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HomeReluctance Stories The Gavin McClain Stories 3: Erica's Big Day - Chapter 1: Pre-Wedding Nerves
The Gavin McClain Stories 3: Erica's Big Day - Chapter 1: Pre-Wedding Nerves

The Gavin McClain Stories 3: Erica's Big Day - Chapter 1: Pre-Wedding Nerves

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It's the morning of Erica's dream wedding. What could possibly go wrong?

The wedding of society girl Erica Greendale to Stephen Laughton is fast approaching. In the story's prologue, however, one-time almost-lover Gavin McClain and envious Maid of Honour Helen have been plotting an evil wedding-day surpise.

You are invited to celebrate the marriage of


Erica Louise Greendale




Stephen Edward Laughton


On Saturday 20th July 2013


At St Xavier’s Church, Islington


And afterwards at Langham London Hotel





Erica Greendale woke early on the day of her wedding. She should have opened her eyes to a feeling of simple ecstasy, but her head was muddled by strange half-remembered dreams and one glass too many of Rioja the night before. Or two. Well at least she hadn’t tried any more pharmaceutical experiments like on that other night. The crazy one. What kind of madness had that been?

Helen was responsible for it all, most recently having cajoled her into the pre-wedding girls’ night just past. Not that Erica had needed much persuading. Her chief bridesmaid had become quite the goddess of indulgence recently and, to be fair, Erica hadn’t been putting up much of a fight. She padded in slippers to the kitchen and washed down two Advil with a glass of water, before returning to bed.

For two more hours she slumbered fitfully, awakening hot and perturbed with a speeding heart rate and moistness between her thighs. However hard she tried, she could not recall Stephen having featured in her dreams. Should not the thoughts of a bride-to-be—even the subconscious ones—focus on her groom the night before she married? And who were those cloudy figures fading from her newly-woken mind?

It troubled her …

She threw off the stifling covers and breathed deeply, staring at her bedroom ceiling—following the stucco-ripple patterns with her eyes, as she had always done in childhood to calm herself after a nightmare. This had been her first bedroom, where once she played with Wedding Day Barbie and stuck up the bridal pictures she had crayoned or sketched in school. And now reinstalled herself there for a single night before her transformation—into the image she had idealised since her earliest years. She succeeded in calming herself—her breathing returning to normal and her heart-rate slowing—as she bathed in this comforting truth.

“This time I’m the bride.” The residue of her night terrors drained away as she spoke the words to herself. “Stephen Laughton’s bride.” She retested that now well-worn phrase: “Mrs Erica Laughton”, then tried out the more old-fashioned “Mrs Stephen Laughton.” What a rapturous thought, to have found, at twenty-six, a man worthy of all her matrimonial dreams. It made her toes curl and her stomach fizz. She experienced a whole-body thrill of girlish excitement. This was her day. Headache quite dispelled, she got up, wrapped her dressing gown around her and headed for the kitchen.

“I was just about to come and wake you.” Her mother was already busy at the stove, dressed in casual blouse and slacks and busy with the traditional Greendale family breakfast. “Sit down, dear, I’ve got a plate all set out.”

“I only want a coffee, thanks.”

“You need to eat something,” her mum insisted. “And if I can’t spoil you today, when will I get the chance again?” So Erica sat down at the breakfast bar and gave herself up to maternal attention.

She observed her mother as the bacon and eggs were dished out. Strands of grey were apparent in Jane Greendale’s hair, but it still retained the luxuriant chestnut she had bequeathed to her daughter. Those dark eyes, creamy skin and elegant curves were part of that same legacy. There was the merest creep in her mother’s appearance towards the matronly, Erica noticed as she sipped her orange juice, and she wondered if she could avoid a similar fate in later years. Keep her full figure toned for Stephen and still be able to fit back into her gorgeous wedding dress …

“Well I think I’ve got the places worked out for the reception, at last.” Erica’s dad was displaying the low-key irritability he saved for special occasions, as he strode into the kitchen pocketing his mobile phone. “Why you and Stephen had to let the guest list run this long I’ll never know. I’m only a constituency MP, it’s not like I’ve made Cabinet, yet. I’m sure you could have trimmed …”

“Keith, it’s hardly the time to bring that up,” her mum said, turning from the sink in exasperation.

“Distant relatives, friends you haven’t seen in years, I mean … this … this … Gavin McClain chap. And partner. Remind me what he’s doing here?”

Erica looked up from her plate, trying to mask her unease. “I was his PA, remember?”

“For all of—what—two months?”

Damn. Her dad simply couldn’t let things go. “He was very good to me when Stephen and I weren’t … when Stephen had gone to …”

Mum interjected swiftly. “Keith, it’s your daughter’s wedding day. Are you trying to be insensitive? Leave her be.”

He left the room, muttering apologies and claiming stress.

Ironically it was her mother who picked up the subject. “I must admit I was surprised to see you’d invited that McClain fellow. Didn’t you and he step out for a while?”

“Well … in a manner of speaking,” Erica said, trying to dismiss the subject. “But we were really just friends. He was a good boss. I’m glad he agreed to come.”

Erica’s one-time employer had been so very supportive when Stephen went to the States. People got Gavin all wrong, she considered. Aloof, alpha-male, the ultimate player—such was his reputation. But how consoling he’d been when she broke down in tears on her second day of working for him. Passing her his handkerchief and letting her cry it all out, insisting that he take her out to lunch.

She found herself confiding in, then laughing with him, going out on dates during which he took things so exquisitely slowly—kissed her and held her in arms which could have crushed her had he not been so gentle. She’d been beguiled by that great strong man and the tact with which he let her know he wanted her.

God, she’d said yes. She’d been on her way to his apartment in freshly bought lingerie to give herself up to him. Not that she really believed she could have changed him, be the one to tame the untamable. But at the very least he would have been a distraction from her loss of Stephen.

One hell of a distraction. God, had he been mixed into her dreams last night?

The whole Gavin-memory swelled up from nowhere; she’d sublimated it completely, even when Helen convinced her to invite her ex-boss to the wedding. It would be an appropriate thank-you, the chief bridesmaid had insisted. Think how understanding he was, she said, when Stephen literally flew back into Erica’s life, having scaled down his work in America so he could restore their relationship.

The romantic overtures of one man usurped by another … Gavin hadn’t said a single unkind word when she broke the news. He’d been the consummate professional, moving her within the firm on the same salary lest she feel uncomfortable with him. And he was going to be there today, possibly with a special someone else. Oh God, in another life …

She pushed away the thought along with her plate. “Thanks mum, but I really can’t eat another bite. I need to shower. The girls will be here soon.” And she fled both the kitchen and the pestering thought. By the time she reached the bathroom she had shaken the latter.

It was Stephen who had all her affection now—her sweet, high-flying entrepreneur, who had flown in from the USA like he had carried those two dozen roses all the way, so that he could propose. “So I can right the mistake of my life, Erica—leaving you.” She looked in the mirror, brushed her bed-hair away from her face and checked the bags under her eyes—tell-tale of her disturbed sleep. Yes—even after a rough night she was strikingly pretty. She had always been secretly proud of the huge brown eyes, heart-shaped face and full mouth. Further thanks to her mother for all of those.

Coquettishly biting her lip, she eased off her terry-cloth robe and slid the straps of her silk nightie from her shoulders, letting it shimmy all the way down her body leaving her naked. Proudly she looked upon what she would be offering up to Stephen. Her heart and soul in the church that afternoon and her body that evening. Her pilates toned body. The honey glow of her skin. Her full, high breasts, each topped with a large and sweet russet nipple. All for him—for Stephen’s eyes only to roam over as freely as they liked.

What a cruel yet wonderful idea to withhold herself from him after the proposal night.

That precious evening—Erica primed for Gavin—had been transformed from lust to romance by Stephen’s miraculous reappearance.

“I’ve missed you so, so much,” he groaned as their bodies united on his bed. “I’ll never leave you again, sweetheart, I promise.” He shafted inside her, strong but restrained, and they achieved their rapture together—or as close as made no difference. It was tender, loving and beautiful. But she chose to make him wait till his wedding night for further enjoyment of her soft flesh.

Tonight he could have her anew. Like a virgin … She considered the song lyric and giggled at what a terrible tease she was. I’ll be a beautiful, pure, sexy bride all wrapped up for my beloved. At the day’s end he’ll sweep me away from all those watching eyes and make me his completely. Plunder my chaste treasure all over.

Shower water tumbled onto her. She imagined herself bathing under a Belize waterfall on honeymoon with Stephen watching—as she wrung out the tresses of her hair, palmed her luscious breasts in slow circles, smoothed her hands over her gracefully athletic thighs and taut round ass.

She was acting it out as she washed, her soaped-up hands loving the curves of her own ripe young body. She slithered her way down over her trim stomach and further on over the mound she had had waxed a day before, letting the tip of her middle finger tease her clitoris. Not too much or she’d never be able to stop—and she had done so well in restraining herself these past weeks. It was only fair that she should save up her pleasure since she had asked the same of Stephen.

Her finger lingered on her bud and she gasped at the thought of her groom’s hands upon her, shaping themselves to the curve of her buttocks, his erect cock gliding against her tummy—her suave gentleman getting all hot and ungentlemanly as she teased him with her own roaming fingers. It was only fleetingly that the image changed to someone broader, taller; someone she had made out with eight months prior in the front of his car, a man with a great masculine frame and a cock that couldn’t help but bulge against the inside leg of his trousers when there was any physical contact between them …

Erica broke away from her self-pleasuring with a gasp the instant the image of Gavin formed in her mind. She breathed deeply letting it dissolve and then resumed her clitoral attentions, willing Stephen back like she was trying to conjure up his wet naked form against her. She held him there in her mind pure and precious. But then the image changed again and she was swaying, undulating between two male bodies; one of them Gavin perhaps, the other Stephen, or were these two different men altogether? She felt wanton and slutty, someone other than herself—a girl unhinged with sex, not a bride on the morning of her wedding. Someone capable of losing herself to a pair of strangers …

She broke off her teasing, gasping this time, cheeks burning in recognition of the two phantoms who had pressed in on her. They had been the pair of figures in her dreams for sure. Why the hell was she still clinging to that tawdry fantasy?

She hurried from the shower, but the thought persisted as she towelled and moisturised herself, massaging lavender oil into her skin. It was all Helen’s fault, persuading her to go to that infernal club.

“You need to live some,” her friend had advised.

“But I’m marrying Stephen now, I can’t go out misbehaving.”

“You can, and you need to. What, you seriously think he didn’t misbehave all those months he was in the States? An attractive successful man making a name for himself in Los Angeles—you can be sure he got plenty of attention and you don’t actually think he ignored it, do you? Yes—he came back for you and that’s beautiful, but you can be sure as hell he had his final fling while he was out there.”

Helen apologised afterwards if the sentiments had been unnecessarily harsh, but her point hit home. Erica and Stephen’s relationship had been officially over at the time; she didn’t know what he’d got up to in LA and she would certainly never ask. Didn’t she deserve then to have a little pre-matrimonial fun? Nothing horrible, just a few girly nights-out with some innocent flirtation thrown in.

Erica accompanied her friend to Eloise Mayhew’s 30th birthday bash—Eloise, the tartiest receptionist working at Rainbow Software—for some pre-nuptial letting down of the hair. The evening was as oestrogen-crazed as the bride-to-be might have expected, although with Helen beside her she threw herself into the low-grade frivolity with enthusiasm. It all took place in a private room at the Harlequin Club with exotic cocktails and a pair of male strippers. This is so naughty, she said to herself with a thrill, as the two guys paraded their buffed selves before their baying all-female audience. There was something bizarrely tempting about this raucous female abandonment. It was so un-Erica.

She squealed, laughed and clapped along in astonishment as various members of the party received lap-dances by their entertainment for the evening, or ground into them on the dance floor, reaching down brazenly to grope a bulging thong. Even worse was birthday girl Eloise tugging both guys off to a corner—the young blonde surfer-type and the shaven-headed one who looked like an Olympic swimmer. As they peeled away their thongs, Eloise reached out her tongue to lick the tips of both their cocks—cocks which at that angle Erica had to crane her neck to …

“Come on, I think you’ve seen enough, Mrs Laughton.” Helen pulled on Erica’s arm and fixed her with a sisterly stare.

Erica was ashamed afterwards that she had shown hesitation before coming to her senses and leaving with her friend.

“I don’t see how she can do that! How she can …”

“Suck off two hot guys in public?” Helen finished for her. “That’s Eloise. No shame, she won’t even give a damn on Monday morning. Although to be fair you couldn’t watch enough, could you? You were properly fixated.”

“I wasn’t … I didn’t …” Erica’s protest fizzled. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“So which one of the dancers did you fancy the most?”

“I …” Erica was abashed to admit it, but there was a kind of liberation in doing so. “Well they were both pretty hot, weren’t they?” In a rough and ready kind of way …

“And you enjoyed watching, didn’t you?” Helen taunted. “Go on. Tell me, Erica. This is me you’re talking to. I know it’s not all sugar plum fairies in that head of yours.”

“It was … I …”

While ‘enjoy’ was not the word Erica would have chosen, the vision of Eloise between those two hot bodies, preparing to gorge on both their hard cocks, had lingered long in her mind. The thought of acting like Eloise had done, letting go of all one’s scruples and inhibitions, the antithesis of Wedding Day Barbie … Helen’s campaign to provide her with juicy memories had scored a success that night.

Now the strippers were haunting her dreams and making impromptu appearances in the shower with her. Because it hadn’t been the last time she saw then, had it? Robbie and Zach—God, she even remembered their names. Erica stifled a laugh as it flashed back to her. The boys had graced her hen night as well. One of her hen nights.

Helen’s plans had been so markedly different from those of her other friends, the ones she retained from school, that two bachelorette evenings were required. There had been the sedate one and the secret, the latter taking place in a hotel suite with select guests from work. It had been full of drunken frivolity and more than one surprise.

“Oops – I probably shouldn’t show you these,” Helen said, of the floral pill-box that had spilled out of her purse when she fumbled for a lipstick at the restroom sink.

“Show me what?” A couple of drinks down the line, Erica’s interest could not help but be engaged.

“Sweet Molly Malone,” Helen said cryptically, flipping open the box to reveal a couple of smiley-faced tablets. “Makes you feel ‘alive, alive-o’.”

Erica’s vital signs all increased at the prospect of something this illicit. “It’s…”

“Eloise’s party-pal of choice. Remember what a good time she was having at her 30th?”

“Oh God, I do. I don’t want to have that good a time.”

Helen laughed. “It doesn’t transform you into a raging nympho. Not if you don’t want to be in the first place.” They both grinned at the memory of Eloise’s flagrant misbehaviour. “It just helps you feel your kind of good.”

Erica’s fingers actually twitched as she eyed the pills. “But… I’ve so much to do for the wedding tomorrow...”

“Which is why we started extra-early. And why I’ll steer you away from a second bottle of red. Our friend Molly will liven up your evening, but shouldn’t do much else. Did you ever see Eloise look any the worse for wear on a morning after?”

In truth Erica couldn’t recall, but popping an unknown pill seemed a risk too far.

Helen saw it in her face. “My bad. As Maid of Honour it’s my job to make sure you stay a good little bride. Don’t want you having too much fun on your final few nights as a single. Another time perhaps.” And she made to tuck the box back into her purse.

“Wait…” Her friend’s words had rankled, as she was sure had been Helen’s intention. “I can be a ‘good little bride’ starting a week from Saturday. Let me try one.”

“Seriously, Erica, if it’s something you don’t want…”

“I do.”

“I thought you were saving those words for Stephen…”

“Hey, I am! Mostly…”

They shared a rebellious smirk. The sense of naughtiness (What would mum and dad say, let along Stephen?) was still making her heart pound as the smiley pill dissolved all over her tongue.

She looked at herself in the mirror moments later and glanced at Helen. “So… what happens now?”   

The ‘what’ that happened was subtle to begin with – an ebbing away of whatever wedding-prep concerns had been niggling Erica’s consciousness, along with any second thoughts over having popped the pill itself. Life was good and she was happy to be among such wonderful friends, even Eloise Mayhew, who she most surely had misunderstood up to that point. Happiness was massaging her mind and then her whole body. The sense of well-being swelled ever more, each moment of social contact one to be cherished, each ribald comment one of unparalleled hilarity. And then her boys showed up… Oh my!

Not that Erica recalled the occasion clearly beyond the point where Robbie and Zach had arrived. A strapping pair of exotic dancers hired to perform for the bride … They were so attentive and funny, with those irresistibly cheeky grins. She noticed Eloise positively salivating at their presence and – despite her new positivity towards her work colleague – felt strangely territorial regarding her two personalised strippers.

“It’s your hen night,” Helen had insisted prior to the event. “Your final chance to cut loose. The stags took Stephen to Spearmint Rhino—you can be sure he got lots of attention from the girls there. Well you deserve your fun too.” Erica was not sure how much fun there had actually been. She had indulged in some pretty outrageous flirtation, that was for sure.

“What sort of a show did they put on?” she asked tentatively that next grimly hung-over morning. She could not recall a thing beyond having a second Raspberry Long Island Iced Tea poured into her mouth by the blond-haired Robbie.

“Well for as much as I can remember myself,” Helen said, “they put on quite a show. The look on your face was priceless. It looked like you were greeting old friends. God, I wish I hadn’t drunk so damn much myself. I was supposed to be looking after you. Oops.”

Erica was disappointed though ultimately relieved she couldn’t remember it—the two strippers had made impression enough on her mind as it stood. Still, she thought with a smirk, at least I’ve got a kind of past now. Something I’d never want Stephen to know about. That sexy secret is stored away just for me.

Her mother’s call alerted her to the fact that the bridal party had all arrived downstairs. “Coming, mum!”

Back in the bedroom she took her time with the process. It struck Erica as especially erotic that she should wear scant bridal lingerie underneath her wedding dress. In church she would look the archetypal blooming bride, the joy of her weeping mother and proud dad. And underneath would await the temptress in skimpy virginal white. Not even her groom would know the delights she was concealing until that evening.

She began naked before her bedroom mirror. A touch narcissistic? No matter. If she could not pride herself on her fleshly beauty today, then when could she? She slid the panties on first, hiding her clean-waxed pussy beneath what was scarcely more than a white silk thong. Now the corseted brassiere to match, embroidered all around with white flowers. She loved how it enhanced her round bosom, pushing everything up into an impressive tight cleavage. The effect so far was remarkable, a treat for any husband.

Add to that the lacy suspender-belt and translucent white stockings. There was a particular thrill in drawing the stockings smoothly up each leg as she perched on her bed, pulling tight the thin straps and attaching them to the belt; it made her feel as much a classy Parisian courtesan as a bride. She checked the look in the mirror, loving how the tiny V of the panties and taut straps accentuated her hips’ naked curve. Outwardly the chaste bride, beneath the alluring minx—ready to satisfy every craving of her new husband.

What did Stephen crave? His love-making was tender and respectful, befitting his ‘princess’. Stephen’s pet name for her was how she had always seen herself, perhaps explaining why any lovers she had ever had treated her so delicately. Even if that was not solely what she wanted …

Cherished like a bride and fucked like a whore. Her school friend Camille had coined the phrase, making Erica blush. When dating Stephen she had recalled it, wondering why he always took her the same way every time. Something closer to the ‘ravishment’ she read about in steamy romance novels would have been nice from time to time. Maybe that was the real reason she had kept him waiting these past months of their engagement—to see if sheer seething frustration would draw from him something different …

“Erica!” Her mother’s voice startled her out of her reverie. Gosh, time was moving on.

“I’m right there!” She let go of all her silly thoughts, wrapped her dressing gown around her and joined the bridal party.

The group swept her up in a whirl of girlish affection. What a joy it was to see them all. Kate, Stephen’s petite blonde younger sister kissing her on the cheek. Camille, gorgeous as ever with her mocha skin and dark eyes, flinging arms about her—Erica’s most natural confidant in this world and, but for the fact she had gone to work in France, the obvious choice for chief bridesmaid.

But then Erica never would have met Helen. Helen, whose demure appearance belied a wicked soul; her prettiness was not as obvious or conventional as Erica’s, but it was fused with vibrancy and sly wit. Helen exuded a sexiness that could make her friend gasp in delighted shock; she brought out that whole other Erica. And the girl had been so forgiving when Erica had—well—kind of stepped in and monopolised Stephen the night she had first met him.

“Helen, I hope you didn’t think I was … I was …” Her apology after the event had been stumbling.

“Not even my type, sweetie. I don’t think it for an instant.”

Erica embraced her warmly that nuptial morning. She embraced them all and then gave a saucy flash of her night-wear on Helen’s insistence.

Camille laughed. “What a lucky guy! Babe, I’m jealous!”

“This bride’s going to get it every which way before the day’s out,” Helen added with conviction.

“Hey, I don’t think I want to hear this …” Kate Laughton was grinning ruefully.

They all joined in the hilarity and Erica glowed to be the centre of attention. Stephen’s mother Myra joined them shortly after, to fuss over her future daughter-in-law. Erica’s mum was popping in and out, trying to fuss less than her husband. They opened a bottle of red wine and passed around a box of chocolates Camille had brought, as the ribaldry of the joking increased. Then Vicky and Roz from the salon arrived and sat Erica down to transform her into something even more spectacular.

“It’s not like you don’t have good material to work with,” Camille pointed out.

“We’re going to make you a princess,” Roz, one of the stylists, said. That word again. Well, wedding days were for princesses, right? It’s my Barbie-day. Erica smiled and gave herself up to the salon girls’ talented hands.

Vicky pulled her hair back into a cascade of loose curls, pinning it and further securing with a floral band. Then Roz plucked her eyebrows to trim perfection and began her tasteful application of make-up. “Let’s bring out those eyes so he can drown in them,” she said, homing in.

A Sex and the City DVD was playing in the background, the closing episode of the final season, the one where Carrie finally landed her man.

“So today you get to marry your Mr Big,” Helen was saying. “Your fairy-tale’s complete.”

“And exactly how big is he?” Camille inquired wickedly.

“That’s for me to know,” Erica replied with mock-primness as her lashes were defined. Plenty big, she thought to herself, a very nice fit. He could do more with it admittedly, put some more power behind it, but she could sort that out starting tonight.

And then it was time to don the dress. Erica’s heart fluttered. She was on her way to her parents’ room to be robed when the knock came at the front door.

“Who can that be?” her mother said, frowning.

“Probably the limo company an hour early and charging for it,” her father responded from the kitchen.

“Keith, stop it, I’ve had enough. This is Erica’s day. It’s her day and nothing’s going to spoil it. Not even you.”

“I’ll get the door.” Helen had intervened, as the other girls accompanied Erica into the bedroom. A moment later the chief bridesmaid put her head around the door. “Erica, it’s for you.”

“For me?” She had no clue as to who might be visiting unannounced on the morning of her wedding. Still wrapped in her terry-robe she went to investigate and was shocked to find her ex-boss, the man she had been dating those few months back, standing tall in the vestibule. He was accompanied by a young woman, presumably his date for that day.

“Gavin?” Her heart fluttered anew and she was rendered strangely breathless. This man she had expected to locate among the congregation later on, not to be confronted with him so dramatically in her parents’ home. His imposing frame was clad in an impeccably-tailored black tuxedo, set off with a pristine white handkerchief and matching carnation. His grey-flecked dark hair was immaculately waxed and the spice of his after-shave wafted over her.

In that moment he looked every inch a bridegroom. The thought struck Erica with force. The fact that he was not alone sparked an unaccountable burst of jealousy. “I wasn’t expecting you,” she said, her voice faltering.

“Sorry to intrude,” he said to the entire assembly, “I know you must all be furiously busy. Only I never did get around to passing on my wedding gift to Erica, pressure of work and all that.” He was holding, Erica finally observed, a large carrier bag. “I’ll leave it with you and see you all at the church.” His winning smile was directed primarily at Erica’s mother, who seemed taken off-guard by the good-looking stranger in her hallway. Camille and Kate had taken note of him too, having returned from the bedroom at the sound of his bass voice.

“You and your friend won’t stay for a coffee, Mr …?”

“McClain, please—call me Gavin. Erica worked for me a short while back. And much as I’d like to stop in your beautiful home, Mrs Greendale, I really don’t want to impose in the middle of all your preparations. Let me drop this off. I must say, Erica …” He turned to her with a look that reminded her of the most poignant moments she had shared with him during their involvement. “… Stephen’s a very lucky man. You look stunning already.”

“Doesn’t she?” the girl at his side concurred warmly. She was slight in comparison to her massive companion, but had an air of self-possession about her. Her dirty-blonde tresses fell like a sheer waterfall down her back and her pale-yellow summer dress showed off a neat figure with breasts markedly large on her slim frame. “I’m sure you’ll look amazing in your bridal gown, I can’t wait to see it.”

Despite Gavin’s overwhelming presence Erica found herself disarmed by the girl’s sweetness. “Thank you,” she all but simpered. “Let me take the gift. It’s … It’s such a lovely thought.”

Mrs Greendale was on the verge of swooping in, but Helen interrupted her. “Erica, why don’t the bridesmaids get changed while you show Gavin and …”

“Clementine.” Gavin’s date smiled prettily.

“… And Clementine around the gift room, and then when you’re done, we’ll help you with your dress. Okay?”

“Ehhh … Yes, yes of course. Why don’t you both come with me?” Erica was taken aback at being asked to play host to her ex-not-quite-boyfriend and his new companion, but did not want to appear rude. Her mother was expressing concerns about time and the appropriacy of Erica’s state of dress, but Helen reassured her, telling her how Gavin had been a good friend to Erica, how nice it was that he had made the effort. And so the bride found herself in the spare bedroom, the one designated for every dinner-set, toaster and candelabra that had been given, with the handsome man she had passed on in favour of Stephen and his date for the day. It all seemed most unorthodox.

“There was really no need,” she said, more than a little flustered as she drew a hefty flat package wrapped in patterned silver paper. “It’s very good of you, Gavin.”

“There was every need,” he told her, as Clementine pored over the china and bed linen on display, cooing at anything she found beautiful. “This is a morning I wouldn’t have missed for the world. You mightn’t believe me, but I’ve been looking forward to today immensely. You’re a special girl, Erica. I want to see you have the wedding day you deserve. Please, open the package.”

Erica prised open the wrapping at one end. Her cheeks burned and she wondered what young Clementine might make of her date’s solicitous attentions to the bride. Maybe the jealousy she had felt in the hallway was being returned, although the young blonde did not show it. “It’s … It’s lovely of you to say that, Gavin,” Erica replied to her ex-boss. “It means so much. This means so much. I wasn’t sure you’d even accept the invitation, but Helen insisted that I … Oh my, what a lovely spice rack.”

“You can be a proper domestic goddess now,” Clementine quipped, and Erica smiled along with her. Yes, she was glad Gavin was with someone, even if the girl did seem a few years younger even than her and not quite suitable for such a robust male.

“There’s something else I have to show you.” Gavin was dipping into the carrier bag again, drawing out a slim electronic tablet. Erica looked on in sudden bemusement as he set it up on top of a sandwich toaster box on the bed. “The other part of your surprise. You’ll find this interesting.” He was opening up a window on the tablet and pressing Play.

“What is it?” She peered at the screen, baffled by what he could possibly have to show her. Some sort of testimonials from the company perhaps?

The images on the screen were of her—a montage of photo-stills and cine-footage, demonstrating her progress from childhood through teen years to adulthood. There she was splashing among the waves on a beach holiday. Now tearing open presents at a family Christmas. High-kicking in a school-play dance routine. Cavorting with student-friends in a Spanish tavern. All set to Cyndi Lauper’s Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.

“Where did you get this?” she asked in wonder.

“Stephen put it together,” Gavin explained casually. “He’s arranged to have it screened at the reception this evening, a loving tribute to his radiant bride. Quite a nice editing job he’s had done, don’t you think? Now keep watching.”

“But …” Erica remained nonplussed, but looked on intently. The single-girl sequence was moving on to her time with Stephen, Cyndi Lauper melting into Seal’s Kiss from a Rose—their special song. Grown-up Erica was posing on Brighton Pier, toying playfully with an ice-cream cone and laughing. She remembered the surprise weekend early in hers and Stephen’s courtship; she even recalled him cajoling her into performing for the camera. There she was again, being fed grapes by the camera-holder on a picnic in the Lake District. And the two of them filmed dancing on a restaurant patio in Greece, from the holiday they had shared with his friends Derek and Michelle. Beautiful memories all, but … “Why have you got this? And why are you showing me? I mean if it’s meant to be a surprise?” She felt genuine consternation now. Why the hell was Gavin pre-empting Stephen’s gift to her?

“I know the guy who did the editing,” Gavin explained in the same relaxed tone. “Good friend of mine. He’s in charge of shooting all today’s footage as well.”

"Right, Scott Anderson,” Erica said. Her confusion was increasing by the second, spiked with a hint of fear. “I heard about him, I recommended him to Stephen.” She looked to Gavin for further explanation.

“Now this next part you really want to watch.” There was an edge of enjoyment to his voice that made her fix on the screen in trepidation. She did not even know why her heart was thumping—like it had when she first awoke that morning. Clementine, she realised, was leaning into the screen beside her to take a good look.

The image changed abruptly. Erica’s extended slow-dance with Stephen on the Greek patio switched to another dance entirely. It was from her hotel-suite hen-night, a part of the evening of which she had absolutely no recollection. She was in the daring, curve-clutching white dress she had worn for that evening, mock bridal-veil thrown back from her face, the traditional bride-to-be Learner plate hung around her neck. And she was sandwiched between Robbie and Zach, the two muscled dancers, both stripped down to a thong.

Robbie was behind her; she was grinding into his crotch, her arm hooked back around his neck, her own neck offered up to his exploring mouth. At the front Zach had his legs astride her, one hand gripping the small of her back, his well-packed thong crushed close to her loins so he could ride the waves she was creating with her pelvic undulations. The Seal track had been replaced by hard-pounding gangsta rap, not overlaid onto the visuals this time, but blasting out in the hotel room as the boys’ own accompaniment of choice. It was eminently clear from the bridal hen’s face that she was revelling in the experience. As Zach pushed aside the L-plate to paw at her bosom, then as he slid the dress-straps away from her shoulders so he could tug down the top and grope her naked tits unimpeded, she made no effort to stop him.

Erica’s hand rose involuntarily to her mouth, her mind seizing with horror. “Oh my god … Oh my god, where did you get this? I don’t even remember …”

“It gets so much better,” Gavin promised, as he loomed behind her, his hand gentle on her back.

The action cut to something horribly worse. The camera was close in, capturing Erica on her knees before one of the strippers, whose thong had been pulled down about his thighs. Her globed breasts were on display as she clutched his buttocks and fellated him lustily. Clementine was homing in closer on the screen, apparently fascinated, gasping to see Erica’s full-lipped mouth sucking busily on the thick shaft. “God, sweetheart, you look so hot,” she was saying in awe.

The camera shot pulled out as shaven-headed Zach clasped Erica’s head and began to draw her smoothly back and forth on his length. He grinned round at the camera, loving his amateur porn-star status. Blurry in the scene’s background was Helen, but she was paying no attention to the main action, draped unconscious as she was over a couch. “This one’s really learning now,” Zach was telling the lens gleefully, “getting trained up for hubby. He’s going to be one lucky bastard …”

“Doesn’t get much better than face-fucking the bride, does it, mate?” Robbie was speaking now from behind the camera.

“Fucking right,” Zach replied with conviction, as he thrust deeper into Erica’s mouth. “I never say no to a bridesmaid, but getting head from the bride’s a special perk. Are you going to give my friend here some of this too, babe?”

Erica watched in advanced mortification as her on-screen self gazed up and nodded, mouth still stuffed with cock, eyes wide and eager. Both of wedding-day Erica’s hands were now clasped to her face; she could feel the burn of the emotion which suffused it. Her eyes were welling with tears. Still she remembered nothing and could not believe what she was witnessing. It was as though her most secret fantasies had been ripped from the depths of her mind and projected onto the screen, each image more dreadful that the last. Another edit landed her between the strippers, masturbating both their sizeable erections, alternating her mouth greedily between the two big-bulged ends. The camera was steady, Robbie having apparently positioned it so that the lens could take in everything.

“Come on, that’s it girl, take it deep,” blonde-haired, muscled Robbie was encouraging, his work-partner pressing Erica’s head further down onto his shaft. “That’s it, suck my fucking cock.”

She returned to Zach of her own volition, desirous to share her hen-night favours equally between the two arrogant young studs. Then she sucked and wanked him hard, until he grabbed her hair and thrust his dick deep into her mouth, crying out climactically. Her cheeks bulged and she choked in surprise, cum spurting out over her chin and splattering onto her tits.

The vision was horrendous—some terrible violation of her beautiful day that Erica could not comprehend. She could not quite accept it was real. “This didn’t happen. You’ve made it up.”

“I’m sorry?” There was amusement in Gavin’s voice.

“It’s a computer trick. It’s some sort of high-tech morphed … animation thing! You can do that stuff, it’s part of what the company does, right?”

“Oh I don’t think there’s a technology known to man that can reproduce that level of female abandon,” he said. “I’m sure if you think hard enough, Erica, the memory’s still there.” As he spoke and as she watched, there was no further denying. The first-person point-of-view was leeching its way fully from her subconscious and she could feel the hotel carpet under her knees, the hard cock-shafts in her hands, that short-lived sense of base slutty liberation. It had all been very real. And oh God help her, she had loved it.

She wrenched herself away from the horror-show (Robbie was wanking himself off in her face now, releasing great gouts of semen all over her forehead and the bridge of her nose so that it rivered down onto her cheeks), and stifled her sobs with a clenched fist. Behind her she could hear Gavin pack away the tablet, his point made. Clementine was with her, stroking her arm solicitously, why she had no idea. “It’s okay babe, it’s okay.” But it was very far from okay. It was all very fucked-up indeed.

Erica swung around to Gavin distraught, shaking Clementine off. She knew that someone could bustle through the door any second. “What are you trying to do? Why did you bring this here? Please, please don’t let anyone see it, I beg you. Gavin, why are you doing this?”

Gavin stood before her, calm and inscrutable. “I should have thought that was obvious,” he told her. “You made a promise to me, Erica, one that you broke, you remember? And I’ve come here today so that you can make good on it. It’s a matter of your personal integrity.”

“Promise?” She knew to what he was referring, but could not believe he was bringing it up. “I … But …”

“‘I want you, Gavin,’ that’s what you told me that day. ‘I’m going to come to your place tonight and let you make love to me.’ Your words, Erica, I’ve never forgotten them.”

Erica had not forgotten either, nor the way her whole being had thrilled at their saying, but to imagine them ever being thrown back at her in circumstances such as these … “I know I said that,” she pleaded, “and I meant them. But then Stephen came back. I’d been in love with him before. Gavin, I am in love with him!”

“Didn’t stop you sharing some of that love with your two dancer-friends,” he pointed out, reasonably. “I’m not asking for a lifetime of devotion, Erica. Simply what you made clear you were going to give me that day. Some quality time balls-deep inside you.”

Erica was aghast, nearly frantic. The room seemed to be closing in, she was sure she was about to faint. Clementine caught her arm and steadied her, brushing her hair consolingly. “But it’s my wedding day! You can’t do this to me today of all days.”

“Ah, but that’s what makes it so perfect for your act of atonement. Darling, I want to be the first man to fuck you on your wedding day. I want mine to be the first cock thrusting deep inside the new Mrs Erica Laughton.” His hand, she noticed, was stroking leisurely up and down the crotch of his trousers. “And if I don’t get my way, then the version of the movie you’ve just witnessed will be the one that gets screened this evening.” He was rubbing himself more smoothly now, and dimensions that alarmed her were making themselves apparent beneath the fabric. “Imagine that, Erica. Stephen’s romantic surprise all lined-up and ready to play for the assembled guests. If that doesn’t make it Wedding of the Year, I don’t know what will.”

“I’ll stop it. I won’t let it be played.” She could see the stupidity of her words even as she spoke them.

“And you’ll explain that how? You’re not even supposed to know about the film. They’ll think you’re crazy.”

Sheer desperation screamed in her head. “Well … Well then I’ll postpone the whole thing, I’ll say I’m ill.”

“And break poor Stephen’s heart? Make him think you’re jilting him? Send home all those guests with your father having paid for the whole event? No Erica, your marriage to the love of your life is going ahead. And if it does stop for any reason, I’ll distribute copies of the disc around your family and friends anyway.”

“You can’t do this, Gavin, it’s … it’s …”

“This is me, doing it.”

“But …”

“Okay, that’s enough. I can’t explain myself with you talking all the time.” Irritation had rippled Gavin’s calm for the first time. “Clementine, check the door. Make sure no one comes in.” Dutifully, the girl went to stand sentry. Chatter was filtering in from not far down the hallway, fuelling Erica’s panic. “Now, take off the robe,” her persecutor instructed her.

Any sophistication she might have felt ten minutes before had been ruthlessly stripped away, even before the robe dropped. Before this version of Gavin, Erica felt like a little girl. “Please … I …”

“Take it off, or I call everyone in and show them the film now.” The apparent kindness which had softened those features in the past was now absent. His face was pure granite, his voice low but similarly hard. Forlorn she loosened the belt and let the dressing-gown fall away from her, exposing all that she had admired previously in the bedroom mirror.

“Oh … my,” Clementine gasped, her vivid blue eyes opening wide. “She’s delicious. I can so see why you want her. Can I touch?”

“Be my guest,” Gavin said with magnanimity. “But lock the door first.”

“Of course.”

How they would explain a locked door should anyone come calling, Erica had no idea. She stood bewildered as the younger girl moved to her and ran a hand almost reverently over her taut stomach, then up over the steep slopes of her brassiere-cradled bosom.

“Erica, you’re beautiful,” Clementine moaned. “Your husband is going to be so lucky. Your skin’s like porcelain. And your breasts … they’re spectacular. Such pretty lingerie too, you really know how to make the most of yourself.”

“All right, get down on your knees.” Gavin cut through Clementine’s worship of Erica’s body. “Hurry up, girl. There’s a wedding party out there. You want to keep everyone waiting?”

Erica wished she had more spirit, that she could think what else to say. All she could do was drop, till she was staring at whatever seismic shifts were occurring beneath the straining zipper of Gavin’s trousers.

It was the subject of rumour at Rainbow Software akin to Arthurian legend—the mighty McClain sword. Everyone knew someone who knew someone who had claimed to have seen it in its erectile glory. While dating him Erica had been aware that something of might lurked beneath those elegant Italian trousers; she had contained the panicky thrills which occasionally seized her, consoling herself that should he introduce her to his mythical weapon, he would surely use it gently. Today she had no such consolation and every reason for fear. Gavin had been rubbing his crotch vigorously on her descent, priming himself; now he unclipped and unzipped, tore all linen coverings away and let Excalibur spring free.

The rumours proved true. Erica gasped at what swayed before her face. A good nine thick steel inches, thrusting upwards from the depths of his trousers, fierce and triumphant. At any time in her life the sight would have robbed her of her breath—but here, today, in these circumstances? She quailed.

Clementine was reaching down, running her hand all over the thickly-veined underside of the huge weapon, cupping the heavy shaved ball-sac lovingly and trailing her lacquered nails all the way back up to the tip. “God, Erica,” she breathed, “it’s magnificent, isn’t it? And you’ve still to have it stretch you out. Oh babe, you’ve no idea. It’s like no other …” Her voice trailed away as she remembered.

“Open your mouth.” Gavin pressed the great head to Erica’s lips.

She recoiled, mumbling a plea, lips barely parted. “Please, you don’t have to do this.”

“No, but I’m going to. Open your cock-sucking mouth now, Erica. You need to be quiet and listen.” He grabbed her suddenly by her chestnut locks. “Don’t make me mess up that pretty hair.” Startled and terrified she opened her mouth to him and the great glans slid inside, gagging her like a fat tangerine. She was scarily aware of that massive shaft on the other end of it, primed to plunge at any given moment. His fingers eased their hold in her hair slightly, but he held her gaze, his blue-grey eyes steely like his cock. Her helpless mouth remained plugged all the while he spoke to her.

“Let me explain this quickly, and then you can get back to your bridal party.” His voice was soft again now that he had her full attention. “Here’s how today’s going to run. You’re going to go to church as planned and marry the man of your dreams—pledge yourself to him body and soul in the sight of God. You’ll sign the register, do the photos, the dinner, the speeches … the whole rigmarole. And after all that you’ll join me in the hotel suite I’ve booked for us, where we’ll carry out the consummation you promised me all those months ago. If you’re grown up and clever about the whole thing, you’ll be back before anyone’s noticed.”

Erica opened her eyes wide in appeal. She could not believe what he was expecting of her.

He shook his head reprovingly. “Now this is why I’ve got my cock in your mouth right now—otherwise I know there’d be a host of silly questions and objections. Firstly, I have no idea how you’ll excuse yourself from the party, that’s up to you. Be creative. I’m sure you’ll find a way now that you have to. Secondly, yes your make-up and hair are going to get very messed up during our time together, but that’s why I’ve brought Clementine. She’s a skilled hair-dresser and beautician when she’s not escorting.”

“I’ll make sure you look perfect for your husband,” Clementine assured, lightly stroking the bride’s face.

Jane Greendale’s voice rang out from the hallway. “Is everyone okay? Erica, you need to get ready!” Erica felt a fresh wave of fear at the sound of her mother’s voice.

“Everything’s fine, Mrs Greendale,” Gavin responded genially, his cock still firmly ensconced in Erica’s mouth. “I’m being shown these wonderful gifts. But we’ll move along, leave your daughter to prepare.”

“You sure you won’t both have that coffee?”

“Actually that would be lovely, thank you. Be right with you.” He unplugged Erica’s mouth and held a finger to her moist lips, before wrapping his immense organ back inside the folds of his trousers. “On your feet,” he instructed, but her limbs felt incapable of movement and he had virtually to hoist her back into a standing position.

“It’s all very simple,” he told her. “I can ruin everything you have with Stephen and humiliate you in front of everyone you know. But if you follow what I’ve said, you’ll still have your perfect wedding and I’ll get what I want too, so that everyone’s happy. Clementine, would you pass me the egg?”

Egg? What was he talking about now? Erica was so close to passing out that she hardly knew what was going on any more. The young blonde was reaching into the carrier bag, as Gavin strolled around behind and clutched the bride’s wilting form, grabbing her brassiere-clad tits; his large hands moulded to their roundness, that now-covered erection pressing huge against her ass-cleft. Her limp state altered in an instant to one of excited terror.

“Know, Erica,” he whispered in her ear with velvety malice, “that when I fuck you this evening, it will be long, hard and utterly unsparing—and you will remember it all your married life. Particularly how hard you come. Because I will make you come, Erica. Like a whore.”

His lips adhered to her neck and she found her head falling back against him. He was running his tongue in a curved path to her delicate ear, tracing it around the exterior and flickering his way inside. Those fingers were scooping beneath her brassiere, hands cupping her tits, as moisture welled up inside her helpless cunt. No, she couldn’t be aroused by this violation, surely not. He couldn’t ever make her do what he’d said … Then she gasped again as Clementine drew up close, plucking at her thong.

“Is she ready?” Gavin asked, as the slim fingers of his companion glided between her legs, one of them probing into her slit.

“Yes, she’s wet,” Clementine informed him, and without another word she slipped a smooth oval object easily inside Erica’s pussy. The forlorn bride ejected a moan of fright in response.

“Put it in nice and deep,” Gavin instructed further. Clementine’s fingers plunged, Erica lurching in fright as the foreign body was inserted. “Now give me the remote.” Gavin’s partner passed something to him around Erica’s body, while sliding fingers out of her soaked pussy and leaving the ‘egg’ behind. She was aware of Clementine licking her fingers succulently clean before her, but then all vision was erased as the object in her tight bridal canal stirred into life and vibrated crazily within her. Gavin kept it running a good ten seconds, spreading wild sensation throughout her lower parts and causing her cunt to spasm. Then he shut it down with a click of the device now in his hand.

“You’re to keep that inside you all through the ceremony. I’ll know if you remove it, believe me, and it’ll be worse for you if you do. What you do with it after the church service is up to you. It’ll act as a reminder from me to you as you make your promises to each other. And you’ll never know when I’m going to use it.”

“It’ll all be okay baby,” Clementine promised softly, and she pressed her svelte little frame into Erica’s voluptuous one. “Just think—you’ll marry your sweetheart and get the most incredible fucking you can imagine. What a perfect day.” She kissed Erica tenderly on the cheek like she’d made a friend. Erica felt weak in her stomach and jelly-limbed, so the two conspirators helped her to the bed and sat her down.

“Quick coffee?” Gavin inquired of his date.

“That would be lovely.”

“See you at the church, Erica,” he said suavely, and slipping the tablet into his bag he left her, Clementine at his side, to mourn her new fate. Amazingly the image of the hen party cock-guzzling had been supplanted in her mind, replaced utterly by the thought of what Gavin might demand of her with his cock before the day was out. She would have to take that unforgiving erection inside her, to stand with Stephen before it happened and …and …

My day … My beautiful day …

Erica covered her face and sobbed into her hands.



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