The Last To Know - What I did while we were Engaged

by Bridy McAvoy

  I collapsed down onto the bed, legs splayed obscenely with Ric’s spunk dripping out of me onto my thighs and the duvet. That had been one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life.

  A hand appeared in front of my face, offering me some tissue, and I rolled over to find they’d both left the room, allowing me to clean up in private. That was a nice touch, and made me like the two of them even more.

  Once I’d cleaned up, I eased out of the Merry Widow and undid the garters. I left the stockings on once I saw I’d still got the shoes on anyway. Swinging my legs off the bed, I rose and walked out into the living area. Frank held out a beer to me and the three of us clinked bottles and drank. The fact we were all nude didn’t seem to bother them, and it didn’t bother me.

  As you might expect, we did it again a little while later, only this time Frank experienced my pussy and Ric had my mouth. They both lasted longer and by the time they had both cum, I was nothing more than a limp noodle on the bed, my mouth and my pussy both too sore for any further action. They both dressed and, after kissing my cheek and making sure I was okay, they wished me good night and left.

  It was an evening I’d remember for several reasons, not least being it was the last time I fucked two men at the same time and, given what you did the following Saturday, almost the last time I fucked anybody other than you.

  Chapter Seven – Proposal

  “Almost?”

  “Yes, honey, almost.”

  “And exactly what does ‘almost’ mean?”

  She looked down at the floor and then up at me again, her eyes meeting mine. There was no defiance there, but there was a steely determination. “I’ll come to that, and it wasn’t what you think, but let me tell you this in sequence.”

  After a moment I nodded. I’d hoped—I mean really hoped—that her confession would end when she told me her side of what happened between us up to the engagement, that the engagement had meant we’d gone exclusive. Now, though, she’d just dashed that—or had she?

  Then I remembered her out-of-state hen weekend. Comprehension dawned. Maybe that’s when any further infidelity had happened. Can you call it infidelity if we weren’t actually married at the time? Guilt also sparked in my own mind. I remembered my own stag do, and what Bruce had arranged. She’d never found out about that.

  Maybe that had been a simple draw, cancelling each other out. I knew then that if she confessed to something about that weekend, I would do the same—it would be hypocritical not to, although I doubt my sordid experience would be a patch on hers.

  She’d been watching me as I thought, her eyes staring at my face as she clearly tried to get a read on me. I smiled and checked the clock. I needed to divert her away from any idea of what I’d been thinking about.

  “Lunch?”

  “Sure.” She smiled. “Something hot or cold?”

  “I’ve kind of got a hankering for some grilled cheese.”

  “Hmmm… Sounds good, lover. Side salad?”

  “Yeah, but hold the potato salad. Keep it simple. No mayo either. That way we can eat better tonight.”

  “What are we going to have tonight?”

  I chuckled. “I was thinking pizza, garlic bread, and the works, maybe chicken wings on the side, cheesecake to follow seeing as the weather’s cleared so the hot tub becomes usable again.”

  “Take-out?” She grinned in agreement. “You grill the sandwiches while I do the salad?”

  “Deal.”

  After lunch we moved to the den—it was sunnier in the afternoon than the main rooms on the other side of the house.

  * * * *

  Friday was completely uneventful. We were busy, busier than usual, so I guess my boss didn’t have chance to quiz me about what had happened the night before. I did catch him looking at me a couple of times, that sly smile on his lips. I don’t think there was one moment in the day when the library didn’t have at least half a dozen people visiting. It was so busy. My peace of mind wasn’t helped by a sequence of flirty texts all day. I guess, since you didn’t have to study anymore during the day, and your shift at the shop didn’t start until three, you decided to torment me. However nicely you asked, I was not going to describe my underwear to you by text message. That particular chain of texts made me blush.

  Don’t worry, I loved it, but usually couldn’t respond. In the end I put my phone on silent to stop it disturbing anyone. I did send a couple of Stop it, I’m busy messages, but you just ignored me. I sent you an I love you and miraculously I got an answer to that and the texts stopped. I hadn’t figured out your game, but I’d hit on the correct answer by accident. Your reply put a lump in my throat by the way—once I worked out what ILU MTLI meant. ILU was obvious but the second bit I had to look up on the internet. I had no idea it meant More Than Life Itself.

  At least your texts dried up at three. You’d gone to work, and I was able to concentrate on getting everything tidied away to make a fast getaway at closing time. Even so, I had a spring in my step that Mr. Bryant noticed. At closing time he locked the doors while I tidied up the main desk and finished logging the last few book returns on the computer. I didn’t hear him sneak up behind me.

  Suddenly he was there, planting a soft kiss on my cheek. His arms wrapped around me and he hugged me as I spun around on my chair, startled.

  “I hope you’ve got him read right. Just have fun tomorrow. Enjoy the moment.”

  He was acting so nicely, I found myself hating my own thoughts as I wondered what he was up to.

  He pulled away and stepped back. “I mean it, Sammie. I think you’ve found your soul mate with this one.”

  “Yeah, I think so, too.”

  “Go on, get out of here. I’ll finish up.”

  I didn’t need telling twice. I closed down my computer and grabbed my purse. As I walked past him I leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

  “Scoot.”

  He mock frowned at me and, laughing, I let myself out. It was only then I realized he hadn’t touched me all week except for those few seconds at my request the day before. Definitely a first.

  Friday night was spent lazily. I took my usual long bath, shave, and did all the things I knew I needed to do before our date, a date that was becoming a Big Date in my mind—all in capital letters. I wanted to make sure I had covered every possible base. I even spent ten minutes in front of the mirror, contorting into every possible position to see if the two younger Bryants had left any marks on my body that I hadn’t found the night before. Nothing—no hickies, no bruises, no red marks where they’d gripped too hard.

  After a light salad—I was a bit too wound up to eat much—I remembered what you’d done to me all day, and that for the next hour, hour and a half, I had the chance to get you back. Five seconds later my phone was in my hand. I’d pulled on a simple T-shirt and shorts combination—soft cotton ones that hugged me—and not bothered with any underwear. In fact, I’d decided not to wear a bra at all, and wouldn’t until Sunday. I didn’t want any chance of bra strap lines showing on my skin if I ended up with a dress that displayed my shoulders or my back, or both.

  What are you wearing, honey?

  Are you hard?

  Are you glad you have the till to hide that boner behind while you think of me?

  I was just warming up and it was immense fun. Revenge is a fun dish, and you’d embarrassed me earlier in the day so I was going to return the favor in spades. Of course, I’d forgotten you weren’t allowed to have your phone with you as you worked—it was in your locker. You got a lot of text messages in one go that night.

  “Yeah, I did. When I switched my phone on and saw thirty plus messages my heart was in my mouth.”

  “Sorry, honey.”

  “When I’d seen what you’d been doing, and what the picture messages were, I managed to make sure Billy and the other guy on duty didn’t get to see the screen.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “Let’s just say Billy’s view of you
as an ice-maiden would have changed if he’d seen a couple of those pictures.”

  She chuckled and then went back to telling her side of the story.

  I took a couple of selfies, and sent them, then pulled my T-shirt up to just below my breasts and took that one. I turned my back to the mirror, and pushed my shorts down, revealing the top half of my butt, and pulled my shirt up to my neck and took another. Then I partly turned so you could see the curve of my breasts, but not quite the nipple, and took another. Actually I had to take three before I got the angle right. Finally I placed the camera lens right close to my nipple and took another picture. That one took four or five attempts too.

  Over the next hour I drip-fed you the images, but of course you got them all in one go later.

  At ten past nine my phone rang and it was you. That’s when I found out you couldn’t have your phone with you while you worked. So my deliberately spaced delivery of sexy selfies had actually arrived in one lump. At least you took it in good heart. We were both laughing and giggling about all of the day’s exchanges. We would have seemed like teenagers to anyone listening, but you had your doctorate and I was about to take my ALA exams and qualify as a senior librarian.

  Eventually, I let you go. You needed to get something to eat, and I needed some sleep—I had a long day on Saturday. You didn’t know it, but I’d booked to have my hair done in the afternoon, and I wanted to spend the morning shopping for that perfect dress, probably with the perfect underwear and shoes to go with it.

  * * * *

  I was at the mall not long after the shops opened, wearing easy-on, easy-off clothes because I knew I’d end up trying on a lot of dresses. I spent an hour in the first shop not getting anywhere, but struck it lucky in the second one.

  “Are you looking for something specific?”

  The shop assistant’s question startled me and I spun around.

  “Sorry, you made me jump.”

  “Didn’t mean to. Are you looking for something specific?”

  “Specific, no—special, yes.”

  “Ah, a special occasion?”

  I must have blushed a little because she laughed before I could answer. I read her name tag as Klara and she was maybe ten years older than me.

  “Yes, I think so.”

  “You think so?”

  I giggled, I couldn’t help it. “Big date. I get the idea that my boyfriend might be asking me something tonight.”

  “I take it he’s dropped hints.”

  We both laughed as I nodded.

  “Let me guess. You want a dress that will blow him away and remind him what he’d be missing if he didn’t.”

  “Something like that, yes.”

  “Then you’re in the wrong section of the shop. The special occasion dresses are over here.” She led me over toward the back of the shop and gestured toward a row, appraising me as she did. “How sexy do you want to go?”

  “Sexy, I guess, not…risqué.”

  “Of course. So where is the lucky man taking you?”

  “He won’t say, but he did say it was classy.”

  “Ah. Franko’s, Siciliano’s, or The Burnt Tree then.”

  “My thoughts too. If he’s keeping it a surprise, I guess that’s a good sign.”

  “So for you, with such nice legs, I guess it’ll be short, with stockings rather than hose?”

  “I don’t wear hose, ever.”

  “Good girl.” She winked. “Nor do I. It keeps my husband very affectionate.”

  I couldn’t respond to that, so busied myself looking along the rack.

  She moved along the other side. “You’re an eight? Or a six with a fuller bust?”

  “The latter.”

  “And if I miss my guess, you’re braless because you don’t want strap marks to show, so you’re thinking backless halter neck, or at least strapless. Am I correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I would suggest this one.”

  She pulled a dress from the rack and held it up. It was black, and clearly halter neck, but for me it was girly.

  “Too frilly.”

  “You want something with a smoother outline, to enhance your own assets?”

  “I guess.”

  “Then this one?”

  She pulled out dress after dress and we ended up with a choice of three and she led me back to the fitting room. For a minute I thought she was going to insist on accompanying me into the fitting room, but she didn’t. The first dress—a nice blue one—was okay, but not for a special occasion. I put it back on its hanger and picked up the maroon one. The second I straightened after smoothing out the skirt, I knew it was the one. The woman looking back at me from the mirror was just gorgeous. I let out a squeal of delight. Karla was there moments later, peeking around the curtain.

  “I take it you like this one. It certainly looks good on you.”

  “It’s gorgeous.”

  “Turn around slowly.”

  She opened the curtain all the way so she could stand in the opening rather than crane her neck through the small hole she’d made to peep through.

  The dress came just short of mid-thigh, so was a mini-dress, but it wasn’t stupidly short. I could visualize what a pair of stockings would look like and the tops would be covered when I was standing. Not so sure that would be case sitting down, and I wouldn’t bend down in public in it. The back stopped just about waist level. You’d said it was a backless kind of place we were going to, and this dress was backless. It was side-less too, just a narrow halter neck that tied off securely under my hair and widened as it swooped down the front to meet just below my breasts. The waist sat a little high, gathered so as to hold the two strips that was all that covered my breasts.

  “Lift your arms and check the side view.”

  I did as she asked and saw the way the strips pulled themselves toward the center. I wasn’t exactly flashing a side-boob, but you could see a little of the outside of my breast. It wasn’t indecent, and it wasn’t slutty—but it was sexy.

  “Happy with that?”

  “Yeah. I’ll take it.”

  Her face split into a grin. “I assume you checked the price tag.”

  “Nope.”

  “It is almost five hundred dollars.”

  I pursed my lips but still nodded. “I’m taking it, full stop. Now I’ll have to find the shoes to match.”

  She chuckled. “And no doubt the rest of the outfit. If you would hand me the other two, I’ll return them to the rack for you.”

  I hadn’t even tried on the pale green dress, but I didn’t care. As soon as I saw the maroon dress, I just knew. Klara returned a couple of minutes later and I handed her the maroon dress while I finished dressing. I met her at the counter.

  “I’ve put a couple of pairs of maroon stockings in there for you, no charge. I think you’ll find they’re the exact same shade.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Now, go to the shoe shop next door and ask for Greg and tell him I sent you. He’ll do you a good deal, and I know he’s got the perfect shoes for this dress.” She handed me back my card and handed over the bag, then reached for my hand and gave it a squeeze. “I hope you’re right, and I hope you say yes, too. When you’re ready, come back here. We do a line in one-off bridal wear too. We can do you the most awesome dress, and we’ll not charge you the earth for it.”

  “Thank you. I just might.”

  An hour later I was back at my car with everything I wanted, even the maroon court heels and a pair of red French-cut panties that were thin enough silk not to show lines through the dress. I’d checked the stockings she’d given me did indeed match the dress, and they were hold-ups so I didn’t need a garter belt. I’d bought one, anyway, because it matched the panties, and I could always use them again. The strapless bra that matched wasn’t necessary, but again was bought to round out re-use options on the underwear for another time, assuming you didn’t rip the panties off me the first time you saw them.

  All in a
ll, I think I spent close on a thousand dollars in just over two hours. A bit extravagant, yes, but you’d dropped hints. To be honest, if you hadn’t proposed that night I’d have clawed your eyes out. You certainly wouldn’t have had chance to rip my underwear off me. Not that you did, or ever have, or ever would, but you know what I mean.

  After a light lunch, I grabbed a quick shower then headed for the salon. I used them for haircuts, but rarely for a big styling operation. This time I went for the works—hair, nails, toenails, the lot. The only thing I didn’t do was take a waxing on any part of my body. Sorry, I’m a razor girl, and always will be. That wax stuff hurts, and the more hair, the more it hurts! I think I was in there for about three hours, longer than I’d expected, but it was worth it. The hairdresser and manicurist could sense it was a special night for me. But I knew them well enough to know anything I said would be broadcast and I didn’t want that. Klara in the shop would be discreet, I was sure of that. No shop with a wedding dress business could be anything else. Hairdressers? Different kettle of fish. Honey, some of the things I’ve heard about in there would make your toes curl!

  By the time I got home it was after five, and I had until eight to be outside yours to pick you up. You still couldn’t afford a car, and I was still very nervous about entrusting myself to another driver as their passenger. The fact I drove suited both of us.

  Usually I only spend a few minutes on my make-up, a quick spin with a brush, straighteners, or curling tongs, and a few pins and I am ready. Twenty minutes, plus maybe fifteen to get changed, tops. Tonight, though, I was going all out. I wanted to blow you away.

  They say time flies when you’re enjoying yourself but I wasn’t—for me it was torture getting every little bit right. But time still flew. Before I knew it, my phone alarm I’d thoughtfully set beeped seven o’clock, and it was a forty minute drive to your place. I’d still not started on my lip liner, lippy and gloss.

  I finally finished, pulled on the dress, and slipped on my shoes. I’d already had the stockings and panties on under my robe at about twenty-five to. Knowing the restaurants—one of which you’d chosen for our venue for tonight—were popular, I knew we needed to be on time.