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Her shapely rear end is jutting the fabric out as she shifts behind it, groaning to herself before she actually growls in frustration.
I swallow hard. And running my hand almost absently over the length of my aching cock, I tell myself that this is real.
It’s really happening.
She’s only feet away, separated from me by just a few strips of fabric, my mind racing at the thought of her pleasuring herself.
That wedding dress hitched up over her wide hips as she plows her fingers deep into her sodden pink pussy.
My pussy.
Mine.
“Ugh… Ooooh… Uh!” She exclaims from behind the curtain, my heavy step on the creaking boards not reaching her ears through the storm as I slowly step closer.
Her gasps and groans are getting closer together, my own hardness at a fever pitch as well.
I can feel the warmth of my precome filling the front of my briefs, soaking through my already drenched work pants as I watch my hand reach out for the curtain.
I’ve waited long enough, and the thought of her pleasuring herself without me being able to watch is unbearable.
I swish the curtain to one side, expecting to see her knuckles deep inside herself, my hungry eyes moving down her figure in the mirror.
She shrieks loudly for a moment, until she recognizes it’s me, then seems to relax instantly.
Her eyes widening with surprise and shock, then narrowing a little as she huffs out a heavy breath.
She’s not pleasuring herself at all.
She’s stuck in that damned wedding dress, trying to unhook herself from it so she can take it off.
With only a moment’s hesitation, I move forward.
I’ll help her out of the dress alright. But only when I’m done doing what I thought she was up to in the first place.
Chapter Nine
Ashlee
Seeing someone suddenly appear from behind me scares the bejesus out of me, but only until I recognize Brandon.
Anyone else and I’d be screaming so loud the windows would break.
I kinda accidentally on purpose did leave the door open, just in case, he came back. Something I’d never normally do, but I did sense him nearby somehow.
Watching me.
Even though I feel a little more than foolish for getting stuck in a dress two sizes too small.
Knowing too, he probably saw me messing around with the ‘fake Brandon’ I made using his jacket. I’m actually really glad it’s him.
A single glance at his crotch as he moves closer makes my breath catch. Distracting me from being angry with him for letting me think it was him getting married.
I try my best to frown. “So it’s your best friend’s wedding, huh?” I ask accusingly, unable to focus on his eyes for long as my own thirst for the sight of just one thing.
“You never really asked,” he counters, making me flash a look of genuine annoyance until I see his brow cock. His teeth flashing through a cheeky grin.
“I just thought...” I start, annoyed all over again because why should it be me having to explain myself?
It’s his fault he led me along, making me think he was the groom.
Brandon seems to have moved on from that though, and stepping even closer I realize that everything I’ve ever wanted is only inches away from me.
I thought he was getting married, but he’s not. The mixture of emotions that gives me is enough to make me want to laugh, cry and shout at him all at once.
But my body gravitates towards him, even as my raised hands make fists wanting to hit him, only managing to rest on his chest, disarming every negative emotion I could ever have about him.
“So you’re not pleased to see me?” he asks, glancing at my chest with my nipples almost tearing through the dress, and without him even touching me he can read my body just fine.
He’s pleased to see me alright, but what is all this small talk? Maybe help a girl out with her zipper?
“I’m stuck,” I complain, pouting. Acting like it’s the most normal thing in the world for me to be trying on wedding dresses after work.
“I think you look fine to me,” he grins, his eyes moving over me, past my breasts which are still responding by getting stiffer by the second. My nipples scratching against two layers of lace and making me giddy.
My sex already pulsing with heat at the sight of the man. He’s drenched from the rain, but I’m wet for another reason.
“You could unzip me?” I suggest. “Then I can change and we could try you jack—” I say, but his head’s shaking a no cutting me off.
His huge frame filling the entrance to the change booth, his brow lifting just enough to tell me silently that I’m not going anywhere.
Not until he says so.
His imposing figure, the scent of his heady cologne mixed with the rain on him, coupled with the look in his eyes and the massive bulge in the front of his pants make me shiver.
