What is it about weddings?
I woke as the sheet and bedspread were jerked off of me, well, off of us.
"Who's this, sleeping in my bed," Jerry said, and I felt a flash of fear as he loomed over me, all gym rat muscles and a snarl on his face.
Then a smile split his face, and he laughed, a booming laugh.
"Hey, relax, Phil," he said, laughing, "I don't bite, and nothing on Bambi is likely to wear out."
He turned slightly and held out his hand.
"I bring you breakfast," he said with a flourish, "Come over here Elsie, and get 'em out."
I saw what Bambi meant when she said Jerry was last seen with some "bovine jailbait." The girl, well, the woman although to my eye it seemed barely a woman but, then again, when I see a NASCAR driver being interviewed I'm often thinking,
"Christ, that kid doesn't even have a driver's license yet,"
had huge, truly immense breasts, it was hard not to think of them as udders, and I watched, fascinated, as she pulled her top up and off.
As she followed Jerry's direction to "Get 'em out," she did the crossed-arms-in-front thing that only a woman can pull off and peeled off the T-shirt she wore over her unencumbered breasts. And Jesus, what tits they were. I had no idea what size bra might hold those things. She made Bambi's well-enhanced D cups look small. The hung well down her belly, and oversized areolas with matching oversized nipples were dripping thick white milk.
She smiled, not a happy smile but more a "contented" smile, the smile of someone doing what they love, as she unbuttoned, unzipped, and pushed the jeans she wore down, showing that she had no underwear on the bottom either as she let them fall and stepped out of them. She was fat in the sense that she was soft with a roll of belly hanging slightly, but she was far from obese. Her waist was oddly small in fact, and the dimples at the tops of her ass were delightful. The phrase "muffin top" might have been invented to describe her.
"Up on the bed, girl," Jerry said, slapping her ass hard enough to make her flinch, making a sound loud in the confines of the room, "and feed us men. Bambi, you get breakfast other ways."
Bambi giggled and rolled out of bed, athletic and graceful, and said in a thick, sleepy voice, "I gotta pee first."
Jerry laughed and said, "Shag Phil's lazy ass out of bed and show him how we do that in the morning here in God's Country."
She smiled and stretched, feline in her enjoyment of that movement, and grabbed my wrist and started pulling.
"Come on, Baby," she said, "Nature calls."
I laughed softly, still, I realized, a little drunk and maybe a little high from the cocaine, and squirmed out of bed. She's a strong woman and I didn't want her to pull my damn shoulder out of its socket.
She was about a step ahead of me, still holding my wrist, and when I looked at that well-sculpted, world-class ass I thought the brown circle right where she sits, the residual of our messy anal sex the night before, might be the sexiest single thing I had ever seen. As her ass cheeks rubbed lightly together with each step I could see that the brown circle was dry and crusty. She was leaving a little trail of dry flakes as she walked.
I was surprised when she walked past the toilet and opened the door to a huge shower.
I followed her and looked around the tiled interior.
"Jesus," I said, "I've had bedrooms smaller than this."
When I reached for the faucet handle, though, she slapped my hand.
"Shower later, Phillip," she said, wrapping her arms around my neck and kissing me. The feel of those big, overstuffed tits against my body got to me and I felt a stirring in my one-eyed friend.
"For now," she said, softly, kissing me again as I felt hot urine spatter on my feet.
"Well," I thought, "When in Rome and all that."
This was another first for me, in a weekend full of firsts. I relaxed my control and started peeing myself. The way I was pressed against her, well, the way she was pressed against me, I was peeing up our bodies, wetting our bellies, and running down our legs.
My hands found her ass and my fingertips explored that crusty brown circle, gently spreading her, feeling it still damp where it was protected by her ass cheeks.
"Are you a dirty boy, Phillip?" she asked and I was aware that she had stopped peeing.
"I think I could be," I said, answering her honestly.
"Show me," she said, and her grin was almost feral, "Get on your knees, Baby."
I knew what was coming and moaned a soft, "Oh, God."
Her grin as she looked down at me as I did as she told me and eased to my knees was predatory. She was the wolf among sheep and guess who the sheep was.
"Tell me you want this," she said.
When I didn't answer, her fingers entwined in my hair, twisting, not quite hurting, but controlling. And the grin on her face was a wolf moving in on a rabbit.
"Last chance, Phillip," she said, her voice oddly soft, almost conversational, "Tell me you want this or go back to your hotel room."
I took a deep breath, slowly in through my nose then blown softly out through pursed lips, and surrendered to her.
"I want this," I said.
Her smile changed then. A subtle change, but it was there.
"Open your mouth, sweetheart," she said, her voice gentle, I thought almost loving.
As I opened my mouth her fingers in my hair twisted and pushed, forcing my head back so that I was looking straight up. In a
non sequitur
of biblical proportions I noticed that the oversized shower had a half dozen heads built into the ceiling.
"God," I thought, "it would be like showering in a warm rain."
The first jet of her urine...
Let me start that again. I'm being far too clinical.
