A Wedding Befitting A Slut - Sex Stories

A Wedding Befitting A Slut

... companion for me. “Don’t you think this is a bit much?” I asked cautiously when she put the dark eyeshade on rather generously. “Nonsense. You need to draw attention to your lovely eyes.” Skilled fingers applied mascara equally lavishly, and when my mirrored face blinked, it looked rather seductive. “I don’t know…” “Hush.” She did the lipstick too, a dark, burgundy red, and followed it with almost black lip-liner. “There,” she finally exclaimed, “you look positively sexy.” “Sexy? It’s my wedding, not a date. Joanna!” Before I could pick up a swipe, she was fixing the pretty white tiara with the veil to my hair. “There, all done. It’s time anyway.” I took a deep breath and got up, trying to control my shaky knees. “Are you wearing the naughty stuff underneath too?” Joanna whispered into my ear, putting a lot of emphasis on the word “naughty”. “Joanna!” I hissed. I had, in a moment of boozed honesty, confessed that I had bought crotchless white lace panties with matching halters, a half-cup bra and pretty white bows with soft clamps to wear under my wedding dress. I really wanted to give Andrew a nice surprise on our wedding night, and I knew that he loved it when I dressed up a little naughty. “Oh, come on. Are you?” I nodded, biting my lip and feeling my face flush. The look she sent me was strange. For a moment, I thought I recognized a wicked gleam in her eyes, but I went as fast as it had come, and then she smiled brightly at me, taking my hand and pulling me after her. ...

... “It’s time. We need to get into the limo.” “My purse. I don’t have my purse!” “It’s your wedding. You won’t need it. Come on, the limo’s waiting.” * * * * My excitement and anxiety had grown with every mile. Andrew had asked me to leave all the details to him, and once he insisted on something, he was impossible to dissuade. So I hadn’t even had a clue where we were going. I had expected some kind of church, but it was a huge mansion that appeared in front of us after a mile-long slow drive over a gravel driveway. It was all white and had pillars and little turrets, as if it had sprung right out of a cheesy romance movie. I loved it. The walk on shaky legs to the reception room went by in a haze, and I could probably not have found my way back on my own afterwards. But that didn’t matter. The room looked like a cross of a tiny ballroom and a church, with an arched roof that was filled with paintings of nude, beautiful people lounging about, drinking and eating, and at the front was a small dais surrounded by statues of nude, pretty, lascivious women. When we stepped onto the line of black carpet that ran from the entrance all they way across the marble floor and up to the dais, Joanna held up my hand at chest height and a soft rendition of the wedding march began to play. Smiling faces lined the sides of the room, all Andrews’s friends, some of whom I had met and others I hadn’t seen before. My vision grew blurry and my heart pounded. A big, good-looking older man in a black ...