The Boy Bride Three -- Married free porn video

The Boy Bride Three -- Married By Gingerfred Man Previously For some of you, I guess this is the part of my life story you've been waiting to read. The part where I, Dylan Griffith, a pantied little sissy, get into a lovely wedding gown, attended by lots of envious bridesmaids and adored by a legion of jealous men, then get my ass plowed again and again by a big, strong, snorting, rutting husband. Well you won't be disappointed. Telling you about my wedding and my marriage has my popsy all stiff and drippy. It's quite a tale, especially since this part of the story begins with me still a "virgin." Although some may question my worthiness for that honorific. Since Dennis Lemont "recruited" me for the Boy Brides Society on my seventeen-and-a-half birthday, I had been sucking LOTS of cock. Sissy cock -- pink and pretty -- attached to my fellow Boy Brides. Boy cock -- moist and meaty -- attached to my macho, milking-volunteer schoolmates, all of whom also kissed me, stroked me and eagerly sucked my pretty jewel, then swallowed my sticky juices as I helplessly ejaculated into their wet mouths. And best of all -- man cock -- dark and hairy -- attached to four rich, eager suitors, selected by the Boy Brides Society as potential husbands for me. There was Rocky, the baseball player who got to third base with me every time we dated, David, a hunky U.S. Senator from a neighboring state, Gavin, a well-known, cinema action hero, and James, who had made lots of money creating and selling computer stuff. Before we get on with the story, let me remind you about my older brother Alex, who was a late selection as a Boy Bride member, then found he was unable to fit into the Society's core program. Instead of marrying (for a five-year marriage contract) a rich, powerful, older man, Alex chose to marry Connor, his sweetheart who had just graduated from college and didn't have a dime. I caught Alex growing titties (forbidden to Boy-Brides-in-waiting) and FUCKING with Connor (REALLY forbidden to Boy-Brides-in-waiting). So Alex chose love over security and luxury. Mom and Dad admired that choice. I thought it was dumb, but romantic at the same time too, you know what I mean? Anyway, you're probably wondering what happened next, so here we go. Chapter One -- The object of their affection Alex's June wedding was a lovely affair. Nowhere near as elaborate as the bash Mom and I were planning for October. Despite the fact that I hadn't actually selected a groom yet. In a classy move, though Alex had jumped ship from the Boy Brides, those of us who were still single attended as bridesmaids. That included Tommy and Jay, my best friends growing up, Dennis, who was the chapter president but would be giving that up soon to marry the Sultan of Something-or-Other, and the newbies, Brent, Randy and Bruce. Randy and Bruce, you'll recall, were pretty, feminine and extremely well-hung. The Friday night BBS meetings were still lots of fun, as were my four-times daily milkings from practically every hetero older man I had ever known in my life. Scheduled in no discernable pattern by Mom, the milkings drained all my boyish juices, allowing me to be completely feminine. And they felt REALLY good too. Since graduating from high school, I could "girlie up" 24/7. And I did. Never again would I wear boyish gear. It was panties, powder and perfume for this boy forever. And the world was a better place because of it. Alex was a stunningly beautiful bride. You're not surprised, I hope. The little puss is my brother and got all those good genes. Because of those hormones, he almost had enough titty to wear a strapless gown, but he chose the safe route, choosing instead a ball gown with thousands of petticoats that made him look like a gorgeous ballerina. He was a ten on anyone's scale, though if you saw ME, the Maid of Honor, you'd agree that I'm a twelve. Alex also announced that he wanted to be called Alexa from then on and didn't want any of those masculine pronouns attached to HER good name. I agreed to do that for the little prickteaser, though she was still a pretty boy in girl's gear to me. The Boy Brides' position on that is pretty clear. If men wanted a girl wife, they had lots of options. We were boy wives. Exclusive. Mysterious. Cum-filled and eager to please our men in every disgusting way our husbands could imagine. We were proud of being boys, though I've heard that older Boy Brides sometimes took female names and pronouns because either they or their lovers were more comfortable with them. Such issues were far from my "sister's" mind as Daddy and she marched down the aisle to be joined with Connor. Not that they hadn't been "joined" for quite some time. When Connor was in college, he was coming to see Alexa every weekend. His cock was in her bottom much more often than that big, stiff weapon was breathing free air. They even slept with Alexa impaled on Connor's penis. I gulped a little at the thought. My sister was clearly comfortable with a big pole in her tiny pussy. But the idea still made me sweat in a cold film on my forehead. I hoped I could be brave when my husband "deflowered" me the night of our wedding -- October 18th. I knew the date already, but not the man. Some older sissies had suggested that I have a pillow nearby to bite rather than cry out with pain when my Lord and Master punctured my girlish pootie for the first time. Alexa was over all that. Did she have that big grin on her face during the entire wedding because she knew that Connor would be fucking her every waking minute for three glorious weeks? Then the rest of their lives? Probably. During the ceremony, I looked into the church balcony. There they were. About 40 drooling men who had told their wives they were off to the hardware store for a left-handed monkey wrench, but instead went to church to ogle us pretty boys. Kind of pathetic, I thought. But it certainly gave me a notion of the power over men that I had as a pink pussyboy. I watched Connor devour a deliriously happy Alexa with a kiss at the close of the ceremony. For a second, I thought he would fuck her right there! Only four more months I thought and I would be "under" my own husband. My four prime candidates for groom were all at the wedding ceremony. Ogling me. Undressing me with their eyes. It was a good thing that the wedding ended quickly because I needed a milking very badly. Thank goodness Father Flynn, who performed the ceremony, was available. Mom had slipped him into the milking rotation since my 18th birthday two months earlier and he was one of my best milkers! Of course I never left him in a "bad condition" when we parted either. The reception was very nice, though my four suitors were stepping all over each other to dance with me. Slow dances, with deep, tonguey kisses and penis-to-penis rubs through the clothing. After each dance, I was so excited that I had to take my dance partner to a special room for an emergency milking. I was wondering how Rocky had managed to slip away to attend the wedding, since his baseball team was playing that afternoon 500 miles away. Apparently he had told his manager that he had a family emergency or something. Senator David had skipped some silly old nuclear-weapons-treaty vote or something to be with me that day. Wasn't he sweet? Gavin flew in from Toronto and had some stand-in rescue the girl in his latest movie so he could be with me. Aaaaawww. That was so sweet too. James gave up a chance to acquire another billion-dollar company that day. They really did all adore me. Too bad I would have to disappoint three of them. But that's life as the prettiest boy on earth. After the reception, Connor took his Alexa off to a Motel 6 in the next town for their honeymoon. Can you imagine? I was pretty sure that I would be honeymooning in some exotic, fascinating spot while my husband was porking my exotic, fascinating spot. Alexa said that all they were going to do was make love for two weeks, so why waste the money. Can you imagine? Why waste the money? Wasting a husband's money is what we pantyboys live for. I guess Connor didn't have any money to waste, though. After the honeymoon, Connor was going to work as a sub-junior accountant at some big firm and Alexa was going to be working (!) as a receptionist for some law firm. Imagine a pretty, young sissy working for a living! It's a horrifying concept, isn't it? I told Alexa that every lawyer in the place would be trying to fuck her pretty bottom and you know what she said? "I know," she said. Then she gave me this odd smile. Well, at least she had that part of her life figured out properly. Chapter Two -- The Decision That summer after Alexa's wedding was such a wonderful time for me, what with four hunky men trying to win my heart and all my other parts. Gavin was such a sweetheart. As I'm sure you did, I had seen several of his movies back when I thought I wasn't a sissy and I liked the abundance of car chases and the scarcity of dialogue. Though I had very little time for movies once I became a Boy Brides member, I must admit that I now saw his movies in quite a different way. Gavin with his shirt off, as he was in all his films, made my little popsy quite stiff. Gavin with his shirt off in real life was even better. Gavin and I had a whirlwind romance. He was such an impetuous lover -- couldn't keep his hands and mouth off me. It was wonderful to think that women all over the world were swooning at Gavin's films, but I was the one swallowing thick, creamy loads of his cum. Oh, Gavin adored me so. He was very titty-focused, sometimes sucking on my pretty nipples for HOURS as he played with my privates or "explored" my bowels with three calloused fingers. I would swoon and moan and ejaculate helplessly all over myself as he worshiped my "puffy points" with his mouth. Gavin loved when I sucked his balls. More so, I think than when I would "polish his knob" with my hot tongue. Either way, it always led to a grunting, moaning, creamy conclusion for the delicious man, and a faceful of hot, sticky cream for me. James was the anal one. From the moment we met, I swear, that man seemed to have his tongue up my bottom. He said that eating my pussy was the highlight of his life to that point. I guess all the squealing, screaming and spurting I was doing added a great deal to the experience. As I may have mentioned, James wasn't the best-looking of my lovers, but he had the biggest cock. And that's always worth mentioning. It was quite big -- double-digit inches. With a thick foreskin and a fiery red head. Wet, pouting peelips, dripping with precum. Huge, low-hanging balls, sopping with manly cream. Mmmmm. Every sissy's dream, right? Not really. The man was so obsessed with eating my "pussy" and making me cum that way, he hardly ever let me swallow that beautiful meat and extract its pearly juices. I mean if I almost never got to ingest more than two thick loads of his hot cum on one of our dates! Unacceptable! While obsession may have worked for James in business, it was an issue in romance. Or at least sex. And to a Boy Bride, they're mostly the same thing. Senator David, on the other hand, was the complete package. The man was an ardent cum hound. He adored licking and sucking my pink parts until I was shuddering through orgasm after debilitating orgasm. And he swallowed every drop of my pearly essence. But he was versatile. David also loved sucking what he called the "prettiest nipples on Planet Earth." And he was darned good at it. Almost as good as Gavin was, with even better "pussy-fingering" skills. David was an accomplished pussy eater, getting me into a frantic state and even making me cum explosively now and then, just from the tongue in my bum. But not obsessing on analingus the way James did. Even better, David was a great kisser. He had me stiff, dripping and needy just from our kisses and embraces, which he always took his time doing. By the time my panties were off, I was always "on the verge," just from kissing. But "even best," David was the most dominating of my lovers. He came to our "dates" with an agenda. Just as he did in the Senate. And unlike with government, with me, he always fulfilled his agenda. Leaving me drained, exhausted, cum-drenched and happy. So you're asking yourself, did Dylan Griffith, Boy Bride extraordinaire, select his five-year husband solely on the basis of sexual compatibility? Well, d-uh! Of course I did. Mostly. Financial resources and a good pre-nup were big factors too. I am, after all, a Boy Bride. I'll never forget the night I gave David the good news. He had shown up for our date as he always did, carrying a three-carat engagement ring in his pocket, hoping against hope that I would someday accept his proposal. Though David was the dominant one of us, I said, "Get on one knee, David. I think you have something for me." David's face ignited with joy. And he fell to one knee. He extracted the box with the rock, removed my right, five-inch stiletto shoe and began to kiss my pretty, stockinged foot. See what I mean? He was so sweet and so caught up in the moment. If I hadn't been firm at that moment, my panties would have been off and things might have gotten off track. I said, "That's lovely, David, but don't you have something to ask me?" David stopped his spontaneous foot adoration, set my pretty ped down and said, "Dylan, my Darling. I love you with all my heart. Please marry me. Become my wife. Make me the happiest man on earth. Please." It was happening. I was getting engaged. I cleared my throat, smiled broadly at David and said. "I love you too, David. And yes, I will marry you. For five years. Once we work out the pre-nup." That was plenty romantic enough for David. He kissed me with joy. For about an hour. Reaching under my skirts and into my panties. Stroking my little testicles. Steaming me up considerably. Then he stripped me completely naked, laid me on my back and sucked my cocklet until I arched my back, squealed and spurted my hot cream into his mouth. Things were off to a great start. The only downer was telling my spurned (and usually spermed) suitors, Rocky, Gavin and James, that they had lost the biggest reality show of their lives. I was such a little puss about it too -- acting sad for them, but sporting my huge engagement ring and only swallowing their creamy, farewell loads once each. Well, once except for James. I hated to kiss that huge cock goodbye. So I thoroughly kissed it goodbye three times. Looking back, I think that James' big rammer was a major reason for not marrying him. I was afraid he would kill me with that thing. I was, after all, still an anal virgin -- frightened of being split in two by a man's big cock in my tiny hole. What a dumb bunny I was. Oh well. Since Boy Brides don't usually marry for life, there was a pretty good possibility that I would be getting a good look at James' big thingee some time down the road. My "taste" in cocks has continued to evolve. Chapter Three -- An Engaged Pantyboy The next couple of months were hectic, but wonderful. Mom was all "Type A" about getting the wedding details right, including a special effort to include the groom on some of the minor details. The fact that a U.S. Senator was taking a boy wife would have been big news and may have been viewed critically at one time, but what it mostly stirred up was envy and curiosity about me. Especially about my beauty. I had all the magazines and news shows calling for interviews and the paparazzi were so insistent. It was wonderful being an international celebrity. Not that I didn't deserve it. Of course I still found time every Friday to attend my Boy Brides Society meetings. Those two "old maids" of almost 19, Tommy and Jay, were finally getting married, so I attended their weddings. And Dennis Lemont's nuptial extravaganza with the sultan was in all the newspapers. But I was the one the media were writing about. It was only fair. Mr. Lemont still allowed his house to be used for the Society meetings. And, of course, we members made sure he was properly compensated for his generosity. By September, we were back up to eight members, though I was the only one who was engaged. In addition to Brent, Randy and Bruce, we had recruited four gorgeous little pouffers named Chip, Trey, Michael and Eli. It's wonderful to see a new Boy Bride be born. And feel his femininity come into flower as he dresses and prances and spurts his boyish juices into your wet mouth. It was fun to initiate the new boys, but I must admit to being more than a little smitten with Randy and Bruce -- not only because of their incongruously big cocks. What I really liked was that they were beautiful and femmy, but very aggressive, almost manly, during the act of love. I don't really like sex with more than one partner at a time. Except for Randy and Bruce. We had many a lovely m?nage a trois with me on my back, Randy straddling my shoulders as he fed me his delicious rammer, and Bruce on his stockinged knees, kissing, licking and sucking my pretty, pink parts until I deluged him with my spermy essence. They seemed to take charge of me, treating me like a sex object who was there for their pleasure. Doesn't that sound wonderful? At times I even thought they were going to FUCK me!! After nearly a year of EBF (everything but fucking) I was steamed up and ready. But they were good Society members and saved me for my husband. Perhaps I could "visit" them sometimes after the wedding and "see what they had" in the fucking department. Which is one of the best departments in the whole store, don't you think? My post-nuptial "visit" list was growing. After months of looking, I finally decided on my wedding gown -- the layered sheath, with V-neck, fishtail train, short sleeves in peau satin and embroidery that I had been eying down for sometime. I'm sure you've seen it. The gown and I were featured on the cover of several of the bride's magazines for over a year. The magazines kept running the pictures because every issue that featured me in full gown quadrupled in circulation. Men, not women, were buying the magazines, taking them home, removing their trousers and pleasuring themselves as they examined the pictures. Imagining that they were the ones taking me as their wife. To have and to hold and to make love to. Day and night. David and I were so busy with all the wedding preparations that we hardly saw each other. David told me that he had been working out hard for over a year so that he could give me the honeymoon I deserved. He was nearly 40 years old and had hardly a gray hair, but he knew that four weeks in bed with me, with his cock in and out of my precious bottom, was to be the ultimate test of manly stamina. I loved when he talked like that. Here was the plan. After the wedding and reception, he would take me to the bridal suite at the Ritz Hotel, site of they reception. We would have three nights at the hotel, then be whisked to a private plane to Tahiti. David rarely used a private plane, but said that a 10-hour flight was too long to wait if we had to "take care of our needs" along the way. By agreement, David had to arrange the wedding-night particulars with the Boy Brides Society, so they could set up hidden video and still cameras so that our wedding night and the loss of my virginity could be preserved for the ages. And for the pleasure of my fellow members. Though the pleasure was certain to be mine as well. My anxiety about accepting a "red-headed visitor" into my impossibly-tight "pussy" had been abated somewhat by my frequent, reassuring conversations with Alexa. Though I wasn't to call her at lunchtime, since she always seemed to have an offsite "client consultation" that usually lasted most of the afternoon and I couldn't call her at home because, invariably, she and hubby Connor were fucking like rabbits, she always had time to talk with me in the mornings. Oddly, though she didn't seem to be working very hard, Alexa had already received three promotions and was making a six-figure salary as a receptionist! She must have been REALLY good at receiving! Anyway, Alexa told me not to worry and that I would ADORE having my pussy pounded. It may "pinch" a bit at the beginning, she cautioned, but a pretty boy's pussy was meant to accept the largest cocks ever grown. "It's why we're on earth," my wise sister advised me. That was comforting, but I was still just a smidgie apprehensive. Sometimes I would think about David on top of me, grunting as he slammed his thick monster in and out of my defenseless bottom and I would just start spurting my juices. It's a good thing there were plenty more creamy loads where that came from. It was time for some real fucking. Chapter Four -- My special day Every pantyboy remembers his wedding day. It's a day of intense femininity. A day of perfume and powder and lace. Of nylon and satin and mascara and eye shadow. A day of being the center of the known universe and the object of your man's complete and total love. Followed by a night of complete and total lust. A night where the pantyboy becomes his husband's possession. No longer complete without the dominance of his strong, loving husband. A night of total submission of a boy to his husband, and the intense and lasting pleasure that surrender engenders. A night of full hearts and empty testicles. Ohhhh. It was all that for David and me. Alexa was my matron of honor. She did a pretty good job, though she kept disappearing with Connor for half an hour at a time, returning flushed, but happy. Randy and Bruce were my bridesmaids -- two gorgeous little creampuffs who made fine supporting actresses to the star of the show, yours truly. And a shining star I was. Someday, someone more beautiful than I may be married at St. Transvestia's church. But I doubt it. The day began as all my days did. An eager "milkman" was awakening me by manipulating my "precious pink things." Through my sleepy haze, the thought occurred to me that I would miss the parade of men and boys who had been "attending" Princess Dylan over the past wonderful year. Several of them had wept openly as they, for what they believed was the last time, gushed their sticky juices into my warm, wet mouth. I usually consoled them in two ways -- by sucking them to another cockstand, then draining their heavy bags again with expert, oral attentions, then kissing them sweetly and telling them that "I was just marrying, not dying or moving to Uzbekistan or something." I wanted to leave them all a sliver of hope that maybe I would cheat on my husband or see them when my five-year marriage was up or something. At the time, of course, I didn't really believe it. David would be totally devoted to me, fucking me five times a day at least and mostly forgetting about that old Senate thing. At the wedding, every bride thinks he or she can change his or her man. Anyway, I was really enjoying that particular wake-up milking on my wedding day. The milkman had a very skilled hand and had just entered my "pussy" with three very knowledgeable fingers. My cum was already building in my pretty peanuts and a "gusher" appeared imminent. When my eyes fluttered open to see who was doing me such a great service, I shouldn't have been surprised. But I was. It was Daddy! Daddy hadn't milked me since the early days of my sissiness. My pretty eyes watched him tickle my pickle as he found and massaged my prostate with great love and better expertise. To this day I don't know why, of all my milkers, Daddy best knew his way around a girl's prostate. Some things a sissy doesn't want to know. Daddy had my pink nightie up above my puffy nipples and he was expertly bringing me to a killer orgasm. I saw the birth of the universe as I arched my back, squealed like a spurting sissy and pumped glob after glob of girlish juices all over my stomach, filling my belly button and even dousing my left nipple. But as he always had, Daddy didn't stop. "My little girl isn't going to be distracted by her testicles on her wedding day," Daddy said. I was going to correct Daddy. I mean, I wasn't a girl. I was a pretty boy. But Daddy was on a roll and all I could do was grunt and squirm with impending ecstasy. The 18-wheeler slammed into me again as Daddy mercilessly rubbed the epicenter of a sissy's pleasure. A brief thought that later that day, a cock would be where Daddy's fingers were rubbing and that set me off for a second, harder explosion. And Daddy pressed on. Ten minutes of merciless manipulation later, I spasmed, then drooled a few drops of girlish sperm over Daddy's relentless hand. Ten minutes after that, later, I whimpered, clenched and wriggled through a dry shudder of an orgasm. Pleased with his work, Daddy withdrew his fingers from my pootie, kissed the lips of the drained shell of a body he had left on the bed, and said, "There. That should do you until your wedding night." That was very kind of Daddy, but he didn't understand the massive libido of an eighteen-and-a-half-year-old pantyboy. I was stiff and needy an hour and a half later when my bridesmaids showed up. After all my other milkings, I would always "reward" my milker, but with Daddy, that was clearly out of the question. A shame in a way, because I noticed, and I happen to be an expert at this, that Daddy was quite "hot and bothered" when he left me. Of course, Daddy did go straight to his bedroom and he and Mom spent a quality hour making soft moans and grunts, as well as muffled squeals of ecstasy. They didn't make eight babies by kidnapping the stork. Mom looked a little disheveled (also known as "well-fucked") when she joined me for breakfast. I had showered already and was awaiting the arrival of my bridal attendants. Mom dished out my oatmeal and gathered herself for "the talk" that a mother gives a boy bride on his wedding day. "David is a good man," Mom began. "But he's a man. Let him control you in bed. You'll be happy you did, believe me. But you control everything else. Your pussy is the most powerful weapon the earth has ever seen. Men will do anything to keep getting pussy. They're obsessed with it. As a boy, I'm sure you know what I mean, since you're obsessed with sex as well. That should make for a very interesting marriage. When you're out of bed, tell David what you want. As long as you're giving it to him the way he wants, he'll move heaven and earth to please you." Good advice. "Now Dylan," Mom continued, "Is there anything you need to ask me?" I wasn't sure I should ask, but I chanced it. "Mom," I said, "I'm a virgin 'back there.'" "I know," Mom said. "Are you worried that he'll hurt you?" A tear formed in my left eye and I nodded. Mom hugged me sweetly, rocking away my fears as she said, "A boy must submit to all his husband's sexual desires, Sweetheart. That one is definitely not a problem. If I hadn't been 'helping your Daddy' like that for the past 30-some years, we would have had 20 kids by now, not eight. After the first couple of 'pinches' a big cock feels heavenly in our tight bottoms. It should be even better for you, rubbing against your prostate as it will. You should be cumming just from that." Thank goodness Mom was so frank and honest with me. Though the thought of Mom and Daddy doing the anal nasty is not one I want to linger on too much. I felt less scared after that. Mom and I hugged until the doorbell announced the arrival of Alexa, Randy and Bruce. They were carrying their frou-frou bridesmaid dresses and accessories and we all kissed and hugged in nervous anticipation. We retired to my bedroom and set about the task of getting ready for the biggest day of my life. Mom took charge of things, fixing my hair while the others made their faces and got dressed. I hadn't had a boy's haircut in five months and my hair was "girling up" nicely. Mom arranged it on top of my head, then helped me with my make-up. We finished right about the time the transvestite trio returned to my bedroom and I must say that I don't believe it was flattery when they oohed and aahed over my beauty. I was magnificent. A beautiful boy at his most gorgeous. A Princess of Love, Mom called me. Ahhhh. Oh yeah, the bridesmaids looked good too. Mom left to get herself ready and to help Daddy with his tuxedo. I wondered briefly whether she was going to give Daddy a little more of what men want, but maybe she didn't have time. I dropped my robe and stood naked before my "sister" and fellow Boy Brides. Slim and girlish. Pink and precious. The heart's desire of men, boys and fellow pretty boys. I almost sang, "I Feel Pretty," but left that for another time. Despite Daddy's best efforts, my pretty jewel was diamond-hard yet again. Randy and Bruce did what bridal attendants should do -- they attended to me -- on their knees. Randy licked my pussy as Bruce sucked my pricklet. From undiscovered reserves, I produced a creamy load. It was already a great day and I wasn't even married yet. After my breathing returned to normal, I began to dress. Silky, white, seamed, fully-fashioned stockings. A white garter belt of the finest lace. A white, silk bra that tormented my tender nipples with girlish excitement. Satin panties that my husband would be ripping from me before the day was out. And then the gown. A boy is never more beautiful than he is on his wedding day. Anyone can tell you that. I was beyond beautiful and I have the pictures and videos to prove it. The photographer showed up precisely when I was finished dressing. He recorded my beauty for future generations, perhaps the Smithsonian, then milked my sister, who was in dire need. Randy disappeared for several minutes. I discovered later that Daddy had been pressed into service by Mom. Daddy sucked Randy's huge sissy cock until he almost choked Daddy with cum, left the room, then sent Bruce to Daddy for the same treatment. Randy and Bruce told me later that they were half in love with Daddy after the best cocksuckings of their young lives. Again, I had to wonder about my Daddy. Anyway, we all got drained and dressed. Mom looked spectacular! Daddy too, though he had a couple of small spots on his tuxedo jacket that would cause raised eyebrows if subjected to CSI analysis. We got into the limos and headed to church. The paparazzi filled the city block outside the church, though they were not allowed inside. Security was tight, but I made sure that the usual crowd of adoring men who sneaked into a Boy Brides wedding could attend. They earned their places with their devotion. The church was filled to the rafters anyway with my family (huge), David's family (small), Boy Brides, current and alumnae, and all 85 male members of the United States. By coincidence, the 15 female Senators and the male Senators' wives all had scheduling conflicts that Saturday. I couldn't help noticing one surprise guest in the 16th row, friends-of-the-bride side. It was John Blutarsky, president of the United States and a long-time, well-known sissy admirer. President, former Senator and famous non-graduate of Faber College, Blutarsky had, after all, established the United States Sissy Corps after a diplomatic, fact-finding visit to Gingerfredonia. Strangely, Mrs. Blutarsky also had a scheduling conflict that precluded her attendance. No matter. In a few minutes, I was going to be Mrs. David Everhard. A boy wife at last! I stood in the back of church, out of view of the congregation. The music began and Randy began his stroll down the aisle, followed by Bruce and Alexa. They were so beautiful and so feminine (despite my best efforts to select really bad bridesmaids' gowns for them) that a few gasps came from the congregation. An unnecessary pang of envy stabbed me, but was easily suppressed when Daddy and I stepped into view. There was a collective intake of breath from the congregation that Father Flynn said was without precedent at his church. The crowd gasped loudly at my beauty and femininity, then began to share its awe through murmurs. Oh yes. It was a fine moment. Daddy took his time leading me down the aisle, prolonging the experience for me and for the lucky people in attendance. I was especially hoping that Alexa, who had recently been married in the same church, was fully aware of my public's reaction. About three-quarters of the way down the aisle, I remembered that David was supposed to be there. I checked. He was. He looked incredible. Manly. Handsome. Rich. Powerful. Perhaps not fully worthy of me, but close enough. Perhaps I sound a bit egotistical, but if you had been there, you would know I'm not exaggerating, OK? Daddy kissed me and released me to David's arm. I gave him my 1,000-watt smile and watched him melt under its brilliance. He smiled back and, of course, I erected. I would the first bride to cum in his satin panties during the ceremony if the padre didn't get on with it. Father Flynn had to modify the vows a bit to get the five-year contract and all the elements of the pre-nup in there -- I offer my body for spunking at least five times a day. David gives me a million a year, taxes pre-paid, for each year of marriage. It was so romantic. I was so excited standing next to my husband-to-be, with hundreds of powerful men undressing me with their eyes. My peehole was dripping and my little peanuts were rubbing against my satin panties. I was THAT close to cumming, let me tell you, but I held back. We said our vows and I was married. Just like that. A boy wife. A Senator's boy wife. I looked at my husband. He was looking at me differently?like he owned me or something. Like he wanted to make me start earning my $5,000,000 right there on the altar. Skirts up. Panties down. Bent over. Bottom bursting with cock and filled with hot spunk. I was owned. I was a love slave. A subject of my lord and master. David kissed me, tongue and all. In front of everyone. Proving that he thought he owned me! Ohhhh. I shuddered and came hard, filling my satin panties with six wet, creamy globs of sperm and semen. How embarrassing! Had anyone noticed? Apparently they all had and were tittering among themselves. Somehow, President Blutarsky saved the day. The wonderful old sissy lover stood and began to applaud the newly married couple. One-by-one, everyone joined him. David and I walked down the aisle through cheers and applause. I was soggy, but joyous. Father Flynn asked everyone to wait ten minutes to process out "Until the bride has time to change his cummy panties." That made perfect sense to everyone, so I slipped over to the bride's room and, with my attendants' help, refreshed my unmentionables. David and I stood in the back of church to receive best wishes and congratulations. I was kissed by 85 Senators (including David), 62 of whom slipped me the tongue. President Blutarsky not only tongued my tonsils, he felt me up! No matter. He had my vote in the next election. The reception was a whirl of picture-taking, aunt-kissing, hokey-pokey dancing and smiling. The highlight was when I had to undergo a Secret Service search for concealed weapons before I could dance with President Blutarsky. Two hunky guys with short hair and dark glasses took me to a well-guarded room. I was more than willing to be frisked for my country. Especially by those guys. But the big surprise occurred when the Secret Service guys left the room and the president entered. "Well, Mrs. Everhard," he said with a leer. "How lovely you are." I blushed. The most powerful man in the world was sexually harassing me and it was wonderful. Then he said, "I can't delegate your search to my subordinates, Mrs. Everhard. I'll have to do this myself." And so he did. He lifted the voluminous skirts of my gown and rubbed his palms all over my pantied bottom cheeks. I moaned softly as he eased my panties down then skinned my foreskin, exposing a pink, sensitive knoblet. "No weapons there," he said. He was so?powerful! And very forward. His cock was forward too as he exposed it to me for the first time. It was big and hard and dripping profusely. And I think it wanted attention. In a surge of patriotism, I kissed President Blutarsky deeply as I skinned and tickled his cock. The poor, overstimulated man endured that tender torture for about five minutes, then groaned and spewed Presidential spunk, thankfully not all over my gown. Though a sperm-stained gown would have been a traditional memento of such an encounter. In one last surprise, the Leader of the Free World hit his knees, took my pretty knob between his lips, and sucked me to a squealing, sperming dither. A bride remembers the little things about her wedding day. I kissed "Bluto" (as he insisted I call him) goodbye, returned to the reception and danced until midnight with a succession of eager male guests. For the first time, I met David's father, former Senator Daniel Everhard, or "Daddy" as he insisted I call him. Daddy Everhard was a handsome, roguish gentleman in his early sixties -- expensively dressed and quite urbane. He seemed to take quite a shine to me if his rubbing his iron-pipe "business" against me as we danced was any indication. After two slow dances, he kissed my cheek and said, "I hope we'll get to know each other very well after your honeymoon, my Dear." I wondered what he meant by that. People said their goodbyes, leaving one by one and wishing us a fabulous marriage. Then the reception was over. And it was time to get fucked properly. Chapter Five -- My special night. It's all different, you know. Once you're married. When you're going together, you're getting to know each other and there's a lot of evaluating and hesitating going on. When you're married, it's full speed ahead. When you're married, the wife becomes the husband's property. I know that's very un-PC to say that, girls, but I have to tell you that we true femmes want to be "owned" by our men. We want to be dominated in bed by our Lord and Master. Under him. Presenting our feminine bodies for his Lordship's pleasure. When David and I walked toward our bridal suite, I was shuddering with both fear and lust. My bottomhole was so small and David's "equipment" was so huge. He was going to kill me on our wedding night, I just knew it. A boy split in two by his new husband's raging, snorting passion! But David wasn't raging and snorting. He was just acting?I don't know?happy. Happy to be married to me. Totally in love with me. And delighted that he was to be the first one to enter what would likely become the Grand Central Station of pretty bottomholes. It was a special moment on many levels. David opened the room and carried me, voluminous gown and all, over the threshold. He kissed me deeply with lots of tongue then set me down gently. I was very frightened, but in a complete sexual dither at the same time. Trembling, yet fiercely erect. David took command. He sat in a chair in the suite's sitting room and said, "Undress for me, my Darling." In a wedding gown, that was more easily said than done. When I had to go winkie at the reception, it took Alexa and Bruce to rearrange things so I could piddle. Still, I wanted to give my husband a great striptease on our wedding night, so I took my time and exposed my hot, beautiful flesh to him one square inch at a time. David unzipped his tuxedo trousers, removed his cock and stroked it slowly, just to tease me with it and keep himself in a high state of excitement. His big missile looked more massive than it had ever been, making me lose my courage yet again. David sensed my fear and ordered me to come over and kiss him for a few moments before continuing the striptease. Shyly, I approached my husband. I had stripped my gown to my waist and removed my satin bra, so I was naked from the waist up, while voluminously clothed from the waist down. David was still in full tuxedo. Except his cock, which was naked and throbbing. Head down in the presence of my Lord and Master, I sat my bottom across his thighs. I was trembling girlishly, very unsure of what was expected of me. David held my chin in his hand, lifted it so that we were in eye contact, then said, "You are my very own Darling. My wife and my lover. You have already brought me delight beyond measure." And then he kissed me. I fell into my husband's delicious embrace, returning his kiss with full ardor. My little popsy was pushing against my satin panties and was already threatening to spew its girlish goo. Things got hotter when David broke the lipclench and began to kiss my eyes, my cheeks, my chin, my neck (ohhhh), my creamy shoulders, my chest and then (blush), each nipple. I'm only human girls. I ruined the third set of satin panties that beautiful day with hot spurts of girlish excitement. David seemed delighted with the first cum of our marriage, even though I was the only one cumming. I wanted that beautiful cock in my mouth, so I sank to my knees and began sucking it with long, slow motions. David groaned appreciatively, murmuring soft endearments. But then David said, "Stop, Dylan. I don't want to cum. I've been saving a big, creamy load for 24 hours. It's the load that's going deep into your bowels and taking your virginity." I shuddered. It appeared that my time had come. David eased me to my feet, then told me to resume my strip act. Trembling, but obedient to my husband, I stepped out of my gown, leaving it in a large heap on the carpeted floor. I stood before my man in only silky, white, seamed stockings; a satin, lacy garter belt; white, skyscraper, stiletto pumps; and a pair of white, cum-soaked, satin panties. I awaited instructions. David took his time giving them, considering his feminine prize for several minutes. Looking thoroughly at his property. Then he said, "Panties down, Baby. But don't wipe off the cum." I obeyed. And guess what. My little jewel was stiff again. David seemed very pleased. "Lie on the bed, on your back, and don't touch yourself," he ordered. Ohhhhh. He was going to FUCK me!!!! In my bottom. Like his little, helpless, love slave. The last vestiges of my masculinity would be gone forever. I would be a man's toy. Existing only for his pleasure. I could have screamed for help. But it didn't appear that David would need any. I could have run out the door and down the hallway, into the elevator, through the lobby, out the hotel door, into a cab and all the way home. But then I would have missed out on a good fucking. Several good fuckings, actually. Thousands of good fuckings and a wonderful life. I chose to satisfy my husband's animal needs. And my own.. As ordered, I sissied over to the bed and carefully lay on my back. In the center of the bed. Head on two fluffy, scented pillows. David was quietly undressing, but I didn't look at him until he stood at the bottom of the bed. Totally naked and rampant. He was beautiful. But so was I. David's excitement was immense. His politeness and patience had been sweet up until that point, but, like any man, his lust was beginning to consume him. David was transforming from man to ANIMAL! Snorting. Precum dripping like a leaky faucet from his exposed prickhead. Capable of only one last, rational act, David produced a jar of Vaseline, then slathered it liberally. First, as deeply into my bottom as all four of his fingers could reach. Which made me moan. Then all over his stiff monster. Which made me whimper with anticipation. One last moment of panic never had a chance to completely form because David threw himself on top of me. His arms hooked my legs, driving my knees back to my ears and presenting my pussy for David's convenient amusement. I was helpless!! Trapped!! Under my husband. At a man's complete mercy. It was magnificent! David held and aimed his cock, grunting as he eased it into the well-lubricated division between my cheeks. His peehole touched my anus, the first that had ever done so. I squealed with terror. David leaned his head forward and took stuck his tongue into my mouth to distract me and muffle my cries. And then he pushed forward and lodged his cockhead fully in my anus. I screamed as my masculine personality deserted my body forever. Pain. Agony. Less pain. Then my feral, merciless husband pressed his advantage -- pushing his entire, thick, greased cock completely into my defenseless bottom. All the way in. Ouch. I cried out in agony and instantaneously regretted everything in my life that had led me to that carnal moment. I panicked, actually fearful of my life. Claustrophobic. Trapped by a madman intent on my demise. Then the pain eased. And became mere discomfort. Then a pleasant feeling. Followed by a pinnacle of pleasure I never thought possible. It was bliss. Heaving, grunting fucking. Every stroke of David's thick rammer rubbing against my prostate, driving me half-mad with pleasure. David enjoying every merciless stroke. Reveling in my helpless pleasure. Honest, girls. I had no idea it would be half this good. I almost enjoyed the gratification I was giving David as much as my own universe-expanding pleasure. But with a cock in your ass, you don't think. You just feel. Aside from the occasional, intense urge to poop, I was enjoying being fucked more than anything I had ever done. David seemed equally delighted as he pushed in and out of his "new possession" the first 50 or so times. As far as I was concerned, he could keep pumping my pootie until I passed out. I remember expecting David to cum at any time. But then I was the one who made the first gooey mess. Even that was scary. I know when I'm cumming, girls. And that cum, like all the really great ones, had a very long buildup. Still, when it's cumming, you cum. But that time, my moment arrived, I surrendered to my testicles, and nothing happened. I can't explain why, but that cock in your ass, seems to "block" your orgasm. But what it really does is delay it, not block it. It's only for 15 seconds or so. But when the climax does arrive, it's at least 50 megatons in intensity. My cum knocked me almost senseless. Which would have been too bad, because I did not want to miss the experience of my husband's first cum injection into my formerly virgin bottom. When David did cum after the 104th stroke, I found myself wondering where I had stored his life insurance policy. I thought I was about to be the world's youngest widow. David shuddered and spasmed and pumped all his bodily liquids into me for a very long time, then slumped on top of me in dead weight. He wasn't dead. Just very happy and very satisfied. He kept pumping his whopper into my sopping bottom until he softened and was expelled my involuntary rectal muscles. David rolled onto his back. Chest heaving. Soft, sticky, wet, poop-flecked cock flopped across his stomach. Cum was drooling from his peehole and into his belly button. He looked delicious. I must have looked a sight. My face was flushed with excitement and my eyes were wide with amazement at what I had just been through. My little tickler was already half-stiff and my stomach and garter belt were drenched with my own boy's cream. And my bottom, my poor, ravaged bottom, was leaking my husband's cum. I had become the complete bride that I had longed to be. And it was only the beginning. Now that I had been thoroughly fucked, I wanted to be thoroughly fucked again. While I certainly didn't want to ruin David's health, I wanted my bottom filled again. And again. Maybe if I just gave him some encouragement, he would get the hint, I reasoned. After all, David had been resting for ten whole minutes. I got up onto my knees and leaned over to kiss and suck David's cock back to life. David looked at me with great interest as I took his soft, messy lovestick into my wet mouth. David grunted a bit as I gave him a taste of heaven. Then he smiled and said, "I think you liked being fucked, Mrs. Everhard. And I think you want more." I made eye contact with my man, still sucking, but moaning my agreement. David gave me a little vocal sex as I worked on reviving his manhood. "This time, Baby, I'm going to put you on your stomach. I'll slip three pillows under your tummy, until I have the loveliest target on earth. Then I'll enter you with one long stroke. Since I've already cum, it'll probably take me 150 to 200 strokes before I dump another big, creamy load into you. You'll probably cum twice before I do, screaming as you ejaculate helplessly into the pillows." Listening to my immediate future made me totally stiff. Predicting my immediate future stiffened my husband diamond hard. Then David made all his predictions come true. Then twice more that wonderful night. Once doggy style . Once standing up , with my boyish body pressed against a wall as my husband ravaged me from behind. And we had only been husband and wife for about 20 hours. I predicted a happy marriage. Chapter Six -- The Honeymooners On the first full day of our marriage, I awoke deliciously. That scamp David had my little piddler in his mouth, with my foreskin retracted, and was eagerly kissing and sucking my oh-so-sensitive little knoblet. "Oh, darling," I squealed as I awoke fully. "I'm cumming, my dear husband! A thick, creamy, sticky load, just for you." David loved to swallow the first-of-the-day sissy cream that my little pellets produced after eight hours of slumber. And I loved to feed it to him. The divine sensations climaxed as they always did. Divinely. Glob after glob of "husband nourishment" gagged my ardent, adoring David. Stars and meteors! Planets as-yet-unnamed. A heaving, boyish breast as the sensations subsided. Then the need. A new need that I hadn't felt before. A consuming need that I would feel for the rest of my life. I needed to be fucked. And David needed to fuck me. His cock was completely vertical and he seemed every bit as randy as he had when he had ravaged me for the first time some twelve hours earlier. And I was still completely at his mercy. The sheets, my make-up, and especially my bottom, were in dire need of some freshening. So David picked me up like a caveman, slinging me over his shoulder. He was carrying me to the bathroom, which was a good thing, because I needed to go both Big Potty and little potty. And really bad. I was squealing and whooping, just like a cave woman who was about to be "neanderthaled" by her man, which seemed to excite David even more. He got me into the bathroom and I thought he was going to lay me on the floor and fuck me right there. Which would have been OK, but in my condition, quite messy, you know? Anyway, he set me on the pot, told me to "do my business," then left the bathroom for two minutes to call the maid for a freshening of the room. "Doing my business" was very easy, since everything about my bottomhole had been reorganized over the previous few hours. Rather than an "Exit Only" sign on the seat of my panties, I could have written, "Main Entrance." I flushed and cleaned my pussy as well as I could with paper, then faced my husband, who re-entered the bathroom looking hornier than ever. I stood. We kissed deeply, rubbing bodies as I unhooked my garter belt and let my stockings fall to the floor. David released me for a moment, adjusting the water level and temperature of the shower, then pulled me in with him. I was naked and he was washing away all my girlish make-up. Would he be turned off when he saw his wife as a boy? Oh, no. David dallied as long as he was able, washing himself and me as well as he could with a soapy washcloth. Then he squirted shampoo in my hair and lovingly rubbed it into my brunette locks. My hair was soaped and foamy. Then he turned me around and began to caress my plump bottom with his soapy hands. Oh. When he entered me with three soapy fingers, I whimpered with lust. He was both loosening me and lubricating me and it was fantastic. I ached to be fucked. David ached to fuck me. I wiggled my ass provocatively, then said, "Make me pregnant, David. I want your baby." I don't know why I said it, but I'm very glad I did. It turned my loving husband into a rutting beast. David pushed his entire "thing" into me with one stroke. Hours earlier, that would have killed me. But I was "expanding" my capabilities and took a huge cock into my tiny bottom with both ease and intense pleasure. David pushed and pulled with a jackhammer motion, muttering, "Take my sperm. Get your belly up. Give you my baby." Good gravy! He did like the idea of making his boy wife preggers. And so did I. As he fucked me, I dreamed about being pregnant. Nipples dripping. I was eight-and-a-half-months gone, lying on my back. Belly up. Stretched with our child. In my waking dream, David was looking at me lovingly, but he was afraid to fuck me. Worried he would harm me or jostle the baby. I wanted to be fucked. And I didn't want David chasing after some younger, slimmer sissy as I was bringing his baby into the world. Keeping your knees together is not the way to keep your man. So in my dream, I teased his sensitive, pink cockhead with my girlish fingers, then hefted his balls, heavy with cum and desire for me. "You can make love to me, David, my Darling," I dreamed I said. "I won't break. And it won't harm our baby. It's a miracle that you got me pregnant. It was only because of your extreme manliness that your sperm was able to impregnate even me, a pantyboy. You're the sexiest man on the earth!" That did it for dream David. As it would for any man. Despite my belly, we found a way to fuck. I even dreamed of having big breasts filled with milk. Nursing David on one side and our baby on the other. In real life, I was squealing and spurting my guts out as David spermed my bottom. Still hard, he fucked me for 20 minutes more, then deposited another load and engendered two more loads from me. I was exhausted from the most energetic fucking a wife can expect from his husband. But David looked as if he wanted yet another opportunity to "sperm my eggs." I managing to hold him off long enough to refresh my feminine mystique. I dried off, made up my pretty face, perfumed and powdered my body, then dressed myself to thrill -- tiny, pink, babydoll nightie; pink, 1950's-style, fully-fashioned stockings; strappy, pink, five-inch stiletto sandals; and pink, diaphanous, bikini panties. While no woman in either hemisphere would wear stockings and a garter belt with a nightie, I did. David adored the feminine excess of the outfit. And I adored David. When he saw how I looked, I couldn't hold him off anymore. We fucked like honeymooning rabbits for three more hours. David ordered room service. We ate. Then fucked for two more days. While some might postulate that David would never be able to make me pregnant, it appeared that he was more than willing to keep trying to accomplish just that. And I was the grateful beneficiary of his efforts. On the third morning, David and I managed to get into our "street clothes" -- a pink Chanel suit, complete with far-too-short skirt and pillbox hat for me -- blue, power suit for David -- and find our way to David's private jet, where we doffed our street clothes and fucked all during the 14-hour flight to Tahiti. I felt a little funny having my "cockpit" pounded in the rear of the plane while the pilots were in their cockpit, but it would have been far worse to have gone 14 hours with an empty bottom. So I got over it. What I did feel uncomfortable about was the presence of David's valet, a young, frail, thin fellow named Charlie. Charlie occupied a walled-off section of the plane between the "bedroom" and the pilots. And we only saw him two or three times during the flight. But David seemed to feel no modesty around Charlie. He had the young man bring us food and drink when we were both in a state of some dishabille. I covered my cum-drenched body with a cum-drenched sheet, but David accepted Charlie's offerings while completely nude. Dripping with his and my creamy juices. Charlie pretended not to notice things, but it was clear that it made him uncomfortable. What I noticed made me uncomfortable. Charlie was a freelance sissy. I was almost certain. The way he looked at my husband, I was sure that if David told Charlie to strip, get on his back and raise his knees, Charlie would have been a squealing, cummy mess in very short order. Still, I was also pretty sure that David had never been intimate with Charlie. A wife knows these things about his husband. But don't you think it was strange that he kept the little creampuff around, especially now that he had a wife? Anyway, we arrived safe and sated in Tahiti and were whisked to our luxury resort, where we once again did not see the light of day for 72 hours. By then, David and I decided to see if Tahiti was actually near the ocean. Getting into our swimwear was more difficult than I had imagined. David wore a skimpy, red Speedo that made him look more naked than naked. He was delicious! I wore a stringy, powder-blue bikini that was rated at least XXX. The bra was strings and two little triangles that barely covered my perpetually-erect nipples. The panties were two little triangles too. One triangle covered most of my bottom crack. The other triangle was supposed to cover my pricklet and pink goodies; and it would have too, if I had been flaccid. Trouble was, I was almost always aroused, so my "girlish excitement" poked my bikini bottoms out, exposing my testicle bag and all but the skinned knoblet of my stiff jewel. How could I ever wear that in public? The thought of doing so, exposing my "pink things" to peeking men, made me even stiffer. I looked at David. He looked at me. What was the rush to see that old ocean? We fucked until the next morning, coming up for nourishment only when Charlie brought us a life-sustaining tray around 7 p.m. The next day, my resolve to see the ocean was much stronger. We arose at nine and got into our bathing gear. David mentioned that he had better rub some sunblock on me before we went out. I agreed and David rubbed soothing lotion all over me. Twenty-four hours and 14 combined orgasms later, we finally got outside and down to the beach. I'm still not sure how I managed an erection after all that, but I was seriously tenting my bikini bottoms when we paraded up and down the sand that morning. The beach wasn't crowded. Four or five couples. But all eyes, male and female, were on me. Every man who saw me erected. And drooled. And was slapped by his wife or girlfriend. Who needs Levitra when there are Boy Brides? I love the hot stares men give me, girls. And let me tell you, I fantasized about giving every one of those oglers exactly what he wanted. I was turning into a little tramp. At least in my mind. Not that I would ever cheat on David. We took a little dip in the ocean. Another erection-in-panties display to nourish the men's fantasies for the rest of their lives. Then back to the room for the rest of our fuck-filled honeymoon. At least I could tell Mom and Daddy that I went swimming on my honeymoon. Chapter Seven -- Married Life Four weeks to the day after we were married, David and I appeared at the door to our Georgetown home in Washington, D.C. To ensure that everything was perfect for the new "lady of the house," David had made a lot of calls to his staff on the flight home. At the time, all I wanted was a bedroom, a bed and David. But I must admit, it was a beautiful, colonial-style home. Being married to a rich, powerful man was a good thing. I giggled with joy as David carried Chanel-suited, stockinged and high-heeled me over the threshold. Would he carry me directly to the master bedroom and master me? Not immediately. First, he introduced me to the household staff, who were lined up to greet the new Mrs. Everhard. I shook all their hands. The housekeeper, Mrs. Harris. Two cooks. A butler and his assistant. Three chambermaids. A chauffer. Charlie, the valet, of course. And the gardener/handyman -- a rather insolent-looking fellow named Mendez, who was eyeing me down as if he wanted to fuck me right there. Perhaps I would ask David to have Mendez dismissed. Or incarcerated. No matter. Moments later, we were in the master bedroom, picking up where we had left off on the 14-hour flight home. Fucking. As I screamed for David's seed to impregnate me. Except for Charlie, who brought us meals now and then, I didn't see another human except David until a week later. On that day. That horrible day. When David went back to work. I begged him to stay home and fuck me for the rest of our lives, but he said that five weeks was all he could take off from the Senate, since they were confirming some old Supreme Court Chief Justice or something and deciding whether the United States was going to war with some country whose name ended with --stan. Like that was more important than my aversion to a vacant bottom! I cried and pleaded, but my husband left me. I cried and threw things when he left. Showing a petulance I didn't know I had. My poor, unoccupied bottom itched all day. Over the previous five weeks, my cream-filled pussy had been stuffed with cock more often than it had been empty. And now it was empty! It was horrible. I almost didn't speak to David when he came home that evening at 7. But I let him fuck me, of course. Several times. He was forgiven until he left me at 8 the next morning!!!! Two days in a row!!! Wasn't that marital cruelty? When he started doing that horrible "work" thing five days a week, I tried to be mature about it. But remember, I was 18 years old. And had the hormones of a very horny boy, who had been "getting it" regularly. Admittedly, David's daily absence did allow me to sleep a bit, refreshing my batteries and filling my pretty ball bag. And it did give me a chance to do some "girlie maintenance" on my beautiful self. And spend lots of my husband's money. The prospect of doing that salved my bruised feelings a bit. But shopping alone is no fun. And now that my husband insisted on deserting me every day to do that horrible "work" thing, it was time for me to re-establish contact with my fellow Boy Brides. I didn't call any of the married boys. They would have just bragged about how they couldn't even come to the phone because their husbands, who would never sink to "working," were either fucking them or getting them both into a state for further fucking. But I began to wonder if some of the younger, unmarried pantyboys would like to visit me in Washington for a while. Stay at the house in Georgetown. Spend David's money at the obscenely expensive boutiques. Get makeovers. Girlie stuff. And maybe "play" a little while David was doing his "save-the-free-world-instead-of-staying-home-to-pound-my-boy-wife's-pootie" thing. Whom to call? Well??there were those two, pretty, big-cocked sissies in our local chapter back home -- Randy and Bruce. As far as I knew, they weren't even engaged yet. They would rush to my side, wouldn't they? I called Randy. That little tramp! He was engaged and was getting married the following weekend. And wouldn't even postpone it for a while to accommodate me! Fear gripped me when I called Plan B -- Bruce. Was I about