Danny, my sister's husband, has never seemed to like Stewart, but for some reason he came out of the woodwork this week, ten days before the wedding, and announced that he and his buddies were taking Stewart out to "sow his oats" one last time. Great. This, of course, encouraged my sister, Sandy, to throw together a bachelorette party for me. That was last night – you know the sort of thing, a gaggle of girls, mostly my working class high-school friends, dragging me from bar to bar wearing a veil and begging free drinks off the male clientele – not my style at all, of course, but I couldn't talk her out of it.

The most infuriating part of the evening – last night, I'm talking about -- was running into Danny and his friend Bob at one of the bars – "by accident." Naturally, that was the bar in which Tonya, a girl who had been my best friend in high school (until I went to college and she went to work as a manicurist) decided to start charging guys five bucks to kiss the bride. Danny, of course, paid up, but instead of the chaste little pucker most guys understood to be appropriate for such a "game", Danny stuck his disgusting tongue practically down my throat and grabbed both of my asscheeks, right in front of my sister, his own wife! She just smiled meekly and pretended it was all a joke, but it just burns me up how badly he treats her.

My Stewart would never be so disrespectful to me. Why even now, after a long night out with the "boys", celebrating his *own* bachelor party, here he is, his sweet little head nestled between my thighs, gently licking and worshipping my sex. Perhaps a little too gently.

"Stewart, honey, I know you're tired, but could you please put your tongue in a little deeper...oh, yes, that's it baby...now back to my love button...Mmmm, just keep that up, sweetheart."

I feel an orgasm coming, and I just know that my uterus is in a condition to gush forth with the climax. Now this is *definitely* the right way for the bride to finish the evening of her groom's bachelor party – the sort of ending that gives a woman real peace of mind -- with HIM servicing HER!

000000000

Well, at least I know that Stewart didn't go over the line EARLIER TONIGHT. Danny made sure of that. Danny had assured me in advance that although Stewart would get to look at a bunch of strippers, and even get a few breasts smashed into his face, there would be NO lap dances, private rooms, or "special" groom's services purchased or allowed (at least not for the groom – I am sure that the other attendees, all of whom were Danny's -- not Stewart's -- friends, copped whatever feels and paid for whatever frottage they might have pleased).

Of course, it was no surprise to me that Danny had NOT made me this promise out of mere gentlemanly courtesy. Ha! When I called him earlier today to ask him this favor (at home, of course, as he is once again laid off from the tire factory), he agreed, as he put it, to "keep little Stewart's weenie dry" as long as I would do a favor for him. That bastard never misses an opportunity to prove himself a creep, that's for sure.

However, the necessity of keeping Stewart 100% faithful won out, so I agreed to his terms. Sometimes peace of mind comes at a price.

So, earlier this evening -- around nine -- I pulled my car into the strip club's parking lot to fulfill my side of the arrangement. Sure enough, there was Danny, standing next to his pick-up truck, a shit-eating grin on his face.

"What are you smiling at? What's going on with Stewart in there?"

"Don't worry about sweet Stewie. He's getting nothing in there but blue balls. Seems to be enjoying the show, though, despite your image of him as Mr. Perfect. Are you dressed for success?"

"I said I would be, didn't I?" I pulled open my raincoat to show him my costume. He grunted and nodded. ......(cont)