A Wedding Story Part One - Maid of Dishonor

By: Michael Lee

Those who are faithful know only the trivial side of love: it is the faithless who know love's tragedies. - Oscar Wilde

One . . . two . . . three . . . four . . . five. Christine counted as the church bells rang from the belfry above. Two hours to go. Only two. As the echo from the last strike faded around her, her eyes drifted about the room once again. The room was small, functional, and steeped in institutional design. The walls were painted a pale, fading yellow, and were decorated with framed inspirational quotations and paintings. Very fitting, perhaps, for a church, but not for me, Christine thought. After all, churches are monuments to purity and virtue, admirable traits of course, but ones she feared she had lost. No, lost wasn't the right word. Forsaken perhaps, but she hadn't lost a thing. Except her honor. And what is more valuable than a new bride's honor?

As her gaze returned to the mirror, Christine tried to see past the familiar reflection, in a vain search for her lost honor. But the green eyes that stared back did not seem ashamed. In fact, they appeared to be lit from within, dancing with an inner glee. Her pretty face lifted as the trace of a shy smile crossed her lips.

Why fight it? she thought. After all, what's done is done. Hopefully, the ceremony slated to begin in two hours will erase her transgressions, and renew the honor she lost last night. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and began work on her makeup once again.

For several minutes, the task at hand occupied her thoughts. As she carefully applied the base, eyeliner, blush, and mascara, the familiar routine soothed her. Once she completed her makeup, she turned her attention to her hair. She pulled the long, red curls into a makeshift ponytail, and pinned it high upon her head. The graceful line of her neck and shoulders were now center stage. The reflection in the mirror now held a beautiful young girl, a portrait of subdued elegance.

Time to get dressed. Christine stood, and walked to the full length mirror standing in the corner of the makeshift dressing room. As she stared at her reflection, she untied the sash from her robe, and watched as it fell to the floor. She was now nude. Her gaze descended, glancing over her small yet shapely bust. The cool air immediately stiffened her tiny nipples, causing her to flush with embarrassment. Almost unconsciously, her hands ascended her waist, resting softly at the swell of her firm bosom. She cupped each breast in her hands, noticing for perhaps the first time, how firm and resilient they felt to the touch. The warmth now spread from her cheeks to her chest, coloring her in a characteristic sexual flush. She closed her eyes as she remembered the last pair of hands that touched her this way.

Christine shook her head in an attempt to regain her composure, and halt the passion spiraling within her. She removed her hands from the sensitive points, and turning slightly, reached into the bag at her feet. Smiling now, she pulled the items from the bag, and held them in front of her naked body. Satisfied with her choice, she stepped into a pair of tiny, french-cut silk panties. She stood once again, and admired the fit of the white panties across her shapely hips. They were perfect. She quickly added the matching bra and thigh high stockings, smiling at the effect her trousseau would have tonight. She could almost hear Stephen's sigh now. He loved her this way. Classy, cool, elegant, virginal.

The effect was profound. Had she ever looked so wholesome, so pure? Her body, slim and fit, seemed to shine, and the addition of the demure lingerie only highlighted her body's appearance. But as she stared at the thin white panties adorning her hips, she remembered the events that had changed so much, so quickly. Her hand reached down, resting directly on the front of her silk covered mound. She cupped her pussy in her hand, marveling at the warm softness of her sex. The touch sent shivers down her spine as she remembered the thrill of the illicit touch from last night. She lowered her head, pulled the panties from her hips, and remembered how it all began . . .

"Come on, Christine, you can't be serious?"

Kay looked at her friend with an expression of disbelief and amusement as she yelled the question over the din of the bustling dance club. Empty and half-empty cocktail glasses covered the small table, as the four friends continued to celebrate.

"Kay! Stop it, you're embarrassing me!" Christine replied, suddenly wishing she had deflected the intensely personal question with a little more flair. After all, when it comes to sex, brutal honesty usually isn't the best approach.

Anna and Kelly pushed their chairs closer, hoping to hear the private confessions of their friend as Kay continued her good-natured interrogation.

"Chrissie, you're the one that brought this up, remember? In fact, you asked me first."

Christine looked down as she felt the hot flush of embarrassment spread across her cheeks. "I know I did, Kay. Honestly, I was just curious, since you are always talking about how great this guy was, or how good in bed that one was. I guess I just wanted to know how I, um, measured up. That's all."

"But Chrissie? Two? Only two?"

"Hey, what's so wrong about that? Anna, come on, help me here. Surely you are in the same boat as me, right?"

Anna looked suddenly uncomfortable as the questioning turned to her. "Actually, Christine, I'm afraid I'm closer to Kay."

Christine was dumbfounded. "Are you kidding me? You mean, you have slept with over forty guys, too?"

"Shhh, not so loud! Maybe not forty, but at least twenty," Anna continued. "I fooled around a lot in college. But I'm not like that anymore, not since I met Ben."

Christine then turned to look at Kelly. "Kell?"

"No, Chrissie," Kelly said, "I haven't had that many. But, I have slept with nine guys."

"Wow," Christine said. "I had no idea. I guess I just thought that since you all have steady boyfriends, you'd be like me."

"Well, we are, I guess," explained Anna. "We just haven't been involved for long periods of time like you have. I mean, you met Stephen as a freshman, Chrissie, and you guys were never apart during the next four years. We were single until our junior and senior years. Unless you count Kay over there, little miss U of Lay!"

Kay laughed. "Hey, at least I admit that I'm a slut. You girls love to fuck as much as I do, you just won't own up to it. You're all in denial. Especially Chris."

"I'm not in denial, Kay. I just love Stephen."

"You've never thought of fucking some hot boy you just met? And doesn't the thought of having sex with only Stephen for the rest of your life scare you to death?"

"No, Kay, it doesn't. I'm completely satisfied with Stephen, and I hope I never have to sleep with anyone else, ever again." Christine hoped her voice sounded more convincing than she felt. She was ashamed that she felt exactly as Kay had described. Deep inside, she was scared that Stephen would be the last man she would sleep with. But with her wedding less than 24 hours away, it seemed as if her path had already been chosen.

Kay laughed. "Well, I hope you're right. At least I can still have fun. In fact, I would love to have fun with that one right there."

The girls turned to watch as a handsome man walked past their table and stopped at the bar. Christine's eyes immediately appreciated his face, ruggedly handsome and tanned, and topped with closely cut jet black hair. His nose appeared slightly off center, but that only added to his undeniable sexual appeal.

"Wow," Kay said. "What I would give for one night under those broad shoulders. Come on Chris, this is your last chance. Wouldn't you love to spend your last night as a free woman riding the Italian Stallion over there?"

"Kay!" Christine immediately dropped her gaze, certain her friends had caught her staring at his broad shoulders and tight ass.

"Oh come on, Chrissie, you were practically on the edge of coming when I snapped you out of your little day dream. Go on, we won't tell Stephen."

Christine was a little taken aback. "You can't be serious? Are you actually suggesting I sleep with a complete stranger on the night before my wedding? Anna, tell Kay to forget it."

"Chris, let me just say this," Anna said. "As your friend, you have to know that I would never tell anyone, anything. If you decided to, well, you know."

Kelly joined in. "You know Chris, this is your last chance. If you ever wanted to dance with a stranger, experience the thrill of a forbidden kiss with a man you don't know, now is your last chance. Come on, live a little. At least, ask him to dance. What could that hurt?"

The other girls jumped in, teasing her while offering encouragement as well. Christine knew she wanted to dance. In fact, she wanted more than just a dance. Her friends had pegged her. The discussions of her friends' sexual experiences only heightened her worries about her future. Suddenly, she longed to experience the one thing she had always denied herself. She wanted to throw caution to the wind for one night of reckless passion. Calm down, she thought. After all, I'm getting married tomorrow for God's sake. Still, she decided that her friends were right. One dance couldn't hurt, could it? She stood without a word, and walked towards the man at the bar.

As she sat on the stool next to the dark haired man, Christine tried to slow her racing heart by distracting her mind. She focused her eyes on the expanse of dark, polished wood and brass before her. Although she was an infrequent visitor to bars and nightclubs, she knew why so many of her friends found comfort at such establishments. Every bar she visited seemed strangely familiar, the same dark mahogany bar accented with the same comfortable stools, the shelves behind the bartender filled with glittery bottles bearing familiar labels. You could order a martini at a bar in Manhattan and think of the time you met that special friend at a similar bar a thousand miles away. In some odd way, it was like an extension of home. No matter what city you were in, you could always find a bar to satisfy your craving for comfort.

But the real appeal of the bar scene was the contrast between the familiarity of the surroundings and the mystery of the night. Every night spent in a bar began with the promise of a secret about to be revealed. And although she knew exactly where she was, she never knew what would happen by the time she left. The mystery and promise of the night always held the appeal.

"What'll you have, Miss?"

As the bartender waited for her response, Christine wondered if she should have another drink. She was already quite tipsy, and another drink would push her closer to being downright drunk. What the Hell, she thought, as she ordered one more White Russian.

"Put that on my tab, Jim." The bartender nodded and began to prepare the drink.

Christine turned to look at the man next to her. "Hey, you didn't have to do that you know," she said, smiling.

"I know. Still, I was hoping at least to hear a thank you," he replied, returning the teasing smile.

Christine blushed. "Thank you, very much."

"You are quite welcome. My name's Grant. Grant Johnson."

"Nice to meet you, Grant. I'm Christine. Christine Ellis."

"So, Christine, what brings you to a dive like this?"

Her drink arrived just as Grant finished his question. Christine took a long, cool drink, relishing the delightful sweetness of her favorite drink. For one crazy moment, she considered lying. But why should she lie? After all, why wouldn't she want to tell everyone that she was getting married?

"Actually, I'm here for my bachelorette party. I'm getting married tomorrow."

"Is that right? Well, congratulations, Christine. Your fiancé is one lucky man to have claimed a prize like you."

Wow, Christine thought. He knows I'm getting married, and he is still flirting with me. She was secretly pleased at the thought. "Oh yes, and I remind him of that every day."

They both laughed and as the silence fell between them, Christine took another long sip from her drink. As she finished, she noticed Grant was still watching her, with a slight smile on his face. She looked back at him, narrowing her eyes as if to silently question his intentions.

"So tell me, Christine, if you are getting married tomorrow, why are you here?"

Christine could feel the blush on her cheeks as she considered his question. "Like I said, my friends over there brought me here . . ."

Grant interrupted her. "That's not what I asked. I want to know why you are here, sitting at the bar flirting with a stranger, not why you are in this club."

Christine was shocked. Am I really that transparent? "I . . . I don't know what you mean . . ."

"Yes, you do."

"Look, Grant, apparently you have misunderstood something. I'm not flirting. I'm getting married for God's sake."

"Christine, there are three empty stools on my left, and four on my right. But you chose to sit right next to me. I don't think I misunderstood a thing."

"God, you are really something, you know that?" Christine picked up her drink and stood up from the stool. She hoped Grant couldn't see how badly her hand was shaking. "Oh just forget it. I'm about to marry a man that I love, something you can't possibly appreciate. I think it's time to get back with my friends."

Grant threw his head back and laughed. "Yeah, I guess it probably is. But I'll be here when you decide to come back."

As she walked away, she could feel his eyes on her ass. And yet, that was exactly what she wanted. She wanted him to watch her tight ass, and she wanted him to envision it in his hands. Trouble was, she was already imagining the feel of his touch, the warmth of his skin, and the taste of his mouth. Oh God, she wanted him so much. Despite his abrupt nature, or perhaps even because of it, she was completely infatuated with him. He was so different from her fiancé. Stephen never talked to her that way. Still, in all her life, she had never been so aroused, so quickly. She desperately tried to shake the increasingly uncomfortable thoughts from her mind as she sat back down at the table.

"Wow, that was quick," Kay said. "What did you do?"

"Me?" Christine asked. "I didn't do anything. He was a complete asshole. God, I am so fortunate to have a man like Grant. I can't wait to marry him tomorrow and leave this meat market far behind." The three friends snickered at her. "What's so funny?"

"Um, you're marrying Stephen tomorrow," Anna said. "Right?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, you just said you were fortunate to have a man like Grant," Anna explained.

Christine was suddenly embarrassed. "Oh my God, Anna. Are you serious?"

"'Fraid so Chrissie. Looks like your new friend, um, Grant right?" Kay said. "Looks like he made quite an impression on you after all."

As the conversation returned to wedding dresses, boyfriends, and in-laws, Christine couldn't shake Kay's comments from her head. Quite an impression? To say the least. In fact, her mind was completely consumed by one thing and one thing only. And that was Grant. God help me, she thought. Please give me the strength to resist what I fear the most. But the more she prayed, the more determined she became. After all, Kay was right. She wanted to spend her last night as a free woman in the arms of Grant Johnson.

As midnight approached, the girls began to tire. And when Kelly suggested they call it a night, everyone readily agreed. As they gathered their purses, Christine noticed that Grant had moved to a small table near the restrooms. Now or never, she thought.

"Hey, guys, wait up a sec," Christine said. "I have to pee."

"Alright, but for God's sake hurry up," Kelly teased. "We can't wait for your typical restroom sleepover."

"Be right back."

As she approached Grant's table, she made sure they locked eyes as she passed. Her eyes met his steadfast gaze without wavering, and she was sure he had received the message loud and clear. But just in case, she took out a pad and pen and scrawled a quick note on the countertop next to the sink.

As she left the restroom and passed Grant's table once again, she dropped the folded paper on the edge of the stained table. She met her friends and as they walked towards the exit, she turned for one last look. Grant was standing next to his table, smiling and nodding as she passed through the door. And suddenly, Christine was having trouble catching her breath. She sighed softly, more nervous and excited than anytime she could remember. She could barely contain herself as they loaded into Anna's car and pulled out of the parking lot.

Christine stood in front of the mirror, nude with the exception of her bra and the thigh high stockings. The panties she bought for Stephen, the ones she intended to wear on her wedding day, were now on the floor. She reached up, unfastened the bra, and shivered as it fell from her shoulders. She wrapped her arms around her chest, but she wasn't completely sure the shiver resulted from cool air of the room. Oh no, she thought. It's more than that, isn't it? Much more.

Christine reached into the bag once again, this time removing a different pair of panties. This one was black, sheer, and practically see through. The material in her hand felt completely different from the fine silk now lying at her feet. But what stood out was the stiffness of the sheer panties. She sighed aloud and stepped into the exotic panties. Her hand returned to her pussy, cupping the mound in an attempt to soften the stiff material between her legs. Once again, her eyes returned to the mirror.

Her heart skipped a beat as she absorbed her reflection. She still had on her wedding stockings, and the contrast between the innocence of the white lace stocking and the risqué black panties was staggering. She reached into the bag once again, and slipped the garter around her thigh. Now she was ready. She nodded, finally accepting the truth as she picked up her gown and prepared to slip it over her head.

She arrived at the nightclub at a quarter after one. She checked her makeup once again, and took a deep breath before exiting the cab. Here we go, she thought. Last chance. Leave now, and you will still be a virtuous bride. Continue, and you will be a shameless slut. But for Christine, leaving was out of the question. After all, she had written the note practically begging Grant to wait until she returned. And now, here she was. Somewhere in a distant recess of her mind, she hoped Grant had left. If he had, her honor would still be safe.

As she entered the club once again, she paused, allowing her eyes to adjust to the darkened room. From the smoke-filled gloom of the surroundings, faces began to emerge, and she searched the crowd to find the one face she could never forget. But her heart fell when a quick glance at the table by the restroom yielded nothing but empty chairs. Oh no, she thought. He's gone.

"I told you that you would be back."

This time, the arrogant words didn't upset her. In a flood of relief, she turned towards the voice. Grant was there, smiling that wicked smile. Damn him, she thought. How could he possibly know just how to press my buttons?

"Shhhh," she said. "Just take me home. Please." He took her by the hand, and led her back into the cool night air.

Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at his apartment. The building stood quiet and elegant, encased in glass, concrete and stone. The architecture as well as the neighborhood hinted at the affluence of the owner, and Christine was quietly impressed by the elegant surroundings. They passed the doorman in silence as the sexual tension between them reached the boiling point. There was no point in pretending this was anything more than what it was. Finally, she was about to experience a cheap, one-night stand. And somehow, the knowledge that it was taking place in the early morning hours of her wedding day drove her mad with desire. Christine couldn't remember being this aroused by any man at any time. Stephen certainly never had this effect on her, that was for sure. But God, she loved these illicit feelings.

As they walked into his building, Christine watched as Grant called the elevator. Neither had spoken since they entered the building. Once again, she was struck by his presence and his confidence. She knew he never doubted for a minute that she would return. And that confidence is what aroused her the most.

The floor numbers changed with agonizing slowness. Adrenaline tightened Christine's throat, making it difficult to swallow. Her body trembled as her excitement and apprehension merged, pushing her close to outright panic. She closed her eyes, and breathed deeply as the bell announced the arrival of her carriage. Last chance, she thought dimly as Grant took her arm and led her inside. The doors closed behind her, shutting out the lobby as well as any hope of redemption.

The elevator stopped on the fifteenth floor, and Christine followed him into a dimly lit entry. Only two doors were visible, and Grant moved to the one on the right. He turned, smiling as he fumbled for his keys, and opened the door of Apartment 1501. Christine waited at the door as Grant walked inside and switched on a light. She remained still, her heart pounding now, watching as he walked into a large, well kept room. He disappeared beyond the doorframe, and within seconds she heard the quiet, lonely sound of a solo cello fill the room. She recognized the piece as one of the Bach suites, though she couldn't place the exact title. Stephen was an avid collector of classical music, and she had heard this piece countless times on his car stereo. The sudden memory brought on a sharp pain of guilt and regret, as she thought of the betrayal she was contemplating. She blinked back tears as she tried to force Stephen's face from her alcohol-fogged mind, and swallowed the sudden lump that had appeared in her throat.

"You gonna stand there all night, Christine?"

She looked to see Grant standing slightly off to the side, a look of irritation clouding his face. For a brief moment she considered bolting from the door and running to the stairs. But she knew it was too late. She knew what she was doing the minute she handed him the note in the bar, and now was not the time to back out. Forcing a smile, she walked into the room.

"Nice place," she said as she looked around the room. The furniture appeared new, as did the pictures on the wall. The room smelled fresh, as if it had been recently cleaned. Nothing was out of place, no newspaper, no empty drink glasses, nothing.

"Thanks, Christine. Actually, I only live here when I'm in town for business. In fact, I only arrived last night, so I haven't had much time to mess the place up. I'm usually not this clean. Can I fix you a drink?"

"I'd like a White Russian, if you don't mind."

"Yeah, I should have remembered that from the club. Have a seat, I'll be right back," he said as he disappeared into what appeared to be the kitchen. Christine settled onto the leather couch, noticing immediately how comfortable it was. She suddenly felt tired, as if the couch had brought on this sudden fatigue. But it wasn't the couch's fault. She looked at her watch. 1:42 A.M. Christ, she thought. I have a luncheon in less than twelve hours. No wonder I'm so tired.

Grant came back in, carrying two cut crystal old-fashioned glasses, one containing her drink, and the other filled with ice and a clear liquid, gin she guessed. She reached out and took her drink, raising the glass to her lips as the cool liquid poured down her throat. The alcohol immediately warmed her, and she guessed the drink was heavy on the vodka and light on the milk. But it was exactly what she needed. All thoughts of her fiancé vanished as she downed the drink. Grant took the glass from her hand as soon as she lowered it from her lips, and moved closer on the couch.

"You're not bashful are you?" she teased, inviting him closer with a mischievous smile.

"Neither were you when you handed me this," he said, tossing the note into her lap. She unfolded it and read the words she had scribbled a few hours earlier. 'Wait for me. I'll be back in one hour.'

Suddenly, the intense desire she felt at the bar returned, and her body began to respond. She remembered why she had decided to come here, and the passion returned with a vengeance. She could feel the heat growing between her legs, and she longed to be touched. And just when she thought she couldn't wait another instant, Grant made his move.

He took her in his arms with ease, his mouth quickly finding hers. The kiss sent shivers down her spine, and she eagerly parted her lips, hungry for the tongue of this stranger. Their tongues met, the heated kiss fueled by the promise of forbidden pleasure yet to be uncovered. But this kiss was unlike any she had ever known. Before, she had always kissed with tenderness and feeling. Her heart had always been linked to her lips, and more importantly to her body. Until tonight, she had never given either without love. But tonight, this kiss signaled only one thing. Lust. Pure, unbridled lust. She didn't want love and she didn't want trust. She wanted to fuck, and more than that, she wanted to come. God, how she wanted that. She wanted, no needed, this stranger's cock inside her. Thankfully, she wouldn't have to wait long.

As the kiss continued, Grant pulled her even closer. He held her head in his hands as he pushed her down on the couch. The softness of the leather pressed against her back, and she slid forward as Grant moved on top of her. She parted her legs, allowing his lower body to move between them. Although clothed, she felt the bulge of his cock pressing against her belly, increasing her curiosity. Will he be large? she wondered. Finally, she couldn't wait any longer, and reached down between their bodies to find out. To her delight, a large, firm bulge filled her hand as she struggled to find his zipper.

Grant reached down and helped with the zipper. Once lowered, she reached around his ass and pulled his pants from his hips. Grant reached under her, grabbing her ass with his hands, as he slid down between her open thighs. He trailed kisses down the front of her blouse, opening buttons as he went, exposing her flesh to his touch. As each button opened, the accompanied kiss delighted the skin underneath. She felt as if each kiss marked a passage into new, virginal territory. It was if she had never been touched before.

Grant moved off the couch, kneeling beside her as she reclined before him. She closed her eyes, and held his head in her hands, imploring him to continue. By now, her pussy was on fire, aching for the touch she craved. She tried to send the message by thrusting her hips at her lover, hoping he would quickly put her at ease. But Grant had other plans. He paused once he reached her belly and slowly pulled her blouse from the hem of her skirt. Once free, he moved back up her torso, stopping to kiss the tip of each bra-covered tit, before taking each breast in his hands. He squeezed them firmly, pulling them with his fingers before releasing her bra in one deft move. Hesitating above her, he admired her naked breasts, sizing them in his hands as he lightly stroked the soft skin, causing each nipple to tighten in response.

Christine was quickly ascending to new levels of ecstasy. Never had she felt so alive, so wanted, so desirable. Stephen usually paid little attention to her breasts, a habit she attributed to their relatively small size, but Grant treated each breast as a newly discovered treasure. She was thrilled at his obvious enjoyment of her tits, pushing her ever closer to the edge. Her hands guided his head to her chest, and she moaned aloud as he sucked in the tight nipple.

"Oh God, Grant, that feels so good. Suck it, baby. Please don't stop."

Grant released her tit and looked up at her, smiling at her reaction. "Don't worry, Christine. I won't be stopping for a long time. I can assure you of that." She shuddered at the implications of his words, intended or not. Grant returned his attention to her breasts, taking her nipple back in his warm and wet mouth.

As he kissed her sensitive points, his hands began to move lower, tracing a path of expectation across her stomach, pausing to caress the front of her skirt once again. This time, her reached lower, and began to pull up her short skirt. Although she could not see it, she knew her panty-covered pussy was now exposed. She thought of the delightfully sexy panties she had chosen for this encounter. They were black, completely sheer, and were the sexiest panties she owned. She had purchased them two weeks ago on a whim, but had been uncomfortable about showing them to Stephen. Stephen wanted her to dress with elegance, accepting nothing less than fine white lingerie. He loved the innocent, virginal look, and held little interest in the risqué. Maybe that was why she bought the revealing panties, and was now about to show them to a stranger. Perhaps even then, she yearned for more than Stephen had been offering.

Unconsciously, she opened her legs, longing for more intimate contact. Her body was attuned to each touch, no matter how soft, no matter how gentle. She felt his fingertips descend once again to her thighs, and she parted them even wider as she lifted her hips in a lewd invitation to his explorations. The fingertips descended behind her knee, and suddenly his grasp became strong. He opened her leg even more, taking control in one swift and sure move. She shuddered as his lips and tongue continued to tantalize her breasts.

"Ohhh, God," she moaned. "Please . . . more . . . please."

This time, he obeyed her desperate pleas. In one swift move she felt him cup her warm, wet mound. He held her tightly, pressing her panties into the silky flesh, holding her very sex as she writhed beneath his touch. She began to thrust her pussy against his hand, desperately seeking the friction she craved. But Grant held still, not moving, only holding her in his hand. The pressure against her pussy was maddening, and she feared would lose control. Never had sex felt this good, though he had yet to touch her bare pussy.

"Grant . . . Grant . . ." she breathed.

He released her nipple, and looked at her. She noticed a sheen of perspiration across his brow, and knew her passion wasn't alone.

"What do you want, Christine?"

"Please, touch it . . ."

"No."

"Wha . . . what . . . please, Grant I need you . . . now . . ."

"No. Not until you say it. Tell me, Christine. And don't play Miss Innocent with me. You know what you want. You know why you're here. Now say it. Tell me why you're here."

Christine couldn't think. She didn't understand what was going on, but she knew she needed a finger on her. She was so close, and she craved the touch that would send her screaming over the edge. If he would just put his fingers in her . . .

She grabbed his hand, attempting to push it inside her panties, but he pulled back.

"Say it."

"Please, I'm . . . I'm so close . . . just a little more, baby."

"Christine."

"Oh God, please. Touch me. I need you to touch me."

"Touch you where?"

"Here," she said, taking his hand and placing it on her mound once again. This time, he left it there. She held his wrist and forced his hand down the front of her wet panties. She cried out softly as his hand finally touched the soft outer lips of her pussy.

"Yessss . . . ohhh, yesssss."

Christine bit her lip, and rolled her head as she guided his hand on her pussy.

"Right there, oh yeah, like this . . . oooohhhhhhh."

Grant moved lower, and suddenly she felt penetration as he pushed his fingers inside. His fingers slid in easily past the soaking wet lips, filling her even as his thumb began to stroke her sensitive clit. She jumped as he pushed inside. Her breath now came in ragged pants, and she knew she was almost there.

"That's it . . . yeah . . . harder . . ."

Grant began to forcefully fuck her with his hand. His touch filled her, completing her in some purely animalistic way. She imagined he was there only for her personal pleasure. Nothing more, nothing less. Her passion continued to grow, reaching higher than ever before. And then, just when she thought she might never reach the top, her orgasm exploded. She shook uncontrollably, her body moving without conscious thought as her climax consumed her. On and on it went, as wave after wave coursed through her body. She couldn't speak, and the only sounds that escaped her lips were delighted cries of intense pleasure. Inside her pussy, Grant's hand continued to torment her, despite the intense contractions that threatened to push him out. Impossibly it seemed, her pleasure didn't begin its usual post-climax retreat. If anything, it seemed to leap once again, rising even higher than it was before. She had never experienced anything like this before, and she knew she didn't want it to end. But just then, she felt his hand pull free leaving her empty and aching, fulfilled yet unsatisfied as she longed for more.

"Noooo! Please don't stop . . . not yet," she begged.

Grant stood, and stepped out of his pants.

"Look at me, Christine. I want you to see me, all of me."

He stood still, his thumbs hooked into the elastic band of his underwear. Christine stared, eagerly awaiting sight of the stranger's cock before her. It would be the first cock she had seen in over four years, and only the third in her young life. Her tongue snaked out in a vain attempt to wet her increasingly dry lips as Grant lowered his shorts to the floor. And there he was, his cock standing full and thick, twitching as the blood pumped through the long, hard shaft. It's beautiful, she thought. And it's all mine.

As Grant stepped forward, Christine couldn't wait any longer. She reached out, taking his shaft in her small hand and wrapping her fingers around it. She began to stroke his length as she sat on the edge of the sofa. She took his balls in her other hand, noticing how heavy they felt in her hand. He wasn't much bigger than Stephen, she thought absently. She had always guessed that Stephen was probably on the large side anyway, but for some reason she had never paid much attention to Stephen's cock. She certainly never wanted it as she wanted this one. If anything, she craved this new cock, and she longed to experience it in ways she had never before imagined.

As she stroked the magnificent new cock, she considered the things she could do. She blushed when she realized she wanted to do things with it, perverse things, things she had only seen in the occasional adult films she had watched with Stephen. The acts themselves had secretly intrigued her, although Stephen never asked for anything more than straight missionary sex, even after watching the one truly hard-core video they had rented. As she continued to jack his shaft, she remembered the various scenes of unbridled lust she had witnessed in that film. The women seemed to crave cum, and lapped it up with an obvious hunger. And the girls fucked anything they could find, toys, men, and even other women. She remembered her reaction to the first anal scene she had witnessed. Before that moment, she'd never considered anal sex; but ever since, she yearned to experience it. She had tried to drop subtle hints to Stephen, going as far as placing his cock against her asshole one time, but he merely moved up without a word and pushed inside her pussy as he always did.

But now, the possibilities seemed endless. She remembered why she was here. She was here to explore her darkest desires in one last night of pure sexual pleasure. And as she leaned forward to take his cock in her mouth, she decided to experience it all. She tried to convince herself that her betrayal was only about this - pure sexual fantasy and release. Her heart would remain pure, her love for Stephen untouched despite her lurid activities. And in some strange way, she decided this was good for her upcoming marriage. This way, she could enter her marriage with no regrets. She could release her sexual yearning, and spend the rest of her life satisfied from the one taste of forbidden love.

Once again, she pushed thoughts of Stephen from her lust-clouded mind, and concentrated on the task at hand. The cock bumping at the back of her throat required her complete attention, and she wanted to treat Grant to an experience as pleasurable as the one he had just provided. Christine held him tightly at the thick base, and followed the bobbing movements of her head with firm strokes of his shaft. The flesh rippled under her grasp, the skin pulling back from the large plum-colored head each time she withdrew to the glistening tip. Occasionally she would stop, pausing to swirl her tongue around the sensitive head, and each time she was rewarded by Grant's low, passionate moan. She looked up to watch him, looming above her, his hands on her head, his head thrown back as he concentrated on the pleasure being offered. On and on she went, sucking, stroking, licking, kissing, until he reached down and pushed her away.

"Easy, Christine."

"Come on, baby, don't you want to come?"

"You know I do, but I have something in mind first."

She stood, and began to remove her skirt and panties before Grant stopped her.

"Wait. Don't take them off yet. I'm going to fuck you right now, dressed just as you are," he said. His eyes traveled down her body, taking in her bare breasts beneath the open blouse and her wrinkled skirt.

Once again, she was drawn into his arms. Grant's cock pressed against her as they kissed. She squirmed as his hands roughly massaged the globes of her ass. Once again, his hands reached beneath her skirt and slipped under her leg band of her panties to caress her mound. His hand explored the tight crevice, dipping between the soft lips to pick up her wetness. She cried out against his lips once more, her legs quivering as he stroked her clit and explored the tightness of her pussy. And then, just as suddenly as it began, his hand withdrew.

Grant's kisses continued to stoke her passion, fueling her desire as he began to caress her ass. His hand pressed into the tight divide, pausing to press insistently at her virgin asshole. She tightened in reflex to his advances but warmed up quickly, as the well-lubricated finger finally gained access. Her ass was on fire as the thick finger moved deeper within her, exploring where no one had been before. As good as the finger in her ass felt, something was still missing. She needed more, now more than ever. She needed to be filled, and she needed to be fucked. Not in a few minutes, now.

"Now, baby, I need you inside me now. Please, please . . ."

Grant removed his hand, and firmly turned her by the hips. She reached out her hands, supporting her body as Grant bent her forward and moved in behind her. She felt her skirt lifted, and the leg band of her panties pulled aside. Grant held her firmly by the hips, and she braced herself in anticipation of the penetration she longed to experience. But nothing happened. She turned her head, straining to see him.

"Grant, where are you?"

"You have to do it. Reach behind, put it in. Before we do this, I need to know you are completely willing, that you are the one that wants this.

"No, please, just shove it in. I need you inside me, baby. Come on, don't make me beg for it."

"Put it in, Christine. Put my cock inside you."

Christine sighed, and reached between her legs to grasp the thick, wet cock. As her hand guided it to her opening, she thought briefly of Stephen, and knew that was what Grant wanted. He wanted her to consciously choose to betray her fiancé, on the morning of her wedding, and to willingly put a stranger's cock inside her. But she had come too far to stop. With a whispered 'I'm sorry', she put the head directly at her opening, and leaned back. She shuddered as the long cock slithered inside, stretching the tight lips apart and filling her burning cunt. Inch by delicious inch, she pushed back against the now faceless cock, stopping only when she felt his pubic hair tickle against her ass. She held still once again, content to savor this feeling, the wickedly exciting feel of a new cock inside her. She tightened her muscles around the new man as she imagined how they would look to a stranger, Christine bent forward, impaled on the thick cock of the dark, handsome man behind her. The image she had was one of lewd depravity, a picture of a lust-crazed woman, satisfying her most primal urge. This wasn't about love, or commitment, nor honor or trust. This was about fucking. Pure and simple fucking.

"How you want it, baby? Huh? I'll bet you like fast and hard, don't you?" Grant said.

"Oh God, yeah, hard . . . I want it hard. Do it . . . come on . . . do it . . ."

Grant began to move, slowly withdrawing his cock as he teased her with his words. Christine was usually quiet in bed, since Stephen rarely talked during sex. But she found this new dialogue incredibly erotic, and in some ways, the words were just as exciting as the touches.

"Say it, just like before. Tell me what you want," Grant insisted, as he continued his long, agonizingly slow strokes.

"I want you to fuck me, you bastard. Just shut up and fuck me!"

To her delight, he did exactly that. He pulled out, then rammed in hard. The force of his invasion shook her body, and she nearly lost her balance. Grant held her tightly as he began to piston inside her, his cock repeatedly battering the delicate folds of her sex.

"That's right, you know what you want, don't you? You wanted me from the moment you first saw me, didn't you?"

"Oh God, yesssss. I wanted you."

"You wanted to fuck, didn't you? Nothing else, just fuck. One last fling before the big day, right?"

She thought about the words, and the truth that hid behind them. But there was more, wasn't there? It really wasn't just about fucking, was it? After all, she could have fucked just about any man at the bar, but she only wanted Grant. That was the truth that really hurt.

"Yeah, but I only wanted to fuck you. Just you."

She heard him laugh, as he reached between her legs and started to caress her clit. The feeling was incredible, and Christine was amazed that he could be so gentle on her clit even as he continued the relentless pounding of her cunt. The dual sensations were almost unbearable, and she felt her orgasm began to build.

Once again, she bore down, squeezing tightly around him while she tried to squeeze the lingering thoughts of Stephen from her mind. She knew she needed more words to send her over the edge, and she called to Grant to provide them.

"Come on now, I'm close, baby," she cried excitedly. "Don't stop . . . that's it . . . fuck me, come on fuck me good."

"You like this, don't you? God, you are so fucking hot. You are one hot slut, you know that?"

"Oh God, yesss, I love it so. Deeper, baby . . . come on now, deeper."

Suddenly, she was there. The orgasm burst from within, seemingly from the very center of her core, the deepest part of her pussy. She could feel her wetness flowing down her thighs, coating them as Grant continued to pound away. She could feel the rhythmic contractions inside, and cried out as her climax reached her peak.

"Now, baby, now! That's it . . . I'm coming! Oh yeah . . . ohhhhh, yesssss . . . harder . . . harder!"

Her orgasm continued longer than before, rocking her with its very power and intensity, but as soon as it was over, a new feeling emerged. She could hear Grant behind her now, talking to her, calling her a fucking whore, a dirty slut. She heard him tell her how much he loved feeling her come on his cock like that, and how he knew her husband would never make her come that way.

But now, the words didn't excite. Almost immediately after she came, she began to feel guilty. And to make matters worse, this strange man, the man she had cheated with, was still fucking her from behind, taking her like an animal. The lack of love that had fueled her passion now haunted her. Suddenly, she wanted it to be over; she wanted to go home.

Grant continued to pound her, fucking her without regard to either pleasure or discomfort, using her to boost his own fragile ego with his conquest of another man's fiancé. She knew that without a doubt. Still, the sounds of their coupling, his flesh slapping against hers, her juicy cunt coating the thick member, were strangely enticing. But how could she be so aroused one minute, and so repulsed the next? How could she allow herself to fuck so easily and willingly, practically begging to be used, and then feel such guilt once her pleasure had been obtained?

By now, Christine was utterly confused. What have I done? she thought. And how will I ever stand in the church, and exchange vows with a man I have so senselessly betrayed? As Grant continued his onslaught, her mind drifted to the upcoming ceremony, the lavish decorations they had planned, the flowers, the music, the bridesmaid dresses, the groomsman's tuxedoes. And through her vision of the church, its pews filled with friends and relatives, she heard Grant begin the final drive towards orgasm. Although she couldn't quite climax with him, she fought to return her thoughts to the cock buried inside her. And as he announced his orgasm, the final thrust holding deep as he emptied, she recalled how deliciously naughty she had been that night, how she had pleased this stranger, and vowed to take what she had learned tonight to her wedding bed. Hopefully, she would emerge tainted but not scarred by tonight's shameful performance. Through her husband's future pleasure, maybe she could put a little value on the betrayal she had just rendered. Maybe.

With a long exhale, Grant pulled his softening cock from inside her. Christine grimaced as she felt his cum pour from her open pussy, and chided herself for not insisting on a condom. She heard him walk away and saw a light flicker on down the hall. He was in a bathroom she guessed. Christine stood, turned, and sat on the edge of the sofa.

Grant returned a minute later. She reached up, taking the tissue paper from his outstretched hand, and leaned back against the sofa to clean up. Grant stood in front of her, his cock beginning to stir once again as he stared intently at her open pussy. She blushed, suddenly aware of her exposure as she struggled with the guilt that was threatening to overwhelm her.

As Christine finished with the tissue, she looked back at Grant, noticing his cock once again. It really is a beautiful cock, she thought absently. He was semi-erect, his organ at the stage of arousal she loved the most. Although she wasn't the biggest fan of giving head, she rarely passed up the opportunity to take Stephen in her mouth if she discovered him in a similar state. Reflex took over, and she reached out for Grant, pulling him closer to the edge of the couch, and took him in one swift move. She began to suck in earnest, massaging his pleasantly heavy balls as she devoted her attention to his swelling cock. Within a minute, her mouth was filled to capacity with cock.

Once again, she attempted to bury the thoughts of her wedding, and of Stephen, in the shadow of the man standing before her. Grant was undoubtedly the most skillful lover she had ever experienced. She could only dream of the pleasure that could be discovered under his guidance. But this time, the guilt wouldn't go away quite as easily. The taste of his cock, still glistening from the union of their love, was a constant reminder of her sin against Stephen. Even as Grant heated under her touch, she felt the delightful warmth between her thighs began to fade.

By now, her emotions were in full conflict. And more than ever, she wanted to stop, and just go home. But she also felt pressure to continue. Grant placed his hands on her head, not to guide but to follow her movements on his cock. She knew he was very aroused, and she didn't want to make him mad by stopping in mid-suck. But with each new taste, her stomach tightened a little bit more. If she didn't stop soon, she feared she would be sick. Grant was getting closer, his hands now holding her with firm, steady pressure. His hips rolled forward and back, attempting to fuck the surprisingly warm and wet mouth before him.

Just a few minutes more, she thought. A few more strokes and he will go off. Hurry, please just hurry. She felt his oncoming orgasm in her hands first - his buttocks tensed and his heavy balls tightened in her hand. He thrust his cock as far down her mouth as he could go. At the same time, he exploded into her mouth, the first blast splashing against the back of her throat just as she fought to catch a quick breath. The thick, warm fluid caught in her windpipe, and suddenly she was gagging. She pulled off, his cock still spurting cum everywhere as she fought to control her coughs. Her eyes filled with tears, and she could feel warm sticky cum dripping from her lips and cheeks even as more landed in her hair.

And then it was over. Christine stood, and while still coughing, half-stumbled half-ran down the same hall Grant had walked earlier. She found the bathroom, and turned on the light as she stepped inside. The room was clean and functional, typical for a man. The counter was spotless, topped by a large mirror that traveled the length of the wall. The image in the mirror was startling. Christine was a mess. Her red hair was tangled and teased, and fresh cum streaked across the top of her head. Her makeup and lipstick were gone, and a look of shame painted her features. She opened the faucet, filled her hands with cool water, and brought them to her lips. Her coughing subsided after a few gulps of water, and she splashed the remaining water on her face. As she watched, her hands moved to erase the evidence of her betrayal.

Christine toweled off her face and hands, checking her reflection with care. Once she was satisfied that her face was clean, she took a deep breath, and walked back to Grant. He was waiting for her in the kitchen, holding a half-empty double old fashioned.

"You okay?" he asked, looking at her with concern.

"Yeah, I think so. Just got a little down the wrong way, that's all."

"Look, Christine, I'm sorry about that. I never meant to be so rough with you."

Christine looked at him and smiled. "It's not your fault, Grant. I wanted it that way too."

"Alright."

Now that the sex was over, Christine quickly realized how little she knew about Grant. Strangely, she found it easier to fuck him than to talk to him. And now, in the aftermath of their torrid affair, neither had anything to say. The only conversation needed had been said with their bodies. Christine knew it was time to go, and she turned towards the door.

"Christine, where are you going?" Grant asked. The softness of his voice surprised her, following so soon after the earlier harsh words.

She stopped, but did not turn to face him. "You know where. Home, I'm going home, Grant."

"Wait a sec, and I'll drive you."

"No. I don't want you to drive me. Just call me a cab, okay?"

"Come on, don't be ridiculous. I don't mind, really."

"No, Grant." Christine turned to look at him. "You don't understand. I . . . I don't want you to know where I live, okay?"

Grant looked disappointed. "But, Christine, are you saying that we can't see each other again?"

Christine laughed, but her laugh seemed sad. "Look, we both know what we had here tonight. This was nothing, Grant. It was just one night, that's all. I'm getting married tomorrow, Grant, don't you remember?"

"Of course I remember. But I thought that after tonight . . ."

"What? That I'd beg you to come fuck me every night? Come on, you can't possibly think that."

"No, not that. But I thought that we could . . ."

"No. We can't. Please don't call me, don't try to see me. I'm sorry about this, but you knew what we were doing tonight. You knew it, too."

Grant smiled, and nodded his head. "Alright then. But promise me one thing. Promise me that you won't forget me."

Christine felt her eyes welling with tears. The flood of emotions threatened to overwhelm her, and she knew she had to leave now. If she hesitated, she was afraid of what she might say, or worse, do. How could she ever forget? For better or worse, how could she forget the most passionate night of her life?

"I won't forget you. I'll never be able to forget you, Grant." And with that, she turned and walked out of the door.

As she waited for the cab, Christine struggled to contain her tears. She could barely conceive of the betrayal she had just committed, and yet one thought frightened her more than any other. Despite the significance of this day, her wedding day, she could only think of one thing. Grant. Not Grant the man, but Grant the lover. And despite her best intentions, she knew she had to have him again. After all, his body had promised so much, and there were so many things she had yet to experience. Her tears finally came, but the tears arrived in shame, not sorrow or remorse. She cried for the loss of her innocence. She cried for the loss of her honor. And she cried for Stephen, a man that didn't deserve a wife like her. Maybe I can control it, she thought. Maybe I can forget about him. And with this last thought, she opened the door to the cab.

"Where to, Miss?"

"Home. Please take me home."

END OF PART I

Click Here to read - A Wedding Story Part II - For Better Or Worse

A Wedding Story Part III - To Have and To Scold

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