Groomsman Nightmare - Part 3 (Patreon)

Here's the 3rd and final part of Groomsman Nightmare where Dean ends up fully exposed! I'd love to hear what you thought about Dean's escapades and should I do more kilt stories? Let me know in the comments!

‘Where the fuck did you go?’ Max yelled as Dean arrived back at the dancefloor, feeling flushed, sober and self-conscious.

‘I went to get Liam . . . who’s now back,’ Dean said with a weak laugh.

‘Line up lads,’ Max yelled over the music as he pulled his phone from his pocket.

Dean took a deep breath and stood next to Dave and Liam. He decided that if he bent forward and lifted his kilt just a little, he could avoid the embarrassment of baring his big bubble butt next to the other groomsmen’s average arses.

‘One the count of three,’ Max shouted. ‘One, two, three.’

Dean bent forward and lifted up the rear of his kilt, but mooning with the other guys wasn’t what made him blush. It was the very distinctive loosening of his kilt.

As soon as the flash of the camera had gone off, Dean pulled down the back of the kilt and carefully kept a grip on the waist as he stood back up. He ran his fingers along the side, in search of the hook and eye, but it wasn’t where it was supposed to be. It had moved about 3 inches to the left and down a bit.

‘It must have ripped and I’m commando. Fuck!’ he cursed in his head. ‘I need those briefs and the bathroom.’

As the lads gathered around Max and laughed at the photo, Dean headed towards the bar, before circling back around to the corridor where he’d stashed the briefs. As he walked, he kept a hand on the waist of the kilt, but as he walked away from the noise of the ballroom, he could hear the slight ripping as his muscular thighs pushed the tartan material apart.

Dean was relieved to see the briefs bunched up in the pot where he’d left them, which he quickly grabbed before heading back towards the ballroom and the bathroom. However, after another couple of quick strides, he couldn’t ignore the huge rip from the kilt.

‘What the hell am I gonna do?’ he practically whimpered as he noticed a piece of torn tartan hanging down to the ground.

Deciding that anywhere near the ballroom was a no go, Dean opened the door to a cleaning closet and stepped inside after flicking on the light. There wasn’t much room in the small space, but enough for Dean try and assess the situation. He lifted his kilt and realised that the material had torn when he’d yanked it to close the hook and eye and his movements had shredded it from top to bottom, leaving a third of the kilt hanging to the ground.

With a deep breath, Dean yanked the loose material free and was relieved that nothing looked out of place. If anything, it made the kilt lighter and a little more comfortable. The hook and eye had moved, but it was still very much together and a couple of tugs on the kilt set Dean’s mind at rest that it wasn’t going anywhere.

After wiping the sweat from his forehead, Dean stepped into the briefs and began the arduous process of pulling them up. As he got them to his thighs, he heard a small amount of ripping which was when he felt that the waistband had torn a little, but with a bit of work, they were back on and the satin was once again rammed between his ample cheeks and his cock was semi erect in the tight pouch.

With the kilt back in place, Dean straightened his shirt and jacket and emerged from the cleaning closet, relieved that the corridor was still empty.

By this point, the alcohol and the panic had utterly made Dean forget the time and he was soon back at the bar, ordering another double vodka and watching the huge number of guests on the dancefloor.

As he sipped his drink and realised that most of the guests were on the dancefloor, he felt a cool breeze and looked down to see that his muscled thigh was on show.

He quickly stood up straight and kept his legs together as he felt the kilt. It dawned on him that where he’d torn off the loose material, there was no longer enough kilt to fully wrap around him, which meant that if he spread his legs too much, he would flash his legs.

Feeling more self-conscious than ever, Dean ordered yet another drink and decided that it was time to head home. He had an hour walk and it was nearly 11pm so it was perfectly acceptable.

Dean necked his drink and shook his head when he realised that that was probably one too many. Checking that his shirt wasn’t bulging open, he made his way towards the dancefloor to say goodbye to Max and his wife.

With the exception of about 6 guests, the rest of the 100 or so guests were dancing with Max and his bridge right in the centre of the action. Seeing how packed the dancefloor was, Dean was half tempted to just leave, but as a groomsman, he knew that that was rude and he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

With the dancefloor so crowded, Dean had to weave in and out of people and squeeze between them to get through. In his slightly drunken state, it took all of his effort not to stagger into people or knock their drinks flying.

Dean was impressed at his co-ordination – that was until he passed one of their bride’s friends and knocked her clutch bag out of her hand.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he yelled over the noise as he squatted down to pick it up.

As he dropped to the floor, two things happened in unison: His kilt fell open revealing the entirety of his left thigh and the waistband of the briefs finally gave up against the strain of the tensed muscle.

Dean quickly stood up and handed the girl her bag, before adjusting his kilt so that it was closed. It was as he did this that he felt his briefs loosen and slip down to his thighs; the pouch and material at the back hanging down with no waistband to support them.

‘Oh shit – they’ve ripped and they’re only held up by the leg bands. I need to get out of here,’ he thought in a panic.

‘Dean!’

Dean spun around to see Max and was relieved that he wouldn’t need to move any further. ‘Can you do me a huge favour? I left a gift for one of the bridesmaids in my room. Can you go and grab it for me? Thanks bud.’

Dean didn’t even have time to comment as Max shoved the key in his hand and disappeared back to his bride.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ Dean cursed as he made his way back through the dancefloor.

Mercifully, people had started to head back towards the bar so it was quicker for him to get back out of the ballroom.

Praying that no one could see the black and silver satin hanging between his legs, Dean shuffled as quickly as he could down the hall to the lifts.

All he had to do was get the briefs off, get the gift from Liam’s room, give the gift to Liam, say goodbye and get the hell out of there.

As soon as Dean entered the honeymoon suite for the second time, he grabbed the material from between his legs and ripped off what remained of the briefs.

Despite being commando again, Dean couldn’t deny that it felt like heaven to no longer have the skimpy briefs digging into his thighs. He balled up the briefs and shoved them in his pocket, not wanting to risk Max finding out that he’d stolen them.

As he picked up the small gift bag that was on the dresser, Dean did contemplate stealing another briefs from the groom, but he just couldn’t bring himself to endure the discomfort.

After all, he was heading home so what did it matter if he didn’t have underwear on.

The trip back to the ballroom was mercilessly uneventful and Dean was relieved that the dancefloor had thinned out a bit so that he could get straight to Max and his bride. He handed over the gift and told Max that he was heading home.

‘Thank so much for today, bud. Have a safe walk back, yeah?’ Max said as he slapped Dean on the shoulder.

Dean headed towards the front doors of the hotel, but the bridesmaids were all stood in the way. Dean could just imagine trying to squeeze past them and his kilt falling off.

‘No chance,’ he muttered to himself and headed towards a fire exit he’d seen at the rear of the ballroom.

After a quick check that no one was watching, he pushed down on the bar to unlock the door and pushed it open. The door was heavy and took a good shove to get it open.

Dean snuck outside and used his weight to slam the door shut so that bar went back down on the inside.

It was only as he went to walk away that he realised his fatal error. Where he’d used his body to push the door closed, his kilt had gotten caught and was now shut in a heavy fire door with no way to open it from the outside.

‘Oh fuck, fuck, fuck,’ Dean cursed as he yanked on the tartan material. ‘This cannot be happening.’

He was on a small patio that was just off of the gardens and the large patio outside the ballroom. He had to get through the gardens and into the woods, where he’d have a straight walk through to the back of his street.

After relentlessly tugging at the material of his kilt, the only thing Dean had achieved was slightly ripping it.

He knew what he had to do, but he was certain that he wasn’t drunk enough to go through with it.

Dean took a deep breath and after a quick glance around, he undid the hook and eye and let the kilt fall open. The cool air touched his muscled thighs and his big bubble butt.

‘Okay, I’m naked from the waist down, except socks and shoes. Fuck.’

Dean walked slowly into the gardens, praying that none of the guests were nearby. Confident that everyone was inside, he picked up his pace, but as he ran around a corner with his hands over his semi-erect cock and his full nuts, he ran straight into two of the groomsmen and some of the guys from their football team.

‘What the fuck are you doing, Dean?’ Dave said before howling with laughter.

‘Where’s your skirt gone, chunk?’ one of the other guys said as he slapped Dean’s butt.

‘That is one mammoth arse!’ another said.

Dean knew he could either face them and their taunting or he could bolt.

He bolted.

After escaping the football guys, Dean ran through the gardens and over the fence into the woods, ripping the sleeve of his jacket and losing another couple of shirt buttons in the process.

As he slowed his pace, alone in the woods, Dean couldn’t help but feel at aroused at his humiliation and his near naked walk.

‘Down boy,’ he whispered to himself as he cock started to throb.

By the time Dean reached his front door, his cock was leaking precum, his shirt was completely open and he was glowing with sweat. No sooner had he shut the door, his hand was racing up and down his shaft as he grabbed one of his firm butt cheeks with his free hand.

‘Ah fuck,’ he moaned as he thrust into his hand, before cumming all over the hall floor and sliding down against the door to the floor. ‘What a fucking day!’