Undercover Bridesmaid: Bonus Chapter

The house was quiet—eerily so after the chaos of Clara’s wedding week. No bridesmaids buzzing around, no TikTok videos, no barking orders. Just me, sitting at the edge of my bed in a silky robe Sophie had insisted I keep “for the memories.”

I thought the girly stuff was all behind me. 

Now here I was, robe slipping off one bare shoulder, cheeks warm, heart racing like I’d been caught sneaking into someplace forbidden.

Kayla leaned against the doorframe, lips curling into that half-smile that always seemed to undo me. “So,” she said softly, eyes dipping to the delicate straps I’d been fiddling with. “You weren’t actually planning on hiding this away forever, were you?”

I swallowed hard. I wanted to reply, but the freshness of this all still burned bright in my head—thoughts swirling around so chaotically, it was impossible to thinks straight. “I feel like I just don’t have the hips for this,” I said—but I didn’t really believe those words. Maybe I didn’t have her hips, but I was still curvier than I’d ever realized before.

She stepped forward, cutting off my excuses with the faint scent of her perfume. “Don’t pretend you don’t know how good you looked all week. How good you look. You read those comments.”

My throat tightened. I glanced away, staring at the vanity mirror across the room where my reflection looked back: soft makeup she’d helped me apply, robe gaping just enough to hint at the lace beneath. My pulse jumped. I’d been dolled up for days, but not quite like that. My sister had been dolling me up to look perfect for Clara. To look like Harper. But now, Kayla had me looking like… me.

But somehow not me.

It was like the feminine version of me. No contouring tricks. No trying to adjust proportions to look like someone else. 

To be honest, I looked prettier like this. I didn’t look fake. I looked sweet. I looked… happy. But still sexy. 

Kayla’s fingers brushed the edge of the robe, tugging it down a little further. “Show me,” she whispered.

I froze. “This is all just so new…”

“Please.”

I let the robe slip. Beneath it, the lingerie she’d gifted me clung to me in delicate black lace and satin, hugging curves that shouldn’t have existed but somehow did. Stockings clipped neatly in place. That morning, I’d told myself this was all over—but there I was, feeling more feminine than I had all week as a bridesmaid for Clara. 

Kayla’s eyes glistened. Her hands came up, fingertips grazing along the straps, tracing down the lace as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing. “God…” She blushed. “You’re cute, Logan. Or should I say…”

My cheeks burned. “Don’t.”

She grinned, teasing. “Fine. But you’re blushing.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.”

The tension stretched, humming in the quiet. Her eyes flicked from mine to my lips. Slowly, carefully, she leaned closer. My breath caught, and before I could second-guess myself, her mouth brushed mine. A kiss. Gentle at first. Testing.

But then I leaned in.

Heat spread through me, sharp and undeniable, as the kiss deepened. Her tongue teased mine, her hands roaming down the lace at my hips, pulling me closer.

I broke away with a gasp. “Kayla—what are we—”

She silenced me with another kiss, hungrier this time. When she finally pulled back, her lips glistened, her cheeks flushed.

“What we should’ve been doing all along,” she whispered.

Her hands tangled in the lace, tugging me toward the bed. My heart pounded, every nerve on fire as I stumbled back with her, the robe falling away completely.

I don’t know how long we rolled on that bed for. All of the makeup she helped me put on was smudged and blurred, though neither of us cared. I didn’t really need the makeup. I’d come to the realization over the week that I was more naturally feminine than half of the girls I grew up with. Makeup is fun. Makeup can enhance sexiness, no doubt. But I still felt so girly without it. 

And maybe those feelings had always been there—even before Clara, and before Kayla.

“I have to pee,” she blushed. “So I don’t pee on you.”

I laughed. “Is that actually a risk?” 

“Arousal can do funny things. Don’t judge me.” She bounced to her feet and zipped away to my bathroom. My chest tingled. 

This felt like a fantasy. Like a dream that would come to an end.

Then, she came back—but something was different. Between her legs was a long, thick shaft. A strap-on. Big. Hard. Standing tall, wobbling in the air as she planted her hands on her hips and giggled. 

“Where did you get that?” I asked.

“Don’t judge me,” she said.

I opened my mouth to reply, but no words came out. My heart raced fast. I felt redness overtaking my visage. 

She came back to me. “Hands and knees,” she said, doing her best Clara impression, snapping her fingers and pointing to the bed. The big difference was that I wanted Kayla to boss me around. 

I nervously assumed the position. 

“Now show me your asshole, slut,” she said, in that same Clara impression voice.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said.

She broke into laughter. “Ew. Don’t call me ma’am. That sounds so… old.” 

“What do I call you then?” I asked, looking back.

“Can’t we both be slut?” 

We giggled. It was fun. It was harmless. It was cute. 

“Okay then. Fuck me, slut,” I said.

“Sure thing, slut.”

More giggling. Then I felt the tip. That shut me up fast. I gasped. I bit my lip.

I closed my eyes. I felt her slip in.

She rubbed my ass gently with her hand. “Good slut,” she whispered. 

“Fuck me good,” I said. “I need it.” 

“That’s what I like to hear.” She giggled. “I knew it was in you all along. You’re cuter when you’re not trying to hide it.” 

She pushed deeper. I gasped.

I could feel the hard ridges of the toy. It was so thick. It was so long. It made my own cock look so embarrassingly tiny and weak. Even hard—like it was now—it was so minuscule compared to what was entering me now.

“Just like that,” she groaned, pushing even deeper. “You take it like a good slut.”

“Fuck me, baby,” I moaned.

And then she started thrusting. She gripped my ass with both hands and slid in and out slowly. I felt my hole stretching to accommodate her. I looked back. I saw her grinning.

She looked like she was near orgasm, even though she had nothing rubbing or penetrating her. It was a purely emotional, arousal-based euphoria. Just the act of doing something so intimate had her pussy leaking all over my bed—literally. I could see streaks of some fluid tracking down her thighs. 

“Does it feel good?” she asked.

I nodded my head.

“Tell me how good it feels.”

“It feels so fucking good,” I moaned, and then I let my face fall down onto the bed. She pushed in deeper. Her body seemed to rise up higher, enveloping me, dominating me. One of her hands found my back and she pushed down, almost smushing me into the bed while she fucked me. 

“Your asshole looks so cute taking this big cock,” she said. Her gaze was fixed upon my hole.

“It feels so fucking good,” I said again. 

“You’re taking every fucking inch,” she said, voice trembling. I could feel it too: sliding in so deep and pulling out so far—ten or more inches of hard shaft, of thick veins, of a bulging ridge. God, it felt so good. I moaned loudly.

“Good slut,” she said again, this time spanking my ass.

“Spank me again,” I managed to say between moans.

She spanked me again—harder, making me yelp. “You really are a slut.”

“I’m your slut,” I whispered.

“Say it louder.”

“I’m your slut!” I said.

“Louder.”

“I’m your slut!” I cried.

Her speed increased each time I said it. She fucked me harder. Faster. Deeper. I felt her body slap mine with each hard penetration. It felt so good. So naughty. So right. 

“God. I’m cumming,” she said. I felt her shaking. I looked back and saw her pouty, parted lips. Her nails dug in deeper. I clenched hard and groaned.

And then I felt a gushing. Something warm and wet splattered my wrists. I looked down to see my cock sputtering—shooting streaks of cum across my bed. 

Fuck. I was cumming everywhere. “Don’t stop!” I cried.

She didn’t stop. She kept fucking me until we were both spent. She fell upon me, body covered in sweat. She wrapped her hot body around mine. It was uncomfortably hot, but I still wanted it there. “Don’t let go of me,” I said. 

“I won’t.” 

“Just hold me.”

“I am.” 

I felt so comfortable in her arms. It was the confirmation that I needed: letting me know that this was right. I wasn’t making a mistake. This whole bridesmaid fiasco didn’t happen for nothing. 

Something good actually came out of Clara’s insanity.