She smiles at herself in the mirror. “Now this is a wedding dress.”
And I agree. So different than the one she used to wipe my come off her face.
“But oh,” she says, turning to look at her ass in the mirror. “Panty lines.”
And then, before I even realize what she’s doing, she reaches inside the side slits along each thigh and pulls her panties down, kicking them off to the side.
“This is why I never wear underwear,” she explains. “I need to see if it looks OK without them. Because with them—”
“You are not walking down the aisle with no panties on.”
“Oh, yes, I am. This is a no-panties dress and you picked it out. So you have to live with it.”
My cock agrees with her. Because I’m fully fucking hard now.
She glances down at it, then lifts her eyes to mine, and says, “I hope you’re not thinking—”
“I’m not,” I say.
“—because if you wanted to do dirty stuff in here, we could get caught—”
“Don’t worry,” I say.
“—and Margaret would be so disappointed in us if she caught the best man fucking his best friend’s fiancée.”
“What?” I say, doing a double-take.
“That’s what I told her. It’s kinda hot, isn’t it?”
“No,” I say. “It’s kinda sad, actually.”
“Well, it was a lie, anyway. So that just makes it hot.“
She mouths the words Wild Thing at me, then reaches down to grab my cock.
I push her away, but she backs me into the mirror with a bang.
“Everything OK in there?” Margaret calls from the other side of the door.
“Just fine,” I yell back, glaring at Lyssa.
“Come on,” she whispers. “Wild thing, hold me tight.” And then she giggles.
“That’s not even how the song goes—”
But I stop. Because the next thing I know, she’s on her knees in front of me, the button popped on my jeans, the zipper down, and my cock is in her hands.
“Lyssa,” I groan.
“Tell me no,” she says, then sticks the head of my cock in her mouth, pressing her tongue up against my shaft, before I even have a chance.
“Would you like another dress?” Margaret calls.
Lyssa eases her mouth off my cock with a loud smacking sound and looks up at me. “What do you think, Mason? Do we need to try on another one?”
“No,” I call back to Margaret. “We’ll let you know if we need anything else.”
“I could wrap it up for you,” Margaret offers, just as Lyssa puts my cock back in her mouth and takes me deep into her throat.
“Uh… we’re not quite…. oh, God… done yet,” I say.
“OK, I’m right out here if you need anything.”
“Great,” I groan. Because Lyssa is giving me a full-on head-bobbing messy blow-job. And against my better judgment, my fingers are now tangled in her hair, urging her on.
She pulls off me, both her hands on my thighs, pushing me back, and then she stands again.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Making you choose.”
She backs up against the mirror and whispers, “You know why you chose the dress with two slits?”
I already know where this is going.
“Because I can do this.” She pulls the center portion of material aside and flashes her bare pussy at me. “And you,” she says, grabbing my shirt and pulling me towards her so my cock bumps into her leg, “can put that inside me and I don’t even have to take my clothes off.”
“I’m not gonna fuck you,” I whisper back.
Why not? she silently mouths and simultaneously pouts.
“Because you’re not mine, Lyssa.”
She sighs. Frowning. Giving up. Because she leans back against the wall and wilts. “I want to be yours.”
“You can’t be,” I say.
“Because you’re engaged. And I’m just… I’m just your fucking babysitter.”
She slides her hand between her legs, then withdraws it and places the tip of her glistening wet finger against my lips.
I close my eyes and open my mouth, my cock totally in charge now. I suck on her finger the way she was just sucking on my cock.
“Please,” she whispers. So low, I almost don’t hear her. “I promise to be good in every other way if you just… make me feel loved right now.”
I pull her finger out of my mouth and say, “Lyssa,” feeling sad for her.
“We can pretend,” she says. “Right?” She places both her hands on my cheeks and leans in. Kisses me.
I kiss her back.
I know I shouldn’t. I feel the guilt of a best man fucking his best friend’s fiancée, and I don’t even care.
If her name is Lyssa Baylor then I want to fuck my best friend’s fiancée.
“Everybody pretends,” she whispers past my lips. “It’s all fake, Mason. So who cares, anyway?”
She pulls her dress aside again, reaching for my cock. And when she tugs on it, I do the unthinkable. I take two steps forward and we’re not even two steps apart. So now my chest is pressing up against her breasts, forcing her against the wall. She lifts up her leg and I brush the middle section of satin dress over the side of her thigh to get it out of the way.
And after that, it takes no effort at all to slip my cock inside her.
The one thing I told myself I wouldn’t do.
I would eat her out, and let her blow me. And kiss her, and suck her nipples, and smack her ass, and all that other stuff. And it would be OK if I just didn’t fuck her.
And now I’m fucking her.
In her wedding dress.
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