Although in reality my bachelorette party was quite a bit tamer that this fantasy, sometimes I get carried away and have fond memories for the party I didn’t actually have. On nights when Ben’s away, I’ll put on the slinky slip dress I really did wear to my own party, turn off the lights, and lie in bed, dreaming of what might have been. I had a perfectly fun party, mind you, filled with plenty of good friends, the best friends a girl could ask for. But still, every once in a while, I like to pretend that I’m still single and carefree, ready for sexual adventure at any moment. And since Ben doesn’t really know much about my real party (both of ours are just kept on a private premarital moment basis), I’m free to fantasize about those wild days in any way I want. So the first bit really happened, but the wildness, well . . . draw your own conclusions.
I was getting married for the very first time, at age 32, a bit behind all my other friends, who had been settled in with their husbands and SUVs for a few years, and was grateful to finally be settling down with Ben. He was worth the wait, let me tell you, tall and handsome and strong, and sweet as can be, the answer to my dreams. I was thrilled, but hearing his friends talk incessantly about his bachelor party when they thought I was out of earshot had gotten me a little worked up, if you know what I mean. Oh, they tried to hide it from me, ceasing their conversations when I entered the room and sending secret messages to Ben. But still, I knew something was up and just a small bit of spying led me to the conclusion that the weekend of Ben’s “boys,’ night poker” was going to be a lot more tits and arse than full houses. And part of me wanted the same thing, a last corral, a night out with my favourite girls to see if we still had our magic, to get in trouble just one more time. So I called Stacy, my best friend, and she quickly got on the phone, something she’d been forbidden to do, and in no time, my bachelorette party was arranged. Aside from knowing the time, I didn’t know where we’d be going or what would happen, but I was thrilled anyway – Stacy’s never thrown a bad party in her life.
These were my oldest friends, and some of my best ones, but over the years we’d grown slightly apart. They were almost all married, and secretly saw me as the loser girl who’d had to wait such a long time just to find a guy to ask me, whereas I’d more than savoured my freedom. Some of them had been virgins when they married, or their husbands had been their firsts, whereas I could barely remember what being a virgin was like. Not that I’d been with tons of guys or anything, but enough to know my way in and out of bed with a guy, to know what I liked and what I didn’t, to feel that I wasn’t giving up my youth or my body to have Ben next to me for the rest of my life. I was thrilled to be marrying Ben, but every few nights I’d wake up in the middle of the night, chilled to the bone with sweat and fear, my dreams taking a shadowy turn, making me wonder if I was making the right decision. I had deliberately dropped my control freak ways and let my friends plan everything, leaving myself free to ponder the intricacies of my new life and status. I still wanted the thrills, the fantasies, the crazy ups and downs that dating and flirting brought. I consoled myself with the thought that our bachelorette party would be just as wild as any man’s bachelor party, but I was really only humouring myself. Little did I know that I was actually right.
The night of the party, Ben’s friends picked him up in the early evening, giving me time to fret over what to wear. What does a girl wear to her own bachelorette party? I was clueless, and obviously should have thought about this earlier, but my mind had been otherwise occupied. I combed my closets, dismissing all my usual fun and cute shirt and skirt combinations as too young-looking; tonight, I simply wanted to look sexy. Eventually I settled on my favourite lacy slip dress, in black and leopard print, with a real slip underneath, sexy and fun and smooth against my skin. Thankfully it was summer so I could get away with such attire; if anyone questioned me, I’d say it was too hot to wear anything heavier.
When Stacy arrived, she was squealing with excitement; I’ve known her my whole life so this was nothing new, but she was almost more excited about the party than I was. What had she planned that would have her hopping up and down like that? She ushered me into the kitchen to make a round of our signature drink, a mix of various juices and plenty of alcohol, and it was just like high school again as we drank and talked and giggled, but we had much more to laugh about tonight.
We headed out with Eileen driving, and I was shocked to find us at Pizaazz, our favourite club – I’d thought we’d be going somewhere new and unusual. But my closest friends greeted me there, dressed up and ready to have the time of their lives, or something close to it. Most were married or had steady boyfriends and while we still went out and had fun, it wasn’t like our single days, where we’d often drink ourselves silly and then stay up till dawn watching old movies and painting our nails, girl bonding of the highest order. Me, I didn’t quite know what to expect, having tried to not micromanage this night as I do everything else in my life.
We ordered fruity, girly drinks in bright bold colours and went around the room sharing our fondest of my hellish dating moments – from the blind date with the guy who was over a foot shorter than me, to the one who immediately started talking about the upcoming baseball season after he came, with no apology or segue. Then came the gifts – mostly “naughty” items found in the tackiest of sex shops, like penis-shaped chocolates and a veil with little penises pinned all over it. Anything goes when you’re getting married, I guess.
We were having so much fun, just like the old days, when all of a sudden Stacy leaped up and said, “It’s time.” She pulled a black satin blindfold from her pocket and proceeded to wrap it around my head. I couldn’t see a thing but could sense the commotion in the room. “Get ready, Corinne, because we have a very special treat for you.”
They spun me around – just once, thankfully – and then undid the blindfold, presenting me with one of the most gorgeous men I’d ever seen. I figured there would be a stripper – these were my friends, after all – but one who looked like this? He was young, probably early twenties, and muscular, but not overly muscular like a bodybuilder – they sometimes look to me like their muscles are on the outside when they should be on the inside. No, his muscles gleamed and strutted, pushing gently up through his skin. He had dark brown hair, and a natural-looking tan, and he was tall. And most of all, he was smiling right at me; not a cheesy “I’m here to please you” smile, but what seemed like a real one. I melted into the chair and smiled back, drunk on the gloriousness of having my very own stripper. He had on black jeans and a white ribbed tank top, leather jacket slung over his shoulder.
The music started up right away and we all sat and watched as he expertly moved across the floor, occasionally approaching us and shimmying right up in one of our faces, maybe touching a strand of hair or stroking a cheek, the consumate seducer, knowing full well the effect he was having on us. When I glanced around at my friends, many of them were fanning their necks with the programmes Stacy had made, clearly affected as well. And I just sat there, stunned, my panties suddenly very, very wet. I wanted him, not for a lifetime, but I definitely wanted something more than a mere striptease from this gorgeous hunk, who seemed to be making special eyes at me while he worked the room.
He beckoned me forward with a crooked finger, and on shaky legs I stood up and walked close to him, and let him whisk me around the room, occasionally catching a whiff of him – sweat and salt and man, all rolled into the perfect aphrodisiac. He put my hand flat on his chest and held it there a moment, then lifted me up and carried me back to my seat. Everyone oohed and aahed and tried to get a closer peek as he lavished me with attention. I wondered if my wedding day would be like this – all eyes on me (probably) and feeling like the sexiest, most desired woman ever (maybe). But there was also something else; I wanted this man, this stripper, this hunk who now seemed to only have eyes for me.
It didn’t make sense, logically, but so what? I felt young and wild and naughty, like I was sneaking out of my parents’ house to make out in my boyfriend’s car, yet this was almost worse because I was old enough to know better. But I knew none of the girls would blame me; he was too hot to resist, especially when he picked me up, in the chair, and carried me into a back room. “Excuse me, ladies, but I just need your friend Corinne here for a few minutes and then I’ll bring her back to you, good as new.”
After that stunning exit, he moved us to our own small room, one I hadn’t noticed before, and began telling me again how hot he thought I was. He also started showing me, running his hands up and down my filmy dress, then up, up, up my skirt until he reached my now wet panties. With one hand he pressed my panties up against me, almost entering me, and with the other he stroked his cock, clearly visible through the white fabric. He pressed up against me, so close I could feel his hand moving along his cock, and I leaned back in the chair, knowing he’d catch me if I started to tilt. His fingers slid underneath the edge of my panties, and I didn’t stop him. They stroked along my lips, teasing the wetness there, and I spread my legs almost involuntarily. This was the most hedonistic thing I’d ever done, pure sexual arousal, raw and concentrated, without the baggage of dating and waiting and trying to make a good impression. The only thing I needed to do for this anonymous man was be wet, want him, let him in, and I did. He pushed his fingers deeply inside me and though basically pinned to the chair, I arched up to meet him, his cock pressing against my stomach, its starchy, sweaty smell reaching my nose and making me lick my lips. Part of me wished we were somewhere else, somewhere more private, with a bed, a more traditional place so I could lie down and truly let him have his way with me, but I also knew if we were in a bedroom this wouldn’t be happening. It was only the club, the party, the sense of this being the last day before the first day of the rest of my married life, or close enough to it, that allowed me to go this far.
But what about him? What did he do every other night – seduce a new girl for money? Great life for a guy. So used to dealing with practicalities before I could get off, my mind kept wandering afield but I reined it back in, tuned it out as he pressed deeper into me. As much as I might have wanted to think cynically about him, I couldn’t. He wasn’t some random hooker, a common whore, but the first guy since Ben to make me feel this way, alive and electric with desire, my skin tingling. I pushed any possible doubts out of my mind and simply revelled in the way he touched me. I could see my friends peeking into the room but I didn’t care. I closed my eyes as he whispered into my ear, a steady flow of dirty words that I knew weren’t really true but sent me orbiting nonetheless.
“You’re the hottest girl here, the hottest bride I’ve ever seen. I’ve been hard since the minute I saw you. I want to make you come so hard you’ll feel it tomorrow morning.”
I took in his words, felt the visceral impact when he told me he was going to squeeze my nipples and slide his hard cock into me; they are simple but incredible words, powerful enough to make me wet the moment I heard them, the moment his breath hit my neck right below my ear. I wasn’t about to go all the way, because I didn’t need to; just the suggestion of it, the knowledge that in a fast move he could be up inside me, his hard, huge dick stretching and plundering me, taking me in a way Ben is far too considerate to do, was enough.
I leaned back, my hair falling in a long row behind me, willing him to suckle my neck. Like some magical sexual fairy, he moved from my breasts to my neck, which by then was ticklish and itching to be bitten, clawed, scratched. He sank his teeth into this most tender of flesh, with no warning that his bite will be so harsh and sharp. He seemed to anticipate what I needed before I could verbalize or even think it, teasing my neck with tiny testing bites that built one on top of the other in the very same spot. His bites fulfilled some special sexual need I have, complete in itself, and when he licked softly over the reddened skin, I felt like I could die right there.
“Was that enough for you?” he whispered with a growl, clearly certain that it wasn’t.
Suddenly, what was enough just moments ago is far from it, and I wanted more, any possible guilt at going this far assuaged by the knowledge that Ben was probably off doing much the same, or at least he would if he could, and besides, once we were married I’d be loyal to him for the rest of my life, just as I’d been loyal to him for the three years we’d been together. And what’s more, even if my conscience had wanted me to, I couldn’t have stopped there, especially not when his fingers pressed against my wet panties, pushing the fabric right up against my eager cunt, then taking his other hand and drawing it to his hard cock. We stroked each other through our underwear and when his fingers slipped inside my panties, I spread my legs eagerly, not caring where or who we were, simply that I needed him inside me. While his fingers entered me, pressing deeply where I needed him the most, he straddled me, and I could feel his cock, his strong legs as he gave me the most intimate kind of lap dance imaginable, his body locked on mine.
I nuzzled his chest, rubbing my lips and cheeks back and forth against the strength of him, then licking my way towards a small, pert nipple that seemed to call out to me. I licked it at first, felt it get slightly harder and tighter, then brought my teeth around it. He hissed and grabbed my head but didn’t stop me, so I kept it up, teasing and working his nipple as guys had done to me before. I wondered if it felt the same for him, if with every twist and bite of my teeth he felt a deep urgent pull in his groin, a need that drove him mad with desire. My guess was yes because after a moment he did stop me, pulling my head up and staring directly and intently into my eyes. “I want you. I know this is my job, but please believe me when I tell you it’s not like this with all the girls. I give them a little tease, a little show, and then I’m home, but you, you’re incredible, irresistible. Your husband is going to be a lucky man, but for tonight, I want you, I want to slide my cock into you and fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before. I want to make you come right here in this chair.”
Nobody had ever talked to me like that before and I was so tempted that I almost gave in. “I want you, too, but I just can’t let you fuck me; that would be going to far. But pretty much anything else is fair game . . .” I trailed off as I wrapped my hand around his dick, moving my gaze from his warm cock to his blazing eyes which seemed to want to penetrate me in their own way. He brought his fingers from my cunt to my mouth, and I suckled my own juices from them, then pulled his fat fingers into me while he pushed them towards the back of my throat. I automatically reached for his cock, wanting it in my mouth, to taste it if I wasn’t going to have it inside me, but he pushed me aside and kneeled before me. He edged my panties down my legs and off, then pushed my legs aside and began licking me, long, warm strokes along the length of my slit that ended in a slow finish at my clit and had me gripping the chair and biting my lip so as not to scream out. His tongue and lips expertly worked me, licking and plunging and nibbling, pressing harder just when I needed it. My legs trembled as he tugged on my clit and when he pushed a finger inside me, I came, shaking against the chair as he stayed with me for the ride. He licked up every last drop of my juices before moving to kiss me, giving me a taste of myself.
When we finally emerged, sweaty and a bit red-faced, my friends all had drinks in their hands. He left soon thereafter, and I rejoined my friends like none of it had ever happened.
When Ben gets home and finds me in the slip dress, he always gives me a funny little look, his eyes asking “Why are you wearing that sexy thing just to lie around the house?” That’s for me to know, and him to hopefully never find out!