Flashy Wedding In The Woods

This is the first erotic story I've ever written, and thus my first submission to Literotica. I thought it fit in well with the Nude Day themes of exhibitionism and voyeurism, though the story doesn't name the 'holiday' specifically. I'm glad for your feedback.

My best friend Jennifer's wedding took place at her dad's house, on a large, beautiful piece of property. The house was set back off the road a bit, up on a small hill, and the surrounding land was rather wooded, though not untamed, as her father kept the grounds well-tended.

The wedding party was gathered at the "carriage house", a building adjacent to (and sort of back behind) the main house, both of which Jennifer's father had built himself. The carriage house was basically a guest house, and had a living room, bedroom, and kitchenette, and one full bath.

Many members of the wedding party were getting ready in the carriage house, including the bride and groom (who had abandoned the whole not-seeing-each-other-beforehand thing), while other members of the party (already dressed) waited outside. In the heat. It was the hottest of the summer so far, in the low 90s—not unusual in the middle of July in southern New England.

Down a small hill from the house the land leveled out and became more wooded. A gravel driveway wound its way through the property. As we waited, trying our best to stay cool, guests could be seen walking along the driveway to go check out the huge tent in the back of the property that had been rented for the reception.

I glanced down now and again to see if I recognized any of these passing guests, and it was at one of these quick glances that I was delighted to notice two strikingly beautiful young women. I had no idea who they were.

Perhaps here might be a good time to tell you that I was present for this wedding at Jennifer and Ryan's request to officiate at the ceremony. Jennifer and I have been friends since kindergarten, and when she introduced me to Ryan, I knew that at long (long!) last she had found a man worthy of her; he is genuinely a great guy. I was truly happy for her. (Jennifer and I have never dated, or been anything other than the best of friends ...no matter what "When Harry Met Sally" may tell you.)

Jennifer had not, until this point (us now nearing 40) ever been married. I, on the other hand, had gotten married a decade earlier, but had gotten divorced just over a year ago. So, ever looking out for me, Jennifer (and Ryan) had given me the low-down on all of the single women who were expected to be at the wedding, of which there were three, all of whom I had met.

All of this to say that, upon catching sight of these women, my mind was furiously working out whether they might possibly be single, although they were not among those whom Jennifer had mentioned to me. (Maybe they had come together as a couple?)

They rounded the corner of the driveway and started the uphill climb toward the carriage house. And soon the mystery was solved: Jennifer and Ryan had hired them to come work as babysitters for the day. They were introduced as Christine and Melanie, sisters in their early 20s.

Jennifer's brother Jake and his wife Marcy—an attractive couple in their early 30s—have two little girls who served as the flower girls in the wedding. Jake and Marcy were certainly glad to have their girls in the ceremony, but they also wanted a little freedom from parental responsibility for the evening. Jake and Marcy had hired Christine and Melanie to babysit their girls on several prior occasions, so these young women were a very sensible choice for babysitting—not only Jake and Marcy's kids, but also for any other young children who might be in attendance.

Now that Christine and Melanie were up-close, let me just say that they were even more striking than when I saw them at a distance. Christine was a trim brunette with a round-ish face, big brown eyes, and a beautiful girl-next-door sort of face, complete with freckles (which I just adore). Her straight dark-brown hair fell to the middle of her shoulder blades. She wore a sundress which was strapless, but not particularly revealing of her 32C breasts; it was white with a floral pattern.

And then, in contrast, there was Melanie. Melanie was a skinny blonde, with hair about the same length, but perhaps a little wavier. Her face was more angular than Christine's, and with pale blue eyes instead of brown. Melanie had chosen to wear what can be best described as a piece of cloth. It was a green... sundress? kind of? The dress seemed to be made of a sort of t-shirt material, and it covered her lovely 28B breasts, but ...only enough to be considered decent. Barely. From various angles there was cleavage, side-boob, etc., easily in view, and it was abundantly clear that she wore no bra, such that her breasts jiggled pleasingly with every move she made. The back of the dress was just a few strips of cloth here and there to hold it on her lovely body, and the hem of her dress did not venture anywhere near her knees.

I did my best, you understand, but it was more than a little difficult to keep my eyes off her.

And I couldn't figure out why she had made this outfit choice. I couldn't quite figure out why one might wear a 'fuck-me' dress to a wedding, especially when you're not a guest, but in fact are there to look after children? Though I will say that, given the stifling heat, Melanie may have been the most comfortable of the attendees, especially in comparison to the women in the wedding party wearing the long, fancy bridesmaid dresses (Marcy, in particular, had made something of a show of fanning herself up her dress and exclaiming "ohmigod, it's hot under there!"). ...It's much easier to be comfortable when you're hardly wearing anything.

The wedding itself was held on the front side of the house, at the bottom of some broad stairs (directly in the sun... oy!). It started a half hour late, but all went smoothly thereafter. I kept the ceremony brief, Jennifer and Ryan became wife and husband, and then the whole wedding party returned up the hill to our spot outside the carriage house, for the taking of many photos (and the drinking of some wedding-party only champagne).

Melanie and Christine were now looking after the children of the members of the wedding party, most of whom were to be in some of the photos. There wasn't much shade on the hill, but I'd found this one spot where there was also a hint of breeze.

So it seemed like a good opportunity to strike up a conversation. I introduced myself to them, and we made small talk about the stifling heat. I learned that their mother had been the hairdresser that morning for the bride and all the bridesmaids, and that in fact their family had known Jake and Marcy for quite a while.

The conversation was friendly and pleasant, but eventually I got called in for a photo with the bride and groom, while Melanie and Christine got more involved with watching the children.

After my thankfully-brief part in the photo shoot, I headed down to get a drink from the upper bar stand (just on the other side of the driveway), and to catch up with a couple of Jennifer's college friends whom I'd met years ago. When they went off for a smoke, I headed the rest of the way down the hill to learn at which table I was to be seated under the tent.

...But not before catching sight of Melanie playing nanny to the flower girls (who were quite close in age—I would guess about 3 and 4). The older one was in her right arm, and Melanie was trying to half-stoop to pick up the younger one, who managed to grab just the wrong (right?) place on her dress, and completely expose Melanie's left breast—for several delightful seconds! Gorgeous!

She managed to get both girls in her arms—gathering them to bring them for the bridal party introduction, I suspect—and her dress rearranged. And though for a brief moment our eyes met, and she gave a brief, sheepish sort of grin, for the most part she acted as if nothing had happened. (Well done there!)

I took a quick look around to see if anyone else had noticed this little slip. There were a few paused conversations, it seemed to me, including (rather amusingly, I thought) between Jake and Marcy, who looked to be turning away while trying to suppress the smirks on their faces. Helloooo, babysitter!

So I made my way to the tent and found my seat. Soon thereafter the live band (nice!) called everyone's attention, the bridal party was introduced, Jennifer and Ryan had their first dance, and so on (a nice wooden dancefloor had been put together just in front of the small stage where the band were playing). It was still a little hot, but not bad under the tent, and everyone enjoyed a very good meal, followed by great dancing—the band was outstanding.

Jennifer and Ryan's wedding invitations had included the invitation to stay for a BYOB after party, which began when the band had finished their second set. At this point in the evening a great many of the guests were taking their leave, but there remained a small group of us who were intent on keeping the merriment going, and so had gathered at the front end (stage end) of the tent to hang out.

I hadn't actually remembered to bring a cooler, but that turned out to be unnecessary because there was still booze available at the lower bar stand—located at the back of the tent—including a juice dispenser filled with vodka lemonade (*and* a nearby bowl of ice—perfect on a hot night!).

At a lull in our group's conversation, I decided to get up and go get a refill of this tasty concoction. As I headed toward the "lemonade stand" (ha ha!), which was off to the right, I noticed Melanie sitting alone, over on the left. I wondered why she was sitting alone, but then, as I put myself in her shoes, I imagined I might do the same if I weren't really there as a guest. My guess was that she was just taking a load off after a night on her feet chasing children.

So I refilled my cup, put on a friendly smile, and approached her. "So the kids are in bed, or have left, and it's time for the adult lemonade. Something like that?"

She grinned. "Hell yes! I could use at least a couple of these!"

"Melanie, right?"

"Yeah," she responded. "Connor?"

"Yes, well remembered," I said, as I raised my plastic cup toward her; "here's to a slightly cooler evening—cheers!"

"Haha, yeah, thank God," she said, taking a sip of her drink; "chasing children in the heat is pretty exhausting." She then added, "Hey, nice ceremony, by the way! I don't think I said so earlier."

"Thank you! Jennifer and I go way back, so I couldn't say no when they asked me to do it. And yeah, I thought it went well. But of the two of us, I'd say you had the more demanding job. How many kids were there in total?"

"There were like seven, at one point. But really, for me it was mostly just Jake and Marcy's two little girls; my sister entertained the others—the older kids weren't quite so hands-on."

"So the flower girls were a little more labor-intensive."

"Oh yeah! I mean, they're absolutely adorable, and fairly well behaved; but they're always on the go—it's hard to keep them settled in one spot."

"Ah, I understand." I smirked and added, "In fact, I do quite vividly remember them *hanging* off you at one point earlier."

She put a hand over her face and kinda looked down, seeming to blush a little. "Yeah... well... I think quite a few people caught an eyeful at that point..."

"Oh, I definitely think so," I concurred. "Was that the only slip of the evening?"

"Um, not exactly." She was smiling now, but kind of looking away, her hair falling partially across her face. "There were a couple other times..."

"So, if I may be so bold as to ask: why did you choose this particular dress for watching kids at a wedding reception?"

Pulling her hair back (while still blushing a little), she explained, "well, it was such a hot day; and I just wanted something really light weight—to keep as cool as possible."

"Uh-huh; aaaand?"

"I swear, that's all I was thinking about."

"Hmmm, I don't think so," I chided; "you were also thinking about showing off."

"Not at all!" she objected.

*Hmm. The lady doth protest too much!* I thought. "Definitely. Even before little hands were pulling your dress aside, anyone could tell from 20 feet away that you were not wearing a bra—just from the lovely sway and jiggle of your lovely assets—let alone when they saw you up close with your nipples poking out under that thin material. That dress is unmistakably attention-getting."

Her eyes sparkled, and she grinned sheepishly. "Well, yes. I guess I can't really argue that."

"And I even bet you volunteered to take the little ones, hoping for some 'accidents'." This brought forth a giggle and some deeper blushing. "Ooh! I'm right, aren't I? Nice. I like it!"

She nodded. "Well, I was a bit of a late bloomer in the boob department, and so now that I have them..."

"Ah, I get it." I adjusted to a conspiratorial tone, "So... was it a thrill to be exposed? Did you get the attention you were craving?"

"It was... pretty exciting, yeah," she admitted, "partly because I wasn't exposing myself, or choosing when to be exposed—so it was kind of both embarrassing, but also kind of a rush."

"Mmm," I encouraged her, "I can see that you enjoyed it just by the expression on your face. There's a mischievous twinkle in your eyes that betrays you."

"Oh my god. I'm so busted!"

"Well," I said, "I for one think the dress is one of the hottest things I've ever seen, and glimpsing a view of your lovely exposed breast earlier was really nice. Pretty damn hot, actually."

She smiled appreciatively. "Thanks!"

I asked, "So does it excite you to relive the evening via this conversation?" (It sure as hell was exciting me—I hoped that the tight fit of my dress pants wasn't betraying the swelling of my cock.)

"Yeah," she grinned, "it kinda does."

"Well...," I paused to consider how to suggest this, "you have an appreciative audience right here in front of you; why don't you show them again now?"

Melanie glanced over her shoulder at just a few remaining people, including the bride and groom, and Jake and Marcy, still sitting and chatting at tables at the other end of the tent. "Both? But there are still some people around!"

"Your back is to them, they'll never notice. Besides, that's part of the thrill. Someone might come over..."

I made a motion with my hand as though grabbing the top of an invisible neck tie and running my hand down the length of it: "Just gather the dress in the center of your chest."

She smirked and, glancing over her shoulder for one more second, did just as I instructed, grabbing a handful of the front of her dress and scrunching it together so that it now lay between her bared breasts.

They were just as exceptional as I had remembered from earlier—perfectly perky, tear-drop shape, capped with nicely-placed nipples, with small dark-pink areolae. Whether from the hint of breeze, or simply from the excitement of being exposed, her nipples stiffened just a little.

"Oh Melanie, they're really quite perfect. No, no, leave them out--nobody's close enough to be able to tell." She let go of the front of her dress, which remained nestled between her breasts, and she slowly relaxed her posture, eventually sitting as though she'd been sitting this way for the whole conversation. "Tell me how you feel right now."

"Nervous. Definitely a bit naughty. But excited."

"You enjoy the feeling of the slight breeze across your nipples?"

"Mmm, very much!" she exclaimed. A smirk came to her face, "And how does it look from your angle?"

"Exceptionally hot, Melanie. Especially now that you've relaxed a bit—it's like you just own it. You own the whole tent." I paused, then added, "and it doesn't hurt that you have the most perfect tits!"

"Really?"

"God yes! Really nice size, especially on your small frame. Gorgeous shape. Nipples poking out proudly! 100% natural, if I'm not mistaken?"

"Hell yeah! This is all me."

"Well, no need to mess with perfection!" I lowered my voice, and asked, "would it be too naughty if I held one for a moment?"

"Yeah... probably," she grinned. Then she lifted her cup to me, as if in a toast, as she said, "but... I'm feeling naughty, so... go for it."

"Wow, I'm honored!" I paused. "But this privilege should be earned. Your beverage cup is empty, milady; let me get you a refill. More lemonade?"

"Oh!" She handed her cup to me; "yes, please, kind sir." I took both of our cups to the juice dispenser, which was only a short distance behind me. Although I knew the refill wouldn't take but a moment, I also knew that I had risked the possibility that she might change her mind. The flipside was that it also might raise her anticipation of being touched. (And further, getting up gave me an excuse to take a seat just to her right, upon my return).

She had not made any adjustments to her dress while I went for our refill, much to my delight! So I handed her cup to her, sat down beside her on her right, tilted my head with a faint smirk, and affected a British accent, "I've come with the lady's drink. Have I earned my reward?"

Melanie struck a thoughtful pose for a brief moment—hand to her chin, one finger on her lip—and then, with one quick glance to the other end of the tent, replied, "Yes; you have."

I rested my left arm on the table behind her (not touching her), and then I slowly moved my other hand and placed it gently on her ribcage, beneath her right breast. I then slowly moved it upward until my thumb and forefinger came to rest on the exquisitely soft underside of her breast. Then, moving even more slowly, I eased—just my fingertips—upwards, until the palm of my hand came to cup the entire underside of this perfect sample of feminine beauty.

"Soooo soft!" I exclaimed quietly. Melanie merely sighed in response.

My hand rested where it was, but my thumb and forefinger continued sliding ever so gently across her skin until they came together at her nipple. I squeezed, very gently. Her breath caught. I squeezed again, almost as gently, but not quite, and then slid my thumb onto the tip of her nipple, sliding it back and forth a few times.

"Oh god!" she whispered.

"Your nipples are very sensitive, yes?"

She smiled while sucking in a quick breath, "what gives it away?" She exhaled.

I had begun dancing my other three fingers on the underside of her breast, while alternating pinching and rubbing her nipple. I took a quick glance back at the other tables to confirm that the others were still engaged in conversation—and they were, except that I happened to catch Jake's eye for a second, and he shot me a grin. (I was still fairly certain that no one that far away could really know what was going on.)

Please understand that I was absolutely reveling in this entire encounter as it unfolded; here was this beautiful woman, fifteen years younger than me, engaging in playful sexual banter, banter which was quickly moving to action. It seemed too good to be really happening, as though I might wake up from a dream any minute. This is not to suggest that I am unattractive—I am 5'10", have short brown hair, a nice smile (I'm told), and adding a couple days of running to my weekly routine in the past year has kept the 'dad bod' at bay—but rather that I simply tend to be too shy to set such a playful encounter as this in motion.

But here we were, Melanie and I, sitting at a reception table, and me caressing her fabulous breasts. So, I continued our conversation as though there was nothing going on: "So there's one thing about this hot little dress that still remains a mystery."

"Mmm, what's that?"

"Well, tell me if I'm right: given all the slits and openings, and the clingy-ness of the material, it seems like the sort of dress, if worn correctly, that really requires you to go without panties."