Chapter 13: Bridezilla’s Cheating Workout

Note: This story was commissioned by n1one years ago. Enjoy. Natalie

They were all so gorgeous.

Beautiful. Stunning. Impressive.

I was in heaven. Everywhere I looked in Purely White Wedding Boutique, I spotted another gorgeous bridal gown that I wanted to wear on the day I married the Mind Controller. I wanted to have a perfect wedding with the Man. It would be so wonderful to walk up the aisle dressed all in white.

I had to find a dress that showed off my bosom. That was a must. But I also wanted a train. I wanted a dress that was so impractical to wear and look beautiful in it. I rubbed my hands together, this excitement rushing through me.

“This one is gorgeous,” said the maid. I didn’t remember her real name. She was just the maid, her identity whipped away the day that the Man had rehabilitated her from being a complete bitch. She’d thrown an utter fit because they were out of her favorite fish at a restaurant. The Man and I had been enjoying such a wonderful time.

She had spent the rest of the day licking clean the cooks’ hands to show her appreciation. She sucked all the grease and dirt off of them when they weren’t fucking her cunts. She had shown herself such an enthusiastic cleaner, we brought her home with us.

“Look at the train on this one, Mistress Natalie,” she said with all the love and devotion that her mind-control demanded that she show. She was deep under the Man’s powers. “Isn’t this gorgeous?”

“Yes, it is, maid,” I said. She wore a French maid’s outfit with a puffy skirt so short she flashed her asscheeks and shaved twat when she bent over. It was also so low-cut her big, fake tits—done by the same doctor who did mine—threaten to burst out. “That’s just lovely.”

I suppose I should be doing this with my sister, but she was busy whoring herself out to support our parents. Mom and Dad were happily reunited and eager to fly out for the wedding. They had my bratty, little sister working overtime to pay for it.

“She’ll be hoing on the plane,” Daddy had told me just two days ago. “We’ll be selling her cunt to all the passengers. Maybe we should just stick her in the lavatory so they can piss in her mouth before they fuck her cunt.”

“But look at the bodice,” I said to the maid, studying at the dress. “Is that low-cut enough?”

“Hmm,” the maid said. “You might be right, Mistress Natalie. We have to show off your boobs for Master. He wants to see them displayed.”

“I’m sure he does,” said a young woman. “Hi, I’m Sarah, Hannah’s daughter. I can help you until she’s down helping another bride in the back.”

“Thank you,” I told the sweet girl. She looked my age, nineteen or twenty. It was so nice of her to help her mother out. “I need a dress that my tits are almost falling out of. The Man has to see them.”

“Maybe with a light veil draped over them,” added the maid.

“Ooh, that’s a good idea.”

“Thank you, Mistress Natalie. I am honored my idea pleased you. It makes my pussy so wet.” Sarah didn’t blink an eye at any of the maid’s words. She accepted that a woman in a slutty French maid outfit would say those words to me because that was how amazing the Man’s mind-control powers were. People just accepted how those under his thrall acted.

“We might have to tailor one,” she said. “But my mother is amazing. We can get you a dress to do that. It’s not something that most designers go for, so I’m not sure you’ll find an unaltered one.”

“That’s wonderful. “I’m so glad—”

“This is all wrong!” screeched from the back. “What did you do to my dress! It was perfect, now it’s too tight in the waist. You’re ruining my WEDDING!”

I winced at that last word. It was such a high-pitched screeched. My ears rang from it. Sarah shot me an apologetic look. She rubbed her hands together. It was clear the poor thing didn’t know what to do.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “It’s the bride that my mother’s helping. She, uh...”

“Is going Bridezilla on your mother?” I asked.

“I didn’t say that,” Sarah quickly said. It was clear she was trying to be diplomatic. The girl had character. I approved. So many women were bitches and cunts who thought they could get away with their terrible behavior. Society was too eager to give women a pass on the shit they pulled.

I marched to the back.

“No, I don’t care that you can adjust it!” screeched the Bridezilla. “Right, Mom! It’s supposed to be perfect! PERFECT!”

“That’s right,” another woman said, her voice was equally as nasally and shrill. “My husband is paying you good money do to your job right, not to make it so my daughter doesn’t fit in her own dress. Do you know who she is.”

“I am aware,” a patient voice said. “It’s fine. It’s been a month since you’re fitting. I’ll just take some new measurements—”

“NEW MEASUREMENTS!” shrieked the Bridezilla.

I pulled aside the curtain and peered into the back. There was a woman in a bridal gown on a pedestal. She was a few years older than me, her bleached-blonde hair falling around her pale face. She stood stiffly like the dress fit her too tight. It was a sleek gown, cupping her round face. Her cheeks were red.

“Are you saying it’s MY fault that I can’t fit into my wedding dress?”

“I didn’t say that, Rachel,” said the seamstress. She was a motherly woman in a loose, black skirt and a red blouse. She had a cloth tape measure dangling from her neck like a priest’s stole. Her brown hair was gathered up in a bun. “We just need to find out your current measurements, then I’ll make a few alterations. Your dress will be ready—”

“CURRENT!” screeched the girl. She glanced at an older woman in a lilac pantsuit and white blouse. The woman had brown hair cut short and curled at the bottom. She had a rather pronounced nose. “Mother, she’s saying I’m FAT!”

“My daughter is not fat!” The mother planted hands on her hips and glared at the seamstress. “I do not like what you’re insinuating. Look at her. She’s perfect.”

“She may have gained a few pounds, Mrs. Goldberg,” the seamstress said, holding up her hands in annoyance. “It happens. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about.” The seamstress gave a self-deprecating laugh. “I know I could stand to lose a few pounds.”

“More like twenty,” muttered the last person in the room.

There, leaning against the wall, was a girl of eighteen. Slender, her hair the same shade for brown. She was clearly the bride’s little sister, their faces almost identical. She wore tight blue jeans and a crop top. She stared down at her phone.

“Right,” hissed the bride. “You mess up my dress, and then think I AM fat because you can’t control your own diet! This is ridiculous. Why are we even frequenting this shop.”

“She did your cousin’s dress,” said Mrs. Goldberg. “And your aunt. She did my cousin’s daughter. And she did Mrs. Grossman’s two daughters’ dresses.”

“And all of them were satisfied,” said the seamstress. “I must have written the numbers down wrong. I’m sorry for implying that you’re fat.”

“You should be stuffed into that dress like a lump of potatoes,” muttered the bride.

Anger seethed in me. “Maid, call the Man. He has a bride, her mother, and her sister to punish.”

“Yes, Mistress Natalie,” said the maid.

“Punish?” squeaked Sarah. “What does that mean.”

“That things will be perfect,” I said, turning to the girl. “Don’t you worry. Your mother is a good woman. She’s going to be rewarded. And so are you.” I cupped the girl’s chin and smiled at her.

Her cheeks blushed. She swallowed and stepped back.

“Master,” the maid said into her phone, “your bride requests that you come to the boutique. There are some bitches who need to learn their places. Yes, Master, just like I had to. I know you’ll straighten them out. You’ll save them like you saved me.”

I smiled. The Man had saved the maid and all those other bitches from their terrible lives of selfish disregard for others. Now they had learned to be good members of society. They had found their place and fit in without breaking others in the process.

I strode into Purely White Wedding Boutique, my eyes flashing across all the gowns. Natalie wanted her wedding dress to be a surprise to me. I was more than willing to let her have that desire. Our wedding had to be perfect.

She deserved perfection.

I found her at the back of the store peering through a curtain. I could hear the shouting coming back from there. A shrill woman was berating someone. Being a complete Bridezilla bitch. I smiled, my dick throbbing.

“Master,” the Maid said and curtsied low, lifting up her skirts to flash her shaved pussy in the process. When she bowed low, her tits swung before her, barely contained by the low-cut bodice.

“Sir!” Natalie’s face lit up at the sight of me. Her green eyes sparkled. She rubbed her hands together, her hips wiggling from side to side. “You hear her. She’s in there with her mother and sister. The sister’s not terrible, but she’s still joining in from time to time.”

“You will have this done tomorrow!” the Bridezilla snapped. “TOMORROW!”

I winced at the volume. “Fuck me, listening to her is like nails on a chalkboard. How has no one strangled her.”

“She’s rich,” Natalie said. “Or her daddy is.”

“Well, I’ll take care of this,” I said and boldly stepped into the backroom.

“Tomorrow!” the bride hissed at the seamstress. “You will have it ready and fitting perfectly. If it’s not, I’m telling Daddy to not pay you all that he owes you.”

The motherly woman’s face flushed with annoyance then she swallowed it. “My dress will fit perfectly.”

“That’s what you said the first time,” the bride hissed. “This has to be PERFECT!”

“Shouldn’t have gained five pounds,” the sister said.

“What was that?” the bride snapped.

“Esther, don’t speak like that to your sister,” the mother said. “But my daughter’s right, Mrs. Sachburg. If the dress doesn’t fit perfectly my husband won’t pay full price. Do you understand me.”

“I understand you,” I said, my voice pleasant and even as I stepped inside.

All four snapped their gazes to me. The seamstress swallowed. “I’m so sorry, sir, I’m with customers. If you could wait out there.”

“It’s okay for me to be here,” I said, giving her a smile. “Relax, relax. Don’t be stressed out that these harpies are trying to weasel out of paying because Bridezilla here’s got a chunky ass.”

“CHUNKY ASS!” screeched the bitch. She planted her hands on her hips while the sister sniggered in the background. Huffing, Bridezilla gasped, “Mother!”

“How dare you march in here and speak to my daughter that way,” the mother said. She marched around in her pantsuit like she was Hillary Clinton.

“I’m talking to your daughter. Be quiet until it’s your turn to speak, Mrs. Bitch,” I said.

She snapped her jaw shot even as the bride hissed in a breath. Fury gleamed in the woman’s eyes. On the dais, she had maybe an inch over me. She tried to loom, her round tits rising and falling in her tight bodice.

“You put on a few pounds, didn’t you?” I told her.

“Yes!” she hissed. “And that’s rude of you to say that. What sort of asshole are you to barge in here and say I have a fat ass?”

“Chunky ass,” the sister said, smirking.

“Quite, Esther!” snapped Bridezilla.

“So if you got a fat ass, why are you getting mad at the seamstress?” I asked, keeping my voice even. I wanted this woman to dig her a whole. I had ideas kindling in my mind.

“Because I don’t get fat!” snapped the woman. “I would never do that and ruin my figure. I am hot. Look at me. My fiance worships the ground I walk on. He’s so lucky to have me. He grovels at my feet.”

“Let me guess; he works on Wall Street?”

“Yes!” she said.

“And you want to look hot for the guys you’re banging on the side.”

“Of course.” A shiver ran through him. “Have you seen what my fiance looks like. Barf. But his checking account.” She shuddered, this look of ecstasy spilling across her face. “Now that’s amazing.”

“So you’re a gold-digging whore and a Bridezilla.” I smiled. “Well, I am here to solve all your problems. I’ll make sure you fit in that dress.”

“You will?” she asked. “All my problems? You can find a husband with money and who doesn’t look like an extra from the Trolls movie?”

“No, no, I can help you sweat off those pounds,” I said. “Let’s get that fat ass nice and tight. Get out of that dress. You’re not worthy of it. A whore can’t wear white. You’re too filthy for it. But we’ll fix that.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I don’t want to be too filthy to wear white,” she said. “Mother, help me get out of this. You, too, Esther.”

“You can kiss my butt,” said Esther.

“Later, later,” I said, glancing at her. She had to be adjusted, too. And so did the mother. It was clear the gold-digging bitch getting married learned it all from mother dearest. I’d get this entire family straightened out.

First, the bride.

I watched as the mother and Mrs. Sachburg helped take off the wedding dress. They undid these fine, little buttons and then it slid off of her torso. Her breasts spilled out naked. She clapped a hand over them. Then she studied me.

“You dress really well,” she said. “Is that a Savile Row suit you’re wearing?”

“Yes, it is?” I said. “I don’t like wearing one of my Armani when I could get it dirty disciplining a whore like you.”

“Mmm, Armani suits...” A shiver ran through her. “Are you single.”

“Engaged.”

“And?” Her hands fell away from her breasts. “Are her tits as good as these. Look at them. Nice and natural. Just so delicious. You’re here to give me everything, right. Mmm, you’re handsome and rich. I want you.”

“You can’t have him, bitch!” hissed Natalie. She burst into the room and marched up in a green sheath dress. She ripped down the front and her big boobs spilled out. “These are the tits you’re up against.”

“Mine are natural,” the bride said, squeezing her breasts as her mother and the seamstress froze in pulling down the skirt.

“You really don’t get this, do you?” I told the bride. “Why would I want to marry a filthy, dirty, disgusting, gold-digging cunt when I could have Natalie’s perfection.”

“Because I’m hotter than her.”

I burst into laughter. Rich, booming mirth that rumbled out of me. The sultry look on the bride’s face faltered. Her hands squeezing her tits then slid over to cover her nipples again, hiding those pink nubs. She squirmed, looking embarrassed.

“I am hotter than her,” Bridezilla muttered.

“Eh,” Esther said. “I bet her ass isn’t as fat.”

“I don’t have a fat ass, you little cunt!” hissed the bride. She whirled around, a white thong vanishing between her butt-cheeks.

I smacked her rump. It jiggled. “You got some fat back there. But that’s okay, we’re going to sweat it away. Drop that thong and follow me. Mrs. Bitch and Little Cunt, stay here.” I paused. “You’re the little cunt, Esther.”

“I am?” she asked then shrugged.

Oh, yes, she needed some adjustment, too. Had I reached her in time? I’d find out.

The bride shoved down her thong. The seamstress just looked bemused. Then the bride turned around, her round tits jiggling. She had a landing strip of brown hair leading to her shaved pussy, her lips thick. She had even started to get aroused.

“Does being called a disgusting, filthy, naughty, gold-digging whore turn you on?” I asked her as she stepped off the dais.

“No,” she said. “I mean, not really.”

“It does now, you filthy, dumb cunt,” I said. “Get that gold-digging ass out on the sidewalk.”

She shuddered and I knew she was getting wet now.

I took off my jacket and handed it to the maid. She took it with delight. I undid my cufflinks as I followed the bride’s swaying rump through the store. It had a nice jiggle to it. My dick was throbbing hard.

Natalie strutted at my side as I undid my shirt and pulled it off. The maid took that, too. I could see the smile on my fiancee’s face. She was so eager for that bitch out there to get punished. I had to admire her delight. It was something delicious.

My cock was at full mast when the bride pushed through the door and stepped naked onto the bustling sidewalk. She blushed now as people saw her. She struggled to hide her nudity, one hand over her pussy, the other covering her tits.

“Ashamed that they’re seeing that fat ass?” I asked and smacked her on the rump.

She bucked at the stinging impact. She whirled to face me and backed up, pressing into a tree planted in the sidewalk. It rustled over her. She bit her lip and then nodded her head. Her cheeks were scarlet while pussy cream ran down her thigh.

“So, why haven’t you sweated off those pounds?” I asked.

“It was just a few,” she muttered. “It’s been stressful. I have to get everything ready for my dream wedding, and I almost got caught fucking this hot stud by my fiancee. I can’t let him get suspicious.”

“Yes, finding out you’re a gold-digging slut after his money would blunt a man’s desire to marry you,” I said. “But don’t worry, we’re going to fix you. First, we got to sweat off those pounds. It’s cardio time.” I undid my belt and then unzipped my pants. “We’re going get you down to your wedding weight. You’re going to maintain it, too.”

“I will,” she moaned.

“Pull those hands away,” I snapped. “Let everyone see that your body. It’s not perfect, is it?”

“No,” she said, her cheeks red now. She pulled her arms away and then stepped from the tree. Men were staring at her as they passed, grinning at her plump tits and the curves to her hips. She swallowed, trembling. “They’re all seeing me. Please, let me cover up.”

“Nope.” I shoved down my pants and boxers. My cock popped out.

She stared at my dick with interest. “You sure you want to marry her. Once I get my body perfect, sweat off those pounds, you could have me.”

“You love your fiance,” I told her. “You love him so much that you feel terrible every time you cheat on him. It makes you feel like the most disgusting, filthy, foul woman on the planet. You don’t ever want to hurt him, but you’re such a fucking sow with a wet cunt, that you can’t help it. So, are you ever going to cheat on him?”

“I won’t,” she gasped. “I love him. He’s an amazing man. I won’t ever betray him again and...” She gasped in shock. “I fucked his father. His best friend. His two cousins both double-fucked me the other day. Why would I do that? What sort of terrible person am I?”

Tears sprang from her eyes. They spilled down her cheeks. Natalie let out a throaty moan of delight. She loved it when bitches cry. She had already stripped naked and had the maid eating at her cunt, devouring her hot pussy.

“Oh, god, I can’t believe this,” she moaned. “If he ever found out that I’m such a nasty, disgusting whore, he’ll hate me. I can’t have that.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. She shuddered, her tits heaving.

“You are a disgusting, cheating whore,” I said. “As much as you love your husband, you want cock. Big cocks. Like mine.” I sank down onto the sidewalk. “And to burn off the weight, you can only do one type of exercising: cheating on the man you love with the biggest dicks you can find.”

“No,” she whimpered, staring down at my cock. “Why am I so weak. I ... I...”

“Need to lose that weight for your husband,” I said. “How do you lose weight?”

“B-by being a cheating whore,” she moaned. “I’m sorry, David.”

She straddled me, her hand grabbing my cock. Her round tits heaved before me. She stroked me with her warm hand and then held my dick straight up. She nuzzled the tip of my cock into her pussy. Her hot, shaved flesh rubbed over me.

“I don’t want to do this,” she sobbed, her face twisting in anguish. “But ... but ... I have to lose weight.”