Stepfather of the Bride

The morning light filtered through the heavy lace curtains of the bridal suite, bathing Elena's ivory gown with waves of hypnotic patterns. She sat perfectly still as the stylist finished adjusting the delicate veil over her hair. Elena watched in the mirror and wished her mother were alive for this day.

"You look lovely!" the stylist said, stepping back.

"Thank you," Elena said, fighting back the tears.

"Don't cry. Not yet!" the stylist said with a gentle chuckle.

Elena smiled, sniffed, and gave a little laugh.

"Thank you," she said again, this time looking the stylist in the eye, giving an approving nod.

The stylist smiled, turned and started cleaning up, as if in a hurry to escape the heavy sadness that stubbornly hung in the room. With only the sounds of her packing to fill the silence, she filled, then closed, then carried her bag to the door. She nodded, and slipped out. Elena hardly noticed, lost to her own thoughts.

She stared at the woman in the mirror. "Today I marry," she thought. Yet every pearl stitched into her bodice felt cold, a weight against her skin. She let her mind wander, far from the impending vows, beyond the reach of the crowds gathering in the chapel. She remembered a quiet, sun-drenched garden, and the home where she had grown up...

There was a crisp double knock at the suite's heavy oak door, then the click as the door was unlocked. Even without knowing that only one person shared a key to the room, Elena recognized the knock, the discipline of it, and her heart lightened. The door inched open, revealing a familiar face.

"May I come in?" he said, his deep voice sending a shiver through her body.

He stepped into the room, his crisp, dark tuxedo compounding his confident stance. He looked every bit the dignified patriarch, her dignified patriarch. It was Marcus, the man the world knew as her stepfather.

Her heart beat faster. She watched a smile slowly fill his face as his eyes drifted down her gown.

"You look... beautiful," he said.

His eyes climbed back up her body. Her breathing quickened as his eyes lingered where she hoped they would. When his eyes finally reached hers, they radiated love. She let her eyes show how she hungered for it.

His smile wilted as his brow twitched with uncertainty. Elena felt a sudden, sharp surge of resolve as she made her decision. She smiled. Her body trembling, she beckoned him closer with a single, slow movement of a gloved hand. He hesitated, their eyes still locked. Memories flooded in, so many memories, of years of quiet moments. The weight of his feelings pushed him back, against the heavy door, until it shut with a loud click. They looked at each other as they shared the realization that they were alone, in their private world.

The room felt smaller. Her stepfather slowly took a step forward and lifted his chin. Elena saw his recognition. His face softened.

"Belle de Nuit," Marcus whispered, his accent perfect.

It had been a graduation and 18th birthday present. Marcus had wanted to give Elena something special.

Elena stood, the silk rustling its warning. She walked toward him, the long train sweeping behind. By the third step, she blushed, feeling the slippery swelling between her legs. Her stepfather didn't move, either backwards or forwards. His breath grew choppy, his eyes recognized her longing, and his willingness to stay.

She stopped just inches away, took in the familiar scent of his sandalwood cologne, the smell of a recently smoked cigar. There were so many things she wanted to say, but she remained silent. His gaze flashed to her lips, then back to her eyes. She knew he wanted to, but also knew she would have to lead the way.

Elena reached out, her gloved finger tracing the sharp line of his lapel. The contact was light, almost accidental, yet it felt like a lightning strike. He let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for years.

"We shouldn't," he murmured, unconvinced.

He didn't refuse her hand in his, or her gentle tug as she pulled him towards the bed. She backed up until her legs bumped against the mattress. He took another step, close enough to feel the heat between them. He lifted his hand, brushing the lace of her sleeve. The soft friction of silk on skin was soon replaced by skin on skin as he caressed her cheek. He looked at her then, really looked at her, seeing a woman instead of his stepdaughter.

Elena leaned forward, pressing her gown to his tuxedo. Her breath was close and warm. Their lips met. Marcus let the boundaries, the boundaries he had struggled with for so many years, melt away. Elena's arms circled his neck. She leaned back, pulling them over, onto the bed, him atop her.

"The ceremony starts in half an hour," he offered, a halfhearted last attempt to keep his resolve from crumbling.

She smiled, reached her hand down between them, and tugged at his pants.

He let go of his hesitation, replacing it with his passion. He stood, then enjoyed her face as he slowly undid his pants, pushed them down with his briefs, and stood up straight, letting his long, hard shaft wobble under her gaze.

Elena blushed, grinned, and began tugging at the yards of silk below her waist. Finally, feeling the heat at her crotch replaced with a cool breeze, she stopped, looked at Marcus. For a short second, he was dumbstruck. Though she couldn't see, she knew that he now saw she was not wearing any panties, was naked beneath her dress.

Elated with anticipation, Elena leaned back, keeping her dress in tow. She lifted her knees and spread them wide. Marcus' eyes flashed with excitement, watching her wet, swollen labia pull apart. Her rosy, glistening pussy called to him as he crawled up between her legs.

Their first encounter was fast and furious. There was no thinking of the other, only selfish desires, both reaching an orgasm quickly. The second time was his apology for being so selfish the first time. He buried his face in her pussy, his tongue playing joyfully with her clit, playing with her orgasm, until he finally released her. She gushed and groaned and yanked at his hair.

Their third encounter was the most intimate. With his manhood revived and not so sensitive, he slowly massaged his cock head at her G-spot while his finger spelled the alphabet over her hooded clit. He expertly paced his own orgasm to match hers.

There was a knock on the door.

"Are you ready, Elena?"

It was Sheila, Elena's bridesmaid.

"Just about," Elena called back.

"We're all waiting," Sheila answered.

Elena and Marcus shared a chuckle, a kiss, another kiss.

"You sure about this?" Marcus asked.

Elena heard her stepfather's concern, smiled, nodded. He smiled, nodded back.

"Then let's get this show on the road!"

They were ready in five minutes, and down to the chapel entrance in two more.

"What did you do to your makeup? Your veil!" her bridesmaid gasped.

Elena waited patiently, a grin on her face, as Sheila did her best to set things right, until she and the best man had to walk down the aisle.

Elena took up her bouquet, offered her arm to her stepfather. They walked together, almost hesitant, with a finality that belied their recent beginnings. When they reached Elena's future husband, and the priest asked, "Who gives this woman?"

Her stepfather answered, "I do." Elena smiled at him.

The ceremony continued. Elena suddenly blushed. Her husband smiled, assuming her blush was about him. Marcus knew it was something else. He had seen her flash of surprise. But only Elena knew the true cause. It distracted her through the rest of the ceremony, a slippery blob tickling its way down her thigh, past her knee, then down her calf. It came to rest, soaking into her no-show sock. "The wet spot", Elena mused to herself, just in time for her to say, "I do!"