Varian P
writing again
- Joined
- Jul 20, 2004
- Posts
- 1,429
Thanks to Pure for such a quick go-ahead, and thanks in advance to all who take the time to read and offer their comments.
Following is my attempt at something a bit lighter than what I usually write. It's a first draft, quite off the top of my head, so please feel free to eviscerate, should you feel the urge. I'll put a few specific questions at the end, but critiques of all kinds will be sincerely appreciated.
Wedding Night
She didn't know quite how it had happened. But it had. Her twenty-fourth birthday came and went, and there she was, still unmarried. Worse. Practically undated. Alright, there'd been a couple guys, here and there, who'd taken momentary interest, asked her out, sometimes to dinner, sometimes to the movies. One had even asked her, after a couple casual dates, to go with him for a long weekend at Vale.
What a mistake that had been. He'd known full well her stance on pre-marital sex, then acted as if it was some huge surprise when she refused to share the room with just one double bed. Then the other couple had acted so put out when she took up residence on the living room couch. She'd thought at least the girl would understand. That was what you got, she decided, when you dated outside the church. Pushy guys with selfish friends who looked at you like a freak from outer space when they realized they were in the room with a living, breathing twenty-something virgin.
When birthday number twenty-five loomed just weeks ahead, and not so much as a prospective boyfriend was on the radar, Jenny broke the solemn vow she'd taken after that nightmare weekend in Vale, and accepted an invitation to lunch with Joseph Drake. Definitely not from the church.
But so dreamy. Fine, it sounded corny, like the narrative from a Gilmore Girls episode or a Sweet Valley High novel. But apt.
Dreamy. Unbelievably handsome. Without question the best looking guy who'd ever flattered her with more than an obligatory sentence or two of small talk. And, in spite of his dubious lack of devoutness, really quite the gentleman. Wonderfully polite and attentive. He'd arrived promptly to pick her up, graciously opened doors, pulled out her chair, paid the check. And then, when he'd driven her home and walked her to her door, as she stood in nervous dread, afraid that her dream date was about to be forever sullied in her memory, that a hundred tiny hopes that were taking shape were about to be crushed by a request to come inside, or a premature and presumptuous attempt at a tongue kiss, he'd smiled sweetly, taken her hand, and planted a soft and perfectly appropriate kiss on her cheek, then left with no more than a promise to call. Which he did.
Five weeks later, on her birthday, it happened. He asked her to marry him. Almost out of her mind with joy, she, of course, accepted.
It was a short engagement, and the wedding was not as lavish as the one she'd always dreamt of. But it was lovely. A fine spring day in gorgeous Rusholme Park, under the arch of a little white gazebo with flowers cascading overhead. The only thing that nearly spoiled it all for her was the absence of her family who had first professed to dislike Drake (as she called him, finding it a more romantic name than Joseph, in part because it sounded a little dangerous), then protested to the brief engagement, and finally cut off communication with her altogether when she said in an obstinate way that was wholly uncharacteristic, that she'd marry him whether they liked it or not, and on the day of Drake's and her choosing.
Well, there was one other thing that troubled her. He'd made it clear—with painful finality—that he would not be adopting the ways of her faith or escorting her to church. She could do as she pleased, of course, but he made no pretense that he found her devout adherence to the Christian faith more admirable than amusing.
Still, he'd consented to a Christian wedding, and the words of the preacher blessing their union filled her with all the joyful promise a wedding day could bring a young woman. And as she looked at Drake beaming down at her with his warm smile and adoring gaze, she knew that he loved her. That they'd be happy.
The reception after was a blur of dancing, eating, sips of champagne, chatting and laughter with guests. It wasn't until they said good-bye to their friends and his family and climbed into the limousine, pulling yards and yards of white crinoline and satin and lace in after her, that the surreal whirlwind ceased whipping her attention all about with such speed she could hardly catch her breath, and they could finally really be together.
She was married! To Drake! She could hardly stop from smiling like a maniac, she was so happy. And when she looked at him, he looked just as happy. He pulled her to him, kissed her long and deep, then told her he loved her.
They rode along in silence for a while, Jenny thinking back happily on the day she imagined more than remembered. Picturing herself standing at the altar in her white gown, Drake slipping the platinum band onto her finger, they way they'd looked at each other over champagne flutes as they clinked after each toast.
"So quiet," her husband murmured beside her in a warm husky tone. "What are you thinking about?"
"Oh, just…I can't believe we're actually married," she ended with an embarrassed laugh.
Drake was eleven years older than Jenny, and she still felt a little awkward with him. A little in awe of him, and always kind of on guard against coming off as too immature or silly.
"Neither can I," he mused with dreamy eyes.
Then he nuzzled into her hair, kissing her behind the ear, then on her lobe, then her cheek, her neck. She startled when she felt his hot wet tongue slide along her jaw, against the crease of her ear, then felt him suck and nibble at her lobe. Something strange happened to her body. A flood of heat, a weird ticklish feeling poured over her. She sucked in her breath with pleasure and shock. He'd never done that before. He laughed gently as she pulled back and looked at him, blushing at the realization of where all the throbbing heat he'd created had settled.
"You're not nervous, are you?" he asked. "About tonight?"
She felt her face go bright pink. She'd made it clear, when they first started dating, that she was saving herself for marriage, and he'd said he thought that was sweet, and that was the last they'd said a word on the topic. Jenny couldn't even find the words to answer him.
"Tell your husband something, Jenny," he murmured with a warm smile, "how many lovers have you had?"
Her face and chest were hot as she stammered, "You…you know…I've never…"
"Ssshhh," he chuckled softly, stroking her arm, "I know you're a virgin, my bride. I'm not questioning that. But surely you have a little experience with men?"
"You…you mean have I dated? Sure, I mean, a little. Nothing serious. You know that."
She was flustered and nervous. Somehow his questions made her feel she was being accused of something.
"Jenny, my love, there's no need to be defensive."
He nuzzled her neck, kissed her cheek warmly.
"I just want to know what you know of love. Know what you've experienced, and what will be new to you. You can tell me everything. Even if you were to tell me—and I know you haven't, but just as an example—even if you were to tell me you'd slept with a man, or more than one man, I'd love you just the same. It's just that I want to know you, know how to be with you. Is that alright?"
He was kissing her neck so tenderly, caressing her arm and holding her hand so sweetly that her anxiety fell away, displaced by her love of him, her happiness to be called "my love" and "my bride" by him, and that strange, giddy ticklish warmth cascading over her.
"Yes. Of course."
These men you've dated. You've kissed them?"
"Some of them, yes."
"Real kisses? Hot, deep tongue kisses?"
She felt herself blushing again, and the breathy way he was talking had that funny heat swirling in her belly.
"Yes, with a couple of them."
"And those kisses, did they get you aroused?"
She didn't understand. He didn't sound jealous. On the contrary, he seemed, well, turned on. After the couple glasses of champagne she'd had at the reception, the idea that already, before they'd even gotten to his house—their house—she was arousing her husband, just with words, made her giddy with arousal and, well, pride.
"Did they?" he repeated.
"Yes," she answered softly, embarrassed in spite of the excitement of everything.
"I'm glad."
He put the hand he'd been holding on his thigh. Suddenly she was thinking about his body. Through the smooth fabric of his trousers she could feel that his thigh was firm, almost hard with muscle. It felt so different from her own thighs which, though reasonably toned, were soft by comparison. She wondered if the rest of him could be so hard. Soon she'd know, she thought with another blush, how his chest, his back, his stomach felt. And not through clothes. The thought of his naked body scared her at the same time it aroused her.
"Even though you're a virgin, Jenny, and even though we haven't done more than kiss, I have a feeling you're an ardent woman. I'm glad that kisses arouse you," he gave her a soft, lingering kiss on the lips, "because when I kiss you, when I touch you, I want it to excite you…" he slid her hand up his thigh, "…as much as it excites me."
It took her a minute to realize what that other hardness was that her thumb was now resting against. She yanked her hand away out of shock before she realized what she was doing.
"Never felt that before, Jenny dear?" he breathed at her ear.
He caught her wrist at her waist and drew her hand back, this time pressing her palm right to his stiff cock.
"Have you?"
She shook her head no, not trusting her voice.
Not even like this," he moved her hand slowly back and forth over his hard length, "through a man's clothes?"
"No."
"Have you ever seen one?"
"Seen?"
"A man's cock."
"Drake…"
The things he was doing, the things he was saying were shocking her. They'd have shocked her under any circumstances, but her blushing, squirming astonishment was heightened because this behavior was so far out of character for Drake, who'd never once said an inappropriate thing to her, and never once attempted more than an admittedly hot, deep, prolonged kiss, which she was more than eager to give by the time he first took it on their eighth date, one week and three days into their relationship.
"Answer me, Jenny." He said it with a soft voice and a warm smile, but still it felt like an order.
"No, I…not a real one. I mean, statues, and I…in a movie once, there was…"
"Was it hard?"
"What? I don't know. I mean, no. I don't think so."
"So innocent," he sighed, lifting a finger to her chest and trailing the tip over the smooth skin of her breasts, swelling just within view above the lacey border of her modest bodice. Then, watching her face, Drake's finger slipped just inside her dress, and wandered over the hills and valley of her heaving breasts.
"You know," he sighed, "I'm tempted to tear that dress off you right here."
Suddenly she was actually afraid, really scared, and she shrank back from him, shaking her head in protest.
"But I think I'll wait. Let's savor the anticipation."
His finger drew back from where it had been wandering perilously close to her taut nipple. Fifteen minutes later they pulled into his, that is, their driveway, Drake unlocked the front door, scooped her up in his arms, and carried the blushing bride Jenny over the threshold.
"Come on," Drake practically growled, flipping a switch to dimly light the stairway.
"Where?" she asked nervously.
"To the bedroom, of course, my beautiful bride."
He coaxed her ahead of him and followed her up the stairs, then guided her down the hall to the nuptial chamber. She panted like a bunny cornered by a fox as he advanced and she backed away until she bumped against a dresser. Without embracing her he leaned in and teased her lips with his until she sought his kiss. He smiled at her as he drew back.
"Turn around."
"What?"
"Turn around."
He put his hands lightly on her shoulders and guided her a hundred and eighty degrees around, unhooked the tiny clasp at the nape of her neck, and dragged the long zipper open to her waist.
"No bra," he observed aloud, turning her round to face him once more. He pressed himself against her, leaned in close, and whispered, "You can't imagine how hard my cock is, knowing I'm about to undress you."
She was amazed at how hot and soft her body felt at the same time her heart was pounding with doubt and terror. Why was he acting like this? He'd been so sweet, so gentle, so proper all through their relationship. Never in a hundred years could she have imagined him talking to her like this, treating her this way. It was as if he was being deliberately cruel. And yet…no…there was no malice in his voice. In his look. His voice was as sweet and warm as ever, his look adoring and…hungry. Not spiteful or mean. She didn't understand.
She stood stark still as he fingered the edge of her gown, pinching it delicately between the thumb and forefinger of both hands, and slowly pulled it away from her chest, peering down into her bodice. As if compelled she glanced down at Drake's vista—her breasts practically bare beneath the sheer, knit fabric of the little sewn-in slip. The sight of her nipples, dark and hard, sticking out vividly, aggravated the burning heat of her blush.
"Mmmm," he groaned, pressing his pelvis more firmly against hers, "you know, your pretty blush matches your nipples."
As Drake ran his fingertips under the elastic of the slip and began to slide it down, she half wanted to push him away, beg him to stop doing it like this, beg him to lay her on the bed, lie down beside her, kiss her sweetly, and gently introduce her to love the way she'd imagined so many times. But she hesitated to resist her new husband, who she loved so much and so wanted to please. And part of her was in an agony of want, despite, or maybe because the way it was happening seemed so…perverse.
As the elastic slid down, grazing her excited nipples, then baring them, and finally settled snugly under the swell of her breasts, leaving them tentatively exposed behind the gaping bodice of her unzipped wedding gown, she struggled against the overwhelming impulse to clasp her dress to her chest and hide herself.
"Look at those tits, Jenny. So pretty."
It would have been alright if he'd pressed the soft palms of his large, warm hands gently over her breasts. She expected that. Wanted it. But with mounting, painful embarrassment she watched him lift an index finger to his mouth, wet it with his tongue, and dip it carefully down, touching nothing until the cold wet of his fingertip slid against the tip of her erect nipple, which contracted instantaneously with the contact.
"You tease my cock in the nicest way when you wiggle like that, Jenny."
Could she be any more embarrassed?
All of a sudden humiliation disappeared and terror struck. Roland. Drake's friend Roland was standing in the doorway. In an eruption of panic Jenny let out a broken little squeak, shoved Drake back, and clutched her gown against her, wheeling around to face the wall and try to cover herself as quickly and completely as possible.
"Roland," Drakes voice rolled out smooth and warm, "you filthy peeping Tom. What are you doing here?"
"Just dropping off all the gifts, Drake. Like you asked."
"Right."
Drake turned from the doorway toward Jenny where she was trying not to crumple to the floor in total humiliation.
"Wasn’t that sweet of Roland, honey, taking care of that for us?"
"Yes." Her voice came out high and tight.
"Well, come over here and say 'thank you.'"
How could she look at him after what he'd seen? She took three deep breaths and still clutching her dress with the desperation of a drowning woman clinging to a floating scrap of wood, turned and faced him.
"Thanks, Roland," she forced out, certain her attempt at a friendly smile had completely failed.
"You know, Roland," Drake mused as he came to stand behind Jenny, wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her to him, instantly giving her a sense of protected warmth, "the whole time Jenny and I have been together, we didn't go one hair past first base. Jenny here's the genuine article. A real life virgin bride. And none of that technical virginity. She's no 'everything but' girl."
What was he saying? Why was he telling Roland this?
"Just seconds before you came in, Rols, I saw and touched her tits for the very first time. What do you think of that?"
Roland grinned.
"I think you're a lucky guy, Drake."
Roland didn't seem the least bit embarrassed by the intimate details Drake had thrust upon him.
"I am, Rols. Very, very lucky. But you know me, I'm a man who likes to share his good fortune."
Drake tipped his head and kissed Jenny's cheek warmly, then drawled, his lips brushing against her ear, "Jenny, sweet, you like Rols, don't you?"
"Yes, of course, I…" Jenny was struggling to be polite as her brain tried to make sense of the strange things Drake was saying, the way he was acting. He couldn't very well ask Roland to leave. It wouldn't be polite, especially considering he'd just loaded up a whole truckload of their gifts and driven them over from the reception. But he could at least invite him downstairs for a drink and give her a chance to zip up. Or change.
"Good. Because this is a very special night, for both of us, and I wouldn't want anything to spoil it. Now give Rols a kiss."
Confused, clueless, really, Jenny was about to step forward and give Drake's—their—friend a warm kiss on the cheek, but Drake didn't let her out of his embrace. Instead, Roland stepped toward her, bent, and kissed her lips. She started and blushed even before he moved in to kiss her again, this time drawing her bottom lip between his and brushing over it with his warm, wet tongue.
Jenny gasped and tried to jerk away, but Drake's embrace tightened around her, trapping her crossed arms against her belly as Roland sank his fingers into her hair and pressed his mouth to hers, driving his tongue between her lips.
God, what was happening? Her husband holding her still like a hostage, his friend forcing a passionate kiss on her, and her own body filling with an urgent gorgeous heat that almost drowned her panic and anxiety.
"Hasn't my wife got a sweet little mouth, Rols?"
"Mmmm. Soft, full lips," Roland groaned, gently kissing her top, then her bottom lip. "And a teasing little tongue that pretends to be hiding, then caresses your tongue so ardently."
"Drake," she sobbed, "what are you doing?"
"Teaching my virgin bride about sex, of course."
From behind he kissed her ear, licking and sucking it in a way that seemed obscene, then caused another flood of arousal to wash over her.
"Rols. Pull down the front of her dress. You won't believe what pretty tits she's got."
"Now why would that surprise me?"
Jenny writhed pointlessly against the vice grip of her husband's arms as Roland peeled the white satin bodice of her gown down to her waist. Her breasts pointed toward him through the delicate fabric of the little beige slip. Roland stepped in closer, until his body was almost pressed against hers, and curved his hands against the outer swells of her breasts, his hands drifting forward and back with the in and out of her panicked breathing. Then, gazing first at Drake, then at Jenny, Roland brought his fingertips against the pads of his thumbs and gently pinched her nipples, rolling and gently tugging them, rubbing them through the thin fabric.
"Drake! Drake, please!" Jenny whimpered through shocking pleasure and terrible confusion.
Drake said nothing, and just kept her pinned in his embrace as Roland released her nipples with a final rousing pinch, then unceremoniously tugged down the flimsy bit of beige fabric, letting her bare breasts spring free.
"Your husband's right, Jenny dear. You're breasts are gorgeous."
Roland traced the shape of them with delicate fingers, circling, converging, traversing. Then, with nothing more than a look and a smile, it seemed Roland directed Drake to draw her elbows behind her back and force her into a wanton arch, thrusting her naked breasts up toward his mouth. She felt Roland's hands lightly curve at her waist as he bent and sucked one hard, jutting nipple into his mouth. She whimpered as he began to suck, strumming his firm tongue back and forth over the throbbing tip of her breast, then let it go, the pulsing throbs swelling and fading again and again long after his mouth was off her. He bent again, this time running his tongue up the soft flesh of her other breast, then over the taut, constricted circle of dark flesh, flicking her erect nipple before sucking it into his mouth.
"Fuck, Jenny," Drake moaned, "if you thought my cock was hard in the limo, you should feel it now."
He caught her wrist and molded her hand over his fierce erection, pumping in a slow rhythm against her palm.
"Are you was wet as I am hard, Jenny dear?"
Suddenly Drake was reaching around, hiking up the front of her gown, reaching underneath, working his hand down into her stockings and panties as Roland went on nursing at her nipple. Gasping, unable to speak to protest, she felt his finger slide against her, wild sensation exploding between her thighs as he rubbed her in tiny, delicate strokes.
"Fuck, that's an awfully wet little cunt, Jenny."
She writhed, whimpering as Drake went on touching her, gliding his finger back and forth between her slippery folds as Roland cupped, squeezed and sucked her breasts.
"Mmm, you like that, don't you, my naughty girl."
"Don't let her cum, Drake."
"No?'
"No," Roland panted with a lecherous grin. "I want to eat her, make her cum with my mouth."
"There's a pretty picture. Come over here, Jenny."
Drake led her firmly toward a big upholstered armchair in the corner.
"Drake, what are you doing? Please Drake. Please. I don't want this."
"Sweet Jenny. The only reason you don’t want this is because you don't dare to want it." Then he gave her a soft, lingering kiss. "I love you, Jenny. And nothing that happens here tonight is going to change that."
He sat her down on the edge of the chair and she watched, trembling, confused, aroused beyond her wildest imagination as he dropped to his knees and reached up underneath all those gathered yards of white fabric and tugged her panties and stockings down, drawing them over her knees, pressed tightly together, around the smooth curves of her heels, and off, dropping them in a tiny little heap beside the chair.
"Pull up your dress, Jenny," Roland said, his hand meandering up and down over his erection.
"Go on, hon," Drake encouraged.
She could hardly believe it as her own hands gathered up fistfuls of wedding dress, and shakily began gathering it in her lap.
"Now spread your legs, Jenny. Show us your cunt."
Nothing within her understanding could have explained why, but she did as Drake asked, and spread her legs, giving her husband and his friend a clear view of her cunt.
"Holy fuck. Jenny, I swear to you, I've never been this hot in my whole life. You spreading like that for me and Rols, you're incredible, darling." Now Drake, too, was rubbing his hard-on through his trousers as they both gazed at her naked sex. "Rols, why don't you let her have a look at your cock. No fair, making her show hers without reciprocating."
Roland eagerly complied, unbuttoning, unzipping, and drawing forth a long, hard prick, pinkish purple, around which his fingers seemed barely able to meet, and the length of which extended beyond his fist at both ends. Watching her, he began to slowly stroke it. After a few moments he dropped to his knees beside Drake, and each of them took a leg, drawing her knees up high, perching her feet on the edge of the chair, spreading her wide. Drake took her hand and pressed his lips to her ankle, then rested his head against her calf as Roland moved in and put his tongue to her, lightly drawing it up along her wet folds, making her shudder violently. Deliciously. That feeling; it was unlike anything she'd ever imagined, unlike any sensation she'd ever experienced the few times she'd guiltily, clumsily touched herself. His tongue, soft and wet, seemed perfectly made for caressing something as delicate, as sensitive as her sex. Even as she sat there, dying of shame, of guilt, painfully confused about what this meant for her and Drake, what she felt, more than anything, was an exquisite pleasure she'd never dreamed of, and a desperate, primal need for more.
Roland was stroking his hard prick in earnest, fisting the shaft, sliding his palm over the sensitive head, now and then reaching down to caress and tug his balls as he tongued Jenny's slick cunt, opening her with each swipe of his tongue along her slit, only occasionally pausing to flicker against the swollen bud of her clit, making her yelp behind bitten lips each time, then sliding down again, tonguing her juicy creases, or closing his lips over her, working his whole mouth against her as she wiggled and sighed.
"Jenny," Drake called to her softly from where he watched every tiny detail of what his friend was doing to his wife, "touch your nipples for me, darling."
She just stared down at him in aroused awe, almost beyond thinking at this point, and wide-eyed and panting, slowly shook her head.
"Don't be shy, sweetheart. It'll feel good, and I want to watch you."
Roland went on eating her throbbing, seeping cunt as she shyly brought her fingers to her nipples and tentatively touched them.
"That's perfect, just like that, darling. Rols, stop what you're doing a sec, back off a little."
Jenny inadvertently whimpered with unexpected want as Roland took his mouth from her. Now she felt Drake's hand gliding along her inner thigh, then he was touching her where Roland's mouth had been, and she keened and writhed though she tried to be still and silent as he slid his finger between her lips and against her opening. Slowly the whole length of his finger sunk into her, making her catch and hold her breath and grip the arms of the chair in startled fear. Then she was panting as he slowly withdrew his finger, then thrust it up inside her again a little more suddenly and forcefully.
"Lick her cunt, Rols, while I finger her. Let's get her off."
Roland's tongue brushed over her clit and she groaned long and low in spite of herself, her body was so overwhelmed at having that caress again. She was dying of shame, of embarrassment beyond endurance or imagination as her husband slid his finger in and out of her wet pussy, as Roland knelt between her splayed legs licking her, but the worst shame was that she didn't want them to stop until the agonizing pleasure that was building to bursting under Roland's tongue, against Drake's penetrating finger, was released. She had never wanted, ached for anything this way in her life. It was coming, she felt it swelling, she was almost crying with need of it.
"Do you need another finger, Jenny?"
"Huh?" she panted out, a question barely distinguishable from the groaning breaths that were coming faster and harder each second.
"Ask me, Jenny. Ask me to put another finger inside of you."
"I…I don't…" Confusion, shame, anticipation were pulling her apart, and she was speechless.
"Ask me."
His hand stopped moving, and suddenly she missed, desperately needed that slow, rhythmic penetration back.
"Drake," was all she could bear to say.
"Ask me, Jenny."
"Please Drake." She was nearly crying, Roland still eagerly mouthing, licking, sucking her as he groaned against her, stroking himself.
"Please what?"
"Please…" she whimpered, "please put another finger inside me."
"Of course, darling. Anything you need."
Drake slowly stuffed two fingers into Jenny's virgin cunt, then began fucking her, so slowly it was a tormenting tease. She writhed and moaned, Drake's fingers pumping in and out, Roland's hot mouth caressing her sensitive bud. Suddenly, with a force that frightened as much as fulfilled, Jenny's climax struck, forcing a long, almost howling groan from her as she sobbed and convulsed under Drake's and Roland's caresses.
As the world came back into focus, she looked down at her husband and his friend gazing up at her. Now that the aching need of her body had been sated the full weight of her shame crashed down on her. She felt her throat closing with pending tears. But then Drake gave her such a smile, so open and warm and full of love that suddenly her guilt felt strangely…wrong. Almost ridiculous. And a moment later, she was too astonished to give her guilt any more thought. Because Drake, still smiling warmly, turned to Roland and said,
"How does my wife taste, Rols?"
And Roland playfully replied, "You should really find out for yourself, don't you think?"
And Drake said, "Oh, yes," and then, as she watched, her husband leaned forward and kissed his friend. A real, deep, hot tongue kiss. Even more than every incredible, frightening thing that had happened in that room, that kiss shook up everything about Jenny's brand new world. What her marriage was. What Drake was. What she was. Because mingled with her shock there was a deep, physical excitement in seeing her husband's tongue slide between Roland's lips, in watching their lips kissing, caressing, sucking.
"Delicious," Drake sighed as his and Roland's mouths parted.
Again Drake looked up at her, his eyes bright and playful and adoring, his smile warm and earnest. How could one look from him unsettle her shock, which was so deep and which was rooted in her fundamental understanding of the world?
O O O O O
1) How do you find the dialogue? I want it to be saucy and playful, but would like it to be plausibly real, as well.
2) From what's here, does it seem obvious that Drake and Roland planned this ahead of time? Or do I inadvertently give the impression that Roland just stumbled upon the bride & groom, and what follows is spontaneous?
3) What is your impression, at the point of the break, of the level of coercion in the scene? Do Drake and Roland come off as rapists, or do you see Jenny reluctantly giving in to something she actually wants?
Thank you!
-Varian
Following is my attempt at something a bit lighter than what I usually write. It's a first draft, quite off the top of my head, so please feel free to eviscerate, should you feel the urge. I'll put a few specific questions at the end, but critiques of all kinds will be sincerely appreciated.
Wedding Night
She didn't know quite how it had happened. But it had. Her twenty-fourth birthday came and went, and there she was, still unmarried. Worse. Practically undated. Alright, there'd been a couple guys, here and there, who'd taken momentary interest, asked her out, sometimes to dinner, sometimes to the movies. One had even asked her, after a couple casual dates, to go with him for a long weekend at Vale.
What a mistake that had been. He'd known full well her stance on pre-marital sex, then acted as if it was some huge surprise when she refused to share the room with just one double bed. Then the other couple had acted so put out when she took up residence on the living room couch. She'd thought at least the girl would understand. That was what you got, she decided, when you dated outside the church. Pushy guys with selfish friends who looked at you like a freak from outer space when they realized they were in the room with a living, breathing twenty-something virgin.
When birthday number twenty-five loomed just weeks ahead, and not so much as a prospective boyfriend was on the radar, Jenny broke the solemn vow she'd taken after that nightmare weekend in Vale, and accepted an invitation to lunch with Joseph Drake. Definitely not from the church.
But so dreamy. Fine, it sounded corny, like the narrative from a Gilmore Girls episode or a Sweet Valley High novel. But apt.
Dreamy. Unbelievably handsome. Without question the best looking guy who'd ever flattered her with more than an obligatory sentence or two of small talk. And, in spite of his dubious lack of devoutness, really quite the gentleman. Wonderfully polite and attentive. He'd arrived promptly to pick her up, graciously opened doors, pulled out her chair, paid the check. And then, when he'd driven her home and walked her to her door, as she stood in nervous dread, afraid that her dream date was about to be forever sullied in her memory, that a hundred tiny hopes that were taking shape were about to be crushed by a request to come inside, or a premature and presumptuous attempt at a tongue kiss, he'd smiled sweetly, taken her hand, and planted a soft and perfectly appropriate kiss on her cheek, then left with no more than a promise to call. Which he did.
Five weeks later, on her birthday, it happened. He asked her to marry him. Almost out of her mind with joy, she, of course, accepted.
It was a short engagement, and the wedding was not as lavish as the one she'd always dreamt of. But it was lovely. A fine spring day in gorgeous Rusholme Park, under the arch of a little white gazebo with flowers cascading overhead. The only thing that nearly spoiled it all for her was the absence of her family who had first professed to dislike Drake (as she called him, finding it a more romantic name than Joseph, in part because it sounded a little dangerous), then protested to the brief engagement, and finally cut off communication with her altogether when she said in an obstinate way that was wholly uncharacteristic, that she'd marry him whether they liked it or not, and on the day of Drake's and her choosing.
Well, there was one other thing that troubled her. He'd made it clear—with painful finality—that he would not be adopting the ways of her faith or escorting her to church. She could do as she pleased, of course, but he made no pretense that he found her devout adherence to the Christian faith more admirable than amusing.
Still, he'd consented to a Christian wedding, and the words of the preacher blessing their union filled her with all the joyful promise a wedding day could bring a young woman. And as she looked at Drake beaming down at her with his warm smile and adoring gaze, she knew that he loved her. That they'd be happy.
The reception after was a blur of dancing, eating, sips of champagne, chatting and laughter with guests. It wasn't until they said good-bye to their friends and his family and climbed into the limousine, pulling yards and yards of white crinoline and satin and lace in after her, that the surreal whirlwind ceased whipping her attention all about with such speed she could hardly catch her breath, and they could finally really be together.
She was married! To Drake! She could hardly stop from smiling like a maniac, she was so happy. And when she looked at him, he looked just as happy. He pulled her to him, kissed her long and deep, then told her he loved her.
They rode along in silence for a while, Jenny thinking back happily on the day she imagined more than remembered. Picturing herself standing at the altar in her white gown, Drake slipping the platinum band onto her finger, they way they'd looked at each other over champagne flutes as they clinked after each toast.
"So quiet," her husband murmured beside her in a warm husky tone. "What are you thinking about?"
"Oh, just…I can't believe we're actually married," she ended with an embarrassed laugh.
Drake was eleven years older than Jenny, and she still felt a little awkward with him. A little in awe of him, and always kind of on guard against coming off as too immature or silly.
"Neither can I," he mused with dreamy eyes.
Then he nuzzled into her hair, kissing her behind the ear, then on her lobe, then her cheek, her neck. She startled when she felt his hot wet tongue slide along her jaw, against the crease of her ear, then felt him suck and nibble at her lobe. Something strange happened to her body. A flood of heat, a weird ticklish feeling poured over her. She sucked in her breath with pleasure and shock. He'd never done that before. He laughed gently as she pulled back and looked at him, blushing at the realization of where all the throbbing heat he'd created had settled.
"You're not nervous, are you?" he asked. "About tonight?"
She felt her face go bright pink. She'd made it clear, when they first started dating, that she was saving herself for marriage, and he'd said he thought that was sweet, and that was the last they'd said a word on the topic. Jenny couldn't even find the words to answer him.
"Tell your husband something, Jenny," he murmured with a warm smile, "how many lovers have you had?"
Her face and chest were hot as she stammered, "You…you know…I've never…"
"Ssshhh," he chuckled softly, stroking her arm, "I know you're a virgin, my bride. I'm not questioning that. But surely you have a little experience with men?"
"You…you mean have I dated? Sure, I mean, a little. Nothing serious. You know that."
She was flustered and nervous. Somehow his questions made her feel she was being accused of something.
"Jenny, my love, there's no need to be defensive."
He nuzzled her neck, kissed her cheek warmly.
"I just want to know what you know of love. Know what you've experienced, and what will be new to you. You can tell me everything. Even if you were to tell me—and I know you haven't, but just as an example—even if you were to tell me you'd slept with a man, or more than one man, I'd love you just the same. It's just that I want to know you, know how to be with you. Is that alright?"
He was kissing her neck so tenderly, caressing her arm and holding her hand so sweetly that her anxiety fell away, displaced by her love of him, her happiness to be called "my love" and "my bride" by him, and that strange, giddy ticklish warmth cascading over her.
"Yes. Of course."
These men you've dated. You've kissed them?"
"Some of them, yes."
"Real kisses? Hot, deep tongue kisses?"
She felt herself blushing again, and the breathy way he was talking had that funny heat swirling in her belly.
"Yes, with a couple of them."
"And those kisses, did they get you aroused?"
She didn't understand. He didn't sound jealous. On the contrary, he seemed, well, turned on. After the couple glasses of champagne she'd had at the reception, the idea that already, before they'd even gotten to his house—their house—she was arousing her husband, just with words, made her giddy with arousal and, well, pride.
"Did they?" he repeated.
"Yes," she answered softly, embarrassed in spite of the excitement of everything.
"I'm glad."
He put the hand he'd been holding on his thigh. Suddenly she was thinking about his body. Through the smooth fabric of his trousers she could feel that his thigh was firm, almost hard with muscle. It felt so different from her own thighs which, though reasonably toned, were soft by comparison. She wondered if the rest of him could be so hard. Soon she'd know, she thought with another blush, how his chest, his back, his stomach felt. And not through clothes. The thought of his naked body scared her at the same time it aroused her.
"Even though you're a virgin, Jenny, and even though we haven't done more than kiss, I have a feeling you're an ardent woman. I'm glad that kisses arouse you," he gave her a soft, lingering kiss on the lips, "because when I kiss you, when I touch you, I want it to excite you…" he slid her hand up his thigh, "…as much as it excites me."
It took her a minute to realize what that other hardness was that her thumb was now resting against. She yanked her hand away out of shock before she realized what she was doing.
"Never felt that before, Jenny dear?" he breathed at her ear.
He caught her wrist at her waist and drew her hand back, this time pressing her palm right to his stiff cock.
"Have you?"
She shook her head no, not trusting her voice.
Not even like this," he moved her hand slowly back and forth over his hard length, "through a man's clothes?"
"No."
"Have you ever seen one?"
"Seen?"
"A man's cock."
"Drake…"
The things he was doing, the things he was saying were shocking her. They'd have shocked her under any circumstances, but her blushing, squirming astonishment was heightened because this behavior was so far out of character for Drake, who'd never once said an inappropriate thing to her, and never once attempted more than an admittedly hot, deep, prolonged kiss, which she was more than eager to give by the time he first took it on their eighth date, one week and three days into their relationship.
"Answer me, Jenny." He said it with a soft voice and a warm smile, but still it felt like an order.
"No, I…not a real one. I mean, statues, and I…in a movie once, there was…"
"Was it hard?"
"What? I don't know. I mean, no. I don't think so."
"So innocent," he sighed, lifting a finger to her chest and trailing the tip over the smooth skin of her breasts, swelling just within view above the lacey border of her modest bodice. Then, watching her face, Drake's finger slipped just inside her dress, and wandered over the hills and valley of her heaving breasts.
"You know," he sighed, "I'm tempted to tear that dress off you right here."
Suddenly she was actually afraid, really scared, and she shrank back from him, shaking her head in protest.
"But I think I'll wait. Let's savor the anticipation."
His finger drew back from where it had been wandering perilously close to her taut nipple. Fifteen minutes later they pulled into his, that is, their driveway, Drake unlocked the front door, scooped her up in his arms, and carried the blushing bride Jenny over the threshold.
"Come on," Drake practically growled, flipping a switch to dimly light the stairway.
"Where?" she asked nervously.
"To the bedroom, of course, my beautiful bride."
He coaxed her ahead of him and followed her up the stairs, then guided her down the hall to the nuptial chamber. She panted like a bunny cornered by a fox as he advanced and she backed away until she bumped against a dresser. Without embracing her he leaned in and teased her lips with his until she sought his kiss. He smiled at her as he drew back.
"Turn around."
"What?"
"Turn around."
He put his hands lightly on her shoulders and guided her a hundred and eighty degrees around, unhooked the tiny clasp at the nape of her neck, and dragged the long zipper open to her waist.
"No bra," he observed aloud, turning her round to face him once more. He pressed himself against her, leaned in close, and whispered, "You can't imagine how hard my cock is, knowing I'm about to undress you."
She was amazed at how hot and soft her body felt at the same time her heart was pounding with doubt and terror. Why was he acting like this? He'd been so sweet, so gentle, so proper all through their relationship. Never in a hundred years could she have imagined him talking to her like this, treating her this way. It was as if he was being deliberately cruel. And yet…no…there was no malice in his voice. In his look. His voice was as sweet and warm as ever, his look adoring and…hungry. Not spiteful or mean. She didn't understand.
She stood stark still as he fingered the edge of her gown, pinching it delicately between the thumb and forefinger of both hands, and slowly pulled it away from her chest, peering down into her bodice. As if compelled she glanced down at Drake's vista—her breasts practically bare beneath the sheer, knit fabric of the little sewn-in slip. The sight of her nipples, dark and hard, sticking out vividly, aggravated the burning heat of her blush.
"Mmmm," he groaned, pressing his pelvis more firmly against hers, "you know, your pretty blush matches your nipples."
As Drake ran his fingertips under the elastic of the slip and began to slide it down, she half wanted to push him away, beg him to stop doing it like this, beg him to lay her on the bed, lie down beside her, kiss her sweetly, and gently introduce her to love the way she'd imagined so many times. But she hesitated to resist her new husband, who she loved so much and so wanted to please. And part of her was in an agony of want, despite, or maybe because the way it was happening seemed so…perverse.
As the elastic slid down, grazing her excited nipples, then baring them, and finally settled snugly under the swell of her breasts, leaving them tentatively exposed behind the gaping bodice of her unzipped wedding gown, she struggled against the overwhelming impulse to clasp her dress to her chest and hide herself.
"Look at those tits, Jenny. So pretty."
It would have been alright if he'd pressed the soft palms of his large, warm hands gently over her breasts. She expected that. Wanted it. But with mounting, painful embarrassment she watched him lift an index finger to his mouth, wet it with his tongue, and dip it carefully down, touching nothing until the cold wet of his fingertip slid against the tip of her erect nipple, which contracted instantaneously with the contact.
"You tease my cock in the nicest way when you wiggle like that, Jenny."
Could she be any more embarrassed?
All of a sudden humiliation disappeared and terror struck. Roland. Drake's friend Roland was standing in the doorway. In an eruption of panic Jenny let out a broken little squeak, shoved Drake back, and clutched her gown against her, wheeling around to face the wall and try to cover herself as quickly and completely as possible.
"Roland," Drakes voice rolled out smooth and warm, "you filthy peeping Tom. What are you doing here?"
"Just dropping off all the gifts, Drake. Like you asked."
"Right."
Drake turned from the doorway toward Jenny where she was trying not to crumple to the floor in total humiliation.
"Wasn’t that sweet of Roland, honey, taking care of that for us?"
"Yes." Her voice came out high and tight.
"Well, come over here and say 'thank you.'"
How could she look at him after what he'd seen? She took three deep breaths and still clutching her dress with the desperation of a drowning woman clinging to a floating scrap of wood, turned and faced him.
"Thanks, Roland," she forced out, certain her attempt at a friendly smile had completely failed.
"You know, Roland," Drake mused as he came to stand behind Jenny, wrapping his arms around her waist and holding her to him, instantly giving her a sense of protected warmth, "the whole time Jenny and I have been together, we didn't go one hair past first base. Jenny here's the genuine article. A real life virgin bride. And none of that technical virginity. She's no 'everything but' girl."
What was he saying? Why was he telling Roland this?
"Just seconds before you came in, Rols, I saw and touched her tits for the very first time. What do you think of that?"
Roland grinned.
"I think you're a lucky guy, Drake."
Roland didn't seem the least bit embarrassed by the intimate details Drake had thrust upon him.
"I am, Rols. Very, very lucky. But you know me, I'm a man who likes to share his good fortune."
Drake tipped his head and kissed Jenny's cheek warmly, then drawled, his lips brushing against her ear, "Jenny, sweet, you like Rols, don't you?"
"Yes, of course, I…" Jenny was struggling to be polite as her brain tried to make sense of the strange things Drake was saying, the way he was acting. He couldn't very well ask Roland to leave. It wouldn't be polite, especially considering he'd just loaded up a whole truckload of their gifts and driven them over from the reception. But he could at least invite him downstairs for a drink and give her a chance to zip up. Or change.
"Good. Because this is a very special night, for both of us, and I wouldn't want anything to spoil it. Now give Rols a kiss."
Confused, clueless, really, Jenny was about to step forward and give Drake's—their—friend a warm kiss on the cheek, but Drake didn't let her out of his embrace. Instead, Roland stepped toward her, bent, and kissed her lips. She started and blushed even before he moved in to kiss her again, this time drawing her bottom lip between his and brushing over it with his warm, wet tongue.
Jenny gasped and tried to jerk away, but Drake's embrace tightened around her, trapping her crossed arms against her belly as Roland sank his fingers into her hair and pressed his mouth to hers, driving his tongue between her lips.
God, what was happening? Her husband holding her still like a hostage, his friend forcing a passionate kiss on her, and her own body filling with an urgent gorgeous heat that almost drowned her panic and anxiety.
"Hasn't my wife got a sweet little mouth, Rols?"
"Mmmm. Soft, full lips," Roland groaned, gently kissing her top, then her bottom lip. "And a teasing little tongue that pretends to be hiding, then caresses your tongue so ardently."
"Drake," she sobbed, "what are you doing?"
"Teaching my virgin bride about sex, of course."
From behind he kissed her ear, licking and sucking it in a way that seemed obscene, then caused another flood of arousal to wash over her.
"Rols. Pull down the front of her dress. You won't believe what pretty tits she's got."
"Now why would that surprise me?"
Jenny writhed pointlessly against the vice grip of her husband's arms as Roland peeled the white satin bodice of her gown down to her waist. Her breasts pointed toward him through the delicate fabric of the little beige slip. Roland stepped in closer, until his body was almost pressed against hers, and curved his hands against the outer swells of her breasts, his hands drifting forward and back with the in and out of her panicked breathing. Then, gazing first at Drake, then at Jenny, Roland brought his fingertips against the pads of his thumbs and gently pinched her nipples, rolling and gently tugging them, rubbing them through the thin fabric.
"Drake! Drake, please!" Jenny whimpered through shocking pleasure and terrible confusion.
Drake said nothing, and just kept her pinned in his embrace as Roland released her nipples with a final rousing pinch, then unceremoniously tugged down the flimsy bit of beige fabric, letting her bare breasts spring free.
"Your husband's right, Jenny dear. You're breasts are gorgeous."
Roland traced the shape of them with delicate fingers, circling, converging, traversing. Then, with nothing more than a look and a smile, it seemed Roland directed Drake to draw her elbows behind her back and force her into a wanton arch, thrusting her naked breasts up toward his mouth. She felt Roland's hands lightly curve at her waist as he bent and sucked one hard, jutting nipple into his mouth. She whimpered as he began to suck, strumming his firm tongue back and forth over the throbbing tip of her breast, then let it go, the pulsing throbs swelling and fading again and again long after his mouth was off her. He bent again, this time running his tongue up the soft flesh of her other breast, then over the taut, constricted circle of dark flesh, flicking her erect nipple before sucking it into his mouth.
"Fuck, Jenny," Drake moaned, "if you thought my cock was hard in the limo, you should feel it now."
He caught her wrist and molded her hand over his fierce erection, pumping in a slow rhythm against her palm.
"Are you was wet as I am hard, Jenny dear?"
Suddenly Drake was reaching around, hiking up the front of her gown, reaching underneath, working his hand down into her stockings and panties as Roland went on nursing at her nipple. Gasping, unable to speak to protest, she felt his finger slide against her, wild sensation exploding between her thighs as he rubbed her in tiny, delicate strokes.
"Fuck, that's an awfully wet little cunt, Jenny."
She writhed, whimpering as Drake went on touching her, gliding his finger back and forth between her slippery folds as Roland cupped, squeezed and sucked her breasts.
"Mmm, you like that, don't you, my naughty girl."
"Don't let her cum, Drake."
"No?'
"No," Roland panted with a lecherous grin. "I want to eat her, make her cum with my mouth."
"There's a pretty picture. Come over here, Jenny."
Drake led her firmly toward a big upholstered armchair in the corner.
"Drake, what are you doing? Please Drake. Please. I don't want this."
"Sweet Jenny. The only reason you don’t want this is because you don't dare to want it." Then he gave her a soft, lingering kiss. "I love you, Jenny. And nothing that happens here tonight is going to change that."
He sat her down on the edge of the chair and she watched, trembling, confused, aroused beyond her wildest imagination as he dropped to his knees and reached up underneath all those gathered yards of white fabric and tugged her panties and stockings down, drawing them over her knees, pressed tightly together, around the smooth curves of her heels, and off, dropping them in a tiny little heap beside the chair.
"Pull up your dress, Jenny," Roland said, his hand meandering up and down over his erection.
"Go on, hon," Drake encouraged.
She could hardly believe it as her own hands gathered up fistfuls of wedding dress, and shakily began gathering it in her lap.
"Now spread your legs, Jenny. Show us your cunt."
Nothing within her understanding could have explained why, but she did as Drake asked, and spread her legs, giving her husband and his friend a clear view of her cunt.
"Holy fuck. Jenny, I swear to you, I've never been this hot in my whole life. You spreading like that for me and Rols, you're incredible, darling." Now Drake, too, was rubbing his hard-on through his trousers as they both gazed at her naked sex. "Rols, why don't you let her have a look at your cock. No fair, making her show hers without reciprocating."
Roland eagerly complied, unbuttoning, unzipping, and drawing forth a long, hard prick, pinkish purple, around which his fingers seemed barely able to meet, and the length of which extended beyond his fist at both ends. Watching her, he began to slowly stroke it. After a few moments he dropped to his knees beside Drake, and each of them took a leg, drawing her knees up high, perching her feet on the edge of the chair, spreading her wide. Drake took her hand and pressed his lips to her ankle, then rested his head against her calf as Roland moved in and put his tongue to her, lightly drawing it up along her wet folds, making her shudder violently. Deliciously. That feeling; it was unlike anything she'd ever imagined, unlike any sensation she'd ever experienced the few times she'd guiltily, clumsily touched herself. His tongue, soft and wet, seemed perfectly made for caressing something as delicate, as sensitive as her sex. Even as she sat there, dying of shame, of guilt, painfully confused about what this meant for her and Drake, what she felt, more than anything, was an exquisite pleasure she'd never dreamed of, and a desperate, primal need for more.
Roland was stroking his hard prick in earnest, fisting the shaft, sliding his palm over the sensitive head, now and then reaching down to caress and tug his balls as he tongued Jenny's slick cunt, opening her with each swipe of his tongue along her slit, only occasionally pausing to flicker against the swollen bud of her clit, making her yelp behind bitten lips each time, then sliding down again, tonguing her juicy creases, or closing his lips over her, working his whole mouth against her as she wiggled and sighed.
"Jenny," Drake called to her softly from where he watched every tiny detail of what his friend was doing to his wife, "touch your nipples for me, darling."
She just stared down at him in aroused awe, almost beyond thinking at this point, and wide-eyed and panting, slowly shook her head.
"Don't be shy, sweetheart. It'll feel good, and I want to watch you."
Roland went on eating her throbbing, seeping cunt as she shyly brought her fingers to her nipples and tentatively touched them.
"That's perfect, just like that, darling. Rols, stop what you're doing a sec, back off a little."
Jenny inadvertently whimpered with unexpected want as Roland took his mouth from her. Now she felt Drake's hand gliding along her inner thigh, then he was touching her where Roland's mouth had been, and she keened and writhed though she tried to be still and silent as he slid his finger between her lips and against her opening. Slowly the whole length of his finger sunk into her, making her catch and hold her breath and grip the arms of the chair in startled fear. Then she was panting as he slowly withdrew his finger, then thrust it up inside her again a little more suddenly and forcefully.
"Lick her cunt, Rols, while I finger her. Let's get her off."
Roland's tongue brushed over her clit and she groaned long and low in spite of herself, her body was so overwhelmed at having that caress again. She was dying of shame, of embarrassment beyond endurance or imagination as her husband slid his finger in and out of her wet pussy, as Roland knelt between her splayed legs licking her, but the worst shame was that she didn't want them to stop until the agonizing pleasure that was building to bursting under Roland's tongue, against Drake's penetrating finger, was released. She had never wanted, ached for anything this way in her life. It was coming, she felt it swelling, she was almost crying with need of it.
"Do you need another finger, Jenny?"
"Huh?" she panted out, a question barely distinguishable from the groaning breaths that were coming faster and harder each second.
"Ask me, Jenny. Ask me to put another finger inside of you."
"I…I don't…" Confusion, shame, anticipation were pulling her apart, and she was speechless.
"Ask me."
His hand stopped moving, and suddenly she missed, desperately needed that slow, rhythmic penetration back.
"Drake," was all she could bear to say.
"Ask me, Jenny."
"Please Drake." She was nearly crying, Roland still eagerly mouthing, licking, sucking her as he groaned against her, stroking himself.
"Please what?"
"Please…" she whimpered, "please put another finger inside me."
"Of course, darling. Anything you need."
Drake slowly stuffed two fingers into Jenny's virgin cunt, then began fucking her, so slowly it was a tormenting tease. She writhed and moaned, Drake's fingers pumping in and out, Roland's hot mouth caressing her sensitive bud. Suddenly, with a force that frightened as much as fulfilled, Jenny's climax struck, forcing a long, almost howling groan from her as she sobbed and convulsed under Drake's and Roland's caresses.
As the world came back into focus, she looked down at her husband and his friend gazing up at her. Now that the aching need of her body had been sated the full weight of her shame crashed down on her. She felt her throat closing with pending tears. But then Drake gave her such a smile, so open and warm and full of love that suddenly her guilt felt strangely…wrong. Almost ridiculous. And a moment later, she was too astonished to give her guilt any more thought. Because Drake, still smiling warmly, turned to Roland and said,
"How does my wife taste, Rols?"
And Roland playfully replied, "You should really find out for yourself, don't you think?"
And Drake said, "Oh, yes," and then, as she watched, her husband leaned forward and kissed his friend. A real, deep, hot tongue kiss. Even more than every incredible, frightening thing that had happened in that room, that kiss shook up everything about Jenny's brand new world. What her marriage was. What Drake was. What she was. Because mingled with her shock there was a deep, physical excitement in seeing her husband's tongue slide between Roland's lips, in watching their lips kissing, caressing, sucking.
"Delicious," Drake sighed as his and Roland's mouths parted.
Again Drake looked up at her, his eyes bright and playful and adoring, his smile warm and earnest. How could one look from him unsettle her shock, which was so deep and which was rooted in her fundamental understanding of the world?
O O O O O
1) How do you find the dialogue? I want it to be saucy and playful, but would like it to be plausibly real, as well.
2) From what's here, does it seem obvious that Drake and Roland planned this ahead of time? Or do I inadvertently give the impression that Roland just stumbled upon the bride & groom, and what follows is spontaneous?
3) What is your impression, at the point of the break, of the level of coercion in the scene? Do Drake and Roland come off as rapists, or do you see Jenny reluctantly giving in to something she actually wants?
Thank you!
-Varian
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I wouldn't want you to imagine for an instant I don't think highly of your skills as an author. If I wasn't sleepy just now, I'd probably go and read Changed Girl. More on this after the answers to the specific questions.
