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They opened their mouths as wide as the nylon would let them, and brought their lips together, as the light danced on the shimmering heads.They paused. Beth looked at Geraldine deeply. ‘Will you sit on my face?’Geraldine’s eyes opened in surprise. ‘Really?’‘Please! I want to feel your tight encased lycra shorts on my face.’They exchanged a deep complicit nylon peck. A mutual agreement.Beth stepped onto the bed and lay back. ‘Sit on my face. Smother me,’ she said.The weave off the tights danced on Geraldine’s lycra shorts, as she cocked her leg out to climb onto Beth’s sweet head. She lowered her voluptuous arse, engulfing Beth’s nose and mouth, as her buttocks spread over her head. If she looked over her shoulder, she could see Beth’s sparkling eyes through the stocking mask. Happy eyes. Beth immediately sniffed. Even through the tight layers, she could feel Beth’s nose pressed against her arsehole. She heard Beth’s affirmative groan. At one point she caught her own stocking. I’d phoned her earlier outside Reading. And again outside Bristol. And Cardiff. I’d told her not to bother staying up to meet me and to get her some sleep before her big day and we’d meet up for breakfast. No problem there. All good. Found the place. Apparently it had a country-house feel. No idea. It was pissing it down and pitch black when I arrived. I grabbed my small case and my suit bag from the back seat and legged it into the lobby. I checked in, deciding that either my flirting technique had crumbled, my gaydar was on the fritz or the blue-eyed night clerk had simply become immune to townie wankers. Either way, within ten minutes of signing my name I was asleep in a wonderfully expansive bed. The next day it was exactly as you’d expect on a wedding day. Organised chaos with none of the organised. Luckily my girl and I were able to have some breakfast in peace – even if only because her mother was predating any hapless bearer of worry or stress. Alice looked serene. She always.
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