The Registry Office Hangover

The morning light cut through a gap in Josh’s curtains like a blade, straight into Pedro’s skull. He groaned, rolling over on the sofa, one arm flopping onto the floor. His mouth tasted like a brewery floor. The sheet tangled around his legs was damp with sweat. He blinked, trying to piece together the night before. Pints at The Gunmakers. Then that place with the sticky floors. Then shots. Definitely shots.

He squinted at his watch.

Forty-seven minutes. He had forty-seven minutes until his wedding.

“Fuck,” he croaked.

The doorbell rang. Two sharp buzzes that drilled into his temples. Pedro pressed his palms against his eyes and waited for Josh to answer it. Footsteps crossed the flat. The front door opened. Low voices murmured in the hallway.

Pedro swung his legs off the sofa. He was down to his grey briefs, the ones with the fraying waistband that Natalie kept threatening to bin. His shirt and trousers were draped over an armchair across the room. He was calculating whether he could shower, dress, and hail a cab in under twenty minutes when a shadow fell across him.

Harry stood in the doorway to the living room.

He was massive. Six-two of rugby-built bulk, tanned skin, dark buzzcut hair that made him look like a soldier who’d gone to seed in the best possible way. His grin was wide and deeply fucking irritating.

“Morning, groom,” Harry said.

Pedro’s stomach dropped. He hadn’t spoken to Harry properly since the changing room incident two years ago. The memory still made his face hot: bent over a bench, Harry’s heavy palm cracking down on his bare arse while Josh watched. They’d never discussed it. None of them had. But Harry had that look now. The same one he’d worn then. Amused. Hungry.

“What are you doing here?” Pedro asked.

Josh appeared behind Harry, looking uncomfortable. His dark curly hair was unwashed, and he was still in yesterday’s clothes. He wouldn’t meet Pedro’s eyes.

“Harry wanted to stop by,” Josh said.

“Came to give you a traditional English wedding present,” Harry said. He winked at Josh. “Isn’t that right?”

“There’s no such thing,” Pedro said, standing up. “I need to shower. I’m getting married in less than an hour.”

He took a step toward his clothes. Harry’s hand shot out and pushed him back down onto the sofa. Not hard. Just firm. A reminder of who was bigger.

“Don’t argue with me,” Harry said. His voice had dropped, the playfulness hardening at the edges. “This is tradition.”

Pedro opened his mouth to protest. Harry leaned over him and spat. A thick, warm glob landed on Pedro’s cheek, sliding slowly down toward his jaw. Pedro froze. The shock of it was so complete that his brain simply stopped working for a moment.

“What the—”

Harry’s fingers dug into Pedro’s jaw, wrenching his mouth open. He leaned close and let a thick, slow glob of spit drop straight onto Pedro’s tongue. It was hot and heavy, slick with contempt.

“Swallow it,” Harry said, his grin sharp as a blade.

Pedro’s throat convulsed. He obeyed. The taste clung to the back of his mouth.

“Good boy.”

Harry moved fast. He grabbed Pedro by the upper arm and flipped him over his knee in one fluid motion. Pedro’s face pressed into the sofa cushions, his arse raised in the air, still covered by the thin grey briefs. He kicked, but Harry’s forearm pinned his lower back with embarrassing ease.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Pedro shouted.

“Traditional wedding morning spanking,” Harry said. “Very English. Groom’s got to take a good hiding before he’s fit to stand at the altar. Cleanses the soul.”

“That’s not a real thing!”

“It is at Harwick and Stein.”

The first smack landed square on Pedro’s right cheek. Hard. Much harder than the changing room. Pedro yelped, his body jerking against Harry’s leg. Harry’s palm was broad and calloused, and he used it like a paddle.

“Count them,” Harry said.

“I’m not fucking counting—”

The second smack was harder. Pedro’s briefs offered no protection. The heat bloomed across his skin, sharp and spreading.

“Count.”

“One,” Pedro hissed through gritted teeth.

Smack.

“Two.”

Smack.

“Three.”

Harry settled into a rhythm. Slow. Methodical. Each strike landing with a crack that echoed off the walls. By ten, Pedro’s arse was burning. By fifteen, he’d stopped counting out loud and was just grunting with each impact, his fingers digging into the sofa cushions. His briefs had ridden up, exposing the lower curve of his cheeks, and Harry took advantage, aiming lower, hitting the sensitive skin where arse met thigh.

“Josh,” Pedro gasped. “Tell him to stop.”

Josh was standing by the window. His arms were crossed. His face was pale. He looked like a man watching a car crash in slow motion.

“Josh!”

“He’s just… it’s tradition,” Josh said weakly.

Harry laughed. “See? Josh understands.”

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of Pedro’s briefs and yanked them down to mid-thigh. Pedro’s arse was exposed now, the skin already pink and hot. Harry ran his palm over the heated flesh, almost tenderly.

“Peachy,” he murmured. “Always thought so.”

The spanking resumed. Bare skin on bare skin. The sound was wetter now, sharper. Pedro stopped fighting. He went limp over Harry’s knee, his face buried in the cushion, his arse on fire. Each smack sent a jolt through his body, and somewhere around twenty-five, something shifted. The pain was still there, bright and overwhelming, but underneath it was something else. A hum. A warmth that had nothing to do with the spanking.

He hated himself for it.

“Right,” Harry said finally, stopping. His palm rested on Pedro’s burning arse. “That’s the warm-up done. One more surprise before you’re a married man.”

Pedro twisted his head to look up. Harry’s expression had changed. The grin was still there, but his eyes were darker now. Focused. He lifted Pedro off his knee like he weighed nothing and dumped him onto the floor. Then he grabbed Pedro’s hips and dumped him on his knees, bent over the main body of the sofa.

“Josh,” Harry said. “Hold him.”

Josh hesitated. His hands were trembling at his sides.

“Josh,” Harry repeated. “Hold. Him.”

Josh moved like a man in a trance. He walked over and placed his hands on Pedro’s shoulders, pressing him down into the sofa. His touch was gentle. Apologetic. Pedro could feel the slight tremor in his fingers.

“Sorry,” Josh whispered.

Behind them, Harry unbuckled his belt. The leather hissed through the loops. The zip of his trousers was obscenely loud in the quiet room. Pedro heard the rustle of fabric, then the wet sound of Harry spitting into his palm.

“No,” Pedro said. “No, Harry. I’m getting married. I have to be at the registry office. Natalie’s waiting.”

“Still time,” Harry said.

Pedro felt the blunt pressure of Harry’s cock against his hole. No preamble. No preparation. Just the hot, insistent push of flesh demanding entry. Pedro’s body resisted for a moment, then yielded with a sharp, tearing sensation that made him cry out.

“Jesus Christ—”

Harry entered him in one long, steady thrust. He was thick. Thicker than Pedro remembered. The stretch was brutal, a burning fullness that radiated up into his lower back. Harry didn’t pause to let him adjust. He just started fucking.

The rhythm was mechanical. Efficient. Harry’s hips drove forward in a steady piston motion, each thrust pushing Pedro harder against the sofa arm. There was no emotion in it. No passion. Just a man taking what he wanted from a body that couldn’t stop him.

“Please,” Pedro said. “You’ve made your point. Pull out.”

Harry grunted. His hands gripped Pedro’s hips, fingers digging into the tender, spanked flesh. The pain and the fullness blurred together into something overwhelming. Pedro’s cock, traitorously, was hard. It bounced against the sofa with each thrust, leaking a thin trail of pre-come onto the fabric.

“Knew you’d take it well,” Harry said. “Always did. Tight little arse. Perfect for a going-away present.”

Pedro looked up at Josh. Josh’s face was blank. His hands still pressed down on Pedro’s shoulders, but his grip had gone slack. He was just watching. Watching Harry’s cock slide in and out of Pedro’s stretched hole. Watching the way Pedro’s body rocked with each thrust.

“Josh,” Pedro said.

Josh flinched like he’d been slapped. But he didn’t let go.

Harry’s pace quickened. His breathing grew ragged. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room. Pedro could feel Harry’s cock swelling inside him, the ridge of the head catching on his rim with each withdrawal.

“Here it comes,” Harry grunted. “Wedding present.”

He buried himself deep and came. Pedro felt it: the hot pulse of Harry’s release flooding his insides. Thick ropes of semen coating his walls. Harry held himself there for a long moment, grinding his hips in small circles, milking every drop. Then he pulled out with a satisfied sigh.

The emptiness was immediate and shocking. Pedro’s hole gaped for a moment before clenching shut, trapping Harry’s load inside. He could feel it. Warm. Wet. Already starting to leak down the inside of his thigh.

Harry slapped Pedro’s arse once, playfully. The sting on his already-tender skin made him flinch.

“Enjoy the ceremony,” Harry said. “I’ll see you there in twenty minutes.”

He pulled up his trousers, buckled his belt, and strode out of the flat without looking back. The front door clicked shut behind him.

Pedro stayed bent over the sofa. His arse was on fire. His hole was leaking. His wedding suit was still draped over the chair, impossibly far away.

Josh let go of his shoulders. His hands hung at his sides.

“Pedro,” he said.

“Don’t.” Pedro pushed himself upright. His legs were shaking. He pulled up his briefs, wincing as the fabric scraped over his raw skin. “I have to go.”

“Pedro, I didn’t—”

“I said don’t.”

He grabbed his suit and stumbled toward the bathroom. No time for a shower. He wiped himself down with a flannel, the water running pink as it swirled down the drain. He pulled on his trousers. The fabric was rough against his spanked arse. He could feel Harry’s load leak down his thigh. starting to seep through his briefs.

The registry office was a fifteen-minute cab ride away. Josh sat beside him in the back seat, not speaking. Pedro stared out the window, watching Southwark slide past. His body was a catalogue of sensations: the burn of his arse, the ache in his hole, the slow, persistent trickle of Harry’s release soaking into his wedding trousers.

They arrived with ninety seconds to spare. Natalie was waiting on the steps, radiant in a simple white dress. Her smile when she saw him was so bright it hurt.

“You made it!” she said, kissing his cheek. “I was starting to worry.”

“Traffic,” Pedro said.

The ceremony was a blur. Pedro stood at the front of the small room, holding Natalie’s hands, and felt Harry’s load seep through his underwear. Each time he shifted his weight, his spanked arse reminded him of the morning’s events. Harry was in the back row. Pedro could feel his eyes on him. That same amused, knowing look.

“I do,” Pedro said, when the moment came.

Natalie beamed. The registrar pronounced them married. Everyone clapped.

At the reception, Pedro found himself standing next to Josh by the bar. They watched Natalie dancing with her father. Pedro’s arse was still throbbing. The damp patch on his trousers had dried to a faint crust.

“Are you going to tell her?” Josh asked quietly.

Pedro took a long sip of champagne. The bubbles burned his throat.

“Tell her what? That my work colleagues have a very particular interpretation of English tradition?”

“Pedro—”

“I’ve been at Harwick and Stein for five years,” Pedro said. “I’m a vice president now. I’ve taken canings. I’ve been bent over benches. I’ve been spat on and fucked on my wedding morning. And you know what I’ve learned?”

Josh shook his head.

“It never stops,” Pedro said. “Unless you make it stop.”

He set down his champagne glass and walked onto the dance floor. Natalie wrapped her arms around his neck, and he pulled her close. She smelled like flowers and happiness. Over her shoulder, he caught Harry’s eye across the room. Harry raised his glass in a mocking toast.

Pedro smiled back. It wasn’t a nice smile.

He was already thinking about his first day back at work. About the leverage he’d just been handed. About the look on Harry’s face when he realised that the groom had finally learned how to play the game.

“Everything okay?” Natalie asked.

“Perfect,” Pedro said, and kissed his wife. “Absolutely perfect.”