Chapter 2

I watch from the sideline, amazed by how Sloane can flip from being an exhibitionist to the polished, charming version of herself that everyone expects. I look at the audience while she speaks. Her friends admire her, hoping they have a fairytale wedding just like hers. Her future mother-in-law is enamored by the new addition to the family. And her mother wipes away a tear using a table cloth.

When they start eating, I stand by the window where I finally get a chance to look at the last photograph. Sloane and Talia. Sophisticated women who wear designer clothes and pamper themselves every morning. Exposing their breasts with the luncheon behind them.

I’m struck by the contrast of their nipples. Bright pink versus dark black. Their boobs are about the same size, Sloane is perkier while Talia’s hangs down a bit. Their nipples are similarly sized, though Talia might be a touch bigger with small bumps on the areola. They’re standing so close that their nipples are almost touching. Lesbian lovers?

When they start the main course, I slip out and head to the bathroom down the hall. I don’t actually need to pee. In the stall, I rub myself between the legs. The tips of my two fingers. Maybe it’s the stress and adrenaline of the day, but I know that the image of those nipples won’t leave my head until I have a proper release.

Needless to say, Chris is glad that I’m going deeper into the bride’s world. I told him about the polaroid camera. I told him about the extra duties. But I never told him about the pregnancy. And I certainly didn’t tell him about the breasts.

It’s 4:52 pm and the core bridal party goes for a scheduled spa treatment. Located on the bottom floor, the place has stone walls and modern amenities and dimmed lights. Tranquil music plays in the background. I can smell the scented oils and I can feel the steam. The women are here for relaxation, but for me, it’s work.

The group of 8 women go to the changing room and return wearing silk robes and slippers. The shape of their braless breasts are so obvious and they don’t seem bothered by that. They’ve done group treatments before. There are different stations and the spa is fully staffed. Facials, body scrubs, Swedish massages, you name it.

Sloane gets called to a private room and I follow. My heart rate picks up. The room has a eucalyptus aroma and there’s a mini-waterfall which creates a soothing melody. There’s a prepped massage table in the center which is the reason we’re here.

“You must have interesting thoughts about me,” she says.

“Nothing bad, if that’s what you’re worried about. I haven’t told anyone.”

She smiles, “What’s your best assessment?”

“I think you’re complex. You like being the center of attention. You love your family and friends. You’re also nervous about the future.”

“Sounds about right. Growing a family is my dream, but I’ll also mourn the loss of what I have, you know? That’s why I did that in the restaurant.”

“Have you done that before? Flashing.”

She winks. “Yeah, just never at a wedding.”

With that, Sloane unties her robe and steps out of her slippers. She steps barefoot on the cold floor and hangs her robe on a rack. She’s butt naked, clean shaven, and she puts movie stars to shame. Her nipples are erect. She stands upright like it’s a doctor’s exam. I realize I’m meant to take a picture of this so I reach into the pouch to grab the camera and snap a photo of her.

Unlike the other pictures, this is an honest portrait of her. Her makeup is minimal and her blonde hair is down behind her shoulders. She turns to give me a side angle, a perfect view of the shape of her butt and upturned breasts with erect pink nipples. I snap the photo. This is the real Sloane, without the glitz and glamour, and the photograph captures that forever.

Two women enter the room in tailored uniforms, unbothered by Sloane’s boldness. Both are hispanic, one older, one younger. They give polite smiles and I smile back. Oils and towels are already arranged but they make final preparations for the massage.

“Maria and Helena,” she says. “They’re wonderful. I tip generously and they give extra service.”

“Should I wait outside?”

“No, I want more pictures. You’ll know it when it happens.”

Sloane lays on the massage table. On her back. I’ve had enough massages to know how this works. What’s different is that the employees don’t bother covering Sloane with a customary towel. They leave her naked. They slather their hands with oil and dig those hands into her body. The older woman, about 50’s, does the feet, legs and thighs. The younger woman, 20’s, does the shoulders, chest, and breasts.

I snap a few pictures of Sloane’s oil slicked breasts. They shine under the dim lights. The nipples are darkened from the oil, making them appear red. And the rubbing has a stimulating effect, making them rock hard. I can see why she wants these pictures in whatever photo set she’s making of pre-lactating breasts.

After they massage for a few minutes, Maria, the older woman, grabs Sloane’s ankles and spreads her legs to form a v-shape. The pussy is wide open and I’m tempted to look inside. Maria gets on the massage table and presses her strong hands around the pubic mound. Then she brings her mouth down and starts sucking Sloane’s pussy, making the bride moan.

The effect on Sloane’s breasts is magnificent. It’s like they stiffen and come to life. I consider whether or not to photograph Maria eating pussy, but decide that’s too crude. Maria, to my knowledge, didn’t ask to be in these photos. So I step closer and get another shot of Sloane’s breasts. Different angles. And pictures of her mouth in each shot to capture her moaning.

I’m drenched down below watching these employees handle her like this. One eating pussy, the other kneading her small breasts like dough. Are the other bridesmaids getting this, too? My imagination runs wild. By now, nothing would shock me about these women, who present themselves one way, and have a secret side behind the right doors.

Even though this is about Sloane’s breasts, I take a closeup picture of her feet as her toes curl from the orgasm. When she’s finished the employees stop. She lays there breathing heavy and relaxes while the women remove the oil from their hands using a thick towel. They laugh amongst themselves while speaking Spanish to each other. I don’t know if Sloane understands Spanish but I know a bit from high school. They’re saying something about ‘another pretty white woman’ and ‘mission accomplished.’

“Tell me you got that,” she says.

Her voice is barely a whisper, she’s drifting back to life.

“You’ll be impressed by these pictures. That was… fascinating to watch.”

“Have a turn. I insist.”

“Oh, no, I shouldn’t.”

“My treat. I’m paying top dollar for this wedding.”

As it turns out, Sloane is a proficient Spanish speaker and she talks to the employees. She talks so fast and fluidly that I’m unable to understand what she’s saying to them, but the employees understand. They look at me like their job isn’t done yet.

They put the towels down and approach me. Touching my clothes. Tugging at the buttons and zipper while speaking in their limited English abilities.

“Please, on the table. Mouth massage.”

My top, the buttons, the zipper on my pants. They come down. Helena, the younger woman, even kneels and unties my shoes, taking one foot out at a time. Then taking off my socks so I’m barefoot on the floor. They use teamwork like they’ve done this before and in a moment I’m naked with my hands covering my nipples and pubic hairs.

Sloane gets off the massage table so the employees can lay me down.

“I’m going to the hot tub,” she says. “Have a good one.”

She puts on a robe and leaves the room just as Maria brings her mouth to me. Footsteps were outside when the door opened and closed. Did anyone see me getting oral? If it was someone from the bridal party then I fear my reputation may be tainted. How unprofessional to be getting licked by an employee. But it isn’t long before I cum inside Maria’s highly experienced mouth.

The day of a wedding is always an adrenaline rush. It’s 7:12 in the morning and I’m wide awake. The next hour is critical, with the bridal suite becoming a frenzy of curling irons, makeup kits, steamers, and garment bags. Nerves are high. The photographer is busy. Mothers are on edge.

I dreamt of Sloane’s nipples last night and right now it’s all I think about. There are more tricks up her sleeve. All bets are off until she ties the knot. And what happened in the spa yesterday is a constant presence in my mind. I can still feel the effects of that orgasm lingering between my legs.

After a light omelet with potatoes and fruits on the side, I’m armed with the polaroid in my pouch and head to her suite. There’s less people than expected, just the bride, mom, a sister, and two bridesmaids.

The mother is elated and peppers me with small questions about the vendors and making sure everything is done on time. I assure her that’s the case.

Sloane steps into the room wearing a soft white robe, her blonde hair pinned in loose sections, and without a single touch of makeup, her blue eyes somehow look even more piercing. She’s wearing a camisole under the robe and her feet are in slippers.

“Mom, can we have a moment?”

The mother flashes me a smile, one that isn’t so polite, and I’m sure she’s wondering why she’s asked to leave. But she leaves. The sister and other bridesmaids stay on the other side of the room and they keep working on their appearance.

We stand by the window. The sun is partially out through the clouds.

“Did you like the spa treatment?” Sloane asks.

“I was wondering if you’d bring that up. It was… good. I felt new after.”

“Didn’t bother you?”

“Well, it was a new experience. Does your fiance know?”

“If it’s lez, then it’s okay. That’s our secret rule. He likes hearing about it.”

“Honestly, I’m glad.”

“I’m not a cheating bride. But I am… you know… nervous. I’m going to tell him about the pregnancy tonight before consummating the marriage. And the pictures will be an extra surprise. Your pictures are breathtaking.”

“Interested in going further?”

Her sister and two best friends are in the room, but I don’t inquire about that.

“Of course, if that’s what you want.”

Sloane loosens her robe, then tosses it to the couch, standing in her thin white camisole and she gets barefoot.

“I’m famous for my nipples,” she says. “They’ve always been the source of my feel-good vibes. Yeah, they’re that sensitive.”

“That explains why you enjoy flashing them so much. Aside from how pretty they look.”

“Have you ever had a nipple orgasm?”

“They’re a treat for me.”

Sloane pulls the camisole overhead and tosses it next to her robe. Breasts exposed. She’s wearing white panties which are so thin she might as well be naked. I can see the trace of her labia. Her hands rub her skin, her arms and stomach. I don’t think she’s cold. It’s the exposure. And she looks out the window to where the wedding is scheduled to take place in a few hours. Just outside the ski lodge.