So where to start? Well I have quite a story and will do my level best to tell it to you in the best way possible. First, some background information…
My name is Marie and as you can tell by my user name I am a recent bride. This story will be all about me and the few weeks up to and including my big day. I suppose if you've read my user name you will presume that I am well endowed in the bosom department – here's a brief description: I'm 21, 5'3, blonde haired, brown eyed with approximate measurements of 34F 26 36 weighing 135lbs. The pic in my user profile is not me but does bear more than a passing resemblance, especially in a couple of areas…
So yeah – 'what's a 21-year-old doing getting married?' is the question I usually get asked. Well this part of the story will help you understand why…
I first met my hubby-to-be eight years ago when I was at school. He was not a classmate, however, but my teacher. He was 30, taught English and I thought he was utterly wonderful. Back then, 30 seemed 'old' but he was really cool, funny and very, very good looking. At that age, I'd started to blossom physically. I had much larger breasts than any of the other slim girls and was loving the attention it was bringing me, especially in my school uniform. As time went by and my breasts grew larger, the buttons on my blouse were undone more until I felt I couldn't go any further. Loads of boys, and some girls, at school stared. Boys my age, a lot of boys from 5th and 6th form too (which I loved) and even some teachers. And one teacher in particular that I loved looking at me was Mr Stevenson, my English teacher.
The particular details of what happened between us I'll save for another story; the long and short of it was that he used to sneak looks down my top or at my arse in my tight skirt whenever he could and over time I caught him again and again. But rather than be shocked by an older man so obviously checking me out, I made it clear to him that I didn't mind – that I actually loved it. It's a real danger area for a teacher, getting involved with a pupil, so he took his time but eventually, one afternoon when he asked me to stay behind, Mr Stevenson made his move.
What then happened over the next few weeks was risky, dangerous and utterly mind-blowing – sex with an experienced older man who knew exactly what he was doing. Seldom slow and tender, as the situations never suited it, he fucked me good and hard and made me feel a way that I never felt was possible. We fucked in places that almost made me cum just from the thrill of being there. And, along with a fellow teacher of his, gave me my first experience of a MFM threesome.
As mentioned, I will go into this story in more detail at a later date. But sadly, all good things come to an end, and that's what happened with our relationship. It got too risky, the circumstances of what would happen were we to be caught – which did almost happen a few times – was too great for both of us, especially Mr Stevenson (who, incidentally, insisted I called him that, and not his forename, when we were fucking). So we called it off. It was his decision more than mines but one I understood. Looking on the bright side, I had been introduced to this wonderful world of sex and now knew how to have fun with men whilst making sure I enjoyed it too – there were plenty more fish in the sea after all. But on the other hand, I was smitten. 'A teenage crush' I told myself but I was heartbroken when we split. But we had to. 'If only you were 18' he'd tell me. If only…
So fast forward through my remaining school years. Mr Stevenson (thankfully) transferred to another school the next year so my agony was only prolonged for a few months and in the four years up till I left school I had fun. I flirted, dated and fucked boys from school and when I got older – around 15, 16 – me and my friends started going to bars and clubs which opened up another new world of opportunity for me to have even more fun. By this point I was barely concerning myself with guys my age as I was finding out that young guys weren't as good at fucking as Mr Stevenson, an older guy, was. But then, after fucked a good number of older guys, I soon realised that it wasn't an age thing – it just seemed to be that I hadn't found anyone who was as good a fuck as Mr Stevenson.
But it didn't stop me from trying to find someone who did tick the boxes Mr Stevenson ticked. From around 16 to 18 I fucked a lot of men, hoping to find the perfect fit, the perfect cock, the one who made me feel like I did when I was back in school four years previous.
But I couldn't.
So it was one fateful evening in a nightclub when I was 18 that a meeting happened that changed my life forever. Standing at the bar, chatting with my girlie friends I glanced up to see a familiar figure off in the distance. Standing over in the corner was Mr Stevenson! Albeit he was with a girl but it was him! I couldn't believe it. All of a sudden memories, feelings, sensations came flooding back; the room was practically spinning, my friends' chatter became indecipherable – I was certain I could feel myself getting wet.
I remained in my trance-like state, watching him with her. They were a couple, of that I was certain. They were very close, laughing, touching – they looked in love. But I had to go and see him. I had to say hello. But I waited, thankfully, rather than charge over like some deranged bunny boiler. The second she left him to go to the bathroom I walked straight over towards him.
Strutting in my high heels I made my way towards him with no real idea what to say. He must have sensed my approach as he looked up at me and in one long glance went from my shoulder length blonde hair, to my face, my cleavage spilling out my dress, my waist, hips then legs on show from under my short tight white dress (sorta like this http://cdn3.wickedtemptations.com/images_products/white-matte-strapless-dress-157440big.jpg) back up to my cleavage but without registering it was me. I smiled as I continued to approach, realising the five years since he'd seen me had seen my body develop a lot more than he was aware of. It wasn't until his eyes locked on mine, once he realised that this short, busty blonde girl was coming over to see him, that he recognised me. His reaction was priceless; his jaw literally dropped. I said nothing as I reached him – neither did he. Instead I tip-toed up and he bent down a little and we began to kiss hard and passionately, tongues jostling in each others' mouths. His large hands on my little waist sent electric shocks through my body and once again I was in heaven. I didn't care about this other girl and, quite evidently, neither now did he. We still hadn't spoken a word as he looked round, grabbed my hand and led me out of the room towards the toilets, leading me in, not caring there were dozens of men around, before taking me into a cubicle where he proceeded to lift my dress, slip my thong to the side and fuck me senseless right there and then.
That incident led to a new relationship. We left the club, went back to his place and he dumped the girl the next morning having abandoned her in the club. We started dating, free from the confines of school. He was 35, I was 18. It wasn't the norm but it wasn't exactly taboo. We were both head over heels, if not in love, certainly in lust. And so, the few weeks we enjoyed together back in school were now revisited, taken on and developed. The risk and danger we enjoyed in fucking in public or semi-public places continued but with the added enjoyment of being able to fuck in private too as I quickly moved in to Mr Stevenson's apartment (or James as he wanted me to call him – well, at least in public).
Of course, my parents hated him. Not him exactly as he was the perfect man but hated what he was – an older man who stole their daughter. As much as I tried to convince them, it was, in the early stages, impossible. Especially with my dad. Me and my dad were very close. Quite touchy-feely, very tactile and flirty with one another. My mum was always pretty uncomfortable about this but it was always that way. Maybe to an onlooker it would have been entirely harmless were i eight years old, playing with 'daddy', but at 18 I could understand people's issues with it. James too was a little taken aback by it but soon seen it for what it was – completely harmless. He tried to get closer to my mum as he always felt my dad would kick his ass any time he looked at him, but even that didn't work.
So for a year and a half we dated. We were in an actual relationship. We did the shopping together (amongst other boring couple-y stuff). And through it all, the sex remained amazing. Clothing stores; supermarkets; parks; parties; cinemas; clubs – you name it, we fucked there. James was definitely 'the one'. I was fully in love.
But one thing remained. Having had five years of constant sex with a whole host of different men, I missed the variety. I fully understood the irony in fucking so many different men to find one as good as James and now that I had James I was still not satisfied but I soon faced facts – I was greedy. I couldn't get enough cock. I wanted to have my cake and eat it. And whilst I was delighted to have him in my life, I just couldn't believe that James was THE best fuck in the world; he just couldn't be. So it was as if I had to find out who was – to see if there was someone out there comparable.
And so, for the next 18 months, I cheated on James at any given opportunity with someone who looked remotely attractive or like they might be a good fuck. No one close to home, though – I was smart. Strictly strangers. So be it guys in clubs, delivery guys, guys on trains – pretty much anywhere, I couldn't resist. I genuinely didn't want to, the guilt would eat me up, but all they had to do is be brave enough to pursue my come-ons (in some instances, it's not even a come-on – it's mild reluctance!) and I wouldn't be able to say no. And whilst I'd be crushed with guilt afterwards, I'd be absolutely fucking loving it whilst fucking this guy, whoever he happened to be.
So when, after 18 months of dating, James proposed, I was ecstatic. I would be with my perfect man for eternity and hopefully, now that we're getting REALLY serious, I'd give up the cheating – sort myself out and be an honest, faithful fiancée and wife. Sadly, for the next 18 months of our engagement, I wasn't. I just kept on doing what I was doing – and that was being done by random guys left, right and centre.
And that brings us to the present day. Over the next few stories I'll tell you all about the run up to the wedding and the wedding itself. It promises to be eventful, I can tell you that much.
Thanks for reading.