Chapter 3

“This would be a great shot,” she says.

I get the polaroid and snap a side picture of her looking through the tall window. It’s a close shot, which captures the silhouette of her breasts and nipples. Her nipples are erect. They always turn erect whenever she sets them free. She faces me and asks for a close-up of the breasts. The white light from the clouds illuminates her body.

Naomi, her sister, approaches and I wonder why Sloane isn’t covering up. Apparently their bond is different from the average siblings. A bit more open. Naomi brings two small clamps for this shoot and Sloane thanks her.

When the sister goes back to the other side of the suite, Sloane opens the first clamp and latches it to her nipple. Nipple clamps. That’s what they are. Seeing this does bad things between my legs and my heart skips a beat. She does the same to the other nipple. When she puts her hands down, I get a clear view. Silver clamps with dangling silver balls, like ornaments on a Christmas tree.

I gawk for a moment before taking three polaroid shots. One full-body. Another closer, face and tits. Another with just her tits. The outside light gives full detail on everything.

Naomi returns, this time with her top removed. Her breasts are smaller, flat almost, with delicate nipples, but it takes me a second to realize that their nipples are the exact same shade of pink. There isn’t a shade of difference in nipple color. It leaves no doubt of their family bond.

“You didn’t expect me to sit this out, did you?” Naomi says.

They laugh and then stand side-by-side, Sloane with upright and proper posture, Naomi with her hand on her hip, pure sass, pure attitude, with a cat-like expression on her face. You’ve got to love what a younger sister brings to the table. I take the same three pictures, full body of the topless and barefoot women, then closer with face and breasts, and lastly, just their breasts. Naomi is bare chested, Sloane is rocking the nipple clamps.

Am I wrong to be this aroused? Can they tell? They wait for the photographs to develop as they huddle topless around me with erect nipples and I try not to stare at them, but it’s impossible, so I take small glances. They love what they see with the pictures, they’ve never done anything like that together. I tell them to get dressed. I seriously consider masturbating in the bathroom.

It’s an hour until the bride walks down the aisle and the operation is smooth. Vendors are arranged. Guests are dressed to impress. The excitement is palpable. All the elements of a successful wedding are in place and there’s a sexually charged undertone that lingers.

Chris has me check on the bride, which at this point is like rolling the dice. Anything could happen at any given moment. Bridesmaids and stylists are going in and out of the suite. When I see her, Sloane is halfway prepared in the dressing area, the bodice of her wedding dress on, the lace hugging her torso. The full wedding dress hangs on a nearby rack. The hair stylist is almost done, doing final touch-ups with hairspray and a comb.

I see a photo album on the dresser table. “Memories Before Motherhood” written in cursive on the front. I can only imagine how scandalous it’ll look when flipping through the nipple photos we’ve taken. With the photo album sitting there, I wonder who else has flipped through those pages.

Sloane tells me to look through the photo album while she’s facing the mirror getting her hair done. I assume the hair dresser is a close friend who’s already seen this. Each photo is intimate in its own way. With her fiance, candid shots from her at work or eating at restaurants, nude selfies she’s taken at home. There are bedroom pictures with Sloane’s face buried between Talia’s legs and the favor being returned. That explains a lot.

“Now you’re part of my world,” she says. “I want to thank you for that.”

“I’m just doing my job, which I know is a cliche response.”

“Did you finger-fuck yourself at any point?”

Sloane asked that question while still facing the mirror and the stylist doesn’t even flinch, so I assume they’re also licking each other’s pussy.

“Not at all. It’s a job. You’re very beautiful though.”

She squints her eyes. “Be honest. Or who knows, maybe I’ll recommend other wedding planners in the future.”

It’s a serious comment. And I don’t have another career to fall back on.

“Being honest, sure, I’ve touched myself.”

“In the bathroom after the rehearsal lunch. I sat on the toilet and rubbed until I came. Then last night in my room, on the bed while laying on a towel. I can get messy sometimes.”

“Ever think about my pussy?”

I gulp. “Who hasn’t?”

Sloane looks me over. She’s satisfied with my answers, that I’m telling the truth.

“It’s chilly outside. My dress is thin.”

“We have outdoor heating lamps,” I say.

“That’s not how I like to stay warm.”

Sloane pulls the front of her bodice down, her breasts spilling free, her pink nipples already tightening. I hear my boss’s voice in my head again. Reminding me of certain duties and to treat the bride like a princess. Had he known all along? He probably had an idea, but I doubt he knew the full extent of her desires.

The hair stylist is a woman in her 30’s, someone I can imagine being in Sloane’s circle of professional friends who eat pussy on the side, or maybe as the main course. Sloane doesn’t send the stylist away, instead the stylist keeps doing her thing as the pink nipples are reflected on different mirrors. The stylist winks at me while combing the topless bride’s hair, almost teasing me, like I’m joining a secret club.

It’s my first time touching Sloane’s body. We’d never touched beyond handshakes or hugs. Her breasts are soft and firm, unmistakably real. Her nipples respond when I graze my fingers across them. This is about keeping the girls warm to withstand the chilly temperature so I squeeze them, making Sloane squirm, then I pinch her nipples, which makes her gasp.

“You can do better than that,” she says. “They won’t bite.”

“You can figure out what I like by now. Hurry up though.”

Yes, I do know what she likes, and I think about the bridesmaids talking amongst themselves in the living room, wondering if they know what’s happening here. The stylist keeps watching me, still combing the bride’s hair, smiling wider like she’s eager to see this.

I bend down and use my mouth. It’s what she wants and it’s the fastest way to hurry this along. My heart pounds. Getting caught by the wrong person could derail this wedding, and my career, but maybe everyone knows about Sloane’s lesbian tendencies and I’m the only newbie. I give her nipple a hard suck and I can feel her breathing on my face as she’s looking down. I work the other nipple as well.

For most women, getting a nipple sucking is foreplay. Not with Sloane, her breathing turns ragged as I suck harder, pulling her nipple deep in my mouth, teeth grazing just enough, which is how I like it performed on me. Her fingers dig in my hair like she’s holding on for dear life.

“Harder,” she says. “Let my tits ache when I say my vows later.”

I suck until my cheeks hollow, until I can feel her pulsing on my lips, until her back arches. She cums with a silent, open-mouth gasp, head tilted, eyes squeezed shut, and the orgasm rips through her. I look at her breasts when it’s done, nipples darkened from my saliva, red from the suction.

“Now I’m ready to walk down the aisle, with a wet pussy, all because of you.”

I hear an unexpected conversation in the living room.

Naomi calls out when the door opens, which is clearly a warning to us. Sloane and the stylist work fast to cover her breasts. When her outfit is getting fixed, I see a trail of fluid down the left side of her pantyhose. I guess I’ve done my job well. The stylist grabs the “Memories Before Motherhood” album and hides it in the closet.

The mother comes to the dresser area for an inspection, peeved that the bridal dress hasn’t been worn yet, and insists that we hurry for family photos. She looks at the table. A polaroid photo had slipped out of the album. It’s a picture of two breasts, side by side, no face. The same shade of pink nipples. She picks up the photo and looks at it.

“Hmm…” the mom says. “Whoever left this here should be ashamed.”

Mom looks at me and the hair stylist, then tosses the photo down and leaves in a huff. Did she not recognize her daughters in that photo? Or was she just pretending to avoid an embarrassing situation on a wedding day?

An hour later it’s showtime outside by the lodge and the happy couple walks down the aisle. I know for a fact that Sloane didn’t bother to change her soiled panties or her streaked pantyhose. She knew she was going to cream her panties. She wanted to make that holy walk with an orgasmic stain to show for it. Perhaps her husband will be eating her out tonight.

Hours later, as the guests mingle and have drinks and laughs, Chris pulls me aside. I’m mentally and physically exhausted, so I’m ready for whatever he’s going to throw my way. And I’ve decided to make this my permanent career.

“What did you do?” he asks. “Sloane is gushing about you. Naomi is promising to hire us in the future. They’re pointing to your service as the reason.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

What my boss doesn’t know is that Naomi had pulled me into a bathroom stall, the public one in the lobby. I wasn’t given much of a choice, Naomi, the mischievous sister, was adamant. In the bathroom stall I was turned around, my face pressed against the wall, legs spread, and Naomi got on her knees and started sucking me from behind, asshole included. I heard other women coming and going while I received oral sex. I listened to the usual chatter, sounds of women peeing in other stalls, while I was being made to cum. And I’m pretty sure I heard women laughing in response to my orgasm.

That’s the reason my mood is so light. Because I was cared for in the middle of chaos. I returned the favor though. She pulled the front of her dress down. Naomi’s nipples are just like her sister’s in terms of sensitivity, and was able to achieve nipple orgasm with the right suction. Naomi soaked her panties and didn’t bother wiping them after, the dirty bitch. Perhaps it should be a new pre-wedding ritual for me, like it is for their family.

I realize I’m daydreaming while my boss is staring at me.

“But I want to know. That’s why I’m asking. What’s the secret?”

“I sucked the bride’s nipples.”

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