Emmas Wedding Dress Pt 02

Beautiful and successful Emma took a chance and responded to an ad calling for a woman to star in a particularly depraved adult film. Her deep-seated cum obsession forced her hand and now the video is out there. But, it's so niche and obscure she's in the clear. Right?

Her wedding is only weeks away and the price of her decision has come due.

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I promised Part 2 would wrap things up. But, the story grew out of my control. So, now it's three parts. Whoops! Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

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"I'm so happy you're here, Steven!" I wrap my slim arms around his chest and squeeze harder than I should. If not for my heels, I'd be bouncing up and down with excitement. "I had no idea you'd be coming."

"Me neither, Emma." He gives me a light peck on the cheek, then holds me at arm's length to take in the sight. "At the last minute, I decided I couldn't pass up the opportunity to see you, my dear. I know the wedding's only two weeks away. But, I've been so excited for this moment, it might as well be two years. And, Arienne can wait until tomorrow."

He mentions his personal trainer. He refers to her as The Slave Driver more often than not. I'm not sure what injustices she's been inflicting on him. But, whatever they are, they're working. For a man in his mid-fifties, Steven is fit and vital. He's had something of a renaissance in the last few years, since Jacob and I started dating. He looks a decade younger, at least. If, in thirty years, Jacob is as handsome as his father is now, I'll count myself extremely lucky. I suddenly remember the fortune Steven pays for Arienne's services, whether he shows up or not.

"You shouldn't have done that," I say, admonishing him.

"It's not a matter of should or could, honey," he says. "I

had

to be here. And, my God, I didn't realize a woman could be this beautiful." He's still shaking his head in disbelief.

I giggle and give him a bashful smile. "Oh, Steven, this dress, it's just... I don't have the words." Lovingly, I run my fingers through the sheer wisps of my billowing skirt. My gratitude is overflowing, and I feel tears coming on. "In a million years I could never thank you enough for this dress, or any of this."

My future father-in-law puts his hands gently on either side of my head, careful to not disturb Alena's work. "Emma, you're going to marry my son. Who would ever think that's not enough? Everything I've done, every penny I've spent has been more than worth it. Don't ever think otherwise."

My lips are quivering, and I'm about to start weeping when Alena pokes her nervous head into my periphery. "Um, sorry guys! This is super heartwarming and all. But, you should shut off the waterworks before you ruin the goods." She mime's turning a valve.

I nod in agreement and take a deep breath to calm myself.

Steven laughs. "You know what? She's absolutely right. I'm not here to get in anyone's way; just to observe. Anton, old boy, do your magic."

"Oh, I'll do some magic alright," says Anton. "And make you disappear!" He playfully shoos Steven away, until he's retreated beyond the studio lights toward the mini-bar. Alena is there with her make-up kit, giving me one last touch-up before things begin in earnest.

"That's enough, child," grumbles Anton, as he gives Alena a look of annoyance. "Now, you're just showing off. Go outside and play or something!"

She sticks out her cute, little tongue and blows a rippling, wet raspberry in Anton's direction. Alena turns back to me as the photographer curses at her in the mother tongue. "Okay, Snow White, you got this! Just breathe and relax and everything will go great. I'm not lying when I say you're hotter than the fucking sun right now. So, you don't need to pretend to be anything other than

you

, alright?"

"Right," I say, with bolstered confidence. "Thank you, Alena." I reach out to give her a quick hug, not expecting her to dart in and kiss me. It lasts far less than a second, but my heart stops time long enough for me to take in the warmth and softness of her lips. I feel her nose brush against mine, and her breath smells like candy.

I'm frozen; speechless. Alena snickers at the look on my face before giving me a wink and heading toward the suite's exit. "Be back later!" She says as she closes the door behind her.

Forcing myself to recover, I check to see if anyone has noticed. Anton is moving slowly about the living room, holding up an electronic gadget that looks like it's from the set of a sci-fi movie. He's either scanning for radiation or ghosts. I'm not sure which. Right now, I'd be happy with either, because at least he didn't notice the kiss. Steven is just returning with a snifter of brandy, and now lounges in the shadows, having shed his jacket and tie. He gives me a big smile and lifts his glass. Thank God!

Anton approaches, satisfied that the fallout and phantasms won't ruin his photo shoot. "Thank you for your patience, love. Let's begin."

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For the next two hours, Anton shows how he earned all the awards I've heard about. He works on the fly, improvising. But, every pose and every framing tells a carefully crafted story. His direction is masterful and I never have to second-guess his intentions. He'll take long minutes to prepare the perfect shot; adjusting a light, the angle of my chin, or the drape of an arm. Once he's got it, he takes a breath and holds it. The sound of the camera is like music, its rhythm filling me with excitement and pleasure.

This is the second time I've been photographed with such scrutiny. But, the gulf, in terms of quality and intent, between the two occasions is like an ocean. The first time was like someone filming a natural disaster in progress. The camera work was crude, but fearless and unflinching. The footage captured, awe-inspiring in its debauched excess. You wanted to look away in disgust, but somehow couldn't. This time is different, of course. Right now, I feel like a masterwork at the Louvre, being unveiled for the first time. Or, an endangered bird-of-paradise, precious and fragile, and all too fleeting. It's all hyperbole, but I feel it.

We then leave the suite, all three of us, and head up to the secluded roof, where we have a permit to shoot. It's not long before Anton is taking photos of me against the New York City skyline. The city is alive, and its song rises to echo through the canyons of glass and steel. The wind up here is cool and whips at my veil. Occasionally, a gust pushes my skirt up to reveal my legs, toned and delicate in their sheer, white stockings and glittering heels. I laugh as I push the billowing fabric down, feeling like Marilyn. Anton doesn't miss any opportunities, and the flash of his camera has my temperature rising. Anton and Steven have earned just a little peek, right?

I spy Steven at the edge of my vision. His smile of contentment has been replaced with something more intense and concentrated. At any other time, it would be uncomfortable and intimidating, but right now, I don't mind.

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We're back in the suite and I feel exhilarated. I'm light on my feet and bouncing as we step into the living room. I'm delighted to see that Alena has returned.

"Well, well," she says from her spot on the couch. "It looks like somebody had fun up there."

I laugh and give her a brilliant smile. "And I feel like we'd only just started!" I look at the time to see we've finished early. "All this has given me a second wind, and I'm a little sad it's over. And, now that I have my dress on, I don't ever want to take it off!"

Alena gives me a strangely guilty look and averts her eyes. My smile fades, and I follow her gaze to look at Anton.

"Oh, we're not done yet, my girl," he says, calmly swapping out his camera's memory card for a fresh one. "Now we shoot in lingerie only."

"I don't... what?!" His words drive the breath out of me and I'm wordless with confusion. I turn my questioning eyes on Steven.

"Oh, my God!" He looks distraught. "I'm so sorry, Emma. Fuck, it didn't even occur to me to say anything. This was a part of the contract with

Belle Mariée

. I'm such an asshole."

I've seen models, in the pages of

Belle Mariée

, who would pose in their wedding-night lingerie. Most of the brides don't though, and the possibility never crossed my mind.

"The contract?!" I'm almost shouting. "So, what now? No underwear, no deal? And all of this was a waste? What the hell, Steven!"

"You know what? We're shutting it down. We're done. This is all my fault. We don't need them and they don't deserve you. Anton, Alena, start packing your gear. I'm sorry I dragged you out here."

I can't believe that it didn't occur to Steven, beforehand, that I'd have a problem with this. How could he just assume that I'd be okay with a stranger taking photos of me in my lingerie? That Jacob would be okay with his new wife on display for the whole world? I'm barely able to finish asking myself these questions before I'm hit with the enormous hypocrisy of it all. Who do I think I am? Some blushing virgin, pure as the driven snow? Am I going to lie to myself and pretend I'm not a monster beneath all this glamour and silk?

My God, all that money! Steven spent a small fortune to make this happen. And, I think about all of the hard work Alena and Anton have put into everything. Also, I want so badly to be featured in

Belle Mariée

. So much, at this point, it hurts. Am I going to throw it all away because of some false modesty? Jacob would understand, right? This isn't some trashy skin-mag we're talking about. You couldn't ask for anything more tasteful and artistic.

"Okay, I'll do it." The words come out flat and even. "Alena, could you help me with my dress?"

Steven turns to me in surprise. "You don't have to do this, Emma. I'll take you home and we can forget this ever happened."

"No, Steven. It's done." Alena has that hungry look on her face again as she stalks toward me like a cat.

"Alright, Emma," he says. "But, just say the word and we'll stop."

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Alena assists me with my dress, relishing in every undone clasp and untied, silken knot. She's slow and methodical and goes about her task with loving care. Despite my efforts, her touch sets my nerves alight. I wish this was over and the two of us could be alone in the bedroom again.

Why am I surprised that Steven is still here, watching from across the room? I want to tell him to leave, but he'll get to see all this in the magazine eventually. So, why bother? Also, the thought of how much all of this has cost him is never far from my mind. He's earned my endless gratitude and, I suppose, certain privileges. But, where is the line? And, how close will I let him get to it?

Anton takes a series of photos at each stage of undress, and every lost garment introduces the need for a more risque pose. I feel their eyes on me, taking advantage as each layer of modesty is lost. I would expect to grow more tense and awkward as I'm laid ever more bare, but Alena's touch always calms me and fills me with growing confidence. My previous reluctance is slowly transforming into something else.

Soon, my skirts, my corset, and my bustier are gone. I keep the tiara and veil, however. They keep the illusion of an "elegant bride" from devolving into a "wanton harlot." The lacy, white lingerie beneath is leaving little to the imagination. I've no doubt the dark areolae of my breasts are visible beneath the sheer fabric. And, from the right angle, my panties can't hide the delicate crease of my sex. I don't know why, but as I'm becoming more vulnerable, I'm feeling more free. I'm now working

with

Anton instead of, robotically, following his instructions. I try a few new poses that I think will work, before trying one that probably goes too far. But, I'm starting to have fun, and I don't care.

I'm so caught up in the moment I almost don't hear the suite's door open. I look up and see Rafael's tall silhouette at the threshold. He's holding hands with Alena as she leads him inside and they're having a whispered conversation. Something feels wrong. Why is he here? Would Steven have called him up? Certainly not while I'm in a compromised state like this. And then I see something I wish I hadn't. I see Alena press herself against Rafael, and they kiss. It's passionate and long, and she squeezes his butt with both hands as she grinds against him. Do they realize I can see this?

My heart is filling with the cold wash of jealousy and betrayal. But, is losing Alena to Rafael giving me these feelings, or the other way around? And, can I actually call it betrayal? I've known these people for less than a day. They're no more than strangers to me, right? But, it still hurts, despite the rationalization, and my vision is starting to blur from the welling tears.

"Is everything alright, Emma?" Anton has lowered his camera and has a look of fatherly concern on his face. "Do you need a break?"

I'm angry now. Angry at everyone, myself most of all. "Actually, I think we're done here." I stand, wishing there was something I could cover myself with. I give one last burning look in Rafael and Alena's direction before heading toward the bedroom. I can't believe it. They're staring at me, their smiles filled with cruel amusement. Why is this happening to me? I want to scream and shout at them, but I'm too proud to lose it here and now. I'm nearly at the door when the living room's sound system flares to life.

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"Hi, I'm Sienna."

I'm frozen in panic as I hear my recorded voice over the speakers.

"And how old are you, Sienna?"

Asks the interviewer.

"I just turned twenty."

All lies to conceal my identity, of course.

"Have you ever been in an adult film before?"

"No, this is my first time."

"Good! We'll do our best to make your first time a memorable one. Do you like to suck cock?"

"I love it, actually."

I'm finally starting to tell the truth.

I turn around slowly. Steven is holding the remote control and looks at me with regret.

"Do you ever let men cum in your mouth?"

"Why wouldn't I? That's the best part!"

Steven gestures to the couch. "Emma, honey. I think you should sit back down. We need to talk."

I see myself on the living room's enormous flat-screen, larger-than-life and dolled up for the preshow interview. I'm mortified at the sight, and I feel exposed and cornered. How could I have been so stupid and careless? Of course, people were going to see this. But, Steven?

"Do you have a boyfriend, Sienna?"

"I do, actually."

"Does he know you're here?"

"Um, nope."

I have no choice. I force myself to move, one step at a time until I'm back in the living room and on the couch. My legs are pressed together and I fold my arms to cover my breasts. "So, what is this Steven, blackmail?"

"No, no," he says, as he lowers the volume until the interview is but a whisper. "You've got it all wrong, kiddo. Who would I reveal this to? My son? It'd ruin his life and he'd probably never speak to me again. No, Jacob will never know of this. Not from me. I swear." He takes a few tentative steps toward me, perhaps afraid I'll bolt.

"Then why? Why are you doing this?"

Steven sets himself down on the coffee table in front of me. Our knees are only inches apart. "Well, about a month ago, I was at home, sitting in my office. It'd been a long day, and I needed some stress relief. I'm browsing the internet for pornography, looking for something just right. I'm only human, after all. And, guess what I found?"

I can only shake my head in shame. But, images of Steven watching my video start filling my mind and I can't push them away. I'm breathing hard, and I'm starting to feel hot despite my lack of clothing.

"That's right, baby girl," he puts a gentle hand on my knee and I look at him, sheepishly. "I found you. The real you. The person you are when you're not pretending anymore. I tell you, Emma. I hadn't cum so hard in over a decade. Not since Jessica was alive."

He mentions his late wife and Jacob's mother. I'm trying hard to avoid it, but more images are coalescing in my mind. I've only ever seen pictures of Jessica. But, I'm imagining her and Steven together; young and naked and fucking like animals. Now, I see Steven in his office, sweating as he watches my video. He strokes his erection furiously until white hot sperm erupts to pool on his hard stomach. There's a slow, pulsing ache in my loins now.

"That's disgusting!" I say. "I'm going to be your daughter-in-law for chrissake."

"Disgusting?" He lifts the remote again and presses a button. "The pot calls the kettle black."

The video skips forward. Sienna is on her knees, surrounded by men. Her mouth is overflowing with their seed, and she's glowing with ecstasy. I avert my eyes only to look into those of everyone around me. The television has them watching with rapt attention. They've seen this video before; all of them. There's a look of lust and something like reverence on their faces that's having a strange effect on me. I'm lightheaded and sweating. The air-conditioned room now feels hot and muggy, like a sauna. I'm short of breath and I'm losing it; my control, my willpower. "Stop," I say, weakly and without conviction.

I'm too distracted to notice much beyond the steaming fog of desire in my brain, and now Alena is sitting next to me. One arm is around my shoulders, coaxing me back until I'm sitting in a relaxed position. Her other hand strokes my thigh, slowly and sensuously. My legs begin to part as if they had a will of their own. She nuzzles her face into my neck and I feel her sultry breath on my skin and in my ear. She's so hot against me like fire made flesh. I turn my head until my nose is buried in her hair. I take a deep breath. She smells so good, and now I want to taste her.

I'm lost now and scared. Who am I? Emma, the buttoned-up professional? Rational and pragmatic to the end. Or, am I Sienna, the cum-starved whore who gets off in front of the camera? A personification of lust and wanton excess. I close my eyes, squeezing them tight. I feel a tear course down my cheek, and Steven's thumb wiping it away. I open my eyes and I'm drawn into his gaze.

"I love you, Emma," he says, and I can feel the truth in his voice. "More than you could know. We all do." Alena is kissing my neck and nibbling at my ear.

"You were so beautiful in your video," she whispers. "So alive, and free. We just want you to feel that way again." Her fingers have left my thigh and now rub tenderly at the soaked and sensitive lips of my pussy. The sheer fabric is so thin and fine I almost forget it's there. I let out little sighs and whimpers of pleasure.

"I-I thought you were... with Rafael." I can barely string together a sentence, my brain is so lust-addled.

"I am," she says, smiling at me. "But, I can be with you too. Here and now."

"But, we won't force you," says Steven. "Here's where you have a choice. If you want, we'll stop. You get dressed, and we drive you home. You get married. You get in the magazine. And the two of you give me some grandkids to spoil. End of story. Or, we keep going. And we don't stop until everyone is satisfied. You'll be ours for as long as it takes. Until we're drained and exhausted, and you can't cum anymore. That's the deal. Now, you have to decide."

I know now. There is no Sienna. She was just a mask. Emma is both women. A perfectly balanced whole that knows what she wants and doesn't stop until she has it. "Okay, Steven. Just don't make me wait any longer. I need someone to fuck me. To feed me."