Rochelle and Me

This is the third in a series about Rochelle and me. It's probably okay as a stand-alone, but if you want to know what led up to this point, you should read the first two.

Rochelle and I didn't want to waste any time, so we scheduled our wedding for one month out. Rochelle invited her four friends, and I asked my friend Joel to be my best man. I hadn't met Rochelle's friends, but I was guessing they were all around her age, 41 or thereabouts. Joel was my age: 36, and he was in really good shape, being a jogger, regular gym guy, and marathon bicyclist who joins in rides with names like, "24 Hours in the Canyon" and "Torture Cross Country Mountain Bike Race". I do a bit of jogging myself, and attend the gym now and then, but not with the dedication that Joel has, and bicycling is not my thing.

Jane, one of Rochelle's friends, works as a specialist in wedding preparations, and so we hired her to handle everything. We explained that we wanted a simple, no-frills wedding with just her and her friends and me and my best man, and she took it on.

The ceremony was scheduled in a local park on a Saturday evening. There was a lovely lighted archway decorated with flowers and ribbons under which Rochelle and I would recite our vows. The four friends wore turquoise dresses which cinched at their waists and accented their breasts and hips, cascading out and down in glorious array. Joel and I were dressed in well-fitting, smartly tailored rented tuxedos.

Jane had arranged for a string quartet to play background music until we got to Wagner's "Bridal Chorus", and when they struck it up, I turned to admire Rochelle as she slowly, gracefully walked toward the archway and me. She wore a similar turquoise dress, but with more frills and decorations than her friends. Oh, god, she was gorgeous. Beautiful; big beautiful woman, breathtakingly beautiful, and I get to have her; I get to go to sleep beside and wake up beside this big beautiful woman for the rest of my life. I get to make babies with her and raise them with her. Oh, lucky man; happy man.

When I was married to Rochelle's daughter Delia, we tried hard to have children, but it didn't happen. I didn't know what to think: was it because Delia was already full of cancer and on her way to dying? Or, was it maybe because I was sterile? Would I be able to impregnate Rochelle? Would she still want me if I couldn't give her a baby?

Our vows were given before a friend of Rochelle's who is a Buddhist bhikkhuni (priestess), who then pronounced us "woman and man, wife and husband." And then we all adjourned to my house--now to be our house--where an informal reception was planned. Jane had arranged for a ceremonial cake and both non- and alcoholic beverages, along with the string quartet, which was situated in the dining room to make room for us in our fairly spacious living room. Furniture had been shoved back and rearranged to allow for a serviceable dance floor.

At last Rochelle introduced me to her friends.

Jane I had already met. She was a dark-skinned beauty of about 38 years, single, with a neatly trimmed afro hairdo, intelligent sparkling eyes, and a winning smile with pearly white teeth. Her figure was much slimmer than Rochelle's, but still curvaceous and eye-catching.

Sirenia was also a dark beauty, at least Rochelle's age 41 or older, and a hairdresser who owned her own shop. She was divorced and wore her hair in dreadlocks. She was heavier than Jane, almost as big as Rochelle, and very shapely, just as Rochelle is.

Jennifer was a white woman about Rochelle's age, who owned and ran a bakery shop in the neighborhood and had gotten to know Rochelle as Rochelle visited her shop regularly for coffee and breakfast kolaches and pastries. The two had known each other for several years and become friends outside of Jennifer's work environment. Jennifer was a larger woman like Rochelle, every bit as shapely and attractive, with a curvaceous body, large breasts and hips, and lovely thick cascading brunette hair that curled around her shoulders, down her back, and across her breasts.

Fidelia was a brown-skinned woman obviously of Latinx descent, although I couldn't guess what country. She worked as a loan officer at a local bank. The two had become friends in high school, drifted apart after graduation, and then reconnected when Rochelle started doing her banking where Fidelia worked. Fidelia was probably in her late 30s. She had a son, aged 19, by a man who had abandoned them shortly after the child was born, and had been making her way alone ever since. She was attractive in a subtle kind of way; not what I'd call beautiful, but eye-catching nonetheless, with a slim figure, lovely straight black hair down to her waist, and dark, piercing eyes.

My friend Joel was single, of Puerto Rican descent; brown-skinned and handsome with thick black close-cropped hair, a dark moustache, and a winning smile. He was a lawyer in a local law firm.

As the reception commenced and the quartet began playing, I realized that there was an unfortunate imbalance of men to women: two guys (Joel and me) versus five women. It wasn't fair. I pulled Rochelle off to the side and asked, "Do you mind if Joel invites a few of his friends over to dance with the ladies?"

She gave me a searching look. "What else will they be doing with the ladies?"

"I guess that will be up to the ladies."

"What kind of guys are these?" she asked.

"They'll be the same kind of guys as Joel is. They'll like female attention, and they'll be out to get it, but they won't become belligerent or force themselves on anyone. Whatever happens will be mutual, or it won't happen."

"How do you know that?"

"I know Joel. He wouldn't put us in an awkward position. I trust him, Rochelle. He won't bring trouble over here."

"All right, I'll take your word for it. Tell Joel he can invite three friends. No more."

So I spoke to Joel: "Hey, look, we didn't really plan this out very well. Rochelle's got four friends here and I've only got you. Do you have some trustworthy friends you can invite over to show the ladies some attention, who won't get all drunk and crazy and ruin the reception?"

"Wow, it's kind of late for that, but I'll see what I can do. How many?"

"Three, if you can, to balance the scales."

"Let me get on the phone. I'll explain to everyone that this isn't a wild party, it's a tame reception."

"Well, you know, I don't mind if it gets a little wild, as long as no one gets hurt or assaulted and the cops don't come and throw us all in jail."

"Trust me, I know better than to spend the night in jail."

So I left Joel to it, and about twenty minutes later, three guys showed up at our front door. I opened to them, and they introduced themselves. "Hello, sir. I hope we have the right address. We were invited to celebrate a wedding, and to dance with and entertain some lovely ladies. I'm Franklin, this is Jeremy, and this is Marcus."

"Hello, gentlemen," I said. "You have the right place. Come in, make yourselves at home. Drinks are on the counter; help yourselves."

Jane had also arranged some hors d'oeuvres on a tray on the counter, in which the guys indulged as they took drinks and began to sip from them and eye the ladies.

Marcus and Jeremy were both tall, well-built men with dark skin, curly hair, broad shoulders and narrow waists. Franklin was a bit shorter and not as muscular, with light skin and sandy-blonde hair.

"Everyone," I said, clapping my hands, "Some introductions are in order. First of all, gentlemen, this is my beautiful bride, Rochelle, and I'm Ritchie, the lucky groom. Now, please allow me to introduce the ladies. Gentlemen, this is Jane, who planned and arranged this whole affair." (applause all around)

"This is Sirenia. She is a local hairdresser who owns her own shop." (applause all around)

"Gentlemen, this is Jennifer. She owns and runs the Sweet Inspiration Bakery on 14th Street." (applause all around)

"And this is Fidelia, who is a loan officer at First National Bank." (applause all around)

"Ladies, please allow me to present to you Franklin, Jeremy, and Marcus."

There was an uncomfortable silence after that. Rochelle turned her head to me with a worried look. I also was concerned that things were about to bomb, but then Marcus approached Jennifer, proffered his hand, and said, "Jennifer, I'd be honored if you would dance with me."

And she smiled and accepted.

Taking the cue, Franklin approached Sirenia and asked, "Will you dance with me, please?"

"Yes, thank you, I will," she answered, and they began to move to the music of the string quartet.

Jeremy approached Jane and executed a deep, exaggerated bow. In a low baritone voice, he intoned, "May I have the pleasure of this dance, milady?" Jane giggled and curtsied, and off they went to the designated dance floor.

Fidelia smiled at Joel and blushed. Joel held out his hand palm up, tilted his head slightly, and arched his eyebrows questioningly. She smiled and took his hand, and they joined the others.

When all our guests were on the dance floor, the quartet began to play, "Dance With Me" by Orleans, which was perfect for what was developing among them.

As the instrumental song continued, Joel began to sing aloud, looking Fidelia in her eyes:

"I can take you where you want to go -- oh, woh oh"

He was beautifully on pitch, and it blended perfectly with the string quartet. Then Fidelia began to harmonize with him, looking back into his eyes with a "come hither" expression,

"Dance with me! I want to be your partner, can't you see?"

And then Jane joined in:

"The music is just starting; night is calling"

...and then came Franklin,

"And I am falling; dance with me!"

And suddenly the whole room was singing "Dance With Me." Rochelle and I looked at each other in amazement, and then we got up to dance and sing along. The quartet, realizing the import of the moment, extended the length of the song to give us all time to sing the verses again as we whirled around the floor. It was as magical a moment as has ever happened.

When the song finally ended, we all cheered and clapped in appreciation of the quartet, the song, and ourselves.

The quartet played on for another half-hour, and then Jane approached me and spoke in a low voice, "The quartet needs to go home. They've been paid, but do you want to give a tip?"

"Sure," I said, and proffered a hundred dollar bill, which broke down to $25 each. Jane delivered it to the group. They all expressed their thanks, packed up their instruments, and headed out the door.

"Okay, let's have some music with a beat," said Joel. So I got on my phone, which is connected by Bluetooth to high quality stereo speakers in the living room, opened Spotify, and found one of my favorite songlists. I hit "shuffle" and the music started with "Only Happy When It Rains" by Garbage. Although the lyrics are depressing, it has a driving beat that got everyone dancing again, not as couples but individually gyrating. I noticed that Fidelia and Joel, although dancing individually, were holding hands and steadily smiling at each other as they danced. Sirenia and Franklin were dancing facing each other, as were Jennifer and Marcus. Jane and Jeremy had retired to the counter and were sipping their drinks and talking in low tones with their heads leaning close together.

Music alternately blared and wafted through the air, depending on whether the beat was driving or soft, and drinks flowed. There was some rotation of partners, but eventually they all wound up the way they had initially paired off. As the evening passed, I noticed that all eight of our guests were getting handsy with each other, and there was a bit of hiding inside doorways of other rooms for some discreet kissing and fondling.

At 11:00 PM I announced that it was time to end the fun. "We've all had a lot to drink tonight," I said, "and if you're thinking you'll drive home, I'll take your keys. I would like to put you all up for the night, but I only have two guest bedrooms. We could house you two couples to a room" (grinning), "or you can flip a coin for them. However, a block and a half south of here is a Sheraton, and a couple of blocks east is a Marriott. If those sound suitable, they're easily within walking distance, and the streets are well lighted. Or, we can call Uber."

Each couple put their heads together, and there were a few moments of mumbling too low to be understood. Then Jeremy said, "Jane and I are going to stroll to the Sheraton."

Marcus turned to Jennifer and asked, "Can I interest you in us going with them?" She smiled and said, "Sure," and put her arm in his.

So we said our goodbyes and they casually ambled out the door and off down the sidewalk, each couple holding hands. As they drew farther away, I faintly heard Marcus singing, "I can take you where you want to go -- oh, woh oh"

"Well, that narrows things down," Joel said. "Were you actually offering a guest bedroom, or was that just an expression of regret that you couldn't offer it?"

"Oh, no, it's definitely available. Um... were you thinking in terms of just you, or..."

Fidelia spoke up: "Both of us, please." Joel winked at me.

"And Franklin, Sirenia, what do y'all think?" I said, raising eyebrows at them.

"Oh, gosh," Sirenia said, "I don't want to put y'all out." My heart gave a thump at her use of "y'all." Yes, it was OUR home now, not just mine.

"It's no trouble at all," Rochelle said. "The sheets have been freshly changed, and it would be a shame to have a guest bedroom and never put it to use."

Franklin and Sirenia looked at each other. Franklin raised his hands in a "What do you think?" gesture, and Sirenia raised on her tiptoes and kissed him. "It seems we're going to stay," she replied with a grin.

I said, "There's one guest room upstairs and one down here. Joel, you and Fidelia take the upstairs, and Sirenia, you and Franklin take the downstairs."

Rochelle said, "Ladies, come with me and I'll get you something to wear," and they headed off upstairs, leaving us men to ponder how well things had worked out. We stood saying nothing until the silence began to turn awkward, so I said, "Things seemed to turn out surprisingly well for everyone. I'm really pleased. This is more than I'd expected."

In unison, both men answered, "Me, too."

Franklin said, "I'm hoping Sirenia will turn out to be more than a one night stand. I know I've only known her for a few hours, but what I've seen, I like--enough that I want to see where it can go."

"You've said exactly what I'm thinking about Fidelia," Joel added.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs alerted us to the ladies' return, so we turned, and... our eyes bugged out of our heads. Sirenia was leading the procession wearing a sheer negligee that stopped right where her legs joined to her trunk. Her legs were long, thick and lovely. Her hips swiveled as she walked, and her large breasts jiggled with every step she took. A smirk adorned her face--she knew she was sexy as hell. Franklin groaned, "Oh, god..." and Sirenia giggled.

Next came Fidelia, also in a sheer negligee. Being smaller than Rochelle, she had cinched it in back so that its excess pulled tight against her, with the result that her areolae and nipples stood fast against the fabric, serving as such demanding beacons that "My eyes are up here" would not have had any effect on any of us. Joel's mouth hung open, and, I swear, a line of drool dripped down before he wiped it away. "Oh my god, wow," he muttered, and Fidelia beamed at him.

Lastly came the woman who had earlier that day become my wife. Unlike the other two ladies, Rochelle wore an opaque ankle-length emerald gown tied with a belt. Her large breasts strained at the fabric, but the belt held everything in place.

The ladies lined up side by side in front of the stairs, placed their hands on their hips, and slowly turned around, swaying their hips enticingly. It became clear that neither Sirenia nor Fidelia was wearing panties. They all stood with their backs to us, swaying, for several seconds, and suddenly Rochelle's gown fell to the floor to reveal a large sheer bra and the skimpiest of thongs. The thong was buried in her buttcrack up to the top where it emerged to wrap around her waist, leaving her ample buttocks in full view. Joel and Franklin simultaneously cried, "Whoa!"

The ladies continued to undulate, mimicking the sideways motion of a belly dancer, and slowly began to turn the rest of the way back around to be facing us. Rochelle's bra was indeed sheer; nothing was left to the imagination. Her areolae were dark, about three inches across, and her nipples stood out in the middle of them like plump blackberries. She bent over and picked up her gown, folded it over her arm, held it in front of her breasts, and said, "Richie, please take me to bed."

Sirenia said, "Franklin, please take me to bed."

And Fidelia said, "Joel, please come fuck me 'til I can't walk," at which point we all burst into laughter. And so Sirenia and Franklin shuffled off to the downstairs bedroom while the rest of us climbed the stairs, all of us thoroughly aroused and ready to devour and be devoured.

=====

Awareness came gradually, one smidgen at a time. There was a faint but insistent nagging of something uncomfortable. My closed eyes were being disturbed. Somewhere in my subconscious, I was aware of emptiness beside me. I put out my arm to touch Rochelle, and it flopped onto the bed. She wasn't there. I opened my eyes, blinking from the sunlight, and realized that what was uncomfortable was my bladder, because I needed to "piss like a racehorse," as they say, although I've never actually seen a racehorse piss, and just have to assume it's a torrent. I flung the covers off and, as was my habit, walked naked down the hall to the bathroom, where I unloaded what seemed like a gallon of piss, gasping, "Aaaaah" as my bladder slowly began returning to normal size.

In the process, I realized that my nether regions were pretty thoroughly caked with the residue of a night of passionate babymaking. I flushed the toilet, washed my hands, cupped a double handful of warm water, and splashed it on my face. I rubbed it into my face, stretching the skin in various directions, which felt really good. I fetched a washcloth from the cabinet and proceeded to wash my face, and then my babymaker and surrounding area. I toweled off, brushed my teeth, and headed from the bathroom back to our bedroom. I was about halfway there when Fidelia came out of the guest bedroom wearing last night's negligee. As before, she wasn't wearing panties, and through the filmy material I could make out the dark triangle of her pubic hair.

Have you ever been in a situation in which you seemed to suddenly enter a portal and time slows to a crawl? My mind flashed through all the possible ways I could handle being caught naked in the hallway. Should I react with shock and embarrassment and run back to the bathroom (which is obviously where she was going)? Should I save her eyes from scalding by using my hands to cover my privates, which were presently very much un-private? Should I continue on as though nothing was out of the ordinary?

As it happened, I didn't have to decide, because Fidelia handled the awkwardness for us both when she smiled as she passed me and said, "Morning, Ritchie. Nice cock."

"Uh... thanks," I stammered. "Morning to you, too." Then belatedly, I added, "Nice bush." She giggled.

Back in the bedroom, I covered my nakedness with a robe and headed downstairs. As I entered the living room I caught the smell of bacon frying, and my stomach reacted by growling. I passed through the dining room and into the kitchen where, to the right of the doorway, not visible from the rest of the house, Rochelle was cooking breakfast. She wore a kitchen apron and... nothing else. Her perfect ass wiggled enticingly as she dealt with the breakfast fixings. I eased up behind her, opened my robe, and slid my arms around her waist as I pressed my cock into her buttcrack. "Good morning, lover," she said, and although I couldn't see her smile, I heard it in her voice.