The Bachelorette Party Pt. 04

The aftermath of one of these bachelorette bacchanalias is a study in exhaustion, health worries and moral quandary. As one might surmise, any man that fucks nineteen women in one sitting is going to be tired. If he says differently, he's lying. When I'm working I'll put on a brave face late in the game, when it's only the bride and me going at it. But I'm DOG tired afterward. Just like a clock-watching blue-collar worker, I'm waiting for the end of my shift. I can sleep for days!! Fucking on demand, without consummating, is the most savage workout you can imagine.

Of course, the first thing I'm checking for when I wake up is the drip. You fuck nineteen women, one or two of them are bound to have some nasty venereal disease, hopefully not herpes or AIDS, things that can't be fixed by a trip to the medicine cabinet. I get up to pee and I'll squeeze my pud, looking for signs of drainage. I'm not going to say I haven't had the clap a time or three. I have. I know what to look for. I don't have herpes or AIDS, thank God, but it's not due to any diligence on my part. I fuck the pussies presented me. The only precaution I take is in the hope that the women I fuck know they are going to be fucked publicly at these parties and check themselves beforehand. I don't wrap up. The danger is part of my mystique. I work an hour or so every week and I get paid thousands of dollars for each performance. The risk is entirely mine. It's a cash business. I don't pay taxes. Every week I run the risk of going to jail. I have no hope of getting a Social Security check later in life. This is what I do.

I always get checked on the day of my performances as provenance of my health. If I catch a bug and pass it on, I'll have that health check as proof I caught the bug from someone in the room. The bride then takes the legal risk, after all, she invited these people. It's her responsibility to make sure they are all healthy, free of virus.

I know this sounds wildly irresponsible. That's part of my moral quandary. I'm not a bad guy. I go to church. I'm not shirking any child support bills; I don't have any children. I try not to cum in unshielded pussies, that is, I'll ask women about their birth control methods up front. But sometimes I'll spray a nice, unshielded pussy and hope for the best. So far I've been lucky. I figure I'll sling pre-nuptial dick for about ten more years, invest my winnings, and then retire before I'm forty.

I drove home after my surprise reunion with Tammy Janeway and crashed hard. The one nut I'd busted came at the expense of nineteen different pussies and countless blowjobs. I'd left Tammy's face painted in cream. Not one patch of her cinnamon colored skin survived the drip. She was bukake'd out. She could have swallowed that load, but she chose to pull away.

I woke up around noon the next day; I had to piss like a racehorse. First things first: I checked my urethra for drainage and, finding none, took a long, healthy whizz. Other than sex, there's nothing better. Real drainage takes a few days to show up, anyway.

While I was peeing, a thought occurred to me. I took my iphone and called Gloria. (You'll remember her as my pimp. I prefer to call her my scheduler.)

"...the FUCK'S YOUR problem?" she opened.

"Where's the wedding?" I asked.

"It's at that Kingdom Hall over on Goethe. 4 p.m. You know the one?"

"Yeh."

"You're not planning on ATTENDING, are you?"

"I am."

"JEEZ LOUISE. You got a set of stones on YOU, hey? What's that noise? Are you peeing?"

"I am."

The steady drone of a healthy whizz reverberated loudly in the backdrop. Gloria hung up.

I peed for another full minute before crawling back into bed. At 2 p.m., I got up to pee again, then showered and dressed. I was going to that wedding. It was unusual for a Closer to attend the actual wedding (after putting wood to the bride the night before), but I wanted to see the guy she was marrying. I wanted to look him in the eye. The pink weaves would see me at the church, of course, and start chattering among themselves. I didn't care. I was going to look this guy in the eye, wait for he and his wife to return from their honeymoon, and then I was going to call his wife and arrange to fuck her. She brought this outcome about by handing me her phone number. I'd fucked any number of men's wives just like this. OK, I'll admit I didn't know their husbands. In this case I wanted to see the man who'd corralled my former girlfriend.

Then something else occurred to me. Why in the living fuck was she getting married in a Kingdom Hall? Was her husband a Jehovah's Witness? Last I heard, the JWs don't marry outside of their religion. Unless...unless Tammy had converted and both of them were JWs. She and I hadn't really talked last night, so....

Whatever.

I didn't care either way. I didn't know much about the religion. I'd tried to chat up a JW girl once and she told me she couldn't date outside her religion. She told me this right up front, before I got around to tempting her with the vision of my cock. This was the extent of my exposure to the religion.

Just to be sure I didn't stand out from the crowd, I put on a nicely fitted black Calvin Klein suit, a white shirt and a red tie. Most churches require conservative dress for such events. This getup was the most conservative getup I owned. I wore black oxfords and dark Raybans. I looked like a Secret Service bodyguard, sans the hidden weapons arsenal. I hoped this is how JWs attended church. I didn't want Tammy's husband to notice me, notice Tammy's friends, and put two and two together. I wanted to look like a convert fresh from hawking a fuck tonne of Watchtowers on the street. The Raybans were there to cover that glazed, catatonic look endemic to most religious zealots. I didn't have it. And I couldn't fake it.

I arrived at the Kingdom Hall about fifteen minutes early and was pleased to find that my getup mixed nicely with the crowd, save for the fact that most of the black suits there came straight outta Kmart. I didn't think that anyone in that sanctuary could tell the difference between Calvin Klein and Kmart and I didn't think they cared.

I was also pleased to see that only two or three of the pink weaves showed up. They sat politely in the back and, contrary to their raucous behavior twelve hours ago, they seemed positively demur.

I found a seat on a back aisle and listened to the low hum of conversation. I noticed people referring to each other as Brother So-and-So or Sister So-and-So. No one referred to the pink weaves in that manner. I concluded that such pseudonyms were reserved for actual JWs. Persons not referred to as Brother or Sister so-and-so were treated politely and soon dismissed as outworlder.

By and by the bridal parties marched in. I didn't recognize any of the bridesmaids. None of the women standing at the front of the Kingdom Hall had attended Tammy's bachelorette party. All of them had that glazed, catatonic look I mentioned earlier. They weren't fat, nor were they overly burdened with other people's hair.

I found this strange. Why hadn't I seen any of them last night? NO ONE in the bridal party attended the bachelorette party? Wassup wid dat?

The groom and his groomsmen stood up front, too, awaiting Tammy's entrance. They all had that glazed, catatonic look in spades. None of them looked as if they'd been out fornicating in titty bars at the bachelor party last night. If I had to guess, all of the people named brother or sister so-and-so looked like Mormons. I wondered if I was in the right place.

The groom was a tall, black guy. Not as tall as me, but tall enough. He was handsome, in his rented tux. If I had to give him an assessment, I'd say he looked like a guy that hadn't had any pussy in awhile and was looking forward to getting his chance, you know what I mean? He had those shifty eyes to go along with his white smile, close shave and his dimpled cheeks. Guys that haven't been smoked properly in some time have jerky, nervous movements. This guy was going to cum fast as soon as he and Tammy were alone. I'd put money on it. He was going to cum fast the second time, too.

I could see what Tammy saw in him. He looked honest. He looked hardworking. He looked like a guy that she could raise a brood with, and take to the beach on Saturdays after they'd spent the morning hawking Watchtowers on the street. I still didn't know his name.

The woman sitting next to me had that glazed catatonic look. I figured she'd know his name.

"Excuse me, ma'am," I asked. "What's the groom's name?"

"Oh, him?" she replied. "That's Brother Samuelson. Are you a visitor?"

I fucking hate stupid questions. If I'm asking for the groom's name, it's obvious I'm not acquainted with the locals.

"Yes. I am." I replied coolly.

Not picking up on my vibe, she continued.

"I'm Sister Rankin. Which congregation are you from?"

I noticed she didn't have a ring on her finger. She seemed overly eager to talk.

"I'm a visitor. I don't have a congregation."

"Ohhh," she intoned.

Something told me that this was the end of our conversation. I'm not Brother So-and-So, therefore, I'm easily dismissed as an outworlder. I'm also not an eligible JW bachelor. Me not having a congregation told her that much. Her earlier eagerness to chat now waned a bit. Fine with me. She didn't look fuckable. Rather, she looked as if the effort required to pry her legs apart might be considerable.

"Then you must be related to Sister Janeway," the woman continued.

My earlier estimate of her eagerness had been wrong. SISTER Janeway? Perhaps I should have spent more time talking to Tammy last night and less time fucking her. This threw an entirely different dynamic into my afternoon. SISTER Janeway?

"Ummmm, no. Sister Janeway and I are old friends. We're not related." I replied.

"Ohhhh," she said.

I could tell she was trying to measure the extent of my relationship with Tammy.

A musical interlude now interrupted our conversation. Everyone stood. I followed suit. Looking back over my shoulder, I could see that the music indicated the entrance of the bride. It wasn't the Wagnerian Bridal Chorus that one might expect. I didn't know this piece of music, but I didn't have time to consider it. Tammy was coming.

People that use the term 'radiant' to describe a bride are understating. Tammy was gloriously radiant in white. I'd never seen her this beautiful. She wore a veil, but I could see her eyes and her smile. My heart leapt in my chest.

Twelve hours ago my dick had been roasting in the luxuriant clasp of this woman's vagina. We were sweating and grunting and cursing our passions to the winds. I'd pilloried her ass and her throat for good measure. Today she was pure and innocent, a virgin, about to be wed to the handsome black man up front. When had she had the time to sleep, wash and dress? More, why was she marrying this...this...Brother? Shouldn't I get one more chance? I kicked myself for letting her go.

Tammy walked past without seeing me, though I could have reached out and touched her, if I so chose. She walked to the front of the sanctuary, stood before Brother Samuelson and pledged her troth. Some guy in a Kmart suit stepped to the podium to quote a few scriptures and bless their union. He said they were free to kiss. To his knowledge, he said, this was their first opportunity to do so. The whole congregation clapped--two virgins heading off, now as one. They wouldn't be virgins for long. Now I understood the glazed, catatonic look.

The new couple stepped briskly back up the aisle, full of hope, free to co-mingle if they so chose. They began to acknowledge persons of goodwill in the audience. Only then did Tammy see me. She paused. She seemed stunned at the temerity of my presence. But she quickly gathered herself and moved on. I turned to watch her go and, in turning, saw a couple of the pink weaves. They were on the verge of a full bore conniption. I made my way over to them.

"...the FUCK are YOU doing here!!!" they whispered fiercely.

"...the FUCK'S going on!!" I retorted.

"Are you SERIOUS? How is Tammy's wedding any of YOUR business?!?? She paid you for last night!! Last night doesn't leak over into today. You've ruined her wedding!!"

"Do you know I am?" I blustered.

"DOES IT MATTER WHO YOU ARE?! GET OUT!! DON'T COME TO THE RECEPTION!!!"

They were right. I had no reason to be at Tammy's reception. I had no plans to attend. But I did have questions. I decided to slip into a more accommodating persona to gain the information I needed.

"Look, I'm not planning to attend the reception. I'm hoping you can answer a few questions while I'm here."

I can be charming when I want to be. They didn't agree to answer my questions. But they didn't walk away from me either. I'd fucked both of these women last night, too. That gave me a bit of cache. I opened with the obvious question

"Is Tammy a Jehovah's witness?"

"YES. She IS. Is that any of your business?" they snapped.

"Are you two Jehovah's witnesses?"

"NO. We are NOT. Is that any of YOUR business?"

Now it was my turn to be flustered.

"Why...how...?"

"It's a BACHELORETTE party. That's how. WHO the fuck are you?"

"I...I...Tammy and I used to date."

This opened their eyes some. Now the picture was becoming clear.

"OHHHH!! You two used to be an item!! And she didn't expect you last night!!"

"Now you're getting the picture." I said.

"You're not planning to make a scene or anything, are you?"

"No, no. Nothing like that. I just...I just..."

"You just want to talk to her. We don't think this is the place for that."

"Yeh, you're probably right. Ummm, how come you two weren't up front with the rest of the bridesmaids?"

"We're not Jehovah's witnesses. That's why."

"But Tammy is."

"Is the Pope Catholic?"

"And this is her first marriage?"

"You got it, Spanky. You must not know her as well as you think."

"Why didn't any of her bridesmaids attend her bachelorette party?"

"DUH. They're JWs, too."

"So...Tammy wasn't really supposed to be there last night?"

"THAT'S RIGHT. And don't you go blabbing. In fact, get out of here now. We'll call you the next time one of us gets married."

"One last question, if you don't mind." I posed.

They paused to listen.

"If you two aren't JWs, how do you know Tammy?"

"We work with her, of course!!"

That cleared up a few things for me. The pink weaves clearly weren't high school chums, or I would have known them. They didn't have that glazed, catatonic look, so I knew they weren't zealots. I still was puzzled as to why a devout JW like Tammy would show up at a party where she was scheduled as the main entree, and then come to church the next day in a virginal white wedding dress. Only Tammy could answer this question. And I had Tammy's phone number.

Clearly, Tammy was living a double life. She had one set of friends at work and another set of friends at church. The two groups rarely crossed, if ever. Of the eighteen women who'd attended her bachelorette party, only three attended her wedding. I concluded that these three worked closely with Tammy while the other fifteen were THEIR friends, that is, only Tammy's friends by proxy. One of these pink weaves had contacted Gloria. Gloria contacted me.

Obviously Tammy trusted these three pink weaves to keep her business out of the church. Seeing me at her Kingdom Hall left a chink in her wall of secrecy. She didn't know whether she could trust me or not. I imagined her being sick with worry for the next few weeks until my inevitable phone call. I hoped that she wouldn't worry too much. I wasn't going to rat her out.

I made my way out of the Kingdom Hall and drove home. It was Saturday. I planned to turn on SportsCenter and fall asleep watching whatever prime time football game they offered. In fact, I planned to sleep for the next two days. I had another bachelorette party scheduled for the following Friday night, and another the Friday after that. It's the only night of the week I actually worked.

On Monday afternoon I rousted myself and exercised for two hours. I had to make up for the days I'd slept. No worries. I did this every Monday.

That evening I hopped in my Jeep and drove to Gloria's place. She met me at the door in see-thru pink lingerie, complete with a full-length shawl. Per our tradition, she knelt and pulled my penis from my trousers. It was time for inspection. I squirmed while she squeezed my pud every which way, looking for venereal drainage. Finding none, she slipped the tip of her tongue into my urethra. Gloria claimed that she could taste venereal disease in any cock, and that any cock so infected had no business infecting any orifice of hers.

Finally she stood and smirked. Apparently, I'd passed her test. She led me to her spacious home theater, the one with the 85" TV screen, the comfy sectional couch and the well-stocked bar. The Packers were playing the 49ers in an early season MNF game. Both Gloria and I are Lions fans, so naturally we were rooting for San Francisco. Gloria wriggled out of her silken panties as we wandered into the darkened room. My cock was already out, fully erect, but I followed suit, dropping my pants to the floor. It was all so perfunctory.

She took up a standing position behind the couch and spread her legs expectantly. I moved up behind her and inserted my penis into the first orifice that presented itself. We fucked slowly as the game played out.

"...the FUCK!!!" she huffed. "Look at that shit! That's pass interference or I'm a Mexican!! Throw the flag you bastard!! Look at these cheatin' mutherfuckers!!"

"The defensive back has as much right to the ball as the receiver," I commented. "That's incidental contact."

"Who the FUCK are you rooting for? Should I buy you a Packers jersey?" she steamed. "And go a little faster, you FUCK. PUSH!! You always get wrapped up in the game and start going too slow. I guess I don't get to nut tonight, hey?"

I picked up the pace a bit. She was right.

"Goddammit!! It's third and long!! This fucker runs the ball off tackle!! Who the fuck is calling these plays? He's an idiot!!"

I couldn't comment. She was right again.

We fucked thru a Niners punt and a Packers three and out.

"Yeah. yeah. YEAH! RUN THAT BALL YOU MUTHERFUCKER!!"

A Niners tailback ripped off a forty-yard punt return, giving the Niners field position in Packers territory. Gloria's excitement shook my penis free from its purchase in her behind. It bounced comically off her butt cheeks. I waited for her to finish jumping about before reinserting myself, again, in the first hole presented.

We fornicated casually like this for the entirety of the first quarter. During the commercials we attacked each other virulently, knowing that we had to nut at the break between quarters, and we wanted to be on the verge when the time came. Gloria was perfectly capable of mimicking the Ron Jeremy countdown. She just wasn't expert at estimating the number of commercials ESPN sold. Sometimes her countdown would cause her to nut two or three commercials short of the start of the next quarter. She'd shriek and howl and shiver violently. Then, when she saw another commercial come up, she'd curse like a sailor, disappointed that she'd mis-timed her nut. We competed to see who could nut closest to the return of the game action. The loser had to do shots commensurate with the game score. It was a win-win scenario.

Whenever I nutted, I had ten minutes to get it back up, or until the next commercial played, whichever came first. Gloria was obligated to suck or jack me erect in that time period. If either of us failed, we had to do shots.

At halftime we got down to the serious business of tear-ass, pole-scorching intercourse. We really attacked each other. The same rules applied. We had fifteen minutes of uninterrupted fuck time, changing positions often, not knowing when the third period might start. Whomever nutted closest to the restart of the game action won. The loser had to do shots. We fucked thru the third and fourth quarters like this, too. Gloria's critical game commentary continued apace.