Where is Brianna?

Your heart is pounding as you stare at your friend’s backside. It was... cute. You've always found Nicole attractive, sure, but at a point, after getting to know her, you never saw her as more than a friend. But here she was, showing off the fact her soon-to-be wife had gotten her a buttplug, and your thoughts are racing at a million miles a minute. Your dress pants begin to grow uncomfortably tight. What in the world was happening? Wasn’t she... gay? Is this all related to that strange dream? Are you going crazy? Before you can even begin to process a coherent answer to any of these questions, Nicole gives her behind another little wiggle, speaking up; a hint of concern in her voice.

“John?”

Blinking away your flabbergasted look, you let out a little laugh. Regardless of whether Charles had been real or not, what was happening in front of you right now was certainly real. At least, as far as you could tell. And so, with a smile, you somehow manage to advert your gaze from the tantalizing display, forming eye contact with the adorable Asian.

“I… think it's lovely! It genuinely looks breathtaking on... er, in you!”

Nicole’s confused expression melts back into the excited one she'd been sporting before. Letting her dress fall back over the plug, much to your dismay, she turns herself back towards you. Her legs seem to shake slightly as she repositions herself; the display probably shifted the toy around inside her. Nonetheless, she leans forward again, wrapping you back up in a little hug, before letting go.

“Thank you, John! It's kinda hard to get a good view, for myself, but I'm glad you like it! Anyway, back to what we’d been talking about, I was just about to head into the MPR to scout it out a bit again! I’d ask you to come with me, but, Bri was actually asking where you were a while ago! She was in the kitchen last I saw, talking with the catering crew.”

As much as you want to see more of Nicole, and spend time with her, your brain is still coming to terms with what just happened. Plus… this is supposed to be a… wedding, right? You can’t just… fuck one of the brides? So, with another nervous smile, you nod, pushing yourself up from the fountain’s edge.

"Yeah, uh, yeah! I'll go... I'll go talk to her now!"

Nicole gives you another little grin, before waving goodbye with a cheery, "See ya!" As she turns around and begins making her way towards the big multi-purpose room, you see the Asian girl momentarily pausing to fiddle with the back of her dress along the way. As you watch your friend reorient her buttplug, a creeping thought begins making its way into your mind.

You… had no idea who Brianna even was.

It didn’t take you too long to locate the kitchen. Despite not having been to this place for a while, you still remember the path you took through the buildings to get to the little cooking area. Having used the time alone to continue pondering what the fuck just happened, you were relieved to find your erection having faded, at least somewhat, as you approached the back entrance. Taking a deep breath, unsure of how you were even supposed to act when you found the bride, you push the door open and slip inside.

The dimly lit kitchen had a strange atmosphere. Kinda like how it felt walking into a diner moments after it had opened for the day. Old, unmaintained lights flicker on the ceiling. Half of the appliances seemed like they were from the 80s. There were only a few cooks here and there, your eyes moving to one that just entered from the front door as you walked in. Looking around at the half-dozen or so workers, your eyes fall on two younger (19 or 20, maybe?) girls beside the fridges. Squinting, you seem to notice that one of their hands were…

“John!!”

You hear an unfamiliar voice with a thick French accent call your name. As you pull your attention away from the pair of cooks, you turn your head towards the voice. In the far corner of the kitchen, near the emergency exit, you see two girls that you can only assume had just been talking.

The head chef (or, the one you assumed was the head chef) was a middle-aged Puerto-Rican girl. Her curly hair was pulled back into a bun, a little hairnet holding the black locks in place. She certainly wasn’t skinny, but you wouldn’t label her as ‘overweight’ either. Despite being fairly short, her body filled out the modest work outfit very well, leading you to imagine she’d probably look even better in something that wasn’t a mono-colored uniform with an apron.

Beside her was the person that called your name. You could only assume she was Brianna, given that she was the only person in the kitchen, aside from you, that wasn’t in a uniform. Instead she was wearing, high-waisted cream-colored pants that just barely stopped below her belly button, which was, along with a little slice of her tummy, revealed beneath her short black crop top. At first, given that she had a few inches of height on you, you’d assumed she was wearing heels like Nicole, but, when you got past her long legs, you saw that she was just wearing some simple flip flops. Her feet were certainly pretty; she had relatively flat arches, the soles slightly longer than average, and big enough to match her height. Her toes seemed a bit longer than what you initially would've deemed attractive, but something about the way they matched her appearance, along with a toe-ring on her ring-toe, and the deep crimson nail-polish that adorned them... You could certainly understand at least one reason why Nicole was interested in marrying her.

After pulling your gaze from her appealing feet, you realize that the tall blonde had been ushering you over. Shaking your head to clear it, and throwing a casual smile on your face, you walk over to the pair extending a hand to greet the unfamiliar woman. However, with an entertained little laugh, the taller woman rolls her eyes before leaning forward to wrap you up in a hug. Planting a little kiss on each of your cheeks, leaving you red-faced and confused, the French woman then lets you go, and stands up with a humored, “John! I can only assume Nicole told you I’d been looking for you, yes? Me and Mrs. Garcia had just been discussing how they prepare the vegan food!”

“Yes,” the shorter woman nods, Mrs. Garcia you mentally note, “We have separate utensils for each entrée. We ensure nothing used for meat, is used for vegetable preparation.”

The stark, almost boring normality of this situation was soothing. But, despite this, it felt... odd. Looking up at the blonde, whos attention was on the droning chef, she seemed so excited, and happy. As she nods along to Mrs. Garcia explaining how they make sure to keep ingredient preparation on separate counters, your brain can't help but nag at you. Would Brianna still be this happy if she knew that, not too long ago, the person she planned to marry had just been showing off her intimate gift in such a provokative manner to the man just a few feet away from her...

A little laugh! Your thoughts are interrupted by the Puerto-Rican as she pats you on the shoulder. “Oh! But enough about that, you two have things you need to discuss. Please, go on and don’t let me distract the both of you; Ms. Brianna, it’s simply been far too long since I've gotten to try cinnamon polish!”

The strange sentence takes a moment to process in your brain. You watch, confused, as the cook gets down on her knees. Returning the chef's friendly laugh, Brianna slips one of her feet out of its flip flop, responding with a casual, “Yes! Nicole simply adores this flavor. It’s not my cup of tea, but I always dress to impress.” Nonchalantly reverting her attention back to you, a kindhearted smile on her face, you watch dumbfounded as the Puerto-Rican’s gloved hands grab a hold of Brianna’s now bare foot. Two thumbs pressed against the ball of the appendage, the rest of her fingers wrap around the blonde’s foot as if it were a burrito. Leaning in, and taking a tiny sniff, Mrs. Garcia then proceeds to slip both Brianna’s big, and index toe into her mouth at once; presumably proceeding to roll her tongue around the digits like a lollipop.

However, despite this erection-inducing, mind-bending display, Brianna’s reaction simply seems to be an inquisitive, “So! John, you do still plan on joining us at the afterparty, yes? I know you said you might’ve had plans tonight, and it is going to mostly be women, so I wouldn’t want you to feel as if you have to **** yourself to attend.”