Accidental Bridesmaid

You hear a stifled laugh as you draw the knickers up your legs. You are not alone after all.

You see over your shoulder that I am sitting in the adjoining room of the hotel suite, watching you changing into my daughter's bridal underwear.

The thick white lace waistband has reached your lower thighs and the satin beneath rests on your knees as you freeze in mortification.

You want to explain but you are still wondering how to begin when I interrupt. "Don't you think you should finish getting dressed?" I ask.

You do as you are told. When the lace is snugly around your waist and the satin runs between your legs you turn to face me and try to talk again.

The truth, you want to say, is that my daughter had allowed you to be the best man for her groom only on condition that she had "security", as she called it. She would only allow you to deliver the best man's speech if you were wearing her underwear - a secret she would only expose if you gave the newlyweds cause for embarrassment.

You had no intention of obliging her, but when you complained to the groom he instructed you just to do whatever she wanted. You settled on the idea that you would put on the camisole and knickers briefly for her pre-speech inspection and then covertly remove them again as soon as she was called away to talk to her guests.

The unlocked hotel room you slipped into for your quick change had seemed empty as you placed your suit on the bed and stepped into the knickers.

You're still wondering how to explain this convoluted story when I get up and cross the floor to a hanging rail of formal dresses.

"I said, don't you think you should finish getting dressed," I say. You lift the camisole over your head and see out of the corner of your eye that I am selecting a large pink bridesmaid's dress. "My sister isn't able to be here today so you can wear this. Let's see if it fits."

You look horrified. I reach out to tug down your camisole and smile at the bulge that appears to be swelling in your knickers. "Don't worry, darling, I can be good at keeping secrets if I want to."

I unzip the satin dress and lift it over your head so that the arm holes are spread open. You oblige me and feel the soft fabric glide over your shoulders and down against the smooth body of the camisole. The waist is tight and the skirts sway about your thighs.

"Oh, it's a little short on you," I say, circling you. I step away to take the door off the latch. "Sit for me. Let's see."

The skirts pull up as you perch on the side of the bed. I ask if you are flashing your knickers but you do not respond.

"You know, my daughter's knickers?" I say. I place my hand on your thigh and fondle the hem of your skirts. You let me flip them up. "These ones."

My hand cups you and you sigh. I like that sound, I tell you. "Do it again. Can I make you do it again?"

You close your eyes and try to imagine you are somewhere else but you are sighing deeply as my hand plays between your legs. My other pushes you backwards and you feel the skirts ride higher as you lay on your back.

With a sudden tug the knickers are around your knees and I am on top of you, a leg either side, and guiding you into me with a little gasp. "Oh, darling," I say, slowly descending till you feel my bottom on your thighs. "Such a pliant girl. Look at the pretty flush in your cheeks."

I rock gently and giggle as you screw your eyes tightly shut. "Look at me," I say gently. "Look." You open your eyes.

"See how beautiful this is?" I say. "I'm fucking a bridesmaid. A pretty, pink bridesmaid."

I continue to cajole you as you reluctantly feel your arousal build. I ask you if you'd like to change your role in the ceremony, to follow the bride down the aisle. "Wouldn't it be wonderful for everyone to see how pretty you look?"

Your hands grip the bed as you realise you're going to come. "That's it, darling," I say. "You can't stop it now. Come like a girl for me. That's it. Dainty little sighs. Yes. Soft little moans for me now."

You hear helpless high-pitched moans and you dimly realise they are yours. The satin presses tightly against the movement of your chest and brushes rhythmically against your hips. The sensation of wet warmth fills your lolling head. You can feel me tightening around you in spasms and you respond with a squeal of total devotion.

You buck beneath me, whimpering and shuddering until exhaustion sets in.

I dismount you and busy myself somewhere nearby. It is some time before you realise that someone is knocking at the door. I am beside you again with a bundle of your clothes.

"You'd better go to the bathroom to get dressed," I say as you hear the bride demanding to be let in. "I think, when you come out, you'll be doing exactly as she asks."