Erica's Big Day Ch. 01

Prologue: Kindred Spirits

She joined him at the latter end of a Friday night in the Cock and Bull. Any of her work colleagues still present were deep in chat-up scenarios or in lengthy debates about football or films. He was seated at a far corner table, nursing a tumbler of whiskey. His eyes flicked her way as she slumped into the chair beside him, her own newly-filled glass in hand.

"Not got some pretty little thing hanging on your every word tonight? You're losing your touch," she said, her words slurring. She was not unattractive herself, with pale slender features, blue-green eyes and auburn hair pulled into a high ponytail, but her face was set in a derisive scowl and an excess amount of vodka was compounding the effect.

"I have to devote some thought to business," the object of her low-key scorn responded. His height was apparent even seated and he had an athletic massiveness about him. Added to that were the grey-flecked dark hair and stone-carved features, making him almost a caricature of masculinity. "The McLennan contract isn't going to finalise itself," he told her. "Those pretty little things will have to wait."

"Christ, Gavin, listen to yourself." Her contempt was palpable. "You really think you're God's gift."

"If you only knew," he said, surveying her as he tipped the glass to his lips. "I'm the gift that keeps on giving."

She stared back at him, dislike and lust for him competing on her face. "Well you didn't get to give anything to Erica," she said with spite. It was clear that she was broaching the subject for which she had sat down.

"Erica...?"

"Oh don't play games. You haven't forgotten Erica Greendale, the sweet doe-eyed beauty. Or I'd like to think you haven't. You cancelled on me so you could take her out."

"Erica." He repeated the name like he had finally recalled who she was. "Yes, we went out a few times. She was--what's the phrase?--'dealing with relationship issues'. I tried to help her. You know, 'be there for her'." He spoke both phrases like he'd borrowed them.

"Bullshit. Erica told me all about it. I know the whole pathetic story." She took clear delight in her knowledge. If her opening salvo had been bold, by now she was achieving devil-may-care recklessness. "You whisked her out on the town to a load of hot venues. You took her to Gordon bloody Ramsey's restaurant, no doubt to impress her with how easily you could get a table. It's probably the closest you'll ever come to wooing a woman." (In her satirical mode she made the word sound like an owl-hoot.) "All that effort just so you could get inside her knickers. And then the night you were all set to reap the reward, she got a call from the Bigger Better Deal and left you alone to toss yourself off. Don't tell me that didn't bruise the mighty McClain ego?"

He met her look of victory with an impassive stare, but she continued undaunted. "She told me everything. Made out she was so, so sorry to have led you on. But I could tell she was revelling in it, like she was in a fucking chick-lit novel. Two big rich and successful men pursuing her, till she had to let one of them down. Poor Erica. Guess she decided to go for the richer, more successful one."

She stared at him as levelly as her inebriated state would allow. "He used to work for you, didn't he? Before he went off and started his own rival company. He was off in America, making big deals, only he came back to snap up the lovely Miss Greendale from right under your nose." She gave another pause, gauging how effectively her words were soaking in. "And now she's marrying him. Date's been set and everything."

"Is there any particular reason you're telling me all this, ehhh..."

"Helen," she snapped, when he groped for her name. "Look, sit there and pretend she didn't piss you off, but I know your type, Gavin. It galls the hell out of you when you find you can't have someone at the snap of your fingers."

"I think you're the one who's galled." He returned to his drink. "I'm sensing she's not your favourite person."

"Why wouldn't she be? Erica's everyone's favourite person," the brunette protested sourly. "Especially men... They're all like you. They love that sugar-and-spice, butter-wouldn't-melt routine of hers, so sweetly sexy but yet so very innocent. She'll laugh at your dirty jokes, but in that 'Oh I'm so shocked, you're so bad' way she has. You all fucking lap it up. It's pathetic."

"Well there is something intoxicating about her type," he said thoughtfully. "I suspect we want either to protect or corrupt her."

"She's got her protector now, her knight in a big shining Mercedes, so you've missed your shot at doing either." Smugness at his defeat melted away to reveal her own bitterness once more. "She's marrying Mr Stephen Laughton on July 20th. It's the society wedding of the year. They've already booked the Langham Hotel for the reception."

"You seem to know a lot about it."

"I should do. I'm chief bridesmaid."

He broke into laughter so uproarious that several other drinkers looked their way. She glared in response, abashed by the irony in her own confession. "Which begs the question," he said, still visibly amused, "how you come to be officiating at the wedding of someone you plainly can't stand."

Her defiance faded and she told him, her tone more sheepish. "Erica adopted me as a best friend when I started working for the company. Now I can't shake her off. I suppose I used to think she was okay, until..."

"Until she took Stephen Laughton, when you'd seen him first?" He finished off her sentence when she couldn't complete it. She flinched at his words and then fumed, having evidently been called on her secret.

"Something like that. Anyway," she said, trying to brush the subject away, "she caught me off-guard when she asked me to be bridesmaid. I'd said yes before I knew what I was doing. I'll find some excuse to back out."

"Don't." His tone was peremptory. She looked at him surprised at his insistence. He was scrutinising her, taking a visible interest in the conversation for the first time. "Go ahead with it," he said. "Be her bridesmaid."

"Why?" Her voice was wary, but his tone had grabbed her interest.

"Well," he said with a stare so penetrating it made her shift in her seat, "it strikes me that however pissed off you are with me, you're vastly more angry with her. Tell me if I'm wrong." She said nothing in response. "Now let's say for the sake of argument that I did feel slighted when she ran back to her original beau before I'd got to spend any... special time with her. My question to you would be how much would you like to see her taken down a peg or two? To--dare I be so bold--carry out a bit of sabotage regarding her wedding plans?"

Her voice, when she found the breath to reply, was more hushed than before. "I'd love it. But you can wish for things all you like..."

"Oh I'm sure two smart, scalded people working together could do more than wish, one of them being so close to the bride and holding a position of trust. There are a few ideas occurring to me even as we speak." She was leaning in to him, fascinated by anything he might have to say. "It'd slipped my mind, but you cropped up in our conversation when she and I were dating--her ever-so-naughty best friend Helen. She struck me as somewhat in awe of you, like you were her walk on the wild side by proxy."

She grunted sardonically. "Yes, that sounds about right."

"More than that, Helen, my guess is she's envious of your... more spontaneous attitude to life. Which potentially leaves her open to manipulation. It's certainly worth exploring. It would all depend on how much cunning you have and how ready you are to use it." He knocked back the last of his drink. "But look, we're just talking, and you've been drinking too much. I suggest I leave you my private number. Tomorrow you might want to forget that we had this conversation. But if not..."

"I'm not that drunk." There was a new clarity to her voice and her expression was keen, adrenalin suddenly suppressing the effects of the alcohol. "If you're serious, if you think we could come up with something..."

He considered her. "You're sure about this?"

"Fuck yes." She gave herself up to her secret malevolence for the first time and leaned further in, eyes wide and glinting. "I've had it with her. Primping little daddy's girl, bride of the fucking year... If you've got plans for screwing her over and you're serious about then, then count me in."

"Helen..." His smile took on a sudden vulpine aspect. "You've rather distracted me now. You're starting to get me excited."

She glanced down at his crotch and gasped to witness something massive uncoiling beneath the fabric of his pleated trousers. "So I see," she whispered. Her pupils dilated as a smile crept across her face, fingers twitching in eagerness to reach over and touch.

"I suggest," he said quietly, "that we retire somewhere more private and discuss this over sex."

Her eyes met his, amusement and desire combining to trump her outrage. "You complete and utter shit. How do I know you're not just using this idea for a Friday-night fuck?"

"Well ultimately you don't," he replied levelly, "not for sure. Although I suspect you recognise our mutual level of interest in young Erica's forthcoming nuptial celebrations. So view it as a Friday-night fuck and see what other benefits arise from it. Drink up."

She did, and they left with the look of a pair quietly in cahoots. A conspiracy had been hatched and they took it back to her place so it could be nurtured to maturity.

Within the hour the apartment rang with her screams and fervent obscenities, as he pinned her to the bed with her legs spread wide, his massive cock surging in and out of her stretched pussy.

"Oh god--oh god, you horny fucker... You horny fucking bastard... Tell me, tell me you'll do it, tell me you'll fuck her over some way. I'll help you any way I can. Help me stop her fucking wedding," she gasped, as he clutched her back and filled her up with big searching thrusts.

"Oh we'll fuck her over together," he grimaced, as his great muscular body slammed hard against her slender one, "of that I've no doubt. But we're not stopping the wedding."

"We're not?" His great fuck-strokes threatened to knock out of her every attempt at speech.

"Oh no," he informed her with grim, hard-driving satisfaction. "It's going right ahead." He drew his great length free of her cunt's tight hold and slid smoothly off the bed, dragging her after him by the hair and pushing her to kneeling in front of him. "Get to work." Fired up by his outrageous misuse of her body, she gobbled up the head of his cock and began to suck, jacking his pole vigorously at the same time.

"That's good, Helen." His clench-jawed enjoyment came from the unfolding plan as much as his partner's diligence. "Yes--I want Stephen Laughton's bride to go to the altar knowing she's in my power, nothing less." The slurping mouth relinquished his head and her tongue slavered all the way down to his balls, where she began to suck again. "She's going to start her married life at the mercy of another man's cock."

"This cock," his fellatrix said with panting satisfaction, and she insinuated her way between his legs, licking all over his perineum and wanking the huge dripping erection faster. "She denied this big cruel cock at her peril."

He groaned in his enjoyment as she wriggled her lithe self between his legs and drove her tongue into his asshole, renewing her dick-stroking attentions. "Very nice, Helen." His breath was ragged. "I could really get to like you. All I need you to do is help me snare this pretty rabbit."

Her tongue retracted from his anus and she slithered herself like fleet-growing ivy all the way up his masculine trunk. "I'll do whatever it takes... I'll fuck the bitch over one way or another, you can shoot me if I'm lying." One hand clenched him to her, the other tracing the contours of his dick as she plotted. "She's not all sweetness, you know; she tells me things she's never told anyone, all the fantasies that lurk under that sugar-coated surface of hers."

"Her dad's a Tory MP, don't forget that--in an election year."

"I know." She giggled, in between hard cat-licks of his erect nipple. "He's been trying to get strip-clubs closed down in his constituency."

"Can't afford any scandals in his own family then, can he? Not involving his precious daughter." His fingers curled tight into her hair as she nuzzled him.

"That's right. Mummy Greendale could never show her face at a charity function again." She turned her face up and their eyes met.

"Helen," he said with smiling approval, "you're quite the twisted little bitch aren't you?"

She returned the smile hazily, drunk on Machiavellian scheming and sex and him. "I'll get her for you, Gavin. Now fuck me. Pound the shit out of me. Fuck me like you're going to fuck her."

He did, putting her over the side of the bed without further bidding and slamming his demanding length deep back inside. Her hands clawed the bedspread in a fraught ecstasy as he took her and wickedness flickered on her face between the hard moments of connection.

"I'll do it for us, Gavin, for us..."

"Creative partnership," he said between clenched teeth, and he rutted forcefully towards his climax. "Erica's getting spliced. And if you do your part well, Helen, we'll get to deliver her a very special present indeed."

His declaration along with the hard probing of his dick was herald to her orgasm, which in turn sped up the emptying of his balls inside her. Deep groans matched high-pitched screams as they locked together and united in an explosion of lust. The joining of their juices sealed their pact.

That and the fate of their joint clueless quarry.

~~~~

You are invited to celebrate the marriage of

Erica Louise Greendale

To

Stephen Edward Laughton

On Saturday 20th July 2013

At St Xavier's Church, Islington

And afterwards at Langham London Hotel

RSVP

~~~~

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.