Things Happen at Weddings

"C'mon, Dad. It's time for the father-daughter dance."

I looked up from my conversation at my little girl, a young woman now, radiant in her wedding dress, her blonde hair done up in baby's breath. She was extending a manicured hand to me, and I took it and followed her on to the dance floor to some polite applause from those reception guests who were paying attention.

I put my right hand on Maddie's waist and took her right hand in my other paw as the DJ started up a recording of Ben Folds' "Gracie." She was glowing. I was proud and happy for her. Her husband was a good guy. Everything was working out perfectly for her. I had made it down the aisle with her an hour ago without crying. I wondered if I would be able to make it through this song. Then my daughter eliminated that concern with an unexpected twist.

"I saw you talking with Alex," she said to me, in a low, conspiratorial voice, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

My heartrate jumped a bit at the mention of her best friend's name. Alex had been Maddie's best friend forever. And I had been suppressing impure thoughts about her since they were in high school. Or, rather, that's when the thoughts had started. Along about the time Alex turned 20, I had stopped trying to suppress them.

"Yeah," I acknowledged. "She humors me."

"You really think that?" Maddie grinned. "Let me tell you a secret, dad. She's not just humoring you."

"Oh, really?" I asked, hoping that she hadn't just felt me twitch.

"I think you should ask her out."

"*What?*" I pulled back enough to study my daughter's face. She was smiling and her eyes were still twinkling, but with pleasure, like she was waiting for me to open my Christmas present. I could tell she wasn't just teasing me.

She was so beautiful. So was her friend Alex, in different ways. Maddie was blonde, lithe, and effervescent. Alex was darker, in coloring and temperament. From the shape of her nose and lips to the way she had begun to fill out a swimsuit ten years ago, she was all dangerous curves. I had even teased them at one point about being Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Faith, respectively. I stifled another shudder.

"Don't be silly," I continued with my own nervous smile.

"What's silly about it?"

My throat had gone dry. "Maddie, she's... well, I'm old enough to be her father. Literally..."

"So what? She's a grown up. She's single. You're single. It happens all the time. I think you should... roll with it."

"Roll with it," I repeated, as if considering the thought for the first time instead of the one millionth. "I kind of doubt that a 53-year-old man is who Alex is looking to get involved with romantically."

"Hey, I'm not saying get engaged. Just... see her socially. Have a drink." Then my daughter fixed me with a stare that bordered on devious."It wouldn't have to be romantic, if you know what I mean."

I uttered a half-laugh, half-gasp.

"Dad. Women talk. She told me at my bachelorette party that she thinks you're attractive. Not that it was such a big confession. I've seen her... *appreciating* you for years." She paused, but only for a second. "And Alex is... adventurous."

My daughter and I have an outstanding, adult-to-adult relationship, but this was new ground for us. Well, I guessed I would... roll with it.

"So, what, like, Netflix and chill?"

She laughed. "Exactly. Friends with benefits."

I just shook my head. "I can't believe we're having this conversation."

"Why not? Why wouldn't you let someone who loves you set you up with someone who you would enjoy?"

"Okay," I conceded, my mind stuck on that word, *enjoy.* "I can't believe we're having this conversation *at your wedding.* During the father-daughter dance."

That made her laugh again. "Dad, all kinds of sexy things happen at weddings.

Didn't you ever see 'Wedding Crashers'?"

The song wound down. The people who had been watching us -- oblivious to our conversation -- applauded. I bowed and Maddie gave me a mock curtsy, and hugged me.

"Thanks again, Dad. For everything." Then, "Now... go have fun."

I was both amused, and nervously excited. On the day that my little girl had become a married woman, she had also encouraged me to approach her bridesmaid for casual sex. It was quite clear that she wasn't suggesting that I "make an honest woman" out of Alex. She was telling me I needed to get laid. Specifically, she was giving me permission to fuck her best friend.

I went to the bar and got a fresh flute of champagne. I spied Alex in the wedding party and watched her from a distance. She was definitely a very attractive woman, as she had always promised to be. Typically she projected a relaxed, casual appeal, as she had last night at the rehearsal. I hadn't been able to take my eyes off of her then -- her dark hair framing her face and falling seductively over one eye; her form-fitting Henley shirt highlighting her teardrop breasts; the way her low-rise jeans accentuated the spread of her hips and the fullness of her thighs. Hips and thighs made to cradle the thrusting lower torso of a virile, potent male.

Today she had her dark hair pinned up in an elegant coif. All the bridesmaids were wearing rose-hued satin dresses with spaghetti straps, low cowl necklines, and bias cut hems from knee length on one side to mid-thigh on the other; Alex managed to make hers look slinky and sultry.

Well, it was a wedding reception. Everyone's dancing with everyone. Most of the people here know that Alex is just an old family friend, I thought. No time like the present.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I strode up toward a table where Alex was chatting with members of the wedding party. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Maddie smile at me and give me the thumbs up. As I reached Alex' table she saw me approaching and gave me her full attention.

"Hello, Alex," I said, trying to act casual. "Would you care to dance?"

"Well, well, the Father of the Bride," she responded. "I would be honored."

She extended a hand and I took it in my own, and she rose from her seat as if I was levitating her. The other members of the party all smiled but likely found the scene unremarkable. Everyone knew that Alex had been Maddie's best friend for years; had practically grown up in our house. There was nothing provocative about her dancing at a wedding with an older family friend, in spite of how exposed I felt as I led her onto the dance floor.

We assumed a dance posture, my right hand on her waist, her right hand in my left, and began my standard "walk-her-around-backwards" lead.

"You look very handsome in your tux," she told me.

I swear I blushed. "Thank you. And you are looking quite stunning yourself." We moved in sync for a moment, her left shoulder tucked under my right arm, her hand up on my back.

"My daughter thinks I should... ask you out," I informed her.

She laughed, genuinely and mirthfully, without a trace of irony. "Oh, she does, does she?"

I arched my eyebrows. Our eyes locked and we shared a chuckle at our little secret.

***

What my daughter didn't know that I had been in a relationship of sorts with her best friend for almost six months now. And, no, it wasn't really a romantic relationship. It *was* definitely a sexual one, although probably not what Maddie had had in mind. It seems that Alex was even more sexually adventurous than my daughter had suspected.

And, dear Maddie, so is your father.

See, even though at this point I had still not been up inside Alex' lush young body, had not even had an orgasm with her, it was nonetheless a sexual relationship. She had caused me to be more sexually aroused, more intensely, every day for six months, than I had ever been in my life.

And of course it was sexual in that I *was* permitted to go down on her to my heart's content. Or, more accurately, to *her* heart's content. Because it was always, always, on her timetable. Often on a moment's notice after dinner on a Tuesday. Sometimes for four hours on a Sunday afternoon. And always, with my cock aching inside the clear hard plastic CB6000 chastity cage that she had introduced into my life.

Just as I was aching now, with the vixen in my arms, the heat from her body warming my ribs, her perfume filling my nostrils. As we danced at my daughter's wedding, which she had persuaded me to attend while wearing my cage.

"Come on," she had insisted, after I had gone through all my objections. "You know you want to. You've been thinking about how hot it would be this whole time you've been protesting."

She had this amazing ability to put ideas in my head that then became compulsions. It began the night that we had run into each other at a local cocktail lounge, each of us with a larger group of friends. With lots of common history and friends and family members, we did legitimately did have some catching up to do. Slowly the members of our original parties had headed home, leaving us alone at a corner table.

Over our third drink, she had surprised me with her admission that she had always been attracted to me. "Some teenage girls get crushes on their teachers," she confessed. "You were mine."

Well, I couldn't admit that I had lusted after her when she was not yet of legal age, but I did tell her that I had always been fond of her, and that I had missed her after the summer breaks during her college years with Maddie had come to an end.

"That's very sweet," she had said, apparently genuinely. Then she paused, and moved a finger around the lip of her glass, before asking me, "So tell me the truth. Did you ever jerk off to me?"

I wasn't prepared for *that.* I choked on my drink before answering, truthfully, "No. No, I didn't. It just never seemed... appropriate."

She had smiled at me, and said, "I like that." Then took a sip of her drink and added, "But that means you *thought* about it."

Two days later she had texted me and suggested we meet for another drink. That was the evening when, both of us still sober, she told me that she hadn't been able to stop thinking about how I -- her "first ideal of adult masculinity," as she put it -- had refrained from masturbating to images of her for over ten years.

"I just find the idea of a man denying himself, for me, to be just the most erotic thing I can think of," she had said.

I had told her, now that she put it that way, I agreed that it was an erotic notion.

"I'm glad you see it that way, too," she had continued, her eyes getting bright with excitement. "Because there's a dynamic that I've always been intrigued with, but I've just never met a boy, or a man, who I thought might fit."

And that's how I found myself agreeing to give up orgasms, and to wear a cage and perform oral sex on demand, for a seductive 26-year-old young woman who was my daughter's best friend.

***

On the dance floor, the next time I had her turned so my right hand was away from the crowd, I let my fingers slip down over her hip, checking for undergarments. Yep, that felt like a garter belt.

"What do you think you're doing, buster?" she challenged me, with a smirk.

"Just... checking..." I admitted.

"Yes, I'm wearing a garter belt and stockings," she assured me. "And no, no panties."

I sighed audibly.

"Just think," she whispered, leaning up to place her lips near my ear. "How many men I'm going to dance with tonight who are going to be making the same discovery."

That statement genuinely made me quiver, and she felt it and laughed. "How does that make you feel?"

It was another one of her techniques. She relished making me articulate my arousal, and frustration, and jealousy. So, I responded, "Aroused. Frustrated..."

"And jealous?" she finished for me. She had coaxed these three words out of me many times before. I only nodded, in mounting misery.

"Good," she continued. "I wonder what *they'll* think when they realize I'm not wearing panties."

I whimpered, aware of the increasing pressure inside my cage, so she kept pushing.

"You're a man. You tell me what they'll be thinking."

All right. I surrendered myself to the challenge. "They're going to be excited..."

"Really? Why?" she responded, her eyes wide to illustrate her mock naivete.

"They'll take it as a sign of accessibility."

"Accessibility? Like, to my... pussy?"

"Yes," I moaned, playing along now with her game. She played it a lot. "They'll be thinking, all they need to do is open their trousers and lift your skirt, and there will be nothing between their... erection, and... the place they really want to put it."

"Right here on the dance floor?"

"Probably not. Probably down a hallway, maybe in a coatroom. Maybe they'll turn you around and bend you over."

"Ooh. Do you think they'll get hard, thinking about that?"

"Undoubtedly."

"I'll bet they will. I'll bet they'll get stiff, and they'll grind up against me. So I can feel them on my belly. Unlike you."

I groaned and twitched. She went on, "I mean, I can feel something hard there, but it's not very big and it's pointing down. Not like a big proud virile..." and here she leaned up and hissed into my ear, "*Cock.*"

The song came to an end and I began to pull away from her, but she tightened her grip on me and pulled me back. "We can keep dancing," she murmured, while I scanned the room, wondering whether anyone was noticing how I was monopolizing this gorgeous young woman.

"I don't think anyone's paying that much attention to you," she teased. "And anyway, wouldn't you *like* people to know that you were owned by a desirable young woman half your age?"

Well, yes, that had occurred to me. Even the "ownership" part. I always kind of thought the reason our liaisons were discreet was to protect *her* reputation.

She removed her hand from mine and clasped both her hands behind my neck. My left hand now had nothing to do but to fall down to her right hip. We continued to move in our slow circle, and I felt self-conscious about the fact that this was a much more intimate embrace, the way that lovers danced, not the way a 53-year-old man danced with his daughter's best friend. I looked around, but no one seemed to be staring.

Well, in that case... I began to move my fingers slightly and slowly. Through the satin of her dress I could ease my forefingers over the impression of the elastic and lace of her garter belt; with my other fingers I could confirm that there was no waistband of a pair of panties further down. The realization made me almost nauseous with arousal, and with jealousy of the other men who she had assured me would be using their hands to traverse this same path soon.

"Let's finish this dance, and then I really do need to hang out with the bridal party some more," she told me. "Expectations, obligations, you know. So, what are you going to do?"

"Probably just watch you," I confessed. "And quiver."

She laughed. "You really ought to dance with some other women. Graham's aunt is very pretty," she said.

I laughed at that. Just what I need, I thought; to dance with a randy woman who might press herself against me and discover that I was wearing a cage.

"I don't know about that," I replied.

"Oh, I think you should," she insisted, reading my hesitation. "I think you'd find that some women might find your... predicament... very interesting. Especially if you assured them that your tongue was fully functional."

I shook my head in bemusement. This woman. "Honestly, you have my permission to orally pleasure another woman tonight." A pause. "I can give you a note."

I barked out a laugh, but she was already playing her next card. "In fact, you know what? I think you should ask Maddie's mom to dance."

Yeah, right. My ex-wife. Discovering that I was now an owned, caged cuckold. Just the thing to make today more memorable. Of course, if I did ask her to dance, for old time's sake, she likely wouldn't be grinding her pelvis up against me, so...

"Ha! You're thinking about it, aren't you?" Alex teased. "I knew it."

"God, Alex," I sighed. Yeah. I was thinking about it. I was thinking about explaining to my ex-wife that, why yes, I had let a young woman talk me into wearing a chastity device during our daughter's wedding reception. Why, yes, I was in a relationship where I had willingly surrendered my erections, my orgasms, my manhood. Hearing her laugh at me in disbelief, scorn, and... intrigue. Settling in between her warm soft thighs, for the first time in five years, and placing my mouth on her neatly trimmed pubic mound and drawing my tongue up over her soft and savory labia...

"I'll bet she would say that you had really, really gotten good at going down," Alex whispered. "You really have, you know."

God, I thought, this little vixen has really fucked me up. As if I wasn't already practically non-functional from the constant erotic fever she kept me in, now I had this previously-unimaginable vision to deal with.

The song drew to a close, and other couples on the dance floor were separating, changing partners. I reluctantly allowed Alex to pull away from me. "I've got to go," she said. "But, leave your door unlocked tonight. I'd like some... attention after the after-party."

I nodded, reluctant to let her leave, but gratified with her suggestion that the night was not over. I held her hand a second longer, my eyes lingering on the image of her in her heels and sheer stockings, and the lingerie that was -- and wasn't -- beneath her sleek satin dress.

"Alex..."

"Yes?"

"Don't change out of those clothes."

She smiled knowingly. "Okay."

I retreated to the bar again. This time, I ordered a Scotch, Glenmorangie, one ice cube. I made idle, mindless chatter with a couple of friends near the bar, then found a seat on a landing overlooking the dance floor.

I watched as Alex returned to the tables where the wedding party was mingling. My heart skipped a beat as she stopped and spoke with my daughter, but then I figured, no, she obviously hasn't told Maddie about our relationship before, no reason she would be telling her now.

I sipped and observed. Gradually I began to pick up on the amount of attention Alex was receiving, and returning, with a tall, sandy-haired young groomsman. I recognized him as the younger brother of my daughter's new husband. I watched Alex chat with him, touch his arm, brush a phantom hair back behind her ear with the back of her hand in that subtle gesture of availability that men receive subconsciously. I frowned. Now I had a face, a focus for my angst and jealousy. And it was the 22-year-old little brother of my new son-in-law.

Jesus. If the kid's previous experience was all with college co-eds, Alex was going to knock his world off its axis.

Later I watched Alex dance with my son-in-law's little brother. Sure enough, his oversized hands were on her hips, his long fingers slowly exploring and confirming that there would be no panties between him and her sweet, slick pussy. Sure enough, his eyes were glazed with lust. Sure enough, I saw as they turned in their lazy dance so that his back was to me, she was looking at me over his shoulder with eyes that flashed with wicked delight.

Later tonight, I figured, he would be sliding his cock in and out of the young woman who was, for all intents and purposes, the woman in my life. Certainly, the woman who owned the keys to all my sexual arousal and pleasure.

My son-in-law's little brother.

And after that, I knew with a sickening certainty, I would be on my stomach between Alex's open thighs, grinding my caged cock against the mattress, and licking at the tender folds of her labia. Cleaning up the remains of that young man's semen.

I stewed and let myself focus on the uncomfortable pressure I was feeling around the base of my cock. How many more hours was I going to stay in this state, simultaneously inches and miles away from an orgasm that wasn't going to happen? Why was I addicted to this game, playing it more intensely than ever at my daughter's wedding? How could I get more depraved?