The Bridesmaid

Here we stand. At last. It is here. We are here. At the altar. I stand across from him, behind his beautiful bride. The rich white silk of her veil hangs partly in my view, but it doesn’t come in the way of my vision of the man standing beside him. His best friend and best man, Elika.

I should be here. My mind should be here, but it is in the near past.

Focus. Focus!

But I can’t seem to.

“…And now, the couple would like to recite the vows they have written to each other,” a voice says, a gravely sound that snaps me out of my reverie.

I look at the groom, my friend, Solomon. The expression on his face is one of happiness. And his eyes are glassy.

Wait – are those…tears I see in his eyes? Oh God. He’s so emotional. Solomon has never been one to not be in touch with his sensitive side.

For a fraction of a second, as if my exasperation has communicated itself to him, he shifts his gaze from his wife-to-be to me. I want to roll my eyes at him, but instead, I give him a smile.

It’s fine, I mouth at him. You’ve got this.

He gives a small nod in response and refocuses on his bride.

“My darling Jasmine…” he begins. His voice breaks, and a tear slips down his handsome face.

As the tear charts a path to his cheek, it is like a gateway to the past bursts open. I see his face, wreathed with happiness, and simultaneously, the same face elsewhere. Last night. Eyes closed. Lips slightly parted. His head on the fluffy, white, lavender-infused pillow.

“…on this day…”

The room is dimly lit with a bedside lamp that is positioned on a table beside the bed, and another LCD-string light just beneath the fancy white mirror across the bed.

“…at this altar…”

The bed is soft and yet hard. Custom made for this resort, as it was exquisite. Just the right amount of bounce and sturdiness. Covered in white sheets and tapered with golden tassels at the helms. The duvet is white and fairly light – good to keep the cold out and the warmth in.

“…I pledge to you, with my body…”

His chiseled, chocolatey body is bare, unclothed, its sinewiness a testament to his dedication to the gym. His torso is solid like a washboard; his hands, splayed by his sides on the bed; his legs, strong, toned. I am holding one of those legs apart, toward me. His head is turned to me, our eyes connected, the passion simmering, taut, between us.

“…with my heart…”

Then there is a movement on the bed, and he disconnects from my gaze, turning his face to look at Elika, who has taken position before him. Just a few minutes ago, Elika had had one hand on my bum, with his fingers expertly working my pussy, just below my clit, sliding in and out, stoking my spent passions. Now he is using that hand to guide his dick into Solomon’s waiting hole. The same hole I’d rimmed, just after Elika had rimmed it very well. Elika’s other hand is holding Solomon’s other leg apart, preparing to dig into Solomon.

“…my soul…”

A moan escapes Solomon’s lips as Elika slides in. He hulks over Solomon, the best man over the groom-to-be, with a body that is even more impressively built than Solomon’s. He begins to move, his hips heaving up and down. In my grasp, the muscles of Solomon’s leg quiver in appreciation of Elika’s lovemaking. He possesses excellent stroke skills – they both do. I should know; they have just finished stroking me to a mind-shattering climax. An explosion they have always gotten me to since we became friends eight years ago.

“…that I…”

An even sultrier moan escapes into the room as a thrust is delivered, and Solomon gasps at the pleasurable pain, his eyes rolled back, his hands grabbing on to Elika’s back, shiny with sweat.

“…will…”

Another moan. Another thrust.

“…always…”

More moans and more thrusts. Powerful. Steady. Rhythmic. I watch and I am enjoying the sight of Elika’s lovemaking. He is delivering masterful strokes and I am giving immoral support.

And getting wet too. I slide my hand down to my pussy and rub slightly on my clit. A moan I didn’t realize was waiting slips from my lips.

“Fuck!”

The expletive explodes from me, followed by a pleasured hiss.

Suddenly, I feel strange, like there is an unwelcome draft wafting across my skin from an open window. The hotel room has vanished. The bed. The lights. The writhing bodies of Solomon and Elika. I am back in the church. All is quiet. There are multiple pairs of eyes on me, some of them on confused faces. Faces like that of the bride, who has turned to stab me with a horrified stare through the rich white silk of her veil. Solomon is staring too, aghast. Elika looks like he is struggling not to laugh.

And that is when I realize that my moan, my ecstasy, wasn’t just in the past, but here. In the present. Right in the middle of my friend-cum-lover’s vows to his wife-to-be.

Written by Regal Sweetheart