The Wedding Dress

We’re in the wedding dress shop, the shop with the wedding dresses and the lace and the pretty, innocent pictures on the walls. The shop with the quiet, respectable pastoral music playing in the background. You want to show me a dress you saw in the window, a dress you think might be the one, the style you’ve been looking for. Wow, but we’re excited! Two weeks to go and things are coming together.

Inside the shop the middle aged, middle class lady smiles politely as we enter but she is displaying just what she thinks as plainly as if she had said it outright. Me in my white jeans, new suede jacket, unshaven and with my hat, some kind of latter day beatnik poet and you in your oversized grey jumper over tight blue jeans, a vision of loveliness in wool.

We tell the woman that we’re interested in the dress in the window. She tries to catch us out at our silly game of let’s pretend by asking when the wedding is. We both come out with it in unison and she seems satisfied. She turns to enter the window to retrieve the beautiful dress and as she does so I catch your eye, widen mine and pull down the sides of my mouth ‘oooOOOOOooo’. You stifle a giggle and I put my hand round your slim waist, my thumb hooked into the waist of your jeans, just a flavour of warmth from your skin on my thumb. Mrs Hospital Corners turns back with the beautiful silk creation and begins to bang on about the various virtues of the style. We make sympathetic, overawed sounds and I slip my hand surreptitiously down the back of your trousers. You do not react, cannot react and I do not give anything away but my middle finger is very happy resting as it is between the cheeks of your perfect ass.

After perhaps an hour and a half of Mrs Snooty banging on about the cantilevered whatnots and the linen oojahs she finally deigns to hand it over to you. I ask if I may come into the changing room with you and she stiffens visibly (though not like me), raises one eyebrow and says she thinks that would be acceptable. I put on my best cheeky Cockney accent and say ‘thanks very much, Mrs.’ And in we go. This is one of the few shops in town with a mixed dressing room. It also has the largest dressing room in town, the size of our living room. It has a lock on the door, mirrors to all sides, benches, small but solid tables and more piped Chopin.

You head over to a peg and hang up the dress.

“You’re very bad, teasing that woman that way.”

I lock the door behind me.

“She’s only doing her job, I bet they get…”

You’re voice is cut off as I come up behind you, twist you round and kiss you hard on the lips.

“Aah, screw her.” I say

“No, screw me.”

I unbutton your jeans and stuff my hand down the front of them. You pant and gasp. You’re so wet, you slut! You knew what was coming, you planned this and it was meant to be my surprise!

You try to speak but I put one finger of the hand not engulfed in the warm liquidity between your thighs up to your lips, shhh!

You are stood in front of a small table and I lift you up and sit you on it. I then turn to the dress, which has a kind of a scarf affair to tie it at the waist, one could perhaps, with a lot of imagination, describe it as a belt. I whip this from the garment knowing that time is of the essence. How long have we before Mrs Snoop comes a-looking? Ten minutes? At the outside.

I wrap the scarf around your eyes, wave my hand in front of it to ensure you can’t see. I lift one perfect foot and slip off a shoe then a sock. I repeat with the other. Before thirty seconds are up you are naked. Yes, utterly naked as the day you were born. I waste ten seconds standing and looking at you, at your perfect thighs, legs, belly (that belly!) breasts and, yes, up the length of that exquisite inner leg to the jewel, soaking with anticipation and pouting, waiting, wanting. Your head is tipped back, resting against the wall with your lips slightly apart.

One minute thirty five.

I pull up two chairs and silently place them in front of you, one to each side. You cannot hear me for I am silent as the night. I begin to strip. You are growing impatient and even whisper “Phil?” but I ignore you and you know too well to actually move or remove the scarf. Soon I too am naked save my suit of hair. I too am ready for the fuck, my penis standing out to it’s fullest extent, the foreskin drawn right back and the head swollen to the size of a small apple. I can feel the tautness of the skin pulled back.

Two minutes fifteen.

I stand on the chairs, one foot on each and lean forward with my hands on the wall above your head, one on each side of you. I lean forward, you have no idea I am there until the head of my dick is half an inch from your beautiful lips. Then you can feel the warmth, the fiery heat from me but you don’t know which bit of me it is. Perhaps I just mean to give you a kiss… The acorn touches your lips and you know this is no kiss. Your tongue slides out and gently pushes into the slit, the eye of my cock and suddenly you are in control. Naked and blindfold, you have me in your power and I let out a slight moan, my penis swells more and I feel as though the foreskin must split if it gets any larger so I kneel on the table, one knee to each

Three minutes thirty-seven.

side of your hips and pull your head gently forward onto me. You engulf me in your mouth. I push gently with my tool and pull gently with my hand on the back of your head. You could easily say no but you know what I want and you are pleased to give it. Forward you come and my dick is right to the back of your throat and yet still you seem to want more. I think you’re going to swallow me and I reach behind myself and down to your cunt, which is pouring onto the top of the table. No need for preparation, I plunge straight in with two fingers. You gasp past my dick and increase the pressure like a vacuum, I push harder with my cock and with my fingers.

Five minutes dead on.

I pull out of your mouth and step down to the floor and lunge at your pussy with my tongue drawn. Your moan is almost a scream as your head bumps back off the wall in surprise and delight and I track from almost at your anus, up up up onto the labia majora, parting them to pass through the labia minora and then up to your clitoris. I caress that jewel with my tongue, pinch it between my lips and you grab my hair with both hands and pull me in, in, in till I fear I will drown. You take my ears and you pull me up to be level with my face. You whisper in my ear “Fuck me…” I step back and lift you from the table. I turn you and you lean forward, your elbows on the table and that ass of yours in the air. That ass of yours… I can see your little puckered anus and below the thing to aim for, wet and inviting.

Six minutes forty

I come up behind you and this time there’s no teasing. You know what you want. I know what I want and our respective body parts know what they want. I push into you and I am so much bigger than usual. What if Madame Snotty has a master key? She could be upon us in a moment, now that makes me hard and I think it makes you wet too. I push into you and your head goes down so that you can bite on your wrist to prevent yourself screaming.

Seven minutes

In I go and I can feel the heat from your very core. Out I come and I can feel my knob tickle your clitoris. Then in again. My hands rummage round to the front of you and cup those wonderful breasts. Oh how I love your breasts, Andrea! But they cannot stay, I need the traction and so it’s back to your hips for my hands and I pick up speed. Your moaning and my moaning are mingling. But this isn’t how I want it to end. I pull out.

“Don’t stop.” You plead. I just whisper hush and turn you round.

Eight minutes seventeen seconds.

I sit you back on your pedestal and you put your heels on the edge of the table, your vagina resting right between them, almost hanging off the table and at just the right height.

Eight minutes forty.

I enter you again and you grip my upper arms. I lean forward and whisper “I love you, my beautiful virgin bride to be.” You smirk and we giggle and we FUCK.

In and in and out I go.

Nine minutes.

Suddenly you take over for a few seconds, you push me out of you and grab my penis. You begin wanking me off faster and harder than anyone has ever done including myself.

Nine minutes twenty.

Just as you, blind as you are, know I am about to cum you let go. You bitch! “Now come in me, come in me!”

Nine minutes forty.

Back inside I am fucking for my life, fucking for Britain. I am so sensitive it is as though I were on fire. I can feel the edge

Nine minutes fifty

coming up and it’s coming for you too. That tension in our loins and we rise and rise and

nine minutes fifty five

I cum. I spurt into you, the first stream must leave me at thirty miles and hour. You are screaming silently and banging one palm on the table top. Stream two is perhaps twenty miles per hour and a bead of sweat has formed between my eyes and I have tunnel vision. Sex shouldn’t be like this, it can’t be good for a man! You’re flexing your muscles in a rolling motion and squeezing me dry. Stream three…

Ten minutes.

Knock knock.

“Is everything all right in there?”

“Just coming!”

We collapse in hysterics and buy a dress down the road.