by Don Rasner
(03/15/06)

All I could do was stare at the judge's cock. At my own wedding, standing next to my future husband.

That sounds horrible, I know. But don't blame me. Blame my mom; it was her wedding dress. Blame the judge, too. His erection was huge.

The trouble started because I promised my mom I'd wear her wedding dress when I finally got married. That wasn't the best idea. My mom and I don't have a lot in common, and that goes for our figures, too. My mom is petite. Me? I'm what you'd call curvy. And, as any guy will tell you, my breasts are my best feature.

I was in trouble as soon as Molly, my maid of honor, tried to wrap that dress around my monsters. My tits aren't just big; they're amazing. Giant. Juggernauts. Whatever word you want to use. When it's cold my nipples poke through the thickest sweaters. When I go swimming I can't put my head underwater. When I get my vision tested the doctor can't ever remember the color of my eyes. And in my mom's wedding dress -- built for her flat, flat chest -- my tits looked like overpumped basketballs.

Molly and I have been friends for life. She looked great, her long blonde hair shimmering under the courthouse lights, the purple bridesmaid dress hugging her hips, the slit in its side showing off her strong legs. I'd never had any leanings toward the ladies, but Molly was hot that day.

And as she pulled my dress tighter and tighter, grunting with the effort of closing its back, I got a bit turned on. Well, that's not entirely true. I got totally turned on.

"Jesus, Suzanne, I can't get this thing shut," Molly said.

"Pull harder."

Molly did. Stretched tight against my tits, the fabric rubbed against my already erect nipples. I must've gasped, because Molly suddenly stopped.

"You okay?"

"I'm nervous, that's all. Just get me into this thing."

Molly tugged even harder, nearly knocking me to the ground. Another gasp. And this time I couldn't help myself. I grabbed my tits, pressing hard against my nipples.

"Harder," I said through clenched teeth.

Molly hesitated. "What are you doing, Suze?"

"Pull harder," I repeated.

I knew it was wrong, this being my wedding day and all, but, like I said, blame it on that dress. I just couldn't help but reach my hand behind me and rub it -- just a bit -- along the swell of my bridesmaid's ass. I'd always been jealous of Molly's firm, muscular butt. Mine tended to be a bit on the "generous" side.

My touch shocked the shit out of Molly. She let go of my dress and tried to jump away, but by this time my little touch had become a choke-hold on those fine cheeks.

"Christ, Suzanne, what the fuck are you doing?" Molly asked.

I didn't answer. I just squeezed her ass harder, and then let my other hand run between her thighs. My mom's dress must've been doing something for her, too, because her underwear was already wet.

"Suzanne!" Molly hissed. "My God!"

"Shut up," I said. "It's this fucking dress." I pressed my hand hard against her crotch hard enough to make Molly groan. "Don't tell me you don't like it," I said.

Then I took the next step: I started stroking her cunt. She was getting wetter by the second. I could smell her. I swear, her turn-on scented the entire room. Outside, I could hear people milling about. My mom and dad were out there, and the judge who was performing the ceremony. The best man, too. And, of course, Greg, my husband-to-be.

I let go of Molly just long enough to spin her around so that our faces were inches apart. "You have to be quiet," I said. "I don't know how thick these walls are."

Molly's eyes were bugging. I shut her protests up by dropping the top of my dress. My tits rejoiced as they surged free of the frilly material. Molly stared, her mouth hanging open. She seemed in shock, so I sped things along by placing her hand on my tit. The feel of her palm against my nipple popped goosebumps along my arms.

"Shit, I must be hornier than hell," I said. "My knees are fucking knocking."

Molly didn't try to step away this time, I noticed, so I pulled her other hand to my other tit. And then, before she could say a word, I slipped my hand back between her legs. I wiggled my fingers past her underwear and into her wet slit, and then immediately slid to her clit. I didn't have time to fuck around; the wedding was in ten minutes. She gasped, but then squeezed both tits, tight. It hurt, and it felt good, real good. "Keep doing that," I said. "That dress makes my tits so fucking sensitive."

Molly wasn't resisting any more. She leaned against me, pushing me hard into the wall. I opened my mouth to tease her but she slapped her lips over me before I could get out a word. Our tongues touched. I squeezed my eyes shut and felt her body twitching as I flicked her clit with my fingers.

She pulled her mouth away. "Suzanne, this is so wrong. You're getting married -- today."

I let my fingers trace slowly along the inside of her thigh. "I need it, baby. I can't be all horny during the ceremony. Just get me off, sweetie. Then I'll be fine."

I don't know how logical that argument was, but Molly was willing enough to buy it. Without another peep she knelt and yanked my dress down to my ankles. Then she did the same with my frilly lace underwear.

"Wow," I said, "you work fast."

She didn't waste time with foreplay, either. And what a touch. Her tongue immediately found my clit. She started at the base, then traveled slowly to its tip. There, she give a flick -- just a tiny one -- and moved back to the base. Then a kiss, gently puckering her lips over my clit. Like I said, Molly was a pro. Thank God I was leaning against the wall or I would've fallen on my ass.

I squeezed my rock-hard nipples. With my other hand I grabbed the back of Molly's head and shoved her mouth harder onto me. "Yes, sweetie," I whispered. "Suck it hard."

She did, swallowing my clit, letting it go, then licking up and down its length. She waited for my thighs to start quivering, then started licking faster, until my pelvis thrust forward and I came. It was the kind of orgasm that I'd normally celebrate with a scream, but this time I clenched my mouth and clamped my hands over my lips, too, just in case.

One thing, though. The orgasm made me fall onto my "generous" ass. Holding my scream in turned out to be kind of useless -- the thump my keester made when it hit the ground was loud enough so that someone -- maybe my dad -- immediately banged on the door. "Everything okay in there?"

I couldn't answer. My breath was all ragged, like I'd been jogging. "It's okay," Molly hollered. Grinning, she added, "Just blowing off a little steam before the big moment."

"Shit," I whispered to her. "It was so hard not to scream. That was awesome, baby. Where's that been my whole life?" I struggled to my feet and started pulling my dress back up. "I still have to get this fucker on, though."

"Not so fast," Molly said.

I looked up. She was bent over a chair, ass in the air, her perfect cheeks facing me. She'd hiked her dress up and pulled her underwear down around her ankles.

"My turn," she said.

I looked at the clock. "Shit, Molly. The ceremony starts in five fucking minutes, and I still can't get this damn dress on."

"I don't give a shit," Molly said, rubbing that perfect ass. "Get your tongue over here or I tell everyone out there what just happened."

"You cunt," I hissed. But I was fucked and I knew it.

I had to make this fast. I pulled her legs apart and started licking. Pissed off? Sure, but Molly's cunt did taste damn good. And I did feel a twinge of heat when her clit stiffened under my tongue. And when she started whispering my name, I felt my own cunt getting soppy again. I must've gotten that girl all wound up, too, because her legs were shaking like two twigs in a tornado. In fact, she was too turned on: When I gave her a particularly good lick she let out a yelp.

Sure enough, someone pounded on the door again. "You girls all right in there?" This time it sounded like my mom.

I pulled my mouth away from Molly's cunt to answer, but she hissed, "Don't you stop for even a second."

"Girls? Girls?" My mom's voice for sure. But Molly's cunt wouldn't budge.

"We're fine!" Molly yelled, way too forcefully. "Give us a second!"

"C'mon, you bitch," Molly whispered, "finish me off."

I'd never heard Molly talk like that. She was captain of the fucking debate squad in high school, for Christ's sake. I'm sure she never used the word "cunt" arguing against nuclear weapons. When she'd develop such a mouth?

That mystery would have to be tackled later. The clock was ticking. I needed to speed things up. That meant one thing: a little butt play. I slipped a finger into her asshole, surprised at how easily it slid in.

"God," she grunted as my finger slid into her. "Another one."

Who was I to argue? I slipped my index finger out, then put it and my middle finger in. This time Molly just leaned into the table. Good thing: the tabletop muffled her groans.

It was tough work. My neck hurt like hell, but I didn't want to move. I had a good rhythm going. I couldn't afford to lose my momentum.

Finally I hit the right spot -- and Molly came. Boy, did she ever. The idiot screamed -- on my wedding day! Not only that, she nearly sent the table flying across the room. What a huge fucking noise that made.

So it was no big surprise when someone came pounding again.

"Girls? What's going on?" This time it was -- uh-oh -- my future hubby.

"Nothing, dear! Molly just slipped, that's all. But she's fine."

She was. Actually, she seemed better than fine. She was lying on the floor, her dress still raised, eyes closed, and a huge smile across her face.

"Hey," I hissed, smacking her with my bouquet. "Get your ass up. We gotta get out of here."

Molly got up. We still had to struggle like hell to get my damn dress on, though. But finally, with me holding tight to the doorknob and Molly pulling with all her might, we got the dumb thing clasped. But my problems were far from solved. My tits were barely stuffed into the dress. My cleavage looked like it was going to rise up and strangle me. And my hair, which had been professionally done just an hour earlier, was poking all over the place. My face was flushed. I was as sweaty as if I'd just gotten home from the gym. A heel had snapped off one of my shoes.

Molly didn't look any better except her dress actually fit.

"I look like a fucking prostitute," I said, staring at the mirror.

"Just hold your bouquet in front of your tits. We gotta go."

So the two of us, sweaty, flushed, hair all over the place, opened the door. My husband-to-be looked like he was going to faint.

I smelled like sex. You know that scent. It lingers, that smell of a good fuck.

Molly reeked, too. Everyone must've sniffed it. How could they not?

My poor hubby-to-be kept giving me this look. It's hard to describe, but I'd say it was three parts sheer terror, one part ready-to-burst-into-tears and one part "Wow!" The best man couldn't take his eyes off my tits. Well, that's not true. Sometimes he'd take a break to glance at Molly's ass.

Mom and dad? I couldn't even look at them.

And the judge? Well, I've already told you about his hard-on. It was one hell of a boner.

I mean, I could see the outline of his cock through his robes. That's pretty impressive. So don't think I'm a total slut when I tell you that I just couldn't stop myself from inching close enough during the ceremony to gently brush against that magnificent tool.

Greg has a nice dick. But nice is all it is. This judge's? Don't let any woman tell you size doesn't matter. Those robes were holding back a monster dick. Eight, nine inches? Maybe even the magical ten.

I tried to stop thinking about it or staring at it. Really, I did. But it was hopeless. It was like trying to ignore an elephant in your living room. So -- and this is shameful stuff -- I started to slowly rub that cock with my knee. I wanted to see if I could make it bigger. I could. And I did. I noticed then that I was licking my lips. And my cunt was getting wet all over again. I tried to ease some of the heat down there, but it was no good.

The judge was yakking away, all that wedding-ceremony babble that judges have to say to hitch two people. He must've said those same words thousands of times. But I could tell he was nervous. He kept stumbling over the phrases. I caught him saying the wrong word more than once.

I did a horrible thing, then. I made life even tougher for that poor judge. I jutted my chest forward, just enough to heave my tits directly in his line of vision. He could have counted the freckles if he'd been so inclined.

What was I doing? Good question. Watching the judge stutter, watching him try to tear his eyeballs away from my tits, watching the sweat bead on his forehead made me hotter than I'd been since...oh, five minutes earlier with Molly.

I'm not some heartless bitch. I did look over at my husband. Greg's a good man: hard-working, smart, kind. And, like I said, he doesn't have the worst dick in the world. But, and I can't emphasize this enough, that judge's dick was huge!

Next I did something really slutty. I dropped my bouquet so I'd have to pick it up. And I made sure to move slowly, giving the judge an even better look at my tits. He stopped talking and gasped.

There's something thrilling about being so bad. I was turned on something fierce. I wanted to grab the front of mom's wedding dress and tear it from my body. I wanted to jump the judge and feel his rock-hard dick pressing against my ass cheeks. I wanted to split those cheeks and force that cock inside me.

And as I grabbed my dropped flowers, a wicked thought hit me: "What if I accidentally bump the judge's dick on the way up?" So that's what I did. First, I grazed my head against his crotch, slow, along the length of his shaft. Then I tipped my head back so my eyes could feast on that amazing piece of meat. It was such a nice sight I took my sweet time moving the rest of my face up the judge's robes. Did anyone notice? I didn't give a damn. I could smell the judge's dick through his robes, for fuck's sake, could feel its heat against my skin. Nothing was going to keep my face from that monster.

I pictured his dick -- long, thick, purple head, covered with crisscrossing blue veins. I imagined that salty pre-cum that would dribble from its head. I imagined the erotic shock it would give my tongue.

And then I pictured that massive cock banging into my cunt. In my mind the judge was a wild lover, fierce. He'd slam into me over and over, not giving a damn whether he was being gentle or tender or kind, not giving a shit about my feelings. No, the judge of my fantasies was a sex machine, a robot with a horse cock. It would feel like my insides were going to split.

It was fucking awesome.

And hey, how bad was it, anyway? Bad enough to cancel a wedding? A wedding I'd spent the last six fucking months planning? To cancel a very expensive reception at the finest downtown hotel? I mean, what was it really? I just barely -- the quickest, slightest flick of the tongue, really -- gave his cock the tiniest lick. And, hell, I did it through all those robes. It's not like I opened his fly.

It's not my fault that the judge's stamina wasn't as big as his dick. And it's not my fault that the motherfucker yells like a girl when he comes, either. But that's what happened. I gave him the littlest lick. He shuddered all over, grunted a bit, and then -- the moron -- he screamed.

The best man dropped the rings. My mom ran out of the room. My dad swore, though he kind of tried to do it under his breath. Molly called me a slut, and didn't try to do it under her breath. And Greg? I thought he was going to die. He didn't, of course. He broke into tears, the pussy.

So, yeah, everyone knew what I was doing. And, yeah again, no one was all that pleased. (Well, maybe the judge.)

The upshot? I'm single again. Greg hasn't spoken to me. Neither has Molly, my dad, or my mom. The best man? He's called quite a few times, but I have Caller ID. It wasn't exactly the wedding of my dreams.

Worst of all, the judge won't return my calls. All that dick and no balls.

One good thing did come from it: I threw my mom's wedding dress in the trash. Next time I'll buy my own fucking dress.

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