The Bride's Special

A girl in despair and a life changing threesome experience.

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Mariella just wants to try on her wedding dress. But the stress of wedding preparations and her family's expectations put her under so much pressure that she is on the verge of a breakdown. Is Zoe, the owner of the bridal store, able to help her?

A story about personal growth and self-awareness through sex. Enjoy!

Dingo

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Marielle Thompson ran the last few yards and threw herself against the glass door of the store. It was already after six pm, and her hands expected the resistance of a locked and bolted entrance. Miraculously, the door swung open as easily as a pendulum. Her momentum almost made her fall into the store. A bell emitted melodic tones, an ethereal counterpoint to Marielle's bustle.

"Zoe's Bridal Fashion" was written in purple curved lettering on all the shop windows. Inside the exquisite wedding dresses. Classic and heavy, romantically playful with lace and appliqués or simple and modern with sophisticated slits and sexy bodices. In the background, light and dark suits for the lucky men who were allowed to carry the wearers of the white splendor over the threshold. Not a human soul around. Only Marielle and the faceless dolls.

She tried to get her breath back and ignored both the hammering pulse and the pressure marks on the outside of the small toes caused by the stupid pumps.

Served her right! She had planned to be here right at half past two, at opening time. But of course, all sorts of things had come up today. Her father had to be driven to a customer urgently because he had lost his driver's license again. Her mother had kept her busy for hours with the seating arrangements for the wedding party. And Robert, her partner, fiancé, and soon-to-be husband, had called three times about little things that had crossed his mind in the office.

"Honey, did you actually remember to print out the lists for the gifts? We are going to write down what's from whom right away, otherwise we won't be able to thank them properly." Or "Oh, by the way, I recently spoke to Steven on the phone. He's coming, too, with his girlfriend Caroline. Steven -- you know! My old buddy from college. Didn't I tell you?"

She had printed lists and written notes, had listened and agreed. It had become later and later, and the feeling of pressure on her chest had grown to the weight of a mountain. Finally, she had torn herself away on some excuse and had jumped into the car so quickly that she had missed her mother's question, shouted after her.

There it was waiting for her. Her wedding dress. A dream of white silk, with just a hint of lace, asymmetrically shaped around her unearthly narrow waist. The fabric seemed to glow from within. Marielle swallowed. This was really supposed to be hers?

"Oh, good evening. I'm glad you could come."

Zoe, the owner, had appeared silently beside her.

"Good evening." Marielle shook her hand politely. "Please forgive me - the days are just too full right now. I meant to be here much earlier, but..."

"Not at all," Zoe interrupted her with an understanding smile. "Each and every one of my clients is a little rattled before the big event. That's the privilege of brides - never else can we be so uninhibitedly hysterical, n'est ce pas?"

Marielle laughed uncertainly and eyed the woman. Zoe spoke with a cute French accent. That added to her attractiveness as much as her slender figure and heart-shaped face with oversized dark eyes. Her skin shimmered with the tone of a good café au lait. The townspeople regarded Zoe as strange and interesting, like a giraffe in the Arctic Circle. No one knew exactly where she came from, or why she had set up her store here of all places. Even her age was the subject of lusty gossip. She might be in her mid or late thirties, but she seemed ageless.

"I'm sorry if I'm the only reason you have to stay open late." Marielle lowered her eyes.

Zoe laughed and brushed the apology aside with a movement that was as graceful as it was enthusiastic.

"Pas de problème. In fact, I prefer it that way. I'll lock the door to the public, and then I can devote myself entirely to you, my dear."

Less than ten minutes later, Marielle was standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirror, admiring the radiant beauty staring back at her with wide eyes.

"Magnifique!" murmured Zoe, circling around her like a bee around a flower. She trimmed a fold here, plucked away a thread there. Finally, everything fit perfectly. She stepped behind Marielle and put her hands around her constricted waist. Her fingers looked chocolate in contrast to the dazzling white.

"Well? What do you say, my dear?" the Frenchwoman asked gently.

Marielle could not get a word out. She found it -- heavenly! Beautiful! Fabulous! A dream manifested on earth. Her neck rose from the collar like a marble column. The bosom, otherwise only medium in size, was lifted out by a hidden support and presented like a precious jewel. And the waist looked so delicate and narrow above the flowing sweep of the dress, as if it was about to break through the middle. The fitted corset strained against every deep breath. Her light brown hair, cursorily pinned up, formed a charming contrast to all the white.

Simply perfect.

And at the same time it felt like a disguise. As if she had been sent on stage in a prop that was too tight. In the middle of a play she barely knew and was still unsure whether it would turn out to be a comedy or a tragedy.

"Ma chère?" Zoe eyed her insistently.

Marielle swallowed at the thorny lump in her throat. Something large and hot welled up inside her. When it passed her throat and reached her face, to her own surprise, she burst into tears. Immediately she held her breath and tried to blink her eyes free. This only made everything worse. The trembling in her chest turned to loud sobs, and she suddenly found herself crying on Zoe's shoulder.

"Shhh." The Frenchwoman gently stroked her back and rocked her back and forth, the way one comforts a child. This felt like kindness and security. For Marielle, the last dams of restraint fell. She surrendered to the convulsive spurts that erupted from within her, clinging to Zoe like a little girl.

At some point, the spring dried up. The pauses between sobs lengthened, and Marielle was able to think more clearly again. God! Hopefully her tears hadn't ruined the dress!

"I'm... I'm sorry." she whispered, disengaging from the other woman in embarrassment. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm not usually so... so..."

Zoe took her hands in hers and looked seriously into her eyes. She seemed to look down to the bottom of her soul.

"You don't know if you really love him, oui?" she asked quietly.

Marielle opened her mouth, wanted to protest. Wanted to declare steadfastly that this was not true. That she did love Robert. That...

She didn't manage to produce a sound. Zoe nodded, more to herself. There was understanding and compassion in those beautiful black eyes.

"This is not unusual." She squeezed Marielle's hands. "You're not the first bride to cry within these walls. And you certainly won't be the last. Often we don't know much about ourselves. C'est la vie."

"I... I don't know what I know at all," this one whispered. "My mother..."

Zoe nodded. She had seen Lydia Thompson in action. It had not been Marielle who had chosen the dress and decided on the necessary makeover, but her mother. Just as she had usurped the complete hosting of the wedding, and the selection of the invited guests. Not to mention the menu in the restaurant or the music in the church.

Only her proposal for the honeymoon did not go through. This was due neither to her willingness to compromise nor to Marielle's heroic resistance. Robert had already vacationed once in the Maldives and had gotten a good case of diarrhea on the islands. So it was off to the Caribbean.

"St. Lucia is beautiful, isn't it? Isn't that what you want, my sweetheart?"

She had only nodded, wishing she was already there, the wedding over and done with. The original joy when Robert had presented her with the ring had long since given way to a dull acquiescence to the endless details. The wedding feast, in the dreams of her youth always a cheerful celebration in a summer meadow, had taken on the organizational dimensions of a state reception. Head of protocol Lydia Thompson kept a watchful eye on every little detail. She herself only had to play the role of the bride. And perfectly, if you please!

"My dear, you know you can still draw back now," Zoe said evenminded. "Later, it will be more difficult."

"Back?" Marielle laughed bitterly. "It's way too late for that. This weekend my mother is celebrating her 55th birthday. There will be only one theme to the party. Only one. I'll be paraded and gawked at like a carnival horse."

"Some moms are like that." Zoe was not impressed. "It's about you, though. And about your husband."

"My husband..."

Marielle listened to her own words. In the quiet store, they lingered in the air like sticky candy.

"My husband..."

"Is it him?" inquired Zoe. "Is he really the one for you?"

"Honestly, I haven't the faintest idea," Marielle sighed, wiping at the damp corners of her eyes. "I thought he is. But right now, at this moment? I'm twenty-five, and I feel like five."

Zoe nodded. She took a breath, as if she wanted to say something. But she faltered and remained silent. She just looked at Marielle, unblinking.

"Can you...can you help me?" the latter whispered tonelessly. The dark-skinned woman seemed to her like a tower of strength. Everything in her longed to touch her, to embrace her, to draw life from her.

Zoe remained silent. For a long time.

"Maybe," she then said hesitantly.

"Oh please!" Marielle clung to her hands. "Please! I don't know what else to do."

"All right." Now Zoe sounded determined. She had made a decision. "I've helped two or three other women in similar situations before. With something, I call The Bride´s Special." She chuckled briefly, a refreshingly young sound.

"The Bride´s Special?"

"Exactement. If you want, you can come to my place Friday night. Seven o'clock."

"Oh! Yes, I'd love to. I'll be sure to come!" Marielle reached for the offer like a drowning man for a life-saver. She had no idea what Zoe meant. But the shadow of her mother's birthday party on Saturday was so ominous that anything else seemed a minor inconvenience in comparison.

***

A distant chime sounded as Marielle pressed the doorbell button at seven o'clock sharp on Friday night. The sign read "Chris Kettner & Zoe-Ann Bonnet." So she lived here with her husband or boyfriend, in a stately house on the edge of town, hidden behind a continuous wall of hedge plants.

"Hello my dear. Do come in."

Zoe hugged her and kissed her on both cheeks. She wore her blue-black hair loose with a simple red dress that emphasized her feminine figure. Marielle returned the hug awkwardly. She had changed her clothes five or six times, for she had not the slightest idea what to expect. Finally, her choice had fallen on a creamy white blouse and elegant trousers in shades of brown. Now she breathed a sigh of relief. At least she wasn't dressed completely wrong.

Zoe led her into the house. Curious sidelong glances told her of both style and enough money to give taste a form to match. Old furniture contrasted with abstract paintings, along with cubically shaped lamps of satin-finished glass and metal. Thick rugs covered the hardwood floors, both modern and classic designs.

"The Bride´s Special, right?" asked Zoe with a small smile. Marielle nodded bravely.

"Bien. It starts with a glass of good champagne. Oh, and by the way, this is Chris, my husband."

"Good evening, Marielle."

Marielle turned around and blinked. The man in the black shirt might be around forty-five years old and looked incredibly handsome! A narrow face, thoughtful eyes, a full mouth, formed into a slight smile. He looked at her intently, the same kindness in his gaze as Zoe.

"Oh -- good evening.", Marielle brought out, barely managing to take one of the cups from the tray he offered her without accident. Seeking help, she fixed her gaze on Zoe. The woman grinned knowingly and raised her glass.

"To love!" she intoned, and the glasses clinked together like silver bells. Marielle let the ice-cold champagne run carefully over her tongue and marveled. Her mother placed high value on the quality of her drinks. But next to this article, Lydia's selection seemed like cheap sparkling wine from the lowest supermarket shelf. She closed her eyes and, with the next sip, concentrated entirely on the sensations that set her taste buds in turmoil.

"Oui." Zoe's fingertips slid lightly over her forearm.

"Heaven!" sighed Marielle, smiling blissfully at the woman. Her insides seemed to be beading. Zoe laughed.

"We'll have another drink or two later," she teased. "But for now, let's go to the sauna. Too much alcohol isn't good for preparations."

"To the sauna?"

"Yes, in the basement. Just the two of us. Come on!"

Zoe took her by the hand and pulled her toward a spiral staircase. Marielle didn't resist, but in her head thoughts were tumbling over each other. She was not prepared for something like this. She had assumed Zoe wanted to talk to her. And talk she wanted to. Absolutely! About everything, for once.

But okay. Zoe seemed to know what she was doing. The Bride´s Special, right.

The stairs led into a corridor, at the end of which a wooden door waited half-opened for them. Behind it was a small dressing room, indirectly lit with warm light. From somewhere soft music sounded. A lute or a similar instrument.

"Here are towels, and a bathrobe." Zoe pointed to a pile of terrycloth. "You can shower over there if you want. The sauna is here."

With that, she unbuttoned her dress and took it off. Paying no further attention to her customer, she slipped off her underwear, grabbed two towels, and strolled to the entrance of the sauna.

Marielle fingered her blouse sheepishly and could hardly take her eyes off the other woman. Zoe's full breasts swayed gently as she walked, her hips arched elegantly, and her buttocks jutted back provocatively as if to magnetically attract every hand within reach. The Frenchwoman did not only look good. She was a true beauty!

Quickly she also put off the clothes and secretly compared herself with Zoe. Okay, she was slimmer and younger. Her breasts were a bit firmer. But next to the mature beauty of Zoe everyone else had to feel pale and thin and disadvantaged by nature.

Intense warmth and Zoe's smile greeted her as she entered the sauna cabin. The woman sat casually on the top bench, one leg up, the other splayed out. Marielle's gaze automatically slid between them, to a neatly trimmed triangle and smooth rosy labia. She sat down on the opposite side and bit her lips. She herself had shaved off her pubic hair completely, because Robert loved that. But now she would have loved to have just such a full, dark bush.

"What is it?" asked Zoe in wonder as she looked at the floor. "Is this your first time in a sauna?"

"No.", Marielle protested and blushed. In fact, it was the second time.

"Here we are all to ourselves." Zoe lolled, scratched her belly. "You can look at me if you want. I do, too. You're very pretty, Marielle."

"Oh, thank you." She looked up in surprise. Really: Zoe's gaze was exploring her body with interest. The air seemed to get a few degrees warmer.

"You're really beautiful, Zoe!" she finally added, allowing herself to look at the woman just as openly. The first fine drops of sweat glistened on Zoe's breasts, and the dark brown nipples stood out hard at the temperature difference.

"Merci." Zoe took the compliment as a true statement. Then she pointed her chin at Marielle's pubic area.

"Do you like it completely naked like that?" she wanted to know.

"Yes, I..." Marielle faltered. "Robert likes it, anyway."

"Ah. What else? Does he like the rest of you? Of your body? And of your mind?"

"Well, he claims to, at least." Marielle felt safer. Talking, after all. Very good.

"So, do you believe him?"

"Hmm, why not?"

"Do you believe him when he makes love to you?" Zoe wiped her damp arm and looked at her questioningly. "Does your pussy believe him?"

"I don't know," she admitted with an abysmal sigh. "I mean, it's fine with him. He's very considerate and all. And when he hugs me and caresses me, I think I'm right for him, and he for me."

"But?"

Marielle hesitated.

"But sometimes, I just feel empty when he is sleeping with me," she brought out haltingly. "I always think it must be me."

"Ah."

"Yes. Once, it even made me cry, and he was all upset. I said to him..."

The conversation flowed as easily and naturally as the champagne before through her throat. Marielle talked. For hours, it seemed to her. Zoe listened, as intently as a cat guarding a mouse hole. Sometimes she would ask a question or emit a sound of confirmation or doubt. But mostly she let her visitor talk. About her mother. About Robert. About the wedding. About childhood memories. About her dreams.

About herself.

In between, they moved from the sauna cabin to the outside, to the garden. They cooled off under the shower or took a foot bath, then rested a little on the loungers before starting the next sauna session. Marielle paid little attention. She let Zoe take the lead and concentrated entirely on the things she wanted to express. Some of it surprised her herself.

At some point, they lay back in the relaxation room, in silence. Marielle felt hollow and light. A canister full to the point of bursting, now emptied for the first time in ages. Her body tingled, her nerves vibrating gently after the heat treatments and the last cold shower.

"Thank you for your trust." Zoe stroked her arm again in that peculiar way. "But now vraiment enough words are spoken. Come on over here. Next, you're going to get a nice massage."

Marielle felt little desire to do so. But it did not occur to her to resist Zoe. She let herself be pulled up and led to the massage table in the back. A bath towel was already spread out on it. She lay down on her stomach and closed her eyes. Would she fall asleep under Zoe's hands?

No, definitely not. She realized that as soon as Zoe spread warm oil on her skin and started the massage. Two hands wandered so expertly over her back that she sighed with comfort. Soon she was purring to herself and enjoying the treatment to the fullest.

The Frenchwoman rolled through all her back muscles one by one, down to under her shoulder blades, and left out neither her neck nor her buttocks. Marielle almost giggled when the strong fingers kneaded her bottom like dough. But giggling would be too exhausting. So she contented herself with another throaty sigh. The oil filled the air with an intangible scent of citrus and something musky underneath.

Zoe worked her way along her arms, rolling each finger, each joint separately. Then it was the turn of the legs, from the thighs to the calves, the ankles, the heels and soles, to the toes. Marielle couldn't tell if she was floating or if she was resting so limp and relaxed on the couch that the next moment she would flow down to the ground like hot wax.

Sometimes Zoe would make a mumbled comment. About her tense neck. About her delicate skin. Or about her sweet bottom. That, too, was part of it, was completely natural.

"Is that good with you?" the French woman breathed against her ear at one point.

"Mhm." she murmured.

"Bien. Then you're going to get a four-handed massage. From Chris and me. All right?"

Marielle's mind crawled, as if through honey. Chris was going to massage her? The stunning man from earlier? Was that what she wanted? Was that what she didn't want?