The Wedding Party

Please note that there is no implied interaction or otherwise of a sexual nature in this story between people under the age of eighteen. All descriptions of sexual intercourse are between consenting adults aged eighteen and over.

* * * * * * * * *

The invitation to my niece's wedding came out of the blue. To say it was unexpected would be a classic understatement. I'd had no real contact with my family for nigh on twenty, thirty years. Well none that is apart from being informed third hand of my father's death. Despite the urgent request to attend the subsequent funeral I didn't go. I was glad the bastard was dead.

But before I tell you about the wedding it might be better if I fill you in on all the background information. I'm sure it will help you understand why I did the things I did. Or not as the case may be!

My name is Harry Winchell and the first thing you should know is that it's not my real name. But more of that later.

I was the middle child of three. It is often said that the middle child is neglected and often misunderstood; that we are disadvantaged because in a family of three it's only the first and last children that are showered with love and attention from their parents.

And in a way I suppose it's true. My elder brother; the first born; was put on a pedestal by my father. He was the son and heir so desperately needed, the one to be groomed to take over the family business. When I was old enough to understand, it became obvious that my parents and especially my father, were disappointed that I was a boy. He had clearly wanted a girl. Luckily she came along a few years later, so his family was complete. Two children. One of each plus inconvenient me in the middle!

Mother was at best reserved but my father was a tyrannical man, prone to sudden and violent outbursts of temper. He never hit anyone but the implicit threat was always hanging over us; well mainly me. It was little wonder that during my childhood I became withdrawn, resentful and lacking in confidence. The perfect middle child stereotype apparently.

My earliest recollection of my life was as a five year old. We all went on a family holiday. I remember it well because it was the last family holiday I ever went on. My father was only interested in my brother whilst my mother had her hands full with my baby sister. Me, I just got into mischief. I somehow managed to set the fire alarm off in the hotel. After midnight. Father was less than impressed as the whole hotel was evacuated before it was discovered to be a false alarm. My brother pointed the finger of blame at me. A lucky guess.

After that I was quickly shipped off to boarding school and during holiday breaks was either sent to holiday camps at home or abroad or to my mother's sister's farm out in the country.

On the odd occasion I was allowed home my little sister was pretty much kept out of my way. However my brother, older than me by nearly nine years, would taunt and tease me remorselessly, winding me up to such an extent that I would eventually crack and lash out.

And as my anger flared, father would always turn up. It was as if my brother had a sixth sense as to when he was going to appear. My punishments varied although he never beat me. Usually I was sent to my room for the rest of the day with no food. My brother got quite good at winding me up early in the morning and it took me a while to cotton onto that little ruse.

I was finally banished from the family estate for good when I was a teenager. I hadn't been home in months so didn't know that my sister had reached puberty. So I wasn't prepared to see my previously flat chested, gawky little sister sporting a pair of pretty impressive breasts for her age. Summer really is the season for growing!

I felt the stirring down below as soon as I clapped eyes on her. It looked like she'd shoved two large oranges inside her tee shirt as her new breasts sat high and proud at the top of her chest. I was so taken with them that I followed her around the house for most of the day trying to get a better look at them. And I admit I became somewhat obsessed as they appeared to get bigger with each passing day.

I tried to get near to her at every opportunity, trying to get a closer look, stupidly thinking she wouldn't notice or even mind and even going so far as to give her a brotherly hug every now and again just to get the sensation of her now prominent orbs pressing against my body. But she was good at avoiding me, which just made me more determined.

And then it all went tits up so to speak.

Every morning my sister would take a bath and she would always come out of the bathroom with just a towel wrapped around her. I assumed she was naked underneath.

Now I'd had the urge for some time to know how big her boobs were. I knew she and my mother had been out the day before buying her new underwear so whilst she was in the bathroom, I went to her room to check out her latest bra size.

So engrossed was I in inspecting her array of new bras that I never heard her enter her room until I heard her gasp. She asked me what I was doing going through her drawers. I was speechless. All I could see was the top of her white breasts pushing out above the towel.

I felt the rush of blood to my head, the loud ringing in my ears and with that I made a move towards her. Before I could even reach her she began to scream bloody blue murder. Mother came running followed closely by father. He was apoplectic with rage and I'm sure if mother hadn't have been there he would have killed me.

Suffice to say I was banished immediately to my room and the next day was shipped off to live with my Auntie Viv and Uncle Reg.

* * * * *

Auntie Viv was a loud-mouthed, feisty, full of fun character with large tits and a nice plump arse. In fact the total opposite to my mother who was tall and rail thin. She was also a mine of information. She told me that she and my mother had come from a fairly well to do family whose sole aim in life was to find each of their daughters a suitable husband. And by suitable they meant rich. So they received the best education that money could buy before they were sent off to finishing school abroad. With their education over they were then to be seen at all the big social calendar events; Ascot for the races, Wimbledon for the tennis, Henley for the regatta and of course the numerous débutantes balls.

Much to her family's delight mother hit the jackpot and married well. Father came from old money. Home for them was a mansion set in an estate of around twenty thousand acres. Making their fortune during the nineteenth century industrial revolution, the family business had grown into a multi faceted conglomerate with interests around the world.

Mother's sister Vivian however rebelled. She met and fell in love with a man from a humble background and despite her family's best efforts to prevent them from seeing each other, she eventually eloped with him. Disowned by her parents, home for them became a dilapidated old farmhouse out in the sticks from which Uncle Reg ran his own haulage business. There was about eight acres of land with the farmhouse, which proved to be ideal to accommodate his trucks and trailers. It was fairly well isolated and with no children of their own I'm sure Auntie Viv must have been lonely when he was away on his long distance trips.

Over the years I'd spent a lot of time with them, far more than with my own family but most of it had actually only been with Auntie Viv due to Uncle Reg being on the road so much.

She seemed terribly interested in what had transpired this time to make my parents kick me out for good. She eventually coaxed the truth out of me. She didn't seem horrified when I revealed what I had done, in fact she just looked strangely at me.

After that things got weird between us, especially when Uncle Reg was away. She took to wearing really tight fitting clothing all the time, which caused havoc with my teenage hormones.

I won't bore you with the details but over the next few years Auntie Viv laid the foundations for her eventual seduction of me. She took it slow and steady, building up the anticipation. And on my eighteenth birthday she led me upstairs to her bed and took my virginity. That was my special birthday gift she told me later.

Was it good? Hell yes! All warm and squishy. Over the next few months we were at it like rabbits, usually twice sometimes three times a day. She was insatiable for my cock. She taught me all I needed to know about sex and how to seduce and then satisfy a woman. The only thing was, at the time I didn't realise what or why she was trying to teach me. I thought I was god's gift to women and suffered later because of it.

A few months later and with my schooling finally over I enlisted in the Army. I didn't know what else to do. There were no jobs around this area and I didn't want to go to college so it seemed a logical choice. Or so I thought at the time.

* * * * *

I loved the Army. I know it might seem a bit strange to some of you but it gave me my first feeling of belonging to something. It gave me much needed structure and brought order and discipline into my life.

I'd been a rebel throughout my childhood, or so it seemed but the Army soon stamped that out of me. Luckily I grew out of my rebellious streak quite quickly and buckled down, determined to make something out of my life.

The other thing it did was to iron out the wrinkles in my sex life. Full of my own self importance because I'd bedded an older woman I thought that every girl I met would just willingly open her legs for me. I soon found out how wrong that notion was. Don't get me wrong, there certainly were girls that put out readily but there were far more that didn't want to let you anywhere near their treasure trove until you had all but married them.

I had no intentions of getting married so as I matured and moved from my teenage years into my early twenties all I was interested in were the girls that put out. My earliest recollection that there were girls like that was when I was on leave. I went out with an older squaddie from our platoon. He told me that he was going to get laid come what may. I was sceptical but still somewhat in awe of his confidence.

We drove to the nearest seaside town and he spent all day walking up and down the busy promenade; about a mile in length; asking every woman he met if they fancied a shag!

Needless to say he received a load of abuse and many, many rejections. But he did get laid at least three times. See what I mean, there are women out there who just want to have random sex as well.

Due to his success, I tried it too. Abject failure was the result of my endeavours. I was too young, too callow and too lacking in confidence, which he said was apparent when he watched me try.

Of course I persevered and over the course of the next couple of years honed my skill to perfection. Unlike my mate, I became skilled at selecting my potential victims. Whereas his method was to trawl the entire promenade, going for the law of diminishing returns, I favoured the subtle approach of pre selection based on a number of key criteria. I found that single, older women were definitely more willing to accept an offer of random sex although I did have some success with married women as well. But that ability came much later as my seduction skills improved over the years.

I won't bore you with details of my military career. I was eventually posted abroad, when our wonderful government of the day decided to get involved in yet another war. I was one of the lucky ones if you can count getting shot as being lucky. I was evacuated out. It was not life threatening but serious enough that I never returned to active duty. I ended up desk bound until my eventual discharge from the service. I was so grateful. Forget that bullshit you sometimes read about military men wanting to go back to rejoin their comrades. Not me. I was glad to be out of it. It was dangerous and I was scared all the time. Only my training made me able to function when under fire. I lost a lot of good friends, sometimes needlessly. The desk job was dreadful but it led me to the eventual source of my wealth.

Again the details of my post Army career are unimportant. Suffice it to say I ended up living in the South of France and made a lot of money through some legitimate and some not so legitimate transactions. Marseille is a wonderful city for both. And that's how I ended up with my other identity. Using my real name would not have been a good idea.

I have no idea how my mother eventually tracked me down but I admit I was surprised. The only person in the UK that knew of my whereabouts was an old Army pal and how she even found him is a mystery. But it was through him I found out about my father's death and funeral. As I said earlier, I didn't attend. I hated him and was glad he was dead. I wouldn't miss him one little bit.

A few years later I got the message about my nieces' upcoming nuptials. I pondered over the invitation for a few weeks, unsure if I wanted to return. For one thing my whole family had shunned me from an early age. So if they wanted to assuage their guilt, let them find another way of doing it.

But then I got to thinking. I had no warm fuzzy thoughts about my family; they'd got rid of me with comparative ease all those years ago; so how about some good old fashioned revenge. And what better way to fuck up my relative's lives than by going back and ruining them. And it had also come at a time when perhaps it would be prudent to lay low for a while. Sometimes business deals can go wrong. What better way to avoid my problems in France than to disappear for a short period of time back to Britain.

I relayed a message through my buddy informing my mother I'd think about her invitation and if I turned up it would only be a couple of days before the event. Then I duly boarded a flight back home. I arrived back in the UK a good four weeks before the wedding. Ample time to do what I wanted to do.

* * * *

It was morning and I was sitting in my rental car outside the gates of the family mansion. I had a pair of expensive binoculars clamped to my eyes as I scanned the front entrance. I'd been there since six o'clock just in case he was one of those executives that liked to go into work early. He wasn't. It was now nearly ten o'clock. Finally the door opened and out stepped my brother - Barrington Winchester - followed closely by his wife Mary.

I was shocked. Even with our nine year age difference he still looked a lot older than I expected. His wife on the other hand seemed to be much younger, which as far as I was concerned was perfectly acceptable.

My plan was simple. The cause of my childhood misery was dead but the catalyst for so much of it was still alive and walking around breathing. He even looked like my father, or how I remembered him.

Bastard. The need to cause him some pain was still strong even after all these years. I couldn't hurt him financially so my only course of redress was to hurt him emotionally. And the only way I knew how to do that was to seduce his wife.

I watched as they air kissed each other before going their separate ways. He got into the back of a limo, which pulled away instantly, whilst she jumped into a sporty convertible. She came though the gates at speed and without stopping, which took me by surprise, so it was a fair while before I eventually caught up with her.

I followed her around for a time, trying to get a feel for her daily routine. It was when she went into the hairdressing salon that I nearly came unstuck. I certainly could never make it as a private investigator as I was soon spotted lingering outside by the girl in reception.

She came flying out of the salon door to accost me. "Can I help you?" she asked brusquely.

"Yes you can," I replied confidently. Rule number one. The key point to remember when you have been compromised is to act quickly and decisively. "Is that Mrs Barrington Winchester ... Mary Winchester?"

"No it's not. And why do you want to know?"

"Are you sure?" I asked firmly. Rule number two. Never back down. Always be assertive. "I was certain it was. I saw her earlier today. I must have been mistaken. Are you sure?"

The receptionist was clearly flustered now. "No ... no she's Miriam Reed. She's famous."

"Oh, my mistake," I smiled. "Famous for what exactly?" Rule number three. Keep talking and keep smiling.

"She's a lifestyle guru and a model," the girl revealed. It was obvious that she was completely in awe of her. "She's very big on the internet."

"Well I'm sorry to have bothered you. And thank you." I turned and left immediately. I needed a computer.

* * * * *

The first meeting was easy. I bumped into her accidentally on purpose in a supermarket. When she pulled into the car park I admit I was surprised as I assumed my brother would have the servants do their shopping for them. But then again this supermarket wasn't just any old supermarket. This one was a purveyor of high class foods and drinks and boasted a Royal Warrant so maybe she was there to select the items prior to purchase.

Whatever the reason I wasn't going to waste time pondering about it because as soon as I saw her up close I knew I wanted her. Not tall, probably only around 5'3" or 5'4"; although she was wearing high heels which probably boosted her up at least another 3"; she had a body to die for. Her breasts were just the right shape and size for her frame. Her ass was round and very full and her legs were curvaceous and toned. In fact you could say that everything was perfect about her. Okay, maybe her hips were a little bit on the big side but I could live with that slight imperfection as it just gave her more of a voluptuous hourglass shape.

And her looks. Well she was quite simply stunning. She had long, lustrous, dark brown hair that came down to rest between her shoulder blades, smouldering brown eyes and luscious red lips. And her makeup was flawless. She was every inch a model.

And this particular day even though she was shopping for food she was still wearing a fabulous dress that moulded itself to her body, highlighting every feature that made her perfect.

Was she aware of how good she looked? As I followed her around I came to the conclusion that, no, she didn't. She seemed to have no discernible airs and graces that would indicate she felt she was better than anyone else. And judging by the way she spoke to the staff she actually appeared to be nice, which made me wonder why she was married to an arsehole like my brother.

It was time to meet her. I grabbed a trolley and threw a few items into it as I scurried around the store trying to locate her. Now most women that I've been shopping with tend to go up and down each aisle in turn. But not her. She was all over the place so it took me a while to catch up to her. I waited until she was distracted and then ran my trolley into hers. Luckily we were in the jams and preserves section. Less than a minute previously she had been down that aisle that no man should ever find himself.

"I'm so sorry," I said as she turned to face me, "I hadn't realised you were there. I was so busy looking for the Manuka honey I didn't see you." I glanced at the shelves. "I guess they must have moved it. In fact they seem to have moved most things I've wanted today," I added with a smile.

"Yes they do seem to move things about with amazing regularity. Maybe it's a supermarket ploy to get us to buy more," she laughed as she raised her eyebrows conspiratorially. She had a lovely laugh. Her hand came up to brush her hair away from her eyes. A good sign. She gave me a flash of her smouldering brown eyes, which made my heart beat just that little bit quicker.