Gatecrashing

One of the hot topics on Twitter this week came from the chat started by this article by Exhibit A on inviting exes and people you have slept with to your wedding. Lots of people seemed to be of the opinion you should never have anyone you’ve had sex with at your wedding which surprised me considering how many people stay friends with exes.

Then I remembered that I’ve used that social pressure to avoid attending weddings on more than one occasion. I’m not a massive fan of weddings (although I did enjoy the one I met my Master at) and the only thing more awkward than wearing the same dress as someone at one is having fucked the same person as the bride has.

Well that’s what I thought until I accidentally ended up at a wedding where I’d fucked the best man and the groom at the same time and took awkwardness into a whole dimension. As I’ve said before I’d encountered quite a few guys who had hired me for a threesome when I was an escort but it had always turned more into tag teaming.

These two stood out because they didn’t display any of the toxic masculinity many men have around anything that might  make them seem ‘gay’. They didn’t look awkward about seeing each other naked or brushing against each other even thought they weren’t being sexual with each other.

And unusually and memorably while both of them went for the sharing style of a tag team fuck by ending with their cocks aimed over me, there was a last minute surprise when one of them came over his friend’s cock, leaning so close the tips practically brushed together and the second guy came hard over my tits having had his cock well and truly lubricated with fresh come right at the crucial moment.

It was one of the few erotic experiences I ever took home from ‘work’ that genuinely turned me on. That kind of team work went right to my cunt in its casual filthiness and I thought it about enough times over the next few years that I’d sort of turned a reality into a fantasy and forgotten the people behind it.

So a few years later I’d moved from my seaside uni town to the big smoke and had a job that often involved doing make up and styling at weddings. I’d spent a warm Sunday morning in August lugging a heavy kit to one of those postcodes that sounds central but in the arse end of suburban London and I was frazzled after doing four women’s make up by the time I arrived at the church to tuck myself away unobtrusively until the photos.

One of the bridesmaids spotted my wheely kit and called me over to her and the groom who was standing with his back to me. Because the day was warmer than expected he was sweating in his suit and she wondered if I could help. Her exact words were ‘could you touch the groom here up a bit?’ just as he turned and we both recognised each other.

I’d last seen him pumping his come lubricated cock over my tits and it seemed the occasion was as memorable for him as me. I froze and he appeared to melt inside his suit. A few beads of sweat turned to a torrent and I genuinely thought for a second he would faint. He looked like his entire life had just flashed before his eyes.

And the bridesmaid noticed too and called the best man over. I didn’t even need to look to know the man in the grey suit coming towards me was the literal third party. I could see the dawning realisation of the situation on his face like his steps seemed to stand still as he came towards us. From their terror I surmised the groom had not been single when they’d been fucking me for cash in a hotel room.

In autopilot while the bubbly bridesmaid chatted about make up I did myself best to hide the sickening shade of pale grey the groom’s face had gone clashing with his suit and his dreams of the best day of his life. Both he and the best man reacted to me touching them like I was handling live venomous snakes in their face and it was so noticeable the bridesmaid actually joked that ‘she won’t think you’re gay if you wear make up.’

I wasn’t aware three people could clench tighter than we were already doing but every day’s a school day it seems. The bridesmaid nipped off to do something else and the best man hissed at me ‘why is there a whore at the wedding?’ while his friend looked like he might vomit on his own shoes.

Considering he and his pal had much more to lose at that precise moment than me, I replied much more calmly than I felt that ‘like her husband to be, the bride had had hired me for services rendered’ and walked off before I either yelled at him or burst into tears.

Clearly a stern talking to worked on both of them because they pulled it together enough to get through the ceremony without looking like two over grown schoolboys in good suits caught with their hand in the cookie jar and do the legal bits without fucking it up and I managed to restrain myself from shouting anything out at the lawful impediment bit much as I was tempted.

I even managed to make the bride look radiant and the groom less grey before their photos so that hopefully there was no photographic evidence of his shame for them to look at on the mantelpiece for years to come. Standing back while the photographer did his job with the happy couple I took a deep breath and felt some of the tension of the day ease.

And that minute the best man appeared at my elbow and asked me was I staying for the reception. My mouth fell open at the sheer brass balls of him and he took my pause as encouragement rather than horror and followed it up with ‘I’ll make it worth your while since that’s all you care about.’

Clearly I have no moral objections to exchanging sexual acts for money but I do object to men using that to insult or undermine me and in lieu of dropping that heavy wheely kit on his very shiny shoes I turned and said ‘no thanks. Your friend was hotter. That’s why he’s married and you’re trying to pick up whores at his wedding.’

And it was true. The best man was definitely only the warm up act to the groom’s starring role which is the only reason I still find the original memory so hot…

 

Gatecrashing

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