Page 64 of That Reunited Feeling

“That’s the sound you’ll be making on your wedding night, Katie,” Bridesmaid #2 says.

“Nah, she’s practiced enough not to gag,” Maid of Honor adds.

“Okay.” Delia claps her hands to restore order. “There are a couple brushes on your table. Paint some melted chocolate ontothe balls, then dip them in one of the pots of sprinkles. You should all have white, milk, dark, and rainbow.”

“You’re definitely doing rainbow, right?” Hannah says. “Just to make it more ridiculous?”

“Because without sprinkles this isnotridiculous?” I daub my chocolate balls with melted white chocolate, then dunk them in the dish of rainbow sprinkles

Bridesmaid #1 points at Mother of the Groom’s dark chocolate masterpiece, which now sports white chocolate-sprinkled testicles. “Yours looks like it’s got gray hair!”

“I’m going with what I know,” she says with pride.

“Then once you’re done,” Delia continues, “you can decorate the shaft with the brushes or the piping bags. Actually, I have some blueberry chocolate in the back if anyone would like that for veins.”

“Oh, I think I’m all good for veins,” I say, louder than intended and in a sudden silent moment in the room.

The women all erupt in laughter again, apart from Maid of Honor, who gives me another silent over-the-shoulder raised eyebrow.

Terrifying.

I turn to Hannah and lower my voice. “Please. Please can we go now?”

“We’re almost done,” Hannah says, painting trailing lines up the shaft of her penis.

“That’s a good idea,” Bridesmaid #2 says, indicating Mother of the Groom’s penis, now sporting white chocolate dripping from the head.

There’s a general murmur of agreement that hers is a truly inspired artistic addition, and within seconds every penis in the room gets a dollop of white chocolate ejaculate. Apart from Mother of the Bride’s, who, since her penis is already white, uses milk chocolate for the cum.

“Kind of looks like yours has diarrhea,” Mother of the Groom tells her, clearly an art critic in the making.

“You’re not going to—” I turn to look at Hannah’s. “Oh, you are.”

She beams at me and stands back to admire her work. “It came out great.”

“The decorations should set pretty quickly,” Delia says. “Just run your fingers over it lightly to check before you put it in your box.”

And that’s the final straw. It’s the fifteen thousandth dick joke that takes me down. I try to stop myself but fail miserably, dissolving into the same laughter as everyone else. I bang my forehead with my palm in frustration.

“I didn’t even mean it that way,” Delia protests.

But I’m pretty sure the innocent-looking candy-colored chocolate shop lady is a savvy businesswoman who knows exactly what she’s doing.

Hannah’s hand is on my shoulder. “See, I knew you’d have fun if you’d just give in to it.”

She’s holding her chocolate creation on a piece of parchment paper across the palm of her other hand. “But we can’t take these home. I don’t want Dylan, or Maggie and Jim, to see them.”

Shit. She’s right. I nod to the gaggle of women who’re topping up their glasses with one for the road and heading toward the shelves to browse the other chocolatey offerings. “Should we donate them to the cause?”

“Hell, no,” Hannah says. “This stuff smells delicious. I want to enjoy mine.”

She glances at the bachelorettes, who all have their backs to us. Then her eyes fix on mine as her tongue emerges from between her lips and she slowly—agonizingly slowly—licks some sprinkles off the left ball.

My non-chocolate gonads tighten, wishing for the first time in their lives that they were covered in bits of candy.

My heart rate rises as she glides her tongue up the shaft, scoops up some of the not quite set yet white chocolate cum and draws it into her mouth, half closing her eyes as she groans at its deliciousness.

Jesus fucking Christ, the last place I ever expected to get a hard-on was during a chocolate genital-making workshop surrounded by a bunch of horny, dick joke-making, semi-drunk bachelorettes. But apparently Hannah’s hotness trumps all that.

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