Erica's Big Day Ch. 02

Gavin and friends would 'hold their peace', of course. They were having way too much evil fun at her expense, eyes fixed on the bride as she squirmed her way through this sacred occasion. Only she might object—because I'm a silly, stupid cock-sucking slut!!!—but the moment in which to do so passed. Her agony however did not. The vibrations were building again, shuddering throughout her. The vicar was talking of "mutual joy" and "the celebration of love and commitment", and all the while another man was causing her pussy to ooze so that her stored-up honey trickled down her legs. Her father was giving her away now, but as long as that excruciating sweetness was rolling through her, she felt possessed by someone else entirely.

The rest of the marriage service threatened to dissolve in Erica's mind. Reverend Stapley could have been reciting nursery rhymes for all she knew. What concerned her most right now were the waves emanating outward from her sopping pussy, making the pores of her flesh bead with sweat and her nipples poke hard against her bodice. But, Christ knew how, she made it through to the vows, the vows she and Stephen had chosen together.

Her almost-husband took her hand and slipped her wedding band onto her finger; she was sure he would feel the vibrations through her fingertips and recognise the awful guilt that was shining from her eyes and glinting on her skin. But he was professing his commitment to her unaware that anything was wrong, proclaiming how he would love and cherish her all the days of his life ... and as he did, the Gavin-induced arousal was surging through her whole body.

Finally it was Erica's turn to place the ring on her beloved's finger and make her solemn promise. She had to do this, had to make it through for both their sakes, keeping her gaze on Stephen's eyes and following the words of the vicar. "I, Erica Louise Greendale, take you, Stephen Edward Laughton, to be my beloved husband ..." At that point a great electric thrill was pumped through her entire body so that she nearly lurched forward, eyes widening. She gripped Stephen's hands tight to stabilise herself.

"Are you all right?" the vicar was asking. Stephen was leaning in worriedly, bearing her up.

"I'm fine," she gasped. "Keep going." He did, and she repeated, the vibrator thrumming through her like Gavin's presence inside her body, as she swore herself to Stephen. "... To be at your side in sorrow and in joy ... to love and cherish you always ... all the days of my life." Promising herself to one man, with the knowledge that before the day was out, another would pillage her conjugal trove with his great hard dick.

She had just made it to the end when Gavin switched the egg to an outrageously high setting, making it tremor like it would hatch inside her cunt. "Aaaagh!" Ohhh god ... It was only a little scream, but enough to make the congregation gasp. Stephen caught her swaying body and somehow she absorbed the explosion of sensation. "I'm fine, I'm fine ..."

They finally made it through, the egg settling down once Reverend Stapley had declared them husband and wife. "Those whom God has joined together let no man put asunder," was his final instruction. There was only one man with the power to sunder anything, and Erica would have to satisfy his rampant cock in order to prevent it. The thought loomed huge in her mind as her husband kissed her.

"It's okay, I'm sure no one else noticed a thing," he whispered, as he guided her shaky steps to the registry at the back of the church. "You okay now?"

"A little light-headed, that's all." Relief swept over her at being out of Gavin's range. "Not enough breakfast." Her parents' worries also needed dismissing. "I'm fine, really. I was a bit overwhelmed, that's all—and it's such a hot day."

She was a wilting, sweating version of herself all through the signing. There was no relief from torment, it seemed, for Scott Anderson, editor of the hen night footage, had his camera in her face the whole time. She could guess his thoughts as she leaned in to sign the register. It was all she could do to hold the pen. Her only concern right now was making it to the bathroom and removing that wretched egg; from that at least she could have some relief.

The practicalities, once she got there, threatened to foil her. How to conclude the messy operation without staining anything? She might have enlisted Helen to aid her, but that detail of her shame was still more than she felt able to share. Then the door opened and with mixed emotions she realised she had not been left alone in her plight.

"It's okay, I'm here to help," Clementine assured her sweetly. "Go on, hitch up the skirt."

"No, I'll do it alone." Anger was flaming up along with her mortification this time. Who the hell did this girl think she was?

"You'll never manage it," the young blonde pointed out reasonably. "We can't get this beautiful dress all messed up."

Erica was too wrung-out to object any further. She allowed her skirts to be gathered up by her helper, allowed her sodden panties and juice-encrusted thighs to be displayed. She made to turn away so she could retrieve the offending object herself, but Clementine would not let her.

"You'll never reach," the girl insisted gently. "Let me." Erica's cheeks were on fire, the blood pounding in her temples, as Clementine slipped her fingers inside the silk thong and went searching. As her probing fingers squelched inside the bride, she chatted amiably. "You were a vision up there, a perfect bride. You took my breath away. I absolutely adore weddings, but I've never seen one as gorgeous as that. Oh god, Erica, you're so fucking wet, so beautiful. Hang on, I think I've got it ..." Her fingers picked out the troublesome little invader and slowly drew it away from the sucking clutch of Erica's cunt.

"Let me clean this off," she said, holding it up. "Then maybe you've a bag you can put it in?"

"I don't want to keep it!" Erica was still blushing from Clementine's intimacy as she readjusted her garments. "Get it away from me!"

"I suppose I'll hold onto it then," Clementine said simply, "if you don't want your gift. It'll be all the more special to me knowing where it's been." She licked the object clean with a lascivious pink tongue and slipped it into her shoulder bag. "I'm sorry." She genuinely sounded abashed. "I had to taste, couldn't help myself. Look, I'll leave you to get ready. I can see you're a bit flustered."

"Flustered?" Erica cried out, causing Clementine to pause at the door. "Why are you doing this? You don't even know who I am! Why would you let this happen to me?"

"I'm helping." The response sounded sincere, but Erica scowled at it. "No, really," Clementine insisted. "I know Gavin. He would do this anyway, with or without me. At least like this I can help you out where I can. You can't blame me if I ... Well, you look so delicious. The two of you will be sensational together, I feel quite jealous."

She departed with a knowing smile, leaving Erica to recuperate. The bride leaned against the sink unit, heart beating apace following Clementine's pretty, feminine violation. She breathed deeply, willing her body back under control. To have been fingered by a stranger-girl here in the House of God, to have been brought so near to climax by a lustful blackmailer during her own wedding ceremony ...

Her wedding ceremony ...

Against all odds she had made it to the title of Mrs Laughton. In law at least she was Stephen's, even though she had been fixating on another man's cock as she spoke her vow—the cock which had been so warm and alive in her mouth a mere two hours ago ... Stop it, stop it! Not my fault, not my ...

Only it was, wasn't it? Her drunken hen-night performance had set this all in motion and Gavin's great rod would punish her for the sleazy crime.

But Stephen must not be touched by all that. It was her duty now to protect him, to cordon off all nastiness from the rest of her wedding day, from the rest of her life. She would go through whatever motions that blackmailing bastard wanted and it would mean nothing. He was expecting her to come for him and had tried to push her there during her marriage vows. Well he had failed then and he would fail later. Of that satisfaction at least he would be robbed. What could he possibly do to her with his loathsome arrogance and his unbearable smugness and his huge, hard cock?

Helen joined her in the bathroom, catching her as she began to wilt once more. "How are we doing?"

"I don't know. I'm married to Stephen I suppose."

"Yes, you are. You were so courageous up there, even if you did have a little episode. People won't mind, they won't even remember. You're going to see this through, right?"

"I don't know." She explained all about the photographer—a fourth person plotting against her, adding jibes and covert looks as the day progressed. The full Clementine details she skirted, so deep was her embarrassment.

"We'll sort it all out after," Helen told her confidently. "We'll sort him out. I promise. Get through today, be the stunning bride for Stephen, don't let Gavin or anyone else take this away from you."

"You really think I can do that?"

"I know you can, girl. Go out there and hold your head high. I'm proud of you." She held Erica's gaze and drew from her a weak smile. "Now, let's touch up that face. You're the star of today's show."

Erica felt distinctly lacking in the star quality befitting a bride, but she clung to her spouse's hand once back in the registry and hoped that some of his cheeriness would channel through to her. Her muted mood she passed off to him as a tension headache. "But I won't let it spoil our day, I promise," she said, trying to quell the surge of panic brought on by her words.

Her unwitting groom held fast to his whore bride, as they walked from the church into a cloud of confetti. "Throw the bouquet!" he had to remind her, and she flung it almost desperately, scarcely noticing that Kate Laughton was the gleeful recipient.

The post-marriage photo shoot was a grim business. Erica had two vultures hovering throughout—video-Scott filming in the background and Alan Travers resuming his oh-so-amiable photographer's banter as he snapped them all close up. Both men were behaving themselves, but she had a sense of them leering through their lenses, imagining. Oh god, did Gavin intend to have them record her shame? The thought sent a shock of fury through her. That, if nothing else, would be a deal-breaker.

Travers' words were laced with innuendo as he photographed the couple: "Okay, let's have our gorgeous bride with her lucky groom. You can't have her to yourself for a while yet, got to share her for a bit longer." While her husband grinned and hugged her with propriety, the bride felt her smile tighten. Today, it seemed, was to be respite-free.

The limo journey to the hotel might have provided a temporary cocoon, but for the fact that Erica shared it with the man she was in the process of betraying. She should have been blissfully melting into her first private interlude with her husband, but it was an effort even to meet his eye. Gavin's phantom cock was swaying ever before her and it was hard to see past it to the man she professed to love. Instead she nestled guiltily into his side, resting her head on his shoulder like the doting new wife she was meant to be. She wished she could cuddle with Helen instead, her only solace in the midst of this nightmare.

Arrival at the Langham returned her dread to the level she had felt in the church. How smug, how delighted she had felt when her father agreed to book one of London's most exclusive hotels for her reception. Now as Stephen drew her from the car, as he led her through the cheering guests who thronged the great porticoed entrance, there was no delight. This magnificent building would house her wedding celebration and her debasement at the hands of Gavin McClain. Everything from the moment she stepped into the marble-pillared lobby was countdown to the debauching of the bride.

But that was for her to deal with, right? Her father had poured money into his only daughter's wedding day so that three hundred people could share in her self-indulgence. Those same people had rained gifts on her and Stephen, so she'd better give them what they expected. Erica drew herself up and launched into the meet-and-greet, gliding through the vaulted splendour of the reception area and sumptuous art deco of the Artesian bar, showering her bridal favours on cousins, great aunts and old college friends who had driven or flown in for the happy occasion. The cameras she dodged all she could, till she was virtually dancing through the two families and their amassed friends, bestowing greetings and giving out peals of girlish laughter almost manic in their cheerfulness.

The performance grew in momentum to the point where she nearly fooled part of her brain with the illusion that all was well. Then in the heart of the crowded bar she swung away from her favourite maternal uncle, straight into her charming nemesis and his date. Her heart jolted and she only just stopped herself from stumbling in reverse.

"You're doing amazingly well," Gavin told her approvingly. "Stephen looks quite the proud husband. You've obviously made him very happy." She thought she might have a panic attack on the spot.

"You look magical," Clementine chimed in. "We were just saying."

"Quick reminder," Gavin said confidentially. "I know you're busy and I don't want to keep you. Scott has both edits of the 'Story of Erica'—the pre-watershed one which he'll be screening during the speeches and the extended cut, which he can put on any time he wants. His choice is entirely dependent on your being present at the Infinity Suite for our private celebration at, let's say nine o'clock. Once the dancing is well underway. I know I said I had my own suite booked. That was something of a white lie, I'm afraid."

"The Infinity Suite ..." Erica breathed out the words, all the horror of their morning encounter rushing back to her. "That's our suite, mine and Stephen's!"

"Later it may be," Gavin replied casually. "But at nine o'clock it'll be ours to enjoy, Erica. Yours and mine. I trust you'll be there to let us in. We'll set aside an hour for play. More than that would be pushing it, don't you think?"

"Find somewhere else," she hissed, desperately trying not to make the wrong sort of show. "You can still book another room. I'll pay you back."

"Now where would be the economy in that?" Gavin asked mildly. "I wouldn't dream of having you pay. No, Erica, it's there or nowhere. And you can't risk nowhere. Understand me?"

"Darling, we're about to go in for the meal." Erica jumped at the sound of Stephen's voice. "They want to seat the head table." She looked around and faltered in her reply, so stunned was she at finding herself between her new husband and her blackmailer.

Gavin stepped in, reaching to shake the groom's hand. "Congratulations, Stephen," he said with warmth. "I hear you came rushing back from the States to claim your lovely bride here. Quite the romantic gesture, well played, that man. I'm very glad I can be here to share the day with you both."

"Thank you Gavin," Stephen replied. He seemed taken aback yet pleased by his one-time boss's magnanimity. "It's great that you and your friend here could make it."

"It's all so lovely." Clementine beamed on introduction. "And Erica looks absolutely stunning. We could both eat her up."

The heat of embarrassment seared Erica. She could scarcely breathe until Stephen had exchanged final pleasantries with the couple and guided her away. As she retreated, she could almost feel Gavin's stare burning into her back.

"Who'd have thought? Gavin McClain actually being civil to me," Stephen said in amusement. "It's pretty magnanimous of him to come along, especially since he had a crush on you. He can take it on the chin that you're Mrs Laughton now. He's a bigger man than I thought." He winked at her in considerable self-congratulation and from the mire of her mind she dredged a convincing smile.

Oh god, he's no idea how big ...

Dinner was an endurance test, at the other side of which lay Erica's final challenge. She was seated between the swelling prides of her husband and her father, overlooking the myriad guests in the hotel's Grand Ballroom. The elegance of the place with its Doric pillars, gold-embroidered curtains and crystal chandeliers seemed horribly at odds with her situation's shabbiness. Everything was laid out on the starched white of the damask table clothes with precision and refinement, from the tightly-budded rose bouquets to the slim white candles in their silver holders. The room was set up for the DJ's arrival later on, all in place for the day's continued merriment. If only she had reason to be merry ... For there is was on one side of the DJ's podium—a great video screen onto which would be projected the 'Story of Erica'. Whether the guests would get to enjoy the full version was up to her.

Committed now to her ordeal, Erica had practicalities to consider: namely extracting herself from the celebrations and ensuring that no one went looking for her. Exactly how did the main attraction vanish from the wedding proceedings without drawing attention to her disappearance? And how could that person be expected to breeze back in as though nothing had happened, looking like she hadn't been rigorously worked over by ... No, no, don't go there. It was better to divert her mind from what would transpire within the bridal suite. She simply had to get herself there and cover her traces.

What would happen inside was beyond her control.

She picked her way through the asparagus, the salmon and the dessert of crème brulee, making a show for Stephen of enjoying them. For all the bespoke dishes she had so carefully selected she had no stomach. Not with those gloating eyes in the body of the room, not with Gavin and his pretty consort charming more of her relatives half to death. She got by with as little small-talk as possible, passing off her lack of appetite as headache-related; it was an excuse which now seemed doubly useful, so as the time trickled towards the appointed hour she played it up more and more, even as she fortified herself with white wine.

"It's the stress of the day, that's all, sweetheart," Stephen assured her. "We'll leave this circus behind soon and it'll be just the two of us. You and me tucked away from the world." He couldn't quite keep the excitement from his voice and it made her quail in renewed dread. "Besides," he added jauntily, "it could be worse. You could have to make a speech."

Speeches—she had to look calm and appreciative through all of them, smiling in the appropriate places. Her dad, reliving all the stories of little Erica and her childhood marriage fixation; how happy he was now that she had chosen a husband as talented, successful and charming as Stephen. Trevor Laughton then standing up to welcome the gorgeous bride into the family, lavishing praise on his beautiful, sweet-natured new daughter-in-law. Terry Leonard, the grinning Best Man, running the fine line of acceptability in his allusions to Stephen's past. And then Stephen himself, proclaiming himself the luckiest man in the room and far beyond. She smiled up at him on cue, trying to blot out what felt like the telepathically-transmitted crowing of her prospective defiler.

"I'm not sure words can express quite how wonderful this girl is," Stephen was spouting, "so maybe this can." He indicated the huge screen at the end of the hall. Scott Anderson was in place at the laptop.

It was a contender for the most tortuous moment of the day so far, wedding-vow vibrations notwithstanding. Everyone was laughing delightedly at the sequence of Erica-images which flashed onto the huge screen, and Stephen was looking down at his bride for her reaction. There was no reason why Gavin would play his trump card now, but what if Scott had got the discs wrong, what if he had been unable to resist shocking this nice middle-class assembly with big screen footage of the new Mrs Laughton sucking strangers' cocks? She had to wring the happily-surprised smile onto her face as the movie played out, but one hand was clenching the other under the table as the moment of that awful segue approached.