Foreword
All characters are aged 18+.
This slow-burn series starts light but escalates into much darker territory (non-con, incest, humiliation, extreme). Parts 1-3 remain mostly consensual. The heavier material really starts in Part 4 and beyond. If that isn’t your taste, feel free to exit early. Otherwise, buckle up – and please let me know what you think, I’d love to hear feedback!
Planned tags for the whole series (alphabetical):
Anal · Bisexual M · Blackmail · Cheating · Cuckold · Gangbang · Humiliation · Incest · Interracial · NonConsent/Reluctance · Pegging · Pregnancy · Extreme/Hardcore
7. ACTING THE PART
Amanda woke to the muted glow of morning light slipping between the curtains, her body deliciously heavy, her mind hazy. She stretched languidly, savoring the slow pull of muscles eased by sleep – until a sharp, unfamiliar ache flared along her jaw. Not painful, exactly. Just… stretched. Tender. It made her blink, disoriented, as she touched her fingers gently to her cheek.
The memories hit in fractured flashes:
The dark room. The taste of musk and salt. The anonymous silhouette standing before her, tall and broad, outlined by the faint glow slipping under the door.
It had been Sophie’s idea, of course. A final dare to “test her openness” before the wedding day. An acting assignment, to play a loving wife meeting her husband’s needs.
Amanda had a hazy memory of Sophie laughing as she poured a round of shots, insisting Amanda join in each time, teasing that it was bad luck to refuse when you were about to play a role. The warmth of the liquor had blurred everything into a loose, giddy haze, making the laughter louder, the games sillier, the edges of hesitation easier to smooth away.
Blindfolded, Amanda had been led through drunken cheers into the small, dark space, her mind buzzing with tipsy excitement. Somewhere behind her, she heard Sophie’s laugh – bright and wicked – as a cold shot glass was pressed into Amanda’s hand.
“One more for courage,” Sophie whispered against her ear, her voice rich with mischief.
Amanda hesitated for only a heartbeat before tipping it back, the liquor burning a hot, dizzying path down her throat. The room seemed to tilt, the darkness behind the blindfold spinning pleasantly. She laughed, half at herself, half at the reckless thrill of it all.
Sophie’s voice came again, low and coaxing: “Just have fun. Trust yourself. Trust the moment.”
And she had. The mystery man had been waiting for her – silent, powerful, already hard when Amanda’s lips found him. Her drunken haze made everything feel surreal, the darkness sharpening her other senses until the texture and weight of him overwhelmed her. She remembered the first heavy slap of his cock against her lips, almost teasing, before she opened eagerly to take him in. The silky stretch of skin over unyielding hardness, the way he swelled and thickened the deeper she worked him – it had been intoxicating.
Her jaw had ached almost immediately, the thickness of him pushing her limits, her throat fluttering helplessly as she tried – and failed – to take him all the way. She’d gagged once, briefly, but he’d held steady, letting her adjust, and Amanda, tipsy and breathless, had pressed onward, desperate to please, to prove herself brave.
She’d wrapped both hands around his shaft, marveling drunkenly at how her fingers barely touched, stroking the slick, pulsing length as she bobbed her head, sloppy and eager. Every time she tried to take him deeper, the thick, unyielding pressure stretched her jaw wide, making her throat flutter helplessly.
It had felt wrong, too much, overwhelming – and yet, in the drunken, breathless dark, a wild thrill had surged through her at the sensation. She’d strained, desperate to prove she could take him, the burn of the stretch sending shivers down her spine even as she gagged softly around his girth.
The taste of him – clean, musky, salt-edged – still clung ghostlike to the back of her tongue, a vivid, searing memory she couldn’t shake no matter how hard she tried.
It wasn’t until after – after she had knelt there, breathless and trembling, cum cooling on her cheeks and chin, her own fingers still buried knuckle-deep inside her slick, aching cunt as she rode out the fading tremors of a second orgasm – that she’d truly acknowledged what she already knew.
Marcus.
Even before the cloth slipped from her eyes, some part of her had known. The weight of him in her mouth, the size, the cocky ease of his touch – it had been unmistakable. She’d been thinking about that cock for weeks, remembering the way it had throbbed hot and heavy against her hand under the table, the way it had pulsed and leaked and twitched when she stroked it.
Deep down, she realized now, she’d been aching for this moment – aching to feel him lose control for her again. And when her vision cleared, it was Marcus’s smirk she saw first, lazy and pleased, like he’d known what was in her head the entire time.
Amanda gasped softly, her heart hammering against her ribs, her fingers still instinctively flexing inside herself, clutching at empty air as a needy tremor passed through her. She caught the flash of Marcus’s grin through the haze of her release, lazy and pleased, even as Sophie’s laughter bubbled up nearby – low, delighted, conspiratorial.
Sophie leaned in close enough for Amanda to hear her over the rush of blood in her ears, her voice a velvet whisper filled with teasing pride.
“You’re a hell of an actress, sister,” she purred, the words slipping under Amanda’s skin, blurring the line between pretend and real all over again.
Sophie then turned to whisper to Marcus:
“See? Told you she’d love it.”
Amanda stood there, dazed, absently wiping the thick streaks of cum from her cheeks with trembling fingers, her lips still tingling, her jaw still faintly sore. Without thinking, she slipped her fingers into her mouth, licking them clean in slow, distracted strokes, savoring the lingering salt and musk even as her mind scrambled for footing. But Sophie only smiled, casual and breezy, already tugging Amanda back toward the party.
It was just a game, Amanda told herself. Just a dare.
And acting… acting lets you explore things without them having real consequences, right? It was about being brave, pushing boundaries like Paul wanted. The role wasn’t real, even if the… sensations were.
Paul wanted her to be open.
He trusted her.
Amanda clung to that trust like a life raft as she stumbled back into the noise and laughter, the taste of Marcus still ghosting the back of her tongue. him.
Amanda curled back beneath the sheets, her body still thrumming faintly with the echo of last night’s wildness. Her fingers drifted between her thighs almost without thought, slipping over her slick, tender folds as she chased the lazy heat still lingering in her belly. She pressed her cheek to the pillow, sighing softly as she circled her clit in slow, distracted strokes.
She tried to think about Paul – about his sweet, earnest smile, about how much he loved her. She imagined his hands on her hips, his soft kisses along her collarbone. But the image blurred almost immediately, swept aside by the vivid memory of Marcus: the weight of his cock against her lips, the way he’d twitched and pulsed and flooded her face.
Amanda whimpered, her hips shifting against her hand, grinding harder. She rubbed faster, chasing the memory she shouldn’t want, her body betraying her even as her mind tried to call Paul’s name. Instead, it was Marcus’s smirk that flashed behind her closed eyelids when her orgasm broke over her – fast, sharp, and guilty.
She muffled her cry against the pillow, panting softly as the tension melted from her limbs. Only then did she smile – soft, dazed, and ashamed – before letting herself drift into the warm promise of the day ahead.
Later, Amanda padded barefoot into the kitchen, the tiles cool against her feet. The house hummed with quiet excitement – the clink of glasses being set out, the faint scent of fresh flowers drifting from the dining table. Sophie stood at the counter in a silky robe, hair twisted up effortlessly, her phone in one hand and a mimosa in the other.
She looked up with a wide, knowing smile. “Morning, sleeping beauty,” she said as she made Amanda a mimosa as well. “You might need this after last night.”
Amanda blushed and grinned, tugging Paul’s hoodie tighter around herself. “Morning Soph, thanks.”
Sophie crossed the room, wrapping Amanda in a quick, warm hug as she handed over the flute. Amanda sank into Sophie’s arms, soothed by the easy affection – and by the buzz of anticipation threading through the morning.
Sophie leaned back, studying her with a mischievous glint. “Big day,” she said lightly, then added, almost as an afterthought, “Oh – and just a heads up? There are a few little surprises planned later.”
Amanda blinked. “Surprises?”
Sophie’s smile widened, teasing but innocent. “Fun ones. Special touches to make it unforgettable.” She gave a playful shrug. “Paul was so sweet when I mentioned the idea. He said whatever would make today feel amazing for you. He just wants you to enjoy yourself. So if anything feels a little… unexpected?” She winked. “Just roll with it.”
Amanda laughed, a soft flush coloring her cheeks. Her heart fluttered. Paul had approved? Of course he had. He always wanted her to feel free, to embrace the moment. He trusted her. He wanted her to trust herself.
She hugged Sophie again, murmuring, “Thanks for everything. I can’t believe today’s finally here.”
Sophie squeezed her tightly, her smile soft but secretly triumphant.
“Oh honey,” she murmured against Amanda’s hair. “It’s only just beginning.”
A chill feathered down Amanda’s spine and vanished the next heartbeat beneath the citrus fizz.
Shortly thereafter, Amanda was stepping delicately out of the shower when a soft knock came at the door.
She opened it to find Paul standing there, a to-go coffee in one hand, a single white rose tucked behind his ear with boyish sheepishness. His suit jacket was slung casually over one arm; he looked a little nervous, a little giddy.
Amanda’s chest tightened with love.
He held out the coffee like a peace offering. “Figured you might need this.”
Amanda laughed, taking it gratefully. Their fingers brushed.
For a moment they just stood there, drinking each other in. Then Paul cleared his throat, the tips of his ears turning pink.
“I know Sophie said there might be a few extra flourishes today,” he said, his voice low and earnest. “I don’t really know all the details… but honestly?” He smiled, shy but sure. “I’m just excited to see you happy. I want you to do whatever feels good to you today. No second-guessing. No worrying about anything. Just… enjoy yourself, okay? It’s your day.”
Amanda’s heart squeezed so tightly it hurt.
She reached up and brushed the rose behind his ear, laughing through the sudden blur of tears. She kissed him, quick and fierce, tasting the familiar warmth she clung to like an anchor.
“I will,” she whispered against his lips. “I promise.”
And somewhere deep inside, something unfurled – a giddy, reckless permission she hadn’t even realized she was waiting for.
Later, standing alone for a moment outside the bridal suite, Amanda closed her eyes and let the sunlight warm her face.
She thought about Sophie’s mischievous smile, the teasing promises of “surprises,” the casual assurance that Paul wanted her to embrace it all.
She thought about Paul’s face – nervous, earnest, filled with unwavering trust – as he told her to enjoy herself. To do whatever felt good. No second-guessing.
She felt the two memories braid together inside her, weaving into something heady and electric. Permission. Freedom.
Today wasn’t just a celebration of love. It was a celebration of trust. Of openness. Of all the things Paul wanted for them – even if he couldn’t say them aloud.
Amanda smiled, her heart pounding a little faster, her body already humming with nervous excitement.
She could be open. She could be brave. She could trust herself the way Paul trusted her.
It was her day.
And she was ready.
8. RECEIVING HER GUESTS
Paul waited at the altar, patient and glowing with nervous energy as guests settled into their seats. Meanwhile, in the bridal suite, Amanda stood before the vanity, putting the final touches on her makeup. Her wedding dress clung to her curves like a whispered promise, the heavy white fabric making her feel both regal and strangely exposed.
Sophie hovered nearby, smoothing the back of Amanda’s veil, her expression serene but her eyes sparkling with secret mischief.
There was a knock at the door. Sophie opened it a crack and exchanged a few hushed words. Then she turned back to Amanda with a soft, conspiratorial smile.
“Alright, beautiful,” Sophie said, her voice low and coaxing. “Just a little welcoming tradition. Nothing to overthink. Just… blessings. Little gifts. A ritual to bond you to the people who love you.”
Amanda blinked, heat blooming across her cheeks. “Blessings? Isn’t Paul waiting?”
Sophie only smiled wider, reaching down to lift the voluminous skirts of Amanda’s dress and arranging them carefully over the vanity. She positioned Amanda to brace herself, palms flat against the countertop, her ass subtly presented beneath the lifted layers.
“Paul wants this, remember? Just trust the moment,” Sophie murmured, smoothing Amanda’s hair back tenderly. “Trust yourself.”
The first guest entered – a familiar figure from Paul’s extended family, Uncle Charlie. He stepped forward hesitantly, guided by Sophie’s gentle and reassuring hand. Amanda shivered as he knelt before her, his hands reverent as he kissed the inside of her thigh, then the delicate skin just above her stocking.
Amanda gasped softly behind her hand as she felt him shift closer, felt his cock brush her thigh, already hard. She stiffened for a moment – he was positioning himself to take her, to push inside her slick, trembling pussy. Her heart leapt in her chest, a wild mix of fear and thrilling, dizzy arousal washing over her. She wasn’t ready – not yet – but the thought made her thighs clench with wanting.
Before he could press forward, Amanda sank to her knees, her dress pooling around her like a cloud. She reached for him with both hands, guiding his cock to her lips, her fingers trembling. Trembling, Amanda opened her mouth, letting him slide past her parted lips with a soft, desperate whimper. Her fingers found her clit, stroking in slow, frantic circles as she worked her mouth over his shaft, careful and eager, a quiet, reckless hunger blooming inside her.
At the altar, Paul shifted his weight from foot to foot, nerves buzzing under his skin. He smiled politely at a few guests in the front rows, trying not to fidget too much. Amanda would be here soon. He trusted her. He trusted Sophie. Everything was perfect.
***
Carefully framing the action in the bridal suite, Sophie whispered encouragements just off-camera: “Good girl… such a blessing… such a gift… Make sure you take it all, sweetheart. We don’t want to mess up that beautiful dress, do we?”
The first guest groaned above her, his hands threading through her hair, hips jerking forward as he spilled hot and thick across her tongue. Amanda whimpered but swallowed obediently, the salty heat flooding her mouth and sliding down her throat. She forced herself to keep going, milking every last pulse with her lips and hand until he sagged back, trembling.
It was better this way, she told herself firmly. It didn’t leave a mark. It didn’t leave any evidence. It was clean. It was safe. It wasn’t real.
It was just a ritual, she repeated silently, like a prayer. A way to welcome them, to share the joy like Sophie said Paul wanted. The physical act… it was symbolic. It didn’t carry the weight, the love, that sex with Paul did. It wasn’t about them, it was about the ceremony. This wasn’t cheating, not in the way that mattered.
Another guest.
And another.
Each one stroked her gently first, brushing her thighs, teasing the slick folds of her cunt before offering their cocks to her lips. Amanda served each one with mounting urgency, whimpering behind her hand, her mouth and chin growing slick with saliva and precum.
Each time they groaned and jerked against her mouth, Amanda obediently swallowed their cum, feeling the hot, salty rush flood her tongue before she gulped it down, forcing herself to stay focused, to stay “pristine” for Paul. Her thighs trembled from the steady pressure of her own fingers working herself toward release, the forbidden heat building with every thick, twitching cock she milked dry between her lips.
***
Paul nervously caught Sophie’s eye across the room. She stood near the side doors, escorting one of the guests somewhere. When she noticed his glance, she gave him a reassuring smile and a tiny nod. Paul smiled back, relaxing a little. She had everything under control.
***
When Paul and Sophie’s 20 year old brother Evan entered, Amanda’s heart fluttered. Not only was he Paul’s best man, he was more energetic, younger – and rougher than any of the other men. He didn’t kneel or wait for her invitation. Instead, he grabbed Amanda’s hair in one fist, pulling her mouth hard against his shaft.
Amanda gasped, her hands scrambling to steady herself against his thighs. He groaned low in his throat as her lips stretched wide around his meat, her throat fluttering helplessly, struggling to accommodate him. He pulled her hair tighter, guiding her movements, forcing her to take him deeper inch by inch. Amanda whimpered, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes as she worked him desperately, her lips stretched tight, saliva spilling down her chin.
One hand stroked his slick length urgently, her fingers closing around the base, while the other braced against his thigh, feeling the tense flex of muscle as he began to thrust shallowly, then deeper, his control slipping with every shallow grind into her helpless mouth. Her jaw ached, the strain burning sweetly, but she didn’t stop – couldn’t stop – her mind reeling with heat and dizzy devotion, clinging to the rhythm and the reckless, spiraling need to please.
Sophie’s voice, still low and soothing, urged her onward: “Good girl… take him deeper… you’re doing so well…”
Amanda whimpered around his cock, her hand between her legs now frantic. Her body trembled with the effort to keep up, pleasure and humiliation mingling into a dizzying, uncontrollable heat. Evan’s grip tightened possessively in her hair, and he began to thrust harder, forcing her to take the full length of him.
Amanda gagged helplessly around him, tears spilling down her cheeks, but the rough rhythm only fueled the wild, helpless need burning through her. He pulled her head back briefly, just enough for Amanda to gasp for breath, her lips shiny and stretched, strings of saliva dangling from her chin. Then he slammed back in, burying himself in her throat with a deep, broken groan.
***
Paul shifted again at the altar, glancing back toward the closed bridal suite doors. The minutes felt longer now, stretching thin with anticipation. His phone buzzed quietly in his pocket.
He pulled it out and saw a text from his sister.
Sophie: Almost ready. She just wants everything to be perfect for you. You’re going to be so proud of her. ❤️
Paul smiled, his chest swelling with affection and pride. He tucked the phone away, heart pounding harder now, eager to see his beautiful bride.
***
Amanda’s mind spun – the force of him, the overwhelming fullness, the way her own fingers couldn’t stop circling her clit, frantic and messy. She clutched at his thighs, helplessly grinding herself against her hand as he used her mouth, the idea of being nothing but a hole to bless him sending her spiraling closer to the edge. She didn’t want to want it – but she needed it.
When he came, he buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing hot and thick down her throat, choking her with the force of it.
Amanda’s climax tore through her at the same time, violent and shaking, her muffled cry lost around his shaft as her thighs trembled uncontrollably.
She hadn’t meant to exactly… But the wild, helpless pleasure had torn through her anyway, unstoppable as the heat sliding down her throat. Cum spilled from the corners of her mouth as she struggled to swallow it all, gulping frantically around his throbbing cock, desperate not to make a mess of her wedding dress. Her whole body quivered with the effort, tears and saliva streaking her flushed cheeks, as she forced every last hot pulse down her throat.
Evan pulled free with a low grunt, and Sophie leaned in close, her whisper meant only for him.
“Now you owe me, little bro.”
Amanda knelt there, gasping, trembling, her mouth slick, her thighs sticky with the evidence of her own betrayal and surrender. She felt dazed, floating, the taste of them still thick on her tongue. Evan grabbed her chin and lifted it to look her in the eye, “If every family gathering winds up like that, I’ll never miss one again.”
***
Walking quickly, Evan rejoined Paul at the altar a few moments later, slightly flushed and tugging at his collar. “Sorry bro, it was my turn for relief,” he smiled, looking mildly chagrined as Paul clapped him on the back, laughing quietly, oblivious to the slick, warm memory Amanda had just swallowed down. Paul chuckled again as the best man wiped at a damp spot on his shirt, oblivious to the reason for it.
***
Sophie crouched beside her, smoothing a loose curl behind Amanda’s ear with exaggerated care. “You did beautifully,” she whispered, her voice syrupy and proud. “You allowed your guests to get close to you. You received their gifts with such grace. You spread your joy for them. You welcomed them deeply.”
Amanda shivered at the words, a strange, giddy pride blooming inside her, chasing away the last flickers of doubt. It was just a ritual. A celebration. A blessing. Paul wanted this, wanted the guests to be welcomed by her.
She smiled – giddy, glowing – as Sophie pulled her gently to her feet, smoothing her dress back into place like nothing had ever happened.
Amanda straightened her shoulders, feeling a strange lightness settle into her chest. She had received their gifts. She had spread her joy. She had welcomed them the way Sophie said she should. The way Paul wanted. And now – now she was ready. Ready to stand beside Paul, glowing with the pride of what she had given, the love she was about to seal forever.
She dabbed carefully at the corners of her mouth, smoothed the folds of her dress, and stepped toward the door, her heart hammering with excitement and an ache she didn’t dare examine too closely.
Today was the beginning of everything.
And she had already proven she was brave enough for it. For everything he wanted.
Minutes later, Amanda stood at the altar, beaming at Paul, her heart hammering with excitement and pride.
“Your brother was surprisingly sweet,” she whispered to him, her voice thick with emotion. “That tradition really made me feel… connected.”
As she squeezed Paul’s hand, a fleeting image of Evan’s fist tangled in her hair flickered unbidden through her mind. Amanda shoved it away fiercely, focusing on Paul’s warm eyes instead. This – this was everything she had fought for, and she would keep fighting, and try to be whatever Paul needed.
And Paul, poor blind Paul, only smiled back, glowing with pride, utterly oblivious to the truth.
Her jaw ached faintly as she smiled up at her soon-to-be husband, a dull reminder of how deeply she had welcomed his guests. She pushed the thought aside, focusing only on the glow of pride blooming in her chest.
Amanda squeezed his hand tighter.
She could be open. She could be brave.
She could trust him.
And he could trust her.
Always.
9. CURTAINS
The music swelled and shifted, a soft, classical melody drifting from the speakers as Sophie stepped onto the stage and lifted a gauzy white curtain with theatrical flourish. “A tradition from the old country,” she announced with a sly smile. “The bride dances first in private – one last moment of mystery before the celebration begins.”
The crowd chuckled and murmured with curiosity as Amanda was guided behind the translucent curtain, her wedding gown catching the glow of the soft backlight. Paul, seated in front of the front row and slightly off to the side, smiled uncertainly. From his angle, the layers of fabric and the way the curtain was folded made the figures behind it more obscured than for much of the crowd. The veil’s double layers crossed in uneven patterns, and for Paul, the silhouette appeared faint and indistinct – just shifting shadows in soft relief.
A prickle of unease traced its way up his spine. Why the curtain? Why couldn’t he see her face, her eyes? He shook his head. Idiot. It’s a tradition. A game. Don’t be that guy.
Amanda stood behind the curtain alone for a moment, heart racing, then felt the presence of Paul’s father as he stepped in beside her.
His hands were warm and calloused as they found her waist. “You look beautiful,” he murmured, voice low and rough. “Truly radiant.”
“Thank you,” Amanda breathed, her voice shaky. The music stirred around them.
He moved closer, hands sliding slowly along her hips, guiding her into a gentle sway. From the outside, the curtain showed only two indistinct figures moving in rhythm. But inside, his hands had already begun to roam.
He pressed against her from behind, one hand sliding boldly to cup her breast through the bodice of her gown. Amanda gasped, her body jolting slightly. Her breast ached faintly, still sensitive from the earlier groping and kisses she’d endured during the reception line.
The fingers curled, possessive and practiced, kneading her through the thin fabric. Her nipple stiffened immediately under his touch, sending a ripple of heat through her chest. Her belly tensed as he leaned in, grinding slowly, the swell of her ass brushing his lap as the music lulled the crowd into dreamy smiles.
“You’re not going to stop me, are you?” he whispered into her ear.
Amanda shivered. “I… I thought we weren’t supposed to…”
“No one will see,” he murmured. “You’re already mine for the dance.”
She exhaled shakily, the tension in her legs faltering. The scent of his cedar cologne lingered in her senses as he leaned back to look at her form. His other hand slid down, bunching up the layers of her gown until he found her bare thigh, then higher. She whimpered as his fingers found her slit, already damp.
Outside the curtain, Paul watched with vague amusement, sipping his drink, unaware of the tremble in Amanda’s spine or the growing flush on her neck.
Inside, Paul’s father pressed her forward, guiding her hands to the side of the curtain frame for balance. Her dress lifted completely in back, bunching at her hips. He unzipped his pants with one hand and fished out his cock – thick, hot, pulsing.
Amanda gasped as she felt the head of it sliding against her slick folds, the warmth shocking against her already oversensitized skin. Her legs wobbled, thighs trembling as her hips instinctively rocked forward. The heat and pressure sent a flutter of panic through her chest – paired with a forbidden thrill that made her clench involuntarily around nothing.
Her lower belly tensed, the fabric of her bodice tightening against her chest as her breath grew shallow, fingers digging into the curtain’s wooden frame. The intimacy of the moment – hidden, but so public – made every nerve feel exposed.
“I shouldn’t,” she whispered.
“You’re not saying no,” he growled. “And you’re soaked. You want this.”
He pressed forward – slowly, deliberately – not deep, but enough to part her. Amanda’s mouth fell in a breathless moan. The music covered her sounds as he began to move inside her, steady and slow.
The press of his cock made her gasp – her body thrumming with the shock of doing this, here, with him. Each wet stroke dragged against her inner walls, her dripping cunt clenching as he pushed, a slow, involuntary flex that made every inch more sensitive. His grip on her hips was firm, grounding her as the friction built – relentless, deliberate, and far too good.
Outside, the curtain shifted gently, the figures swaying, their outlines vague – yet somehow entrancing. One shape leaned forward; another stayed steady. The subtle rhythm pulsed like a waltz.
From the stage, Sophie’s voice chimed playfully: “Old traditions always had a sense of mystery to them, didn’t they?” Her eyes twinkled with mischief as she turned the volume of the music slightly louder, the dreamy classical tune masking the tension hidden behind the gauze.
Shadows flickered with the illusion of elegant movement, but the crowd couldn’t see the tremble in Amanda’s knees or the way her hand reached for the frame to brace herself. The curtain glowed gold, the silhouettes dancing – but the dance was a lie.
From the crowd, a few murmurs rippled out – some amused, some uncertain. “Damn, that’s not just dancing,” someone muttered with a half-laugh. Another voice, lower and knowing: “Look at how she moves. He’s got his whole body on her.”
Amanda bit her lip to stifle a moan as the tip of his cock dragged along her inner walls, never bottoming out, never fast – just slow, grinding friction that sent ripples of pressure through her lower belly and up her spine. Each stroke seemed to press against something deeper, making her core tighten with a mixture of arousal and strain.
The taut fabric of her corseted gown dug into her ribs with every breath, her breasts swelling against the bodice as her whole body rocked slightly, her thighs clenching to control the trembling. A flash of shame twisted behind her ribs – but it only made the next thrust hotter, made her clench tighter.
“Just like this,” he whispered. “Let them all watch your outline while I make you mine.”
Flashes glinted occasionally through the hazy curtain as Amanda stared toward the audience and tried to stay silent. Someone whistled low and the crowd murmurs grew. “She’s putting on a show,” a woman’s whisper cut through loudly and Amanda flushed, realizing how much more was visible than she had thought.
His free hand reached around to rub her clit with callused fingers, circling it expertly. Amanda gasped again, knees buckling slightly. Her hips bucked involuntarily, the sensation amplified by the firm press of his hand against the lace trim of her bodice where it cut across her midriff.
Her orgasm crept up hard and fast, body clenched around him, every muscle taut with the effort of silence, the sheer pressure in her belly making her legs tremble and her toes curl within her satin heels.
When she came, it was with a choked cry into the back of her hand, eyes squeezed shut, body shuddering as he buried himself to the hilt and held there. But even through the aftershocks, Amanda’s eyes widened, her breath catching as she felt the subtle shift of his hips – his cock still pulsing, his grip tightening. Then came the unmistakable grind of his hips starting again – slow at first, then growing with hungry insistence.
Her breath hitched, brain fogged, the realization dawning in a sharp flash of panic as the next thrust pressed deeper than the last. Her thighs tensed. Her clit throbbed again, overstimulated. His grip firmed as he drove forward again, and Amanda felt the dangerous rhythm begin to build. She twisted with alarm, voice raw and urgent. “Not inside-“
His grip still tightening, Amanda gasped and twisted further, managing a breathless, “Not inside- please- don’t cum in me-” Her voice cracked with urgency, but his grip was clamped around her waist. He began to thrust harder, his pace quickening, hot breath at her neck as her plea hung unanswered in the air. “Not inside,” she whispered again, more frantic now, each word punctuated by the slap of his hips against her ass. “Please… please, not inside-“
He grunted, pulling out just in time. His cock, slick and flushed, throbbed furiously in his fist as he jerked it with desperate strokes. A low, guttural groan escaped him as he came – thick, molten ropes painting Amanda’s lower back, streaking the exposed skin and the crumpled satin of her bunched-up gown.
Hot pulses landed high and wide, leaving messy, glistening lines across the curve of her spine and the gathered fabric at her hips. Amanda trembled at the sensation, lips parted, the vulgar warmth a shocking contrast to the elegant setting. He wiped himself briskly with a folded handkerchief, still breathing hard, then tucked himself away as though nothing had happened.
Amanda’s breath was ragged, face flushed, eyes glassy. Her dress clung damply to the sheen across her back, streaked with the aftermath. Her thighs still trembled faintly, her lower belly taut with the echoes of release and restraint. She turned slowly as the music wound down, the final note curling through the room like a held breath, and the curtain drew wide.
The crowd quieted instinctively as the curtain stirred, curious eyes watching the silhouette break apart. A few people exchanged glances, one woman fanning herself, another raising her brows with a knowing smirk.
She stepped forward into the light, cheeks glowing, lips parted in a dazed smile. The dress’s ivory satin masked the worst of the streaks, and the lighting helped – but Amanda could still feel it clinging, a cooling smear across her back, a secret only she could feel. The crowd applauded as Sophie’s voice carried lightly across the room: “And that, everyone, is how we celebrate tradition.”
Paul beamed from his seat. “That was beautiful,” he said.
Amanda smiled back, her voice low and dreamy. “Your dad was so… emotionally present,” she said. “It really helped me feel embraced by your family.”
10. TO THE LOVING COUPLE
The music faded into a soft, jazzy outro as the guests began drifting from the dance floor toward dessert tables and quiet conversation. The lights dimmed to a dusky gold, casting a flattering warmth over the room. Amanda, cheeks still flushed, let out a slow breath and straightened the folds of her dress where they clung damply to her thighs and lower back. She could feel the cool remnants of her secret encounter beneath the satin – a reminder, intimate and vulgar, of what had just happened behind the curtain.
Glasses clinked, and all eyes turned as Sophie stepped up to the mic again, raising her flute of champagne. Her smile was demure, but her eyes sparkled with mischief.
“To Paul,” she began, letting her voice carry with theatrical reverence. “A husband so progressive, so secure in his love, that he trusts Amanda completely – not just with his heart, but with his dignity, his name, and his family.”
She let that linger, her smile sharpening just slightly as a ripple of laughter moved through the room – some polite, some uncomfortably knowing. “It’s not every day we get to witness such rare confidence in a groom. It takes a uniquely strong man to love a woman who’s that unveiled – emotionally, socially, spiritually… and with such generosity.” She turned slightly, her eyes sliding toward Amanda with deliberate warmth. “Paul is clearly a man who understands that real partnership isn’t about control, but celebration – letting the people you love shine, share, and give… however brightly, and however freely, they choose.”
A few more chuckles followed, some guests nodding along with raised glasses. Sophie’s smile remained demure, but her eyes never left Amanda’s. “To Paul,” she repeated, lifting her glass higher. “May we all find love so trusting.”
More laughter, a few murmurs. Amanda caught Paul’s eye across the room. He smiled sheepishly, lifting his own glass in return. Amanda’s smile deepened, eyes bright.
Sophie cleared her throat lightly and raised her glass again. “And to Amanda,” she said, her tone slipping into something warmer, almost reverent. “A woman radiant with grace, limitless gifts, and… surprising depth.” She let that last phrase hang a second longer. “She’s shown us what it means to give of yourself, to embrace joy, and to redefine what it means to truly connect. She’s grown so much, and it’s a privilege to see her let him in all the way. We are so lucky to witness a bride like her tonight.”
Amanda flushed deeper as the crowd clinked their glasses again. A smattering of applause followed, and Sophie gave the smallest of bows before stepping down.
Later, as the last slow song of the night began to play, Amanda found Paul on the edge of the dance floor and pulled him gently toward her.
“Dance with me?”
Paul nodded, setting his drink aside. He rested his hands lightly at her waist, and Amanda curled her arms around his neck, leaning in. The music was soft, dreamy – a waltz slowed to a hush. She rolled her hips gently against him, just enough to feel the press of his body against hers.
Paul glanced down at her, surprised. “Are you okay? You feel… warm.”
Amanda smiled faintly, brushing her lips along his jaw. “I’m great. Really great. You know… I’m still surprised you were okay with all of this.”
Paul laughed softly, confused but earnest. He tilted his head, eyes crinkling. “Okay with what? Your dance with my dad?” He chuckled, then paused, scratching the back of his neck. “I mean, it was a little weird, sure. That curtain thing felt kind of… theatrical? But Sophie said it was some old tradition, so I figured – hey, when in Rome, right? He looked really touched by it, honestly. I think it meant a lot to him.”
Amanda blinked, her lips parting slightly – then gave a slow, thoughtful smile. Her thighs pressed together unconsciously, a flicker of heat rising again. “Right,” she said, her voice soft. “That’s what I meant.”
She looked up at him, her eyes gleaming with something more complicated than joy. “It’s just… I didn’t really know what the curtain thing would be like until I was already back there. It caught me off guard. But then… I saw you smiling, and it felt like maybe you were proud of me.”
Paul’s brow furrowed slightly. “Of course I was proud of you. You looked beautiful.” He chuckled softly. “I mean, yeah, it was weird to have a curtain up like that, but it’s all just pageantry, right? Sophie said it was tradition. You handled it with so much grace.”
Amanda nodded slowly, her lips curving. “It just meant more than I expected,” she said. “He was… very present. Intense. I guess I didn’t expect to feel so seen.”
Paul’s brow furrowed slightly. Intense? It’s just a dance.
A familiar flicker of unease. But then she smiled, that wide, earnest smile he loved, and talked about feeling “seen.” He clung to that. Clung to the idea that this was just Amanda’s unique way of experiencing emotional closeness.
Paul leaned in, brushing her hair from her temple. “I love that you’re becoming so open with people. It’s one of the reasons I married you. I trust you to know your limits. And I know you’d never do anything we couldn’t handle.”
Amanda’s breath caught. For a moment she almost said something – clarified, confessed. But the warmth in his eyes disarmed her.
“That speech of Sophie’s was something else, huh? Really laid it on thick,” Paul chuckled. “But I think everyone appreciated it. You really are… generous. With your energy. Your kindness. And I’m so glad you’re getting more comfortable sharing your whole self.”
He kissed her cheek and pulled her into a tighter sway. “I know you’re always honest with me.”
Her hands tightened slightly on his back. He knew. And loved her anyway. That thought alone made her knees weak. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Always.” Her smile faltered for just a second, eyes glittering. Then she leaned in closer, her voice a murmur. “I’m so glad you’re proud of me. Being so naked… letting others see me like that… it made me feel something I didn’t know I needed. Loved. Wanted. Like I was exactly where I belonged.”
Paul smiled lovingly at her, “Tonight showed me how much you’ve grown. You used to be so private about everything, and now… just watching you connect so deeply with my family like that… it made me fall in love with you all over again.”
They swayed in time with the music, her damp dress catching slightly as it brushed against him. Paul didn’t notice. He was watching her eyes, the way they shimmered with warmth. He felt like the luckiest man in the world.
As the song wound down, Sophie appeared at Paul’s side with two shot glasses of clear liquor – crisp and chilled.
“A toast for the couple before the night ends,” she said, handing Paul his.
Amanda raised hers in return. Paul clinked glasses with a grin, and Sophie watched him drink – eyes sharp, mouth soft.
She took a small sip of her own and turned away, her fingers curling subtly as she slipped something back into her clutch.
The crowd around them glowed with candlelight and half-spoken toasts. Amanda kissed Paul softly on the cheek, and the room swirled with laughter and love, the secrets of the night tucked neatly beneath layers of satin and good intentions.
11. WEDDING GIFTS
The hotel suite smelled faintly of champagne and roses, the aftermath of the perfect day lingering in the air. Paul sat slumped against the headboard of the king-sized bed, his tie undone, his hair tousled. He smiled up at Amanda with soft, glassy eyes as she emerged from the bathroom, still wearing her wedding dress, her veil and jewelry removed, her hair cascading in loose waves over her shoulders.
Paul blinked slowly, his body warm and heavy. Amanda crossed the room toward him, her dress rustling softly around her ankles. She leaned down and kissed him sweetly, tasting the liquor still clinging to his lips. He mumbled something unintelligible against her mouth, a slurred, affectionate murmur, before his head lolled back against the headboard, his breathing already deepening into the rhythm of sleep.
Amanda pulled back, frowning slightly. “Paul?”
He only sighed happily, his fingers twitching weakly against the comforter.
Concern flared briefly in Amanda’s chest. She tried shaking his shoulder gently, but he only snored softly in response. She bit her lip, frustration and worry tangling inside her. This was supposed to be their night. Their beginning.
She hesitated, then pulled out her phone and texted Sophie.
Paul passed out. I think he’s okay but… I don’t know what to do.
The response came almost instantly.
Don’t worry, beautiful. Everything’s taken care of. Just relax. Trust me.
Amanda stared at the screen, uncertain, before another knock came at the door.
Sophie’s voice, low and soothing, drifted through the wood. “It’s okay. I’m here.”
Amanda padded over and opened it – and gasped softly.
Standing behind Sophie was Marcus, Sophie’s boyfriend – tall, broad-shouldered, with rich caramel skin that gleamed under the soft lights, his powerful chest stretching the tight fabric of his shirt. Amanda’s breath caught as her gaze dropped lower – the large, unmistakable bulge between his thighs swinging heavily, barely restrained by his slacks.
She half-remembered the heat of him against her palm during the rehearsal dinner, the impossible thickness she had stroked under the table. A momentary flash of the taste of his cock in her mouth leaped unbidden into her mind as she shook her head slowly.
Sophie smiled, serene and knowing. “You said you trusted me, right? Paul wanted you to have an unforgettable night.”
Amanda looked back at Paul, sleeping peacefully, then at the stranger in front of her. Her pulse pounded in her ears. This was crazy. Insane.
She opened her mouth to object – her loyalty to Paul nearly forcing her to act. But then she paused.
Whatever feels good to you. No second-guessing. It’s your day.
She swallowed, the words echoing like a switchblade flicking open in her chest.
He meant it.
Her breath caught – not in guilt, but in a sudden, hot rush of realization. Paul wanted her to be taken. Not just kissed or teased or flirted with – but fucked. Fucked by Marcus. Fucked by something huge.
A sharp ache bloomed between her legs. She felt herself clench involuntarily as her gaze flicked again to the obscene bulge in Marcus’s slacks. Her thighs pressed together instinctively, a pulse of slickness already beginning to dampen the inside of her leg.
Her throat dry, Amanda whispered as she stared at her first big cock, “You really meant it. You wanted me to enjoy this, didn’t you?”
Marcus’s smile was slow and hungry as he stepped inside, shedding his jacket with a lazy roll of his shoulders. His voice, low and rough with anticipation, rumbled in the quiet room. “I’ve been looking forward to this day for a long time,” he said, his eyes devouring Amanda’s trembling form. “Tonight, you’re mine.”
Sophie gently closed the door behind him.
Marcus approached Amanda slowly, reverently, his large hands tracing the smooth satin curves of her wedding dress, savoring the way the fabric molded to her trembling body. He pushed the heavy folds of the dress up over her hips, exposing her nakedness beneath – no panties, just the thin band of the garter hugging her thigh.
Amanda gasped as the cool air hit her flushed skin, her nipples hardening into stiff peaks under the fabric. The white silk of her wedding dress bunched around her waist, a decadent frame for her bare, offered body, and Marcus’s low, approving growl sent a new shiver racing through her.
He pressed closer, one large hand smoothing over the curve of her hip, the other sliding possessively up her spine. Amanda swayed into him helplessly, her breath catching as the heat of his body radiated into her. Between her thighs, she was already slick and throbbing, the exposure of her bare flesh under the heavy white dress making her feel both humiliated and wildly alive. The soft rustle of the satin, the cool air against her damp folds, and the deep, rumbling sound of Marcus’s breath filled the room like a heavy, intimate fog, thickening the dizzy pulse of her need until her knees trembled with it.
He bent her over the foot of the bed with casual, unyielding strength, Amanda’s hands scrabbling at the mattress as he positioned her exactly where he wanted her. She whimpered, feeling how easily he moved her, how effortlessly he controlled her trembling body.
The cool satin of her bunched-up dress pressed against her stomach as her thighs spread involuntarily, exposing the glossy, dripping heat between her legs. She was soaked for him – shamelessly, achingly ready – and had been for longer than she dared admit, even to herself.
As Marcus’s hands gripped her hips with bruising certainty, Amanda’s heart hammered wildly, her fear and anticipation bleeding together into a single overwhelming need. She was helpless to resist him now, her body betraying her completely as she waited, trembling and wet, for the inevitable.
Marcus paused for a moment, his cock grinding teasingly against her dripping folds, before he chuckled low in his throat. “So fucking wet for me already,” he murmured, his voice thick with approval. Amanda whimpered, her thighs trembling with the effort not to grind back against him, her body betraying just how desperately she’d needed this – needed him – for longer than she dared admit.
Marcus pressed the thick head of his cock against Amanda’s soaking entrance, grinding slowly, forcing the blunt pressure against her trembling hole. She whimpered, the first inch stretching her almost unbearably wide, the slick heat of her pussy fighting to resist the impossible girth. Her body instinctively tried to clench down, trying to keep him out, but Marcus only growled low, tightening his grip on her hips.
“Relax,” he murmured, pushing forward with another grinding thrust. Another inch sank into her, making Amanda sob into the mattress. The burn was sharp, raw, her pussy stretched tight and straining around the thick intrusion. She gasped, tears spilling freely down her cheeks, but the pain – the helplessness – sparked a dizzy, aching pleasure deep in her gut.
“You can take it,” Marcus rasped, grinding even deeper. “You’re made for this.”
Amanda shook her head helplessly, but her hips tilted back anyway, begging silently. Inch by brutal inch, Marcus forced his way deeper, the thick, veiny shaft stretching her wider and wider until Amanda thought she would tear – until she felt herself breaking, opening for him.
When his hips finally pressed flush against her ass, Amanda sobbed, overwhelmed, her mind shattering under the raw, brutal stretch. She was fully impaled now, her battered pussy spasming helplessly around the thick invader, her body betraying her utterly as slick juices gushed down her thighs.
Marcus didn’t give her a chance to adjust. He pulled back slowly, letting Amanda feel every ridge of his cock dragging against her abused walls – then slammed back in with a wet, punishing smack that jolted her entire frame.
Amanda screamed hoarsely into the mattress, her pussy convulsing wildly around him, pain and pleasure blurring until she couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. Her clit throbbed, her body shuddering on the edge of a brutal climax she couldn’t stop.
Marcus’s rhythm was merciless, grinding deeper, stretching her on every thrust, reshaping her from the inside out. Amanda sobbed and moaned brokenly, each brutal slap of his hips against her ass making her wetter, sloppier, louder. She wasn’t just taking him now – she was clinging to him, her body milking him desperately, her cunt molded perfectly to his thick cock.
She was nothing but a gasping, ruined bride bent over her marital bed, sobbing through the first real orgasm of her married life – and it wasn’t even for Paul.
Marcus groaned low, a filthy, triumphant sound, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise as he pulled out halfway – and slammed back into her with a savage grunt. Amanda screamed, muffled into the mattress, the impact jarring her entire frame. He set a brutal rhythm, his hips snapping against her ass with obscene wet slaps, forcing her to accept every ruthless inch over and over again.
Amanda clutched the sheets in fistfuls, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks, her body rocking helplessly under his punishing thrusts. The wet sounds of their bodies slamming together filled the room, loud and lewd, each squelching impact a humiliating, ecstatic drumbeat she couldn’t escape. Slickness poured from her, her thighs and the bed soaked with her need, dripping down her legs in shameless, eager surrender.
Every time Marcus buried himself to the root inside her, Amanda’s pussy clenched down hungrily, desperate to milk him, desperate to be ruined for anyone else. Her mind shattered under the onslaught, pleasure ripping through her in brutal, helpless waves. She wasn’t Amanda anymore – wasn’t Paul’s sweet, innocent wife. She was just a dripping, broken thing bent over the bed in her wedding dress, stuffed full of cock, sobbing and orgasming and begging for more with every gasping breath.
Amanda cried out, her fingers clawing helplessly at the sheets, her body rocked forward with every relentless drive of his hips. Each thrust forced a whimper or gasp from her throat, the slick, wet sounds of their joining echoing obscenely in the quiet room, as if announcing her betrayal to the world. Her thighs trembled violently, juices dripping freely from her stretched, battered pussy to soak the bedspread beneath her.
She had no control, no voice – only the spiraling, wild sensation of being remade, molded to fit Marcus’s cock alone. Every brutal stroke pounded deeper into her aching core, branding her, breaking her, rebuilding her into something new: a wife in white, open and ruined before her wedding night had even truly begun.
Amanda sobbed brokenly into the mattress, shuddering under the ruthless pleasure, and even as tears blurred her vision, her body betrayed her utterly – clenching around him, welcoming him, begging silently for more.
And Marcus, merciless and relentless, gave her everything she didn’t dare admit she craved.
Suddenly he stopped, and he pulled her upright as his fingers found her dress’ hidden zipper with practiced ease, but instead of stripping the gown away entirely, he only lowered it enough to bare her shoulders, her breasts spilling free from the loosened bodice. He spun her around as he lowered his mouth to suck at her perfect nipple, sliding the dress further and further down. Amanda’s entire body shivered as she stepped free from it, and directly into Marcus’s arms.
Marcus didn’t give Amanda a moment to recover. He scooped her up effortlessly, her body weightless in his arms, and carried her across the room. The dresser groaned under the sudden weight as he dropped her onto it, bending her knees over the edge, spreading her open.
Amanda whimpered, still dripping, her abused pussy clenching around nothing, aching for more even as her mind screamed that she couldn’t take it again. Her inner thighs were slick and shining, trembling with the effort to stay upright. She braced her palms flat against the mirror behind her, her reflection blurry through tear-streaked eyes – flushed cheeks, swollen lips, nipples flushed dark and hard.
Marcus stepped between her spread legs, stroking himself lazily, the thick shaft still glistening from her juices. He lined himself up again, rubbing the heavy, pulsing crown along her soaked slit, smearing her slickness messily across her thighs, her belly, teasing her.
“So fucking messy,” Marcus muttered approvingly, slapping the head of his cock against her clit, making Amanda jolt and sob helplessly. Her thighs shook uncontrollably, desperate and overstimulated, and she couldn’t stop herself from grinding against him, chasing the heat despite everything.
Without warning, he thrust forward again, forcing his cock back into her gaping pussy. Amanda shrieked, her whole body jerking, the dresser creaking beneath them as he sank back into her with brutal finality. She spasmed wildly, a second cataclysmic orgasm crashing over her almost immediately, tears streaming as she clutched desperately at his shoulders.
Marcus laughed low and filthy, fucking her through it with punishing thrusts, the dresser rattling against the wall with every pounding stroke. Amanda sobbed openly, mouth slack, body quaking, completely lost to the overwhelming pleasure drowning her.
When Marcus finally pulled out, Amanda sagged vacant against the mirror, legs splayed shamelessly open, her cunt gaping and leaking down the edge of the dresser.
He grunted low, pumping his thick cock once, twice – and then thick ropes of hot cum spattered across Amanda’s trembling stomach, her swollen tits, even up onto her throat and chin. She flinched, gasping as the sticky heat rained down on her, painting her in thick, glistening streaks.
For a moment, Amanda just knelt there – wrecked, dripping, panting, blinking up at him through cum-blurred lashes, her mouth open in dazed shock.
Marcus wiped the tip of his cock across her flushed cheek with lazy possessiveness. Amanda shivered at the obscene touch, her clit throbbing helplessly despite herself.
“Look at you,” Marcus murmured roughly, dragging his thumb through a streak of cum on her lips. “Fucking perfect.”
Amanda whimpered, the taste of him salty and searing on her tongue as she sucked his thumb instinctively, her mind too shattered to resist.
Marcus didn’t give Amanda a moment to recover.
He lifted her easily from the dresser, carrying her trembling, cum-smeared body into the bathroom. The sound of rushing water filled the air, steam rising in thick, heavy clouds that blurred the edges of the room.
Amanda barely had the strength to cling to him, her fingers digging weakly into his shoulders. She was wrecked, dripping, shattered – and yet her pussy still throbbed with aching, desperate need.
Marcus stepped under the spray, the hot water cascading over their slick bodies. He pinned Amanda against the cold tile wall with casual strength, the temperature contrast making her sob hoarsely into his chest.
Without a word, he hooked her leg high over his hip, lining his cock up again. Amanda whimpered, her mind splintering at the feel of him nudging against her battered entrance once more. She was so raw, so sore – and yet the thought of taking him again made her cunt spasm helplessly in anticipation.
He pushed into her slowly, almost tenderly – but there was no easing the deep, brutal stretch as her pussy fought to accept him again. Inch by inch, he sank inside her, filling her completely, remolding her ruined body to his shape once more.
Amanda choked on a sob, clutching at his neck, burying her face against his skin as he bottomed out deep inside her.
He began to move – long, grinding strokes, slow and devastating.
Not the brutal pounding from earlier.
This was worse:
Endless. Inescapable.
Intimate. Claiming.
Each heavy thrust ground against her deepest, sorest places, scraping a new orgasm from her already unmade body whether she wanted it or not.
Amanda moaned into his throat, her voice cracking and slurred, her nails scoring helpless lines down his back. The pleasure was suffocating, relentless, rolling over her in massive crashing waves until she couldn’t even tell where one climax ended and another began.
She came again – and again – and again.
Silent, shuddering explosions that left her liquid in his grip.
Her pussy clutched desperately at Marcus’s cock, milking him, begging him to stay inside her, to never let her go.
Marcus fucked her through every aftershock, savoring the way she broke against him over and over, his hands gripping her ass and thigh possessively, anchoring her in place as he drove into her with steady, grinding depth.
Amanda sobbed mindlessly, her thighs jerking with every slow thrust, her entire body trembling, leaking, offering itself without reservation.
She didn’t even notice when she started whispering broken, endless thank yous against his neck.
“Thank you… thank you… oh god… thank you…”
Marcus groaned low against her ear, thick and rough and utterly satisfied.
When he finally stiffened and came deep inside her, Amanda spasmed violently, her final orgasm tearing through her like a wave that left her gasping and sobbing in his arms.
He held her there, pinned against the tile, letting the hot water wash the evidence of her ruin down the drain.
When he finally withdrew and set her down, Amanda crumpled bonelessly onto the shower floor, the warm water cascading over her abused, shuddering body.
Marcus stood over her for a moment, watching her tremble, utterly broken and used. Then he leaned down, brushing a wet strand of hair from her flushed cheek.
“You were perfect for me tonight,” he murmured low, almost tender. “Exactly what you were meant to be.”
Amanda whimpered weakly, too shattered to respond, but her lips parted slightly, a soft, instinctive sound escaping her throat.
Marcus smirked and straightened, stepping out of the shower without a backward glance, leaving Amanda sprawled on the slick tile – hollowed, wrecked, and glowing with a dazed, helpless kind of gratitude.
She blinked dazedly up at the blurred ceiling, her mind nothing but a soft, pulsing haze of satisfaction and surrender.
When she finally crawled back into bed beside Paul, Amanda snuggled into his side, sore and used and utterly, blissfully wrecked. As she started to fade, she wriggled even closer, feeling his warmth against her bruised, still leaking body, and let out a soft, broken sigh of gratitude.
As she drifted off to sleep, a dull, satisfied ache pulsed between her thighs, a physical echo of the love she thought she was honoring.
Thank you, Paul. Thank you for giving me such a beautiful gift.
This is what openness feels like.
This is what love looks like.
12. NEWLYWEDS
Morning light filtered through the gauzy curtains, casting a warm, golden glow across the rumpled hotel bed. Amanda stirred first, her body aching deliciously, the deep, pulsing soreness between her thighs a constant, tender reminder of the night before. She turned, nestling closer to Paul, feeling the comforting thump of his heartbeat under her cheek.
Paul lay sprawled on his back, still half-asleep, his hair a tousled mess. Amanda smiled softly, slipping her hand beneath the sheets, trailing her fingers lightly over his stomach until she found him – already half-hard in his sleep, warm and heavy in her palm.
She began stroking him slowly, carefully, coaxing him to full hardness with feather-light touches. Paul stirred with a soft groan, hips twitching under her hand, his eyelids fluttering open.
“Mmm…” he murmured, voice rough with sleep. His eyes met hers, confused but adoring, still clouded with grogginess. “Amanda?”
She kissed his shoulder, her hand never faltering. “Last night was… incredible,” she whispered, her voice thick with feeling. “I’ve never felt anything like it. You knew exactly what I needed… even when I didn’t know I could take it.”
Paul blinked at her, a shadow of uncertainty flickering in his sleepy expression. He wanted to hold onto her words, to believe he’d done all of that. But the night was a blur – he remembered bodies and warmth, but nothing that matched her reverence.
Paul frowned faintly, struggling to grasp the memories, but Amanda kissed him again, cutting off the confusion before it could fully surface.
She shifted, sliding on top of him with practiced ease, her body moving with slow, aching grace. She guided him to her entrance, grinding her slick, sore folds along his length with a soft, breathy moan.
“I didn’t know I could take so much,” she murmured as she eased him inside, her tight, aching walls clenching around him. “It felt amazing.”
Paul groaned, his hands instinctively gripping her hips. Amanda began to ride him slowly, a gentle, steady grind that made her body shudder with overstimulated pleasure.
“It went so deep,” she whispered against his ear. “I couldn’t stop shaking. My body’s still so sore.”
Paul’s breath caught. Her words painted a picture of something transcendent, and he tried to see himself in it. He imagined her trembling beneath him all night, shaking apart with pleasure he could barely comprehend. And yet – something didn’t line up. His memories of the evening were indistinct, clouded, scattered. He remembered holding her, but not this. Not what she was describing.
Did I really do all of that?
Still, her body moved with such certainty, her voice so full of gratitude, of praise – it had to be real, right? Paul shook off the doubt, pulling her closer.
Amanda rocked her hips with aching slowness, savoring the friction, the faint burn, the feeling of fullness she craved so badly.
“I couldn’t escape it… it was all over me… inside me… everywhere,” she moaned, grinding down harder. “I’m still aching. Even now, I feel it dripping out of me.”
Paul bucked upward with a choked moan, his mind flooding with desperate images of Amanda flushed and trembling beneath him, her body slick with pleasure, clinging tightly around his cock, overwhelmed by his touch.
Amanda kissed his ear, her breath hot and shivery. “You let me be totally free,” she whispered. “And I felt so taken. You always know what I need… even when you can’t say it. Even when I don’t know it.”
That was too much. Paul flipped her over with a desperate growl, pinning her beneath him, his thrusts deep and frantic. Amanda wrapped her legs around his waist, gasping his name, her hands clawing at his back as she clung to him.
“Just like last night,” she moaned eagerly, surrendering to him with trembling pleasure.
Paul drove into her harder, desperate to recreate the night he couldn’t remember, desperate to give her that overwhelming pleasure again.
But Amanda bit her lip hard, struggling to suppress the vivid memory flashing behind her eyelids – Marcus pinning her against the cold tile, grinding into her deeper and deeper until she was sobbing brokenly, lost to wave after wave of helpless pleasure. It wasn’t Paul’s cock stretching her now, not really. It wasn’t Paul’s thrusts making her walls clench and her body arch off the bed.
Amanda clung to Paul anyway, the deep, aching soreness between her legs a throbbing reminder of everything Marcus had carved into her the night before. Every frantic thrust from Paul rubbed against that lingering ruin, dragging jolts of overstretched pleasure from her battered pussy until she couldn’t help but gasp and sob into the mattress, her face buried against the sheets.
Her body betrayed her helplessly, the soreness amplifying every touch, every movement, until it tipped her over the edge.
Amanda surrendered completely, letting the sensations blur together, shuddering with a brutal, broken orgasm that rocked through her and left her trembling and clawing at the sheets as she came, her cries muffled by the bed.
Paul felt her body convulse around him, heard her broken moans, and believed it was him she was losing herself for. He held her tighter, reassured by the way she clung to him, convinced he had given her what she needed.
But Amanda wasn’t clinging for reassurance – she was holding onto the last threads of composure, her mind still echoing with Marcus’s brutal, perfect stretch.
Amanda whispered “just like last night” again, softer this time, her voice trembling with raw emotion. She pressed her face deeper into the sheets, her body still pulsing with aftershocks, and whispered brokenly, “Thank you for last night. Thank you for everything. I never knew I needed it so badly.” She let the words bleed into the mattress, clinging to the beautiful lie with all the desperate, aching gratitude in her heart.
The Bad Idea Guy 