Erica's Big Day Ch. 02

And then ... it passed. The Greek patio-dancing switched not to the hen-night grind, but to a scene at a funfair shooting range, Stephen handing her the stuffed toy he had won on her behalf. It was all cute and heart-warming, as far a cry from the tits-out, cum-spluttering bachelorette mayhem as was possible. Erica melted into relief, right before she caught sight of Scott, discreetly flaunting a second disc. The disc, the one that told her full story. He winked from across the hall and she looked away, face flaming anew.

Everything else matched expectation, down to Great Uncle Bertrand and his convoluted ramblings once speech-making was thrown open to the floor. She thought the whole thing had been wrapped with a final toast after that. Then her expectations for her day's smooth running were smashed once more, as Gavin rose to his feet. She might have shattered the cut crystal wine glass currently in her grip, so shocked was her response. As he spoke the room began to spin around her like she had drunk too much champagne.

"It's not my custom to speak more than I have to," Gavin said to the guests, "but I feel it would be remiss of me if I didn't say something on behalf of Rainbow Software, for which Erica has worked these past three years. During that time I've found her a committed and inspiring employee, yet I feel she has gifts yet to be fully exploited ... and that's something, Stephen, I intend to put right with no delay." The glance he gave to the groom was reassuring and Stephen appeared to return it with one of gratitude, before Gavin continued.

"The gift I passed on earlier seems somehow inadequate now. A girl like Erica should be given something much more substantial than a spice rack." Laughter rippled across the room. "And she will, believe me. You know, I see her here with her groom, the man who has claimed this very special woman to be his, and it makes me swell with ... with joy that she's getting today everything she so richly deserves. It's wonderful for me to share in this occasion and I know that I'll look back on it with immense personal satisfaction. To Erica."

Glasses were raised, Stephen's included, to his unconventional toast. Erica cringed, resisting the pull of Gavin's arrogant stare. Clementine toasted beside him, gazing over in delight. Erica longed for the spotlight to fade; she could no longer bear to be the object of one man's ravening attentions and so many others' fawning. But then it was time for yet another ceremony. Stephen and she were picked out and photographed again, as they stood together at the architectural wonder that was their wedding cake. She clasped the knife with her husband and was sure, as she smiled into Scott's camera one further time that the pain and tension would leak visibly from her eyes.

Then all formalities were done. Nothing remained between Erica and her adulterous appointment but a succession of aching minutes. The timepiece in her mind had an amplified tick and she checked the silent one on her wrist as frequently as discretion would allow. The evening crowd began trickling in, but she was in no mood for further socialising. She clung instead to Helen when apart from Stephen, updating her on Gavin's demands while sneaking two further glasses of champagne to fortify herself. Helen merely nodded and stroked her friend's arm consolingly.

Brian the DJ was setting up now and soon Erica was being ogled again, as she dutifully took the floor with Stephen to lead off the evening's festivities. Crushed up to her handsome husband, she slow-danced her way through Lou Reid's Perfect Day. This was the only man she should hold later on stripped of his tuxedo. She hugged him tight while other couples joined them on the floor, as though that could make things better. She even made a show of revelry when the tempo sped up and Don't Stop Till You Get Enough kicked in. Fear and alcohol were fuelling her now, so that the darkened ballroom spun surreal with flashing lights. A glance to her watch sent a shock of anxiety right through her.

Time to make the break, to do this thing—but how could she get away?

Ironically it was Stephen who provided her cue. "You've been quiet since dinner," he said, as she trailed him from the now-packed dance area, feigning sheer physical tiredness. "Probably shouldn't have had so much bubbly. Did it make the headache worse?"

"Yes, it's starting to feel like a migraine." Her heart rather than her head pounded as she seized this opportunity. "I could do with some air perhaps."

"Maybe you need to head up to the suite and lie down for a while."

"No!" she protested a little too urgently. She couldn't have him go looking for her there. "I need to take a break, that's all. And get something for my head. Can you stay with the guests and keep everyone happy while I'm gone? Please?" She had been signalling to Helen, and her chief bridesmaid joined her hurriedly from the dancing throng. "Helen, could we ... maybe ..."

"It's fine, Stephen, I'll look after her if she's a bit poorly," Helen promised. Stephen stared at his bride uncertainly.

"You haven't had any time with your own friends," Erica insisted. "They need to see some of you. Let me get some fresh air. I'll be okay."

"All right, sweetheart," he said, smiling with affection and kissing her cheek softly. "Take care of her, okay?" he instructed Helen, as she spirited Erica away.

"Okay, what do you need from me?" the bridesmaid inquired in a hushed tone once she had Erica alone.

"Time, I need time! Say till ... till ten thirty. And no one is to ... you know, interrupt." Her mind reeled with disturbing images of what might be interrupted. "They can't even know where I've gone."

"It's okay, I can cover for you," Helen told her calmly. "Once people start asking, I'll say you're in the ladies'."

"But my mother will come looking! You might cope with Stephen, but mum will insist on your taking her to me, I know what she's like."

"I'll deal with your mother, I'll deal with them all—buy you the time you need," Helen insisted. "I'm an excellent liar when I have to be. You have no idea. Erica, you have my word—no one will come looking."

Erica was reassured. Checking around, she could see neither of her key persecutors. Significantly, it seemed, they had departed the Grand Ballroom. Camille was chatting animatedly to Terry the Best Man and Kate was all over her boyfriend, Brian the DJ. Erica's parents appeared to be bonding with Stephen's. More evening guests had arrived, including she noticed with a rush of helpless anger, Eloise Mayhew. No doubt the treacherous bitch intended to hug the bride while revelling in her own mischief. No matter—there simply wasn't room to fret. This business had to be got through. She looked back at Helen, summoning the nerve required to reach her all-important destination. "Okay, I need to go and do this."

"God, I feel responsible for the whole thing," Helen told her.

Erica reached out and touched her friend's arm, her eyes welling. "Don't go blaming yourself. Everything you did was well-intentioned, I know that. You've been such a good friend to me—you couldn't know how spiteful anyone else was going to be. Just keep everyone else from finding out where I am." Emotion surged. "Oh Helen, how am I going to be with Stephen tonight after this?" Then she swallowed back the sudden on-rush. "I'll see you after. Keep everyone away, please."

Checking behind to see that no one else from the main party was observing her, Erica left, heading for Reception. Gavin was observing along with Clementine from one of the plush foyer sofas, she noted, and her heart drummed quicker as she waited for her key-card at the vast mahogany desk. This was real. This was happening. God, what a terrible thing she was doing. What a terrible, horrible thing.

She made for the elevator—purse clutched grimly, the key-card slipped inside. She blanked a couple of old school-pals along the way, lest they try to engage her in chat. Gavin and friend were on the move now too. As the great doors slid smoothly open, she thought the couple were going to join her, but instead Gavin rang for the elevator opposite, providing her with a discreet nod like she was a co-conspirator, not a victim. Her own doors sealed her off from them and for the few short moments' ascent to her floor she was alone.

Ascending to hell. How appropriate on this weirdly askew wedding day. Because it was all horrible, right? There wasn't any part of her that wanted what the next hour promised. No perverse corner of her brain which found it scarily exciting. To submit completely, as a man she had once desired did whatever the hell he pleased with her body, while the one she had just married chatted to friends a few floors below ...

The elevator drew to a stop and delivered her to her ultimate wedding-day fate.

Erica stood on her own in the broad corridor, checking fearfully in case she might be seen, by whom she was not sure. Then the other elevator doors drew apart and Gavin's imposing form was looming over her, his petite helper standing innocently by his side. The fragrance of his Givenchy Pi Neo drifted over her and she recalled his arrival that morning, that momentary pang in her parents' hallway. She recognised it now as one of regret—that she had never been taken by this man, never been alone and naked with him in a moment of utter surrender. Well now she was about to get what she thought she'd missed. Not that they'd be quite alone ...

"Take us to your suite," Gavin instructed. "We've got limited time and I don't intend to waste a minute." She gulped at the words and her pussy responded as it had done the night she promised her body to him and her heart to Stephen.

She moved urgently, the skirts of her dress filling up the brightly-lit passageway as she progressed, plastic card clutched sweatily in her hand. Gavin and Clementine matched her pace. "It's fine—the staff here are very discreet; they won't ask questions if they see us," her ex-boss assured her as they arrived at the Infinity Suite and she fumbled to fit the card in the slot.

"I know your ... friend is here to help," she said tersely as she jabbed at the lock mechanism, "but can't we do this alone? You know, the main part of it?"

"Clementine has a multi-functional role," Gavin informed her, as she finally succeeded in accessing the room. "She'll be leading a short ceremony, won't you, sweetheart?"

Ceremony? What the hell ...

"Yes, I'll make myself very useful," Clementine assured Erica as they followed her inside. "But if you want some special time alone with Gavin, I'll totally understand."

The younger girl was already gazing around at the lavishly-furnished Infinity Suite, as Gavin toyed with the room's lighting system. Erica too had the first sight of her bridal boudoir, outside of the hotel's on-line brochure. In other circumstances she would have pored in enchantment over the living-room's vast space, with its cream and ivory décor, its dark maple furnishings strewn with vases of thick-bunched dark-red roses. Right now Clementine was doing that in her place. Gavin had already locked the door and was operating the curtains so that they glided smoothly around the great curve of the room's far wall, shutting out the London night-lights. Erica could only wrestle down her mounting anxiety as the event unfolded.

"Stephen's provided you with quite the magnificent backdrop," Gavin observed, Clementine gasping her agreement. "Unfortunately I won't have the luxury of appreciating it fully. We need to move things along. Clementine, do you have the vows?"

The young blonde was already withdrawing two gilt-edged cards from her hefty shoulder-bag. "Right here. It's okay, I know my part."

Erica had been shocked so many times today her dread was giving way to indignation. "Vows? What the hell is this, Gavin?"

"Hush." He planted a finger lightly on her lips. The quiet command of his one syllable disempowered her utterly, reminding her how completely she was ensnared by this domineering man. "For one short hour you're mine completely," he told her, drawing away his finger. "You'll do everything I say without question, if you're a smart girl. Do we have an understanding?"

Stephen Laughton's bride stared into the calm, hard face of the man who owned her. There were no cards to play, no reason left to panic. She was at his mercy and she knew now beyond doubt that he would show her none. He would take the bride however he pleased, completing his corruption of her day, and she would submit. Within herself she might try and cling to some form of loyalty, but outwardly she knew to whom she belonged. Maybe it was a fitting punishment. She nodded and let Gavin take both her hands—and it began.

"We are gathered here," Clementine began, standing between them and speaking her lines like a precocious student in a school play, "to witness the first sexual union of the newly-married Mrs Erica Laughton, with her prospective debaucher Mr Gavin McClain. We are here to fully enjoy their coupling and to encourage them by our presence in their erotic activities. I wrote this part myself, it's kind of the royal 'we'," she added delightedly to Erica, before turning to the 'prospective debaucher'. "Mr McClain, would you like to read your vows first?" She handed him one of the cards and, having briefly referred to it, he began, staring into Erica's helplessly mesmerised eyes the whole time.

"I, Gavin Drummond McClain, take you, Erica Louise Laughton, to be my sexual slave for this next hour. I will enjoy your body relentlessly and will endeavour to make you forget your wedding day as you surrender to adulterous orgasm, even in this sanctum of your marital love."

Erica was stunned by the quiet conviction with which he uttered the words. She recalled his promise to her that morning as she had hung limp and molested in his arms and recognised the challenge ahead, one to which she must surely rise. As long as she did not climax, as long as she resisted the thrill that was bubbling up in her stomach, he would not have her totally. She would not lose herself. There would be something left for Stephen.

"And now you, Mrs Laughton?" Clementine passed her the other card. She sought for resolve, sought to rise above whatever she might be made to do. This was simply a task. She was mouthing someone else's words, their fantasy. It meant nothing. As she scanned the elegantly-printed script and read it out, however, she trembled.

"I, Erica Louise Laughton, give my body over to your pleasure, Gavin Drummond McClain, for this next hour. I will submit myself to your hands, your mouth and your ... your cock and will do all in my power to prove myself a ... a good and willing f ... fuck-slut." She could not meet Gavin's eyes.

Clementine retrieved the cards, clearly pleased with the proceedings thus far. Her voice, as she concluded, held all the sweetness of a true romantic. "I declare you Defiler and Defilee. What we have brought together, let no one put asunder for the duration of this hour. Gavin, you may now fuck the Bride."

"Oh I will," he replied, and his normally restrained demeanour burned with intent so fierce that she simply had to look at him. "I've been saving myself for her."

There was a moment's exquisite, excruciating tension. Clementine's gaze scarcely mattered to Erica now. The fingers of her right hand lingered softly in Gavin's grip. Her nipples, she realised, were swelling against her corset and her loins tingled as though the egg was still in place. She opened her mouth to voice some statement of defiance, some avowal of her love for Stephen, but before she could make a sound, he was on her.

Gavin's powerful hands seized Erica's corseted waist and his lips descended to her neck, claiming the sweet-spot he had discovered that morning, the one which made her knees buckle and her pussy melt. She sucked in a great gasp of air, as heat from his mouth rushed over the entire surface of her body. He pulled her tight to him. She could feel the tension throughout his tuxedoed frame, and knew that the layers of her dress were cushioning that great rigid slab she had encountered earlier. Her breasts were heaving against the tight bodice of her dress, like they were trying to burst free, nipples pumped so hard it was painful.

As his tongue traced the same route to her ear it had tested before and his teeth bit on the lobe, her head went light. She hung limply in his grasp like a cliché in a historical romance, weak from the day's demands, her body giving itself up to his lustful onslaught. Stephen's face was hovering vaguely in her consciousness, but as Gavin's tongue writhed in her ear all was being blotted from her mind other than one treacherous thought: this is how a bride should be taken on her wedding night.

Erica rebelled instantly against the notion, but then Gavin's mouth was on hers, his tongue thrusting inside, tasting of menthol and cabernet sauvignon. His hand slid up the laced back of her dress to clutch her head as their mouths locked. She tried not to respond, but was being overwhelmed from within as well as without. She felt welded at the lips to Gavin, the muscle of his tongue invading and conquering her in prelude to that other imminent invasion. He broke from her and his lips curled into a savage smile as he registered the look on her panting face.

She was hopelessly revealed before him.

"You want this," he said with quiet satisfaction. "More than that, you need it." He cradled her jaw in one hand, slipping his thumb between her lips. She felt its pressure on her tongue as he stared into her eyes. "My beautiful bride," he said softly. "You're so ready."

He bent down, wrapping one arm around her back and scooping the other beneath her ankles, below the folds of her skirts. Then he lifted her voluptuous five foot eight off the floor with ease. She cried out in surprise, linking her hands involuntarily around his neck as he raised her. Clementine was already opening the door to the master bedroom, so that he could carry his bride smoothly over the threshold, her veil draping behind her; Erica glimpsed the girl's excited smile as they passed inside.

Gavin set Erica down next to the room's king-size centrepiece. Clementine had already brought the room's lighting up to a warm glow, throwing its rich dark colours and textures into relief. Then Gavin was turning her around and pushing her onto the end of the four-poster bed, its drapes all roped back to expose the expansive linen surface. Erica had an image of pristine sheets folded back over a gold-embossed bed-cover, red and white rose petals scattered in preparation for the happy couple. The scene for her perfect first evening with the knight who had claimed her heart, only now the story's villain was going to have her here instead. So wrong, so vile. And yet as the side of her face was pressed firmly down into the centre of the bed, her chief emotion was heart-thumping excitement.

"Stay there. Don't move." Gavin's instructions were hard and simple. Then to Clementine he said, "Okay, help me out."

Erica gasped once more as the full satin folds of wedding skirts were lifted and piled about her waist; the conditioned air in the suite was cool against her suddenly exposed flanks. The legs and buttocks she had worked so hard to tighten and sculpt for Stephen's delight were stretched taut over the bed, so that Gavin could gaze on them instead in all their lingerie-clad glory. He slipped the tuxedo jacket from his shoulders and threw it casually onto a chair, then ripped his bow-tie loose, before pinning her skirts against the small of her back with one hand and commencing to tear at his bulging trouser flies with the other.

Then he paused. "I wonder would that mirror move?" He strode on impulse to the other side of the room. She heard the sound of some heavy piece of furniture being shifted from wall brackets. "Yes," he mused, "I think the bride should have a good view." The mirror was heaved into place before her, one more reminder to the bride that on hers and Stephen's wedding day, she was being mastered by someone else. And still she couldn't quell the thrill in her belly, the relentless moistening of her loins, as in the periphery of her vision that great cock sprang free. Damn—it really was as huge and angry as she remembered from the morning.