Nick
NICK
FOUR MONTHS LATER
The “after-wedding,” as David termed it, has some surprising similarities to today’s formal event. Zo? is whisked off by her friend Rachel, and once again, I’m not allowed to see her until the ceremony begins. David has set up an altar in the club and stands at it in a latex priest’s outfit, reviewing his notes and looking very serious. Even the music is the same, the sound technician announcing Zo?'s imminent arrival by cranking up the song “ Here Comes the Bride.”
But she’s more than a bride this time, because, after the ceremony this afternoon with our families and all our friends, she’s now my wife, and my heart swells ten sizes every time I think of it.
Rachel steps out of the stage wings first, stepping carefully down the stairs to the main floor in skyscraper-high pink heels and a matching latex pink dress that barely covers her ass. She’s followed by Andre and Tomas, dressed in black pants with pink straps across their bare chests to match Rachel’s dress. But when Zo? steps out, my breath catches all over again, just like it did this afternoon when she walked down the church aisle in a layered white gown.
This time, she’s wearing the same tiny latex dress as Rachel but in white, her pert nipples and perfect curves completely visible through the semi-transparent fabric, and—just like I am every time I see her, in any kind of outfit—I’m completely blown away by how beautiful she is, this incredible woman who has me besotted in every possible way.
Rachel, Andre, and Tomas take their spots on either side of the altar while a small crowd of staff and regulars from the club watch Zo? as she walks down the carpet, her steps graceful and weightless, even in her six-inch heels, a smile curving her full lips. Her eyes are locked on mine, just like mine are locked on hers. In any room and in any crowd, we can always find each other like this. We can always tune out the entire world and be the only ones in it. At the end of the day, she’s the human I need the most, and I know I’m hers.
Today’s ceremony, the official one, was a union of our souls. I couldn’t have been more sincere when I uttered the promise “’til death do us part.” Claiming Zo? in front of everyone we know, putting the ring on her finger that would mark her as mine, and above all, knowing that my son, as accepting as he could be of this union, was sitting in the front row, giving us a blessing of sorts, meant everything.
This ceremony, in the club, is a union of our lives. Now, as a part owner, the club has become as much my baby as it is David’s, and working with my best friend has ended up being more harmonious than I would have guessed. David and I have the same vision and goals. And this club launched Zo?'s career. On top of running the show here three times a week, she’s joined a modern dance company and is choreographing a performance for a local arts festival.
We don’t come to the club as patrons as much as we would like, with our busy schedules, but this club has still been a safe place for us to explore our proclivities and perversions—mostly in the viewing room, where I’ve discovered that I can enjoy being an exhibitionist as much as I usually enjoy being a voyeur.
In fact, that’s where we’re headed now as David wraps up his priestly duties, declaring us man and wife as officiously as he can before announcing, “Now please join us, friends, as we witness the consummation of this marriage.”
A cheer goes up from the crowd, and I take Zo?'s hand and lead her through the door to the on-premise area of the club.
We’re the first ones in, but I know that behind us, the staff is unlocking the door and taking down the sign that says “Closed for private event” and that soon crowds will flock into the club as usual for a Saturday night. I lead my wife through the large room, right to the back, where the two viewing rooms are located, and hold the door open and let her walk in front of me into the largest one.
She’s stunning in her latex dress, her long blonde hair flowing down her back in long ringlets, her tanned legs looking a mile long in her white stripper heels. I walk up behind her, pressing my body against hers and flattening my palm against the latex-smooth plane of her stomach, my cock already getting hard in anticipation of fucking her here in front of an audience.
It took so much for us to get here. Wasted months of guilt and avoidance when I tried to fight this thing between us that could never be denied, dealing not only with Tate’s reaction to our relationship, but all kinds of people who couldn’t get over our age difference and her past relationship with my son. The night I went back to the Ball & Chain to watch her performance, every construct I’d built to keep us apart crumbled the moment she fell into my arms. After six months of trying to move on, we didn’t get out of bed for twenty-four hours, submerged in a timeless fever dream of sex, heartfelt confession, sleeping, eating, and starting it all over again. David drove her purse over the next day. A couple of days after that, he and I moved all of her things from his house back to mine. When I proposed a week later, Zo? was skeptical, but I told her the truth. “I don’t have to wait and see how I feel about spending eternity with you,” I told her. “I already know.”
Now, as I run a hand down over the front of her dress, then up under the hem, sliding my fingers between her silken folds, already wet with anticipation, I’m reminded of how certain I’ve always been about her, since the very first time I touched her like this, back on that first night in the Paradise Lounge. She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met. She’s everything.
She leans her head back against my chest, panting as I stroke her pussy, probably thinking already about the congregating crowd outside the window, the hungry onlookers getting hot as they watch my fingers sliding over her clit, my other hand squeezing a firm, latex-clad breast.
Since she’s turned to less restrictive forms of dance, Zo?'s gained weight in all the right places, her body softer and rounder now, her tits fuller and bouncier, every part of her even more luscious—unthinkably sexier when I didn’t even think it was possible for her to be more desirable. And even though I’ve already had her this morning, I’m rock hard again thinking about being inside of her, fucking my wife for the very first time. I have to let go of her breast to unzip my pants and pull my cock out, spitting on my hand to lube it up and then rubbing it against her ass, the latex slick as skin against my length.
I know she’s going to come a second before she does, from the way her breath skips a beat, and then she gasps out loud as her pussy trembles under my hand, a frisson going through her, and then a deep sucking in of breath. The sound and the feel of her unleashes the last of my self-restraint, and my voice is rough as I rasp in her ear.
“I want that dress off you now, and I want you on top of me, facing the window.”
She rolls the dress up over her hips, and I help her pull it gently up over her arms and face, careful not to catch her hair, and then drop it onto a pile on the floor as I quickly yank off my own clothes—the slacks and pressed shirt that were part of my wedding tux. I lie down on the vinyl bed, my feet towards the window, and watch her straddle me, a knee on either side of my thighs, her round ass hovering over my throbbing cock, her flat, muscular, dancer’s back to me.
“Put your feet on the bed and lean back,” I tell her, and she does exactly as she’s told, spreading her knees wide so that her cunt is on full display to the spectators on the other side of the window, and then using one hand to guide my cock to her hole. I lift my hips to push into her, unable to wait for a minute longer, squeezing my eyes closed in ecstasy as her tight, wet pussy grips my shaft, and within seconds I’m losing it, my breathing guttural and ragged, my eyes squeezing shut.
Two weeks ago, Zo? and I made an important decision. She’s still young, but she’s always known she wants to be a mother. On my part, while Tate will always be my firstborn child, there were so many years I missed with him. Having another baby, while it would never replace Tate, would be a chance for me to make up some of those missed memories.
Besides, the idea of having a little Zo? around fills me with an uncharacteristic sentimentality. Maybe it’s my age. In any case, we decided we were both ready, and Zo? stopped taking her birth control pills.
It’s too soon to know what this month will hold—besides, I’m sure these things take some time—but knowing I’m about to come inside her now adds a certain perversion to the experience. I’m not just fucking her in public, I might be breeding her, too.
And the thought is the little push that puts me over the edge. Everything inside of me pulls together in an implosion, just as I feel Zo?'s pussy squeeze down on me, too. Fuck, she’s coming as well.
Crying out, I wrap both my arms around her, pulling her against me as I pump into her in an explosion of release.
“I love you, ,” she whimpers, her body quivering in my arms.
“I love you, too, Mrs. Rivera,” I breathe in her ear. “I fucking love you, too.”