The Wedding Present 1

As usual, meant only for people old enough to read it, who don't find sex between women offensive. If you like it, I'd appreciate knowing it, and if you don't, I'd appreciate knowing why. Thanks!

"You're a beautiful, beautiful bride, sweetheart."

"Thank you, Daddy." Then I added as I hugged him, "But you'd say that no matter what I looked like."

He didn't try to hide his smile as he said, "So sue me. That's a father's job. I'm really happy for you, honey. Mark's a terrific guy."

"He is, Daddy. I'm sure this is the right thing." I was sure, now, but five years ago if you had told me I would end up here, marrying Mr. Dependable, I would have laughed at you.

"Yes, I think so. Very responsible. Of course I took him into the firm because he's marrying you, but he'll really do very well. You should be very comfortable."

"Daddy, you know I'm not worried about that." The hell I'm not. On some level, I suppose it's probably not a coincidence that I'm marrying a lawyer.

"Of course not. You're in love and you think you can live on that. But a father can't help thinking about things like that. I want to know my princess will be taken care of."

"Oh, Daddy." But of course I was really touched by his concern.

"Well. I'd better get going, Sweetheart. I'll see you in a few minutes -- at the aisle."

As he stepped through the door to my little dressing room, he remembered something. "By the way, that girl Bobbi that you shared an apartment with for a while is here. She wanted to see you. I'll send her in." And he closed the door leaving me alone, and reeling.

Bobbi? I hadn't seen Bobbi since she threw me out. Shit! What was she doing here? I couldn't deal with seeing her today!

But deal with it I would have to, as the door swung open and she stepped in.

"Don't close the..."

Too late. The door clicked shut, and I was alone with her. I felt trapped already, and the world outside the door was fading away.

She hadn't changed much. She was dressed up, for her, in black honest-to-god slacks, not jeans, a white tee that actually looked like she had bought it at a store for women, and a black jacket. And of course, her cowboy boots. With her close-cropped hair, she looked like a slightly plumper version of K.D. Lang. At least the way she was dressed covered most of her tattoos. God, how could my father not know she was a dyke? Maybe he didn't want to.

My eyes traveled down without my thinking about it, as they had a thousand times before. Shit! She was packing! She showed up at my fucking wedding packing! Very obviously packing. Who else had noticed? Who knew that I was alone in here with a dyke packing a silicone cock? I could feel myself breathing harder. Gotta get myself under control. Shit! There was a time when I would have crawled across the floor for that cock. Would have begged. Let her humiliate me by making me beg for it in front of her butch friends. A time when I had done all of those things, plus things I didn't let myself think about any more. Gotta get myself under control, gotta get myself under control. I'm marrying Mark today.

"Hello, baby girl."

"Bobbi...what..."

"What am I doing here?" She crossed the small room, closing the space between us as she spoke. "Well, I couldn't let my baby girl get married and not show up, could I?"

She sure as hell hadn't been invited.

"Bobbi, please. Don't."

"Don't? Don't what, baby girl? Don't come to send my baby girl on her way with my best wishes?" She was inches in front of me now, but I couldn't seem to get my legs to back up. "So tell me about what's-his-name."

"His name is Mark, which you probably know perfectly well, and he's really very nice."

"Nice? I didn't think you'd settle for nice. Are you driving a minivan yet?"

"No, I'm not driving a minivan. Besides, look who's talking. Gee, who would ever guess that the big bad dyke would drive a pickup truck?"

Her eyes got a look I had learned to fear, and I thought she was going to hit me again. Instead she took my shoulders and turned me to face the full-length mirror.

Standing behind me, looking over my shoulder, she said, "Let's see how my baby girl dressed for her big day."

"Bobbi, please. You threw me out. I'm not your baby girl any more."

She ignored that, as I had known she would. "Mmm. Very pretty. I don't think you ever dressed this pretty for me."

"I dressed the way you wanted me to, and you know it. Like a sexy, ultra-femme slut. Bobbi, don't do this. You've got to go."

"Now, baby girl." She had been steadily pushing me closer to the mirror, until now it was within arm's reach. "I couldn't come all this way to see how my baby girl dressed and not check to see what Mark's going to see later, could I?" She started pulling up my dress, but that wasn't easy; there was a lot of it.

"Bobbi, please. Please don't." But I couldn't make myself stop her.

Finally she had an armful of wedding gown bunched around my waist. "Well. Very, very, nice. I see you still have some of the things you used to wear for me after all."

"This isn't something I used to wear for you." But it might as well have been. White stockings, topping white heels and held up by a garter belt that matched the frilly thong. I still felt a little awkward dressing like this, after my time with her, but I knew Mark would love discovering it later. And he deserved that, damn it! I was marrying him in minutes, and he deserved to see me walking to our bed in my heels and sexy lingerie, deserved a wife who was only thinking about showing off for him, not for her dyke ex.

"And do you still shave that adorable little pussy?"

"No! I mean, I leave a little hair above it. And that's none of your fucking business any more!"

"Why, baby girl, there was a time when you would have lifted that pretty dress yourself, and shown me anything. Anywhere I asked you to. In fact, here -- hold your dress up for me."

I wanted to hit her, to kick her, to scream that she was a sadistic bitch as I clawed her eyes out. But instead I took my dress from her and held it up.

This let her lower her hands, to run them over my hips, my ass. "So tell me, baby girl, does your Mark fuck you in the ass?"

I should have known that was coming. I was crimson, both with anger and mortification. Anger at her for doing this, and anger at myself, because this was turning me on. "You know he doesn't."

"He doesn't? But baby girl, all men want to fuck their girl in the ass sooner or later. What do you tell him?" She pressed herself against my back as she talked. I could feel that plastic cock through her pants now, pressed against my ass.

"I just tell him that I can't, that it freaks me out."

"But that's not the real reason, is it?"

She had run her fingers under the waistband of my thong, and suddenly she gave it a violent yank to the side, and severed the bit of lace that ran over my hip and connected the front to the back. They were only staying in place because my legs were too close together to let them fall completely.

"That's not the real reason, is it?"

"No."

"What is the real reason?" As she talked she was inserting her legs between mine, gradually spreading them further and further.

"It's because...because of...you know...how you used to...you know."

"It's because your ass belongs to me, you mean?"

A pause, then, "Yes."

"Because other people can have your cunt, but your ass is for me alone. Is that why?"

"Yes"

As she talked she backed away from me a little, and I let myself believe that maybe she was done with me. Until I heard the zip.

"Daddy, please don't."

"There. I was afraid you weren't going to call me daddy again."

She fished in a pocket, then brought her arms around in front of me, where I could see them. She had a small bottle of lube in one hand, and she unscrewed the top and poured a generous helping into her other hand.

"Please, daddy."

"Please? Please lube it up, so I don't tear you apart and leave you bleeding for Mark? Of course I will, baby girl. Don't I always?"

Loudly, I said, "Daddy! No!"

"Shhh. We don't want Mark to hear you. I didn't lock the door. I'll bet he's never seen you like this, has he? Holding your wedding dress up so some dyke can fuck you in the ass. Of course he hasn't. So let's just be quiet so this stays our little secret."

She was behind me again, and I could feel her lubed hand running over the girl-cock. Then another squeeze into her hand, and she started spreading a generous squirt around my ass. My breath caught at her touch. I was on fire; I hated her and I wanted her. I wanted her to go away, to die. And I wanted that finger to slide inside me.

She put one hand back on my hip, and the other on the back of my neck, pushing me over at the waist. She pressed my legs further and further apart until I was standing with them far apart. She draped my dress up over my back and freed my hands to brace myself on the wall on either side of the mirror. Then I got what I dreaded, and craved. One finger slowly slid inside me to the hilt. It gradually pumped a little, then was joined by another. And finally by another. I hadn't felt this pressure, this warm, painful, wonderful pressure, for four years, and it was taking my breath away, causing my pussy to overflow.

She bent a bit at the knees, lowering the head of her girl-cock to my star. "I always loved you in heels like that. Puts you at just the right height."

I couldn't help myself. "Please, daddy." But she knew perfectly well that it no longer meant, "please don't."

The tip of her cock was pressing against my opening, the pressure very slowly increasing in tiny steps. "Please what, baby girl? Please stop?"

I loved, and hated, that she was always so slow and gentle about this. "No, daddy."

"What then, baby girl?" As we spoke, the tip slowly, ever so slowly, parted me, and was inside.

"Please don't stop, daddy. Please...take me. Fuck me."

As I said this, she gradually straightened at the knees and slid deeper and deeper.

"Of course I'll fuck you, baby girl." She began a soft pumping. "You knew I would fuck you."

Harder.

"You knew it when I showed up."

"Yes, daddy. Oh, yes. God yes."

Harder.

Thrust.

Thrust.

"That's my baby girl."

Thrust.

"You love it when daddy"

Thrust.

"fucks you,"

Thrust.

"don't you?"

Thrust.

Thrust.

"When daddy,"

Thrust.

"fucks you"

Thrust.

"in the"

Thrust.

"ass."

Thrust.

"Yes, daddy. Ungh. Ungh. Please don't, ungh, stop, daddy. Ungh."

Thrust.

"Ungh."

Thrust.

"Ungh."

She had me. She had me and she knew it, and I loved and hated that she knew it. Knew it like nobody else had ever known it, or ever would. I was close to coming, and she knew exactly how close. She would milk it out of me as precisely as if she were doing brain surgery, pulling it out of me, but ever so carefully pulling it exactly how and when she wanted it. She was the fucking Leonardo di Vinci of fucking my ass.

"Do you"

Thrust.

"want"

Thrust.

Thrust.

"to come for me,"

Thrust.

"baby girl?"

Thrust.

Thrust.

Thrust.

"Yes, ungh, daddy. Ungh. Please, daddy. Ungh. Ungh. Please let me come. Ungh. Ungh. Ungh."

Her timing shifted. She was no longer pushing me to my orgasm as hard as she could. Don't ask me how she did it, but she could always rush me to within a few steps of the cliff, hold me there, and then take me through those last few steps painfully slowly, a millimeter at a time.

But when I fell off...Oh, God, when I fell off. Stars, rockets, explosions - none of it could begin to describe where she could take me.

She had me on the knife-edge, and was holding me there.

"Baby girl, look at me."

I opened my eyes and found hers in the mirror. She ever so slowly pulled nearly out of me, then ever so slowly back in, exactly -- exactly! -- so that she pushed me over the edge.

I had convinced myself long ago that I was imagining the orgasms she gave me. And she definitely gave it to me; I could feel it flowing from her to me, as surely as I could feel it when Mark came in my mouth. Except, Mark would have to be able to come gently, in slow motion, to feel like this, taking several minutes to empty himself. It was like she had some kind of valve, and could control the intensity of whatever it was that flowed from her to me.

It started deep inside, and slowly grew until it was everywhere, until nothing existed but her, my mind, and my orgasm. I was in two places at once. I was falling off that cliff, accelerating as if rocket-propelled, and yet I was completely aware of my surroundings, of her. I felt her controlling my orgasm, turning it up in measured doses. I felt absolute abandon, yet felt it objectively, like an observer. Her eyes were speaking to me as clearly as though they were carving her thoughts in stone, but I couldn't tell what the words meant; they were in another language.

Legs starting to shake, to get weak, this long-lost friend of an orgasm churns on -- grows, even.

"That's it, baby girl. Give it to me."

Each breath a conscious decision. Peaking? No. Growing. More.

Suddenly I understand the language of her eyes. "More?" they ask. "Can I take you higher?"

"Fill me," my eyes answer. "Give me too much."

She releases more somehow, more that I wouldn't have believed existed. Like she's got a reservoir the size of Lake Mead, full of my orgasm, and she controls the gates. Barely able to stand, I want to fall against the mirror, but I can't let go of her eyes.

They say, "I'm afraid to give you too much."

"No. All of it. Give me all there is," our silent conversation continues.

"I love you, baby girl," her eyes tell me, as she pours still more of whatever this is into me. "I'll always love you, but I can't let myself have you. There's something wrong with me."

A tear, stained with mascara, slides down my cheek and drops onto my dress. My beautiful, white wedding dress. Then another.

She turns me up a notch, like there's a fucking dial on my back. I'm shaking. I would fall down if I didn't have her cock in my ass. Another tear. And another. They're falling faster now. I'm falling faster now.

"I wish so much I could let myself love you, hold you, keep you," her eyes say. "But I can't. I'm broken somehow. Here, baby girl. Here's all I've got."

I rush forward into blackness.

When I came to, the only thing holding me up was her arms. That and her cock, still buried in me.

She slowly slid out of me, then turned me around and lowered me into a chair. I couldn't control my legs yet. They were splayed wide, my pussy pointed at the door. The words in her eyes were in a foreign language again.

She leaned over and picked the wisp of fabric that had been my underwear off the floor, and used it to wipe off her cock. She threw it in the waste basket, tucked herself back into her slacks, then reached out and rested her hand against my cheek.

I could only hear her words now. It seemed like such a shallow way to communicate.

"I have to go."

A still, calm pause. I'm at peace.

"I know."

Another.

"I'm afraid you're kind of a mess."

"I know."

A longer pause.

"I want you to be happy with Mark."

"I know."

"But I'll still come back some day, and hurt you again. I'll have to."

"Yes. You will."

"I'll have to."

"I know."

She looked into the mirror, checking God knows what. Her hair is too short to get messed up, and she doesn't wear makeup. She crossed to the door and opened it. She hesitated, then turned back, hesitated again, and finally said, "I'm sorry."

"I know. I love you."

"I know."