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I don’t know whether you go to many weddings, or what impression they make on you. On the one hand a lot of people dressed to the nines, on the other, some look clearly as though they need some help on the fashion coordination front. Most people drink far too much. I always detect a certain eroticism, maybe connected to the fertile rites surrounding the event. This shows itself to me in some women having gone to a lot of effort with their appearance, and it having come off fairly well. Tastefully revealing dresses, the thought of nice, expensive underwear being worn for the special day, maybe even the odd hat or two to add to the atmosphere of refined frivolity.
I had an unusual encounter at a wedding some years back, and as I have a good memory (useful at least as a source of masturbation fantasy), I recall the words and events of that day very well.
Joanne(one of my wife’s work colleagues) and Peter( grossly overweight son of a local business magnate) were to seal the knot at a wedding ceremony held at Peter’s parents’ place. The fitting location was St Georges Hill, Weybridge, Surrey. If you don’t know it, this is the gated community of dodgy ranch-style mansions set in the Surrey commuter belt, home to overweight businessmen, pillars of society and the odd rock star . . . and Cliff Richard.
I wore a respectable navy blue suit, nice shirt and tie; very straightforward stuff. My wife wore a long dress and looked very nice. We all met at the house after the church ceremony, had a few drinks and I got into conversation with one of my wife’s female friends whom I knew from one or another company function of hers that I had been to.
As I was talking to her she said, “Look at that, she doesn’t leave much the imagination, does she?”
I looked across the large room to see a girl who indeed did not leave much to the imagination. It was only possible at a wedding, at least in daylight hours. She was very dark, Mediterranean looking, medium height but wearing quite high heels. She was wearing a flouncy pink dress that was fairly see-through, showing a black thong beneath. She could have passed for a hooker had it not been for an expensive Louis Vuitton handbag, expensive looking shoes, and as I saw when she turned around, an attractive and intelligent looking face. My instant impression was that this girl was not the dodgy “slapper” type, but actually a very classy girl who just enjoyed showing off what she had.
So, more small talk, a couple more glasses of champagne, outside for a quick ciggie (yes I am afraid I do) and casino oyna then into the large gazebo that had been set up for a buffet for the guests. No expenses were spared here. They served excellent wine, and I am at least sometimes a discerning wine drinker, and great food served by a professional catering team.
As I queued for the buffet I put some melon and ham on a plate. A female voice next to me said, “A bit 1970’s isn’t it, Melon and Ham?”
I turned to see Miss Pink Dress. “Could be,” I replied, “but then I am a child of the 1970’s.”
I introduced myself, and this young lady, whose name was Helena, told me that she recognized my name and that I was sitting next to her at a table. Back at the table we got into conversation. I asked after the origin of her name and she told me her parents were Yugoslavs (Serbian) but that she had grown up in this country. Over the food we exchanged some details about our backgrounds. It turned out that she was a hotel manager in London, and like me spoke several languages. This I guess gave us something in common.
A few people had remarked on her somewhat risque appearance, but our conversation was flowing quite naturally and I did not feel self-conscious.
After the dinner it was back to the “ranch” for more drinks and chat. I was sitting with a group of people on chairs and sofas. Helena was in the group and occasionally our eyes met. She smiled confidently but with a touch of wistfulness. On a more profane note I had noticed that she was not wearing a bra. She had a great skin color to compliment the Mediterranean appearance as well as quite a seductive perfume. A number of less than salubrious thoughts were beginning to go through my mind.
“I’ve run out of cigarettes,” Helena said suddenly. “Any idea where I can get some?”
“Yes, there is a petrol station at the end of the road,” replied Joanne, the bride. It was by now 10.00 p.m. and pitch black dark.
“Simon, why don’t you walk up there with Helena?”
Nobody present seemed to bat an eyelid, so I pulled my jacket on and off we went.
“I hope it’s not far to the petrol station,” said Helena, “these heels are not made for hiking.”
We walked up the road and I felt a twinge of nervous excitement.
The road was quiet, barely lit and lined with trees, behind which were driveways leading to various other “ranches.” As she walked, I saw out of the corner of my eye the unfettered movement of her breasts under her dress. Ahead of us we saw the petrol station, for whatever reason closed.
Oh slot oyna well, it’s back we go we agreed. We turned on our heels and started to walk back. In virtually complete darkness, I said, “You are a really attractive woman and very easy to talk to.”
We had both stopped. “I clocked you at the church” Helena said, “you are an attractive slightly older man.”
Being a mere 37 at the time(to Helena’s 23), I stumbled slightly over the term “slightly older man.” At that moment I put my hands on Helena’s shoulders and turned her round to me. We kissed tentatively at first but then deeply, tongues exploring each other, then lips apart and tongues flicking around each other. We both moaned with the feeling of release. This was going to be an outdoor encounter, with all the logistical difficulties involved.
Now it was down to me. I squeezed her tightly to me and caressed her up and down her back, enjoying the feel of the filmy pink dress. My kisses were now moving down her neck and around the tops of her shoulders. I ran my hands through her hair repeatedly and pulled us closer together. We were both becoming more and more aroused. I put my tongue in her ear. “I wanted to get into your knickers from the moment I saw you,” I told her now without any restraint.
“Do it then,” she replied, by now rubbing my cock through the front of my trousers. I ran my hand up the back of her dress and got to her very well defined buttocks. At the top of her butt I loved the feel of the material of her thong. I moved my middle finger up and down between her butt cheeks and felt the moisture at the top of her pussy from behind.
“Do you like having your pussy licked?” I asked.
Not receiving an answer I got down on my knees in front of her, raised her skirt, and went straight to kissing and pressing my jaw against the front of her pussy, still through her panty. She moaned with pleasure.
“Please, just go inside my thong,” she begged.
I pulled the black thong aside and started licking around her considerable mass of black pubic hair, soon discerning her wet pussy lips and clitoris. Strangely enough it was quite difficult to get good clitoral contact from that angle. Any inhibitions had gone by now as I turned Helena around and she leaned forward against a tree. I pulled her sodden thong down, and she made quite an elegant job of stepping out of it. From behind and below I ran my tongue (and occasionally nose) up and down her soaking wet slit, stopping at the top to lick around the clitoral area. Normally I would have carried canlı casino siteleri on happily like this for ages, but we were both at least subconsciously aware of some time pressure.
“Please suck me, I really need you to suck me,” I hissed.
Helena knelt down in front of me as I unzipped my trousers and let them fall to the ground. She again rubbed my semierect cock with her manicured hand through my boxers, then took out my cock. She kissed the tip several times then started to move my cock in and out of her mouth. I asked her to look at me. She grasped my shaft firmly and licked up and down it whilst looking up at me.
“Oh for a bed,” I said.
“Have you never done it outside? I rather like it,” said Helena between sucks.
“This place is the end of the world. No-one will come along.”
Helena stood up, and as before leaned forward against the tree, dress hitched up and extremely shapely rear slightly illuminated by a street lamp. We were inside someone’s driveway, luckily with no lights on in the house.
“I wanted to make you cum before when I was touching you.”
“Simon, I want you to put your cock in me.”
Maybe because of the nature of the encounter or alcohol consumed, I was semi-erect. I rubbed my cock up and down from behind in Helena’s wet pussy lips. She moaned in anticipation. I got quite hard and found the hot and waiting wetness of her cunt. What is it about the feeling of abandon that comes from fucking your girl from behind? We started to build a rhythm.
“Do I feel good inside you?”
“Just fuck me, just do it.”
“Play with yourself while I’m fucking you. I really love that.”
Helena’s right hand moved down to her pubic area and I sensed a rhythmic stroking of her clit.
“Give me your hand,” I demanded.
Helena put her fingers in my mouth and I licked and moistened them. She resumed the stroking of her clit. With each thrust I felt my cock go into the nail of one of her right-hand fingers, which was now playing furiously with her clit.
We were both moaning with pleasure as Helena’s movements met my thrusts. “Is it safe to cum inside you?” I asked, conscious of how ridiculously late the question was being posed.
“It’s OK,” she moaned through ragged breaths.
I was beyond the point of no return and came inside Helena. The worst bit of an external encounter is that there is nowhere to cuddle or exchange sweet nothings afterwards.
We got ourselves back together and went back the remaining half mile to the house. On re-entering the house the original conversation group had long dispersed and no-one seemed to remember that we had gone.
Helena went and joined her friends in the kitchen. I swapped some pleasantries with the bridegroom but felt strangely absent.
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