She awoke earlier than usual this morning. Laid in bed for a moment, knowing that there must be some reason for it - usually she sleeps right through the alarm - and then remembered: today is her wedding day. The house is quiet, the rest of the wedding party having cleared out the night before to give her some peace and privacy to make herself ready.
She stretched languorously, slipped out of bed and padded into the bathroom to run a tub. She added a little oil, the one that makes her feel sexy, and slipped in to the steaming water. As she soaked, she thought more about her fiancé, a nice enough man, one she thought she could be happy with, but who had never really fanned the flames of her desire. At least not the way she'd hoped he would. Not like her ex-boyfriend did.
Thinking about him always quickened her pulse, her heart, the wetness between her legs. She let her head fall back to rest on the porcelain, and spread her legs under the silky water. Her fingers trailed down her body, across her breasts, pausing only to pinch each nipple softly, then down between her legs to her naked slit. She teased herself by barely touching the lips for as long as she could stand it, until her clit was swollen and throbbing between them, before giving in and rubbing it hard.
Using both hands now, she rubbed little circles on her clit with one, and inserted two fingers from the other hand into her pussy, pumping in and out not too quickly, but not too slowly - the way she likes it best. She thought about the ex, the way he loved to go down on her, to lick her pussy until she was crying out for him to let her come, and the way he'd lap at her cunt afterward, cleaning her. Her fingers moved faster under the water, her back arching up, up, up, until she reached her peak and called his name out to the heavens as she came.
She soaked awhile longer, idly playing with her pussy, and when the water started to turn cold, she got out and dried herself with a thick towel. She sat naked at her dressing table to put on her makeup, then opened the box that her mother had given her last night. In it lay an exquisite white satin corset, a white garter belt and a pair of sheer silk stockings.
She dressed herself in them, admiring the way her pert breasts with their rosy nipples sat proudly above the corset, the line of the garter belt around her waist, and the whisper light stockings as they slid almost effortlessly up her lithe, tanned legs. She admired the view for a moment, nipples erect, skin flushed from the heat of the bathwater, pussy bare between her stocking clad legs. The doorbell rang, and she threw on a short white silk robe, then flew down the stairs to answer it.
A good looking, heavily muscled man stood there, cap in hand, his blue eyes almost popping out of his head, and she realized she'd forgotten to tie the robe closed. She did it now, unembarrassed, and asked if she could help him.
"I'm your driver, Peter, miss," he said, eyes still agog, "I'm here to pick you and your father up to take you to the church."
Her eyes filled with tears, "I'm afraid I'm going alone today," she said softly, "my father died last year."
