Alice was shocked when she found out who was really doing the fondling.
It was during the groom’s interminable speech that I felt a bare foot on mine.
We were all crammed together onto long narrow tables, cafeteria-style, and seated directly across from me was the hunky guy I’d had my eye on since the vows. He was blonde and built like a footballer – long, lean and tanned – with sparkling blue eyes a girl could get washed away in.
He patted my open toes and stroked my arches, gripped and squeezed my ankles. Weddings always get the waterworks going for me, but never like this – my pussy was as wet as the sweating glasses lining the table.
I gripped the tablecloth and stared at Blondie. He was looking up at the head table, playing it cool. My legs shook, as the sensual, surreptitious pad rounded my knee and glided along my open inner thigh.
I glared at the long-winded groom, praying for him to keep going, the silky-smooth foot sliding along my thigh, drifting closer and closer …
“Oh!” I yelped, toes touching my soft spot.
No one took any notice, the groom tearing up now, his amplified croaks filling the sweltering hall. I chewed up the tablecloth with my fingernails as toes teased my pussy, tapping me full of tingling electricity.
The blond Adonis should’ve been wearing hip-waders instead of converse, because I was soaking. The sheer unexpectedness of it, the very dangerous public nature of it, had me flooded with wicked sensation.
The foot pressed full-length against my pantied pussy, and I jerked. I gulped great chunks of stuffy air, my face burning as hot as my sex. I tried to focus on what the weeping groom was blubbering, to hide and prolong my excitement, my own eyes tearing up with an emotion far more primitive than gratitude.
Then the foot was gone, leaving me panting. I cranked my head around and gazed at the blond stud with the golden pad. He was applauding the groom along with the rest of the crowd.
Which is when I felt a pair of hands suddenly grip my calves. I almost popped like a champagne cork. Unless Blondie had an extra set of arms, something funny was going on.
The chair to the left of me, the last one at the end of the table, was empty. But hadn’t there been a young woman sitting there?
My thoughts were jarred loose by someone’s tongue swirling around my toes, flattening up and over the bridges of my feet. Then someone was lifting my toes off their black leather platforms with a very talented tongue and sucking on them. The table started shaking along with me.
She’d been a brunette – a pretty little brunette with her hair piled up and dripping down in coils, wearing a slinky red dress that accentuated her very feminine curves. And now her tongue was boldly traveling up my leg, tracing liquid-fire.
I grabbed a spoon and bent it in half, as the woman paint-brushed my thigh with her wet tongue, and bit into the bare flesh just above my stocking top. I opened my legs wide in welcome, and she poked my pussy with the tip of her tongue.
“Jesus!” I gulped.
Blondie glanced at me. I grinned back like a pumpkin, the table-hid woman dragging her tongue over my panty-soaked sex. She lapped at me like a kitten at a cream dish. And when she pressed her lips to my clit for an intimate frenching, I lost it.
A heavy, heated orgasm welled up from my tongue-lashed pussy and washed through my trembling body. I came silent and hard. Staring out-of-focus at the blond man while the blessed woman under the table licked me.
She popped back up into her chair a minute or so later, dabbing at her lipstick and smiling at me. I grinned lazily back, just a warm puddle in a metal folding chair. Like the finally-finished groom.
