I really do hate my brother-in-law, Danny. If it hadn't been for him, my fiancé, Stewart, would have never gone to a strip club. After all, Stewart's got his PhD, and now he even has an assistant professorship lined up, in the "Gender and Minority Studies Department." Hardly the kind of guy to have the sort of friends who would include a strip club in their schemes for his bachelor party. In fact, most of Stewart's real friends are from his department at the college, and they are mostly women. No, Stewart's real friends had nothing to do with it. Why, even the men in his field, like Stewart himself, tend to be exactly the opposite of my macho, asshole, trailer-trash brother-in-law Danny.

Danny, my sister's husband, has never seemed to like Stewart, but for some reason he came out of the woodwork this week, ten days before the wedding, and announced that he and his buddies were taking Stewart out to "sow his oats" one last time. Great. This, of course, encouraged my sister, Sandy, to throw together a bachelorette party for me. That was last night — you know the sort of thing, a gaggle of girls, mostly my working class friends of my high-school days, dragging me from bar to bar wearing a veil and begging free drinks off the male clientele — not my style at all, of course, but I couldn't talk her out of it.

The most infuriating part of the evening — last night, I'm talking about — was running into Danny and his friend Bob at one of the bars — "by accident." Naturally, that was the bar in which Tonya, a girl who had been my best friend in high school (until I went to college and she went to work as a manicurist) decided to start charging guys five bucks to kiss the bride. Danny, of course, paid up, but instead of the chaste little pucker most guys understood to be appropriate for such a "game", Danny stuck his disgusting tongue practically down my throat and grabbed both of my asscheeks, right in front of my sister, his own wife! She just smiled meekly and pretended it was all a joke, but it just burns me up how badly he treats her.

My Stewart would never be so disrespectful to me. Why even now, after a long night out with the "boys", celebrating his own pre-nuptial party, here he is, his sweet little head nestled between my thighs, gently licking and worshipping my sex. Perhaps a little too gently.

"Stewart, honey, I know you're tired, but could you please put your tongue in a little deeper ... oh, yes, that's it baby ... now back to my love button ... Mmmm, just keep that up, sweetheart."

I feel an orgasm coming, and I just know that my uterus is in a condition to gush forth with the climax. Now this is definitely the right way for the bride to finish the evening of her groom's bachelor party — the sort of ending that gives a woman real peace of mind -- with him servicing her!

Well, at least I know that Stewart didn't go over the line earlier tonight. Danny made sure of that. Danny had assured me in advance that although Stewart would get to look at a bunch of strippers, and even get a few breasts smashed into his face, there would be NO lap dances, private rooms, or "special" groom's services purchased or allowed (at least not for the groom — I am sure that the other attendees, all of whom were Danny's — not Stewart's — friends, copped whatever feels and paid for whatever frottage they might have pleased).

Of course, it was no surprise to me that Danny had NOT made me this promise out of mere gentlemanly courtesy. Ha! When I called him earlier today to ask him this favor (at home, of course, as he is once again laid off from the tire factory), he agreed, as he put it, to "keep little Stewart's weenie dry" as long as I would do a favor for him. That bastard never misses an opportunity to prove himself a creep, that's for sure.

However, the necessity of keeping Stewart 100% faithful won out, so I agreed to his terms. Sometimes peace of mind comes at a price.

So, earlier this evening -- around nine -- I pulled my car into the strip club's parking lot to fulfill my side of the arrangement. Sure enough, there was Danny, standing next to his pick-up truck, a shit-eating grin on his face.

"What are you smiling at? What's going on with Stewart in there?"

"Don't worry about sweet Stewie. He's getting nothing in there but blue balls. Seems to be enjoying the show, though, despite your image of him as Mr. Perfect. Are you dressed for success?"

"I said I would be, didn't I?" I pulled open my raincoat to show him my costume. He grunted and nodded.

"Wait, what about the —."

"Right here," I said, lifting a shopping bag in my hand.

"O.K. Let's get you situated. We need to get started — the pressure is really starting to build up with the guys."

"All right. But I just want to remind you that you are an uncouth son of a bitch for extracting this from me. You should be willing to protect Stewart's virtue just because I ask you too."

"Usually, Stewart's virtue is the last thing I'm worried about. Now just take that coat off and climb into the truck here."

A couple of minutes later, he had me situated just as he wanted. I was in the back seat of his pick-up truck — no wonder they call it a "SuperCrew" cab, it is actually quite enormous, with plenty of room. My "costume," which I had worn under my coat, was my wedding wardrobe, including the veil which I had brought along in a Macy's bag.

Well, not my whole wedding wardrobe. I wasn't wearing my dress, but at least I was wearing my white lace corset, the elegant one I had selected to pull in my already incredibly tiny twenty-three-year-old waist. And my garter belt, holding up sheer thigh-high white silk stockings. And my frilly white panties. I really like those, they're ruffled, and have a cute blue silk bow in front. You know: "something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue." I can't wait for Stewart to discover the adorable little bow, on our wedding night a week from this Saturday, as he undresses me for the first time as "Mrs. Stewart Panderwayste." I was rudely interrupted in this pretty thought.

"Jesus, for a college cunt, you sure are stupid."

"What? Watch your mouth, I'm not some truck-stop trash like you run around on my sister with. What are you talking about?"

"Your panties. They need to go on outside the garter. How can they be pulled off like that?"

"Fine, why don't you just take them off me completely then, you oaf?"

"Oh, no. We need to put them on first so that they can come off later, believe me. Part of the whole effect. We got to change them around."

He reached for the front pair of snaps on my garters, separating the straps and then feeding them down and through the panties before refastening them. Clever — I thought he'd think he had to take everything off to achieve the configuration he was demanding. To assist, I grabbed the hand strap above my head — I was sitting lengthwise in the truck seat — and pulled myself up, which lifted my bottom up off the bench seat and allowed him to unhook, pull through, and then refasten the garter straps in back as well.

When I lowered myself back down to the seat, I relaxed my arms a bit. The chain connecting my wrists, which ran through the hand strap loop, jangled softly above my head. At least the bastard was thoughtful enough to use padded cuffs.

"I suppose you're going to fuck me now."

"You wish. No, I'm not going to fuck you ... now. I'll be back in a minute. Don't go anywhere!"

With a grin the handsome jerk slammed the truck door and left me alone in the dark. Well, not completely in the dark, seeing how the flashing neon "gentlemen's club" sign was shining on me through the back window of the truck's cab.

He was gone for what seemed like forever, but it was probably just a few minutes. Once I thought I heard him coming — I could hear sounds quite well in surrounding parking lot since he'd left the front windows cracked open several inches — but then I realized I was just hearing the conversion of a couple of skeezie guys leaving the club for home, probably to release their over-stimulated libidos on their long-suffering wives. I felt a wave of fear for a few moments when I thought about how these strangers might react if they found me helpless. Luckily, they turned in another direction, looking for their cars.

After that false alarm, I almost didn't hear Danny's approach until he was practically right on top of me. The second voice I didn't recognize.

"I still think you're bullshitting me, Dan. For the historical record, I'm not falling for this — I'm coming out here to humor you."

"It's not bullshit. She's in there waiting for you."

"But she's a stripper, from the club, right?"

"No, she's my wife's kid sister, and a week from Saturday, she's going to be the blushing bride of your new friend Stewart, the poor fucker getting nothing we've been cock-blocking back in the club. Pretty awesome, huh?"

"Jesus fuck! I hope you're not shitting me, this is fucking great."

"Check it out. Here we are." The rear door at my feet opened, and the dome light blinded me for a moment.

"Holy shit!"

"Now you tell me — does that look like a stripper from this club, or like the classy, stuck-up sort of bitch who would wrap a poor sap like our 'buddy' Stewart around her little finger?"

"I'll be damned. She even looks like your wife a little bit."

"Yeah, but her body is still in great shape, unlike Sandy's. And her pussy is a lot tighter."

"Gee, I don't have a baseline for comparison on that one."

"You won't, either, you fuck," Danny swatted the guy across the scalp good-naturedly. "Sandy is my property. Well, actually, so is her sister Rachel here, but I'm willing to share her."

My pupils had constricted again, so I could see Danny and his friend clearly. I sort of recognized him, but from where I couldn't recall. I thought his name was Hank or Howie or something like that. He wasn't bad looking, a bit of acne, unusual but not unheard of in a thirty-year old man with a blue collar lifestyle.

"Rachel, don't you have anything to say to Stewart's friend here?"

"He's no friend of Stewart's."

"Sure he is. He even bought Stewie a drink."

"You creeps don't even respect Stewart, but he's more of a real man than the rest of you put together."

"Yep, I'm sure he is. Anyway, it's go-time."

I scowled at Danny and turned my attention to his companion. "So, I suppose you're going to fuck me, huh Hank?"

"I suppose I am. And it's Howie."

Danny laughed, and Howie climbed into the back of the cab with me. "I'll leave you two love birds to it, then. Howie, come find me when you're done. And remember to put her panties back on her when you're finished — for the next guy. Chained up like that, she can't do it herself."

He shut the door and after a few seconds, the dome light went out. In the neon sign's gleam, however, Howie and I could both see just fine.

"Don't think that because I'm doing this, I like it." I lifted my hips as Howie pulled my frilly bridal panties down my legs. He let out a low whistle at the sight of my tightly trimmed pussy.

"OK. I won't." I watched him unbuckle, unzip, and unshuck his jeans and boxers. As his disgustingly erect penis sprang into view, I almost let out a whistle of my own.

"And if you find out I'm totally wet, it's not because of you, and not because I like this nasty, unsavory, and totally classless scene. I'm thinking of something else."

"OK."

"And besides, I'm always moist, so it's not like I'm turned on." He didn't answer, but pulled a condom package from somewhere and began to rip it open.

"And I suppose you think that since I'm cuffed to this loop thing, and since I'll be married next week anyway, you can get away without using a condom."

"Huh? No, actually —."

"Well, I guess there's nothing I can do about that. I'm helpless, I can't stop you, and what with all the sex I'll be having on the honeymoon, it's not like I won't have to suppose any babies are my husband's. But for the record, I think you are a vulgarian for filling my womb with your blue-collar seed."

"Uh, sorry about that... ," he stuttered, tossing the half-opened condom package into the front seat, right where my sister might find it. Great. Danny was probably going to leave it there. He was such an ass, throwing his libertine lifestyle in Sandy's face like that. What was she supposed to think if she found it? Naturally, she'd think it was Danny's, the detritus of some fling with a road house whore. I knew better, of course — Danny never used a condom.

Hank — I mean Howie — needed to be set straight a little further. I didn't want him to get the wrong idea — that would be mortifying. "Just because I spread my legs, and pull them up, don't think you're capable of turning me on. I just know it's inevitable, so I might as well cooperate."

I did just as I described, and I guess Howie had decided to simply shut up and take my scolding, for the next thing I knew his fat cock-knob was pressing into my drooling cunt-crack. With my hands cuffed to the hand strap above my head, there was nothing I could do to hinder him — or to help him — but it didn't seem to matter. He slid easily into my belly, and when the solid tip of his stiff prick collided with my cervix, we both grunted.

A few months earlier, I would have judged Howie's cock to be extraordinarily large. He was certainly larger than my Stewart — not that size matters, not a bit. Howie was healthily endowed, which I guess is no surprise for the lower social strata, but it was nothing I wasn't accustomed to by now. After all, Danny and his best friend Bob have been putting their similarly large cocks into me ever since the day I had marched over to give Danny a piece of my mind about how he'd been treating my sister. I've already told that story, and let me be clear, I don't think it reflects well at all on my bother-in-law. I fell into their trap while trying to convince him to treat my older sister, his wife, with more respect, and I'm still on that mission today. Luckily, I have the perfect counter-example for him, my thoughtful fiancé Stewart.

Incidentally, I think by now I must be starting to get through to Danny. He must have realized by now that no matter how many times he and his buddy Bob might fuck me silly, and no matter what absurd things might come out of my mouth in the throes of my animalistic orgasms at the end of one of their pounding cocks, I am still totally in love with Stewart, and Stewart alone. I suspect they are really starting to respect Stewart for the power his courtesy and tenderness have over my heart. I mean, really, no matter how many times I meet Danny at Bob's for a pussy plowing, or how often I let him fuck me in this very backseat, or even how frequently I've let him cum deep in my guts, right in my sister's own house, practically right under her nose, I continue to feel — and openly display — outright disdain for him.

So, although I don't like the idea of my Stewart going to a strip club at Danny's instigation, I am secretly pleased. Clearly the invitation is a sign of Danny's growing, if grudging, respect for my "real man" Stewart.

And now Danny's friend Howie, who probably just met Stewart this very evening, was getting a sample that would serve to engender his own respect for my husband-to-be. Stewart was able to command the love and devotion of a high-class woman, the likes of which Howie could never have, not truly.

And boy was he getting a sense of what he couldn't have! He was already sliding smoothly in and out of my slot, long-stroking me like a man who really knew how to fuck. My pussy, of course, was responding.

I am long past being ashamed that my traitor cunt seems to enjoy these bestial episodes. I realize now that under stimulation, its instinctual responses cannot be — nor need not be — justified against the context of the contrasting and sublime nature of my intellect, sophistication, or against true, pristine love. It is what it is.

I wrapped my legs around Howie's waist and, using my cuffed wrists for leverage, I began to throw my pelvis up into the thrusts of this simple-minded prole.

"I suppose you're going to eventually anyway, so why don't you just pull down my corset now so you can get at my tits?"

He did so, of course, and soon his five-o'clock shadow — make that nine-thirty shadow — was scratching my tender titflesh while his teeth and lips nibbled and chewed at my nipples. I couldn't help but feel an electrifying connection between these sensations and the steady, deep, and well-aimed pounding Howie's very firm cock was working against my g-spot.

If there's one thing I've learned from my unfortunate relationship with my brother-in-law and his buddy Bob, it's how to tell when a big, powerful cock is about to come. Granted, my Stewart doesn't usually last very long, so with him, knowing when he is about to come is tantamount to knowing when he is about to enter me. But with these brutish sorts, it seems to take a little longer. Mind you, I usually prefer to receive oral love from Stewart anyway, and he is very attentive and accomplished at that, I must say. Imagine Danny saying that Stewart doesn't know how to make women happy. As if!