Mandy isn't your type, but you can't resist.

Earnest young catering women with mushy romantic notions are not usually your cup of tea, but Mandy's flushed cheeks, bright eyes, and animated motions as she describes the menu are just doing something to you. She looks so sexually charged, and so open and vulnerable to you. You cross and uncross your legs as you listen to her.

In a moment of lucidity, you ask Mandy to review the menu she thinks would work. You nod your head and say. "Let's start with these. Go ahead and switch the bread, as you suggested, and add the fruit whip."

Mandy agrees, makes a note, and closes her folder. You sigh with relief that the job is done. You fan yourself with your hand, feeling warm in the sunshine.

"You're very passionate about your work, Mandy," you say.

"Oh yes, Mrs. Strong," Mandy says. "I love catering weddings especially. I want to do my best on a day that's going to be so memorable. And weddings are so romantic, too, the mother of the bride crying, the couple lost in each other's eyes. And a good wedding leads to more weddings! I've been to several where the couple met each other at another wedding. The electricity that crackles through the room, everyone thinking about the wedding night."

You laugh. You've done your damnedest to make sure there is a wedding night, and fortunately it seems like things are coming together, little thanks to the principals, the in-laws, and the wedding party. "Yes, indeed," you say.

"Although I've seen some funny things sometimes. You know those thin dress pants the men wear? You can tell right away if they're happy to see you," she says, giggling and turning pinker. "One reception, well, you know, the groom had a nice tent, dancing with the bride, but the funny thing was, that when the groomsmen were dancing with the groom's mother, all of them got big bulges in their pants. I don't think it was JUST her, her neckline."

"Her décolletage," you supply. Alex's groomsmen wouldn't quite be your choice for a little fling, especially in terms of discretion. "You must have some interesting stories, behind the scenes as a caterer," you say.

"Me? Oh, no," Mandy pleads. "Nothing more then the usual mixups. But my friend Charla Rae? She's a dressmaker, and the stories she's told me about wedding dress fittings! Once she stepped out from a fitting because she needed to help another customer, and when she got back, the bride-to-be was so excited she was masturbating! Charla told me she just said, 'Oh good, honey, finish up, we don't want you all on edge.'" Mandy laughed out loud.

"My goodness, Mandy," you say. You resolve to remember her story for your husband. He's got a thing for brides, and in fact when you were getting married, he insisted on taking you in your dress right BEFORE your ceremony. And your husband isn't the only one. You'd have to admit that wearing white lace bridal stockings makes you feel extra fuckable.

"Charla's quite a character," Mandy says. "She says that more than once she's had to tell a groom to put it back in his pants at a fitting, because seeing his fiancée in her wedding dress tempted him to get a jump start on his wedding night."

Your ears feel hot. Mandy continues, "Once I saw her packing up her kit on the morning of a wedding. I saw her put in a little electric razor and asked, 'In case you have to shave her legs?' Charla said, 'No honey, it's a sheer dress. Her pussy.' Then Charla packed a vibrator. I must have given her a funny look, because Charla said, 'Sometimes it's just the thing for a nervous bride to take the edge off. Don't look stunned, honey. Usually I just show it to her and she has a good laugh. But sometimes she really needs it. Last month I had to buzz the poor bride AND eat her out to take the shake out of her knees.' Then she licked her lips."

"She didn't."

"She did! And I don't know if Charla DID it, but I believe she WOULD. But don't let me go on and on, Mrs. Strong," Mandy said, pulling at her skirt. "I really shouldn't be talking like this. It's unprofessional, and your son's wedding is tomorrow, for goodness sake."

You take a breath. It would be better to excuse yourself, now that business is taken care of. But you can't resist the imp of the perverse inside you. "Tut-tut, Mandy, nothing of the sort. I'm glad you take such pleasure in your work, and at this point in the whole wedding enterprise, I need to hear about the lighter side. I enjoyed your stories, dear. Very much. Ah, I see you've finished your cake. Wasn't it delicious?"

"Yes, ma'am," she said. "One of Hastings' best efforts." She licks her lips. Her face is flushed pink, and she's breathing deeply, her full breasts rising and falling under her white apron.

"I think you cut me too big a piece, dear," you say. "Here, have some of mine." You put a large bite on your fork and stretch it out toward Mandy's plate. Her eyes widen and she smiles. Your hand wavers and rises toward her lips. She opens her mouth and takes in another big bite of Hastings' cake laced with the aphrodisiac you provided. She chews, her eyes watching yours. You smile and touch her lower lip with your fork. "Makes you hungry for more, doesn't it, Mandy?" you say. "Are you hungry?"

Her lips part. "Uh-huh," she says, her eyes still watching yours. Her nostrils flare, and her chin quivers. You feel your clit swelling, and your moisture rising.

You nod. "More than cake?" you say.

She takes your hand and leans forward to kiss you, but you stop her.

You raise her chin with your fingertips. "You're hungry, Mandy. Are you hungry like Charla Rae?" you ask.

"Umm...uh...yes ma'am," Mandy says. Her chest is heaving, and her brow is flushed and damp. She looks uncertain.

"That's what I wanted to hear," you say. You guide her down to her knees in front of you. You scoot forward to the edge of your seat, lift your skirt and pull the crotch of your panties aside. You catch your own scent rising. "Eat me, Mandy."

Mandy sobs and falls face-first into your sticky pussy lips. She starts with big, wet kisses but soon digs in with her tongue, licking, sucking, eating you up. She makes incoherent little noises, coos, whines, whimpers, but her lips and tongue show no hesitation.

You sit on the edge of the little patio chair, your head tilted back, your chest rising and falling with deep breaths. Mandy's red head moving between your legs makes you feel like a queen. You're not much interested in women, and Mandy isn't especially good, but knowing you're irresistible, irresistible to a soppy romantic like Mandy Marx just makes you feel like a sex goddess.

Mandy whimpers and her whole body quivers. She's getting off without even touching herself! You feel an answering quiver between your hips, and your pelvis pushes forward into Mandy's lips. You take Mandy by the big knot of hair at the back of her head and crush her mouth against your pussy. Your climax comes in a rush, your legs stiffening, your head tilting back, the hot flow of orgasm up from Mandy's tongue shooting up through your clit, your vagina, even your untouched ass, washing up in a big wave of hot blinding red, then white.

Then black.

Someone is wiping your face with a damp cloth. You're lying on something hard. You flutter your eyes open.

"Are you okay, Mrs. Strong?" Mandy asks. She looks VERY worried.

You take a deep breath. "Yes, dear," you say. "Nothing to worry about. I just haven't had one of those in quite a while." You sit up and smile. You're on the tile floor of the little courtyard.

Mandy relaxes. She only looks moderately worried now. You take the cloth from her and pat your brow and behind your ears. The damp coolness is refreshing.

"Don't worry, I'm all right," you say, "I'll be looking forward to seeing you at the wedding. Maybe I can introduce you to a nice young man at the reception if you aren't too busy." You pause, not knowing if you should risk being even more indiscreet. "Unless you decide you're still hungry." You wink.

Mandy has an unreadable expression.

You hold out the damp cloth to Mandy. "Wipe your mouth, dear," you say.