Vice, Virtue & Video: Devoted

by Bianca Giovanni

  “I like slow and soft,” she finally says with a grin, “but I think I like fast and furious too.”

  I laugh and slowly ease her down, making sure she’s not too wobbly to stand. I know how intense orgasms are for her, and sometimes it can take her body a few minutes to get back to normal.

  “I was worried for a minute there. You know I worry about hurting you, and I was kind of concerned that maybe it was too hard.”

  She shakes her head. “No, no. It wasn’t too anything. It was just right, the perfect amount of intimacy and no-holds-barred passion.”

  I proudly beam at her summary, and give her a sweet kiss.

  I’m sated enough to let the rest of the shower go on as planned, and we’re both clean and very relaxed as we crawl into bed.

  “I know you’re going to hate me for saying this,” she whispers apologetically as she turns on her side to face me, “but we can’t do it again while we’re here.”

  “What?” I whine.

  “James, I lived in this house for almost eighteen years without having sex at all. I’m a grown fucking woman now, and I will be completely mortified if my mom overhears me having sex with my husband like we’re horny teenagers.”

  “That is so not fair,” I playfully complain. “When you’re finally mine, that’s when I can’t have you? That’s total bullshit! All those years I slept in your bed and behaved myself, all those times I thought about sliding your panties down just a little bit and slipping into you from the back while I spooned you, all that can never come true now?”

  “I seem to remember you running through half the goddamn Kama Sutra with me a few months ago when we did it here!”

  “Yeah, but it’s not the same,” I say, playfully griping about it some more. “There was this one time when we were on your bed watching a movie and you were lounging on your side with your cleavage all out like a fuckin’ sex kitten. I kept trying to sneak a glance, but I was worried you’d catch me. Or there was that time when we were way younger and you let me cuddle you while we slept, and I accidentally had my hand on your boob all night.”

  “Accidentally?” she says with a raised eyebrow.

  “Semi-accidentally.”

  “Look, I understand this is a struggle for you, apparently it’s on par with a fucking global tragedy or something, but for the next couple days, this is off limits.” She points down her body.

  I have to keep quiet as I laugh at that firm declaration.

  “We need to get our heads in the game, focus on wedding stuff, and get shit done,” she says. “Sex is too big of a distraction for us because we seem to operate on the Pringles philosophy: once you pop, you can’t stop.”

  I actually have to bury my face in the pillow when I laugh at that one. Christ, shit like this is what makes me certain that she’s my fuckin’ soul mate.

  “You want some other chip analogies? Because I’ve got ’em. How about the Lay’s one? ‘You can’t eat just one.’ Or what about…um…actually, those are the only two I can think of,” she says with a laugh.

  When I’m able to stop cracking up, I lean over and give her a kiss. She snuggles up to me, but I reach back and palm her little ass while she takes a contented deep breath and kisses my chest.

  “See? This is why I’m glad I married you,” I say.

  “My sparkling personality and razor sharp wit or my ass?”

  “Both…but maybe the ass a little bit more.”

  She laughs adorably and relaxes into me as we both get quiet and eventually fall asleep.

  Chapter 2

  Lola

  I’VE NEVER BEEN to the bridal store in my hometown—I’ve never been to any bridal store, actually, but today I’m headed to Enchanted Bridal to shop for wedding dresses. I’m accompanied by my mom and Brenda. My closest friends are back in California, and I didn’t think this was worthy of a trip out here, so we’re keeping it small. Jonathan’s wife, Lisa, offered to get a sitter for their sons, Cody and Jon Christopher, and accompany us, but Brenda insisted we could take care of this ourselves. I don’t think she likes Lisa as much as she likes me, and I feel a little guilty about that. I hope it’s not glaringly obvious to anyone else.

  We’re ushered into the all-white boutique by a young, blond woman dressed in a black skirt-suit with her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. The place is spacious, elegant, and regal, which makes sense because they carry some pretty pricey inventory.

  We sit on soft, white couches, and we’re handed tasty mimosas as we await our “bridal consultant.” I try to go through a game plan in my head. I wanted to pay for this myself, but my mom absolutely insisted on footing the bill, offering a budget of twenty five hundred dollars, which I thought was absolutely absurd. I wanted to spend maybe five hundred tops, since this is something I’ll only wear once and, technically, I’m already married. But oh, no, when my mother gets an idea in her head, it’s “Katy, bar the door” if you try to stand in her way. Even though I know she can afford it with her recent promotion, I don’t like the idea of her splurging on something as trivial as a dress.

  A tall, leggy brunette with fine features and blue eyes walks over to us. She’s wearing a black suit with subtle pinstripes, and her legs look about eight feet long in the trousers. I recognize her immediately, and my cheeks go pink.

  “Hi, I’m Rebecca. I’ll be your bridal consultant,” she says warmly as she shakes my hand.

  She’s going by Rebecca now, but I know exactly who she is: Becky Callahan. Becky “Spank me, I’ve been a bad girl” Callahan. She was one of James’s many conquests in high school, and she has the infamous title of being his first foray into dominance and submission. He used to tell me stories about how he’d handcuff her, spank her, and even go in through the exit door with her. I was about fourteen at the time, and the very idea of someone getting plowed in the rear while they were bound and gagged was beyond my capacity to imagine, especially when James was the aggressor in the situation. He always seemed so sweet and gentle, but legend would paint a different picture, and Becky Callahan was a key player in that mythology. How the hell am I supposed to stand here and look this girl in the eye knowing what I know about her sexual antics?

  “You look really familiar,” she says to me after shaking hands with the moms. “Did you go to—”

  “Yes.”

  “And you were friends with—”

  “Yes.”

  “Lola, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, my God! Small world!” she says, giving me a big hug. “How have you been? I heard you moved out to California.”

  “Uh-huh. I went out there right after college.”

  “James is out there too, isn’t he?” She smiles as if she doesn’t already know this. “Doing something with movies, right?”

  “Yeah, sort of.” I blush.

  She gives me a wink, and I can tell that she knows exactly what kind of “movies” James was doing, but she’s considerate enough to not bring it up in front of the mothers.

  “He’s retired now, but he was huge in the business.” For some reason, I feel the need to explain. “He’s got a whole brand going now.”

  “Do you guys keep in touch? You were always so close.”

  “Yeah, we see each other every day. He’s the reason I’m here, actually.”

  She pauses, and her jaw drops with surprise. “He’s the groom?”

  I nod.

  “Get outta here!” she squeals with delight, throwing her arms around me again. “Well, congratulations! I always wondered if you two would ever get together.”

  “It was a long way around,” I reply with a laugh, “but eventually we got there.”

  “That’s so sweet,” she says like she’s genuinely touched. “I’m so happy for you both.”

  “Thanks.”

  I feel giggles fluttering up from my stomach, but I have to squash them. Becky was never a mean girl; she was more a Gretchen Wieners than a Regina George, and I don’t want to embarrass her by le
tting on that I know all the details of her teenage sex life. I can’t let my expression give away the fact that I’ve heard about the time she wanted him to write “dirty slut” with Sharpie across her lower back before he took her from behind. Or the time she wanted clothespins on her nipples and tape over her mouth. Or the time she wanted to wear nothing but her dog’s collar and be lead into the bedroom on a leash. Becky was into some crazy shit, even by James’s standards.

  “Well,” she says cheerfully, “let’s find you the perfect dress.”

  Becky handcuffed to her parents’ bed, being worked over with a belt. Becky on her knees with a sleep mask on and her hands tied behind her back, servicing James with her mouth. Becky bent over with her hair wrapped around his fist as he takes her doggy-style. I will not think about these things. I will not think about these things. I will not think about these things.

  “So, what style were you looking for?” she asks, taking a seat in the chair next to my side of the couch. “You’re really petite, so I would recommend something a little more form fitting. You’ll get lost in a big ball gown. I’ve got some sheaths and A-lines that will look gorgeous on you.”

  “Okay. I know virtually nothing about this, so I’ll trust your advice.”

  She glances over at both moms, and I can see the realization on her face that James’s mother is here too. Even though Becky wasn’t exactly someone he brought home to mom, Brenda is easy to recognize because her genes are strong and James’s gorgeous face is like the masculine version of hers with a little Jon mixed in for extra handsomeness.

  She smiles. “Did you have a set budget?”

  Both moms chime in, in unison, “Five thousand.”

  “What?” My head snaps around to look at them.

  “Half from me, half from Brenda,” my mom explains.

  “No, no.” I shake my head. “No way we’re spending that much money. I’m already pissed that you’ve bossed your way into buying this; you don’t need to drag Brenda into it with you,” I say sternly to my mom.

  “Sweetheart, I want to,” Brenda refutes. “You’ve always been like the daughter I never had. Let me and your mom do this for you.”

  I groan with frustration.

  “We’re doing it,” my mom declares.

  “You’re bad enough on your own, but now you’ve convinced Brenda to join you in the asylum!”

  Brenda’s lips curve into a smug smile, and my mom gives me a smirky shrug.

  “Looks like you’ve been overruled,” Becky says with a laugh.

  “Apparently so,” I reply with a snicker.

  “Well, I’ll show you some in a wide price range and then you decide,” she says.

  We get up from the couches, and she leads us down a corridor to a wide, airy room with a three-way mirror in front of a circular platform. I’ve seen this kind of thing on TV. It’s where the bride stands while the family critiques what she’s wearing, like a red carpet glam-cam, but with bickering family members. While I know that Brenda and my mother won’t bicker, it still feels a little like a sacrificial altar where I’m going to get served up to the god of extravagant weddings.

  “Moms, you two can wait out here, and I’ll bring her out so you can see each one,” Becky instructs.

  Both moms nod, and Becky takes me down another hallway into a very large dressing room. Keeping with the theme, everything is white and there’s a very princess-like chaise lounge in the corner.

  “Kick back and relax, and I’ll pull some dresses for you. You’ve got such a cute figure that I have some really great ideas,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows with excitement.

  I smile, surprised at her compliment, and she darts out the door.

  The first dress she brings is a silky, strapless, mermaid-style gown. She’s chatting about the material and how it will fit close to my body and show off my curves as I peel down.

  “I don’t know if I can do strapless,” I remark as I debate taking off the white lace bra I picked out for today because it could work with various wedding dresses.

  “Give it a try,” she replies with a shrug. “You’re young. They’ll stay up there.”

  I laugh and decide to heed her advice, tossing my bra aside and stepping into the dress. She hikes it up and fastens clips to the back to adjust the fit.

  I get a glimpse in the mirror, and it’s hot—not beautiful, but hot. It really clings to my boobs and my hips.

  “Sexy!” Becky comments.

  “Too sexy?”

  “No such thing.” She waves her hand to dismiss the thought. “Let’s show the moms,” she suggests when I’ve adjusted and had a few moments to check over my reflection.

  We step out onto the “sacrificial platform,” and both mothers ooh and ah over it.

  “I think it’s too sexy,” I say, interrupting their revelry.

  “It’s lovely,” my mom replies, completely brushing me off.

  “But look,” I say, turning to the side, “it’s really tight up here and around my butt. It gives me an hourglass figure, and that’s great, but the shape of it really hugs.”

  “Not the one?” Becky asks.

  “I don’t think so.” I crinkle my nose.

  “Boo!” my mom playfully heckles.

  “All right, let’s try option two,” Becky says, taking my hand and helping me off the platform.

  The next dress is a princess gown, but Becky says the skirt has less volume than a traditional ball gown, so it might work.

  When I put it on, I look like something out of Cinderella, but it’s just not my style. It’s a little too poufy and girly for me.

  I try on sheath dresses in sheer and lace, trumpets, empire waists, even a few short baby dolls, but I’m still not certain about it.

  Becky darts out again, and my phone buzzes in my purse on the couch, so I step over to check it. It’s a text from James.

  Apollo to Houston. Come in, Houston.

  Do you copy?

  I type out my reply:

  Roger that.

  Houston reading you loud and clear.

  How’s it going?

  Okay. Nothing special yet.

  Still trying on a bunch of them.

  I bet you look hot.

  Wouldn’t you like to know ;)

  I’ll know soon enough,

  sexy girl ;)

  I laugh to myself, glad that Becky’s off on the hunt for another style. I don’t know how James can merely type a winking smiley face and make my heart flutter, but even via emoticon I feel flattered.

  How are things with your dad?

  I know he probably hates his father-son quality time.

  Sucks. But I’m trying to wrap things up.

  Don’t think Jonathan’s digging it either.

  I’ve probably still got a while here,

  but I can meet you at my mom’s house later.

  If I finish this soon (hopefully),

  I’ll come there.

  You’re in for a surprise if you do.

  Why?

  Becky Callahan works here.

  No fucking way!!!

  Yes! She’s my bridal consultant.

  She was really sweet.

  And she recognized me.

  Superfreak is your bridal consultant?!?!

  Be nice.

  Did she ask about me?

  Of course! I told her hands off.

  Your fine ass is mine!

  Damn right!

  Now I totally want to bail on this.

  Does she look good? Still sexy?

  Fuck you!

  Just playing ;)

  Such a smart-ass.

  Is she helping you try on dresses?

  Did you have to get naked in front of her?

  Where are you going with this, James?

  Picturing you and Becky

  in the changing room…

  Perv!

  Her taking your clothes off…

  Are you trying to get me to sext you

  while I’m supposed to
be trying

  on wedding dresses?

  Maybe.

  Not gonna happen, stud.

  You and Becky. Handcuffs.

  Nipple clamps. Strap-ons.

  Shit! Now I’m getting hard.

  Cool your jets, horn dog!

  You’re with your family!

  LOL! True.

  Fantasies of you and Becky lezzing out

  can wait until later.

  You’re filthy!

  Can I still come and see you

  if I finish up early

  or am I banished for having a dirty mind?

  Of course you can see me.

  I love your dirty mind

  and I’d love for you to come by.

  Will do.

  See you then.

  Love you madly!

  Love you too xoxo

  I put my phone away as Becky brings in the next dress. It’s not exactly white, more of an antique ivory. It’s got delicate lace and straps—hooray! On the hanger, it looks like a cross between an A-line and a trumpet, tight in the body, but gradually flaring out from the hips. It’s elegant, very feminine. This could be the one.

  I try it on, and I’m captivated by my own reflection. I look like a bride. Like a beaming, beautiful bride. I almost can’t believe it’s me.

  “Oh, girl, I really like that one!” Becky declares excitedly. “That’s absolutely lovely.”

  “I think I like this one too. It’s beautiful.”

  “Wanna show the moms?”

  “Definitely!” I nod enthusiastically.

  Two sets of eyes light up as I come into view. Brenda’s jaw falls open, and my mom puts her hand to her heart.

  “Oh, wow!” they sigh in unison.

  I’m giggling and blushing as Becky helps me onto the platform. I check myself out, and my smile gets wider. This dress is perfect. Even though I never really dreamed of the whole wedding thing, this would have been the dress I’d have chosen if I’d planned on going the traditional route.