Little Packages Ch 06

(End of June)

Kitten

"To the Bride and Groom," the Best Man called out after finishing his speech.

"To the Bride and Groom!" everyone in the wedding party responded, loudly clinking wine glasses together and laughing. The bride and groom got up and kissed, to more wild laughing and cheering.

I stood off to the side and watched the whole thing unfold, holding a heavy bag filled with camera gear while Michelle moved in for the kill and grabbed some more pictures of the happy couple. Since I started working for her and Ahmed I've done almost a dozen weddings in two months. Not only was the ritual becoming familiar, I was starting to get a little bit cynical with the repetition of it all.

I'd been to weddings before, of course. But I didn't exactly grow up in the wealthiest parts of Saskatchewan. Until recently, most of the wedding I'd attended had been in community halls and the bride and groom were on a tight budget. The richest one had given guests two whole drink tickets, which was considered very brave, quite extravagant, and extraordinarily stupid to give guests a free head start on getting hammered.

Over the last couple of months I'd been to weddings at golf clubs, country clubs, and at least one small mansion. Several had an open bar, which I couldn't quite process even after Michelle explained it to me weeks ago.

"The bride's dress often costs more than the bar tab, Kitten," she said. Michelle was the only person other than Daddy to call me that, and only when no one else was in ear shot. She enjoyed watching me squirm a bit. "Welcome to weddings in Prince Edward County, where they have more money than common sense."

If I had slipped into a low level disappointment about the whole wedding process, Michelle had a full blown doctorate in wedding skepticism. Only Ahmed remained genuinely upbeat and loved the whole thing. I bounced between the two of them, depending on how complicated the wedding shoot was going to be. I helped drag around gear, getting people organized, providing assistance to the couples, and the dreaded "other duties as required."

This evening Michelle drew the short straw with the expensive wedding and high maintenance bride. Ahmed had a nice, quiet little wedding on a farm with less than 100 guests. Michelle was annoyed, but they asked for him specifically, so there wasn't much she could do.

Speaking of the Queen of Cynicism, she was finished shooting at the front table and was marching back towards me. This was our chance to grab a quick bite to eat before they did the first dance. After that, we were free ladies.

She stood next to me and handed me her camera, which I dutifully placed in the right spot in her bag. We headed to the back of the dining room, where there was a table put aside for us to sit down. As we'd both been on our feet for hours, and wearing heels, we didn't so much sit on the chairs as collapse on them. Shoes were kicked off and I could feel my feet throb.

Daddy had gotten very good at foot massages the last couple of months, which was one more reason to keep him around. Unfortunately, he was in Toronto tonight and wouldn't be back until tomorrow, so I would have to put up with the throbbing.

A waiter came by and put a couple of plates of standard wedding chicken in front of us. Fancy country club or not, weddings tended to stick to chicken, although there was one that had salmon, which was nice, even with Michelle turning up her nose at it.

"Never eat seafood when you're not near an ocean, Kitten," she told me. She was a Maritime seafood snob and proud of it.

The waiter asked if we wanted something to drink.

"Beer for me," Michelle said. "And a Diet Coke for her."

The waiter leaned in and with a conspiratorial whisper said, "They're not seriously carding anyone and it's an open bar. We can get you something stronger if you want."

I smiled politely. "Diet Coke is fine, thanks." He nodded and went to fill the order.

Michelle grinned at me.

"Awww, he thinks you're cute," she said.

"One in every 10 are allowed to hit on me instead of drooling over you," I said.

"I think your ratio is higher than that. You underestimate yourself," she said.

I shrugged. She might be right, but I was only paying enough attention to keep safe. I wasn't even doing that much during the first weekend on the job. Most of my time was spent with my mouth opened at the amount of money being tossed around. Then Michelle gave me a stern talking to about the rules of wedding photography. They were:

- Always be professional. This was going to be a highly stressful day for a lot of people, who also paid us. Be the least stressful thing they have to deal with.

- Dress professional. Look good, but remember you're not a guest. *Do not* dress sexy.

- Do Not Flirt. Not with the guests. Not with the groom. Not with the bride.

- Do not get drunk at the wedding.

- Watch your back.

"These weddings are too often filled with people used to getting their own way and now they're drunk, as an added bonus," she told me. "Stick by my side, Kitten. Nobody messes with a six foot tall redhead. You're just a tasty treat to some of these assholes."

That's why I was dressed in a navy blue, retro vintage style dress with flowers on it that came down to my knees and had pockets where I could stick things when I needed to. I had on simple kitten heels and put my hair back in a ponytail. The key was apparently to look professional, but not like a guest, but also not like a slob. It was a whole thing. I thought it was a bit boring, but Michelle was right. Between my modest appearance and her slightly terrifying one, I hadn't had any incidents so far.

Having to worry about my virtue every weekend was not entirely what I had in mind when I signed on to work for Ahmed and Michelle. I learned quickly that Ahmed and Michelle were hustlers; both the good and bad kind. The good kind in that they worked hard and they did a lot of different things to make a living. And they were generous in showing me everything they did. In the last couple of months, my photography skills have gone through the roof. I'd picked up modelling tips from Michelle so my pictures on Instagram were more popular than ever. And, true to his word, Ahmed had sat down with me and showed me how to use a 3D printer and some metalworking. It was great stuff and absolutely useful.

But they weren't completely honest when they offered me the job. Cosplay work was their sideline. Wedding photography is what paid the bills. I knew they wanted to do less of it, particularly Michelle who was really beginning to hate it. But the cosplay business was something they hoped would develop. Especially if they had a design school student who loved cosplay as an employee so she could make outfits and draw attention to the business. So far, it was slow going and the main business often sucked the oxygen out of the room.

I liked them a lot and they were really charming. But, like I said, hustlers. I was a little annoyed by it, but they were paying me well, I was learning things, and every night I got to go home to my Daddy. There are worse ways to be hustled.

The waiter returned with our drinks and flashed me a smile. Michelle grinned at me as he walked away. I paid no attention to her. She decided to ask me something harder to ignore.

"So when is Ben coming back with his folks?" she asked.

And just like that I could feel a bucket of ice water splash into my stomach. I'd been doing my best to not think about why he wasn't home this evening to take care of me. He was in Toronto picking up his parents. Tomorrow I'd get to meet them for the first time. Nothing to be terrified of whatsoever.

"He said he'd be back around lunchtime. And Meg is coming up for a few days as well. They love her and wanted her to come up with them," I said.

"Wow," Michelle said, and for once there wasn't a teasing note in her voice. "You ok with all of that?"

"Yeah, actually," I said, picking at the chicken a bit. I was now a wedding chicken snob because I'd had better. "I have to meet his parents at some point and at least when they're here I can have the excuse of having to go to work if things get weird. Plus, it's only for a few days and then they're off to Montreal to see some friends. And Meg has been surprisingly awesome the last couple of months."

"I thought she was a stuck-up bitch?" Michelle said, taking a sip from her beer.

"I think we just got off on the wrong foot. I mean, she's a bitch, just like you're a bitch," I said. Michelle just shrugged her shoulders like I told her it was warm today. "But she's really smart, driven and I think basically a decent person when she lets herself be one. She's warmed up to me and I like her now. She's more....relaxed. I mean, she's been giving me tips about what to expect from Ben's parents."

Michelle laughed. "What are they, serial killers?"

"What they are is in their mid-70s, with a kind of weird dynamic that Ben has never been able to explain to me. His dad is very proper, and is a semi-retired lawyer. She was the typical stay-at-home mom with all these charities and groups she worked with later to keep busy. Meg described her as a sweetheart, but scatterbrained and a little too used to getting her own way. And that his dad intimidates everyone except his wife," I said.

I shook my head. "I dunno. Their fridge is probably older than me. It's going to be a weird couple of days."

Michelle laughed. "Well, if it gets too much, text me and I'll have a sudden cosplay emergency that only you can deal with."

"Thanks," I said, meaning it. I then glanced over to see the bride and groom were in the middle of a somewhat intense conversation. Wedding days, I was learning, rarely brought out the best in couples, but you didn't normally see them get quite this intense in front of everyone.

Michelle spotted it too and shook her head.

"Two years, tops," she said. One of Michelle's hobbies at these things was predicting how long the marriage she was shooting was going to last. She even wrote them down in a book to keep track of how accurate her predictions were. So far nine years was the highest she'd predicted around me.

"This is making me deeply worried about what my wedding day is going to be like," I said.

"Elope," Michelle said simply.

I looked at her and frowned.

"I'm completely serious," she said. "You know what almost everyone of these couples wishes they had done when things got truly batshit insane? They all wished they'd eloped. Hopped on a plane, got Elvis to marry them in Vegas. Or went to a beach in the tropics. Anything but invite a couple hundred people, some they barely know, spending tens of thousands of dollars for a day where they're mostly annoyed with each other. So yeah, elope."

"That was breathtakingly cynical, even by your standards," I said.

"Years of experience," she said.

There was some rustling behind me and I glanced back. The toasts and food service was over and people were beginning to mingle. We probably had 20-30 minutes before the first dance. I looked back at Michelle and she nodded her head, agreeing with what I was thinking.

"Yeah, finish eating and we'll get ready for the first dance," she said. "Then we need to bolt. I know this DJ. Nothing good is going to happen after that."

"Twenty bucks says their first song is by Adele," I said, grinning.

"That's a sucker bet. Come on, finish your chicken and then let's fly."

***

The next morning I was laying out on the front deck of the house letting the warmth of the sun dry my naked body after the shower. It was a decadence I'd picked up in the last few weeks as the temperatures got warm. Because of the wedding work, our weekends were now Sunday and Monday. So on those days, I'd get up late, get a shower, and sit naked on the front deck to dry off. Daddy would bring out coffee and breakfast. I was a very spoiled little girl, but I loved it and he loved doing it.

Daddy had even set up the front deck to give me a little privacy and some shade. Because of the red hair and pale skin he was deeply paranoid about me getting a burn. Like I hadn't spent most of my life being paranoid about the sun already. Daddy's fussing aside, these mornings were perfect. I could look out over the woods and see the lake in the distance. And it gave me a thrill to be outside and naked. Daddy said I was becoming an exhibitionist, and I think he might be right.

I ran my hands down my body and noticed I was putting on a bit of weight. Not in a bad way, I just wasn't scrawny anymore. My ribs and bones weren't as obvious. I might even be developing some curves. If I wasn't careful I was going to need new bras. I was always a B cup pushing towards a C. Much more pasta and I was going to be a C pushing towards a D. This was entirely due to Daddy feeding me seven days a week instead of just on weekends. And because of the weddings, my hair had gone from a coppery red to a more strawberry blonde color. It was deeply weird. I felt like I was becoming a new person.

Which....wasn't wrong. I was changing. Daddy warned me it was going to happen, but I thought he was just overreacting, like he, well, we had at Disney. But he was right. It had been two months since I'd moved in. Last night was the first night we hadn't been together in that time and it sucked. I woke up this morning and my fuzzy Daddy wasn't there. There were no morning hugs or kisses. There was no light slap on my ass to get me moving because I was running late. I really didn't like not having him here.

It was as if some of the frantic energy and desperate need for our relationship to work had changed. We had been together for over six months so we were more certain it was going to work. Because of that we were able to simply relax. There was a routine where he'd drop me off at work and then go into Kingston to work out at the gym for an hour or so. He'd come home, putter in his office on some projects, and started supper while either Ahmed or Michelle dropped me home. After supper, if the weather was nice, we'd go for a walk on the paths behind his house. If it was raining we'd watch movies.

And the sex, God that was still spectacular. We were still fucking four or five times a week. He could make me feel so Little and I loved it. I could feel myself getting wet thinking about it. I started sliding my hand down towards my pussy to take care of some of the frustration of not having a Daddy to pounce on this morning.

That's when the phone began to sing a Chungha song. I sighed and reached to grab it from the table. Meg.

"This is your 20 minute warning about our arrival," she said. "We've just left Kingston."

I could hear noise from the car in the background, so she had me on speaker. She was coming up, but took her own car. That meant Daddy and his parents weren't far off.

"Thanks Meg. I appreciate the head's up," I said. I looked out over my view and sighed. Time to go inside, get dressed, and pretend to be a grown-up.

"I assume Ben didn't text yet?" she asked.

"No, but that's why I asked you to be my back-up," I said, standing up and stretching. I opened the door and headed inside, shivering briefly at the temperature change.

"Well, that's a good idea. He looked nervous this morning, but you sound pretty relaxed."

Relaxed? Well, I was meeting my boyfriend's parents, who could easily pass as my grandparents. I was also going to have to spend the next four days trying not to slip up and call him Daddy in front of them. Being able to be Little and silly as a stress relief was going to be on hold until they left. I felt more resigned, although the tension and nervousness were hovering around the edges.

"I'll be ok. And thanks again for coming to be a back-up. I appreciate it," I said, walking towards our bedroom.

"Does this mean I've paid off my karmic debt?" Meg said, only kidding a little bit.

"Yeah, we're square," I said. Honestly, I'd been trying to not make fun of her quite so much the last month or so. The Disney trip solidified my place with Meg. Not only did the relationship survive. I came back babbling about what a good time I had. In her mind it must be the real thing.

"Hallelujah, I'm a free woman. I'll see you soon, kid," she said and hung up before I could say anything. Leave it to Meg to make me regret letting her off the hook.

I went over to the closet and pulled out a light green sundress that I thought I looked good in. Putting on a bra and panties on my day off felt like sacrilege, but I managed. But yeah, the bra did feel tight. Damn it, I didn't want to have to go bra shopping, but it was that or diet, and that wasn't happening. I put on my glasses and a headband to keep my hair in place.

I pulled open a drawer and looked at the selection of collars. Yes it was tempting to wear something blatantly submissive, but Daddy was pushing 50, so let's not give him a stroke in front of his parents. I took out a nice silver chain that had a heart shaped lock run through a circle. It didn't look submissive unless you knew what to look for. I was really, really hoping a couple in their 70s wouldn't know what to look for.

I posed in the mirror. Not bad. I mean, I didn't suddenly look like I was in my late 20s, but I also didn't look like jailbait.

My phone buzzed. It was Daddy giving me the head's up they were five minutes out. I could smack him for leaving it that late, but at least he remembered. Rather than just sit by the door and wait, I decided to put on the kettle. Daddy said they liked tea and had picked some up for them.

I barely got the kettle going when I heard the door open. I huffed. If I was running late constantly, Daddy had the ability to underestimate how long something would take. I was unplugging the kettle and bracing myself to meet my potential future in-laws when I heard steps coming down the hall. Around the corner came an elderly blur who locked onto me before I had a chance to really process things and gave me a hug.

"There's my future daughter-in-law," she said, squeezing me. She let me go, gave me a big smile and then winked at me. While I was processing all of that I heard Daddy call out.

"We discussed you not calling her that, mom," he said.

"Oh hush, let your mother dream," she called back. Then she held me at arm's length, appraising me. At this point I was still kind of shell shocked so I was sure I had a goofy look on my face.

"Yes, I can see why he's so smitten with you," she said, and touched my face.

I then heard the quick tapping of a cane coming down the hall and Daddy came around the corner with a look that was somehow annoyed, but also embarrassed the way a teenage boy might be if his mom was making a big deal of his new girlfriend. It was kinda cute, actually.

While he was telling his mom not to jump me, it did give me a moment to process her. I'd seen pictures of her, of course, but in person it was always different. She was a little taller and had 40 pounds on me. She was also well put together. I slapped something together in five minutes in the bedroom. She had make-up on, styled her hair and used spray to keep everything in place. She was wearing a nice linen top and a skirt.

But the thing I liked most were her wrinkles. She was in her mid-70s, but the wrinkles all curled the right way. She was a woman used to smiling and laughing, and her face showed. She had the opposite of a resting bitch face. She had a resting happy face. It was nice.

I never knew any of my grandparents. Dad's parents were never mentioned. Mom's dad died before I was born and she didn't talk to her mom. Which meant either mothers and daughters didn't get along in our family, or my mom was such a bitch that her own mom couldn't stand her.

It was at that moment that Meg came into the kitchen with an older version of my Daddy. Which was...weird. I like older men; that's been established. And it's not like Daddy was suddenly old news and I was lusting after his father. I looked at him and I was quietly happy with the realization that my Daddy was going to age really nicely. His dad had grey hair, but neatly trimmed. He didn't have a beard like Daddy, but he looked like the kind of man who shaved every day and didn't tolerate stubble. He was the same height as his son, around 6 feet, but whereas Daddy was more solidly built because of his time at the gym, his father was a slight man.