My husband is a slut. A serial cheater who can't keep his cock in his pants, but I love him anyway. I just can't seem to help myself, although his infidelity has often been a source of deep humiliation for me.

After dating all through high school, and a four year engagement while we attended the same college, Robert and I were finally getting married. He looked impossibly handsome in his tuxedo and I was the envy of every woman I knew. Quite a few of my friends had wondered what a tall, dark, and utterly gorgeous man like Robert could possibly see in such an ordinary girl.

True love, that's what he saw.

Even if I wasn't beautiful, bright, and vivacious like so many of the women who threw themselves at him, Robert loved me. He made me perfect and I fairly glowed with the rare joy of seeing the realization of my dreams. On this spectacular June day, shortly after my 22nd birthday, I imagined the world revolved around me. My mother hovered nearby, fussing over my wedding gown. My four bridesmaids, sisters from my college sorority, chatted happily, giggling and filling our dressing room with more excitement than it could possibly contain.

I wore a satin gown, white as virgin snow, because that's precisely what I was -- A virgin. They teased me about it, my friends, because they were all much more experienced than me and we all knew it. I think they were just a little jealous, as well. I'd saved myself for seven long years, safeguarding my maidenhood for the biggest, most wonderful night of my life. Not too many women could say that, not in this day and age, but I could and best of all, Robert was all too aware of my pristine condition.

He'd insisted on it, to tell the truth, or I would have surrendered to him on our very first date back in 10th grade. Luckily for me, my boyfriend had quickly made it clear how much he valued my virginity. We hadn't been talking about marriage, of course, not on our very first date! But he'd told me how he wanted a girl he could love and above all, respect. A woman who was willing to save herself for the right man, who could resist the immediate temptation of reckless pleasure and look towards the future. A practical woman, honest and loving, faithful to her vows and devoted to her husband, that's the sort of girl he wanted.

So, you see, it was no accident that Robert loved me, for that's exactly the sort of girl I grew into. I wasn't very tall; in fact, I'm rather petite. My legs are short, my breasts are firm, but hardly generous. My hair is straight and sort of a dirty blonde color, not very exciting at all, much like my brown eyes. They aren't captivating, although my makeup artist did her very best. My beauty isn't in my face, which to be honest, has never stopped traffic or launched a thousand ships. I wouldn't even launch a canoe with my average looks. I'm the sort of girl that a man will smile at, exchange a friendly hello with, but little else. I'm a solid 5 on the Richter scale and I can live with that, just as I'd learned to live with my nickname -- Plain Jane, although I much prefer Janey.

"Janey! Hold still," Mom said. "You're going to look like a raccoon."

"Sorry," I said, offering Paula, the makeup girl, an apologetic smile. "I was looking for Kylie. Where did she go?"

"I think she went downstairs," Wendy, one of my bridesmaids, said. "She broke a strap on her shoe."

"I thought she broke a heel," Amy said.

"No! Her corsage was coming loose," Lisa told us. "She went to get a safety pin."

"She went into the cloak room," Heather said. "But I don't think she's looking for a safety pin."

"Why?" I narrowed her eyes at her reflection in the vanity mirror.

"Janey!" Mom frowned and Paula clucked her tongue. "Do you want to look like Marilyn Manson?"

"Huh?" I giggled at her. "You know who Marilyn Manson is?"

"Your mom's so cool," Wendy decided, and my other three friends laughed in agreement.

"She went to the cloak room for a safety pin?" Amy wondered, getting back to the original topic. "She's the Maid of Honor. She's supposed to be here."

"I didn't say she was getting a safety pin," Heather said. "She's with Robert!"

"Oh!" Wendy giggled as Amy and Lisa exchanged knowing looks.

"She is?" I had to fight to keep from turning my head.

"It's okay, dear." Mom patted my shoulder. "He's probably just working off some nervous energy. It's a big day for him, too."

"The groom is in the cloak room with the Maid of Honor?" Paula asked, not trying to hide the smile tugging at her lips.

"I shouldn't have said anything," Heather sighed. "I'm sorry, Janey. He's probably just helping Kylie with her corsage."

"Yeah, that must be it," Lisa agreed, nodding at the other bridesmaids. "He such a great guy. You're so lucky, Janey."

"After that bachelor party last night, he probably can't even get it up!" Wendy told us with a giggle, but then she realized what she'd just said and covered her mouth.

"Wendy!" Heather frowned.

"You're such an airhead," Amy said, thwacking the other girl's blonde head with her finger.

"Ow!" Wendy frowned. "I didn't mean it!"

"Why?" I asked suspiciously. "What happened at the bachelor party?"

"We're not supposed to tell you!" Lisa said with a grin.

"It would be better if you didn't know," Mom agreed, smiling down at me. "Just be thankful he's on his feet."

"Why?" I rolled my eyes upward to stare at her. "Do you know what happened?"

"Of course," she replied. "Your father told me all about it. The alcohol, the police, the four strippers that Robert..."

"Ahem!" Heather cleared her throat loudly.

" ... Uh, never mind, dear." Mom kissed my cheek. "Try not to think about last night. A man has a right to let off some steam before he gets married."

"A lot of steam!" Wendy said with a giggle, and Lisa thwacked her again. "Ow!"

"There were four strippers?" I shook my head, and Paula threw up her hands in disgust.

"Janey!"

"What?"

"Sit still, for heaven's sake," Mom said. "You're running out of time."

"I bet Kylie's having a good time right now," Amy sighed. "Is there anymore champagne left?"

"Shhh ... Janey's trying not to think about that!" Lisa reminded her. "The last thing she needs right now is to imagine Robert's big cock buried balls deep in Kylie's black pussy."

"Maybe they went to the cloak room to find some condoms," Wendy suggested to the giggling derision of her friends.

"Robert wearing a rubber?" Heather snorted. "I'd love to see that! You know he only rides bareback."

"I meant because it's his wedding day," Wendy retorted. "Duh!"

"They don't make raincoats that big anyway," Amy reminded all of us. "Robert's got a huge dick."

"And Kylie stopped taking her pills last month," Lisa whispered, but we could all hear her anyway. "She said she needed to give her body a break."

"That's true," Wendy said, nodding. "My doctor told me to go off birth control every six months or so. You know, just to get a regular cycle."

"Which doctor was that?" Heather wondered. "Your dentist?"

"It's not healthy taking pills all the time," Amy said. "I hope Kylie knows what she's doing. Her parents would kill her if she came home with a half-white baby."

"Or any baby at all!" Lisa said. "They think she's still a virgin."

"He's an orthodontist!" Wendy pouted.

"Oh!" Mom smiled at me. "There's only one virgin around here. Isn't that right, Janey?"

"You're gonna feel it tomorrow!" Amy told me. "Have you ever seen the size of Robert's cock?"

"Penasaurus Erectus!" Wendy giggled.

"I couldn't walk straight for a week after he nailed me with that monster," Lisa said, getting nods from my three friends.

"I don't know," Heather shrugged. "The first time he fucked me, I was too busy cumming to feel any pain."

"I didn't say it hurt," Lisa protested. "I never came so hard or fast in my life."

"She just couldn't walk straight!" Wendy said.

"Don't pay any attention to them," Mom whispered. "You're the girl he's marrying, right?"

"Yeah, Mom," I sighed, but it wasn't easy listening to my four best friends talk about fucking my husband-to-be.

They did it all the time, too. I mean, Robert had fucked every friend I'd ever made, or so it seemed to me. Sometimes I suspected that he went out of his way to have sex with the girls I hung around with, and they were always attractive. I'm not sure why it works like that, but I'd always found myself befriended by girls who were much prettier and a lot more popular than me. I didn't mind so much because it sort of made me popular as well and if I couldn't be a cheerleader, for example, at least I could hang out with them.

Of course, some of those girls only wanted to be my friend because they'd have an excuse to hang out with Robert. We were always together, at least for the first part of our dates, and we'd have a good time. We'd kiss for awhile, which I always enjoyed, and maybe engage in some light petting. Robert would rub my tits while I suckled his tongue and once in awhile, when he got me really worked up, I would massage the awesome bulge of his cock through his pants.

He was always so careful, however, and determined to protect my virginity. He never tried to touch my pussy, although I'd offered myself to him many, many times. The most he would do is let me pull the gusset aside so he could look at the promised land, as Robert liked to call it. By the time we got that far during a make-out session, Robert's penis would be straining for release and he'd excuse himself, politely, but firmly. He'd tell me he wanted to make love to me, more than anything else in the world, but he respected me too much to take advantage of my arousal.

That only made me love him more, as you can imagine, and I'd catch my breath and fix my panties, straighten my bra and smooth my skirt, and wish our wedding day would hurry up and arrive. Robert would most often excuse himself, finding one of my friends and whispering in her ear. He'd lead her off by the hand to exorcise his lust between her widespread legs while I waited patiently. I didn't blame him for that. I mean, Robert was only fucking that other girl because he loved me so much. He was protecting me and that's the important thing, even if I didn't especially like sitting alone in the middle of a party while everyone knew my boyfriend was fucking someone else.

It could be humiliating, as I mentioned, but then Robert would come back, smiling and kissing me full on the mouth so everyone would know that he still loved only me.

Now he was doing it again as I stood at the back of the church in my white gown. A lace veil covered my perfectly made-up face. The flower girls were waiting. My four bridesmaids had already taken their places. The four groomsmen as well, and the best man stood nervously with his little cousin, the ring bearer, waiting in the wings. The minister waited, the choir sang softly above the organist, my mother sat in the front row along with my two sisters and our grandparents, all of them ready to break into tears. Robert's family waited on the other side of the aisle, and a hundred guests sat in silent patience as the minutes ticked by.

"Where is he?" I whispered, and my father gently tapped my arm.

"Probably helping Kylie fix her, uh ... corsage," he whispered back, since my Maid of Honor was also missing. Being one of the few black friends I had, her absence would be very noticeable, and I could see guests glancing at their watches, putting their heads together as they whispered.

"Whoops!" Robert grinned as he came around the corner behind us, from the direction of the cloak room, holding Kylie's hand.

"Sorry!" She giggled, looking damp and flushed, her pink dress somewhat rumpled and her usually straight hair falling haphazard around her beautiful face.

"Are we late?" Robert wondered. "Wow! You look beautiful, Janey!"

"I do?" I couldn't help but smile as my anger melted away. My heart stuttered and I could barely catch a breath in my burning chest. He made me hot all over, inside and out.

"Good enough to marry," he sighed, giving me his warm, dark eyes and a stunning smile. "I love you, baby."

"I love you, too," I replied.

"We'd better get up there," Kylie whispered, bending over to look at her knees or something. "Shoot. I can feel it running down my thighs."

"Feel what?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at the woman. Her and the bridesmaids wore dresses with rather short skirts. Not too short, mind you, but short enough and Kylie had long, black legs so she was showing a lot of thigh.

"Nothing!" she said, standing upright and smiling innocently. "Robert? Are you ready?"

"Absolutely," he agreed, taking Kylie by the arm so she could escort the groom to his proper place.

I frowned as the girl walked bowlegged down the long center aisle and she didn't even get halfway before a trickle of milky fluid appeared beneath the hem of her skirt. The guests noticed, especially the men; how could they not? Kylie was a beautiful, statuesque, black woman who drew a lot of attention under the most ordinary of circumstance, and a wedding was hardly that! People were taking photos of her walking arm in arm with the groom. The wedding photographer crouched in front of the altar, getting some excellent shots for the album, I was sure, and everyone knew the Maid of Honor had a big load of the groom's hot semen dripping from her pussy.