Her Favorite Daddy | Stepfather (18+)

[Church]

Because of her delayed flight home, her mothers wedding was the very next day. No time to rest. Everything hectic. From before the sun rose, her mom had her up, fixing everything, meeting guests and bridesmaids and old relatives she hadn't had to bother remembering since she was a kid. Part of her had been resentful during her four years of boarding school, when the only time she'd see her mother was during the summer, usually happily married to a new man each time. But she had never been home for the weddings themselves. She had a suspicion back then that she was never invited because she was just human baggage from a previous, long ago, love affair. An unsightly child to be kept out of sight of her newest husband. But today, among all the chaos, she realized her mother had been doing her a favor.

She hated the fuss over everything. And weddings seemed to be all fuss.

It wasn't until the actual procession down the aisle that the day turned from mildly overwhelming to an outright travesty. Even though she hadn't done any actual bridesmaid work, or had any part in planning the wedding, she had begged her mom to let her be one. She wore a simple red dress to match all the other maids, and a small bouquet of red flowers dripping from white lace. The color scheme was quite striking, very bold for a wedding, but being the fifth wedding her mother had planned, it wasn't surprising that she was going for more bizarre and outlandish ideas. And with money to spend, her mother wasn't skimping.

She matched the beat of the organ as she paraded down the aisle, following ten feet behind the bridesmaid before her. Mia realized how much she hated the feeling of people watching her and was questioning why she had wanted so badly to be a part of the procession. So she kept her eyes trained down at the white walkway, and studied each rose petal, careful to step on any she could. A good distraction. It was at the end of the aisle, when she had to look up to find her place in line, that she saw the man who had fucked her the night before, standing with the priest by the alter. He was clean shaven today.

For a brief moment, she was horrified at the prospect of being forced to marry a man just because she had let him put his dick in her. But the moment passed quickly as she realized that wasn't the reality at all, and she wasn't having some weird nightmare. The actuality of the matter was that she was going to be watching her mother marry the man who had fucked her the night before. She tripped over her dress and dropped her bouquet.

Mia watched his feet move as he bent to retrieve the flowers and help her up. When she met his eyes, soft and worried, she was sure he didn't recognize her. His expression just didn't match recognition. Maybe he had been very drunk. Too drunk to remember. Perhaps he'd never make the connection, and the memory of it could live and die with her, unspoken and forgotten to history.

He held the bouquet out for her to take, and she took it, and then hurried to stand in the line with the other bridesmaids. He went back to his place, and the procession continued with more people walking down the aisle, the music droning. And Mia's heart raced in her ears, and she gripped her bouquet so tightly that the stems snapped in the lace they were tied up with. She dared look at him. It wouldn't be weird for her to look at him. He was the man of the hour.

But what was weird was that he was looked over at her with the faintest furrow in his brow. It had to be that she looked like she was about to pass out, not that he recognized her from the bar. She bit her bottom lip between her teeth to get herself to focus. She couldn't be such a bitch ass pussy about this. Excuse the language, but this type of situation deserved strong language.

At some point, he might connect the dots, and she had to be ready for the fall out. So as the music slowed down even further, and her mother appeared at the far end of the hall in her extravagant skintight, lacey wedding dress, detailed with red accents, Mia counted her breathing. Four seconds in, hold for seven, let it all out for eight, and repeat. So focused, she couldn't even hear the strange music choice her mother had made.