Reluctant Bride

by M1ke Hunt

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, .

Desc: Sex Story: (#29) I help her with the wedding arrangements

I'm afraid the Almost True Series of M1KE HUNT adventures may be coming to a close, dear friends. You see, I'm slowly going broke writing these stories.

My most recent attempt to leverage these little ditties into some cold hard cash has been a bust, and I can't figure out why! I thought the M1KE HUNT FAN CLUB would be a huge success. Maybe the $250 annual fee was a problem. We only got 2 orders. And mine doesn't really count, I suppose. Even my wife June only ponied up for a month's worth, which put exactly $20.83 in my pocket. Not exactly enough to keep gas in the old Fiat, you know?

How come I keep hearing about how much money everybody is making off the Internet? How about all these dirty sex sites I keep reading about in the newsgroups?

Part of the problem, of course, is that you have to be at least 18 to read my stories or join my fan club. Let's face it. People under 18 are dumb AND horny. Those are the two perfect conditions to join my little enterprise, and I have to eliminate that whole market.

It wouldn't be so bad, but coming right on the heels of the failure of "M1KE's Cheese and Hardware Shoppe" it really hurts. I can't figure out why it wasn't successful. I think it might have had something to do with the asbestos factory next door. They were really loud! I wish you'd been to the shoppe. Ah, the aromas of brass cleaner and havarti. Two of my favorites! Anyway, the store was kind of a disaster.

I even tried selling my stories out in the back, sort of on the side. I want to be upfront about this downer I undertook. I'm glad it's over. OK, I'm through.

So fuck it. I'll figure out a way to make some money off these stories after all before I'm done. I hope sooner rather than later. Uh oh, don't get me started.

"I believe in the sanctity of marriage," I heard myself say, as the phrase resonated through the huge church. The 250 people sitting in the pews listened to my words, and most of them nodded piously at their meaning. It was my small part in Brian and Gail's wedding.

So how come I'd been porking Gail not a half-hour earlier?

Another usher stepped to the podium and recited his one sentence homily. The audience nodded again. The process would continue until all 6 ushers had their individual say. I wondered how many of them believed what they mouthed.

I did. But that's not to say that I can live my life according to some strict set of rules like that. I'm weak sometimes. Especially when it comes to women. You know how it is. If you don't, perhaps the story will help you understand.

Brian was one of my best friends. We'd known each other in college in Boston, and by chance had both moved to the Philadelphia area afterwards. We found jobs at different companies but at similar wages, which is to say we were both nearly always broke. Our salaries went into such necessities as rent, food, and maybe a box of Trojans once in a while. Just the basics.

Philly was a great town, except for the prices. Lots of colleges and universities. Rich in history. Lots of bars. Lots of girls. A liberal attitude. Brian and I both played around a lot. When he started going out with Gail I didn't think much of it; he'd dated dozens of girls during the few years I'd known him. But one day he told me "She's the one."

Now I'd been in a few relationships myself, but nothing so serious that I would tell people "I'm quitting the game," which is what his declaration sounded like to me. So I didn't truly understand what he was saying; I thought it was just words from a young, lovesick guy. But sure enough, Brian stopped seeing other women and he and Gail became an item. A real pair, always together, always mooning over each other, always lovey dovey. Yuk.

It was only a month or two later that they moved in together and set up housekeeping. It would be less than a year after that when we all stood dressed like little Ken dolls in the church. I'd rented a nice tux for the occasion from Mr. Tux. $30 for three days including alterations. I thought it a modest investment for an important day.

The week leading up to the wedding had been filled with tension. First Gail's wedding dress came back wrong; the zipper didn't work or something. Then the videographer's camera broke. Then her sister got sick. It was one thing after another. The week before a wedding is stressful, anyway, and with everybody running around making last minute changes, it was no wonder that she snapped.

She called me on the night of Brian's second stag party. I had been to the first, but wasn't invited to the second. The one I attended had been with a group of friends, the second was given by his college fraternity brothers. Like some secret society or something, it was a strictly closed door session.

Not that we invited an audience to the one we threw. I mean, the hookers we hired wouldn't have minded. Hell, with their attitude they would have done a pledge marathon on PBS. But some of us were a little bit more shy, although by the end of the evening everybody everywhere had watched everybody else fuck one of them or get a blowjob at least once. In Brian's case, one of each, much to the amusement of everyone in the crowd and to the delight of the girls. Of course they had a vested interest. Hookers, like all retailers everywhere, understand the importance of repeat customers.

I was surprised, but not shocked when Gail called. We'd gotten to know each other pretty well during the time that she and Brian were going out. We even double dated a few of times; and there were more than a couple of Fridays or Saturdays where the three of us hung out together or went to Jerry's Pizza over on Walnut or maybe the local Cineplex.

She asked if I'd come over to her place. I figured she had the pre-nup jitters. I was right.

"Oh Mike, thanks for coming over," she said, giving me a hug. "I'm as nervous as a bird, and, well, I just needed some company tonight. Especially tonight."

"Why especially tonight?" I asked.

"Oh, you know, just a couple days to go, and, uh, Brian off at a stag party again," she answered. "What really goes on at those things, anyway?"

I dodged. I feinted. I lied. "Oh, not much, really. You know, guys telling jokes, razzing the groom-to-be. Maybe a stripper, or something." Certainly not a horny fuck-fest!

"Are you sure?" she said. "Because I've heard stories about wild bashes with hookers and everything..."

"Oh I'm sure that's happened somewhere, at some time," I said. Like day-before-yesterday at Dirty Ernie's on 15th Street, maybe. Between 9PM and 2AM, to be exact. "But those are mostly just rumors and stuff, you know?"

"Well, I don't know..." she said. "I do know how you guys are, always wanting to get laid, and everything. At least Brian is. Or was, I hope. I mean, he really played the field before we started going out. Sowed his wild oats all over the Midwest, you know what I mean? I hope he's over that now."

"I'm sure he is," I interjected. "That's why he's getting married." Of course. Perfectly logical. That's why there's such a low rate of adultery.

"In a way, it's not fair," she said. I wrinkled my forehead as if to say, "Why?" She answered my thought. "Because guys play around and get laid as much as they can, and girls are supposed to be pure. You know, the virgin bride. The white dress, and all." I nodded. "Brian is the only guy I've ever slept with. I feel like I missed out. Anyway, sex is not that big a deal, at least what I've had."

"Oh it gets better the more you practice," I improvised. "But sometimes it matters who the partner is, too. I mean, some are better than others, you know?"

"No, I don't know," she said. "And I guess I'll never know, at least if I do what the vows say."

"Yeah, well, that's part of the deal, I guess," I said. "Anyway, I'm sure you're making too big a deal out of this. Even if Brian is the only guy you've, uh, slept with, you must have gone out with lots of others. You're an attractive girl. Pretty face. Nice figure. Good personality." Actually her personality led the list, but if you say 'good personality' first, everybody figures the girl is a dog, 'ja ever notice?

Gail looked uncomfortable. She hesitated a moment before speaking. "Yeah, well, I went out with a few guys, but not that many. I didn't, uh, blossom until I got to college. And during high school I wasn't allowed to date at all. My parents were unbelievably strict. Not that there were a lot of guys banging down the door, anyway"

"But you must've gotten caught in the back seat a few times. Maybe some petting here and there?" I asked, pressing for details.

"Not really. Sort of, I guess. I mean the first few boys who tried got smacked and shut out. My parents' upbringing, see?. Then just as I figured that it was maybe OK, I started going out with Brian. Which brings me to today."

She looked me in the eye. "So are you sure there's nothing going on tonight? With his fraternity brothers, I mean."

"Gosh, I don't know," I said, exasperated. "Fraternity house. Fraternity brothers. I'm not there, you know? All I can tell you is that the stories about these things are usually exaggerated. Wild sex parties. Girls doing all sorts of things with everybody. I wish it were true!" I leered at her as I said it. She laughed.

"Oh, I guess I'm just nervous," she said. "I've thought of 27 reasons why getting married isn't a good idea. Sex is just one of them."

"What are the others?" I asked. I quickly thought better of it. No sense amplifying her fears. It was too late. She had already started babbling.

"Oh I don't know if I'm ready. And I don't want to have kids yet, and Brian does. And he wants to live upstate and I want to live in the city. And..." She went on reciting a list, and as I tried to calm her, or at least shut her up, she broke into tears. It was just the tension that had been building with all of the pre-wedding arrangements, I was sure.

I took her in my arms and comforted her. "Tut tut," I said. Well, not 'tut tut' exactly, but you know. "It's gonna be fine. Come on, Gail. You've thought about this a lot. You've probably thought about it too much. Brian's a great guy. You're a great girl. It's a match made in heaven. There are bound to be a few problems, but, hey, the highway of life has to have a few potholes, right?" I'd read that somewhere, probably in an Anne747 story or somewhere.

"Come on, let's do something fun," I continued. I let go of her and walked to the kitchen and got a Kleenex brand tissue from the brightly flowered container.

"Like what?" she asked, dabbing at her eyes.

"Like, uh, I don't know, something..." I trailed off.

"I know. Want to see my dress?" she asked.

"Sure, sure," I replied. In truth, I could have cared less. That was girl stuff, but I would have agreed to anything to change the subject and the mood.

She disappeared into the bedroom and reappeared a couple of minutes later. While she was changing we continued talking.

"How much was it?" I asked.

"That's a very gauche question," she said. "It isn't how much it costs. It's how it makes you feel."

"Uh, sure," I said. She stopped me cold with that one.

"It makes me feel like $1,250," she said, giggling.

"Oh," I said brightly. "Where'd you get it?"

"McCormick's Bridal," she answered. "In the Plymouth Meeting mall. I went there because they're open late. And I found this one and fell in love with it."

"Aren't you supposed to save this for, uh, the wedding day?" I asked. I'd heard something like that before.

"No, that's just for the groom. It's supposed to be bad luck if he sees you in the wedding dress before the wedding. But it's OK for other people."

"I see," I said. "I wonder how that superstition got started."

"I don't know," she said, as she reappeared from the bedroom. She was a vision.

The gown was pure white, trim, almost figure hugging. Where the skirt of so many gowns is wide and puffy, Gail had chosen a slim profile job trimmed with circles of lace that crept down the lower half of the dress like so many frilly white hula-hoops. It was finished with a circle of lace at the knees. The top half of the gown was equally stylish. The bodice was quite low cut, but a wide needlepoint bobbinet covered the swell of her breasts which would have been otherwise on display. Still the gaps in the material revealed enough to be enticing without being blatant. I could see the deep furrow between her tits peeking through the webbing before it dissolved into the sequined fabric of the shell. She carried the veil in her hand; the lace was of the same style, but lighter than the bodice of the gown.

"Wow," I said. "Double wow. Maybe triple!" I was impressed.

"You really think so?" she asked, fishing.

"You bet. You look like a million bucks," I answered.

"At least 12-hundred," she said with a smile. "And fifty."

"I've never understood why women spend so much on a gown for one day, even for one big day," I said, absentmindedly. "Maybe now I do."

"Oh, its a splurge all right. But like they said in the store. You only get married once. Well of course that's not necessarily true these days, but you're supposed to." I nodded. "Anyway, it's convertible, so I can use it again if I want."

"What do you mean, convertible?" I asked. "You mean the top goes down? Ha ha. Just kidding. Really."

"No, I mean it's convertible," she sneered. "That's one of the reasons it cost so much. There are more zippers and straps built into this thing than a space suit. Here, look."

She bent forward and flipped up the hem of the dress. I looked. I didn't see anything.

"Don't you see it?" she asked. I shook my head. I bent down. I still didn't see anything. "There's a zipper at each one of the lace rings. I can shorten the hemline just by unzipping one of the layers. Look."

I knelt on one knee as her fingers found the zipper and pulled. She twisted and found the zipper behind herself with the other hand, completing the circle. About 4 inches of material fell into a strip at her feet.

"I'll be damned," I said. "That's terrific. Do these other, uh, rings work like that?" There were three more of them, the highest of which would take the dress right up to the roller disco look.

"Sure do." She didn't move to take off the next ring. I was disappointed. Gail had great legs; I wouldn't have minded seeing more.

"And the bodice comes off, too. Once the lace is gone it doesn't look so much like a wedding dress," she said.

"I can't imagine," I said.

"Here. Look." Her fingers found the zipper inside the top flap of the lacy material and began to push it down. But the angle of her arm was all wrong, and she had her wrist bent in a crazy direction trying not to stretch the fabric. "The only trouble is you can't do it while you're wearing it. Not that you should, normally, of course," she said. She had only opened the zipper a couple, maybe four inches. "Maybe you could help?"

God I love these moments. I can be gallant, and helpful, and kind. A true Boy Scout, that's me.

I reached up and tucked my fingers behind the material and found the tiny handle of the zipper. I tugged, and it began to move. "Make sure it doesn't scratch me, would you?" she said throatily.

"Sure," I replied. I inserted my hand further into the bodice as I continued moving the zipper around. I felt the top of her breasts as the little metal tab traveled its ordained route. She seemed a little uncomfortable, especially when I slowed down the travel speed of the zipper. "Sorry," I replied. "Can't help it."

"You mean can't help yourself," she said, looking me in the eye. Here I was with my hand inside the top of her dress, virtually groping the top of her tits. She had me dead to rights. My dick began to spring to life.

"OK, well, I mean, can you blame me? Jeez, you're a stunning woman, Gail. And you're all the more alluring in this dress. I hope Brian appreciates what he's getting." I finished the zipper and the bodice fell away in my hand. The top was now so low cut that the top of her brassiere was showing over the material.

"Oh gee, look at that," she said. "I should have worn a different bra. But then I didn't know you were going to be standing there undressing me! Maybe I would have!"

"What do you mean?" I asked, not so innocently.

"Well, perhaps this was fate. Brian's off enjoying himself at his damn stag party. Maybe I should have one final fling myself. Just to be sure. Maybe?"

I broke into a sweat. I trembled. I shook. I swelled.

She continued, "I mean, if you want to. I didn't mean..."

I interrupted her. No sense letting her get off track. "Of course I would love to. You're so beautiful, what man wouldn't want to?" I said. I meant it. I stepped forward and put my arms behind her and pulled her to me. I bent my head just a little to kiss her.

We touched lips. Tentatively at first. The with more force. Finally with true passion. We mashed our mouths together, feeling the sensuous tingle of first touch and first moisture. I felt her tongue push at my lips, and I let them part to allow her access. She danced against my tongue, and we began a duel that lasted for minutes; hot, sweaty, passionate moments of kissing before the main event.

My hands went to her breasts, but through the sequined material it was hard to feel much of anything. She apparently figured that out, and reached into her top and released her breasts from the severe bra, then lifted them out of the low cut bodice. My hands smothered her tits, and I felt her nipples come alive in my palms.

We stood there for several minutes, kissing and petting when I sensed her hands beginning to roam. Away from my butt, around the front of my pants, finally closing in on my erection, she grasped it firmly through my pants and then quickly let it go, groping for my zipper.

"Aren't zippers wonderful?" she said, breaking the kiss for a moment.

"Only when they're open," I replied before mashing my mouth back onto hers.

She zipped down the device with one quick tug and reached inside. It was only a moment before I felt her cool hand slide inside my boxer shorts and grasp me directly. Another several minutes passed as we made out, fondled, caressed and petted standing there in her living room. I wanted to return the favor, but the dress was in the way.

"Perhaps we should get more comfortable," I suggested.

"Great idea," she said. She moved to the sofa and sat down.

"I meant with the clothing," I said softly. "I wouldn't want to do anything to ruin the dress."

"Oh, of course. Thank you," she said, as though I was the most considerate guy on the planet.

She stood up and unzipped another of the mysterious zippers in the back and the shell opened. She stepped out of the dress and carefully laid it on the back of a stuffed chair. She came back to the couch.

"Is this better?" she asked.

"Better," I said. "But we have to get rid of this." I reached around behind her and fumbled with the clasp of her bra. While taking off the dress she had replaced her tits in the cups, and I wanted full and free access. I fumbled some more. And some more. Why do they make those fucking things so hard to get off? Especially the Playtex Cross Your Heart ones?

She knew I was in trouble and reached around behind herself, giggling. "Need a hand, Mister?"

I felt like a fool. I always do. No matter how much I practice, I can't get those things to work. I'm still waiting for Velcro <TM> to make an appearance on women's underwear. Desperately.

The bra fell away, revealing her lovely bosom to my view. My hands went up and cupped her again. Our lips touched once more.

Her hands went to work, pulling at the buckle on my belt, then opening the top of my pants, finally pushing them down to my knees. Without a word she swung over me, sitting on my lap. We continued our passionate kiss. I began moving my hands away from her breasts, across her golden smooth skin, down her back, around her sides, and back to her tits. My hard-on throbbed as she reached for it, and I sighed a huge sigh of relief as she pulled her panties to one side and moved to take me.

The relative positions of our heads changed as she rose up to take me, but we never broke the kiss. I could feel her hand on my dick, positioning me against the gates of her womanhood, sliding me back and forth until she had achieved lubrication. Then she pointed me straight into that tunnel of love and began to sink down on me.

"Slowly. Slowly," I managed to mumble as she descended my exuberant shaft. I felt myself slipping into her a millimeter at a time. I kept my open eyes during the journey, watching her expression. Her eyes were closed, even squinting shut as she traveled the inches of muscle until I was nestled firmly inside her. She opened her eyes.

I looked deeply into her face and said "I feel honored. I feel wonderful."

"I feel wet," she said. She bounced up, then down.

"I feel it too," I replied. I looked at her face as I grasped her tits. She bounced again.

"This is amazing," she said. "It's almost like the first time..." She left the thought unfinished. "It might be better than the first time, because there's no pain..." She stopped talking again. There was silence in the room, interrupted only every few seconds by the slap of her thighs landing on mine as she bobbed up and down on my righteous penis.

One of her hands let go of my shoulder and went down to her clitoris. She began to twiddle her index finger against it as she moved my shaft in and out of her pussy. Our tongues continued their battle. My hands squeezed and squeezed. Her bouncing became more violent. Her fingers stoked herself more insistently. It was difficult for me to resist, but I managed. I wanted to see this girl cum; watching a woman get off has always been one of my biggest turn-ons, I thought Gail might be a hurricane waiting to happen.

"Oh, oh, oh," she said looking at me with wide eyes.

"Oh, go, go, go," I coaxed. Her thrashing increased again. And then she left the edge. Jumped the hedge. Fell off the ledge. She began a series of convulsions that were so strong they threatened to topple us from the couch. I had been close for several minutes; I let myself go.

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Story tagged with:
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