I Had An Orgy With My Husband’s 12 Groomsmen On My Wedding Night

You thought you were kinda-sorta over Bennett but, when he got down on one knee, all those old feelings came rushing right back.

In spite of everything—him cheating on you with your best friend, him waking you up in the middle of the night to save him from a fake kidnapping—you know deep down that he’s the man for you. In the immortal words of Selena Gomez, “The heart wants what it wants.”

“Yes!” you blurt. “Yes, I will! Yes!”

Fast-forward to your wedding night.

Your heart definitely wanted Bennett. When it comes time for your nuptials, though, you discover that your pussy has other ideas. Like inviting all of the groomsmen to run a train on you after the reception.

(In its defense, your pussy had an accomplice in your right wrist, which poured champagne and spiked punch down your throat all evening.)

“What are you doeeng, my beautiful bride?” Bennett asks when he sees you scrawling your phone number and “Txt me pls!” on 12 cocktail napkins.

“Practicing,” you slur. “Sometimes I forget my number. It’s the damnedest thing. Oh, and studying my abbreviations to become a more efficient texter.”

“And the leetle hearts you drew?”

“Those are to remind me to cut back on my trans fats. For my heart.”

“Heeheehee,” Bennett laughs. “Always so worried aboot everything! Thees ees your wedding night, relax and enjoy yourself.”

Bennett was never in danger of winning any MacArthur grants, but you can’t believe he swallowed that line of bullshit. Men get real stupid when they’re over the moon for a girl, you guess.

He doesn’t even seem to notice when, in between dances with him, you stumble around the floor handing the napkins to each of the aforementioned groomsmen, as well as (by total accident) one elderly waiter. Or when you spend the next two hours staring at your iPhone screen, coordinating your little ménage.

Excuse yourself.

“I’m not feeling so well, darling. I think I’m going to go up to the hotel room and lay down.”
“OK. Do you want me to come weeth you?”

“No! I mean, thank you but I’ll be fine. You just come up when you’re ready.” You smile sweetly.

Shortly after you leave, the groomsmen start drifting toward the exits. Meanwhile, you’re ass-naked in bed, thighs quivering in anticipation.

Knock knock!

Pedro and Paolo, a pair of best friends so inseparable they might as well be joined at the hip, are the first of the groomsmen to arrive at your door. Each holds a vodka tonic in one hand and a tumescent dick in the other.

Before you’ve had a chance to close the door, Damien and Lloyd appear, the latter riding on the former’s shoulders piggy-back style. Damien is 11 feet tall and has a two-inch erection. His pants and underwear are around his ankles, somewhat impeding his movement. Lloyd, at two-and-a-half feet tall, has an 18-inch flaccid cock that you initially mistake for a flesh-colored necktie, because of the way it’s draped over Damien’s shoulder, its head hidden just underneath the buttoned first button of the latter’s sport coat.

The five of you have barely had a chance to get comfortable when you hear another knock at the door. It’s the elderly waiter, who comes bearing a silver serving platter. He lifts the cloche, and out leaps Todd, who normally stands 5’11″ but has the ability to change his shape and size at will. You, Pedro, Paolo, Damien and Lloyd all ooh, aaah and applaud Todd’s exceedingly clever entrance.

Linus, who has no distinguishing features, slips in without anyone noticing. Jarvis, a sentient, shapeshifting pile of ants, swarms under the door as Raoul, gifted with the ability to transform into an invisible, odorless gas, wafts through the keyhole.

Contortionist Amir crab-walks over the threshold straddled by Sam, an abstract concept who occasionally takes human form. Hans, a hyperintelligent being made entirely of light, announces his presence in the room with a blinding flash. Last but not least, Torvald, a musical phrase that fell off the end of one of Debussy’s lesser sonatas, vibrates through the air in a mellifluous manner.

“OK, let’s fuck!

You’re wetter than the Atlantic Ocean but you’ve got to admit that you’re not sure quite how to coordinate an orgy involving such a unique cast of characters. Nothing’s going to happen until you start making some decisions, though, so you stand up and start coordinating the action.

“Jarvis, why don’t you just crawl all over my naked body while Pedro and Paolo fuck me in the pussy and ass. Well, OK, one of you is going to have to crouch, because I’m going to be sucking Damien’s dick at the same time. Before all that, though, I want Todd to shrink to the size of an Aspirin and jump down my throat so you can swim around in my stomach. Lloyd, stay on Damien’s shoulders and just coil your flaccid cock around me like an anaconda. Hans, you provide some mood lighting.

Torvald, I’ll hum along with you while keeping Sam in the back of my mind and Raoul at the bottom of my lungs. Amir, if you could somehow thread your neck through everyone else’s limbs and lick my clitoris, that would be great. Elderly waiter, pinch any inch of exposed skin you can between your platter and cloche, as painfully as possible, please! And… am I forgetting anyone? Oh! Linus, you can stand over there in the corner and do… whatever it is that you do.”

“Ready… set… go!”

Everybody rushes to get into position. You start humming, and the ants begin to crawl all over your skin. Paolo and Pedro line themselves up with your ass and cunt, and begin to stroke it in preparation to penetrate you. Damien stands bowleggedly in front of you, his micropenis conveniently situated at mouth level. Lloyd, still perched on Damien’s shoulders, unfurls his spectacular member and allows it to drop over your body. You take a deep breath and, in the process of inhaling Raoul, get Todd lodged in your windpipe. You cough, freeing the latter to tumble down your esophagus and into your digestive system.

Hans alternates between searing light and inky blackness, making vision kind of difficult, but you’re pretty sure that’s Amir’s hot tongue on your clit. You yelp with pain as the elderly waiter pinches the skin of your right thigh between platter and cloche, struggling to keep your mind focused on Sam despite the sensations rushing through your body. Linus stands in the corner, stroking his nondescript member.

Suddenly, you hear another knock at the door.

Who in tarnation is that?

To your totally unjustified surprise, it’s the man you just married.

He stands in the doorway, agape. For a frightening moment, it’s tough to tell whether he’s aghast or just agog.

“How deed you know? How deed you know I had a thing for cuckoldry?!” He’s so moved by your thoughtful gesture that he bursts into tears and gets a boner, all at once.

As you piece together later, Bennett’s under the impression that one of his groomsmen revealed his kink to you, and that the whole baker’s dozen of y’all coordinated this scene to appeal to his secret desires.

While you, Pedro, Paolo, Damien, Lloyd, Sam, Raoul, Todd, Amir, Linus, Jarvis, Torvald and the elderly waiter go at it, Bennett jacks off rapturously. The scene culminates in an explosive, 13-person simultaneous orgasm that leaves the room covered in semen, colored light, ants and other, less easily describable substances.

Well, that worked out well.

Indeed. In the end, the orgy only brings you, Bennett, the waiter and the groomsmen closer together. The sensual glow of post-coital camaraderie lasts until the next morning, when you surprise yourself by pooping out a tiny skeleton.

“Hey, Bennett?” you call from the bathroom. “I have some bad news about Todd.”

This is an excerpt from “Sex Dungeons Of The Rich & Famous“