Holy Matri-Moly!: Free-Use Brides

Lana walks in with both dresses. Gia and Ryder tear off their street clothes and step into lace and silk. They see each other and the air gets thick. Gia grabs Ryder by the veil and kisses her hard enough to bruise. Ryder answers with two fingers under Gia's gown, finding heat and wet. The wedding planner checks her clipboard. "We still need the final head-count, ladies." Her voice is flat, bored. Ryder pushes Gia down on the chaise and climbs over her, gown rucked up, panties yanked aside. They start fucking right there, desperate, no finesse, just need. Lips, tongues, fingers, straps falling off shoulders. The orgasm sounds ring off the mirrors. Lana steps past the writhing bodies to hang garment bags, check the lighting. She squats beside the couch to measure something and ignores the frantic grinding inches from her knee. "Shoes will need to be dyed," she says, scribbling notes as they moan louder.