(This story features Sarah from my story "Bottomless Brunch," but is set a couple of years earlier.)
Sarah sashayed through the main doors to the grand hall, walking with a confidence she didn't feel. The hall was decorated with gaudy gold and silver decorations that did nothing to disguise its true nature as a functional hotel event space. Not that she was paying much attention to the décor. Sarah's attention was on her fellow guests. The family members and proper friends were there already, and now the more distant friends and acquaintances were arriving for the evening do.
Aside from the few older parents, aunts and uncles, the guests were around her age -- late twenties, early thirties. Dozens of slim women, svelte in their best clothes, half of them with a man on their arm and the other half aggressively trying to pull the few single men who were there. In the middle of the hall were Annelise and her new husband, Owen, meeting and greeting. He was averagely handsome, but pulled off his nicely tailored wedding suit well, cut from the darkest navy. She was stunning, of course: her tasteful and elegant white dress perfectly fitted to her lithe, slender form. Blond hair cascaded down her shoulders from beneath her veil. Her neckline was just low enough to show off her cleavage without being trashy, the dress tight enough to accentuate her round backside. She was beautiful, tiny, yet with killer curves. Bitch.
Sarah used to be much more confident in herself. Always curvy, she'd revelled in her large, round breasts and butt. Her hair, so dark it was almost black, contrasted with her pale skin and red lips, and her eyes were a deep, soulful brown. Lately, though, she'd put on weight -- a lot of weight -- and now her belly protruded and hung from her middle. The black dress, that she was sure had fit when she picked it, now clung too tight, accentuating the lumps and bumps she wanted to hide. Her tits were spilling over the neckline, and her arse was straining against her skirt so much that if she bent over she'd split it in two. This was not something she wanted to happen, as the dress was so tight that her underwear had created a blatant VPL, so she'd elected to go commando.
"Sarah! Hi!" Annelise had clocked her, and was beckoning her over with wide open arms. They hugged, their breasts pressing together, and wet through all the formalities -- the congratulations, the how-have-you-beens, the barefaced lie of the we-must-catch-up-properly-soons. Sarah got a peck on the cheek from Owen, who she'd barely shared ten words with since Annelise met him, and made her way to the open bar, determined to take full advantage.
She ordered the largest glass of wine possible, and found a small table that hadn't been claimed. She noted with grim acceptance that her arse only just fit on the chair. She hated this wedding already. She sat there, watching the skinny girls chat and dance and flirt, and knocked back her wine. Alone, no date, no fun, just a fat bitch with no knickers.
Anton smiled politely at the young woman who was hovering around him. She seemed like she'd been drinking for a while already, and was knocking back a vodka and diet coke in between giggles. The tiny brunette had been flirting hard with him for the last fifteen minutes, and he was getting bored.
"It must be exciting being an engineer," she said, looking up at him, as he was a good head taller than her.
"Not tremendously," he replied.
She laughed, far harder than the feeble comment warranted.
"Look, it's been lovely talking to you, but I must go and catch up with my friend over there. It's been far too long since I saw him."
She looked puzzled. "Didn't you arrive together?"
"Yep," he said, walking quickly over to Hakeem. The tall black man had two waifs orbiting him, but he seemed to be quite enjoying himself. Still, Anton placed a hand on his shoulder firmly.
"What's up?" said Hakeem, turning to him.
"Rescue me," said Anton, flicking his head back at the little brunette.
"Not pinging your bell?" asked his friend.
"God, she's just so dull," complained Anton, "and anyway, there's nothing to her."
"Well, same with these two," muttered Hakeem under his breath, as the two girls he'd been chatting to carried on amongst themselves. "But having two of them might make up for it."
"Huh, not between us," replied Anton, dismissively.
The two of them had been friends since college, having met one night at a party and rapidly formed a double-act. After a few nights acting as each other's wing man, they'd met a girl who'd made it very clear she was after both of them. Since then, that had been their pattern: they'd go out on the pull together, and nine times out of ten, they'd find someone together. They specialised in finding a woman and giving her the night of her life, together.
For two men who had seen each other's hard cocks as often as they had, there was no hint of either lust or discomfort between them. They were both resolutely straight, but also completely comfortable with each other. The fact that they were both damned attractive, tall, muscular and prodigiously well-endowed helped. Neither one could be jealous of the other, although Hakeem would tease his white friend sometimes that his cock was the bigger of the two.
"Yeah, yours is big," he'd say, "but some women need more than big, you know what I'm saying?"
That said, Hakeem's dick was so huge that some women refused to even try it.
"The problem with Hakeem," said Anton, "is that most women just can't hack 'im." Quite often, though, their conquests would see this as a challenge.
Anton's eyes wandered, surveying the room, until they landed on the buxom brunette alone near the bar.
"Fuck, who is that?" he said, nodding in her direction so that Hakeem could follow his gaze.
"No idea," said his friend, "but look at that arse!"
"Look at those tits!" responded Anton. "Fuck, she is gorgeous. What the hell is she doing all on her own?"
"I don't know, but she's not going to be alone for long. Come on, we are not letting her slip."
The clunk of a bottle of wine on the table jolted Sarah from her self-reflection. She looked up. An incredibly handsome man stood by her, his broad hand on the neck of a champagne bottle. Three glasses were clasped together by their stems in his other hand. His tanned skin, rough stubble and tousled off-blond hair were at odds with the immaculate cut of his black dinner suit.
"Mind if we join you?" he asked, in a smooth, cultured voice.
"We?" she asked, only then clocking the other man who stood next to him: just as tall and broad-shouldered, with chocolate skin, his head and face clean shaven. He wore a suit in a grey so pale it was almost white, an inversion of his friend.
"I'm Anton," said the first man. "This is Hakeem." The black man held out his hand, his long fingers grasping Sarah's own as he leant down to kiss them gently.
"Sure, please, sit down." She wasn't prepared for two men to suddenly arrive at her table, bearing champagne.
"You'll join us in a drink?" said Anton, as the two men sat. He began pouring, not waiting for an answer.
"Well, it's an open bar," said Sarah, "so why not?"
"Oh, they don't let just anyone have the good stuff," said Hakeem, his voice rich and deep. "You have to know the right people."
"Or just who to pay," admitted Anton, smiling, proffering a full, sparkling glass.
"I must warn you, fellas, I'm probably not going to be very good company," said Sarah, accepting the drink.
"I don't believe that for a second," said Hakeem, smiling broadly at her.
"It's a pleasure just to be in the presence..." started Anton.
"... of a woman like you," finished Hakeem.
Sarah laughed, incredulously. "What are you, a double act?"
"We have been called that," admitted Anton. "I prefer to think of us as a team."
"Well," she said, draining her glass, "I'm not buying it. I'm sure you'll both have a lot more fun with one of those little things over there." She flicked her hand dismissively at the throng.
"That lot?" scoffed Hakeem. "Wouldn't give half of them the time of day."
"Bollocks," she said, as Anton refilled her glass.
