Wedding Day Jitters
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Wedding Jitters free porn video
I looked into the mirror. My breath was ragged, slow. I was nervous,
anxious. I had the same jitters all brides do on their big day. "Relax,
baby," said the woman behind me. She draped her hands, tipped with red
nails, upon my bare shoulders. She lowered her head until her face
appeared alongside mine. "You're gorgeous." She stepped away for a
moment, returning with a long and gauzy piece of white cloth attached to
a what looked like a toothy metal comb. She stood behind me and pinned it
into my hair. She ran her fingers along the veil, allowing it to fall
down my back.
I looked at the girl in the mirror. She was me.
Her face was pale, both from nervousness and the foundation I wore. There
was a scant trace of pink on my cheeks. My lips were a slash of red
color. My blue eyes were lined, dusted with shadow, and my lashes were
caked in mascara. Diamond studs glittered in my ears.
"Stand up."
I did as the woman said. My ballgown style wedding dress rustled softly
as I stood.
"Just look at you."
I could see more of myself in the mirror now. My white dress ballooned
down to the floor. The sweetheart neckline of the dress showed off my
pale, supple skin- and also my breasts- breasts which had been grown in
place by doses of female hormones. My blonde hair had been pulled up into
a twist, my veil clipped into it. My side swept bangs flowed gently
across my forehead. Beneath my dress, I wore virginal white lingerie. My
soon to be husband would love the sight of me in it in our honeymoon
suite. Beneath my panties, my tiny cock was covered by a silver cage.
"Come on, the ceremony is about to begin. This way." The woman waved her
arm for me to follow. There was a click, and then a blinding flash- for a
moment, I was dazed and seeing stars. The wedding photographer stood in
front of me smiling, peering over the edge of her DSLR. She had caught
another photo of me on my wedding day.
In that moment, time seemed to slow down. I remembered how this all
started- a walk on the street at night. I remembered being grabbed, then
nothing. I remembered waking in a stark white cell. I remembered
resisting, and being starved, and the beatings I had to endure. I
remembered breaking, and begging to those in charge that I would be good,
that I'd do whatever they asked if they just stopped hitting me.
I followed the woman through a series of corridors. Her name was Mrs.
Villareal. Since I had no father, she would be the one walking me down
the aisle. She was a higher up in the company that had captured me, and
she was in charge of my case specifically. She had dark eyes and a mass
of dark curls. Today she was wearing a fairly conservative blue suit
skirt.
I thought about all the things she taught me, from how to coordinate
outfits, to how to do my makeup. She even oversaw the more explicit
training I did.
With each heeled step I took, I remembered more things. I remembered
being held down as the first injection was stabbed into my ass cheek. I
remembered how after a series of months; I could see changes. I
remembered have a smooth, hairless face. I remembered my muscle mass
disappearing. I remembered noticing that my hair had grown down past my
shoulders.
Finally, we stood in place at the end of the aisle. I could see the man
there, a groom. My groom. I hadn't met him or even spoken to him. He had
seen pictures of me though, and read through the profile that I had been
forced to write for myself. I remembered the photoshoots. There was one
of me in a tight black dress and tall heels, hair pulled back. Another of
me grinning in a sundress. One of me sitting at a table, holding a wine
glass in my hands. There was one of me post workout. I wore little
makeup, had my hair tucked back in a ponytail, and I had on yoga pants
that showed off my ass and a midriff baring halter top that revealed my
trim tummy. Finally, there was a beach photo. I was standing on the
beach, wearing a red bikini that showed off the delicate curves of my
hips and the soft swelling of my breasts. My hair was done in beachy
curls.
The profile they made me fill out- God, was it embarrassing. I was
looking for a "serious relationship" with "the right guy." I loved dogs,
wine, and chick flicks. It was about as far from the old me as possible.
But I had to write it all, and I had to learn it and live it too.
"Here Comes The Bride" began to play on the organ. Those in the crowd
turned to see me. I even heard some gasps. As I took step after step
towards my soon to be husband, I began to wonder what he'd be like. Would
he be nice? Gentle? Would he be cold? Dismissive? Rough? What if he was a
mixture- very nice, but very demanding?
I blinked, and it felt like I had taken 20 steps. I was at the altar,
standing across from my groom. He was tall- he seemed even taller now
that I was standing in front of him. He was white, with dark hair that
was close cropped. His eyes were green. He was smiling. The preacher
started up. I had been coached on my vows before hand. I said them
quietly.
"You may now kiss the bride."
My husband leaned forward, his strong arms around my small torso. He
pulled me into him as he kissed me, and I kissed him back. The pastor
spoke. "Ladies and gentlemen, I now present to you Mr. and Mrs. Arnold
Gallagher."
The reception was brief. I felt as if I was an actress, pretending to be
someone I wasn't. I thanked guests, received gifts, and ate cake. Then
came the wedding night- what I feared greatly. Arnold was gentle in
public, but how would he be in private?
The fake smile on my face began to pain me, and my heart was pounding out
of my chest. Anxiety had taken over my system, I felt as if I was
shaking. Gradually, the guests began to trickle away, group by group.
Soon, it just me, my new husband, and his closest relatives. His mother
approached me.
"You're going to be such a good fit for him, I just know it."
I didn't really know how to respond, other than to thank her.
We ended up in a black luxury SUV, and we headed to a hotel. The
penthouse suite had been rented out and prepared. "I can't wait to get my
hands all over you," Arnold whispered lustily.
Soon, I was standing before my husband, my dress now a mammoth pile of
white silk and tulle that I gingerly stepped out of. Arnold's eyes were
huge round discs. He eagerly leered at me. I pulled the veil free and let
it drop on top of my dress. My hair fell down gently upon my shoulders.
My lacy white underwear left little to the imagination. "God Miranda,
you're perfect. Those pictures... Seeing you in person is a whole 'nother
thing altogether." He patted the bed next to him.
I sat down on the bed. In and instant, he reached into my panties and
pulled them down, staring at my tiny little cockette locked within the
bright surgical steel cage. It looked as if he were about to drool.
"Perfect," he said, nearly to himself.
Then in a moment, he was on top of me. Kissing me, groping me. His hands
reached behind my back, unhooking my bra and freeing my grown in breasts.
He leaned down to kiss them. I let out a soft, involuntary moan.
That night was hot, wet, and long. I fell asleep with my head upon
Arnold's chest.
...
One week later, I was laying on the beach in Hawaii. It was our
honeymoon. I was wearing a red bikini- the same bikini I wore in my
profile picture. My hair hung loosely about my shoulders, and I had a
pair of large sunglasses perched upon my head. I was working on my tan,
and also thinking about life. I had just about everything a woman could
want. Arnold was a producer in LA. He had a wonderful home in Beverly
Hills. There was a pool, a tennis court, and exercise room. He had given
me a new Mercedes. The walk-in closet was astonishing. Now I had access
to all the finest clothes, shoes, and salons LA had to offer. I'd spend
my days attending events with Arnold, gossiping with the wives of his
friends and neighbors, guzzling wine, and driving around LA, listlessly
floating from one luxury dress boutique to the next. I didn't even need
to cook or clean, as Arnold had several maids. Arnold even bought me a
little Yorkie.
All of this, in exchange for being his little plaything, his toy, his sex
object.
I was startled out of my thoughts by the sound of footsteps approaching
in the sand. I heard Arnold's voice, "Hey honey."
"Hey."
"Come check this out."
"I'm tann-" I started to protest, but Arnold had already seized me by my
thin wrist and began to drag me towards a changing tent. I knew what was
on his mind.
Inside, it was dark. Almost instantly, he put his hands on my shoulders
and pushed me to my knees. I looked up at him, knees in the sand. I began
to pull down his bathing shorts. His cock was half erect, so I wrapping
my hand around the base of it and began pumping. When he was suitably
hard, I leaned forward and took him into my mouth.
Arnolds arms snaked down. He took a hold of my head, his fingers
intertwined in my soft blonde hair. He guided me.
I was going to have to learn to like this, to love this. To love having
no wants or immediate needs. To love prancing up and down red carpets in
beautiful gowns and deal with vapid questions from reporters who didn't
even know my name. To prattle on and on with other rich women, who's
worldviews were so far removed from reality it was insane. To place my
value on material things- my shoes, purses, jewelry. To being a willing
receptacle for my husband. To suck his cock whenever he wished. I would
learn to love all of this. I would have to.
"Miranda, don't stop."
I didn't.
Alma
- 23.02.2022
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