All The Best Men

But as the minister began to drone, my eyes slid across by themselves, going further and further until they landed on the three groomsmen again. And it was then that I gasped, big boobies rising visibly. Because the three men were looking at me, not even pretending to pay attention to the ceremony. I guess the audience couldn’t tell, our backs were turned. And clearly Elaine and Bobby were in their own world right now, eyes fixed on the minister.

But I could tell. I could feel how those blue eyes ate up my figure, appreciating the expanse of white flesh at my décolletage. I could feel their gazes all over my bottom, leaving trails of fire, making me go deliciously hot. And as I stared back, one of them did something so wrong, so randy, that I shuddered, pussy sizzling with anticipation.

His arm didn’t move an inch. But a male hand went down, down, down until it was right in front of that huge bulge. And my eyes popped then. Because the tent in his pants was enormous, like a giant anaconda lying in wait. And subtly, very subtly, those thick, blunt fingers caressed the snake, my eyes gong wide as the hardness twitched visibly, growing and straining beneath the grey suit pants.

Oh my god, oh my god! We were literally in church, standing in front of a crowd of people. In fact, the minister’s words were droning on about peace and love and prosperity for the married couple, while this groomsman teased, stroking his boner and making me wet.

I should have been disgusted. I should have turned away, jerking my chin like I was too good for this depravity. But instead, a blush crept over my cheeks and I smiled at the three men. That’s right, I smiled sweetly and slowly, my tongue slipping out to run over glossy pink lips.

It wouldn’t have looked like anything if you saw. Merely a bridesmaid feeling a little hot, licking her lips as she watched the ceremony from the sidelines. But the three men knew. They knew I liked being here, with them … and that I wanted much, much more.

CHAPTER TWO

Tyler

Goddamn. This little backwater town was a piece of shit. Knox, Tennessee? Where the fuck was that? Where the fuck was Tennessee for crying out loud? Being from New York City, no place exists for us but Manhattan, the island at the center of the world. It’s sad but true. So to be dragged out here on a beautiful weekend was a major sacrifice.

But fine. It’s Bobby’s big day. And since we’ve been buds from childhood, me, Kane and Mason made the trip. We didn’t sit in business class. Not even first class. Because we came by fucking private jet. Hell yeah, the plane is something we bought not so long ago. And why not? It saves time and there was an aviation sale last year. No big deal.

But shit, Bumfuck USA was off to a bad start. There wasn’t even a runway big enough for our plane, can you believe it? So we had to do an emergency landing on a grassy field nearby, the G-6 descending from the heavens like an avenging angel, ominous and huge, its wings looming shadows.

But we’re here now, lined up stiff at the front of the church. Bobby, my friend, this better be worth it.

Because the four of us have been pals since childhood, and Bobby has always been the nicest, most laid-back guy around. Chubby with big, thick glasses, sure, but sometimes you need that. You can’t all be hoods and gangstas, every clique’s gotta have its Mr. Magoo. So Bobby is my bro and now, holy shit, it’s his wedding day.

Because I hate weddings. A root canal or some mindless meeting would be better than a wedding. Girls, they get ideas at these things. It’s like they catch fever or something. Suddenly, women that were once rational and happy go insane, spouting talk about commitments. Shit. One woman, a couple weddings back even stroked my hand while murmuring, “Wouldn’t it be nice if this was us?”

Holy fuck. No thanks. And I don’t mean “No thanks, maybe sometime in the future.” I mean, “No thanks, not ever.” Because why the fuck would I get married? There’s too much to do in life, a variety of pussy to taste. So why would I limit myself to just one?

And it gets worse. The last girl I made the mistake of taking to a wedding got the crazy idea that somehow yours truly was ready to put a ring on it. You can bet she got a ‘Dear John’ email the next day. Or in her case, ‘Dear Jane,’ plus a six figure emerald necklace. That seemed to put a lid on it. The ladies know that the jewelry train only runs if they shut the fuck up and put their feelings on the back burner.