Dolly and The Groom
I couldn’t help but think that I was acting out a scene from the Godfather. No, no one was being killed with a bullet through the eye, or strangled from behind with piano wire. You know the scene I was thinking about, at the beginning, when Sonny was banging the zaftig bridesmaid up against the door in an upstairs bedroom during the reception while his wife is outside at a table bragging about how big a cock he has. So there I was, up against the wall, my bridesmaid dress bunched up around my waist, my toned fit legs wrapped around my impromptu lover, my immaculately manicured nails digging into the shoulders of his rented tux shirt while his hands supported me under my ass to lift my pussy to the perfect fucking height for his six foot two frame. He’d been ravenous enough to go down on me first, right after he led me by the hand to the bedroom and shut the door and pushed me against the wall, and he’d been pretty good at it, a quick-flickering style tongue that didn’t go so deep but danced all over my clit until I sprayed his face with my nectar. So the fact that he was simply pounding me but not quite hitting my spot to make me cum again, that was fine, it did still feel good, and the naughty thrill of clandestine wedding reception sex was its own reward. And since I’d dated him years earlier, I felt entitled. And since the night before at the rehearsal dinner, the first time I’d seen him in years, I’d slipped him a condom as a joke, and he was now on the verge of filling that condom inside me, I felt like a responsible adult having safe sex. The reason I’d regarded the condom as a joke when I gave it to him? Well, I never expected to fuck him that weekend for the first time in something like eight years. Why should I have expected to get laid with him, I knew he wasn’t coming to the wedding solo. After all, he was the groom.
Okay, before you call me a slut (not that I’m denying I can embody and personify that label and raise it to a new art form if I’m in the mood – which I often am), just know that the bride, my sorority sister and step cousin (her dad married my aunt Cheryl when we were in college, after meeting at our sorority house on a homecoming weekend), had started fucking her groom, the handsome former track runner with whom I ran and satisfied carnal desires in college, when he was still my boyfriend. She was sneaky enough, and he was potent enough, for me not to find out for the better part of a year. I say potent because he was fucking both of us multiple times a day and never ran short of fuel. I didn’t mind that they’d hooked up so much – I wasn’t in love with him, and I wasn’t faithful to him (I grew up to be Dolly, after all), but to then lie to my face for a year, that’s the breach of trust. So I wasn’t her bridesmaid because we were still close – we weren’t. I was asked to be her bridesmaid and I accepted to keep peace in the family and so she wouldn’t have to let the rest of the family know the sordid past.
I had been married and divorced once in the years since college, and she’d been my bridesmaid, but at the time of that wedding she and Ted (her groom, the one with eight latex covered inches of hardcore sex meat drilling me and whose lips tasted like my own sexy pussy when he kissed me during our reunion fuck) were “on a break” so I hadn’t seen him. I’ll tell you about that marriage of mine another time. But the reason I mention it is that as a tease of sorts, I’d brought my sexy white bridal lacy thong panty, bra and thigh high set, so that under the bridesmaid dress I’d look bride-style fuckable. Instead of just fuckable. I was seriously into distance running and triathlons around that time, and it might have been about as lean and toned as I ever was. Not that I get complaints now, but I was feeling pretty much on top of my game and so I thought, if I DO hook up, I can make a remark like, “with me dressed like this, darling, you can imagine you’re fucking the bride” as part of my dirty seduction sex talk with whatever handsome stud I might bring back to my room.
The rehearsal dinner had been fun and casual, and the bride, good ol’ step-cousin Lisa, was a fan of cowboy hats. She was Facebook friends with that Florida State slut who got her fifteen minutes of fame at the front row of an FSU football on national TV wearing a tight tank top and a cowboy hat. Maybe you remember the game, Brent Musburger went wild over her, years before he wet himself over the Alabama quarterback’s girlfriend (who is now that quarterback’s wife). Anyway, the Florida State slut got semi-famous, and my step-cousin loved the cowboy hat look, so we had a western-style jeans and cookout rehearsal dinner. I never asked Lisa if she was still Facebook friends with the Florida State girl years later when an all pro quarterback sexted photos of his junk to her.
So there I had been at the rehearsal rodeo (my nickname for it), in customized boots in my alma mater’s colors that made my ass look great, and jeans that also made my ass look great, a black g-string, no belt so that mentally all you had to do was undue the top snap on my jeans and you could imagine being inside me in seconds, practically nothing between you and my ultimate prize, and above a strip of tanned and toned tummy (like I mentioned, this was my leanest; yes, I was a six-pack ab’d fitness chick type and my hair was a couple shades blonder than I keep it today, and my tan as ever made my blue eyes stand out) was a blue satin bustier trimmed in silver thread and some fake in-laid rubies. Ruby red matching manicure and I was strutting all over that crowd and then I saw Ted, and his eyes did a bulge I’d seen before. Bingo, she shoots, she scores! Love when I turn a man on, capture his attention, especially when his woman is in the room. Even sweeter when that girl is Lisa. But I wasn’t planning on fucking him, so I was carefree and breezy when I greeted him, gave him a hug that was pretty standard issue for people who used to date but have moved on, and said sure when he asked if he could bring me a drink. I’m not much of a beer drinker, but given the setting, a Coors Light in a long neck bottle seemed to fit. He told me about being a securities trader, the condo he and Lisa had moved into, and the three times he started to try to apologize for the way things had gone years earlier, I shushed him, or said, “don’t’ mention that”, and then finally put my finger across his lips, reached into a little compartment in my jeans and pulled out a condom and slid it into Ted’s strong hand. “Ted, it’s your wedding weekend, we’re going to be cousins, sort-of, so take it easy. But if you can’t take it easy, use this.” His eyes went wide, and I kissed him on the cheek, big lipstick smooch mark, and told him it was great to see him, he looked as sexy as I remembered (he did, yup, oh he did. I lied if I said I hadn’t been mad. Ted was a good bed-mate. If anything a bit of maturity made him even sexier. Damn, that lucky Lisa. Bitch!). I nodded at the condom, “if you do get too worked up, use this, it might save your new marriage.” And I strutted away, feeling his eyes on my tushy.
And a bit of champagne in me before the ceremony with the bridesmaids, and an unplanned trip to the groomsmen’s suite to bring them champagne which allowed me to pour Moet for Ted while looking deeply into his eyes (I swear I could hear the old Police tune, ‘Don’t Stand So Close To Me” as I did that, but it might have been in my imagination), and yes, I’d frigged myself with visions of Ted and memories of our hot college fucks when I decided to sleep alone instead of picking up a lover after the rehearsal dinner, so by then I still didn’t plan to fuck Ted. But I’d decided it would be a fun fantasy to consider while passing the mundane time at Lisa’s slut wedding.
Lisa had not surprisingly proven to be a bit of a bridezilla, but I didn’t mind since I was enjoying all the other girls muttering under their breath what a bitch she was being. Even her dad said something about it to me while he stood too close to me just after the receiving line. “Uncle” Stan. He was handsome and I’d had a crush on him and wondered if I might make him the first of my sorority sisters’ fathers whom I’d fuck when he met my aunt and they hit it off from the start. So he and I had always lightly flirted but never done anything about it. And here I was, tipsy, and horny, and maybe thinking wasn’t there something I could do to somehow take Lisa down off her perch just a bit. And Stan’s hand oh my waist as we talked, leaning in to hear with all the noise of the band and the guests. I inhaled deeply and got a scent of his aftershave, mixed with a tinge of south Florida perspiration. I was moist, a combination of Ted, wedding-vibe in general, my bridal undies, and now Stan. I draped an arm up around his neck, played with the little hairs at the base of his hairline on the back of his head, leaned in again, gave him a peck on the neck, and signed into his ear, “you’re right Stan, she is a bitch today, but her dad is awesome and If not for that bitch my aunt wouldn’t have met you. Love you, Stan.” I was close enough to feel his cock twitch. I giggled and put my hand on his and slid it from my waist to my ass and said to him, “God Stan you’re hot, now go find my aunt before I respond to you like my body wishes I could and get us both in big trouble.” His cock throbbed again and I spun on my heels and headed toward the elevator lobby because the ballroom was packed and humid and loud.
And that’s when I felt a hand slip into mine. “What the …?” And I turned and there was the groom, and he looked amazing, and his wedding ring was shiny and new and he was right behind me going for the elevators. “What, what are you…?” But the elevator door opened and he pulled me in and he pressed the button for the concierge floor where he’d stayed the night before. “Where are we….” And his mouth was on mine, my mouth reflexively surrendering to his and I hadn’t thought about what a great kisser he was in years, not even while three-fingering myself to thoughts of him that morning, and I half giggled about the fact that I couldn’t get a sentence completed.
I sucked his tongue hard, possessively, in case when I was done talking I wouldn’t get the chance to kiss him again. But I was going to finish my question, dammit. “What are you doing? Where are you going?”
“Dolly,” he said as he tried to catch his breath, “I was thinking about you all last night after the barbeque dinner. I thought about you when I fucked Lisa last night before the made me come back to the groomsmen suite to sleep.”
Okay, um, charming? Thank you? I’d have felt more awkward except that I’d been frigging myself to thoughts of him. “You’re my cousin now. Sort of,” was all I could say. I was wet. My body was totally in tune with what he wanted. I couldn’t say that I wouldn’t be thinking of Uncle Stan, the bitch bridezilla’s father and Ted’s new father in law, if I fucked Stan. And the satisfaction of evening the score with Lisa somewhat, “Priceless”. The elevator door opened. Go time. I buried leaned up on my toes, he moved his mouth to mine, I pressed my tongue between his lips and cupped his package and said, simply, “yes”.
On the thrill of seeing my slutty ruby nails in Ted’s hair as he was on his knees, his mouth savoring its first Dolly tonguing in years. His mumbling, “Oh fuck I’d forgotten how good your pussy tastes.” Throwing his tux coat over to the bed, dropping his trousers and he kicked off his patent leather formal shoes to step out. Camouflage boxers. Stifled a laugh, and snapped out of my pure love euphoria and remembered suddenly that he had been a boyfriend because he was handsome, fun, a good fuck, but I had cheated on him without remorse and had never considered him marriage material. But this weekend, well, it being a wedding, a sort of cousin’s wedding, maybe for a second I’d imagined he WAS marriage material? Now, I was good. I knew what I was there for, no confusion, no possibility of misunderstanding. I was going to get a great fucking from a freshly married groom, my sorority sister’s groom, and I was her bridesmaid and cousin (sort of). A very Dolly example of lust realized.
I’d stroked him, and his took went from 90% full mast to fully engulfed in three gentle finger breezes and I started to kneel but he pressed me up and back, against the wall, He kissed me again, “suck me later, fuck me now.” Camouflage caveman, perfect. We hiked up the dress Lisa had selected and now Ted could see my bridal thigh highs, thong, and whole bridal night ensemble, and he looked up at me with his mouth open. “Do you like, Ted, don’t grooms want their first fuck after saying ‘I do’ to be with a tight, hard-bodied, fuck doll, wet and baby-smooth shaved like I am? Isn’t this just like fucking the bride. Do you want me to be your bridal fuck, Ted?”
Okay, looking back, I blush at how thick I laid that on. Poor muscular fool, never stood a chance.
“Get that condom I gave you and fuck me hard Ted, I’ve missed your cock so bad. Make me yours again.”
Yeah, I was in the zone.
And I grinned an evil grin of victory when he retrieved the condom from his tux pants. ‘You had it with you?” “I was hoping…I’d been thinking of you all night, all morning…” I could have declared victory and gone home right then and there. But then I’d have missed out on my Godfather moment up against the wall.
As he picked up the intensity, and I started to wonder how bad I was going to look as I felt the perspiration all over my forehead, I hooked my legs tighter onto him, which allowed his hands not to have to bear my weight to support me as fully. And bless his heart, he smeared a finger in the slickness oozing out of my pussy around the edge of his cock and then worked that lubed up digit into my ass. How sweet, he remembered. But I was conscious of the time away and how messed up we were going to look. So instead of saying, “Oh, Sonny” like the bridesmaid did, I moaned into his ear, “Oh God Ted, Oh God, don’t stop, you’re making me cum, oooooh,,, ughhhh, oh god, so good, don’t stop, I’m cumming, I’m cumming, I’m ,, aaaahhhhh.”
Which was a lie. But it did the trick and pushed him over the edge.
I half thought about going back to my room to fix myself up. But I didn’t have my room keycard, nowhere to keep it in my dress, and my aunt was holding it for me. So I did the best I could in front of Ted’s bathroom mirror, kissed him and smiled, and said I’d see him back at the party, just give me a five minute lead.
The elevator door opened a floor down. In walked Stan and Aunt Cheryl. They were similarly disheveled. We all laughed. “Who?” they asked, but I just said, “never mind, you don’t know him, and really, neither do I.” We all laughed again and made it back to the reception.
Bridezilla and her maid of honor apparently had been bitching out the party planner over some glitch in the center-pieces that no one else would ever have noticed, so my absence went undetected. Came up behind her and patted her, saying, “it must be all the people, I’m just going to have to go upstairs and fix my make-up, I’m perspiring, unless you need me,” and Lisa barely looked at me and said, “that’s fine Dolly, we’re doing the first dance in fifteen minutes.” Perfect. I’d gotten my key from Cheryl in the elevator on the way down, and was back upstairs, all fixed up, and back down in ten.
I spotted Ted. Who for a Neanderthal had put himself back together very well and didn’t look suspiciously freshly fucked (and I say that in the best possible well-fucked by a Neanderthal sense of admiration possible). I made a point to be seen bringing him a flute of champagne and being heard saying, “I didn’t get to say congratulations or really see you or speak to you after the ceremony and those quick photos we all posed for. Congratulations, Ted, I hope you and Lisa will be happy forever and now that we’re related I guess I might see you now and then.”
But those now and then get-togethers will have to be a story for another day. Ah, wedding season!
Purely fictional fantasy for your reading pleasure!