He moved around on the bed, crouching on all fours over the white sensuously twisting body, pushing her unresisting milk-white thighs apart. He crawled between them, his knees pressing between her ankles, and his face panting a few inches above the hair-covered vee of her opened-wide thighs. His mouth salivated as his eyes looked down at it rotating sensuously, expectantly, just below his lips. Saliva dripped from his open mouth, mingling with her juices in the delicious narrow split that started at the bottom of her smooth white belly and trailed down through the rounded creamy spheres of her buttocks.Through half-slitted eyes Sharon could see the shadowy figure of her husband, Neal, crouching between her wide-splayed legs. She could feel the flat palms of his sweating hands pushing against the softness of her inner thighs, holding them wide apart. Her secret treasure was open to him to do as he willed. She watched with bated breath as his head lowered slowly... slowly... slowly.... Ever since that "Yes!", I had felt invincible, like nothing in the world could stop me. Now, however, I suddenly began worrying that all this was too good to be true, that I was deluding myself, that somehow everyone had colluded to play a giant prank on me and I was the only one who wasn't aware. Or maybe it was all just a dream? Basically, I couldn't believe that I had ever managed to get someone as beautiful as the woman in white now walking down the aisle towards me to ever love me.As she drew closer, the feeling of dread grew. 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 --.
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