Most of Becci's friends and family still thought of her as a timid and private girl; they were stunned by her wedding dress. She had spent months agonising over the design with her dressmaker to create an honest and exhilarating expression of her true self. It was strapless and the neckline plunged two inches below nipple level, but the gap was carefully tapered and her modesty was preserved by a barely visible transparent tie. Even when she fully twisted around only the inner curve of her breast was exposed. Of course roving eyes would follow her as she walked and danced, hoping in vain for a glimpse of more.
She knew her back was elegant and it was shown off through the finest sheer lace. Her flawless skin was visible down to just above the dimples in her lower back, while the simple plain silk below clung to the curve of her hips and thighs. Even a delicate strapless lace bra would have been on display at the front, and clearly visible at the back. She could have worn separate adhesive cups, but she opted for nothing and felt incredible. Just one layer of silk concealed her breasts on her wedding day.
The Louboutin's her sister had bought her provided the perfect finish. The elegant 100 mm stiletto heel was matched by the iconic Chinese Red sole. Her legs appeared longer, her bum lifted higher and back arched a little more. At the front her modest but firm breasts were pushed forward.
Wearing these heels made her feel so sexy and desirable, not least because they transformed her walk. She crossed one foot ever so slightly over the other, adding an enticing shimmy to her body, and particularly to her pelvis. The little flash of red with each step was sensual and alluring to most, although scandalous on a bride to a few.
Becci had spent months practicing this walk in the privacy of her home, either in lingerie or nude. She videoed her efforts for subsequent self-critique. Once perfected it felt like her Louboutin's made sexuality flow from her in all directions. The once timid shy girl was finally proud of herself, her bullies and demons defeated. Far from being an affront to feminism, to her they were liberating.
Becci approached the alter on her father's arm, her eyes twinkling with a mischievous smile as she wondered how many men present were aroused by the vision before them, and deeply jealous of Paul. When she took her vows she at least had the decency to blush as she uttered the words "And forsaking all others." Her colour deepened when she realised the priest had noticed.
Later at the reception she hung on every word Paul spoke and declared her undying love and commitment to him, bringing tears to a few eyes. She made sure that everyone recognised the depth of her true feelings for him, and that it was as much his day as hers.
Becci loved and wanted him, but since that conflicted and lurid night sex between them had been awkward and vanilla. She hoped they could put it behind them now they were married, and that he would once again take charge and more importantly fuck her properly. She wanted a honeymoon to remember for the best reasons. She wanted a full life with him. After all, even though he didn't know she had discovered his infidelity, they were more than even now. They were going to spend three weeks touring some of the most romantic cities in Europe; surely that would help.
Paul was still wrecked with guilt and hesitant with her. She wanted him to be overwhelmed by desire for her, to throw her on a bed and ravage her, or lift her ankles onto his strong shoulders, pull her panties down and nail her as she sat on an armchair or sofa. Yet he was infuriatingly gentle; worse still he kept asking her for permission. He had switched from wolf to lamb in the bedroom, just as she had realised how much she desperately wanted and needed him to be so much more. From they first met his lust for her had fed her desire for him. Becci was sick of him repeatedly asking if this or that was alright.
Their first destination was Paris and Becci had booked a period hotel with a Michelin starred restaurant; Le Lancaster. There was a roll top bath sitting in full view in their bedroom. She bathed frequently, but it was closer to an erotic water dance as she caressed rather than washed her body, smiling invitingly in Paul's direction. She always offered to join him when he bathed. Even that failed; she deserved fresh clean water unsullied by him.
The next city was Prague. On their second night and under the influence Becci jumped at an invitation from a wealthy couple to join a party in their villa on the outskirts of town. They arrived as the sun set and she realised there were only three other women present. She was easily the youngest and yes, the prettiest girl there. She was the centre of attention.
Absinthe was produced and consumed with abandon. Paul drank too much and too quickly; within a couple of hours he became incoherent. Becci joked that he had "An absinthe absence." She helped him to his feet and their host guided them to a guest room as they staggered behind him, hanging off each other.
Becci was incredibly horny; it was her honeymoon after all. Earlier she had drunkenly and openly asked Paul for "A proper good hard fuck," much to the amusement of their new found friends in the villa. Perhaps it was the attention lavished on her by the many men present, from the young and muscular to the more mature and cultured. In reality each played a role, fuelled by an excess of alcohol. But yes, she enjoyed the attention, and she did nothing to dissuade them.
Paul flopped onto the bed and fell asleep still dressed. Becci pulled his shoes, jeans and boxer shorts off feeling his balls and semi-erect cock. Oh he had such a gorgeous cock! She simply knew that women who said cocks looked horrible were lying; cocks could become erect and stand so proud. Men could put them inside other people, literally inside them! That was so unfair; God was a sexist bastard.
She took him in her tender mouth while caressing his chest and firm buttocks, but he was too far gone and barely woke. Her efforts were futile. She sighed and covered him with the sheet. In the distance music beckoned.
Becci returned to the party, carefully choosing a single armchair. Surely that would keep her safe from herself and others, securing a little personal space. Yet everything about her screamed fuck me; her heels, stockings and revealing dress, her twinkling eyes and coy smiles. She leaned invitingly towards the men around her as they spoke. The truth was that she had only slept with one man other than Paul before her tryst with Nick and John.
