Bad Brides

by Rebecca Chance

  ‘It seems that it could be much better occupied than satirizing men and women of the Church, who’ve taken very serious vows of poverty, chastity and obedience,’ Father Liam said with immense severity, reaching for the cocktail that would cost £18, plus service, when the time came to sign the bill, and taking another sip. ‘I can’t imagine you having the dedication or sense of vocation to make such sacrifices for a spiritual calling, Ludo.’

  Ludo hung his head theatrically as he listened to this lecture.

  ‘Make penance, Ludo,’ Father Liam said, setting his Wildcat on the table, sitting back in his armchair. ‘Atone for your irreverence by putting that wicked tongue of yours to good use, and silence your unholy mouth in an act of reverence . . .’

  Ludo was already tucking the end of his tie into a gap between shirt buttons, easing the beaten-bronze table to one side, careful not to spill the expensive concoctions upon them, then kneeling down eagerly in front of Father Liam, who sighed in anticipation as Ludo unzipped the fly of his trousers, pushed up the black clerical shirt, eased Father Liam’s already hard cock out of the slit in his peacock-print silk boxers – the only touch of colour he allowed himself – worked up the juices in his mouth and then lowered his lips to the tip.

  With the exemplary self-control that befitted a man of the cloth, not a sound escaped Father Liam’s lips as Ludo began to work his mouth up and down the curving cock, dancing his tongue, as instructed, up and down the bulging vein. The priest’s hands clamped on the arms of the chair, the veins on their backs standing out too in relief against his pale Irish skin, blue and prominent. He was maintaining silence for himself, not because he and Ludo felt the need to conceal what they were doing for other members of the club; Ludo was partially hidden by the big bronze table, but anyone giving Father Liam more than the most fleeting of glances would have seen immediately from his wide-legged stance and expression of imminent ecstasy that this was a man in the process of getting his cock thoroughly sucked.

  Piers, clearing a table in another niche – each seating area was carefully designed to give its occupants their own semiprivate space – did in fact glance over and smile at the sight of Liam and Ludo engaging in their favourite little game: Ludo would ‘sin’, Liam demand a penance. It was a weekday afternoon, and this very exclusive gay club was very quiet. After a swift overview of the premises, Piers sank into a padded chair, having assessed that the few other members had no pressing needs that required his attention for a few minutes. Reaching down to rub his own cock through the smart black apron tied round his waist over his slim-cut trousers, he was as soundless as the priest as he watched Ludo’s head pumping up and down, Liam’s face contorting more and more, his lower teeth closing over the plump flesh of his lower lip.

  Ludo’s hand was cupping his lover’s balls, his thumb stroking the tender skin in exactly the way he knew would drive Liam crazy: this was another game they played, Ludo trying to coax a sound from Liam in public, Liam holding off as long as he possibly could. Ludo raised his head, pulling back, looking up at the priest’s handsome face, his own flushed with pleasure, and begged: ‘Say it, say it!’

  Oh yeah, Piers thought, his own cock pushing painfully against the fabric above it, knowing what Liam was being entreated to say: it was incredibly hot, and he’d only had the chance to watch this once before. The club rules at the Den allowed members to have their needs seen to discreetly: no nudity, no actual fucking, and other members – a word which always amused the club tremendously – were not supposed either to gawk or to attempt to join the proceedings. Piers was usually busier than now; it was rare that he had the chance to watch one of the hottest couples in the Den finish their business. He ached for them to take him home and sandwich him in every way possible, but, despite Ludo’s jokes about seminarians, he and Liam were entirely monogamous.

  Don’t come! Piers commanded his penis, trying to think of the most unpleasant image he could – the Prime Minister naked usually did the trick – don’t come! even as Liam yielded, on the verge of orgasm and knowing that Ludo wouldn’t lower his mouth again until he said the precious words.

  ‘Bless you, my son!’ the priest panted, and gasped, his hands now tight straining fists in the velvet of the armchair as Ludo lowered his head once more and, lips stretched over his teeth, closed so snugly over the red, bulging cock that it promptly exploded in his mouth, hot come surging out so fast that Ludo’s cheeks bulged as he swallowed it down in a series of greedy gulps.

  It took imagining the Prime Minister not only naked, but hog-tied and sobbing, for Piers to restrain himself from following in Father Liam’s wake. He closed his eyes, summoning up that revolting picture instead of the extremely hot scene that was coming to a close, as it were, in front of him; his Adam’s apple bobbed as he also swallowed, though nothing half as satisfying as Ludo’s haul. By the time he got himself under control, his cock still hard but his situation no longer desperate, and slipped back to his duties, Ludo was rising to his feet, bending to kiss his lover’s lips, and settling happily back onto the love seat.

  ‘Better now,’ Ludo said, licking his lips. ‘I was getting a little too wound-up there, wasn’t I?’

  Father Liam nodded gravely.

  ‘Sucking cock always calms you down, Ludo,’ he agreed. ‘And it’s much healthier than relying over-much on alcohol or other forms of self-medication. I’m happy to be able to provide you with an alternative . . .’

  But he couldn’t sustain the holier-than-thou pose, not so soon after having come; he broke into laughter, and Ludo joined in as they raised their glasses and toasted their long and happy relationship.

  ‘Here’s to a wonderful wedding,’ the priest said, ‘full of ecochic and stratospheric bills and culminating in the Style Bride of the Year!’

  He smiled.

  ‘You always get what you want, darling. I just know you’re going to pull this one off too.’

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘There you go, my love, get that down you . . . ooh-arr, you’re a lovely big girl, aren’t you? And getting bigger by the day!’ the deep voice cooed.

  The snuffling and squelching sounds emanating from behind the pig shed were louder than anything Brianna Jade had heard before. She had been visiting the pigpens regularly every day during her morning runs, spending longer and longer with their inhabitants, finding comfort in their smells and noises, so familiar to her from her childhood. The pigs recognized her now, positively scrambled up to the edge of the pen as soon as they saw her brightly clad figure jogging towards them, eager for not only the back-scratching but her voice crooning compliments to them.

  Being very sociable animals, pigs loved company, actually made very good pets, and Brianna Jade almost felt as if she’d adopted them; she and Edmund had discussed getting dogs, but couldn’t agree on a breed so far. The breeds Brianna Jade preferred were what Edmund called gun dogs, ones bred to stick very closely and lovingly to their humans, while Edmund would rather have shepherd dogs: much more independent, used to working on their own.

  So there was an impasse, and Brianna Jade was beginning to think that maybe she should just get a dog on her own account. Train them up from puppies, breed them when they got old enough. It would be something she would genuinely enjoy doing, and, as a bonus, it would be a subject which she would have in common with lots of people at the County dinner parties to which Edmund took her. Once people had realized that she was interested in animals, it had been like an Open Sesame to the county set: she was invited on visits to their kennels, had a standing invitation to take a pair of Irish wolfhounds on her jogs, and was now regularly taking riding lessons so that she could join the local drag hunt.

  She had been remembering, with much amusement, how she had misunderstood the term ‘drag hunt’ originally, making the entire dining table convulse with laughter at the image of its riders all cross-dressing: old Lord Uppingham, charmed by the idea, had proposed that they do it for charity at the Boxing Day meet, and a small group h
ad immediately formed to organize it. Apart from learning that a drag hunt was one where a scent was laid for the hounds, rather than chasing foxes, Brianna Jade had also been informed in detail by a chuckling Lord Uppingham what a ‘vicars and tarts’ costume party entailed: it had been a very successful evening, and, driving home, Edmund had said very fondly to her how happy he was that she was settling into Rutland society so well, and how well liked she was by the County.

  As if it was just one person, the County, she had been thinking as she approached the pen. I guess in a way it sort of is – these families have known each other since forever, they’ve all intermarried. It’s nice in a way, like I’m coming into a group that’s really pretty welcoming, apart from the girls who wanted to marry Edmund . . .

  And then, even over the snuffles and snorts of the pigs, she had heard louder grunting – human, it sounded like – and the squeak of a wheel that needed oiling, and the unmistakable liquid-and-solid plopping of a whole wheelbarrow-full of pigswill being dumped into a trough by Abel the pigman. She had seen his enormous silhouette from time to time in the distance on her near daily visits, but it was almost as if he were avoiding her since that first encounter a month or so ago, and that idea, which had just popped into her mind, made her suddenly curious.

  Why would he be steering clear of me? Plus, he’s talking to just the one pig – yet that sounded like a whole load of food, enough for a pen-full. How can one pig possibly eat that much?

  Brianna Jade had no pressing reason to hurry back to the Hall. Later that afternoon, her mother was coming up from London, together with Lady Margaret, to go over the plans for the engagement party. Brianna Jade was very excited both about the party and about seeing Tamra. She had woken up that morning literally counting the hours until Tamra’s Bentley would pull up outside the Hall and Tamra and Lady Margaret would climb out, Tamra bitching at having to go in by a side door, Lady Margaret teasing her for being a nouveau riche American, both of them having a lovely time with the back and forth banter.

  I can’t wait to see Mom! And I honestly don’t know what to do with myself till she gets here. I’d just sit in my room and watch downloaded TV till lunchtime, which is getting pretty boring . . . so I might as well wander along the side of this pen, pick my way round the back of the shed, find out if all that food I heard getting dumped into the trough really was just for the one pig.

  ‘Oh my God!’ she exclaimed, as she rounded the shed, took a few steps down an old cart track, and saw the smaller pen which backed onto the central shed: until now, she hadn’t realized it was here, or she would have popped around to visit its occupant as well.

  But she couldn’t possibly have imagined the sight in front of her. It was as surreal as a scene from Alice in Wonderland where the main actors had eaten the cake, or drunk from the flask, and grown to giant proportions. Hanging over the top rail of the pen was the enormous Abel, his arms like huge meaty hams making the wooden bars of the pigpen look flimsy as matchsticks, and inside was a sow so colossal that Brianna Jade’s first thought was that she must surely be on some sort of specially invented pig steroids.

  Or been blown up like a balloon. I mean, I’ve seen some fat pigs in my time, but I’ve never seen anything like this one.

  ‘Wow,’ she breathed, coming to a dead halt, unable to keep walking and to fully take in the spectacle before her at the same time. Abel and the pig were built on very similar lines: he was hefty with muscle and the pig with lard, but they both shared barrel chests and very solid limbs. It was the normal-sized pen that looked miniature by comparison.

  Both Abel and the sow turned to look at the new arrival. The sun was behind him, as with the first time Brianna Jade had met him; it was the same time of day. So she couldn’t see how red he got at the sight of her, right up to his scalp under his thick thatch of brown hair. The sow, chewing an apple, stared at Brianna Jade inquisitively, waiting to see if she had brought anything to eat: when Brianna Jade didn’t move, didn’t walk towards her holding out something tasty, the sow dropped her head and continued slurping placidly from the brimming trough that Abel had just filled for her.

  ‘She’s, like, huge!’ Brianna Jade blurted out as the slopping, snorting sounds of an enormous pig working her way through a vast quantity of food once again filled the air.

  Then Brianna Jade bit her lip: what if he took that badly? After all, most people didn’t appreciate your saying that their animals were the size of a house. And yes, animals for the slaughter needed fattening up, but this sow was beyond that, was positively obese.

  ‘She do be precious big, don’t she?’ Abel rumbled shyly, his head ducked to avoid looking at Brianna Jade directly. ‘She took the silver medal at the Rutland Agricultural Show last year for fattest pig.’

  ‘My God, there’s a pig bigger than her?’ Brianna Jade came forward to the side of the sty, her eyes wide, still staring at the gigantic black pig with bristly white legs and snout, now buried in kitchen peelings in the trough. ‘You have got to be kidding me!’

  Abel straightened up, looming over her, completely blocking out the sun: she couldn’t help flinching back a little as his shadow fell over her.

  ‘She won!’ he said, a distinct edge in his deep voice now, annoyance trumping his shyness. ‘She took the silver medal!’

  ‘Oh, silver’s the top prize? I get it, sorry,’ Brianna Jade said quickly. ‘I was thinking of, like, the Olympics.’

  ‘Ooh-arr,’ Abel said, nodding, his huge head the size of a cannonball. ‘I see what you mean, miss. No, silver’s the highest prize. First time ever that Stanclere Hall’s won the Fat Pig medal, and right proud we are of it. She beat out Sir Gregory Parsloe’s Pride of Matchingham, this old girl, and he weren’t happy about it at all, I can tell you.’

  Luckily he spoke slowly, as she was having a hard time following his accent; it was much broader than the light Rutland accents of the people who worked at the Hall. His ‘i’s became ‘oi’s, so ‘highest prize’ became ‘hoighest proize’; she was concentrating very hard in order to understand and not to offend him.

  ‘That’s really cool,’ Brianna Jade said, smiling at the pig. ‘The Earl must have been pleased about that.’

  Abel brightened. ‘He were, miss. Right pleased, he were. All of us at the Hall were.’

  ‘So I guess that’s why she’s got all this food, right?’

  ‘Ooh-arr,’ Abel said, nodding again vigorously: it was an expression, Brianna Jade was beginning to realize, that served dual purpose as both ‘Hello’ and ‘Yes’.

  ‘She needs nearly sixty thousand calories a day,’ he added, and at Brianna Jade’s gasp of horror, he grinned for the first time, resting his arms back on the top bar of the pen and reaching out to scratch the sow’s head. ‘Bet that’s more than what a skinny thing like you eats in a month, eh?’

  ‘It’s more than my mom eats in a year!’ Brianna Jade said frankly, grinning back at him. ‘She’s always on a diet.’

  ‘Bring her down here if you want to give her a fright then,’ Abel said, his smile widening.

  Brianna Jade managed swiftly to translate ‘froight’ into ‘fright’, and giggled at his quip.

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t,’ she said with the utmost sincerity. ‘She’d have a heart attack at the sight of all that food.’

  By now she felt comfortable enough to come right up to the edge of the pen.

  ‘Is it okay if I scratch her?’ she asked. ‘I don’t want to put her off her feed.’

  Abel turned such an approving look upon her that she felt positively warmed by it. His face was squarish, with a wide jaw and a dusting of freckles across his snub nose; apart from the nose, his features were definitely craggy, rather than handsome, but his eyes were bright with much more intelligence than his slow drawling accent might lead one to expect, and his smile was as open as the blue cloudless skies above them.

  ‘Good girl,’ he said to her. ‘There’s many as ’ud just reach over without asking. Just scratch her behind the
ears while she’s eating, eh?’

  He shifted over, his great arms sliding along the rail to make room for Brianna Jade in front of the sow; she couldn’t help noticing the size of his forearms and biceps, bulging below the rolled-up sleeves of his faded check shirt.

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ she said, stepping up onto the bottom rail so that she could lean over enough to scratch the bristly skin between the sow’s large, forward-slanted ears. ‘I grew up round pigs. I come from Illinois – that’s pig and corn country.’

  ‘Is it now?’ Abel said, bending to pick up some straw and angling it into his mouth, chewing it, his eyebrows raised in interest. ‘You got Berkshires over there, then? In America?’

  ‘I don’t know what a Berkshire is,’ Brianna Jade confessed.

  ‘This lady’s a Berkshire,’ Abel said, chewing away. ‘It’s the breed.’

  ‘Oh! I get it! We’ve got Yorkshires, Durocs, Hampshires, Landraces, Spots . . .’ Brianna Jade frowned in concentration. ‘Those are the main ones I can think of. Lots of English breeds that you guys brought over when you came to settle.’

  ‘What’s a Duroc, then?’ Abel asked, head tilted. ‘Never heard of that.’

  ‘They’re the only native American ones I know,’ Brianna Jade said eagerly, very happy to be talking about a subject in which she was genuinely interested: try as she might, she just couldn’t find Edmund’s discourses on arable farming half as fascinating as pigs. They’re big and dark red – real red, and real gentle too. Very easy-going.’

  ‘Ooh-arr,’ Abel said, nodding. ‘I know the ones. We just call ’em “reds” over here, leastways that’s what I’ve always heard ’em called. Nice friendly beasts.’

  ‘What are the ones up front, the spotty ones?’ Brianna Jade asked. ‘I keep meaning to look them up. They’re real friendly too.’

  ‘Those’re Old Spots – Gloucester Old Spots, to give ’em the full name,’ Abel informed her through his straw. ‘You won’t have seen them over in America, I’d guess. They’re a rare breed nowadays. Dunno why – lovely beasts, they are. We feed ’em from the cider and perry orchards here – they love the fruit, they do, and it makes the meat taste sweet as sugar. If you’ve had pork up at the Hall that melted in your mouth, miss, that’s Old Spot.’