Revenge of the Bridesmaids (6 page)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

After Brenda left, I sprang into action.  My wallet, cell phone, and car keys were missing.  The bridesmaid had anticipated those options, but no worries.  There was no way they could know about the three hundred dollar bills I kept in the lining pocket of my suitcase.

The money was still there.  I took the money out and shoved it in the top of my dress.  The drapes were pulled shut on the front window of the cabin.  I eased them apart, to be sure Brenda was gone.  Dammit!  Brenda was gone, but Cassie was standing watch outside my front door.  Shit!

I scurried back into the bathroom and looked at the only other window in the cabin.  Measuring the window with my hands, I compared it with my hips.  There was no way I was getting out of that window.  That cabin was a real fire hazard. 

Cassie was pacing a bit as she waited outside my cabin.  I tried to see a pattern to her walk, but there was none.  People would pass by, out of my line of sight, and Cassie would wave and call out to them.  Not having any better plan, I decided to wait until Cassie got into a long conversation.  She was a chatterer by nature.  I hoped I’d get lucky.  In the meantime, I checked out Cassie.

There was a light breeze coming off the water, and it tossed Cassie’s hair about—what curls weren’t pinned down, that is—with a freewheeling abandon.  Gone were Cassie’s red Keds, shorts, and spaghetti strap top.  Cassie wore her sea green bridesmaid dress, and she wore it well.  The A-line cut fluttered with the breeze, giving Cassie the illusion of more curves than she really had.  Her tan legs and tan shoulders looked delicious, like soft caramels.  If I still had a cock, I could have rubbed one out just looking at her.

As luck would have it, an older couple was taking a stroll, and Cassie got wrapped up in conversation with them.  This was my chance.  I couldn’t remember if my door squeaked, so I eased it open.  No squeak, and Cassie was still facing the other way.  All I had to do was slip past her, and then Brenda, Donna, and Lisa, and I’d be home free.  Brenda was probably getting ready, so I had a good shot.  I tiptoed out of the cabin.  It was a bright morning, so I didn’t see the bit of fishing line strung along about four inches off the floorboards.  A bucket of empty beer cans spilled down onto the floorboards of the cabin’s front porch.  What a huge racket.  Cassie spun around and beamed a big smile.  Her look said, “Gotcha!”

Cassie had always been smarter than me.

We’d been study partners for a few courses in college, and that led to many a late night at the library.  For a while there I thought Cassie might be the one.  I still remember how much courage I had to screw up to lean over and kiss her during a study session.  “What are you doing?” Cassie said in shock, and I replied, “Kissing a pretty girl.”  Cassie blushed and grinned, and then said, “Oh, okay.”  After that, all our study sessions concluded with some making out.  But that was as far as it went.  Maybe it was me.  Maybe I was a bit clueless as to how to move things along.  I was a bit hamstrung by the fear of losing a good friend if I made a move and it was rejected—so I never made a move.  It was a pity, because Cassie and I shared a similar sense of humor and a laid back approach toward life in general.  Cassie could have been the one, and I think she felt the same toward me, but I blew it.

I’m not a patient person.  When I finally roofied Cassie, since I was tired of waiting, I did, of course, get her in the sack.  But it wasn’t satisfying.  It was as if Cassie’s body was there with me, naked under the sheets, but Cassie’s crazy self was not.  After the roofie night, I treated Cassie coldly.  At the time, I told myself it was because I was bored with her, but I could never shake the notion that whenever Cassie and I were alone together, my guilt over what I’d done hung in the air.  It was a secret, my secret, and it ruined our relationship.

And now Cassie knew all about it.  And she was angry.

“Hey Cassie!” I called out when the cans finally stopped clattering.

“Hey Amber,” she replied with a wave.  “Come on out.  It’s a beautiful day.”

The day was gorgeous, but I was crippled by the fear of being outside my cabin in this woman’s body during broad daylight.  Last night was different.  It had been dark, and towards the end, I was a bit drunk.  “No,” I said.  “Come in here.”

Cassie managed to bounce when she walked, even in the heels.  She was a bundle of energy.  When she reached my door, she locked her arm through mine and led me out into the sunshine.  “Don’t be shy, Amber,” she said.  “You look adorable.  This is going to be such a fun wedding.”  Then, leaning in, Cassie whispered into my ear, “There are
so many
cute guys here.”

Aww, geez.

It turned out I wasn't as good at walking in the high heels as I'd supposed.  A few hours were not enough practice.  I pulled down at the hem of my dress.  The blowing wind only served to remind me I had no undies on.  “Please, Cassie.  I’m so sorry for what I did.  Please don’t make me do this.”

“Do what?” Cassie asked.  “Attend your friends’ wedding?”

“No.  Not that.  I can attend the wedding looking like this, and you can all have your revenge.  But Brenda said I have to have sex with all the guys in the wedding party.”

Cassie squeezed my arm and smiled.  To the casual observer we looked like two girlfriends getting along famously.  “Oh, that,” she said.  “Yeah, you definitely have to do that, or we’ll have you arrested.  That’s your penance, Amber.  Embrace it.”  She seemed to struggle, taming her energetic walk so that it kept pace with my tentative one.  “Be glad they’re all good looking,” Cassie said.  “Relax and enjoy yourself.  I plan on enjoying myself—immensely.”  She squeezed my arm again.

“For old time sake?” I asked.  “Please, Cassie, get me out of this mess.”

“For old times, sake,” Cassie said, doing her best imitation of Abe Vigoda in
The
Godfather
.  Then she switched to a Robert Duvall voice: “No can do, Sallie.”

“Your DeNiro is better,” I said.

“Everyone does DeNiro.  Oh, look, they’re gathering up the bridal party.  Let’s go.”  Cassie steered me towards the bridesmaids and groomsmen, who looked spiffy in their tuxes.  What guy doesn’t look good in a tux?  “You know,” Cassie said, “there was a time when I wanted nothing more than to make love to you.  Now, I just want you to get fucked, but not by me.  It’s your mess.  Dig your way out.”

I shuddered at the thought. My legs, freshly waxed and delightfully free of hair, felt every tickle of the infinitely-fingered wind.  Vague memories of the night before kept popping in my head.  Yep, half the male wedding guests had seen my breasts.  And I made out with a guy named Tony.  Great.

Despite my dilemma, I got a kick out of Cassie, Donna, and Brenda all wearing matching dresses.  They looked adorable, like something out of a Disney movie.  They were princesses!  I couldn't believe how feminine Donna looked, strutting about in her heels like she wore them all the time, her tan surfer shoulders revealing impressive definition.  Donna's white smile flashed brilliantly and often, especially when she was talking to one of the ushers.  That made me very jealous, Donna talking to the ushers.

Wait.  I was wearing the same dress.  I was a Disney princess too.  I bit my lip, letting the realization that I was a princess sink in.  The groomsmen, or ushers, looking debonair in their tuxes, all leered at me hungrily.  Were they at the party when I got there?  I couldn’t recall.  Their eyes roved over my body, and I felt like I might as well have been naked.  It was creepy—way creepy—but also a little exciting, somewhat affirming of my attractiveness.  In that way, it was oddly nice.  When I ogled women, was that how I made them feel?

We were paired off with the ushers and went over to the wedding gazebo.  My partner was Devon, who looked like a California surfer boy that grew up to get a corporate job.  I definitely did not recall Devon being in the gazebo the night before.

Once the bride and groom were in front of the reverend, and the reverend was droning on, I had time to check out Devon a little more thoroughly—he stood across from me.  His hair was sun bleached blond, and probably would be until he turned gray.  Devon was incredibly fit, with wide shoulders and a narrow waist.  His cummerbund was totally flat against the bottom of his stomach.  We stood opposite each other by the altar, so it was only natural for me to look at him.  I mean, where else were my eyes to go?  I stared at his hands, which were clasped in front of him, below his shiny black cummerbund, and I marveled at his big, thick fingers.

The breeze whipped up inside my dress, reminding me that I wasn't wearing panties and that Brenda's wax removed the hair from more than just my legs.

Devon was in the same pickle as me—where to look?  His eyes were settled on the bouquet I held in front of me.  At least he had flowers to look at.  What did I have?  I moved the flowers slowly, from left to right, just to draw Devon's eyes about, but his eyes didn't waver.  Oh my goodness.  Devon wasn't staring at my flowers.  His eyes were locked on my cleavage!  I dropped my gaze.  Oh, I was showing a lot of cleavage, and now a red bloom broke out across my exposed chest.  My heart quickened.  Devon was totally checking me out.  It was soooo embarrassing.  And kind of flattering too.  Whew!  I was missing the whole ceremony with my daydreaming.

The Reverend continued.  "And do you, Chet, take this woman, Lisa, to have and to hold, to honor and obey..."

Hunh?  I thought they cut out the "honor and obey" part.  Lisa didn't say it, I was pretty sure.  Only Chet did.

Chet managed not to stutter at all during the ceremony, and I was very happy for him.  Maybe Lisa was exactly what he needed.  She seemed to scare the shortcomings right out of him.

Before long the ceremony was over, and the guests proceeded to the restored barn for the cocktail hour while we, the bridal party, posed for a seemingly infinite number of photos.

"Okay," said the photographer, a balding fat man who squeezed into a cheap suit for the wedding.  "Now, bridesmaids in the front, and ushers behind.  Ushers, arms around the bridesmaids." 

Devon stood behind me, and I smiled over my shoulder at him.  He seemed pleasant enough.  I was still holding my bouquet when Devon slipped his hand under my arm, and pressed his palm against my little pooch of a tummy.  The fingers of his other hand graced my hip before they also found their way to my tummy.  I became terribly self-conscious that Devon could tell I wasn't wearing undergarments.  Silly, I knew, but I felt that way just the same.  I worried about what kind of signal that sent. 

Craning his neck forward, Devon placed his head alongside mine, just like the photographer requested.  He smelled nice—sweet and manly.  "Ooh, hello there!" I said when he surprised me by brushing his smooth cheek against mine.  Boy, he smelled good.

"You look quite beautiful today, Amber," he cooed.

"Uh, thank you.  You're not so bad yourself."  Geez, that canned reply just slipped out of me.  Devon was likely to get the wrong idea.  What an idiot I was.

His arms hugged me snugly, and his fingers spread out along my front, as if he were claiming me.  I found myself leaning back against his strong chest, mainly to keep my butt from touching him, when the flashbulb finally went off.  I was leaning back so much that when I went to step away, I lost my balance.  My ankle buckled, and I started to drop, but Devon's strong arms held me up.  His hands were right under my breasts.

"Thanks," I said.  "You saved me from falling on my ass."  That was no canned reply.  It was entirely true. 

"Anytime," Devon said.  “I work at restoring classic cars, so protecting objects of beauty is kind of my thing.  Cassie tells me you’re on the rebound, and looking for some casual fun.”

Objects of beauty?  Was he talking about me or the cars?  How brazen, and what a lame line!  That’s the way the world worked—gorgeous guys could get away with lame lines.  Just because he was all muscular and had that surfer vibe, and smelled so good, and had those dreamy dark blue eyes, Devon seemed to think he was irresistible.  He certainly was confident.  I’d give him that.  Way confident.  Being gorgeous engenders confidence.

Cassie was watching us, hanging on our every word.

“Yeah, I’m up for casual fun,” I replied, looking Devon right in his piercing blue eyes.  “Like a good game of Parcheesi.”  He grinned at me.  Of course, his teeth were perfect, and framed by full lips.

"Okay," the photographer droned on with an air of jadedness that made me think he'd done this too many times.  "Now, just the bridesmaids."

“Bye-bye, Parchessi Pal,” I said to Devon.

He kissed the back of my hand and replied, “See you soon.”  My cheeks burned hotly as I watched him walk away.  What a smoothie.

I stood next to Brenda.  The photographer was fiddling with his camera settings.  We waited.

"Amber," Brenda said softly.  "I wouldn't go for Devon first."

"I'm not 'going' for anybody," I said.

"Sure you aren't.  But save Devon for later.  He's hung like a horse."  Brenda chewed her gum, being sneaky about it, because if Lisa caught her chewing gum it would make the atom bomb look like a BB gun.  "Devon's cock will rip up your virgin pussy.  I mean really, totally, rip up your pussy!  Tear it wide open.  Just devastate it.  Believe me, I know."

All that talk of my pussy getting ripped up made the pit of my stomach grew cold, although I couldn't be sure whether it was from fear or excitement.  And what was with prim and proper Brenda?  First she warned me about Javier's predilection for anal, and how much it would hurt, and now she was warning me about Devon's huge cock.  Was Brenda a secret sexual corsair?  And why was she feeding me tips?