TITLE    : Saved
STORYID  : saved
SUMMARY  : Out-of-place guy survives a blue-collar wedding.
AUTHOR   : blueboar@lit
DATE     : 2001-08-15
CATEGORY : adult-humor
FLAGS    : h
TAGS     : |none|


Come on, Tommy. It'll be fun," she said.



"No, thanks."



I drained the last of the vodka from the glass.



"Pleeease. For me. Come on. All my friends will think you're antisocial," she pleaded, wrapping her little hand around my forearm.



I stared at her hand. She looked at her hand, at me, back at her hand,and then took it away. She tried to smile. I smiled back and caught another drop from the glass. I put the glass down.



"Will you?" she asked once more, this time more carefully.



I couldn't believe her, this person Sue, seated next to me at the large round table. Let's see. I asked you out about two weeks ago after you fixed my computer at work, we caught a movie that night, had a few drinks, I got you back to your pleasant little apartment, fucked you silly, forgot about you the next day, and then out of nowhere you invite me three days ago to a wedding for "your best friend in the whole world". I agreed (nothing else to do tonight; in addition, it would be kind of a cultural experience) and now. . . . No. It was not going to happen. Not now, not ever. 



"I am not getting out there to do the chicken dance," I said as pleasantly as I could manage, and then had to shake my head in amazement at the stricken look on her face. I don't know these people, I wanted to tell her firmly. Nor do I know you, babe, I wanted to add clearly, but said nothing. Noblesse Oblige and all of that, you know. 



But still she wouldn't go away. And still I said nothing as I stared up at her. You've got nice tits, you're a bit above average in the sack, but that's not even close to what would be needed for me to get up and make a complete ass of myself in front of a lot of gawd awful people with big hair and bad skin. I mean, it would be one thing if you had an incompetent band here torturing a song. Dancing out of beat, laughing at the greasy guitar player's open mouth sores, that would be good, clean fun, but your "best friend in the whole world" has a fucking DJ here for crying out loud. Couldn't Sue understand? Nothing in her flushed face and brown eyes indicated anything but indignation, so I gave up and turned away from her.



"Well," she huffed, standing up abruptly in her low cut pink, polyester shiny dress, and I turned to see her tits jiggling merrily as she looked down at me. "I'll just go myself, then. I'll just dance myself. And," she continued, planting her fists defiantly on her hips, "I just want to let you know that my old boyfriend's here tonight and. . . ." She stopped, saw I'd returned to studying my glass, and marched away.



"Have fun," I called out after her and got up to go to the bar for another drink. An old boyfriend? Oh brother.



After a couple of more drinks, I felt bad for her. I did. It was all so ridiculous. She was happy to have a date for "her best friend in the whole world's" wedding, especially after the gruesome mechanic in the ill-fitting jacket with the long fluffy hair in the back had dumped her four days ago. And I was ruining her fun. It was very tasteless, quite tacky. Hell, I had a lot more class than that. I looked around. She was with the other members of the bridal party in some corner of the "ballroom", a dismal sparkling hall in the dreary, shiny hotel, seated, looking miserable. She wasn't alone. All of them, including the bride, were slouched over drinking beer. Beer? At a wedding? I shook my head. Their dates, the groom, his pals, all of them, were crowded around the TV in the bar outside the ballroom to catch the SPECIAL ESPN SATURDAY NIGHT NFL GAME. 



Well. I buttoned my jacket. Time to stir things up a little.



I walked across the hall to the DJ, who was taking a break, having a cigarette, and took a seat next to him on the empty stage.



"Heh," he smiled nervously, afraid I was going to yell at him for smoking on the job.



Something about my dark suit and red, conservative tie must have told him that I was someone with authority or something. Nothing could have been further from the truth. The dirtball could smoke up for as long as he wanted, until one of his lungs was hacked out. I needed the good man's services for a few minutes.



Hi," I nodded.



"Just a five minute break and--"



"Yeah. Yeah," I interrupted. "Do you have the rhumba with you?"



"What?"



"The rhumba, man. You know. TaTa TaTa Ta TA! You know, the rhumba," I started flailing my arms to help him.



"Oh," he nodded after a moment of confusion. "The rhumba. Sure. I got that. Shit," he laughed, putting out his cigarette on the floor with his dusty brown shoes and standing up. "Nobody asks for that no more, but I like to keep it handy just in case."



"Well, friend," I said and reached up to let him pull me up. "This is `just in case,' okay?"



"Okay," he laughed. "Should I start it now?"



"No. No," I quickly replied, dusting off my pants. "I'll give you a signal," I smiled and handed him a twenty. 



I didn't wait for his uncomfortable "thank you" and turned sharply around. I faced the beer guzzling bridal party across the hall and walked to them, recoiling, along the way, at the gaudy silk flower centerpiece at the head table.



Sue saw me walking toward her, immediately smiled and started to stand up, but stopped when I bowed gracefully at the table of pink and misery. They looked at me with not a little disinterest; in fact, a few even rolled their eyes. A tough crowd.



"Ladies," I said, unintimidated, smiling brightly. "May I have the pleasure of your company?"



They continued staring, confused, but mostly drunk and I turned to the DJ, nodded and he started the wild beat. One or two faces brightened (not Sue's, of course) and then they all laughed when I started the goofy steps and the arms a-flinging.



"Come on!" I yelled to them as I strutted, my head bobbing with fantastic precision to the bass horns and drums. "Get behind and take hold," I said, patting my hips as an example. "Rhumba, baby, rhumba!"



Laughing hysterically, Sue, of course, was the first to jump up and grab onto my hips. I could hear and catch glimpses of a few of the others following and, satisfied our numbers were not embarrassingly few, I started moving the train along.



Now, the rhumba has some wild brass work, loud trumpets, throbbing bass work, was probably as foreign to these blue collar yokels as a black tie, so, as I led the bridal party, I laughed and tried to pick up stunned older women with miserably tight curly perms along the way to get on board. (Most of their menfolk were with their sons at the bar cheering on the latest dance steps of Deian Sanders, with whom, of course, I dared not compete). A few of the old ladies, good sports, giggling ridiculously, did join in after a moment's hesitation, some (those who jumped wildly at the opportunity to do the idiotic chicken dance, I noticed calmly) spurned my advances with a haughty turn of the face, but all in all I must have had at least fifteen women following me after a couple of minutes.



I took a step to the side and, clumsily, Sue took the lead, with a gentle, but firm, shove on my part. I got quickly behind her and held her swiveling hips tightly, the taste of cheap hair spray almost gagging me as her thick black hair flew from side to side in clumps against my face. It continued. First Sue and then the woman behind me (a blond biscuit in a tight white! miniskirt), then another and another and still more. I never relinquished my second spot (in fact, I had to shove Sue to the side to keep it) and it became obvious to me after two or three of them that these girls, dull as they might have been, had fantastically trim and healthy bodies. I remembered Sue telling me that most of them played volleyball for some bar league once or twice a week. The constant and violent jumping up and down of that not to be despised sport showed in their strong calves and tight asses. This realization, the sight of firm ass after firm ass grinding and shaking directly under my gaze, the feel of a thin waist, tight body clasped in my hands made it harder to dance, impossible to think clearly.



Finally, when I thought my enthusiasm was perhaps becoming a bit obvious (a few of the staler, older women still sitting were staring openly at my crotch), just when I thought it might not be a bad idea to signal to the DJ to put an end to the pleasure before things got out of hand and an alarmed screech from one of the girls brought some beefy brute away from the bar, with a flourish of white and lace and loud laughs of approval, in front of me stepped the bride, herself, Sue's "best friend in the whole world." 



I hadn't really paid attention to the dear girl earlier, at the Catholic Church, during the cake-cutting, or anywhere else (and for that I should have my head examined) but now with her body tightly within my grip I couldn't help but feel a touch of envy, a hint of grudging admiration for the goon she was marrying.



The girl was a hot, extraordinarily tight, package. Her waist felt thinner, her hips firmer than any of the other specimens who'd passed through my greedy little hands in the last few delightful minutes. If I remembered, Sue said her name was Layla or some such garbage and that she was a graduate of the two-year nursing assistant program at the local technical college. To be a terminally ill patient in her ward would be reasonable, I thought. If you're going to die, you may as well. . . . Enough. Lord. Observe this creature. Her long neck, streaked with beads of dewy, salty sweat slowly descending, looked like it belonged on a model. Even her stiff cement like brown hair made me want to lurch by crotch forward and into that obscenely expansive and fluffy decorated white dress of hers.



And just as I was on the verge of reaching forward, on the verge of licking one of those salty beads slowly strolling down her neck, the DJ or cheap tape he'd made cooly prevailed and the delightful beat stopped. Relieved but terribly disappointed I did the only manly thing open in the situation even though I knew it might result in great bodily injury to me. I continued forward and lunged into her. She laughed as I bumped hard with my straining cock into her mounds of frilly white until

 finally nothing could deny I was pressed tightly against her tight ass with my large, hungry erection. And instead of jumping away, horrified, she gave the slightest push back, I heard the faintest murmur of a moan, and then she pushed away, giggling and clapping her hands. I was a bit dazed, felt empty without her in my arms. They were all laughing, all clapping their hands.



I recovered. I had to think quickly. If any of them happened to glance a few degrees south, they'd all see the lewd condition I'd worked myself into, or, rather, the condition they'd worked me into. It would be madness to survive the torture of dancing with them, to survive, moreover, the daring, bold dart into the bride's sweet ass only to wind up pummeled to the ground and in grievous need of plastic surgery for innocently standing around in the midst of a dozen or so giggling, jiggling, healthy, young ladies. 



I glanced in a panic for an escape route and Sue, out of nowhere, it seemed, came to my rescue, almost knocking me over as she tightly clasped her arms around my neck and kissed me deeply. Of course, I had my own surprise in store for her and pushed crudely against her abdomen. She shrieked into my mouth, delighted, and pulled her head back, her face wet and happier than anyone deserved to be at such a dismal event.



"You're such a pervert," she laughed and then closed her eyes as she pushed herself against me.



"That was so much fun! Let's do it again! One more time!" I heard girlish squeals and laughter all around me, but I paid attention to nothing except Sue's grinding pelvis and the blushing face of Layla right behind her. I shrugged, apologetically to the luscious bride and then frowned. A polka'd started. (No doubt, one of the nasty older women had demanded a return to normalcy). Layla smiled sweetly, stared for a bit and then was pulled away by her throng back to their corner table for more beer.



"You're so hard," Sue giggled in my ear, as I watched the ruffle of white walk away.



"Yeah," I muttered, keeping my eyes on the bride, who took another glance back at me, blushing wildly, before a glass was shoved in her face. I shook my head. It looked so wrong. A bride and a bottle of Bud. So wrong. That bride needed something else in her hand, something long and smooth, filled with frothing, bubbling-- a nice flute of champagne.



I looked down at Sue whose grin was brighter than ever. The poor girl was all tenderness, all love and I could see that her emotions were overwhelming her and she was about to speak.



I smiled. "Shall we fuck, my dear?" I asked formally, although my mind was feverishly trying to scheme to get the bride somewhere alone. It would be impossible in my excited, feverish state so a quick clearing fuck seemed in order.



"Oh Tommy," Sue sighed, melodramatically collapsing in my arms. And, to my credit, in spite of this goofy display of affection, I dragged her away. I noticed the bride noticed (and frowned) as Sue and I walked out and I congratulated myself, pleased things seemed to be coming together.



Now for the fuck.



I'd overestimated the ease with which I could find an empty secluded space in the hotel to slip the salami to Sue. The difficulty, of course, was that I was used to old, sometimes crumbling, hotels, built at a time when gentlemen understood properly the need for out of the way dark rooms and nooks and crannies in which to entertain their lady guest at hand. This hotel, on the other hand, built in the seventies had nothing of the sort. Like everything since World War Two, it was built like a box, with lots of other little boxes neatly walled in. It was symmetrical, uniform and impeccably clean. 



It was depressing. Where did the busboys take the busgirls for a quick blowjob after a hard shift? The manager of the dump--where would he take the newest graduate from the hotel management program at the local "University" for a quick noon poke? Awful business, but finally a few dozen feet from the shiny main lobby I found a small cabinet-like room where tables and chairs were stacked. I dragged Sue in behind me and shut the door.



Always the gentlemen, I positioned myself between a wall and the chairs (wouldn't want the poor dear squashed in an avalanche) and dropped my pants. It was quick. It was ruthless. Simply delicious. The poor kid was wearing a garter (probably first time in her life) and all I had to do was rip away her soaking panties, open up her warm thighs, close my eyes, and I could almost pretend that I was somewhere in the St. Regis breaking in Mary of the Manhattan Mandevilles after her first deb party. I groaned and she quickly thrust her face into my shoulder to stifle a scream of orgasm as her cunt, wildly spasming, simply swallowed up my cock to the hilt. I was back to reality. I held myself still, straining on my toes to get every last bit into her. Her excitement was dripping down to my balls. In no sense was Mary the deb this juicy and full, this pungent and deep, this fucking hot and gripping.



After she caught her breath, after her cunt's last quivers of appreciation, my fucking of Sue began in earnest. I had no intention of changing pace, changing direction, Subtlety was out. Fucking was in. I simply pounded up into her in a mad race as she babbled, cried and groaned, scratched and bit incoherently and when I came it was with an intensity I thought I'd left behind at Hill at sixteen losing my cherry to my thesis advisor's second, rather young, wife.



"That was incredible," Sue said, tears still in her eyes, as we walked back somewhat unsteadily to the hall.



I grinned at her and she swooned (I swear) when I took her hand as we continued walking. What was I going to say to her? Listen, kid. Your "best friend in the whole world" got me so excited I had to fuck something and, well, you were the closest thing nearby. No. Goodness. I wasn't going to admit that. Nor, of course, would I tell her that throughout every pulse and throb of my cock draining into her overheated body the only thing on my mind was her "best friend in the whole world's" tight ass. So I did the only reasonable thing to keep her quiet: I held her hand and nudged her playfully. It worked. With love in her teary eyes, and the blush of two orgasms on her rosy cheeks, she said not a word as we approached the hall (and the loud awful sound of the Macerana--the Macerena for God's sake! three, four years later-blaring over the speakers).



"Tommy," she sighed as we were about to step back into the hell.



"Yes."



"I've got a real problem tonight."



I turned to her. What's this? The poor kid was trying to act serious. I suppressed a smile.



"I promised Layla that I'd, you know, go to her after-wedding party in the bridal suite, but I want more than anything to spend the night with you."



"What are you talking about?"



"Tonight, Layla's having a party and--"



"What's this?" I asked, waiving into the loud ballroom.



"Oh, this is for her family and, you know, tradition and stuff."



"Tradition and stuff."



"Yeah. The real party won't start until tonight, you know, with all her and Bill's close friends."



"Let me get this straight. Those two are going to have another party after this?"



"Yes."



"And at this party, they're not going to be alone? The whole gawd awful gang is going to be there with them, right?"



"Yeah."



"What? Is this like a pagan ritual, an orgy for the bunch of you or something?" I asked, genuinely amazed and, I must admit, a bit excited. I was warming to the idea. A pagan orgy with lots of virgin sacrifices would be something to write home about. Of course, I doubted any virgins remained among them, but we could always pretend. Maybe throw in some ketchup. Still, an orgy? Never did anything like that. But then again nothing would surprise me about these people. I was beginning to admire them and their delightful rituals.



"No, silly. It's not an orgy," she laughed slapping my arm. I stared at her hand. "Sorry," she said.



"Sue, sweetheart, I have no idea what you're talking about," I replied, genuinely confused. An after-wedding party. What, in God's name, was this all about?



"They don't want to have a traditional wedding night. That's all, you know. I mean, it's not like, you know, they're both virgins or nothing, you know," she smiled.



I shook my head, trying to understand, but unable to. Your wedding night with your friends? What could be more bizarre? And then I cursed myself silently. I did. I'd thought working at Goldman's Chicago office would be kind of cool before I went to Harvard Business School, but these people to whom I'd attached myself were like a different species entirely. Entirely, God damn it! In New York, of course, I'd never go out on a "date" with some computer hack. Sure. I'd fuck her if she was hot, but a date? Never. And then to a wedding? I was losing it. My friends back East would be shaking their heads in disbelief, in disgust even, if they could see how far I'd fallen. Never again, I told myself. Never again, would I go to a wedding where there was even the slightest hint that the Macarena might be played, or where the chicken dance was considered anything other than recreation for the mentally dangerous.



"Interesting," was all I said to her, and tried to give her a reassuring smile even though I was sure my face was paling as I tried to come up with excuses to get the hell out of there.



"Well?" she sighed.



I shrugged, confused.



"What should I do?"



"About?"



"About the fact that Layla wants me at the party, Tommy? What should I do?"



I shrugged once more, somewhat annoyed. What did this have to do with me? I'd go to the apartment, change and hit a bar or two in the Loop. She could do whatever she wanted with these loons. While she played pin the tail on the groom or whatever little pleasantries they had planned, I'd be between the thighs pumping away on some young bimbo with a fake ID.

<hr pg="2" />"Don't you want to spend the night together?" she asked sadly, not giving up.



I smiled. Didn't I just fuck you, dear? What . . . wait a minute. Wait a minute. What was I thinking? Dear me.



"Look, Sue," I reached forward and gently massaged her bare shoulder. "She's your best friend in the whole world, right?"



"Yes. She is."



"If you have to go to the party, I'll be there with you," I said solemnly.



"You will!" she cried.



"Of course, love."



"Oh Tommy," she smiled and kissed my cheek.



I smiled back, the thought of Layla's ass pressed to my hard dick burning in my crotch. These yahoos may not have had a pagan orgy in mind when they planned their quaint little post wedding party for close friends and neighbors, but they would have had no idea that I would be among the guests.



With a renewed strength, I stepped into the ballroom confidently, but then winced at the sight of overweight men and women with turkey necks wildly flapping their arms and all my doubts returned. I calmed down only after I got my hands on a quick drink and even then I was a bit unsteady until I saw the bride quickly stare at me and then turn around when she noticed I noticed. I toasted her and downed the poison, trying to steady my nerves for the difficult task ahead.



Even after the group of seven or eight entered the bright suite, with the pink decorations, even after everyone sort of lounged about and put on Garth Brooks' latest, after Layla and the other girls changed into tight jeans and T-shirts and let their big hair down in waves, after Bill put on his Bermuda shorts and asked me whether I was gay, after all of that, I simply could not believe we were celebrating a marriage. I mean, it wasn't just that if I was Bill I'd be fucking Layla's brains out in the bedroom, the kitchen floor, the bathroom, and daringly outside in the balcony seven stories off the ground. It wasn't just that. (In fact, Bill seemed to be more interested in the game of quarters that the boys had set up on the kitchen table). No. It wasn't that. It was the familiarity of the savages, their easy insolence, their total lack of humility.



Few people understand the importance of formality in social interaction. Formality lubes understanding among us, ironically, gives us that distance necessary to get close to another person. None of these people understood that. Their "hey dudes!" and "girl, what ya say?" and "awesomes" and "Whatsups?" were empty, shallow slogans they'd seen in a movie or cheesy TV commercial. In fact, they had no voices of their own. They were simply repeating lines from some ad or sports announcer. It was awful. Awful. Awful.



And yet, did I leave? Did I make a dramatic departing speech denouncing them, extolling them to greater causes of individual self-fulfillment, ask them to renounce the mass media and all of its evils?



Yeah right. A bigger hypocrite you could not find, especially when a juicy cunt is on the line. So after the initial shock to my nerves (my sixth or seventh of the evening), I settled down in a comfortable chair, had a drink or two of some quality scotch I dug out of the little bar and with a grimace watched Sue and the others down their Seven &amp; Sevens and Rum and Cokes one after the other. The boys focused their attention on their beer, but, in the end, the result was the same: a lot of very drunk passed out slobs. The groom was the first to go and I joined enthusiastically in the raucous cheers as a couple of his less competent buddies, banging his hanging head against a doorway or two along the way, dumped his sorry corpse in the "master bedroom."



The field, so to speak, was clear.



It was then that I felt completely free to focus without fear of retribution upon Layla's bouncy tits and that lovely ass. It provided long minutes of enchanting entertainment and the dear girl, completely aware I was watching her every move, extended herself, taking pleasure from my leering, pleasant face. She seemed to be stretching and bending in ways obviously meant for me and I silently (and once or twice not so silently) applauded her in each step of the way. There was Layla, her tits round and firm, bouncing and giggling as she laughed with Sue about the time in high school when they'd snuck out of their houses to go to that college frat party (I could only imagine the outcome of that little venture). Here's Layla brushing by me for no apparent reason to get something from the cooler, her nipples erect for a touch. There's Layla bending over to pick a napkin off the carpet even though cans and bottles were strewn everywhere and the absence of that one napkin greatly lessened the aesthetic effect of the whole. I'd had enough. The stage was set. Time for action, but just as I was about to take her hand and lead her away for a private little talk, a terrifically large ape stepped in front of me and looked sadly down at my prey. I took a step back, more amused than annoyed.



He was the best man and although the two of them were trying to whisper their conversation was obvious and once its substance became clear I looked for somewhere to sit for comfort. Layla was telling the best man how she never quite got over that little fling they'd had six months ago, just after she got engaged. It was intriguing, of course, the ins and outs of the dear Layla's careless sexual promiscuity, but I must admit that I was more than nervous at the little exchange, and watched with not a little concern as the two continued their loud whisperings. Would the animal take her away for a little quickie in the toilet? Would it matter to me? I debated whether I would stick my dick in her if she was full of another bum's spunk, but the fates were smiling down on me that night and I breathed a sigh of relief as the best man, finally, banged his hand against the wall, choking with drunken emotion, and swore he would never, ever do anything to hurt the groom again. Such chivalry I hadn't seen in a long time. I toasted to him silently. I loved people with principle. He disappeared into the master bedroom to, no doubt, throw up on his best buddy.



I sat back and relaxed, feeling no pressure to move now whatever, watching and watching, enjoying and marveling. Sue noticed nothing, getting more and more drunk and, about one in the morning, she too passed out on one of the couches, joining several of the unconscious others near by in a joint reverie of drunken stupor of twisted limbs and intertwined drool. Someone else did notice my leering perversions, however, unfortunately.



"So," that someone else called out from behind me. "See anything you like?"



I turned quickly from Layla laughing with one of her friends about some fat guy she'd been attending to at the hospital who had a really small dick. I couldn't place the smiling face at first. Right. It was the blond chick in the white!, tiny miniskirt from the Rhumba. Like the others she was now in a T-shirt and jeans.



I shrugged. "Nope. Nothing here for me to look at. My baby's getting her beauty sleep," I grinned, motioning to the grossly disheveled Sue on the couch with half her right tit plopped out of her shirt.



"Doesn't look like that. Looked like you were watching something pretty close."



"What did it look like?"



"You were checking out Layla."



I smiled.



"I don't blame you. She's nice to look at. Everyone does."



I continued smiling.



"But," she grinned, "she's off-limits now, you know."



"Of course. Of course," I concurred, making no effort to not stare at her firm little tits.



"So, my name's Liz, Layla's cousin" she continued, satisfied she'd sufficiently warned me off Layla and pleased my attentions were now on her.



"Charmed," I grinned and took her hand and gave it a light peck. "Thomas Cromwell," I smiled, still holding her hand.



She laughed and tried to drag her hand away, but I held it firm. I would need her on my side. Although I doubted anything short of an atomic explosion would wake Bill the Groom, it never hurt to make sure all possible obstacles were out of the way. The last thing I needed was to be pounding away on Layla, while her jealous cousin rounded up the cavalry.



"Give me back my hand," she giggled.



"I am afraid I cannot. Keeping it for a souvenir."



"You can't do that."



"Of course I can."



"Gonna cut it off?"



I shook my head, pleased at her quick retort.



"Then I see no way you can keep it."



I smiled. I was starting to like her. She shook her head and turned away, probably looking to see if the pickings were better with someone else. She saw no one other than Layla and a few other stuttering, stumbling idiots and turned back to me. Was I insulted she was flirting with me because I was the last man standing? Yeah right. It was nice to see that the two of us were on the same train of thought.



"So what are you going to do with it?" she asked and then once more tried to jerk her hand away.



"Not much."



"Then why do you want it?" she laughed.



"Because," I grinned pulling her to me, "it's attached to the rest of you."



"Oh brother," she laughed backing away. "That's an awful pick up line."



"Tis not."



"`Tis not?' God, you're weird."



"Thank you."



"No. Really. Everyone here tonight thinks you're like out of your mind."



"I'm glad." And I was.



"That doesn't piss you off?"



"I'm delighted." The more peculiar these morons thought I was, the more I could be certain I wasn't picking up any of their horrible habits.



"I'd sure be mad," she said. "Besides, everyone thinks you're gay."



"Wonderful."



"Wonderful? Are you?"



"Do you think so?" I leered at her.



"I don't know. You talk and act like you're gay, but I don't know. I mean, you're like dating Sue. So that's something."



The muscles of my mouth twitched trying to control my incredible desire to laugh. She wouldn't like that, laughing about something serious like "dating". Good grief. I was about to ask her why she wore white to her cousin's wedding, but stopped myself. It would be fun to frustrate her a little, but, once more, it would piss her off. Something neutral, something pastoral, non threatening. . . .



"Let's go somewhere more private," I grinned, finally, and started dragging her behind me. Why not? Layla wasn't going any where. It would be fun entertaining myself a bit with this little tramp.



She dug in her heals and I stopped. "Are you crazy? My boyfriend's here."



"Where?"



"There," she said, pointing to a beefy-red specimen of manhood, sprawled on the ground with a beer stained T-shirt.



"I don't think he'd mind," I smiled.



"Mind what?"



"Mind my holding your hand."



"That's all?"



"I'm gay, remember?"



"You're crazy," she shook her head grinning, but followed me out of the suite.



There's only so much stress one can bear over the course of an evening. I'd thought (like an idiot) that the hangers on would have each gotten separate rooms in the hotel to retire to after the after-wedding party festivities were over. But I was being rational when I shouldn't have been.



"No room?" I cried in genuine despair halfway down the hall.



"Why would I have a room? We're all spending the night with Layla and Bill."



"Yes. Yes. Yes. Very interesting. Sue told me all about this depraved new convention."



"Besides," she giggled, "I wouldn't go into no room with you alone."



I smiled, noticing immediately her mock stress on the double negative. She wasn't an idiot. Still . . . I wasn't going to give up that easily. "You're not attracted to me?"



"Well, yeah, you're kind of cute, but you're also really weird."



I pinned her against the wall and kissed her. She punched me away.



"Hey!" she yelled. "Don't do that, you jerk!"



I laughed. "I'm sorry. Won't happen again."



"Better not," she grinned and I kissed her again, this time much more slowly. She resisted, I persisted, feeling her wonderful orange-sized tits pressing against my chest, and then she opened her mouth and my tongue slivered in. I could feel her heart racing against my sternum and as just as I was about to cup one of her tits, she pushed me away.



"You really are strange," she said, taking a quick breath. I stepped to her and she punched me back. "God. Come on. Be a good boy."



"I'm trying. I'm trying."



"Besides, wouldn't you feel awful cheating on Sue?"



Again, it almost hurt suppressing the burst of laugh building inside, but I managed after a deep breath. "Sue and I haven't been doing well."



"No way."



"Yes way," I tried not to smile.



"Sorry."



"Thank you."



I watched her study me, in the motherly way women affect when they meet a handsome young man in need of comfort and solace. I tried to look as pathetic as possible. It's always important to make a woman feel like she's in control if you want to fuck her. Especially this little cutie. She was probably in her mid-twenties, a couple of years older than I, probably worked as a secretary (or "assistant", God help us) for a big accounting or law firm and she was, like her cousin, incredibly put together, a perfect little appetizer.



"You don't give a shit about Sue," she grinned, shaking her head.



I stepped back, amazed she didn't buy my act. I would have to revisit this episode, replay it in my mind, to see where I'd gone wrong. It was a lesson I'd learned early. No matter what's going on or how catastrophic things become, you must always learn from your mistakes. And this little detour looked like a complete fiasco.



"You're just trying to get in my pants, aren't you?" she continued grinning.



I nodded, smiling. Maybe she wasn't that bright. I just shoved you against a wall and forced my tongue down your throat. What else was I trying to do? Recruit you for a convent?



"Why?" she asked.



"You're beautiful," I replied, trying not to yawn, praying Layla hadn't passed out.



"So's Sue."



"I've already fucked her." I knew I was giving up the struggle, but at this point the entertainment of matching verbal swords was a lot more appealing than fucking her. Besides, the main goal still was waiting for me (I hoped) in the suite. Two out of three wouldn't be bad.



"God," she shook her head, "you're so full of yourself."



"What would you have me be?"



"Normal."



"This is normal?" I laughed, motioning to the doorway to the suite.



"What? We're all just trying to have a good time."



"A good time? Your wedding night hanging out with your close friends, when the two of them should be fucking their brains out? Why?"



"Why not? They're just trying to unwind."



"You know, I'd have more respect for them if they'd have hired a couple of prostitutes, male and female, and entertained themselves. And my respect would have turned to genuine awe if Billy boy took on the male prostitute and Layla lapped up the female. This is simply goofy. It's childish, so juvenile and . . . just yucky!"



"Yucky?"



"Yucky."



"How can a person use the word `yucky' in the same sentence as talking about gay prostitutes on your wedding night?"



"Well, that would at least be memorable."



"You're really weird," she shook her head. "Wow."



"So do you want to fuck?" I grinned.



"Are you crazy? God, you're gross. I wouldn't fuck you--"



"Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Tell me why you don't want to fuck."



"I don't know you."



"I don't know you," I replied.



"Doesn't that matter to you?"



"That's the whole point, cutie."



"Just like that, I'm supposed to fuck you. God, that sounds so crude."



"Just like that."



She thought for a moment, and then shook her head. "You're crazy."



"Good. Good. We've established I'm crazy. Will you fuck a crazy man?"



She smiled. "What about Layla?"



"What about Layla?"



"I've been watching you two and you guys seemed to have made a connection."



Once more, I wanted to laugh at the little minx. She was observant, sly. I liked her a lot.



"Do you want to fuck Layla?" she continued.



"Only after I fuck you."



"You're not going to fuck me, buddy. I'm talking about the bride. Think about it. The bride."



Of course, I'd thought about it. It was the only thing I'd been thinking about the entire night, but I must admit that I was a bit unsettled that my ploy had been so easily exposed. More important, I was frustrated with myself. I was becoming distracted, starting to think that Layla was becoming a lot less interesting than the little blond thing in front of me.



"Do you want me to fuck the bride?"



"It would be kind of cool."



"Kind of cool?"



"Sure. Cheating on your husband the first night of the marriage."



How could this girl be from the same blood line as the others I'd suffered with the last eight hours? I could see she was becoming excited at the thought of the bride getting fucking a stranger on her wedding night. A real sick chick.



"Now who's being a pervert?" I laughed, feeling completely comfortable with her. I'd found a soul mate.



"You started it. You're a bad influence."



"It would make you happy if I fucked Layla?"



"I don't know about happy," she shrugged. "It would be kind of funny."



"You want to watch?" I leered at her.



"No," she laughed. "I'm not some sicko. I just want to know whether you're going to do it. It's the only reason I came out here with you."



"Only reason?"



She nodded firmly.



"Do you think she'll let me?"



"Probably not. But it'll be fun trying, won't it?"



"What if I do?"



"What do you mean, `what if I do?'"



"What do I get from you."



"You get nothing from me."



"That's not very sporting."



"What? Do you want to make a bet or something?"



I nodded.



"Let me think," she said, rubbing her chin mockingly. "You want to fuck me if you fuck the bride. Is that it?"



I nodded.



"Boy. That's a real fair bet. What would I get if you lose?"



"What do you want?"



"I don't know," she hesitated. "Wait," she snapped her fingers. "Got it. You'll get me two tickets to the Chicago Symphony."



I smiled at her. The Chicago Symphony? Who was this chick?



"You like the Symphony?"



"Never been, but I've read they're great."



"Only if you take me along with you."



"No. I get to choose who I go with."



"What? Your so-called boy friend's going to enjoy them?"



"Maybe I have someone else in my life," she grinned, her blue eyes sparkling at me.



"Lead the way," I grinned back, motioning back to the suite and I watched as she turned, her tight little ass did its thing in front of me and I followed her back into the pink place.



There was little left of the party. Bodies were strewn on this couch and that. Empty bottles, pretzels and cans blotted the floor and I stepped gingerly, maneuvering here and there, proud of myself for not giving into my desire to "mistakenly" step on the hands of a couple of the more appalling goons curled on the ground.



"Layla," Liz called out to her cousin who was rubbing her eyes seated at a table alone.



Layla looked up to the voice, looking very tired, but then grinned widely when she saw me with her cousin.



"Girl," she smiled. "I thought you two disappeared or something."



"Well," Liz started, taking a seat next to her cousin. "Tommy, here, was trying to score, but I blew him off."



The two of them laughed. I grinned at them as I took a seat on the other side of Layla. Liz was a dirty player, pulling no stops. I loved it. Layla would now think I was a whore. I studied her to see whether it would matter.



"God," Layla punched my arm. "Sue told me all about the closet thing earlier tonight. Didn't you get enough?"



It would not matter.



"Closet thing?" Liz asked.



"Yeah. After that crazy dance he fooled around with her in some closet near the lobby."



Liz turned to me, shaking her head. "You mean you had sex with Sue tonight?"



I nodded, reaching for an apple on the table and took a bite, letting the juice dribble down my lips. I could see Liz was upset, a little jealous. Things were turning out nicely. A jealous upset woman and a drunk tart. What could be better?

<hr pg="3" />"Layla," Liz turned back to the bride. "Tommy and I have a bet."



I stared at her, my mouth open, full of apple. How ridiculous was this? The little wench was destroying any chance I might have.



"A bet?" Layla smiled.



"Yeah. He thinks he can sleep with you tonight. I don't think he can."



Layla turned to me blushing wildly. I shrugged, innocently, trying to chew once more.



"Is this true?" she asked.



I nodded, taking another bite of the apple. Symphony tickets and dinner? A few hundred dollars I'd be down, but then I was going to fuck this little Liz for hours. She wouldn't be able to walk steady for four days afterwards. She'd be sore for two weeks. Little wench. I'd . . . .



"How were you going to seduce me?" Layla asked, interrupting my thoughts, no doubt, after getting her own thoughts in order. It was one thing to pretend you were virtuous and "just sort of" do something you knew was wrong. It's entirely a different thing planning and actually doing something wrong, being told that what you knew was the case, but conveniently ignored, was thrown in your face. The rationalization of being drunk, of things getting out of control was out the window. God, was I going to fuck little Liz. She was smiling smugly at me.



"Kind of irrelevant now, you know, how I planned on seducing you," I said, taking another lazy bite from the apple.



"No," she tried to laugh. "I really want to know. How did you plan to seduce me?"



What was I going to say? `Dear girl. Left to our own devices, not a lot of seduction would have been necessary. I would have simply taken your hand, rented another room (preferably not in this hotel) for the night and fucked you?' I couldn't say that. It was hopeless. Think idiot, think. She was obviously as disappointed as I, obviously as pissed off at her too cute cousin. There might still. . . .



"Well," I smiled pleasantly. "First, I would have opened a bottle of champagne and offered you a glass and then--"



"Layla doesn't drink champagne," Liz interrupted.



Both Layla and I turned to her, `Shut the fuck up bitch!' clearly stamped on our faces.



"I would have taken a glass of champagne," Layla said, after Liz turned from our glares.



"Good," I smiled and got up and walked to the small bar. I opened the door and grimaced. Sonofabitch. Nothing but some cheap Brut. I could call down for something nice, but I knew that would ruin the moment, the momentum just starting to build. Fuck it. The little quarter liter would have to do. I walked back, feeling like an idiot, with it in my hand and grabbed two clean cups on the table. I made a little show opening the sad small bottle and poured the bubbly.



"What about me?" Liz whined as Layla took a sip.



"You can have what's left over," I said not looking at her and I heard her arms crossing her chest.



"Now what?" Layla tried smiling, after she took a second sip.



"Well," I began and leaned forward and whispered in her ear. "I would have invited you out to the balcony for a little fresh air." I drew back and smiled and then stood up, offering her my hand. She took it.



"Where are you going?" Liz demanded as we started walking to the balcony. We ignored her and I opened the door and we stepped out into the unseasonably warm October night. I closed the door and turned to her. I could see she was nervous and shivering slightly. For a brief second I wanted to apologize to her, tell her Liz and I had been drunk and talking stupidly, but nothing in her eyes, her demeanor hinted that she was in the least offended or upset. I could see her nipples rising and made no attempt not to stare at them. Behind her nothing but the soft lights of the courtyard down below and just above her head the full moon emerging from some black clouds. It was delightful. I thought for a moment of taking a seat in the cushioned chair nearby and just watching her for a few minutes, but, once more, I didn't want to interrupt the little game.



"Now what?" Layla grinned, leaning against the railing and taking another sip from her cup. And I continued to marvel. She really was quite beautiful, maybe five-five. She tilted her head to the side, like women do when they're playful and the wind blew and stroked her face and thick brown hair carelessly.



"Well, now comes the difficult part, you know," I said.



"Yeah. I can see that."



"What would have you done," I smiled, "if I had asked you whether your wedding dress and everything matched?"



She looked at me confused.



"Does everything match Layla?" I leered at her tits and crotch.



She blushed, nodded, understanding. "Yes."



"Let me see."



"Right out here?"



I nodded.



"What if someone--"



"I think we're okay."



"Yeah," she thought out loud. "They're pretty drunk."



"Very drunk."



"What about Liz?"



"Fuck Liz."



She started unbuttoning her jeans and then stopped.



"What?" I asked.



"I'm trying to think," she laughed, "whether I would have shown you my, you know, panties even though I hardly know you." I heard her zipper slowly descending.



"I think you would have."



"Why?" she asked softly and her hands gently started to open the unbuttoned flaps of her jeans.



"Because you know I really want to see them."



"They are special," she continued softly and I could see just the outline of the top of the white lace.



"I bet they are."



"And it would be a shame, you know, if no one enjoyed them tonight," she sighed as she started slowly wriggling the jeans down her hips, revealing more and more of the delicate white.



"Someone should enjoy them tonight," I swallowed as the jeans were pulled down off her hips and to her thighs. I wanted to scream. Just as I'd imagined it. The girl's hips, thighs, everything looked so healthy and strong, narrow and firm. The jeans dropped to the floor and she quietly stepped out of them.



"Marvelous," I whispered to her. She was. They were. Everything was. Cut high and shaping her hips with white straps that kneaded into her flesh, the panties snugly covered her cunt mound like a second skin. "I bet they're soft," I called to her.



"They're silk."



"How do they feel?"



"Like I don't even have them on," she breathed.



"Turn around."



She did, slowly, without hesitation, and I was treated to the twisting, turning motion of her lovely ass cheeks rippling and bouncing with each movement, protruding proudly with a soft strip of white silk disappearing between them. I wanted to bite her, swallow her whole. I grabbed my cock. I couldn't help it.



She laughed when she'd finished her turn and saw me.



"Can't help it," I breathed.



She shrugged.



"May I touch them?" I quivered.



"What?" she smiled.



"Your panties."



"These," she smiled and I jumped when she snapped them against her abdomen.



"Those." I took a step to her.



She shook her head and I stopped. "I don't think I would have let you touch me," she smiled. "Letting you see is one thing. Letting you touch . . . I don't think so."



Think quickly. Come on. Don't go slow now. Not after the Macarena, after the back-stabbing Liz. Not now. Not when the prize is so close.



"I don't want to touch you, Layla. I want to touch them," I pointed with a shaking finger at her crotch.



She laughed. "It's one package, I'm afraid. I told you I can barely feel them. If you touched them, you'd be touching me. And I'm not sure that's a good idea right now," she breathed now more loudly.



"Take them off, Layla, and hand them to me."



"You're good," she grinned. "You're real good."



"Take them off, please," I begged her, my mind entirely focussed on her shiny smooth thighs. I could tell that she'd had a special wax job done and I wanted to cry. `You're good.' Oh brother. Like I gave a shit whether she thought I was sharp.



"You can't touch me," she said, her hands starting to lower to her panties.



"I won't touch you. Just let me touch them."



"Promise you won't touch me?" she continued and her hands slowly started peeling them off.



"I promise," I groaned as they effortlessly rolled off her hips and my body flinched when the shaven petals of her cunt were exposed. Joining her pants, the white silk too fell to the floor and she quickly stepped out of them, bent over and tossed them to me.



I caught them and thrust them to my face, moaning my appreciation, savoring their slight dampness and lightly licking their pretty aroma. They were soft, smooth lace and I struggled with a free hand to unbutton my pants.



"What," Layla gasped, but it was too late. My pants, shorts, everything came rudely down to my ankles and I quickly wrapped my straining cock with my silk-covered hand, roughly tugging along its length.



I looked at her as I stroked and pulled myself. She was staring, breathing deeply, her hands tightly clasped in front of her, trying to cover herself.



"You'll have to pay me for those," she tried to laugh, but her face showed anything but relaxed humor.



"Go ahead," I breathed, nodding to her hands.



"What?" she looked down.



"Touch yourself," I grunted.



"I don't--"



"Go ahead," I growled.



And she did, hesitating at first, but then her fingers started just slightly massaging, gingerly pressing in between her thighs.



"Sit," I motioned to the cushioned chair. "I want to see you fuck yourself."



Once more she hesitated, but my pleading, then threatening, eyes must have helped her resolve and she gently sat herself on the chair.



The two of us watched each other: her almost on her back on the chair with her thighs opening wider and wider with each passing second, gently fucking herself with first one and then two glistening fingers; me, standing five feet away, clenching and twisting in agony against the soft silk threads of her now pre-cum stained panties. Just a little more. Just a few seconds more, and I would kneel in between those quivering, shaking thighs. What the fuck was she going to do? She was too far gone. She would accept the inevitable and I would . . .



"Oh my God!"



Layla's thighs violently shut closed, my hand almost lost its grip on the silky softness and we both jerked to Liz staring at us. Her mouth was open and she looked like she was suffocating trying to steady her breath. It was too much.



This affront at all common civility could not stand! Who did this fool think she was?



I lunged at her, furious, grabbed her and snuffed out her surprised scream with a harsh deep kiss. Her fists punched against me and tried to push me back, but I held her firm, until, finally, I felt her body loosen, start to relax. I released my mouth from hers.



"Let me go," she moaned.



"Why did you come out here?" I asked, as my hand snaked its way to grab her ass.



"To get some fresh air," she gasped, trying to twist away.



"Fresh air," I grinned and pressed her to me. Her ass was small, tight, almost completely covered by my hand.



"Don't," she moaned as I started unbuckling her jeans and at the same time I released her ass with my other panty-clad hand, roughly grabbed one of hers and pulled it to my cock. She tried to pull away.



"This is my hand," I laughed, shaking it. "Don't you remember? You gave it to me earlier." 



"You fucked Layla yet?" she laughed back. I shook my head, she smiled and then wrapped her hand around me, gently stroking my stiffness and I groaned. "Nice?" she whispered, delicately cupping my balls.



I moaned my appreciation.



And then she squeezed me.



Hard.



The smile never left her face.



My teeth clenched. A scream started out of my throat. There was a loud, then dull, overwhelming buzz in my ears and everything was silent.



The next thing I remember was someone stroking my wet forehead and a mumbled far away conversation.



"He's coming to."



"I told you he'd be okay," another voice said coldly.



I felt stiff, wet, soaked and chilled. I tried to focus the blurry blobs hovering above. My head hurt. My cock and balls burned. My hand seemed to be gloved, covered in softness.



"You okay, Tommy?" a voice asked.



"Wh . . . " I tried, but I couldn't finish.



"Do you know where you are?"



Where was I? I was naked! No. Yes. Jesus. I lowered my hand to my stomach. What the fuck. Someone's underwear. Had I started wearing women's underwear. Jesus . . . .



"Tommy?"



The faces were strange. Two pretty girls. The one stroking my forehead concerned, gentle. The other one, smoking a cigarette, annoyed, smiling.



Who? Oh fuck. It was starting to come to me. Oh mother. I'd passed out. That little bitch. Fucking stupid little cunt. I was going to strangle her. That sudden urge left as quickly as it came as I realized my body ached too much to do anything. Maybe sitting up would help.



"Did I hit anything?" I groaned trying to sit up.



"No. Liz kind of directed your fall, but you went down pretty hard. How do you feel?"



I couldn't answer. I noticed Layla was naked, kneeling next to me, from the waist down. It was all starting to come back to me. Oh fuck. All I'd wanted was a little harmless fun, and what did I get? Jesus. Completely out of my element. Never again.



"Why did you do that?" I moaned up to Liz.



"You were going to rape me," she grinned, exhaling a blue stream of smoke.



"Rape you? Are you nuts?" I choked, almost in tears.



"He wasn't going to rape you," Layla joined in. "Liz, we were just goofing around."



"He was starting to rip off my pants. He was hurting me."



I turned away from her, unbelieving, not caring anymore. I needed to get the fuck out of there. I bumbled about, trying to find my pants and shorts.



"What are you doing?" Layla asked.



"Getting the fuck out of here."



"Oh," Liz called down. "So you've had enough, then, eh?"



"Yeah, Liz, I've had enough," I sighed and grabbed my shorts.



Layla placed her hand on my cock, gently caressing it. The poor thing was dead. It would need months of rehabilitation before it would ever see action again.



"Don't go. We were just getting started."



"Some other time," I mumbled, and took her hand away. I stood up and wobbled to the chair and plopped myself down. I put on my shorts.



"I won the bet," Liz sneered.



"Yeah, you won," I waived her away. "Call my secretary on Monday or Tuesday and the tickets will be ready."



"You didn't win," Layla cried. "You cheated."



"I didn't cheat. Did he or did he not fuck you?"



I grabbed my pants, twisting my neck and shoulders to get the muscles and bones back in line.



"No. Wait," Layla said. "Tommy, take out your dick."



My dick. My poor little comrade in arms. My dick. He and I had been through a lot together and I'd never appreciated him until that moment.



God, the abuse he'd suffered and would suffer at my hands. In addition, of course, I'd ordered him into some pretty questionable targets over the years, had overworked him to the point of exhaustion, but had he ever complained, had he ever failed to perform when asked to stand firm?



Never. Not once. The dutiful little soldier. His was not to reason why. Dear friend. I couldn't help but look at Layla, her pretty little parted pussy, the gently heaving tits, the gorgeous round blushing pink face and shook my head. I asked him what he thought. "Go! Go! Go!" was the immediate, defiant response and he started twitching for emphasis. I wanted to pat him for his loyalty, his devotion, even under these extraordinary conditions. No, little friend. My health was more important than a cheap thrill. I had failed him and he was confused. These chicks were dangerous, I told him. What would happen next? My throat slit, a leg lost? Was my dick more important than a leg? I wasn't going to stick around to test myself.



"Tommy," Layla pleaded, stepping to me. "Come on. Please. We can't let her win."



I smiled at her, nodded lower to her glistening little gash. And there my eyes fixed. There. On the twin fleshy lips, slightly open, all pink and swollen. How ridiculous. A woman . . . Wait. Not just any woman. A gorgeous babe, who had happened to have gotten married a few hours ago, was offering herself to me no question asked in a weird little power play with her cousin and I was thinking about my health, whether I needed a leg? Could I live comfortably without a leg? No more tennis, no more jogging, no more boating, no more. . . . Fine. Fine. These were simple pleasure. Could I live without it?



Prosthetics did wonders these days.



Moreover, I was getting mad. This other chick had almost killed me. I would never have an heir, I was certain. The damage was irreparable, no doubt, and I started thinking whether there was some camp or house where similarly damaged souls could rest, be comforted, be brought back to health. The nurses would have to be attractive. Their cunts would have to be. . . .



"Tommy?"



I blinked once or twice, but saw nothing except parted, clean shaven cunt.



"Tommy?"



I looked up. Someone was calling.



"Are you okay?" Layla was asking.



Lovely as her face was, it didn't interest me. I returned to her cunt.



"Tommy. Are you all right?" she tried again.



"Yeah. Yeah," I replied absently. The girl seemed to have a perfect cunt, very symmetrical, very puffy. God. What it must feel like inside. My cock lurched. My cock and I, we loved cunt. I would have been a great gynecologist, but I'm sure I would have never gotten through medical school, what with all those sciences and memorization. Hard work was not my strength. No. Wait a minute. I would have been a terrible gynecologist. Sure. I loved cunt. But I loved cunt like this one in

 front of me. Young and fresh. Imagine the awful prospect of prodding about in a fifty-year-old cunt, some hag who'd had seven kids or something and digging out this lump or that. I shivered. My cock shrank. It would have queered me on sex. No. Investment banking was more than enough. Not a lot of old, flappy cunts to study in investment banking.



"God. I think the weirdo's hypnotized with your pussy," I heard Liz babble. "Or, maybe, he suffered some real brain damage or something."



"Do you like my pussy, Tommy?" Layla asked softly.



Like her pussy? What wasn't to like about it?



"Do you want to touch it, Tommy?" she was continuing.



Touch it. Sure. Why not? Love to touch. . . . Wait a minute, idiot. Calm down. This is how. . . . The cunt took a step closer and a hand with a sparkling little quarter carat diamond rink on a finger reached lower and slowly opened the treasure.



"Go ahead. Touch it. I want you to touch it," a voice was soothing.



Touch it. I felt my hand reaching forward. Touch it. Why not?



Dear God. She moaned. It was so incredibly warm and wet. I pressed in along, in between the fat lips. She gasped, jerking her hand away to give me free reign. It was there. Yes. Right there. That little nub, that fleshy, burning, hooded little nub.



"That feels so good," she groaned, pushing her weight into my fingers.



I pressed forward, leaving my thumb behind and found the tight burning little circle of slimy muscle, leading into. . . .



"Oh, Tommy," she gasped. And my finger gently made its way inside her. I'd had enough. My free hand grabbed her firm thigh and jerked her to me. I buried my face in the soft cushion of her open thighs, my drooling tongue in the lead. I licked and sucked, bit and stabbed, fingered and poked, smelling and tasting nothing but her deep, thick, tart sweetness, feeling her shiver and quiver, moan and groan with each movement of my tongue and fingers.



After a minute of this, as I was trying to lift her off her feet, trying to dig in deeper into her, I felt my shorts being tugged down. I jerked away from the drooling cunt, terrified, and tried to get up.



"Relax," Liz was laughing on her knees between by open legs, her hands tightly clasped on my shorts and thighs.



"Get the fuck away from me."



She looked up at me, rolling her eyes. "I'm not going to hurt you, you moron."

<hr pg="4" />"Don't touch me."



She laughed. "You won the bet, okay. It's obvious," she grinned, looking up at her cousin, "Layla wants to get laid bad." She turned to me again, with a soft smile, which was completely betrayed by the nasty glint of her blue eyes. She was pissed. "Let me apologize to you," she whispered, releasing my cock from my shorts, "in my own special way." She licked her lips and for a moment I thought how wonderful it would be to take on these two tarts, the cousins cad from hell, but once more that steamy awful glint in her eyes told me she had something else in mind for me.



I wasn't going to wait to find out. The fucking Bobbit bitch was the only thing that came to mind. This animal wants to cut my dick off! Good God! Trembling, in a panic, I pushed her away from me, but she held onto my straining dick, laughing.



"Don't make me do anything we'll both regret," she grinned and then swooped down on the poor guy.



I wanted to scream, tried not to, but then did. Loudly. Never. Never in my short little life had anything sucked me in so hard, so deeply. I'm not some porn star, but only a couple of women have been able to take the whole thing in their throats and then it was mostly for show and tell and not for my benefit. (A gagging girl, trying to compose herself, trying to catch her breath isn't much of a turn on). But this psycho Liz was born to suck dick. A natural born cock sucker. In a matter of seconds, I could feel my cock head throbbing, being shoved painfully in her throat. Her red, shiny lips spread obscenely at the base, her nose snuffed and snorted in my pubes, and her tongue was like a burning hot wrapping of trembling flesh, constantly moving and pressing. Her dastardly hands, the ones that had inflicted such cruelty only a few minutes earlier, were now like feathery massages of skin on my balls. I could barely feel them, but then it was all I really did feel since the intensity of her suction, the action of her mouth and throat on my cock was so intense so overwhelming that it felt like nothing except a blazing insanity, which only highlighted the soft contrast of her massaging hand. My body started flinching and then it came to me. The little bitch was trying to get me off so that I would have nothing left for Layla.



Layla. Shit. I looked up at her, pathetically, saw her staring down at her cousin and then she noticed me. I beckoned her. She hesitated, unsure what the hell was happening, probably turned on by the slurping and sucking sounds coming from below, so I grabbed her closer and pressed my face in between her thighs once more. My face was made for this position. Maybe, I prayed, if I could focus on this lovely cunt, the delicious taste of Layla, that would keep Liz from accomplishing her goal. Maybe if I. . . . God, I really did need help. Interesting. I was going to try not to blow my wad in Liz's throat by occupying myself with something very neutral, very asexual: the shaven swollen cunt of a new bride. Good one. It was too late. Liz was redoubling her efforts and . . . . Right there. A guy can hold off, can stay on the edge of orgasm for only so long. Once the line is crossed, there's no going back.



The line was crossed.



I thought I was tearing apart Layla's delicate hot flesh as I tried to suppress the screams in my throats as I felt blast after painful blast scorch out of my cock and into Liz's throat. She missed not a beat, squeezing and pulling me in until I thought I would pass out (again), but finally, after the burning waves subsided, after my face felt like it was soaked in cunt juice, I felt her beginning to release. It was only then, while I was taking deep heaves of air through Layla's drooling cunt, that I realized she, too, was trying to calm down. Jesus. I'd missed her orgasm completely, so intense had been mine.



Finally, leaning into Layla, Layla into me, I felt my cock plop out of Liz's mouth and the smack of her lips.



"Good tasting," she hissed. "You preppy geeks know how to take care of yourselves."



I looked down at her and saw her smiling up at me, her lips gorged and slimy, dripping onto her T-shirt.



"Did you like?" she asked cruelly, standing up so quickly, triumphantly glaring down at me.



I looked away from her, unable to bear the nasty gleam in her eyes and tried to rest, tried to find comfort in Layla's thighs.



"Looks like I won the bet, after all," she continued and I heard her digging around, no doubt, for a cigarette. I heard a match strike, and a deep inhale. "God, am I good," she was telling herself.



I was ready to concede, ready to simply find a warm bed and sleep the whole thing off, forget about it forever, when, against all odds, my cock lurched and stirred. The dear friend was coming to my rescue. He'd had the life sucked out of him, but was undaunted, still. I wanted to salute the dear fellow, tell him it was all right, that enough was enough, but he wasn't listening. The warmth of Layla's thighs, the smell of her everywhere on my face, all of it, but most especially the arrogant laughter of Liz, gave him that extra beat, that needed incentive to pull me out of this hell-hole.



After all, I'd denigrated these people the whole day. Everything told me I was better than them, but for the last hour or so I'd been humiliated, fainted, made to look like the biggest putz in the world. And now. . . .



My cock saved me. Class will tell. He was rising, insanely finding his second wind, demanding retribution against his enemies, ready to spread sword and fire on hostile turf.



The laughter stopped. I heard Liz approaching, readying herself for battle once more, but I was too quick. I grabbed Layla in my arms, pulling her exhausted body onto me, straddling me and with "No!" from Liz, a deep, painful groan of pleasure from Layla, and an insane laugh from me, I was buried to the hilt inside the luscious bride.



It had been quick, almost too quick, and it took a moment or so before I was certain it had happened, I hadn't simply imagined it, but then the familiar feeling of fucking up into a tight, delicious dripping cunt blotted everything out. I never felt more powerful, my cock more solid than in those all-too-brief minutes of Layla spread open on my lap. She was in heaven, being lifted and impaled onto me, her tits (which I'd never seen in the flesh) flopped and bounced wildly in her loose T-shirt, her thick mane of brown hair twisted and turned with each dramatic, straining push up and violent pull down, and my cock centered everything, more solid than the Rock of Gibraltar. She was as she rode and twisted in my lap a sacrifice, the virgin I'd imagined when Sue'd told me about the after-party long distant hours ago. My sheathed cock was the center of the universe, her god, for those brief minutes.



When I finally erupted into her so violently I thought she would tear open, and she in maddening screams and bites on my shoulder responded in kind, nothing could (or would ever) compare. The complete satisfaction of those pulsing seconds, the union of our joined bodies was the most intense experience of my life. I was stealing the show, taking the prize from Liz, giving it to Layla and she was returning it to me.



Our bodies pried apart ever so slowly, long minutes afterwards. With just the head of my cock remaining in her gushing cunt, she kissed me for the first time, tears in her eyes and I whispered into her ear.



"When are you back from you honeymoon?"



"Next week," she sighed.



"Like the symphony?"



She nodded and we held each other, while Liz watched, smoking her cigarette in silence.

