wedding day

She finds me in the groom's room an hour before the ceremony. The wedding dress hangs on the back of the door—pristine, perfect, white silk that will make her look like every dream I've ever had about this day. But her face is flushed, and there's an intensity in her eyes I recognize.

"I need to tell you something," she says, closing the door behind her. She's wearing the white robe they gave the bride, and I can already see the slight bulge at her thigh. Pantyhose again. Thicker ones today, reinforced, trying to contain what's becoming increasingly impossible to hide.

"I'm listening," I say.

"When I was getting dressed with the bridesmaids," she says quietly, "Sarah was adjusting her dress, and I could see—" she stops, clearly struggling with the words, "—and I got hard. Just from looking at her. Not in a romantic way. Just... the sight of her body."

She sits down heavily on the chair, pressing her hands to her face.

"I've never been attracted to women before," she continues. "Ever. I've always known I liked men. I liked you. But just now, watching the women move around half-dressed, helping each other with zips and buttons, and I felt my cock getting harder and harder, and I couldn't stop it."

I move closer to her. "How many times?"

"Twice already this morning," she admits. "Once in the shower, once in the bedroom before I left. And I'm still half-hard right now just thinking about it. Thinking about Sarah's breasts when her dress slipped. About my mother-in-law to be in her underwear. About things I've never wanted to think about before."

"Your sexuality is changing," I say.

"I know," she says, looking up at me. "And I'm terrified. What if it keeps changing? What if by next week I'm only attracted to women? What if I'm only attracted to women now? What if—" She stops herself, breathing heavily.

"Hey," I say, kneeling in front of her. "We'll figure it out. But right now, you need to get through the ceremony. Can you do that?"

She nods, but there's doubt in her eyes. "The pantyhose are helping. But barely. My cock's been rubbing against them all morning, and every time I think about Sarah, I feel it twitching. John, I'm going to have a hard-on walking down the aisle."

"Then think about something else," I suggest. "Think about—"

"Think about what?" she interrupts. "You? That's worse. That's what got me in this state in the first place."

There's a knock on the door. "Ten minutes, groom!" her father calls out.

I stand up and help her to her feet. "You're going to walk down that aisle, you're going to say your vows, and then we're going to figure out how to handle this. Understood?"

She nods, but I can see her thighs trembling slightly.

The ceremony is beautiful. She looks absolutely stunning in that white dress, and when she walks toward me, I can see her movements are slightly stiff, controlled. The fabric doesn't betray her secret, but I know what's happening under there. I know she's fighting to keep still, to keep composed, as she walks the length of that aisle in front of two hundred people.

She reaches me, and our eyes lock. There's desperation in hers. When the officiant asks if anyone objects, I think she's going to break. But she holds it together through the vows, through the rings, through the kiss.

When we're officially pronounced married, she kisses me with intensity, and I feel it—the hardness pressed against my thigh, the tension in her whole body.

We make it through the receiving line by the skin of our teeth. Then, as we're being ushered toward the reception hall, I grab her hand and pull her into a small antechamber off the main hallway—a storage room for coat racks and extra chairs. I lock the door behind us.

"I can't," she gasps immediately. "I can't make it through the reception like this."

"I know," I say.

I pull her wedding dress up quickly, carefully, gathering the fabric around her waist. The pantyhose are visible, dark against her white dress, and I can see the obvious bulge. I pull the crotch of the pantyhose aside—they're reinforced enough that they don't tear—and her cock springs free, already leaking pre-cum.

She's breathing hard, her back against the wall.

"This is crazy," she whispers. "Anyone could hear."

"Then be quiet," I tell her, dropping to my knees.

I take her into my mouth, and she immediately bites her hand to stifle a moan. Her hips thrust forward instinctively, but I hold her still, controlling the pace. She's been building all morning—the pantyhose friction, the bridesmaids, the ceremony, the pressure of keeping it hidden. She's a live wire about to snap.

I work her with purpose, my tongue sliding along her shaft, tasting the pre-cum, feeling her pulse in my mouth. Her free hand finds my hair, gripping but not pushing. She's trying so hard not to make noise, and it's making her shake with the effort.

"Oh god," she breathes through her clenched teeth. "Oh god, oh god, oh god..."

I hollow my cheeks and suck harder, faster, and she comes with a strangled sound that she muffles against her own hand. Her cock pulses in my throat, filling my mouth with her cum, her whole body going rigid.

When she's done, I pull back and quickly tuck her back into the pantyhose, pulling the crotch back into place as she lowers her dress. Her makeup is still perfect. Her hair is still perfect. There's no evidence of what just happened.

She's breathing hard, trying to compose herself.

"Better?" I ask.

"For now," she says. "But we still have hours of reception left."

"We'll manage," I tell her. "And then we're out of here. Hotel. Alone."

Her eyes light up at that. No family. No bridesmaids. No one watching. Just the two of us and whatever this new version of her needs.

"Come on," I say. "We have a reception to get through."

We slip back into the hallway just as her mother appears, asking if we're ready to make our entrance.

Throughout the reception, I watch her. I watch the way her eyes linger on the bridesmaids. The way she blushes when Sarah hugs her. The way she seems simultaneously excited and panicked about this new development.

The first dance is **** for her. I can feel her trying not to press against me, trying not to let the hardness between her legs become obvious as we sway together. When other couples join us on the floor, she relaxes slightly.

By dinner, the pantyhose have been through a lot. I can see her shifting in her seat, trying to find a position that doesn't create friction. She barely eats. She's completely focused on keeping control.

When we finally leave the reception—throwing the bouquet, saying goodbyes, making our escape—we're in the car headed to the airport hotel where we're staying before our flight tomorrow morning.

The moment the hotel room door closes behind us, she's pulling me toward her.

"Finally," she gasps, already hiking up her dress. "Finally alone."

I help her out of the dress, the pantyhose, all of it. She stands naked in front of me, and her cock is already hard again, flushed and ready.

"I need you to understand something," she says, pulling me close. "Today, when I was looking at those women, I wasn't confused. I wasn't scared. I was excited. My body is changing in ways I never expected, and it's turning me on."

She kisses me hard, pushing me toward the bed.

"And tomorrow we have the whole honeymoon ahead," she continues, straddling me. "Just us. No one to hide from. No pantyhose. No pretending. Just me and this body and you."

She takes my cock and guides it into her, and the sensation is incredible. She rides me with abandon, completely free for the first time since the transformation, and I realize that whatever Tessa is becoming—whatever her sexuality is evolving into—we're going to figure it out together.

"I love you," she gasps as she moves, "no matter what I become."

And I believe her.