With This Ring, I Thee Bed

by Alison Tyler

  When we got to their door, Tom fumbled with the key and Mara grabbed my hand. Her skin was soft and the pressure of her touch made my pussy pound. I truly hadn’t come to the wedding intending to get laid. Drunk? Yes. Laughing with my formerly slutty friend as she marched into the bonds of marriage? Yes. A hot and heavy makeout session? Yes. But I never anticipate postnuptial nookie. It kills my buzz, since if it doesn’t pan out, I feel let down. I like to wait and see what unfolds. So Mara’s hand in mine reminded me that I was a lucky girl, indeed. Who needed her own wedding reception when she could have a wedded couple to share?

  Soon we were in their room, which was dominated by a king-size bed. There was none of the awkward tension that sometimes happens when people who barely know each other are suddenly thrust into a sexually charged room together. Instead, we moved like we were long-lost lovers. They began taking off my clothes, Tom’s hands easily unzipping my dress while Mara reached first for my shoes, then peeled down my stockings. “You’re beautiful, Jackie,” Tom said. “Isn’t she, Mara?” She stood then, so close her nipples brushed against my breasts as I stood there in only a pale pink see-through bra and panties.

  “Yes, she definitely is.” Mara’s voice was soft and husky, and then she leaned forward and kissed me deeply, while Tom’s tongue traveled along the back of my neck. He stepped closer so I could feel his erection against my ass, nudging me, letting me know he wanted to be inside me. I had thought I’d be watching them, but I couldn’t refuse their silent invitation. I’m a voyeur, but I’m also not one to shy away from an opportunity to play with a beautiful lover, let alone two. Mara bit my lip softly, and I grabbed her hips, pulling her close. We were as far from the pomp and circumstance of a wedding as possible, ready to get out of our elegant outfits and into ones that fit us much better—our birthday suits.

  “I told Mara when we first sat down and saw you that I thought you’d be the perfect after-dinner snack,” Tom said. His corny line didn’t bother me, especially because he’d taken out his cock and turned me around so I could see it. He’d shaved his pubic hair, and the extra-large dick in front of me made me lick my lips in anticipation. Suddenly, I was back to being fully in the moment, not caring about happily ever after, just about happily right this very second. And so I did what my instincts told me to do, but what the more proper guests would never dream of: I got on my knees and started sucking the cock of a man I’d met only hours before. I shut my eyes and focused on the dual sensations of power and submission, of offering myself up to him while making sure he knew just how much pleasure I could give him. In only a few seconds, Tom was whimpering. I glanced up, my eyes full of mischief as I let his penis part from my lips.

  Mara walked toward us, looking down at me with both lust and tenderness in her eyes. No, the three of us weren’t committing to anything beyond the next few hours, but that didn’t mean we were simply indulging in pure carnality. Rather, we didn’t need words to convey the bond we’d so quickly formed.

  “Jackie,” Mara said, transforming my name with her husky voice. I pictured her as a bride, walking down the aisle, her slightly chubby cheeks glowing much as they were now. I pictured Tom carrying her away and then throwing her down on the bed.

  Then her hand came up to my head, grabbing my hair and yanking it back. I had thought I was in control, but maybe I’d been her puppet all along, a quiet mastermind. Or maybe I had been in control, emphasis on the past tense. Either way, hearing Mara say my name and seeing the look in her eye let me know that she was the bridezilla here, so to speak—she was running the show, and I was going to do whatever she wanted. Tom looked at her with the same reverence I felt. “Don’t leave me out,” she said, pulling harder on my hair. A noise escaped my lips—a whimper, a moan, a plea, a thank-you? I’m not sure what it was, but she took it to mean I was hers, and promptly shoved the fingers of her free hand into my mouth. Ah, so that was it—she wanted to play with me, too.

  “I have a cock in my suitcase. I was planning to use it to fuck Tom, and I still may do that. But I think first I need to fuck your sweet little mouth, don’t you?”

  I couldn’t answer her, at least not with words, while her fingernails curled against my tongue, but I opened my eyes and nodded as best I could. She was wily, that Mara. I never would’ve seen it coming, but I know from experience that surprises can be the sexiest things of all.

  “Get the strap-on,” she snapped at Tom. I know for some men, hearing a woman talk like that would wilt in an instant any arousal they’d had, but Tom leaped at her command. Maybe they’d simply been playing coy and flirtatious, when they’d been the predators all along, I thought as my eyes scanned his body when he emerged from his rummaging with a sleek silver, glittery harness and a giant red cock. It was molded to perhaps resemble a penis, but it didn’t, not really. It was thick and long and hard, but a shocking bright red, the hue a wild girl might dye her hair or the color of a sassy summer dress, the kind that would never be appropriate at a wedding.

  It was a girlie cock if ever there was one, and Tom proceeded to smoothly undress his wife and then get her into the harness with a practiced ease. Clearly, they weren’t new to any of this; maybe they were just as much the wedding crashers as I was. Whichever—there was a beautiful red cock before me and I’d have been highly disappointed if Mara hadn’t done what she did next. “I’m not going to fuck you with this unless you show me that you can give me just as good a blow job as you did my husband,” she sneered.

  I liked this side of Mara, and my body instantly responded, the space between my legs clenching, wetness building as I went to work. Tom approached but simply watched, his light breathing sounding louder than it should have as I shut my eyes against the brightness of the dick. Mara softened, or so it seemed. “That’s it, just like that,” she murmured, stroking my hair as I sank my lips down until the head of the toy pressed against the back of my throat. It wasn’t bigger than the biggest cock I’d ever sucked, but it was close. Mara was a tiny girl, but she made up for it with the sword she wielded, and soon her stroking grew more frantic. I heard noises and felt some movement, and when I looked I saw that Tom was fucking her with his fingers while I went down on her dick. She was getting my submission and his, two for the price of…well, simply for being her.

  This was new for me. I’d had threesomes, but there was always an air of naughtiness, as if we were doing something wrong or decadent or outrageous. These two made it seem like we were just having fun, and indeed, we were. We didn’t need to defy anyone—except maybe our hosts—to enjoy each other. My oral fixation meant that every time the cock dragged along my tongue, it was like activating my G-spot. Mara came, shuddering against me, leaning her hand on Tom’s shoulder as he finished her off.

  Then she eased back, pulling out of me and offering her dick to him. He must have an oral fixation, too, because he scrambled to fit it all in. Tables weren’t just turning, they were getting thrown across the room, and I loved it. Mara watched him suck and slurp and bob up and down, before digging her nails into the back of Tom’s neck.

  “Now what?” hovered in the air, but nobody dared to say it.

  “You sit here,” Mara ordered Tom, placing his ass up against the headboard of the bed, a pillow behind him. His dick was extremely erect by now. She positioned me on my hands and knees and then directed my lips to his dick. This time, though, I was doing it at her behest.

  But when I started, she was behind me, nudging my entrance with the head of the toy. I struggled to stay steady as she entered me, but I was so turned on it really wasn’t a problem. We drifted into a rhythm, her thrusts pushing me down, his dick plunging deep into my mouth. He kept reaching forward to play with my tits, but it wasn’t really the time for that. Her thrusts were too firm and steady, and I focused on enjoying them while giving Tom my all. Soon I wasn’t focused on anything except the warmth and wetness of my sex, the way Mara would sometimes slap my ass, Tom’s gentle strokes of my cheeks and neck. We heard noises outside, l
oud cheering, and I smiled momentarily. Whatever we were missing couldn’t be as exciting as what was going on here.

  “I want to see you come around my dick,” Mara said. It sounded like a request, but I knew it was an order. She pinched my clit hard to confirm this, and I pulled away for a moment to lick Tom’s balls. “Isn’t she pretty?” Mara asked him, and something about that set me off. It told me she was looking at me—at my ass, my pussy, my most intimate parts. She was looking, and she liked what she saw, enough to comment. I was giving her pleasure, even if it was indirect.

  I smiled softly up at Tom and he groaned when I then took one entire ball in my mouth. He grabbed my face and started slapping his cock against my tongue, then jerking off onto me. I stayed still and let them each use me for their pleasure, which turned into my own. Feeling those first drops of hot come hit my skin set me off, and I squeezed the dick so tightly I was amazed Mara could keep it steady inside me.

  I couldn’t scream, because Tom shoved his cock right back into my mouth. That was probably a good thing, because when I scream, it’s loud. I didn’t mind causing a bit of a stir among the wedding party, but I didn’t need everyone to clock my orgasm down to the second.

  When Mara’s dick eased out of me, I was a little sore, but I liked the reminder. I shifted to the side, then stood, looking vainly around the room. Was that it? Should I be on my way? I had nothing to cover myself with except my dress, which was now crumpled on the floor. Mara inched her way up to Tom, straddling his face, and he licked my juices off the toy, then removed it as easily as he’d put it on.

  They kissed and I watched, suddenly hungry for what they had. Not marriage per se, or even love, but true passion, the kind that was only bolstered by sharing it with someone else. But instead of banishing me, they welcomed me into their arms, their bed, dare I say their marriage? At least for the night. And the next morning. And with an open invitation to visit them whenever I wanted.

  By the time I was on the train home, I felt as if I’d truly gotten a glimpse into the meaning of love. Maybe it sounds sappy for a girl who’s more used to causing a stir than catching a bouquet, but it’s true. Mara and Tom gave me a new kind of wedding adventure, one I didn’t, unlike the others, share with the bride over a post-honeymoon gossip session. This one was a little more special, something I borrowed, something new; I’d leave old and blue for the real brides.

  I did write Larissa a thank-you note, after I received hers. She didn’t pry, and I like knowing that whatever she did on her honeymoon, she’d be hard-pressed to top what I did right after it. But I also learned that it’s not a competition, an either/or choice. Who knows, maybe someday I’ll even walk down the aisle, but only if I can do it with someone like Tom, who knows that marriage isn’t about closing doors, but opening them.

  Blushing Bride

  Bella Dean

  “There’s the lovely Mrs. Loma.” Boyd buried his face against the back of my neck and I shivered. An entirely lustful rush of want ran from the nape of my neck to my virginal white panties.

  “Here I am.” I breathed. I glanced around as his lips traveled lower, his tongue touching wetly to my right shoulder blade. I moaned and then the crinkling of cellophane filled the small, quiet corner of the ballroom we had managed to find.

  “Molly,” Boyd said, with a laugh. He tried to sound stern. “What is that sound I hear?” He wrapped his big arms around my substantial white gown and his laughter rumbled through me. I continued to wrestle the Baggie out of my garter.

  “Shut up, Boyd. I am having some stress.” I had quit smoking three months before the wedding. I had to keep up my fitness for modeling. The money was good, but the pressure to be thin was excruciating. I had to pick a doable addiction. Something I could burn off if I really tried. Something fat-free, portable and easy to smuggle. My new addiction was Gummi Bears. I didn’t light up; I chewed. I bit off little green heads, red arms, orange legs while the weight of wedding stress nearly crushed me flat.

  Boyd guided one hand to my generously hoisted breasts and stroked me through the beadwork and lace. My eyes drifted half-closed even as I popped a green bear into my mouth. “Oh, God,” I said. Both to his touch and the bear.

  “Tell your husband what’s wrong,” he said, swaying me with him to the music.

  “My mother keeps telling the waiter to say ‘fillet mignon.’ You know, where ‘fillet’ rhymes with ‘billet.’”

  “Did you tell her filet rhymes with bay?”

  He kissed my shoulder and I pushed an orange bear into my mouth. The burst of sweetness on my tongue and the curl of heat in my panties commingled into a pleasantly doped sensation. “She said that the English say it. Fillet, fillet, fillet.” I changed it, wishing my mother would behave for just one day.

  “But we’re not in England,” Boyd said. He rubbed my hips with his hands and my dress whispered secret things to us. There was entirely too much fabric between me and my groom.

  “Ah, I tried that.”

  “What did she say?”

  I popped a yellow bear. “She said we’re not in France, either. So she can say fillet.”

  “Ah. That makes sense.”

  “Do not defend her.” Green bear, red bear, white. All in one mouthful.

  Boyd turned me and I swallowed. He kissed me softly, fingers stroking over my waist. “I’m not. I’m just trying to calm you down.”

  “And Uncle Jobie is drunk as a skunk singing ‘Margaritaville.’”

  “But they’re playing The Spinners.”

  “I know!”

  “Molly, he gets drunk at every event.”

  “Still.” Kiss, kiss, kiss went my groom. His tongue ran lightly over my bottom lip and my pussy went wet in my little white bloomers. “I just cannot breathe with all the stress.”

  Boyd backed me farther into the murky ballroom corner. A fake plant shielded us from the insanity that was our reception. “If the bride and groom would join us on the dance floor, we’ll do the garter business!” The DJ’s porn star voice boomed through the ballroom.

  Boyd’s tongue stroked over mine and he pulled me flush to him, my crinoline complaining, his hard-on riding the tender place between my legs. My breath stalled out in my throat and my chest buzzed. Then I groaned. “Damn them all!”

  He laughed. “Easy, Molly. Be easy. Let’s go show off those pretty toned legs.”

  I shoved the Gummi Bears into his pocket, since my smuggling place was about to be removed and tossed to some drunken male attendee. My fingers brushed Boyd’s cock on their way out of his pocket, and he exhaled fast, with a bark. “Oh, baby.”

  “Margaritaville!” cried my uncle in a drunken shout.

  “Oh, God. Oh, God!” I said, anxiety swirling in my belly. I reached for Boyd’s pocket to grab the bears and he stopped me. He twirled me and gave me a sharp smack on the ass to propel me forward. Even through all the fabric the smack left a crack of pain on my bottom and I blushed. “Boyd!” I yipped.

  “Go on, girl.” He laughed. “Go on, Mrs. Loma. Go get ’em!” And he smacked me again.

  “Give them to me.” I pushed my hand into Boyd’s pocket and he cruelly arched his hips and gave me a handful of cock. I laughed. Hard. I snorted, actually. I had him wedged there in the mirrored corner of the elevator, and somehow, miraculously, we were alone.

  “No bears for you! No bears. But if you want something in your mouth, I have something in mind.” He pulled me close and my breath slid out of my lungs. I smiled a half-drunk, goofy smile and kissed him. His five o’clock stubble scraped my carefully applied makeup.

  “I want the bears.”

  “Behave.”

  “Please.” I breathed. I kissed him harder, pressing my pelvis to his despite the padded barrier of miles of white dress.

  “No.”

  “I need them. I am…” The truth threatened to come out, so I bit my lip.

  Boyd pulled back to look at me. He slid his warm finger along the arch of my cheekbone. Touched my lip g
ently. “What?”

  “Nothing.” I dropped my eyes and leaned against him for his warmth and his strength. I heard the crinkle of the candy bag, but didn’t want it anymore. Panic welled in my chest and I tried to relax. I tried to remember how to breathe.

  “What? Tell me, Molls. What’s wrong?” Now he looked serious and concerned and all the things he should not be on his wedding night.

  I swallowed hard several times to stave off the tears. I tried so hard to ignore the tight crawl of emotion in my throat and the way my heart was flip-flopping as if I might die. “Nothing, nothing. It’s fine.”

  “You’re going to cry? Oh shit, are you sorry you married me? Do you regret me?” Real pain flashed across his handsome face, and I had never felt like a bigger ass in all my life.

  “God, no! I’m sorry, Boyd. I’m just having a little…” I fanned my face.

  “A little what?” He pinned me to the wall, big brown eyes intent. Worried.

  “Anxiety. I’m having anxiety,” I said to his flushed red lips. My lipstick stained him in places, and I put my lips to the really red spots. Boyd pulled me back.

  “Why?” His fingers twined in mine and his big rough thumb rested over the pulse in my wrist. Marking every jump of my freaked-out heart.

  “Our babies?” I said it like a question.

  Boyd grinned. That grin that had gotten me into this wedding dress in the first place. It smacked my heart with a resounding whack and then shot straight down past my belly button into my pussy. I moaned. He could not turn me on while I was scared. It was unfair. “What about our babies?”