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Why was she so immaculate? Why was she so clean? There was not a spot on her, not a single fleck of semen, not a hair out of place -- at least, as far as I could tell, since her head was hidden under a shroud. A fucking shroud?? What was this, the sixteenth century? Who wears a shroud to a wedding? And why was no-one getting up to use her? Why was she allowed to walk towards the altar completely unspoiled? It wasn't respect for the sanctity of marriage -- there was fucking going on in the audience and the minister himself had only just finished ejaculating on one of the bridesmaids -- so could it be respect for the bride? But that usually didn't stop anyone, either. Heck, I myself had been one of the first to run up to Rebecca and bend her over when she was walking down the aisle on her wedding. So why was no-one getting up? And what the fuck was up with that shroud?I was beginning to get paranoid. What if my bride-to-be had gotten cold feet at last minute and done a runner? What if. Well, the parade went well, and Ursula looked great sitting in a chairlike the Lincoln Memorial but in colour. I carried myself off well too,mimicking being a petulant little miss. I took myself off to the Women'stoilets as if I belonged there, and peed like a girl in the cubicle,sitting with Ursula's best panties round my knees.After the parade was over, Ursula got a Highly Commended certificate and Igot ten dollars. It took two days to get most of the paint off, but thebeard already made Ursula's face sore, and she had an eruption of zitswhich I didn't. Then she got her first period and that stopped herbleating about the zits: she swore she'd never go out again, and when itwas all over she'd forgotten about her panties that I called 'My LittleTrophy'.Well we both grew up. Mom looked after us mainly, because Dad was oftenaway on Politics. Ursula and I followed his lead, and somehow or other,perhaps because we got on well (at long last) and made a great team,Ursula and I wangled.
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The idea had a certain appeal to her and she wanted to find out what it was. She called Tom too late for him to get together the necessary materials for the coming weekend so they just went on a regular date. They didn't discuss the matter by mutual consent, but their lovemaking seemed a bit more frantic than usual...as if the subject was on their minds if not on their lips. The following week they didn't see too much of each other but her upcoming 'date' was on her mind. The idea alternately frightened and excited her. And as the date came closer, she became more and more distracted. At last the night was at hand. Tom picked her up and together they drove to his house. Once inside, he escorted her to his family room where he had constructed the device upon which she was to spend the greater part of the evening. Tom had taken a sheet of plywood on which he had mounted a thin mattress. He had mounted this on an easel-like device with what looked like two half gear wheels for the.

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