With This Ring, I Thee Bed

by Alison Tyler

  This became my focus for several weeks prior to our wedding. How to meet the traditions in a nontraditional way. For old, I would have the ring—an heirloom passed down for generations in Wes’s family. For new, I was planning on wearing a pair of dramatic chandelier-style earrings, diamonds Wes had given me the day he’d proposed. Borrowed would be a veil from Leann, my best friend. But blue. Blue stumped me.

  That’s when Leann told me about the latest wedding rage in Manhattan. Creative brides, who didn’t want to wear tacky blue garters or sport bright blue Gothic-inspired toenails, were having the curls on their delta of Venus dyed instead. What an unexpected solution! Several days before the wedding, I headed to a salon in an absolute burst of excitement. I am a natural fair-skinned blonde, and I keep the area between my thighs well cropped. But I’d never even thought of decorating this triangle before. At the high-end salon, I learned that I could have the curls between my legs sculpted into a heart shape, and then dyed the most beautiful corn-flower blue. This went off without a hitch.

  The problem after that was keeping the secret from Wes. I wanted desperately to surprise him on the day of our wedding with my heart-of-blue. Yet because we are so often naked together—nearly always naked together—this turned out to be far more difficult than I would have expected. To ward off bad luck, the groom isn’t supposed to see the bride on the night before the nuptials. But I had to hide my delta of Venus from Wes for three whole days!

  “What’s up with you?” he asked when he spied me wearing knickers at home. This is something I never ever do. As soon as I return to our apartment from work, I strip down, often leaving a trail of clothing for Wes to follow if he arrives home after I do. A stunning silk blouse here. A sheer stocking there. One patent-leather shoe pointing in the direction of the bedroom. But now, I was standing by the mantel in our living room wearing a scarlet bra and a pair of matching satin boy shorts while I casually went through the mail.

  “Nothing, just thought they were pretty,” I told him lamely.

  “Take those off, Chelsea,” he insisted.

  But I wouldn’t. And that turned out to be more arousing than I might have expected. For four years, Wes has seen me every day without my clothes on. Every moment that we’re together, we are naked, and we’ve always considered this one of our biggest turn-ons. Now, Wes was watching me with clothing on, while imagining me with clothing off. I could practically see the concept working in his mind. He stood by my side, his hands roaming over my body, touching my breasts through the fabric of the bra, then cradling my ass through the lacy red boy shorts.

  “Wait until the honeymoon,” I teased, swatting his hand away when he tried to pull down the panties. “Then you’ll get to see me naked once again.”

  Wes remained floored by the concept. It was as if I’d all of a sudden turned old-fashioned on him. As can be expected by our lifestyle, I’m no prude. I have always taken great pride in my body, and it shows in the way I walk, stand and even make love. I hold myself regally whether I’m naked or dressed, and I arch my back ever so slightly to show off my ripe, round breasts. Being naked so often has given me a confidence about my body that shows whether I am stripped down or dressed up. But now that I insisted on keeping the private parts of myself private, Wes found himself going out of his head with lustful desires. All he wanted was to slip my shorts down my long, shapely legs. And I kept telling him “No.”

  “Seriously, Chelsea,” he said, “if you won’t take them off, I’ll do it for you. You can just stand there and let me undress you.” I could tell how turned on he was by the gleam in his deep brown eyes. “It’ll be fun. You don’t even have to move. I’ll do everything.”

  “Uh-uh.” I grinned. “Not for seventy-two more hours.”

  Wes’s dark brows furrowed. I could feel his eyes on me, watching me twitch my hips as I walked away from him, and then he pounced after me, pulling me into his firm embrace.

  Face-to-face, he asked, “But why?”

  “Chalk it up to superstition,” I told him, and for a moment he seemed to accept this explanation. But only for a moment.

  “Let me taste you,” he begged next, knowing damn well how much I like his tongue teasing me between my thighs. “Come on, Chelsea.” He still had his hands around me, pulling me against him, so I could feel that he was harder than steel. I closed my eyes for a moment, reveling in the sensation of his ready cock pressed against my panty-clad pussy. It was unexpectedly arousing to me to feel him through that satin barrier.

  “Through my panties only,” I insisted, and he pouted, but ultimately gave me what I wanted, lifting me in his strong arms and carrying me down the hall to our bedroom. He set me on the bed, then lay down and gazed up at me, licking his lips in anticipation. I could tell that he thought I would fail in my endeavor to keep my pussy under wraps, but I held strong.

  As anticipation beat within me, I straddled his face and he ran his tongue along the red satin of my boy shorts, before sucking my clit through the fabric, making a sexy wet spot with his mouth. I pushed hard against him, loving every second of the sensation. Wes knows all the special ways to please me with his mouth, but it had been years since he’d dined on me through my panties. We are always skin to skin. With his hands on my hips to hold me steady, he began tracing shapes up and over my pussy through the panties. I rocked my hips against him as I grew even more excited, pressing my pussy to his lips, then backing off, pressing harder still, then pulling away again.

  Oh, it felt amazing. Wes does the most spectacular tricks with his tongue when he eats me. He presses the flat of it against my clit. He uses the pointy tip to trace letters and numbers. To spell out words like I love you.

  Finally, he nipped at my clit through the barrier, and I moaned and closed my eyes, on the verge of climax so quickly I could hardly believe it. Taking advantage of my arousal, Wes tried to trick me into letting him roll down the waistband of the shorts, but I refused to allow him access, and finally he gave in, making me come with his tongue on the outside of my panties only. I was in ecstasy, my head back, my body shaking, my secret still safe.

  “Let’s take a shower together,” he suggested the next day, finding me once more in a bra and panty set and giving a sad little shake of his head when he saw that yet again I wasn’t naked. This set was a pale lavender, with peekaboo holes cut at the nipples and a flutter of ruffles on the rear of the panties. It was extremely sexy in my opinion, but not at all what Wes had in mind. He prefers nothing. Frilly little panty sets make him want to shred the fabric into bits, leaving an explosion of former underwear spread around us like colorful confetti.

  “You know you want to, Chelsea,” he cajoled. “We’ll get all soaped up together and then I’ll fuck you against the wall.”

  Ooh, that sounded good. I love when we do it in the shower. There’s almost nothing more erotic than being all wet and hot together, nothing sexier than feeling Wes taking me against the cool blue tiles, his cock as wet as I am as he slides inside my waiting, willing pussy. But I shook my head. “No, baby,” I said, “not until Friday night.”

  He grabbed me up in his arms and pressed his mouth to my ear. “I’ve been thinking about you all day long. I need to see your body. I need to see you naked.”

  As he spoke, he thrust forward, once again letting me feel how hard he was—so fucking hard—and I finally agreed to soaking in our condo’s hot tub, wearing a cute gold thong bikini and tiny bandeau top. Wes had a difficult time controlling himself, and when we got back to the apartment, we did it against the wall in our entryway, with him sliding the bottoms of my bathing suit aside and thrusting deep inside me.

  I remained facing the wall, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to see my pretty surprise, losing myself in the way he took me, demanding, desperate.

  “I have to see you undressed,” he insisted on the morning before our wedding. “Don’t be such a tease, Chelsea. Let me see you.”

  It had now become something of a game. Wes wanted to make me
lose—and I wanted desperately to win. To my great relief, we had to rush to catch the plane, and I was able to keep my secret undercover. I wondered what he would think when he finally saw my sexy reveal. I was almost as excited by this as I’d been on our very first time together.

  Leann was my maid of honor. She and her man helped us on our big day, with Ken keeping Wes busy while my best friend assisted me with my own preparations. Staging a naked wedding meant that we didn’t have to worry about renting tuxes or ordering carnation boutonnieres. Mostly the men went around discussing the music with the band and telling the caterers what type of champagne to pour for the first toast.

  After much consideration, I decided to use body paint to complete my non-outfit. We hired a talented artist available through the hotel, and she came with an array of paints. Just as every girl dreams of her wedding day, I’d always had an image in mind. I described the style and Melody went to work, creating a lattice of lace and decorative designs, while leaving my nether heart totally blank.

  My nerves were jangling as I got ready to walk down the aisle. When I met Wes at the altar, he couldn’t keep his eyes off me. His eyes swept up and down my body, drinking me in, draining every drop that he’d missed for the past few days. Our vows were lovely, but luckily brief, and then the two of us retreated for a bit of private time before the party.

  Once off on our own, he got down on his knees as he had when he proposed, but this time he pressed his mouth to my mound, his tongue flicking between my pussy lips. I gripped his shoulders and shuddered, the sensations flooding through me.

  “You tease,” he said, touching the blue curls with his fingertips.

  “I wanted to surprise you—”

  “And what a surprise.” He grinned at me.

  “Something old was the ring. Something new were the earrings. Something borrowed was Leann’s veil. And something blue…”

  Wes continued to trick his tongue up and down between my pussy lips until I had to tighter my grasp on his shoulders to keep myself steady. I would have fallen down, collapsed in a heap on the floor. Unable to stand. To move. To think. But I realized, as the pleasure flooded through me, that I’d learned something new. Being on display is sexy as all get-out, but keeping myself under wraps for three days had been an erotic game of peekaboo that I knew Wes would never forget.

  Love, Honor, and Obey

  Rita Winchester

  “Have we got some man meat for you!” Sarah threw back her head and laughed. Sarah has red, red hair and big green eyes and she loves to look at men. Okay, so I was mildly terrified.

  “Really, Diana, it’s no big deal. Don’t worry. Some men shaking their, uh, stuff in honor of your nuptials.” My very best friend, Wanda, smiled. “Don’t look so panicky. We’re taking you to a private beefcake show, not the gallows.”

  I have to be honest. I’d prefer the gallows. I’m not much of a beefcake kind of girl. I tend to prefer my beefcake in my bed or in my shower or in, uh…me. And I prefer his name be Nick, because that is the cake of beef I was marrying day after tomorrow.

  “Woo-hoo! Bring on the liquor!” my high school friend Lisa crowed.

  And then in unison. “Lick her? I barely know her!”

  Okay, so it could be worse. I wasn’t much for a male dancing revue, but it was all my favorite women and some drinks and food and all that jazz. I had no plans of being titillated, turned on or sexually involved.

  So it should be fun, right?

  “We have the bride, bring out the boys.” My God, Sarah could be loud. They plopped me into a chair decorated with garters and inflated condoms, and someone had put up a pair of purple fuzzy handcuffs. Another someone shoved an icy glass in my hand and the lights dimmed.

  I dumped my purse on the floor and stuck my cell in the pocket of my swishy, girlie skirt that Nick said reminded him of a mermaid. If he called, I could sneak out and talk to him. It was cheating, but who cared. I’d rather be with him than almost anywhere in the world. Including The Proper Send-off, the premiere club for brides-to-be.

  “Ladies and gentlemen. Oops, no gentlemen,” the mistress of ceremonies teased. “Only the ones on display. We are here tonight for the ladies’ pleasure. A hand-selected array of heart-stopping good-looking men here to strut their stuff.”

  Hand selected. I tried not to giggle but failed. The point was to have fun, after all.

  “See that?” Lisa nudged me. “Hand selected. Damn. Wish it had been my hand. Why did no one ask me to be on the selection committee?”

  “Because they needed them unmarred and unmolested?”

  I teased.

  “Oh, picky, picky.” She winked at me.

  The MC was still talking. I envied her gorgeous black satin gown, and was that…yes, it was. A whip. She had a whip. Now where was the lion? I grinned.

  “We’ll be bringing the gents out soon enough, ladies. In the meantime, tell your server what you’d like to drink.”

  My server—my hand-selected (so they say) server, Blake—was huge. Huge! Tall, dark and handsome. Shorn head, dark brown eyes, rippling man muscles but not overdone. Just enough muscle to make you take notice. “Hi, there. What can I get you?”

  I opened my mouth to answer and my phone vibrated in my pocket. I flipped it open. “Say yes,” said Nick. His voice was rich and familiar in my ear and I felt that tug that had plagued me all week. I just wanted to be with him, not at this crazed premarriage lunatic ritual.

  “I—”

  But he had hung up. Say yes? Odd. “I’ll have a big, big, giant, um…margarita?” I wasn’t much of a drinker, but felt I could use a bucketful.

  Blake nodded, leaned down so we were face-to-face. “Strawberry, peach or regular?” His lips were a fraction of an inch from mine. So close I could feel the warm tickle of his breath on my mouth. I shivered. Was he crazy or just intense? Either way, it managed to unnerve me.

  “Peach?” I liked peaches, so what the hell.

  “You’re the bride?”

  “I am.” He was still there. Big brown eyes pinned to mine, mouth so close barely a wisp of smoke could have snaked between us. “I am—” I cleared my throat “—the betrothed.” Shit, how stupid did that sound?

  “Will you do me the honors of a kiss before I go?”

  I waited for him to grin. Or for the punch line. Or for the men with butterfly nets to come in and claim me. Instead, I had a faceful of handsome, patient, waiting-for-an-answer Blake. In my mind I heard Nick. Say yes.

  I felt a bit like Alice down the rabbit hole but I nodded. What the hell, right? “Yes?” I said.

  And he kissed me. He leaned in, soft, plump, manly lips crushing to mine. He put his order pad on the table and put his hands in my hair. He hauled me forward, gently but firmly, all the while his tongue slipping over and around mine, so that my toes curled in my sleek red boots and my mind went soft and white around the edges. He kissed me harder and my pussy flooded with heat and liquid want. Then he pulled back, kissed me once more softly on the lips, and stood. “I’ll be right back with your order.”

  I turned to see my friends staring, stunned and wide-eyed, as I ran my tongue over my lips and tasted Blake on my mouth. I shivered again; had it gotten cold? Or was it hot? And then I shrugged. “Sorry. I don’t know what…came over me.” I didn’t know how to explain Nick’s call, so I wouldn’t. I was the bride, after all. Now, where was my drink?

  “We know you’ve been patient, ladies, so it’s time for your reward!” The MC was back, her long sleek hair tethered high atop her head in a ponytail that reminded me of a circus horse. She was wildly beautiful, like an animal, and I couldn’t help but stare. “Here are the boys. Enjoy the view!” She ended with a flourish and disappeared as a herd of handsome, huge men hit the stage. I was relieved to see that no one was oiled up, shiny or wearing any kind of thong.

  Thank God for small favors.

  One stood out above all others, though. He looked like Nick. Dark chocolate hair that streamed lime-green, brigh
t blue, hot pink from the swirling overhead lights. He wore faded busted jeans and work boots, and when he danced he did not hold a maniacal smile on his face like some performers, but a cockeyed, knowing grin. My eyes went right to him and riveted. I knew it wasn’t my Nick, but damn.

  My phone vibrated and I popped it open. “Good job on saying yes, baby. I liked watching that guy want you. But not get you. Nothing more than a little kiss,” he whispered in my ear.

  I looked around wildly. Amid all the gyrating men, beautiful people, caterwauling girlfriends and flashing lights, I was a small, nonmoving force. No Nick. Anywhere. I glanced up on stage and the guy was coming toward me. The one who looked like Nick. The one with the jeans and work boots and cockeyed grin. The one that made my heart speed up and my panties wet. Here he came.

  “Nick, where—”

  “Shh. Just listen. Do it again, okay? Say yes. Do you understand, Diana?”

  “Yes, I under— Well, not really. I mean…”

  He was right there, edge of the stage, barely dancing. More like moving so slightly to the music that it couldn’t be cheesy or gross, but was somehow inexplicably, incredibly sexy and hot. I shook my head, confused.

  “Do, it, Diana. Say yes,” Nick growled, and then hung up. Again!

  “Oh my gawd! He is checking you out!” Sarah wailed, twirling that wild red hair around her fingers and bouncing like a madwoman to the techno beat. I wanted to crawl in a hole. Or punch her. I wasn’t sure. Instead, I kept my gaze focused on the Nick double who was coming down off the stage. Say yes… What the hell did he mean? A clawing panic filled me, but then I remembered I trusted Nick. I’d do what he said. Even if I didn’t understand just yet.