Amelia didn't show up at Simon's until eight o'clock that evening.
Tamara had gone to bed apparently too worse for wear. This had made Simon feel suspicious. Naturally, he'd wanted to see her but at the same time he was kind of enjoying the game. But of coarse he was yet to know the full extent of Tamara's transgression.
Amelia was staying tight lipped.
"Erm....are you sure you want these?" She asked. Still baffled at the request, amused and given the state of them, a bit disgusted.
"Well, I know they bring you much pleasure but I really put myself out there to snatch these away y'know!"
"Yea." Was all Simon could manage as she simultaneously thrust the offending package out towards him, her pale skinned, freckley arm fully outstretched.
"You are a star Amelia!" He offered awkwardly, taking the goods in his right hand.
"Did she have a good night?" He called out as she turned to walk through the gate.
"I think so, but you should ask her." She replied matter of factly, pulling the gate into the latch and turning, head down, eye's fixed straight in front as she passed the front garden on the pavement outside, her head skimming over the low cut hedge as she walked away.
She seemed to be avoiding telling me something, thought Simon. He looked at the parcel, at those slutty red knickers, and part of him knew, part of him already knew, had already drawn his conclusion. His bride to be was a slut! Unprompted by him she had strayed on her hen night and now was hiding in regret and shame.
Closing the front door and almost running up the stairs in excitement, Simon turned and pulled the bolt across the inside of the bathroom door.
Luckily, no-one had seen him being handed a pair of women's knickers in a clear zip-lock bag, or spied him as he ran up the stairs, so nobody was any the wiser to his now semi-secret fetish.
He pulled the small blue plastic thing back and opened the wallet. They immediately smelt of her piss, her dirty fanny. Blood rushed to his groin and he reached quickly to undo his belt, feel the touch of his hand around his cock. He brought the bag up to his face, the trapped little garment's pungent but aphrodisiacal smell had been building up in the bag for most of the day.....Oh, they smelt good! He thought, but slightly over too which forced a level of humiliation to this depraved act as he slid his hand up and down his cock, still smelling the soiled knickers in the bag, both teasing himself and enjoying the enhanced pheromonal load of the sluttiness emanating from inside the plastic interior.
Oh god...! But he had to get hold of them, feel the slutty material in his fingers.....Red knickers on her hen night!! That is a slutty choice! If indeed it was a choice? Perhaps it was both? Hen nights, like stag do's were part fun and part ritual, you had to allow yourself to be at the mercy of others he mused.
That surrendering of control, casting off of inhibition and hand over of power to a group of 'trusted' people who were going to coerce you into slutty clothing and manipulate you into situations you wouldn't normally allow yourself to be confronted with for ostensibly traditional purposes.
Her knickers really did smell of pee he thought. She must have been paralytic to piss herself, which means she must of really let go her inhibitions....
Simon now had hold of the cheap, throw away material in his hand, he felt seduced just by the colour of them, and he smelt and sucked in deeply, the smells from the gusset, rubbed the still damp material into his nose to get the slutty smell of the woman he loves, free'd into the room.
She had done who knows what in them on her wild night out...Oh! She smelt so good! And he imagined her, snogging drunkenly and wantonly outside a nightclub, some guys hand pushing down her front, her breathing quickening as her hot tongue jumped into another guys mouth, and she bucked her hips on his hand, fingers slipping into her hot wet pussy. His bride was being fingered and loving every second of slut filled abandon and as his hand wanked and squeezed his cock she started to cum in an alleyway. "Fucking hell!" He couldn't help from shout as a hot, splodgy and glutinous ribbon of spunk flew out and splattered the aging carpet, the sink ....."Oh ..." He came some more and it blooped over his rigid, veiny hand, and again much more slowly this time.
His rhythm eased, his hand lubricated by a pastey mess. Oh, his girlfriend had been a slut he said in his mind as his breathing calmed again. He kept smelling at her, knowing she was a slut and rubbing her stinky gorgeous knickers in his face, loving her essence.... he was happy in his fantasy, being as close to her as he possibly could in that delicious, private moment......
Tamara was in tears, gone was the hedonism and wild abandon of the night before. The sullying debauchery now a psychological stain on her being. To look upon her wedding dress the last two days was like looking upon herself and her solemn promise and all she could see now were stains, that formed in the shadows created through the folds and crinkles of the near white material that to her contained all the misdemeanours that ran through her guilt filled mind, and they flowed up now from the places where she'd been hiding them not long before.
Poor Tamara was in a state, shame racked her body. She'd hardly been able to ring Simon at all and when she did, she felt wooden inside, stiff from fear of the unravelling of her dreams if he found out.
He had probed a little but thankfully did not seem suspicious of her, in fact he seemed more or less playful about the whole thing. That of coarse, in her mind only underscored and highlighted her actions as wrong, pure wrong and she hid as he played his little game. Hell it was almost as if he wanted some juice, some slice of the action, some trifle of detail from her.
Still, she was not to let him in, not to show him how wrong he could be about her. How could she have done that? It would be easy to load some of it onto her goading gabble of mates, the flirting and provocative dancing, even the odd grope or snog she could possibly forgive herself. But she'd gone the whole hog in the middle of town and everyone knew about it......Everyone! Oh my fucking god! Oh my god!!
And then it suddenly dawned on Tamara that she might of been photographed, hell! She had likely been filmed....."Oh no!!"
A plunging sense of foreboding, doom even, was mercifully interrupted by a timely buzzing and vibrating from her phone which rattled and shuddered about the glass table top. It was Amelia, and she grabbed at it, anything to help claw her out of the giant hole opening up before her.
"Ah, thank fuck it's you Am..." She couldn't finish the sentence. "What's wrong?" Chimed Amelia.
"It's the other night." She blurted, her voice audibly shaking over the phone. "It's all coming back at me.." And she welled up, unable to contain her emotions she broke into little sobs. She just wanted the ground to swallow her up so that all this anguish would be swept away.
