While Lisa sat at the vanity outlining her eye make up, she thought of the other evening. She thought of Steven's rough, demanding hands. She thought of his lips, that pulpy bottom lip with its subtle oak taste. She thought of his dick, could still feel her lips wrapping around its thickness-the smell of his balls. She closed her eyes. She felt him pressing against her, hands on her thighs, sliding up.
Lisa opened her eyes and gazed at her reflection. Her mane of dark brown hair was down, curled at the tips. Dark bangs crossed one eye. Her make up was smooth and transparent, finished with mascara-heavy, tigress eyes and deep purple lips. Ruby blush hinted her cheekbones. Her face was sculpted and carelessly vibrant. Skin the color of untouched desert earth.
"You stunner," she thought. "You got everyone fooled."
A scantly smile traced her exquisite features. She felt gorgeous, more so than usual-sexy and mysterious-as if every answer to every man's heart hid behind those smoky green eyes. After a thought, she applied a second coat of lipstick, wondering whether her full lips would glisten under Steven's semen within the hour.
In the bathroom she dropped her robe and prepared the bag.
She wanted every part of her extra clean for Steven. She thrilled in the idea of giving to him, completely submitting everything he wanted. She wanted to please Steven-more than anything she wanted to-simplifying her complex mind, forgetting her otherwise mundane life and focusing on the primal fulfillment of his most deep-seeded indulgences. Steven was a man who knew exactly what he wanted; and, more importantly, knew the triggers and voice to get it.
A shiver ran through her.
She imagined the afternoon serving Steven with her body, imagined the muscles in his arms, his stomach, the predatory glint in his eye, his foul words and games. However star-crossed they had been in the past, she ultimately thought Steven was hers. Lisa was A-list material (or so she whimsically thought), a sexually voracious plaything, a brunette Italian treasure whose very presence made mouths water and dicks leak; and Steven, however intolerably, however arrogant and conceited and self-involved, matched her. Every moment she's ever known him he matched her. And she would meet more than halfway.
"Maybe that's love," she thought.
For a moment, Lisa felt bad. She was married. She knew the consequences. She knew the danger. The events the night before replayed in her mind like a skipping film reel. Those things she did with her sister, hypnotized by the moment, warped and magnified by the coke-all that flesh, that hungry, thirsty, sexy flesh-fueled beyond sexual repose.
Today, Lisa knew what she planned to do, what she so eagerly planned to do in her very marital bed-without a doubt she knew. The devastatingly erotic things what would inevitable happen in the next couple of hours. Deep in her gut she knew when Steven arrived she would turn to mush. There was no denying it anymore. She would sink to her knees or press up against his chest. She would whisper every dirty thing that popped into her head.
For some inexplicable reason, Steven unhinged her, always had. Ever since they met her sophomore year in college, when they were together everything disappeared, leaving only them and their immediate pinnacles of pleasure. Everyone else was just a bystander-Todd, Lisa's poor husband-caught in the steamy crossfire.
She grinned. "Guilt. Such a second-degree emotion." She let the harsh feeling pass over her. Deep down, in the most black and white, cookie-cutter sense of herself, she was an evil bitch. And the strangest part was, she found a comfort in the title.
She was simply a product of her nature.
Her thoughts trailed back to her real man as she slowly inserted the tubing. Released the valve. She felt herself fill. A backwards eroticism-a combination of inner warm, animalism and slight, butterfly bloating.
After she cleaned thoroughly, Lisa returned to her bedroom.
In her towel, she shuffled through her wardrobe, wondering which outfit would set Steven's dick on fire.
Lisa wanted something that grabbed her waist and accentuated her hips. An outfit both luxurious and sexy, something that propped her tits like platters, something she wouldn't mind torn or stained with sperm.
Then she remembered.
She drew back hangers, scouring toward the back of her closet. She yanked a dress bag off the rack.
Through the transparent vinyl she eyed the ivory ensemble.
She hadn't worn it in almost two years.
Her wedding dress.
The illicit possibilities raced through her mind as she slid it from the bag. Its silky texture tingled her fingertips. Surprisingly, it still smelled fresh, almost new.
She tossed it on the bed, flattened it out.
Sliding the top drawer, Lisa filed through her underwear-an epic assortment of lace, thongs and matching bras.
She held up an ivory thong, barely a string dangling on her finger.
Lisa draped stockings over her arm, snatched a lace garter belt with frilled garters and laid the garments over her vanity chair. She dropped her towel and stepped into her thong, sliding the skinny waistbands high over her hips. She sat and posed her leg like a ballerina, slipped a stocking on, working it up her calf along her thigh. The dainty fabric sculpted her legs in patterned white sheer.
Lisa brought her legs up completely-her knees on her shoulders-ran her hands over the backs of her thighs, up to her ankles and worked the garter over them. She slinked off the chair sensually and eased the garter along her thighs, over her ballooning hips. With graceful execution Lisa snapped the frilled garters, straightened and craned beautifully.
At her closet, she donned her feet with white platinum heels; the added three inches and dramatic arch gave her posture an immaculate, statuesque beauty.
She twinkled.
She almost forgot.
Kicking a foot behind her, she reached the top shelf, pulling a lilac box.
She flipped the cover.
The white veil glinted in the light.
Slowly she raised it over her head. The sparkling tiara fit neatly within her dark hair. She aided the drape over her face. Through her veil, her face hinted at a smile.
Suddenly her phone rang.
With a finger on her lips, Lisa waited.
Waited for a lifetime.
After four rings, she slowly answered.
"Hello handsome," she said.
"Hi playgirl." Steven's voice was dark and assuming.
"Was wondering when you'd call," Lisa said.
"Thinking of me?"
"Maybe." Her stomach did somersaults just talking to him.
"Naughty things I hope?"
"Mostly," she said.
"Do tease and tell."
Lisa giggled. "Nooo, a lady never tells."
"Pure class, aren't you?"
"You love me."
"But you weren't much of a lady last night."
"Wasn't I?"
"Or this morning for that matter."
"Oh dear, you won't tell my husband will you? He hates it when I forget my manners."
"I dunno, maybe I should. Let him know what a dirty mouth his wife's got."
"But he's not here."
"You're all alone?" Steven asked.
"Just me."
"Really."
"In this big . . . empty . . . house."
"And my Lisa's lonely?"
"Lisa is," she said.
Suddenly, Lisa heard the front door click, swing open. Her heart skipped a beat.
"Well, what if I told you I was downstairs?" he asked.
Lisa grinned into the phone. "I'd have to say that's quite inappropriate Steven."
Footsteps quietly thudded in the foyer. "Not as inappropriate as what I'm about to do to you," he said. His playful voice was certainly in the house, in blatant earshot through her open bedroom door.
"But I'm not done dressing yet," Lisa said.
The footsteps clapped the stairs. "I can wait."
Lisa's face glowed beneath her veil. "Any . . . preferences?" she asked.
"Hmm." His voice approached the landing. "I guess I'd have to see exactly what my options are."
The door swung open.
Steven leaned on the doorframe, his phone on his ear. Black sunglasses wrapped his chiseled face, his strong cheekbones. His dark hair was stylishly tattered.
Lisa drew a breath and held it there. She gushed with his presence. She popped her hip out. Her thunderous tits propped proudly on her chest.
For a moment Steven was silent, relishing the view. Filing the image inside his mind. Slowly, he peeled off his glasses. Lisa smiled under the veil. He could hide it all he wanted, but she could tell-Steven's ravenous look said it all.
Her golden, tanned body was perfect.
Lisa, the slut princess-bride.
She turned her phone off-she knew by Steven's stare she was going to be busy.
Steven grinned. "And you said you weren't dressed."
"You like?" Lisa asked.
He clicked his phone shut. He slightly brushed her as he passed, sitting on the edge of the white-blanketed bed, Lisa and Todd's four-post marital bed. He glanced at the wedding dress beside him, bit a cigarette from his pack and held it between his lips.
"You wanna play bride?" he asked, snapping a Zippo from his jacket. "Cause you know I'm not playing groom." He lit the cigarette and puffed.
Lisa glowed with his cat-and-mouse play. "I don't want the groom."
She turned and showed him her ass-the golden mounds split by the white thong. She ground her hips back at him, looked over her bare shoulder as she humped the air.
"Come on best man," she said. "Don't cha wanna assfuck the bride?"
"You are sucha fucking flirt Lisa."
She ran a hand over the top of her breasts.
"What? Me?" She feigned innocence. "Not me, I'm a princess."
"Of course you are," he said. Steven waved his finger. "Come here Princess."
Lisa slowly strutted toward him, taking her time, swaying her five-star hips, rocking every inch of her ass for Steven's visual pleasure. Flipping her veil back, she reached out, tweezed the cigarette from his mouth and took a pull.
"Hope you don't mind," she said.
She held it to her lips and dragged, leaving lipstick on the filter. She looked down at him, over her luscious C cup tits.
"You like the bride Steven?"
"You make it look too good baby," he said.
Lisa smiled. With the cigarette in her mouth she slowly spun, modeling her fantastic, smooth curves. Her hourglass perfection.
"You like my body?" she asked.
Steven sighed. He leaned back on his elbows and massaged his dick through his pants. "Jesus fucking Christ Lisa, you're so fucking gorgeous."
Lisa swelled at his words.
