Chapter 13

The morning of the wedding dawned. I was scared, excited, a little horny, and incredibly nervous. I had spent the previous night wearing Sandra’s knickers. It was possible that I would not see them again after today, despite what Mrs Clarke had told me. I started to get dressed for the wedding just before eleven. I carefully showered, shaved, brushed my teeth and all that sort of thing. I put on the knickers I had chosen, then sat on the bed, unmoving, just staring at my suit. I was still like that when the doorbell went.

I looked at the clock. It was almost midday. I had no idea how long I had just sat there. I think Bondy was supposed to be coming to collect me or something. I quickly put the suit trousers on and went down to open the door. I was slightly startled to see not only Bondy, but Mrs Walmsley as well.

“Monica has agreed to be my final concubine,” Bondy told me with a shark-like grin. I looked at Mrs Walmsley and realised they had probably been bonking like bunnies until relatively recently. From a combination of Mrs Crisp’s videos and the twins’ videos, I was pretty certain I knew what ‘well fucked’ looked like. It looked like the pair in front of me.

I smiled. “Good for the both of you.”

“We’ve come to get you dressed,” Mrs Clarke announced. “You’ve no father, so mother of the bride and best man will have to do.” She grinned impishly at me.

“I’m just getting dressed now,” I demurred.

“You’re a bit slow. We need to be leaving for the registry office in about twenty minutes. Thirty at the absolute latest. Sandra’s already on her way with her father, and ideally you should be there before her. You need to be there a good forty-five minutes early. Come on.”

Although Mrs Walmsley actually saw the knickers I was wearing, she didn’t seem to notice anything odd. As I dressed, I slipped Sandra’s knickers into one pocket, another pair of Mum’s into another, a pair of Jo’s into a third, and a pair whose provenance was unknown into a fourth. A couple more, one from Mrs Crisp went into inside pockets. All were backup in case I wasn’t able to take the small case through.

When I was as finished as I thought I could be, Bondy and Mrs Walmsley looked at me critically. “My shoes are downstairs,” I said.

Bondy left the room, saying he would get them.

“I think you should have a little handkerchief showing on your breast pocket,” Mrs Walmsley said. “Do you have any?”

“Um. No. Sorry. I don’t.” Then I had a very wicked thought. “Does it have to be white?”

“No. Why?”

“Could it be pale pink?”

“Pale pink? Absolutely. But if it’s not a hanky?”

Gingerly I pulled Sandra’s knickers from my pocket. I felt myself blushing slightly as I explained. “Sandra gave them to me as a joke a few weeks ago.” Mrs Walmsley frowned at me but said nothing. “Nothing happened between us,” I said hurriedly. “It was the day we got engaged. After I gave her the ring she said she wanted to give me a present. I said a kiss, but she said that wasn’t a present. Then after we got to your place she went to the loo and came back and gave me those.”

Mrs Walmsley just looked at me steadily for a few moments. She shook her head slowly. I don’t think she was too impressed, but I also don’t think she was actually cross. She took her daughter’s knickers and carefully folded them into my top pocket so that just a tiny triangle of pale pink showed. There was no sign that they might be anything other than the hanky they appeared to be.

She stood back and looked at me critically. “Turn around,” Mrs Walmsley told me after a long moment of critical inspection.

I did so and there was a rustling behind me.

“Okay,” she said a few moments later.

I turned to see that she was folding another, white, hanky ... no! They were her own knickers. She’d just taken them off. She gave me a hint of a smile and a wink.

“Come on.”

I picked up the bag I was to take, and surreptitiously slipped another pair, I had no idea which ones, into the pocket that had originally had Sandra’s knickers in. I was carrying seven about my person and wearing one. Plus my bag had another forty or so in.

Bondy was just coming up the stairs with my shoes, but was waved back down again. Mrs Walmsley tucked the folded knickers into Bondy’s top pocket. “Handkerchief,” she told him. “It’s folded carefully. Don’t take it out. At least not yet.”

He just nodded, oblivious, and I hid a smile as I put my shoes on. I would con him into taking them out after the ceremony.

“All set?” Mrs Walmsley asked me.

I nodded.

“Good. Then let’s go. I still want to see my daughter before the wedding.”

I put my small case into the back of the car and we headed off to Watford and the registry office. As we got closer, I felt I could hardly breath. Everything was happening so fast and I could feel myself starting to panic, my breath coming in little gasps.

Mrs Walmsley smiled and took my hand and just held it. It sort of helped, but right at that moment I wished it was my parents that were with me. I wanted a hug off my mum. I wanted my dad to be sat next to me telling some of his awful jokes.

I can honestly say I don’t remember much about the first part. I was taken into a small office for a brief interview with the registrar, who basically was just checking that I was legally allowed to marry, that I wasn’t being forced to marry, and that I was in fact the person who was supposed to be being married.

She showed me some paperwork, and gave me a quick explanation of some of the things that would be said during the ceremony.

“I’ll point out that this place is registered to hold weddings, and I’ll introduce myself and my assistant,” I was told.

“What do you mean registered?” I asked. “Isn’t this the Registry Office?”

She chuckled. “Actually it’s the register office, not ‘registry office’. And if you really want to be pedantic, it’s also not spelled with capital letters.”

“Oh, sorry.”

She shook her head, still smiling. “Don’t worry about it. Everyone calls it the registry office so it’s become a sort of de-facto, unofficial name. Except in legal documents. To answer your question though, you can’t get married just any old where. You can, sort of, in Scotland, but not in England and Wales. Here, for a marriage to be legal, it has to be held in a place licensed to hold weddings, and those licences are neither easy nor cheap to get. The licence for this place is specific to two rooms, and two rooms only, and only lasts for five years.”

“And if they weren’t it would be an illegal marriage?”

“No,” she said slowly. “An illegal marriage would be one where one or both parties are not allowed to marry, yet where they try and do it ‘legally’. So a father and daughter. A fifteen-year-old or someone who is already married, for example. If the place wasn’t licensed, there would be nothing wrong with the ceremony necessarily, it just wouldn’t be recognised in law.”

“Ah.”

She frowned slightly, her mouth tightening. “It’s how some people get around the bigamy laws. They have a wedding, but one party doesn’t realise that, because it’s not taken place in a legally recognised location, the marriage itself is also not recognised.”

“So one person thinks they are married, but in fact they’re not?”

“Yep! Got it in one.”

A really silly idea popped into my head. Would there be time to ‘marry’ Mrs Clarke as well. In a non-legal, ceremony. Maybe, just maybe, if I’d had the time, and I’d known about this before, I could have suggested it, but it was far too late now. It was a silly idea and I immediately pushed it out of my mind.

We finished off the brief interview after which I was shown into the main room, where many of the guests were already waiting. Bondy and I hung around, chatting casually. I have absolutely no idea what about; more than once Bondy had to ask a question a second time, or tell me something he’d already told me. He was actually amused by it, for which I was thankful. I suppose he could have been annoyed.

“I should be really angry with you,” he told me at one point, a small, wry, smile on his face. “And in a sense I suppose I am a bit upset.”

I looked surprised.

“Oh? Why?” I frowned,

“Mrs Clarke?”

“What about her?”

“You told me she was a sponsor. I found out this morning she’s actually a concubine and promised to someone else.”

“Oh. I genuinely thought she would be a sponsor,” I told him.

“But you’ve known for a little while now that that wasn’t true.”

“Well, yes.”

He gave me an arch look. “I know she’s coming with you, and I know why. I guess I’m okay with that now, but even so I’m a little, well upset I suppose.”

“But you’re not angry with me?”

He sighed. “No. You’re just one lucky ... bar-steward!”

I smiled slightly at his evasion of the ‘bastard’ epithet. “I really did think she’d be a sponsor. It was weeks later that I found out.”

He nodded.

“You’ve got Mrs Walmsley though,” I continued. “And it looks like you and she have already um, well, you know.”

He smiled. “Yeah. We have. She’s not the prettiest woman, but she’s a real sex-bomb.” He looked at me speculatively. “You and Sandra?”

I shook my head. “Not yet.”

He just nodded. “Mrs Clarke?”

I shook my head. “She wouldn’t allow it. Said it would be bad for discipline and stuff.”

Bondy looked a little surprised, even a little bit relieved. “Mmm.”

“How long have you and Mrs Walmsley been ... well...”

Bondy blushed. “Over two weeks. Nearly three.”

“And how long... ?”

He gave an embarrassed smile. “Almost since the start. When you were out with Sandra last Saturday I was with her. She ... let’s just say I staggered home.”

I gave a soft laugh. “Holy wow. But what about Mr Walmsley?”

Bondy shook his head. “Dunno. Monica just said he was out.”

There had been some gentle music playing in the background, but all of a sudden it changed slightly and got a bit louder. It had started.

I stared in awe at Sandra as she and her bridesmaids came slowly down the aisle. It was a civil ceremony so there was no aisle as such, just a gap down the middle of the rows of ugly plastic seats. She looked stunning in a very simple white dress with a small amount of pink trim that accentuated her small bust and waist. Her short hair, usually spiked, now had a gentle wave with a little tiara in it, her deep blue eyes stared straight into mine, a smile on her face that people later described as ‘the cat that got the cream’. And I was the cream.

I did notice Mrs Clarke as well, and the rest of the bridesmaids. They all looked drop-dead gorgeous, even Talulah and especially Mrs Clarke. Even the dress I had seen her in at Christmas, while beautiful and sexy, didn’t make her look as truly gorgeous and beautiful as this one did.

The ceremony went smoothly yet I hardly heard some of it. There was the welcome and the bit about the place we were in being duly sanctioned in law. There was some more mumbo-jumbo, and then I remember quite clearly stating, “I do solemnly declare that I know of no lawful impediment why I, Tobias Anthony Simpson, may not be joined in matrimony to Sandra Jane Walmsley.” It was the first of only two bits of legal wording that is required to make the ceremony legal, and I had memorised them both.

Sandra said the same sentence, but stumbled very slightly over my formal name. I was Tobias on my birth certificate, but absolutely nowhere else. People had been beaten up, though not for many years now, for calling me Tobias.

Then there was the question, to each of us in turn, “Will you, Tobias, take Sandra to be your lawful wedded wife, to be loving and faithful for the rest of your life?”

“I will,” I replied. In the UK, despite popular assumptions, the question was always ‘will you’ not ‘do you’ and the answer was ‘I will, not ‘I do’.

Sandra smiled broadly as she was asked, and answered.

Then there were the formal vows, the second bit of required legal wording. “I call upon these persons here present to witness that I, Tobias Anthony Simpson, take thee, Sandra Jane Walmsley, to be my lawful wedded wife.”

We had been told that only those two statements were absolutely necessary to make a wedding legal. The rest of the ceremony was just so much wordage designed to make the whole thing take longer and seem more ‘ceremonial’. That was okay by me. I was scared, but I was also happy.

Then came the exchange of rings. Bondy had been entrusted with them about an hour earlier, now he produced them. The words that went with them were not part of the legal requirements, yet some reason I stumbled badly and had to repeat part of it. Fortunately everyone just smiled.

“It now gives me great pleasure to announce that you are man and wife,” said the registrar with a smile, reaching out to shake both our hands. “Congratulations.”

We were taken to sign the register, with Mr Walmsley and Mrs Clarke as our witnesses. Then one of the other teachers who was present got out a good quality camera and began to arrange us for various photographs. Personally, given what was going to happen next, I didn’t think it was that important, but I’d let it slide when Mrs Clarke had suggested it. There were enough people present who were not aware of the purpose of the day, they would have got puzzled if not pictures were taken at all. I found out later, that about fifteen minutes before the Confederacy arrived, he had uploaded the whole lot to his friends page on social media. What the hell the school, our classmates or family member left behind, made of it I would never know.

Mr Evans was sitting right at the back, watching us all intently, but mostly watching his daughters. He seemed, not angry exactly, more resentful maybe.

We made our way slowly outside for a few more pictures, mingling with the various guests, some of whom I’d never met before. I’d met Amber once before, a nice enough kid, but a bit shy and retiring, but apart from Monica Walmsley it was the first time I’d met any of Bondy’s concubines, including Serena. I could see instantly why she might be a bit of a handful, and I marvelled that Bondy hadn’t just kicked her into touch. His other two concubines were very pretty. One of them stunningly so.

Mr Walmsley had come with two women, both probably close to his own age, a bit older than his wife, but nice enough. Bondy’s parents and older sister had also come, along with his younger twin brothers.

Holding tightly on to Sandra I complimented both Talulah and Amber on how beautiful they looked, and thanked them both for being there for Sandra. Their father, who was close beside them, was introduced to me, and I smiled broadly. “Hello sir, glad you could make it. You have two beautiful daughters you can be really proud of.” ‘And I want to kick you in the balls, ‘ I added silently.

He nodded, unbending slightly to congratulate the two of us. A little while later, we all headed for the hotel. We had deliberately invited Talulah to join us in the car. We knew with absolute certainty that if we hadn’t, her father would have taken them straight home and not allowed them to come to the party afterwards.

For much of the rest of the evening he glowered at us, furious at us for what we had, supposedly unwittingly, done to whatever plans he might have had. Given just how truly gorgeous Tee and Amber looked, we all knew what his plans were really. We had, or at least so he thought, delayed them. Hopefully we had delayed them forever.

We weren’t having a sit-down meal, just canapés and drinks to start with, with a buffet to appear just before seven thirty. It would give people food to nibble on while the actual collection went ahead. That was the plan anyway.

There were a couple of speeches. Sandra’s father was gently amusing, Bondy, as best man, was more sardonic than funny, but he got a few smiles. I thanked people for coming, thanked various people for the tasks they had done and the help they had given us in getting everything organised so brilliantly, finally I invited everyone to relax and party.

We had put a lot of money behind the bar for drinks, but Mr Evans confounded us at first by only having tonic water or orange juice. I persuaded him to have a small glass of champagne for the toast, which he, slightly ungraciously, did. Then Sandra and I went out onto the dance floor for our first dance.

“I love you,” I whispered as I took gentle hold of her.

“Why thank you kind sir,” she simpered mockingly and taking a small curtsey. But she was only joking. For another couple of hours we would be a real married couple and we were both ecstatically happy about it.

“Tee’s dad isn’t drinking.”

“I know,” whispered Sandra as she cuddled into my arms and swaying gently to the music. It was an old one: John Legend, All Of Me. We had both been drawn to it when Mr Walmsley had suggested it, playing it for us at home. “All your perfect imperfections,” I sang softly along. Sandra pointed at me. “Your imperfections,” she whispered.

“I know,” I said with a soft laugh. “You’re perfect.”

“Of course.” She gave me a soft kiss before settling back into my arms to ‘dance’.

Mrs Clarke sorted Mr Evans though. She sat with him most of the evening and monopolised him, turning her million-watt smile on him, blatantly chatting him up, pretending she was loving his company. She was beautiful at the best of times, but she really turned on the charm for him. He couldn’t help but be affected.

“He’s a smarmy, racist, sexist little shit,” she told me, pink spots of anger on her cheeks as she waited at the bar for more drinks for them both. She was deliberately staying sober, but pretending to be drunk, while making sure his drinks were spiked with vodka. After the third or fourth drink, he no longer cared that he was trying to stay sober to monitor his daughters and began to order double whiskies.

I was under eighteen so couldn’t be served alcohol, even the drink I’d had for the toasts had been a non-alcoholic wine. That didn’t stop me having a few drinks, but not many. Sandra got me one, so did Mrs Clarke and so did Mr Walmsley.

I finally got a chance to dance with Mrs Clarke. I decided she needed rescuing from Mr Evans, so I went up to her and gently pulled her to her feet. “Dance with me,” I said softly.

“All right,” she looked surprised and pleased. And also a little relieved. We swayed together, just holding each other. I had dreamed for so long of doing something like this that I felt myself start to erect. She felt it and smiled slightly, pressing herself tightly against me.

“I haven’t had sex since last summer,” she whispered into my ear. “You will be the first since...”

I looked at her in startlement, my cock even harder. “Oh,” I said. Very sexy I’m sure.

“I’m actually looking forwards to it.”

“Good,” I said. “I think.” I paused. “I know I am too, but I’m also scared witless.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.”

“Both Sandra and I are still, erm,”

Mrs Clarke nodded calmly. “I know,” she said simply. “It’ll be fine.”

We danced for a few more minutes before Bondy asked her to dance and I turned to dance with Talulah.

The food came out about twenty minutes before the Confederacy was supposed to turn up, and fifteen minutes later I managed to steer Mr Evans to the loo. I had a quick pee; I’d also been a few minutes earlier to make sure I was okay and didn’t get caught at the wrong moment. Then wandered out of the bathroom and hurried back to the function room where we were partying.