Chapter 13
Becky
12:16 AM THURSDAY
So here I am in a rhinestone tiara that says SLUT on it with a bridal veil attached. I’m watching myself in the mirrors of Elvis’ sunglasses while we confess our forever and undying love for each other.
“I love you more than that time I accidentally took cocaine and won the Boston marathon in my Christian Louboutins,” I’m telling Sexy Elvis before a gathering of my closest friends, a trio of stray showgirls and a rent-a-priest.
“I love you more than the time I intentionally took cocaine and was forcibly removed from the Boston marathon,” Sexy Elvis says back to me in his Sexy Elvis British accent.
We squeeze each other’s hands tight and smile at each other.
“Do you suppose it was the same Boston marathon?” Sexy Elvis asks me.
I shrug. “Might’ve been.”
The rent-a-priest clears his throat, and I decide to table this discussion for another time.
After all, I’m going to be spending the rest of my life with Sexy Elvis.
Pretty sure we can talk about our sordid drug-fueled pasts then.
“Then by the power vested in me by the state of Nevada,” the rent-a-priest says, raising his hands over us, “I now pronounce you man and—oh.”
The rent-a-priest doesn’t finish, since we’re already making out.
But hey, it’s the thought that counts, right?
“Fucking want you right now,” Sexy Elvis growls in my ear as we mash our lips together like we’re trying to leave bruises everywhere we kiss.
“Fucking take me, then,” I growl back.
Most men would have used this as their opportunity to get me to a nice, private room. You know—take me back to their place, book a fancy hotel—hell, book a couple hours in one of those motels you know only hookers and really horny newlyweds use.
But Sexy Elvis isn’t just any man.
Sexy Elvis is, well…he’s Sexy Elvis.
And when Sexy Elvis says he wants his woman right now, he bends her over the altar he just married her before. A little less talk, a little more action.
Shit like this is why I love Sexy Elvis, truth be told.
“You fucking like that, don’t you?” he says, grabbing my skirt and shoving it up around my hips.
“Maybe I do,” I coo back at him. “Maybe I like it too much.”
“Cheeky little thing.” He slaps my ass hard, and I can feel the smack jiggle the tight, round muscles of my bubble butt. “You don’t even know what too much is yet.”
“Excuse me, but this is just—” the rent-a-priest begins, but Sexy Elvis holds a single finger up as if to say, Wait one moment, please.
Then, he just keeps smacking my ass like we were never interrupted in the first place, and I keep cooing and moaning because I just don’t fucking care.
From behind us, I can hear the beginnings of another seduction in the works.
“Why don’t you relax a little, padre?” Sammi croons at the rent-a-priest.
“Celibacy sounds like an awful hard lifestyle to maintain,” Percy adds.
When I cast a glance behind me, they’re both on their knees working their way beneath the rent-a-priest’s holy vestments, and he’s either saying a rosary or praying to God that this is really happening.
Part of me is, like, 90% sure he’s not even actually a priest, but I don’t care. The marriage contract is signed, I’m wearing a veil that has the word SLUT printed on the tiara, and my new husband, Sexy Elvis, is licking my pussy like an alcoholic at a champagne fountain.
“You taste so fucking sweet, Becky,” Sexy Elvis purrs against my pussy.
The sound of his voice makes my pussy clench and twitch and get so hot that it feels like it’s purring right back.
“Tell me you want me to make love to you with my mouth.”
“I want you to do whatever you fucking want to me,” I gasp as he shoves two fingers deep into my tight, wet pussy. “But—mmmmm. Especially that.”
It’s too fucking hot to handle. His mouth goes back to my clit, licking and sucking and nibbling on it until I’m whimpering, and it’s swollen with need. I have to cling to the altar cloth just to have something to hold onto, the sensation is so intense.
I’m going to come. Holy fuck, I’m going to come.
My first orgasm as a new bride is going to be at the altar where I was wed.
No other bride in the history of matrimony is going to be able to top that.
I rock my hips back onto my new husband’s face, and I’m immediately overwhelmed by what a good fucking idea this is. You’d think, right, that I’d be second-guessing myself right about now. Especially since I’m about to smash into an orgasm on the altar of what passes as a church in this state.
But in fact, I feel like I dodged a bullet.
Fuck, I feel like I dodged a firing squad.
Dan the Man was nice while he lasted. But now that he’s fucked things up between us?
Sexy Elvis is all I fucking want.
“Aaaaaaah!” I whimper, and that whimper quickly turns into a scream.
My pussy is undulating. My hips are gyrating. I think I’m fucking ovulating, for fuck’s sake, because every fiber of my being is being forced into hyper-mode, and I couldn’t be hornier even in the wildest reaches of my imagination.
“Is hot, your friend and her husband,” I hear a Russian voice say back in the pews. One of the showgirls, I think. I don’t remember when we picked up the showgirls, but they sure have been fun to have along for the ride.
“Y’all, I am sweating, it is so hot,” I hear Mysti May reply.
And Mysti May sure likes those showgirls.
I think Mysti May might be a little Mysti Gay, come to think.
As I hear kissing and sucking and Russian cooing coming from the pews—and the sounds of a blowjob accompanied by the most expletive-riddled Hail Mary in the universe—I feel Sexy Elvis twist up a fist of my hair beneath my veil.
“You orgasm like a fucking dream, Becky,” he purrs in my ear.
“Let’s see how you orgasm…husband.”
“As my wife wishes,” Sexy Elvis replies.
I turn, kiss my honey off of his lips and unzip his Sexy Elvis jumpsuit like my life fucking depends on it.
Now I’m blowing my new husband at the altar. I’m probably going to hell for this, and at this point? Yeah, fuck it. I don’t even care.
We’re in love. Like, actual, honest to goodness love. I know it in my heart. I know it in my gut. And in my cunt—I especially fucking know it in my cunt.
He takes a rose from my bouquet and traces it along the contours of my cheekbones. Down my jawline and my neck. He tickles the mounds of my breasts where they rise up from my trashy wedding dress—which is, yeah, easily the trashiest thing I’ve ever worn in my life, but for some reason, I couldn’t be fucking happier in it.
It’s not about being classy with my new husband. We’re not keeping up appearances. We’re not keeping up anything, except for maybe his erection and my desire to please it.
We’re just in love, being together, enjoying each other’s bodies and behaving like the fucking animals we are.
“Bloody hell, Becky,” he pants while I slobber up and down his cock like the cum-hungry slut I can’t help but become for him. “I’m so fucking close—just like that, that’s it. Keep going—don’t stop—don’t bloody—”
He pulls my head back at the last second, and I open my mouth to take his load on my face. It gets in my hair. Lands on my tongue. Drips down between my tits and gets all over my SLUT veil.
I smell the slight scent of smoke and look up to the altar, giggling.
He’s even put out the candles.
When my husband cums, he cums a lot. It’s not just on me—It’s fucking everywhere.
“Woah,” I hear Sammi say, pausing her extensive exploration of how much of the rent-a-priest’s balls she can fit in her mouth at once.
“Now that’s what I call a white wedding,” Percy says, crossing herself.
“What the fuck is going on here?” a bitchy voice calls out as I hear the doors to the back of the chapel open.
Whoever that voice belongs to, they just walked in on three separate sex scenes in a rent-a-church, so…I guess that’s probably warranted.
“Pop up, love,” Sexy Elvis tells me, pulling me to my feet. “I’m not done with you yet.”
While Sammi, Mysti May, Percy and the showgirls run interference, he pulls me into a confessional booth. It’s a tight squeeze…but I don’t think I mind being in tight places when Sexy Elvis has such a sexy body to match.
“I love you,” he rasps, pulling me into a kiss.
“I love you, too,” I try to say, but I lose the words against his tongue and his lips.