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The organist, Mrs. Moore (a dainty wisp of a girl of no more than twenty years), pumped her feet on the bellows of the reed organ with gusto as she played the Wedding March. Aggie appeared from the nave, smiling and carrying a small bouquet of daisies. She proceeded to the rail and moved over into place as the Maid of Honor.All eyes were on the alcove and a murmur raced through the throng as Smitty Akin stepped out, clean and dressed in a freshly pressed suit and tie. The most beautiful bride in the Universe was on his arm. That was the groom’s opinion as he stood gazing at her. Clint’s heart soared when he saw that vision of loveliness. Any doubt that he might have had vanished in a haze. Her beauty blinded him as the sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, casting multicolored rays about the chamber.Off-key music from the old organ died down as the bride reached the front of the small chapel. A happy pair knelt on the pad especially provided for that purpose. Moore was. He rams home again. Bumping her cervix and holding it there as he unloads his own depleted load into her depths. She sighs as his manhood deflates. Drops her legs from around his hips and laughs with glee for a moment. Suspended between him and the wall “Okay Philip. (finally remembering his name) you can let me down now. We need to shower.” He lets off his weight. She slips to the floor and pulls her top off in a flourish. She throws it into the corner. He can only stare. Slack jawed at her nubile teen form. Her Chuck Taylor low tops fly one by one. A sock hitting him in the face. “towels” is all she says. Her skirt follows the polo top and she grabs the purple hard case. Entering the bathroom. She marvels at the wooden slat floors warmth under her bare feet. He finally breaks his trance. Tearing his eyes away from the not quite 5 foot, perfectly sculpted body. Long enough to get undressed himself. He follows her into the bath and closes the door. On a rack behind it are several.
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