I'm certain I will help some guy get lucky tonight. I'm in the mood for some cock and I have plans within plans. I've shaved my pussy and now I'm fingering it. I'm feeling that tingle as my slick fingertip circles my clit. I stop. I know I look my best when I'm cockhungry. I can walk into a room full of men and hear the gasps. I can see the stunned looks on their faces and as each one makes eye contact, when the stunned look leaves them, it is always replaced with desire to satisfy my hunger. Unless they're gay. And even then I can get a satisfying "I wish I was you" look from them.
I feel exactly the way I like to feel before hitting the clubs, but I'm not clubbing tonight. In some ways, going to a wedding is much better. My older step-sister is getting married and there are rumors of hot and single younger brothers on the groom's side of the family. I love fresh meat. I'm certain I can snag one for a shag. I mean come on, it's not like I won't be the hottest woman in my age class there. I always am. Some of the 18 year old guys are starting to look at me like I'm close to my cougar years, but that doesn't mean they don't want me. As far as i'm concerned, my hunting range includes men, and sometimes women, who are from eighteen to my age plus five. I don't want any fogies. Each year my hunting grounds grow. At 26, I am, in my not so humble opinion, a stone-cold knockout. I look in the mirror and say to myself, "You are the most irresistible of them all".
"Jesus, Sinful. Do you plan to save any guys for us mere mortals?" My same age step-sister asks as she walks into our shared hotel room. We get along great. She's very pretty and can hold her own when I'm not pulling out all the stops, but that's not tonight. She knows the look and I've got it going on tonight.
I don't even have my party clothes on yet. They wouldn't be appropriate in a church, but I'll have time to change before the reception starts. I'm wearing my most 'tasteful' (yes, that means boring) dress, which is still way sexier than Candy's. Sinful is her pet name for me. My real name is Cindy and I love Candy. She's been my best friend since our parents introduced us not long after my father met her mother.
"I plan to break my dry spell tonight, Candy. Two weeks between lovers is too long. I'm done with that sucky project at work now and I can feel the heat. Are you ready to dance 'til the right buck sniffs your tail?"
"You better believe it. Here's to the thrill of the chase." We drink shots of cinnamon schnapps and make our way down to the lobby where we catch the bus to the chapel. This will be my first opportunity to scope out the studs. We flew into Philadelphia from Chicago last night and spent the evening having dinner with our shared parents. Candy's real father was part of the rehearsal party so he was at the rehearsal dinner after practicing giving Linda away.
Her real parents get along okay in public so they're both going to be at the wedding, but I think my dad was a little hurt that Linda chose her real father to do the title transfer. Of course, she was already 15 when the split happened and she wanted to live with him, but the judge ruled against her. She moved away to live with him and go to college when she was 18. My other two step-sisters, Candy and Marcy, got a lot more attached to my dad.
The wedding ceremony went okay, but I really wasn't paying attention. I was eyeballing the guys under 30 on the groom's side of the aisle. Candy was looking there too, but she was also looking to see if anybody showed up late on the bride's side. After Linda and Pete left the building and fell into the clutches of the photographer, we caught the bus back and changed into our party outfits. I tried not to over-dazzle, because Candy reminded me that it was Linda's day to shine, but I wasn't going to miss this opportunity to get my toes curled.
When we finally made our way down to the banquet rooms, Candy suddenly shouted out, "Carlo! Ciao cugino. Che succede?" I saw a man turn around in front of her, but just then another man stepped in front of her and blocked her from the guy that turned. So I was suddenly looking into the smiling face of Candy's cousin Carlo, the infamous heart thief that she had told me so much about from her childhood and her visits to Italy to see her Aunt Martha. Carlo was born in the US and lived here for the first 10 years of his life, but went with his his parents to Italy when his papà's company made him a VP. He came back for grad school and is now living in Boston.
His smile sends a jolt of charisma right through my eyes and down to my hot spot, wrapping at least twice around my heart on the way. I look into his eyes and see the moment of stun that I naturally cause him, but when I expect to see the flash of desire, his eyes suddenly go neutral, like he is staring at a photo of a an empty picture frame on an otherwise blank wall. His smile takes on a confused look as he continues turning and that's when I see them as his gaze sweeps toward Candy, who is skirting around the other man. His face has scars on the right side, from his cheekbone back, and his right ear is scarred and deformed. These flaws are so surprising that I almost don't notice his heart-melting smile returning. I look away to avoid staring as Candy leaps for him.
His words come in a torrent. "Candy! You're so beautiful. It has been far too long. I'm so sorry I'm late. The airport traffic, it was orrendo. We just checked in and got dressed. Mamma will be down soon. what's happening with you." I almost can't listen at the pace he talks. Except for the one word, his English is clear, but has a strange lilt to it. They embrace warmly, almost too warmly. I chalk it up to just a special bond.
"Same old, same old, mio cugino preferito. This is my sister, Cindy. Cindy, this is my favorite cousin." I didn't know Candy knew that much Italian.
"Your sis,,,? Oh, your step-sister, yes?"
"Yes, but we drop those formalities. We aren't blood relatives, but we are closer than friends."
His attention turns back to me and I try hard not to stare at his mangled ear. He's about our age. His eyes are a deep dark blue. His hair is very black. His skin is lighter than I expect, based on Italians that I met around Chicago, but I know his mother is a fair-skinned blue-eyed blonde like my step-mother. He is about six feet tall and has the build of an Axe model. His face would probably only be called good-looking rather than handsome without the defects. His eyes and smile are great, but his nose, chin and cheekbones are not the nordic look that I like.
"It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Cindy." He takes my hand and I think he might actually kiss it, but no, it is just a hand shake. It feels different.
I look down and see that I am gripping only a partial hand. It takes every ounce of my calm not to pull my hand away and I look back up into his eyes and say, "You aren't what I expected, Carlo."
Wow! That was not cool. I feel completely undone by him and I don't understand why. It must be the combination of attraction and repulsion. There's nothing revolting about him, but I am disappointed that he is not the perfect man that Candy made him out to be. I had wondered why she never had photos of him and now I wonder if he is ashamed to be photographed. I also wonder how Candy can think he is a heart stealer. Looks like I'll be looking for cock in the groom's camp.
Candy looks at me strangely and then gets a look of understanding, followed by a flash of something else. Anger? Annoyance? Disgust? I don't understand and Carlo uncomfortably says, "Well, shall we go inside?"
There's an open bar and after we all get drinks, I can see that all thoughts of Candy and me scoping out the guys together take a back seat to her introducing Carlo around to people who haven't met him yet, including my father and the bridesmaids. I catch up with a few of Linda's friends and Marcy, who's probably next in line to get married. Dinner starts with us being seated for the salad. There's wine on the table and of course, Carlo drinks the red, something I'm only just beginning to acquire a taste for. Candy had strategically maneuvered the seating to place me on Carlo's left and herself on Carlo's right. It means that, for him to talk to me, he will turn his defects toward the rest of the table and, because of this, I think he will spend the time talking to Candy instead. I am surprised when one of the other guests, an tubby male co-worker and friend of Linda and her new husband asks about Carlo's ear.
I expect Carlo to look embarrassed or upset, but he says, "I was mauled by a puma when I was a child. I was hiking with my cugina and she could run faster than me."
Candy playfully slapped his shoulder and said, "Carlo! Tell the truth. You were my hero and that cat was going to jump on me. You pushed me out of the way and told me to run."
"I do not remember it that way, mio affetto. I was clumsy and tripped against you."
"You hit him in the mouth with your hiking stick and scared him away."
"Okay, I will let you believe I am a hero, but his mouth almost made me left handed. I must not have swung very good." Carlo held his right hand up to show that his little finger and the top two bones of his ring finger were missing.
"Pretty good for a nine year old boy. You will always be my hero." She gives him a kiss on the side of his face, maybe on his ear, but I can't see for sure.
I feel hurt that Candy had never told me this story, and I fail to think of why she might not have wanted to. I blurt out, "I've known you all these years and you never told me this?"
"I... I... I'm sorry, Cindy."
Dinner arrives and distracts everyone just then, but Carlo leans over and says in a very quiet voice, "It is you who should be sorry. Did it not occur to you that she has bad memories of what happened then?"
I feel angry and humiliated and trapped, because only the two of us know that he has just put me in my place and, if I storm off as I want to do, everyone else will know. So I eat a heaping helping of crow with my rubber chicken dinner and I can't wait for the meal to be over and the table hopping to begin. But as I hear him continue conversing with others, I calm down. Eventually he turns to me and says in the same sotto voce, "I apologize. It seems I always jump to defend my family. You are her sister and that makes you my cousin."
"But not your cugina." It's not a question. I know that he said 'cousin' deliberately.
"Ah, perceptive." He doesn't explicitly agree, but once again I know where I stand with him.
Because of the apology, I feel much better, but also as if I've been chastised again. I don't like that feeling. I don't like to be confused about how to feel about someone. When the dinner is over and the special events start, I stay with the group, but I am anxious to start dancing and get away from him.
I return to the table after missing the bouquet toss and watch as Carlo gamely slides the garter onto the leg of the swooning plump bridesmaid who edged me out. He looks almost embarrassed as everyone yells, "Higher! Higher!" and she keeps inching her skirt up until I'm sure he can see Ohio.
When the dancing is opened to all couples, Carlo and Candy are one of the first to get out on the floor. It's clear right away that Carlo has some moves. As one who has taken a few classes, I can spot another who has. A guy from the groom's family that I had been making eye contact with earlier asks me to dance, so I use him to show Carlo my moves. The guy is pretty enough for dancing, but not to fuck. His dancing isn't that great either.
I start to recover my come-fuck-me vibe on the dance floor, but I think the guy catches on that I'm not really dancing with him so much as struttin' my stuff for someone else. After the first dance, he thanks me and wanders off, so I sit back down just as Carlo and Candy return. Another guy asks Candy to dance and Carlo encourages her to go and let her cugino fill his dance card with all the other lovely ladies.
Only he doesn't. He sits there, drinking coffee until finally I say, "You don't like me, do you?"
"I do not terribly dislike you, Cindy. I do not know you well enough for strong feelings yet."
"But you don't want to dance with me." Another statement.
"I do not like what you did to your dance partner."
I feel glad that he noticed me dancing, but again, chastised.
"I feel kind of let down, Carlo. Everyone told me you were a nice guy."
"That was their mistake. I pay the respect that is deserved. I return the respect that I am given."
"Respect? So you're saying I need to earn your respect by showing respect?"
"No, you do not need to. You can do as you please."
"Did Candy tell you something bad about me?"
"No. She has only ever said good things about you."
"Well who then?"
"You did that without assistance, Cindy."
"It is clear, Cindy. You are beautiful and you know it and you think it excuses behavior I do not respect."
"You lost me."
"This is Linda's night. You already know that I protect my family and look at you. You are wearing clothes and jewelry worth 3 times as much as hers and you look like you are dressed for clubbing with Paris Hilton. A wedding of a family member should be more solemn, more respectful than a night of debauchery."
"If I wanted a morality lecture I would have gone to a church tonight, you sanctimonious prig. Linda would never expect me to show up in a bargain basement burlap sack."
"Sometimes it is good to exceed expectations. She is your sister, yes?"
"Well, she's not rea..." I stop myself but I know it's too late. Linda had always treated me like a little sister since the family merger, which was not always fun, but she had done what big sisters do. She had taught me and Candy both about about periods and boys and clothes and bling and makeup. She had got me started in dancing and helped me with my homework. In many ways she was more of a mother to me than my step-mother was. She even gave a pet name to me, Kin-dee, because, she said, "Candy is not Sandy."
I've never felt like such a tramp, but Carlo didn't stop. "You are here tonight looking for a man who will treat you like a princess in public and like a whore in bed. You make it quite clear that you are a... I do not know how to say this in English. A..."
"A bitch? That's the word you're looking for, isn't it?"
"No. Worse. For tonight, on your step-sister's special day, you are a fica. A coont on the hunt."
I'm devastated. What he said is true, but how he said it is so awful. "You think that about me?"
"Tell me that I am wrong."
I can't, so I seek whatever advantage I can find. "If you think that is true, why are you sitting here? What does that make you?" I know I have him there. He's sitting with me because he wants to be the man I fuck tonight. I don't expect the answer he gives.
"Maybe a friend someday to the step-sister of my favorite cugina. When you have become more human. It is what Candy would like."
"Oh, you arrogant, sanctimonious, piece of shit. Do you have someplace you would rather be?"
"I would like to go and talk to the my mamma and my zia and zio. I have not seen them for several years and I may not see them again for several. Would you like to join me?"
"Maybe I'll talk to the fogies later."
"These older people are my family. They deserve my respect. They will leave early to let the young people have the night."
"Then why are you still here?"
"Maybe to save you the embarrassment of sitting alone. Maybe because Candy wants us to be friends."
"Fuck you! You fuckin' mama's boy faggot!" I'm so angry now that I could eat nails and shit straight pins.
Carlo only laughs at me.
"I can go out there on the dance floor and take the hottest single guy and make him mine for the night." Leave it to me to fall back on the obvious and the irrelevant.
"You probably can, Cindy. Pretty people often have too little self-respect and too much pride. But you won't take me for the night. I am not yours for the taking. So why are you still here?"
That's the last straw. I leave the table and get a drink at the bar, drinking half of it in one gulp. Carlo goes over to sit at the table with his aunt, uncle and mother. The one guy that I'm looking for sees me alone and walks up to me. He's one of the groom's brothers. Marcy filled me in earlier that he is also a player.
"Hi. I'm Brett. Can I buy you another drink?" He clearly noticed how fast I downed the drink I just got.
"They're free." I cool down a little because he is the hottest of the men who stood up to catch the garter. "And I'm Cindy."
"Would you like to dance, Cindy."
"Why waste time. Let's just go fuck." I start for the door and he follows. I turn and see Carlo sitting with the fossils and I'm sure he's looking at me and he's laughing. The asshole.
We get to the room and I hang the 'Do not disturb' sign out and lock the privacy lock. Candy shouldn't be back for quite a while and I just want to get my rocks off and boot this guy out the door.
I turn and see that Brett is undressing. He looks much like Carlo in some respects. He's a tad shorter, but he's got blue eyes and black hair and a perfectly handsome face. And a smooth chest, nice six-pack, pecs, biceps, broad shoulders, tight ass, solid thighs. His briefs drop to the floor and I'm not disappointed. It's not a monster cock, but it's big. It'll give a good stretch to whatever hole I want to stuff it in. He's a fuck machine and he's mine.
I drop my red dress and I'm ready. I couldn't have worn panties with it and my 36Cs are still firm enough that the dress did all the work holding them. My black lace thigh-highs and my stilettos don't seem to bother Brett as I kneel and take his cock into my mouth. I inhale the manly scent of him and my nipples harden. His pubic hair is neatly trimmed and he grabs my blonde hair and pulls it as he begins to fuck my face. I let him take about a dozen thrusts and then push him away.
I rip the covers off the bed and crawl up onto it. "Lick my fica."
"My pussy. Lick my cunt, Brett." I pinch and tug my nipples as his tongue dives into my hole. He's good. He tongue-fucks me deep and then starts licking my clit. He gets me right to the edge, but I'm not going over. "Fuck me hard now, Brett!"
He shoves his hard cock in and starts to pound into me. Normally when I'm that close to the edge, that's all it takes, but tonight I need more.
"Doggy," I gasp. He pulls out and flips me over, then shoves hard into me and I get the deep penetration I need, but it still is not quite enough. I go for the sure thing.
"Spank my ass, Brett." He starts smacking my ass cheeks. "Harder!" Now I'm getting it. He's smacking and jamming. I'm sure my cheeks are bright red now, because each new smack is like fire. I start coming and he's still smacking and then he's coming and I feel my pussy squeezing and releasing, pulling his cum into me, again and again and again and then I say "Yes, Carlo Yes!"
What? What the fuck did I just do? No! No! No! Dammit, no! In my mind I see Carlo laughing at me and I feel sick. I don't want Brett to be Carlo's proxy, punishing me for being what I am.
I hide my face in the sheets as Brett pumps his last drops into me. I didn't even make him wear a condom and I know that I won't get pregnant, but as his cum begins to ooze down my thigh I hear Carlo's words in my head. I'm 'a cunt on the hunt' and I'm not even there to see Linda and Pete off on their honeymoon and oh, god. I feel orrendo.
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<a href="http://www.lushstories.com/stories/novels/immune-to-my-beauty-chapter-1.aspx">Immune to My Beauty -- Chapter 1</a>