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Subject: {ASSM} 9 Months, 8 Days, 5 Hours, 11 Minutes (MF, FF, mF)
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<1st attachment, "ann01.txt" begin>

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.

THE END (for now)

For more stories by theGreatxIam, go to
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/theGreatxIam/www
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