punished?

My own pussy pulsed, and I blanched, pressing my thighs together in mortification at the unexpected feeling. I looked around, but no one was there. Only when I felt reassured that I was indeed alone did I turn back to look at the final picture.

She was on her hands and knees on the bed, her bottom cheeks marked with red rectangular lines.

Next to her was a folded leather belt and it didn’t take any great deduction on my part to guess that it was responsible for the marks.

His hand was squeezing her right cheek, pulling it to the side.

Everything between her thighs was therefore exposed, from her pussy to the tight little knot of her bottom, but that wasn’t the worst of it.

What appeared to be a man’s seed dripped down her leg. Astoundingly, it did not emanate from her vagina, but from her anus. She was looking back over her shoulder, her eyes glassy, but she wasn’t sad.

In fact, there was a hint of a very satisfied smirk on her face.

Like she had enjoyed herself.

Like she had wanted it.

I slammed the book shut, trying to come to grips with what I’d seen. I sat there on the floor for a long time before I opened the album to that last page again. I stared at the image of her over her husband’s knee, the way she was reaching down to clutch at his ankle, like she wanted to hold on.

This was supposed to be barbaric, right? Abusive?

This picture showed none of that. There was love and adoration in his eyes as he stared down at her, his hand high in the air while her bottom arched up to receive his punishment.

I slipped my hand into the clear, plastic photo sleeve and pulled out that single picture. I flipped it over and bit my lip when I saw that there was writing on the back:

Our wedding night. May 31, 2007.

I brushed my fingers lightly over the writing. There was no indication of a name or a place, but when I flipped it back over there was a feeling.

Love.

My core tightened inexplicably at the sight of such an intimate experience, and I couldn’t help but imagine how I would feel if I was put in such a position. Would it hurt? Would I like it?

I stared at her round bottom cheeks and the pinkness enveloping them.

My clit throbbed a bit in response.

A sudden knock at the door made the air surge out of my lungs in one long rush. I closed the book as carefully as I could.

“One moment!” I called out. I sounded guilty of something to my own ears.

My voice was shaking, and I hoped whoever was outside my door hadn’t noticed.

As quickly as I could, I rearranged the contents of the crate and pulled the cover over the top.

Hastily, I took a second to place my hand over my frantically beating heart, and another moment more to catch my breath before I stepped over and opened the door.

As the door swung open, a man strode inside.

No. To call him a man would have been an understatement.

A more accurate term would have been beast.

“Dr. Vaughn,” he said politely, his voice a quiet rumble that dove right down into the depths of my core.

I stared at him for a long moment, losing myself in his glittering eyes and his thick mahogany curls.

Unlike the men in my city state, his chin was covered by a beard, giving him a rough aura that made my stomach leap with excitement.

With his entry came the muted scent of whiskey and citrus.

My thoughts stuttered for a moment trying to identify it.

Cologne. He was wearing cologne.

At a towering six and a half feet tall, he stood at least a foot above me.

Despite the rough masculinity of his appearance, his attire was professional.

A light gray button-up shirt and a pair of black slacks covered his body, but no article of clothing could do anything to conceal the sheer mass of muscles lying beneath them.

This man was strong. Very strong.

The sudden image of him holding me down for a spanking, just like the bride in the picture, overcame me, burrowing into my vision and refusing to leave.

I must be losing my mind; I’d never seen this man before and I was imagining being over his knee while he spanked my naked bottom.

Maybe I shouldn’t have looked after all. Maybe that was why it was forbidden.

I swallowed hard, finally remembering myself in the embarrassing veil of silence that had descended over my office. By a massive effort of will, I forced my eyes back to his and extended my hand in welcome.

“Hello. Yes, I’m Dr. Naomi Vaughn,” I replied. Too quickly. My words seemed rushed.

I prayed he couldn’t tell what I was thinking.

“My name is Ryker Gates. Pleased to meet you,” he answered, as he took my proffered hand.

I was embarrassed to realize that I was staring again, hanging onto every word that left his mouth, as my addled brain registered the heat of his hand. Shaking my head imperceptibly to regain my self-control, I gestured toward the chairs arranged in front of my desk.

“Please, have a seat and tell me how I may help you, Mr. Gates.”

As he took his place, I turned and made my way somewhat unsteadily to my own seat behind the desk. Sitting behind the slab of wood I was suddenly enormously grateful for the wide barrier between me and this breathtaking man.

I glanced at my computer screen, trying desperately to keep my gaze from ogling his body up and down like he was a tall drink of water in the middle of a radioactive wasteland. Looking at my massive spreadsheet calmed me, but only a little.

To his credit, if he noticed, he said nothing.

A quick peek at the clock showed that it was past four-thirty. The museum would be preparing to close in the next twenty minutes or so.

“Now then, how may I be of service?” I asked, sitting back as I folded my hands in my lap.

He leveled his gaze directly on me and I couldn’t help but feel the heat of it. My pussy clenched as if it was calling for him and I lifted my chin, hoping he couldn’t see me blush.

“The Council gave me your name. They said your knowledge and experience would be very useful to my needs.”

His accent was slightly familiar. I couldn’t place it, but one thing I was sure of was that it wasn’t from New Englandia. He was from somewhere else.

“Your needs?” I asked.

Did those needs include using those big broad hands on my feminine flesh?

Damn. I was really losing my mind.

Out of the corner of my eye I suddenly noticed that there was a small corner of the wrapped wedding dress sticking out of the crate and I blanched a little on the inside, doing my best to cover it up.

Crossing his long legs in the armchair in front of me, Mr. Gates didn’t even glance in the crate’s direction, which was a relief, at least somewhat.

“I’m a tenured member of the Pacifica Council. My role is acquisitions and development with a specialization in weaponry development.”

So, he was a foreigner after all.

Pacifica was a younger city state that had been established more than a century ago.

Initially, they had kept to themselves, but they had begun to rise in power through the past several years.

They’d struggled to gain a footing in the modern world, mainly because they’d supported policies that New Englandia and our close allies did not.

They were based in the northwest corner of the former USA and their isolation had enabled them to develop a strong sense of cultural identity.

It was rumored that they were making significant progress with their military, and especially with weapons technology.

Much of this was conjecture and whispers I’d overheard in the hallways, but for some reason him sitting here seemed to give credence to the gossip. For the first time, I genuinely started to believe it.

“It is nice to meet you, Mr. Gates,” I began.