Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. NOTE: I hereby grant permission for all archiving and other uses of this work, public or private, free or paid, in any format whether existing now or to be invented in the future, so long as a copy of this note and credit to "theGreatxIam" is given and no alteration is made to the body of the work. Copyright 2002, theGreatxIam 9 Months, 8 Days, 5 Hours, 11 Minutes An Anniversary Waltz story By theGreatxIam She stopped him just as the hotel doors swooshed open in front of them. "You didn't tip him, honey," Paula said. Steve Oldham rolled his eyes. "We paid for the ride, didn't we?" But she opened her eyes wide as the full moon and he surrendered. He told her to go ahead and check in, but she was waiting for him just inside the doors; she hadn't even gotten in line. "I couldn't ask for Mr. and Mrs. Oldham's room," she said. "I can't believe I'm Mrs. Oldham yet!" Well, he couldn't get angry about that, could he? He couldn't really get angry about anything. It was their wedding night. And, if the clerk ever got off the phone and got their key, it would soon be the end of his longest dry spell since he was 16. Of course, the dry spell was Paula's fault, so -- no. He had agreed, he reminded himself as he finished signing the forms. He was so anxious, he even offered to schlep the bags up the elevator, but Paula insisted they let the bellman do it. That meant more waiting in the room for the luggage trolley to come up the service elevator. And another tip. At last, they were alone. Steve rushed to Paula as soon as the lock clicked behind the bellman. He swept her up, crushed her in his arms. But she squirmed out, insisting she needed to "freshen up." Steve told her she was as fresh as he could ask. Paula smiled but demurred. "I want everything to be perfect," she said, taking a small suitcase and a cosmetics bag with her into the bathroom. "After all, we've waited so long for this." "I know how long --" Steve stopped short as the bathroom door closed. Sitting on the bed -- carefully, to avoid bending his hard-on -- he began to remove his clothes. As he emptied his pockets, he pulled out the Palm handheld that would tell him exactly how long it had been. "Our first vow," Paula had called it. In the glow he felt after she'd accepted his proposal, that sounded very romantic. And since she hadn't hesitated to say yes, not even when he'd pulled out the ring and explained about saving on the stone so they could go someplace really nice for their honeymoon, he couldn't quibble when she said they should stay chaste from then until their wedding -- without even one last fling. In the days that followed, it did begin to sound odd to him. Paula had been as eager as him to jump into bed when they started dating, and just the night before his proposal she'd produced a position that didn't seem physically possible, simply "because," she had said, "I saw it in a movie once." Where that Paula had gone was a mystery. The new Paula looked the same. Short enough to have to stand on tiptoe to kiss him standing up, though somehow the geometry worked out much better lying down. Golden California beach girl skin, which she came by honestly if a bit indolently; Daddy's money made work a sometime thing. Hair the color of the sun, hair she always wore pulled back so everyone could see she was blonde to her roots. Her face and her body? They went with the package. Steve was no slouch himself, though long days and longer nights in the city had robbed him of a tan. Though his faithful morning workout left him in good shape, his features were so nondescript that his friends would just tell people to watch for the handsome, dark-haired guy with a vacant stare. The stare was a relatively recent development, which they ascribed to his nervousness since the engagement. That was unfair. He looked forward to being married. It was the period of born-again virginity in between that distracted him. He had managed to keep their pact a secret from his friends, a bunch of other very junior executives. Or, he had, until the week before. The bachelor party had been in a smoky strip joint where the dim lighting allowed the owner not only to save on his electricity bills but also to economize on strippers. No reason to hire the best when the customers can only see tits and ass. But at that point, Steve wasn't too picky. It had been -- he consulted his handheld -- eight months, twenty-nine days, twenty-three hours and fourteen minutes since he'd last had sex. Not that he was not fully committed to Paula's plan or anything. It was just that he liked to be organized. And neat, which is why it was such an annoyance when the woman in the gold Spandex bikini reached down and loosened his tie. He'd pull it back, she'd yank it loose. His buddies thought it was such a hoot that they brought her along when the group moved to a private room. In the slightly brighter lights there, the golden girl's blue eyeshadow and ruby lips were somewhat overdone. But her body was everything it had appeared, and certainly more than Mother Nature had provided. As Steve could see plainly when she jiggled her chest in his face. The guys had paid for a lap dance. That's what they told him. The girl was certainly giving them their money's worth. She'd started in her bikini, straddling him so close he could see the pale stretch marks on her stomach. As she danced, her top had disappeared somehow -- the margaritas, though watery, had played tricks with his memory. Not with his other faculties, though. The stripper's dance had gone straight to his deprived groin. As she danced lower, he rose higher, until the inevitable contact occurred. The next thing he could remember was his buddies stuffing the girl's panties with cash before she doffed them. Then a naked woman in his lap, grinding into his erection. Hands unbuttoning his shirt, opening his belt. Big, solid breasts with pointy nipples poking into his bare chest. The sound of a zipper. Someone fumbling at his crotch. Stroking his turgid cock. Hoots from his pals. The feel of a wet pussy slithering across the tip of his dick. And then his hand pushing her away. Her misinterpreting his gesture, getting to her knees, pressing her lips to his cock. Swallowing him, going down, cheeks hollowed. He surrendered to the feeling, closing his eyes, imagining it was his wedding night at last. But when he opened them, it wasn't Paula. Steve pushed the stripper away again, tried to get up. With his pants around his ankles, he stumbled drunkenly, crashed backwards, landing on the bad shoulder he told people was a football injury. Dimly he remembered telling everyone about the vow. The guys laughed. The stripper said she thought it was sweet. She asked if she could at least give him a handjob. When Steve sadly said no, she shrugged and gave all the other guys blowjobs to work off the money. Over lunch the next workday, he'd been grilled about the pact. No sex? None. But he and Paula still kissed, right? And if one thing led to another? Ah, but it didn't. Paula was scrupulous. He could kiss and touch, but only so far. The point? He was a bit vague on that, but it was evidently very important to her, so he'd given up trying to get around the rules. Not even a little five-finger tango on his own? He dodged the question. Truth was, he'd sworn off even that in the month before the wedding, just in case Paula could somehow tell. By that time he'd gotten used to the celibate life. Not enjoying it, not even close, but with the grim satisfaction of an ex-smoker watching some stranger puff and thinking, "wimp." Steve had this thing licked. He could make it to the wedding night on cruise control. He didn't need masturbation. He had self-control. The bachelor party was the first sign that he'd been wrong. Painfully wrong. He wanted that woman. He wanted his cock up her cunt and pounding away. Rejecting her took every ounce of willpower he had. He told the guys about the pact mostly so they'd make him live up to it. He had to live up to it. For Paula. ---- ---- --- The music was so loud that conversations were reduced to bare essentials. "Gee, Paula, this is a great bachelorette party" became "Party!" with a thumbs-up and a big smile. It was Bobbi Jo's idea to have the party at Ladies Only, the male strip club. It had been Teri's idea to demand a table down front. But Paula thought up all on her own the bit about writing her cell-phone number on the twenty she tucked into the dancer's pouch. Teri couldn't believe Paula would be so bold. Bobbi Jo didn't think the guy would call. But Paula said she wanted to cut loose one last time. "What," Teri asked, "about The Pact?" "That's why," Paula said. And she explained, in one-syllable words and hilariously blunt gestures, that Steve had stopped pestering her about breaking the rules, so she knew he was getting something on the side. Plus he was going to a strip club for his bachelor party, and you knew what those places are like. "So," she concluded, "fair is fair." She wasn't sure whether she actually expected the stripper to call her. But he was cute, and it had been so long -- like nine months or something. She was beginning to worry that Steve was altogether too good at abstinence. The Pact was just supposed to test his seriousness; she never expected him to give in so easily, for so long. So very, very long. Paula's cell buzzed just after the last guy left the stage and the music faded. Teri and Bobbi Jo egged her on as she agreed to a private show. Lucy, the quiet one, surprised them all by volunteering her apartment. It started out just like at the club, with the women, in their prim business suits with the not-so-prim slits in the skirts, lounging on couch and chairs while Rod -- just saying it made Paula laugh -- danced in front of them. But then Rod, stripped to his pouch, muscles bulging, danced over to Paula. "Give her a special treat," Teri said. "This is her last week of freedom." The guy's cock sprang free and wobbled right in her face, all thick and hard and purple. And it had been such a very, very long time. Paula couldn't take it all in her mouth, but Rod didn't seem to mind. Especially not when Lucy -- Lucy! Of all people! -- got on her knees and joined in. While Paula sucked greedily on the fat tip, Lucy licked his shaft and balls. Paula ran her hands up and down his rippling chest. Yeah, that was what she'd been missing. The Pact had been a really dumb idea. Lucy and Paula took turns sucking Rod off, and Paula was swinging his cock over to her mouth when he started to lose it. The first glob of gooey cum splashed onto her cheek before she could get him inside her mouth and pump him dry. She never had liked the taste. She'd only swallowed because she knew it turned guys on. Especially Steve. But something about taking Rod -- maybe just the months without it -- revved her like crazy. Still, if Rod hadn't been able to encore, she would have survived. But Lucy fluffed him back to life and, well, he was just to good to pass up. Paula stripped to her Hermes scarf and spread out on the cream leather couch. She'd never do this if it was her furniture, but luckily Lucy seemed too involved to notice. By the time the mousy girl did, it was too late. Rod lived up to his name. His hard cock sliding smoothly into Paula's cunt felt like the very first time, except without the pain and the fumbling and the 30-second disappointment. Nothing like the first time, then, but for that wonderful sense of "at last!" Nothing about Rod was short. His lovely long cock plunged into her hungry pussy again and again. His tempo was just right to bring Paula slowly, slowly to a warm orgasm that reawakened feelings too long missing -- well, aside from those brought by her black plastic vibrator, and those really didn't count. ---- ---- ---- Steve grabbed the box of clam shells for the appetizers in one hand and the bag of cocktail franks in the other and walked up to Paula's house. Her mom answered the door and ushered him in, explaining as she did that Paula and Mr. Noonan were out and not expected back for hours. Mrs. Noonan could have passed for Paula's elder sister, and Steve noticed she was looking particularly fetching that day in a peach-colored man's shirt tied in a floppy bow above her taut midriff and tight white shorts cut to reveal as much as possible of her long, tanned legs. "Nervous about the big day?" Mrs. Noonan had him put the supplies with the other things for the rehearsal dinner. "Just 24 more hours!" Steve made room between the doughnuts and cream-filled eclairs, pushing the raw oysters and stubby candles out of the way. "Yeah. I mean, yes, one more day. But I'm not nervous, Mrs. Noonan." "Oh, Steve, just call me Faye," she said. "You don't need the Noonan." "OK, Mrs. -- I mean, Faye. Do you need anything else?" "No, sweetie, I think I see everything I need. But what about you?" Steve shrugged. "I'm cool." "Cool? I'd guess you must be positively hot by now. It's my daughter who's cool. Ice cold, in fact." "Mrs. Noonan --" "Faye." "Faye. Faye, I don't know what you're talking about. Oh, OK, I do, but I don't think we should be talking about this. I'm feeling kind of uncomfortable." The light in the room had dimmed, somehow, and Paula's mom had switched on the stereo to some soft classical music. "Don't be silly, Steve," she purred, sitting on a bar stool and hoisting one impossibly long leg onto another. "Paula told me all about it, and I think it was horrid of her to impose like that. Especially on such a strong, virile, handsome man like you." "Mrs. Noonan -- sorry, Faye -- are you trying to seduce me?" "Do you want me to seduce you, Steve? Is that why you came over today? To get some relief from what my cruel, cruel daughter put you through?" "I'm not very comfortable with this conversation, Mrs. Noonan." "Ah, ah! Faye." "No, Mrs. Noonan. I think you should remember, I'm your daughter's fiance. I think this discussion is wrong." "Do you, Steve? Perhaps you're right. No more talking." Faye advanced on Steve, backing him into a corner next to the half-size replica of Michelangelo's David. He felt quite warm, and put his hands up to loosen his tie. Mrs. Noonan dove for his crotch and quickly pantsed him. Her lips, a fuller version of Paula's, closed around his shaft. Her hands, with their glossy red nail polish, rubbed his dick vigorously while she licked the tip. Before he even knew what had happened, they were in the bedroom, naked on the white duvet under the white canopy in a swamp of white pillows. Mrs. Noonan's body was as beautiful as her daughter's and more so, with an impressive rack that showed no signs of age and very few of the surgeon's touch. She pushed him onto his back and mounted him in one smooth motion, his cock sinking into her. They rutted with abandon, at warp speed until he could take it no more and had to roll over on top of her to regain control. There he slowed the pace, sweeping out of her cunt before stroking down, down, grinding in until they were fully engaged, pulling up and out to do it again. Ten, twenty, thirty minutes flew by. Steve could barely support himself on his arms. Sweat poured off him. Still he fucked his mother-in-law-to-be through one orgasm, a second, a third, her pussy opening more to him each time until at last his loins caught fire and he approached his own climax, closer, closer ... So close that a bell went off in his head. A bell that transformed into a buzz that finally woke him up, grabbing blindly for the alarm clock. As he extricated himself from a mound of pillows, he remembered his vow with a groan. He tapped the handheld on his bedside table: Nine months, seven days, twelve hours and twenty-eight minutes. But, it was almost over. And, unless dreams counted, he'd made it. ---- ---- --- Paula awoke on the morning of her wedding in what she would have described, if she knew the word, as a swivet. On top of the usual bridal jitters, which had her fumbling with her Pill dispenser and almost tossing a week's worth of security down the toilet, she felt some unfamiliar pangs that she suspected might be guilt. Some of Steve's recent comments had raised the concern that he had been even more serious about The Pact than she had thought. Might, in fact, have honored it to the letter. She wasn't completely sure she felt guilty about her fling with the male stripper, though. That cold, heavy lump in her stomach might instead be worry about marrying a guy who could go all monk on her. Steve was a good-looking man, but, then, so was Richard Gere. When the flutters and pangs continued into the morning, as her bridesmaids assembled, Bobbi Jo reminded Paula of her standing offer of a massage to calm her down. Bobbi Jo, a tall, lanky woman whose burst of red hair made her resemble a fiery dandelion ready to blow away, had taken two courses in massage therapy at the junior college to kill time during the winter months when the beaches thinned out. At Bobbi Jo's direction, Paula took a hot shower, wrapped a towel around herself and stretched out face down on the frilly queen bed in her room. She looked around at the ballerina lamps, with their smooth pink curves; the pile of stuffed animals along the headboard; the packing boxes filled with her autumn shoes. She shivered at the thought of moving into Steve's brown, brown bedroom. Bobbi Jo knocked then. "Are you ready?" Paula told her to come in. As her friend's fingers, wrists and elbows dug into Paula's tight muscles, she did begin to relax, to daydream about married life: replacing those dark curtains with something nice, perhaps a chiffon. A light blue wallpaper to cover up that nasty brown paint. Bobbi Jo folded the towel down to rub Paula's lower back. Lord, that felt good. She felt her tension oozing away like melted butter. "Should I do the front now?" Bobbi Jo's question floated through a haze of pleasure. Paula rolled over, letting the towel slip away. She closed her eyes and let bliss wash over her as Bobbi Jo kneaded her arms and legs. There was a warm, wet feeling on her stomach. "I'm going to use a little oil," Bobbi Jo said, flattening her hands and sweeping them across Paula's skin. "That's nice," Paula said dreamily. "Mmm. That feels soooo good." Bobbi Jo's hands spread the oil over Paula's stomach, along her sides. Up to her firm breasts, swirling around the erect nipples. Paula opened her eyes. Bobbi Jo's face was inches above hers. She stared into her friend's eyes. Bobbi Jo's head lowered. They kissed. Paula was surprised at how good it felt to have another pair of soft lips on her own. Bobbi Jo tasted like a Pep-o-Mint Lifesaver. Tentatively, Paula let her tongue move forward, into Bobbi Jo's mouth. Her friend's tongue met hers. Bobbi Jo's hands closed on Paula's breasts in a gentle massage. Minutes later they were both naked. Bobbi Jo's long legs stretched out above Paula's head, which was buried within the taller girl's snatch. Bobbi Jo returned the favor at the other end. Paula had never even considered the possibility before, but being wrapped in Bobbi Jo's femininity suddenly seemed like the best thing on Earth. She even enjoyed the taste of her friend's pussy as she slithered her tongue deep inside. And she reveled in the joy of Bobbi Jo's probing tongue in her own cunt. They rolled around on the bed, their embrace growing tighter as they both neared climax. In the end they both had fingers rapidly drilling the other's cunt. Paula was overcome by waves of orange-red warmth and a flood of passion that burst through her whole body. At the same time she felt Bobbi Jo rocking through her own orgasm, all staccato twinges and heavy moans. ---- ---- --- "Is she here yet?" Steve buttonholed his best man, who had gone over to the other side of the cathedral to get another box of Kleenex. "No, man," Pete said. "But chill out. You're sweating like a pig. Relax. She'll be here." Steve was frantic. Fifteen minutes to go and Paula still hadn't showed up. "Where could she be? You said everyone else was here half an hour ago!" "So, maybe she asked the limo driver to take the scenic route. Not everybody's as hyper as you, dude. I mean, you're getting married and all, but it's not like there's any mystery what's gonna happen. Jeez, you're antsy as a virgin -- hey, you two aren't still on that chastity kick, are you? Like, she's not making you wait, is she?" "It's very important to her." "Oh, shit, man. No wonder you're so wacked. You must have a major case of blue balls." Pete went to the door of the small room, a baptistry that doubled as dressing area for grooms. Looking up and down the corridor, he came back, unbuttoning his sky blue tux. "Want a jay? Little weed would mellow you out." "No!" Steve spat out his answer. "It's my wedding day! Are you crazy? I can't get married with a buzz on." ---- ---- --- Bobbi Jo had just gotten back into her clothes when the other bridesmaids rushed in, crying that Paula was running late. They bustled about, strapping her into a girdle that pushed up her breasts and squeezed her waist to an inhuman narrowness, replacing her white cotton panties with lacy blue ones -- "And they're my old ones, so that's three of the four right there," Teri said. The "new" were the sheer white stockings that clipped to the garters. On went the gown and its quota of petticoats, the deep neckline showing off her enhanced chest. A pair of blindingly white pumps with three-inch heels and she was set; they would put on the veil at the church. By the time all that was done, Paula was dismayed to realize she was nervous again -- and, if anything, even more guilty. She wouldn't confess that, but when Teri pulled her aside and asked her how she was doing, Paula admitted to a few butterflies. "Take these," Teri said. "Guaranteed to calm you down. My mom swears by them." "How many?" Teri wrinkled her nose. "I think my mom said she takes one or two, depending." "Give me three." By the time the limo showed up, Paula's worries had drifted away. She was so calm that she didn't ruffle a hair when the vows she'd written out came up missing. "You guys look for them," Paula said. "I'll just go on ahead." Her mother told her to wait in the car, but it was such a nice morning and she was feeling so fine, she told the nice man in the funny little cap to take her to the church. The limo was very cute, Paula thought, with twinkly little lights running along the sides and leather seats and just about everything you could want -- TV, stereo, even a little bar with glasses and two baby bottles of champagne chilling in ice. It was, Paula decided, too nice not to be used. Feeling a little naughty because it was before noon, she wrestled open one of the champagne bottles and poured herself a glass. Then she sat back, gown billowing out around her, and took a sip. This, she decided, would be a very good day. A few minutes and another glass of champagne later, Paula wasn't so sure. What started as a slightly queasy feeling rapidly advanced to outright nausea. She wildly glanced around the back of the limo for a place to hurl; not a plastic bag in sight. She considered, then rejected the ice bucket; she couldn't bring herself to let the other bottle of champagne go warm. Desperately she lunged across the length of the passenger compartment and pounded on the glass divider until the driver rolled it down. He pulled to the curb and she stepped out, taking advantage of a corner trash bin, being careful to lean far forward and keep her gown clean. The driver provided a hankie to wipe her mouth and a bottle of supermarket water to rinse her mouth. She felt better, but the memory of that long lunge to the window made her ask if she could ride up front. The driver was hesitant -- company policy, he said -- but Paula batted her eyes and he gave in, saying she reminded him of his own daughter. He was a nice man, Paula decided, with just a touch of grey frosting his sideburns and flecking his neatly trimmed beard. And so polite; he held the door for her and helped scoop up her bulky dress as she slid inside. But it was no use. Her petticoats were so full that her dress puffed out around her like a souffle, spilling over onto the driver's side and getting all tangled in the steering wheel. Still, the nice man said he could manage. But that was silly, Paula thought. She reached under her dress and tugged the petticoats down, forming a silky cloud at her feet. As the folds of her dress settled down, she gathered up the filmy undergarments and tossed them into the back. "All better now," she said, and she really did feel better. Much cooler, too. Paula looked down and realized her dress had fallen back around her waist when she'd removed the petticoats. Her legs were exposed clear past the tops of the white stockings to the smooth, tanned flesh of her thighs. And that nice driver was staring at them, she saw. With unpaternal interest. Vaguely, Paula thought she should be upset by that. On the other hand, he was a nice man. Good-looking, too. Almost like Steve. In fact, subtract a few years from the driver, shave off that beard -- though that would be a shame, it was a very distinguished beard and Steve looked quite handsome in it. Oh. Paula blinked. That wasn't Steve; that was the driver. The distinction seemed rather hazy. All the more so when the man put his hand on her knee. To calm her, surely. Though she felt remarkably calm already. So calm, in fact, that she didn't mind a bit when his hand slid up her leg. Or when it dove under her blue panties. Or when -- Oh! The finger inside her felt very, very good. And though the man's beard was ticklish, he was quite an accomplished kisser. Which aroused Paula's curiosity, among other things, about his other accomplishments. There was some difficulty with the garter snaps, which Paula solved simply by ripping off her panties. She scooted around on the leather bench seat and pulled her voluminous dress up, spreading her legs. The driver hastily undid his trousers and pulled out an unremarkable cock. Unremarkable, but quite serviceable, as Paula noticed when it was well up inside her. The driver proved to be a talented lover, in fact, and quite a hardy one. His dick filled Paula tightly, causing her to remember abruptly that the man fucking her was not her affianced Steve. But the feeling was much too pleasurable to stop. Once, twice Paula came, and yet the driver continued to drill her. It was exhilarating, but perhaps too much of a good thing. She began to worry about mussing her hair and staining her dress. The driver accepted her offer to finish him off orally. Although it took some time and her jaw ached by the end, Paula happily noted that she'd brought him to orgasm without spilling a drop. She was also feeling much less light-headed and felt it safe to return to the rear compartment and wriggle back into her petticoats. ---- ---- --- Assured that Paula had arrived at last, Steve marched out to his assigned spot. They were already ten minutes late and the minister shot him dark looks that suggested it was all Steve's fault. The glances fell on him like light drizzle, though. He had bigger problems. And growing bigger. Just thinking about Paula and the night ahead had produced a mild boner that made a noticeable bulge in his trousers. He'd had to fall back on his teenage trick, when aroused in unsuitable surroundings, of thinking about unfortunate accidents befalling his prick -- getting caught in a door, for example. But as he stood at the front of the vast cathedral packed with their friends and relatives, Steve continued to worry. He was so horny by then that even the pictures of female saints in the stained-glass windows made his dick stir. He tried to think of other things, but it wasn't working. Frantically, he wracked his brain for ideas. He knew there was something you did when you were embarrassed in front of an audience, but what? What? A thought flashed into his mind; he tackled it eagerly. Only too late did he remember that it wasn't a cure for horniness; it was a solution for public speaking. By then he'd already firmly planted in his brain the picture of the whole church, including several voluptuous cousins, sitting in their underwear. And, heaven help him, Paula's mother wasn't wearing a bra. He could feel his cock jabbing into his zipper. Desperately he thought of it caught in a door, but still it grew larger. He pictured two cars crashing into each other, his dick in between. It thickened and the cars bounced off. An axe slicing down. His cock grew rigid and dulled the blade. There was no way out. Steve had to turn away from the pews and dig a hand into his pants to adjust himself. As he did, he heard a harrumph and looked up into the minister's icy glare. Steve yanked his hand out and turned back. But his cock had slipped through the fly of his briefs and rode, stiff and straight up, along his zipper. The metal bit into his tender flesh. He squirmed left and right, trying to swing it away, as the music started and a parade of attendants trooped into the church. At least no one's looking at me, Steve thought, and he reached down and pulled his dick to the side. He sighed in relief. But all that wriggling had left him in a precarious position. His cock was fully engorged and sliding around inside his pants. As the organist banged out a final chord of the processional and waited for Paula to appear in the aisle, the inevitable happened. As the first notes of "Here Comes the Bride" surged, there came the groom, too. ---- ---- --- Paula had managed to get her clothes readjusted by the time the limo got to the church. As her bridesmaids rushed her into the dressing room, asking why she was so late but thankfully not giving her time to answer, though, she realized her breath had a certain ... flavor to it, that Steve might not appreciate. There was nothing she could do; they hastily pinned her veil in place and hustled her to the center aisle. As she marched toward her fate, Paula also noticed a slight ... squishiness. She hesitated a bit, but when she looked at Steve she was glad to see he wasn't watching. Then it occurred to her that he darn well should have been watching. What could possibly occupy his attention more than his bride-to-be? By the time she got to the altar, Paula had forgotten about her little incident in the limo and worked up a high dudgeon toward Steve, who was moving very awkwardly, as if he were uncomfortable just being next to her. As a consequence, there was a coolness in her attitude that translated their nuptial kiss into the merest peck. And Paula sat as far from Steve as possible on the limo ride to the reception. The leer from the driver did remind Paula of her indiscretion, taking the chill off her attitude. Steve apparently mistook that for complete forgiveness, lunging for her when they were alone for a moment outside the reception hall. It wasn't so much the crudeness of his approach that appalled her as it was that she realized she didn't want his hand near her cunt until she'd had a chance to clean up a bit. Then she remembered even that wouldn't help; her torn panties lay discarded in a gutter somewhere along the road to the church. She felt guilty, so she seized an opportunity during the reception to lure him back into a restroom and drop to her knees for a quick blowjob. But Steve pushed her away from his crotch! Paula was furious. There she was, on her knees in her wedding white, rejected by her new husband. "Just let me get out of these pants," he said, but she stomped off in a huff. The rest of the reception dragged on. Paula avoided contact with Steve, standing at the far end of each table as they worked the room. The hardest part was when everyone would clink spoons for a kiss; she became quite practiced at turning her head just before contact. She also carried a champagne glass at all times, so she could take a sip whenever Steve seemed to be looming up for a kiss on his own. Which he did an awful lot. Steve hinted several times that it was time for them to go, and even Paula's mom made a couple of pointed comments. But she was enjoying the party, so they stuck around long after most people, even the rest of the bridal party, had gone. Finally she could delay no longer; they were closing the hall. Paula's mom went to settle the bill while Paula went to change. "I'll send your cousin for the dress," Mom said. Paula had expected to draft a bridesmaid to help, but they had all disappeared. Sending Steve off to hold the limo, she slipped into the dressing room herself. She got the dress off all right, but the girdle was a pain. She unsnapped the garters and was struggling with the hooks and eyes on the back when there was a knock on the door behind her. "Come on in," Paula said. "Can you help me with this?" Fingers fumbled at the girdle, to no avail. "Oh," Paula said, "let me try again." She got the fasteners undone, peeled the girdle off and turned around. It was very confusing. She had expected her cousin, Julia. But there was Steve, who was supposed to be at the limo. "Wow," Steve said. And Paula squinted through seven glasses of champagne. That wasn't Steve. Steve was taller. And he didn't have blonde hair. Paula's jaw fell open. So did that of the male in front of her. "You're not my cousin Julia," she managed to get out. "I'm your cousin Billy," the man -- well, boy -- said, his voice cracking. "Your mama sent me for the dress." Paula stood before the boy stark naked except for the white stockings on her legs and the veil still fluttering from her hair. It could have ended there, with Paula shooing the boy away and putting on her other clothes. It should have ended there, she thought, even as she walked toward him. But Billy looked so cute, all blushing and embarrassed. And the front of his trousers tented out so nicely. And Paula was just a wee bit drunk. Young Billy just stood there as Paula undressed him. His chest was hairless and so smooth she just had to run her fingers over it. And his cock! Not very big, of course, but she was used to that. And it was so darling, hanging in midair full of hope and promise. Paula took it in her hands. "Whoa, cousin Paula," Billy said, whistling through his teeth. "What are you doing?" Paula only smiled and squeezed. "Oh, shit, that's incredible!" Paula had forgotten how much fun it was to be someone's first. She jerked him off, slowly, trying to take her time, but with the impetuousness of youth Billy soon was fucking her hand madly and shouting that he was "gonna come, gonna come!" She barely had time to take him into her mouth before he blasted a hot, salty wad down her throat. Paula licked his cock clean as it withered, reflecting idly that she was getting used to the taste. "That was great," Billy said, awe in his voice, as Paula got back to her feet. "Hey, can I -- uh, can I --" Paula giggled and offered up her tits. Billy's hands shot out like grappling hooks. "Not so rough," she said, putting her hands over his. "Gentle, like this." She showed him how to caress a woman, drawing his hands across her full breasts, teaching him to manipulate the sensitive nipples. She drew his head down and put his mouth to her, sucking in her breath as he sucked in her tit. By the time she pulled him away from her chest and kissed him, forcing his lips apart with her tongue until he got the idea, Billy was sporting a renewed hard-on that rubbed along Paula's thigh, leaving a sticky trail. She led him over to a straight-backed chair and sat him down. Billy looked up at her, and so did the leering eye of his erect cock. When she straddled him, his eyes almost popped out. "Are you gonna -- are we gonna --" Billy stammered for words. "Oh, god. Fuck!" That's exactly what they did. Paula lowered herself carefully, holding her cousin's dick steady as it slid into her pussy. Billy rambled on semi-coherently about his sensations, but Paula wasn't paying much attention. She was feeling too good herself. Billy raised no objections as she controlled their movements. Lifting off his cock a time or two was all the discipline she needed to restrain his more boisterous efforts. She kept things nice and easy, sliding up and down the boy's hard cock, putting his face back to her chest so he could suckle. He felt so good inside her that Paula lost track of time. It was only when her mom came knocking that Paula awoke to her predicament. Billy was ready to scramble to his feet, but Paula sat on him firmly, burying his dick inside, while she called to her mom to wait for her outside. "And have you seen your cousin Billy? He was supposed to get your dress." "Already come and gone," Paula said, and she couldn't help smiling at her own joke. "He's probably out looking for you." Paula waited until the sound of her mom's muttering faded away, then resumed her assault on her young cousin's body with a fervor. In only a few minutes she was rewarded with his grunts of pleasure and a familiar heat filling her own body. She took a few final strokes, twisting to take him as far into her cunt as possible, riding out waves of delight. Reluctantly she got off him, piled up her wedding clothes and sent him off with one last kiss. Paula got dressed herself and came out a couple minutes later to find Steve very impatient. He even tried to come on to her in the limo on the way to the hotel, but she wouldn't. "Not with the driver there," she whispered. Once they got to their room, Paula commandeered the bathroom, fending off another advance from Steve. She douched, took three hits of mouthwash, and showered, scrubbing thoroughly. She was yawning as she slipped on a black satin nightgown with peekaboo holes over the nipples. When she finally emerged, Steve was bouncing from one leg to the other, and he rushed past her into the bathroom. Paula pulled back the sheets and crawled into bed. ---- ---- --- Steve had to push his hard cock down with both hands to point it toward the bowl. He sighed with relief as he emptied himself. His dick sprang back as he stripped off his clothes. He was careful to hide his cum-stained briefs. It had been a close call when Paula had gone for his crotch earlier; no need to risk her finding the evidence of his little church accident now. Clicking off the light, he crept through the dark room to the big bed and slipped in beside his new wife. At last! Steve turned to her. It was too dark to see, but he could hear her regular breathing. He stretched out a hand and brushed against silk. His cock stiffened to the limit. He shimmied closer, pressing his naked body against Paula. It had been such a long time, but at last he saw her reasoning. He wanted her now more than he'd ever wanted anything. It really was like the first time. "Honey," he whispered into the blackness, "I love you!" "Sknnxx," Paula answered. "Honey?" Steve prodded her gently on her shoulder. She snored again. He sighed, rolled back over to his side of the bed and reached for his handheld on the nightstand. The little screen glowed when he thumbed the button. Nine months, eight days, five hours, eleven minutes. And counting.