A Wedding (accessible version)

Literotic asexstories – A Wedding (accessible version) by necessaryconfection,necessaryconfection
The following is a work of pure fiction – a fantasy. It does not represent real people or events. Nor does it aim for realism over titillation. It is a BDSM story, ungraphic, hopefully intended to excite rather than instruct.

This version is more accessible due to a change in character names, but some short passages have been removed as they only work with the standard version.

The characters are as follows:

Patricja–the bride

Steven–the groom

James–the best man

Leona –he maid of honour

Sofia–Patricja’s sister

It was unusual to see the groom walking his own bride down the aisle–but then again, there was a lot in this ceremony which was going to be unusual. Leona, the maid of honour, watched her best and oldest friend walk towards the altar with a certain satisfaction in knowing that it was due in no small part to her own actions that the wedding was proceeding the way it was. First of all, but by no certain means most of all, it had been her idea that Steven should be the one to walk Patricja down the aisle, as though he were the one “giving her away” – which in a very real sense he was. It set the right tone for the wedding to come, Leona had said–for the whole marriage, even–and Patricja, though she originally pretended to resist the idea to protect Steven’s pride, since wholeheartedly agreed. She was beaming at Leona from under her veil now, elation and gratitude glowing in her gorgeous features, beaming at the other bridesmaids and the best man, beaming at the friends and select family who had come to witness this unusual union.

Leona followed the bride’s gaze to her family. She had a big family, and even though it was mostly just the young and forward-thinking members who were in attendance, there were still enough of them to fill several rows of seats: several aunts, a few uncles from her mother’s side, far too many cousins for Leona to keep track of… And then, of course, there were Patricja’s sisters, the bridesmaids lined up behind Leona. Leona turned and exchanged a knowing smile with the eldest sister, Sofia… Sofia, to whom credit for this wedding was also partly owed… Sofia, to whom Leona had turned for help when Patricja had first announced her engagement to Steven almost two years ago… Sofia, who had introduced them all to James.

James. Not Steven, but James: the man standing across from Leona and likewise awaiting Patricja and Steven at the altar. The “best man” in more sense than one where the wedding was concerned. Leona took in his features readily: the shoulders giving shape to his frame, the defined jaw and cheeks, the smile on his lips that was prideful, knowing and satisfied, but without being cold or harsh or conceited. She remembered the evening she had met him, after the engagement announcement. Leona had called Sofia to lament what she saw as the waste of a gorgeous, divine creature like Patricja on a man like Steven. Sofia, agreeing, had confided that Patricja wasn’t getting half the pleasure from Steven that a girl like her deserved.

So, Sofia had invited James over to join her, Patricja and Leona at dinner. Patricja, the other two girls had ensured, had sat next to him at Sofia’s too-small table, so that the arms of his shirt and the seemly frame contained underneath brushed against her own bare ones the whole time. And yet, though she had to turn her head sharply to look at James, Patricja had scarcely kept her eyes away from him. Yes, Sofia had judged well her type.

Later, watching the TV, Leona and Sofia had monopolised the three-seater sofa — but Patricja, enchanted and atypically quiet that whole evening, had offered no objection to sharing the remaining armchair with James, even though it meant practically sitting on his lap. James had opened a few buttons on his shirt, and she must have felt his body heat coming even though she never once dared to look at him. (James, meanwhile, made no attempt to disguise long glances at Patricja’s décolletage in the dress Leona had picked out for her to wear.) It wasn’t long before James had his arm behind Patricja’s neck, and then around her shoulder, and then tracing delicate patterns on her bare arms. Eventually his hand moved leftward to her chest, and continued the little drawing motions on the realm of skin on her chest just above the left breast, where it was difficult to say for certain whether or not it was, nominally, part of her breast. Still to none of this did Patricja once object; on the contrary, her arms were covered in goosebumps and every now and then she gave a little shudder of submission to the pleasure overflowing inside of her. Leona and Sofia, to all intents unnoticed by the two suitors, exchanged smug glances the whole night.

Patricja was kind, and never wanted to hurt James. She had refused James’s number that night, and been resistant to Leona and Sofia’s hints (and later almost insistences) that she take James as a lover. Leona and Sofia had even arranged other intimate social events with James (to this Patricja never objected nor hesitated) and sometimes they even invited Steven, though they always ensured through some subtle means or another that Patricja “ended up” sat next to James instead of her fiancé at dinner, and made sure the pair were squashed together later on the chair or sofa. They went for woodland walks and kept Steven busy while Patricja and James walked ahead without ever looking back; they booked tickets at overcrowded theatres or cinemas, and gave James and Patricja seats together but away from the rest of them; they went on boat rides and made sure it was James’s jacket that ended up on Patricja’s shoulder when she fell in the lake, James’s body that was showing through his thin shirt in the cool afternoon air. Steven, though he sometimes tried and failed to be the one who sat beside his fiancée or shared alone time with her, never objected to any of it. Had he known then what Leona and Sofia were doing? Probably not. But he must have known subconsciously that Patricja looked so much better on James’s arm than his, and perhaps that was why he never thought to protest.

She resisted for so long, bless her… But eventually she had succumbed, and let James have her, one night at Leona’s. The morning after, she told Steven. Leona, who had pretended to fall asleep on the couch after inviting Patricja and James to stay the night if they wished, didn’t get a moment of real sleep. How could she, underneath Patricja’s scarcely contained moans of bliss, or the squeaks of the springs in the king-size bed of the guest room conveniently furnished with candlelights and condoms on the side table, all of which lasted the night long? But Leona hadn’t minded at all–the plan had worked at last, and that was all that had mattered.

Steven and Patricja had reached the altar. Patricja climbed the steps slowly and carefully–Leona stifled a smirk, remembering the plug Patricja had picked out at the bridal store that was keeping her ready for the night with James later–and the couple took their places opposite one another.

After the brief and fairly traditional introduction, when the minister asked all present company if there were any reason why the bride and groom could not be lawfully wed, nobody spoke and no hands were raised; of course, everybody present knew that the frequent encounters between bride and best man, and the chasteness of the groom accordingly, were not reasons against the marriage, but for it: it was plain to see, even to all those cousins and aunts contently wrapped in the arms of their own spouses, that no bride had ever glowed with such joy as Patricja was now at the sight of the man stood behind her husband. And it wasn’t just an artefact of her beauty. They remembered her before she had known James: how she had loved Steven, but always seemed somehow unfulfilled, no doubt lamenting aspects of his performance, as though she had known that a goddess like her was wasted on a man like him. He hadn’t deserved her and she had known it, and though she had agreed to his proposal, everyone knew there was no way she could be sated with him. How could she, knowing as she did that she could have better–have anyone – and besides which, there was something uncouth about sequestering herself away from real men who deserved to have her. No; such arrangements were not for Patricja.

Next came the vows. Patricja’s was brief and titillatingly precise in its wording: she promised always to keep Steven, to give him the married life he deserved, no more nor less, and to discipline him and ensure his good behaviour; she said that she loved him now, but was careful to promise only to “always have love for” him. Steven blushed at this, and Leona knew that despite everything, he was excited as much as he was terrified by the implication that one day his wife might fall completely and utterly into the best man’s hands, beyond the current level of mere animal pleasure and gratitude for his giving it to her, and relegating him, Steven, to the status of a mere slave, or maybe even that of a dejected live-out cuckold who scarcely saw his wife and keyholder. Leona remembered how much quicker James had come around to the idea of Patricja taking other men than Patricja herself had. It was easy, really. Of course, after that first night and Patricja’s confession, he disagreed when Leona suggested to him that Patricja should see James openly and on an ongoing basis, but that was just because he knew he should. He didn’t object when Leona made clear her plans to have James and Patricja over for dinner again, without Steven, and besides which, Patricja later told Leona that Steven never once asked her to promise not to see James again after that night. He must have always known it was right this way. And indeed, now, his lengthy vows said as much: he promised to always serve her and accept her judgement as final no matter what, and surrendered every little detail of her control up to his bride, that there would be no doubt as to its totality. And to cement it, at Leona’s suggestion, it was Patricja, not the minister who gave Steven his prompts to do so.

After the last of his many promises and agreements to Patricja’s lengthy demands, in which he agreed to everything from chores to chastity, from cuckolding to potential castration, the final part of his vow was to descend to his knees, where he now begged Patricja fervently for all the aforementioned treatment.

“Please don’t take pity, Goddess Patricja.”

“I won’t.”

“Please be strict, Goddess Patricja.”

“I will.”

“Please put your pleasure above mine.”

“I will.”

“Please put the pleasure of men who deserve you above mine.”

“I do, and I will.”

Leona shuddered.

In lieu of rings, gifts were exchanged. Patricja gave Steven the gift of “the life he deserved”, and he gave her in return a key, a present which was just as symbolic as hers given that it unlocked the chastity cage he had worn for the best part of their engagement, and that he had only possessed it himself for about 4 hours that morning for the sake of the ceremony. Now, he hung it and the chain on which it sat around his bride’s neck, where it dangled at the perfect length for the key to sit at the top of her cleavage, almost but not quite getting lost between her breasts. Next, Steven gave James his gift: his wife, to have however James saw fit. This was an offer which James took up immediately, as he presented his own gift: he drew out from a box that had lain closed on the altar a thick, black, figure-of-eight shackle, into which he secured both of Patricja’s wrists behind her back. Only Leona and Sofia had known about James’s intent to do this beforehand, but once more nobody objected. Patricja, on the contrary, looked once again breathless with lust. Then James took out a second shackle and here secured Patricja by the elbows in the same manner, so that her shoulders were brought back and her already very pronounced, very open collar became even more so, and the key atop her breasts shone proudly in the light. After that came a wider, single shackle, which locked perfectly around Patricja’s neck; then all three shackles were linked by a tight chain that ensured there was no give in them, so that she could do nothing but remain in the submissive position in which James had placed her, as if on display for him, for as long as he saw fit. Finally, a second chain was attached to the front, like a lead. He drew a key from his pocket, which he gifted to Steven, stating that he, James, wouldn’t be needing it until the morning, perhaps later. Steven was aflush at seeing his wife reduced to this, passionate, submissive and desperate for her lover.

The minister pronounced Patricja and Steven wed, and that the bride may now be kissed, and again it was James who took this offer up. He held Patricja by her upper arms as he kissed her, holding her close as he towered over her, as though symbolising how powerless she was to resist her desire for him. He held her straight the whole time as they kissed and kissed and she melted under him, so that the whole congregation and the photographer could see the full effect of the pose. The room erupted into cheers.

When they drew apart from each other, Patricja looked weak at the knees, and her eyes were glazed over. James lead Patricja by the arm down from the altar, holding her chain lead in his free hand; the congregation continued to cheer them as the walked down the aisle and out towards the hotel, where only its members’ imaginations would be able to follow the pair to the bridal suite and continue the story of Patricja and her surrender to a man who was not her husband, of James’s absolute conquest of her sexuality.

Steven was in a trance of his own as his new wife departed without him. Members of friends and family (mostly the women) offered him their congratulations as they left, but his face never changed from that stupid, demure expression, one of eroticism and embarrassment, of resignation and trepidation in equal parts, his lips parted as if in disbelief, or ecstasy. Leona drew beside him.

“She’s going to be a very happy woman.”

“I know,” said Steven.

Leona smiled at him, an appropriate speck of compassion and guilt coming over her for what she had caused to happen to him. But this was nothing compared to her vicarious joy for Patricja and James, her pride at how well everything had gone, and her knowing twinge that everything, everything was as it was meant to be. She leaned in and kissed Steven on the cheek. “You deserve this,” she whispered. “Cuckoldry suits you, and more importantly it suits Patricja and James.”

“I know,” he said. And then: “She deserves to have him.”

“Mmm?” said Leona. She paused as if waiting for more–frankly, she could never get enough of seeing and hearing what she and Sofia and Patricja had reduced Steven to. And it was even better when he volunteered the words himself.

“And he has every right to claim her.”

She drew herself up and inhaled as though in approval, and smiled again. “Exactly.”

He nodded humbly. And then, that dumb look still on his face, he said: “Thank you, Leona. Thank you for everything.”