Panthera Spelaea

“Nervous?”

I looked over at my younger brother Patrick as he took his place next to me in his tuxedo. “Why would I be?”

“I don’t know, bro. Two hundred people looking at you and your pregnant girlfriend inside with her father?”

I just grinned. “I can’t wait. Someday, you’ll know the feeling.” I looked across the small podium in our backyard to where Anna stood in her bridesmaid dress and smiled apologetically. We’d kept the wedding party small, with just a Best Man and Maid of Honor. Anna deserved a day like this but would never get it. Anna smiled as the organist stopped, then everyone stood as the Bridal March started.

I started to grin. “Look, I paid good money for Svetlana. She’s mine now.” It was a fun Russian tradition for the groom to ‘rescue’ his bride on their wedding day. This morning, I’d gone to the hotel where she was staying with her parents. They had ‘hidden’ Svetlana in a closet in the bedroom, with luggage and furniture piled in front of it to keep me away. I had to buy my bride’s freedom with a bottle of champagne, a big box of chocolate, tickets to the Houston Ballet, and cash for spending money. As we left, her friends showered us with seeds, coins, and candies for luck.

There were a few other traditions at play today. Sergei and Nadezna’s closest friends were the старейшины (elders) for the ceremony. Her parents arranged for a Korovai, the traditional Ukrainian wedding bread, to be baked and brought over. A Korovai wasn’t the kind of loaf you’d buy at the market; it was intricately decorated and lovingly crafted. Superstition held that the Korovai bakers passed along the fate of their marriages through the bread. Therefore, only married women and their children participate. The baking starts with prayer, uses holy water, and is a labor of love. The elders brought the Korovai in and would hold it during the ceremony. It was beautiful; two birds on the top symbolizing us, the rest decorated with flowers, pine cones, grapes, and vines.

The back doors opened, and Svetlana stepped out with Sergei into the bright Houston sunshine. My bride looked radiant. Her blonde hair pulled back in complicated braiding, a veil below a silver tiara obscuring her face. The sleeveless white wedding gown clung to her athletic curves, offering hints as to the treasures I knew were beneath it. The train followed behind her, sliding over the white material leading out to the altar.

The guests gazing at her knew what I did; I was the luckiest man in the universe. I saw the love in her eyes as she reached us, and her father placed her hand in mine. “позаботься о моем ребенке, (Take care of my baby),” Sergei said in Russian.

“она мое сокровище, (She is my treasure),” I replied. My father-in-law shook my hand and took his seat in front next to Nadezna. The two of us turned to face the Russian Orthodox priest. The priest was Svetlana’s spiritual guide from baptism through high school. Svetlana kept in touch after his transfer to another parish. He flew here with her parents and a dozen friends of my girls from school and work. My pastor stood next to him; he would be the ‘official’ officiant under Texas law and share the ceremonial duties.

I didn’t even notice the crowd, and the service itself was a blur. We repeated the vows, exchanged rings, and got crowned in the traditional Russian Orthodox manner. We finally kissed for the first time as husband and wife. The crowd cheered, and I saw how thrilled Anna was for us. We turned to face the guests as she took my arm.

Both Moms were crying, and our fathers were not unaffected. Melanie sat next to my Mom, with Colonel West in his Marine dress blues by her side. She was crying and leaning into his side as we passed. Melanie had been nervous about him when we returned to school, but he was smitten. Neither cared about the age difference between them, and they talked every night during our visit. Mom and Dad met him last night, and he’d met whatever tests they had for him. I was happy for them and hopeful he was her mate.

I smiled at the other guests as we slowly returned to the house. The other Switchers were here, all sitting on the bride’s side. I’d convinced my childhood and college friends to sit on Svetlana’s side as well, and a few of the single ones had found seats next to the hot Russian nurses who came over. My side was older, with friends and business associates of my parents dominating the crowd.

The wedding party went to Dad’s office to sign the paperwork, then the girls and I retired to the sitting room for more pictures. While we did that, caterers finished setting up the pool area for the party to follow.

The reception was in the Russian tradition as well. Svetlana’s cousin, Todor, was the “Tamada,” what we called the Master of Ceremonies. Todor set up a receiving line at the entrance to the big pool/patio area. Patrick was first, with me next, then Svetlana. Anna and our parents followed. Anna used a table behind us for gifts, including our Russian friends’ traditional salt and bread.

As people made it to the tables, wine bottles got opened, and glasses charged. Todor announced the first toast, explaining the tradition to the Americans as he went. He held the glass up. “для молодоженов, (For the newlyweds)!”

The guests shouted back the toast, then drank. One of my college buddies, obviously prompted by the cute Russian brunette at his side, called back, “Горький (bitter)!”

“Oh, the wine is bitter? There’s only one way to sweeten it up! The longest kiss!”

Svetlana grinned as I took her into my arms and kissed her deeply. The longer the kiss, the sweeter the wine, and I didn’t mind a bit as the crowd counted the seconds. At just over two minutes into some serious tonsil hockey, Todor tapped my shoulder. “Come on, we’re getting hungry,” he whispered.

I ended the kiss, and another gave a toast. This time, another guest complained the wine was bitter, so we did it again. It took six tries, but eventually, we got it right.

Mom was surprised at Svetlana’s decisions on the reception menu, but it was inspired. She’d chosen authentic Texas barbecue from our favorite local restaurant, and the smell of the food cooking had been a distraction all day. “I’m not a formal dinner person,” Svetlana explained. “I love the flavors of your food, and I want my guests to share in that.”

Instead of formal seating, there were four buffet lines set up. We piled our plates with brisket, chicken, ribs, cornbread, potato wedges, and coleslaw before taking our spots at the head table. It didn’t take long before we were tucking into the food, and the first clinking of glasses sounded. You see, Americans have traditions too! I leaned over, licked the bit of barbecue sauce from Svetlana’s lips, then kissed her deeply as the crowd cheered.

Todor kept the party going during the meal, interspersing jokes and poems among multiple toasts. Anna told funny stories about us in Russia, and Patrick gave his Best Man speech. Many bottles of wine were gone by the time we got to my bridal toast, but it all went off as planned.

Svetlana was cleaning her fingers on a wet towel before patting the food belly she’d created. “That was great,” she said as she relaxed.

“очень хорошая еда, (Very good food),” her father agreed. Caterers cleared the dinner tables as we headed for the wedding cake. The three-tiered cake had a white and raspberry cake base, a banana-custard-flavored middle layer, and an authentic Russian honey cake on top. We made the traditional first cuts, fed each other a taste without incident, and turned it over to the professionals to distribute.

“You didn’t shove it in her face!” Patrick sounded disappointed.

“Not all traditions are good ones,” I countered.

As the night went on, Todor kept the fun going. Russian wedding receptions were full of games and contests, the most dangerous being ‘find your bride.’ I was blindfolded and sent along a line of women who might offer a hand, leg, or body part for me to touch, and I was to find Svetlana or face punishment. My nose made this easy, and she gasped when I pulled her into my body for a kiss as the crowd cheered.

The dancing and partying went on into the night. Our guests needed to start heading home, so we made the round of goodbyes. On the way out, we cut the Korovai bread and ate some, while the elders would make sure all the guests got a piece as they departed. Anna went with us to our room, and we changed into our getaway clothes. One last goodbye to our parents, and we headed to the limo for the airport.

Anna was crying as we pulled away from my parent’s home. “I’m sorry,” I said as I pulled her into my lap.

“The ceremony was beautiful, and I had the BEST time,” Anna replied. “It was everything I could have dreamed of.”

“And I can’t give that to you,” I said as I tucked their heads into my chest. “We’ll make it up to you, somehow.”

“Anything,” Svetlana added.

“I want him first tonight,” she finally said. “I want to make love to him and feel him fill me with his seed.” She was wiggling on my leg, and I was responding. I was only human.

“We’ve got twenty minutes to the airport,” I replied. Anna didn’t need any other permission; she slipped off my lap, and the girls removed my pants and shirt in seconds. Anna pulled her skirt up and straddled me in reverse, letting my big cock slide deep inside her velvet sleeve. “Oh, GOD! You feel so good,” I told her.

Anna closed her eyes and started to move her hips, and she stifled a scream when she felt a tongue on her clit. Svetlana was leaning over, teasing her sister-wife as she started lifting herself and dropping back down. We gave her three orgasms in ten minutes, the last one ending with me pounding up into her and depositing a full load. “I get my reward for sharing now,” Svetlana said as I laid Anna across the seat. She dove in and cleaned the gooey load, gulping down the magic jizz while giving Anna one last orgasm.

I was so lucky the girls didn't get jealous of each other.

We cleaned up just in time. The private jet was waiting for us, and the copilot took our bags as we boarded. We were heading to a friend’s place for two weeks, a place that was a lot warmer than our other offer in Montana. Our host joined us a few minutes later, and we were off.

We flew to Los Angeles, and since the plane had a bedroom, Svetlana got her first lovemaking session as a married woman. We then flew first-class to Sydney before catching a smaller plane to Tasmania. A car was waiting at the airport for us, and a young woman got out as we taxied to a stop. Edward was off the plane first, and the beautiful girl ran into his arms. “John, Svetlana, and Anna, may I introduce you to Alexandra Abrahmov.”

I froze as what he said registered. “Alexandra? As in Mikhail’s granddaughter and heir?”

The two smiled widely. “Yes,” Edward said. “Alexandra is my mate, and she has a few things to tell you.”