by Alexis Angel
There’s no way she doesn’t know exactly what I’m thinking right now.
That I want her to be the one spread out before me. Shaking as I lick her to orgasm. Lapping up her cum as she squirts all over me.
And squirt she will. I’m going to fucking feast on this girl’s cum if I have my way. And I always have my way.
I continue to watch her, loving the flush that covers her smooth skin, wondering how swollen and flushed that little cunt is right now, too.
Fuck, I have to know.
For good measure, even though Slutty Bridesmaid is already coming, I go for the gold. I’m like a fucking Olympic pussy eating champion. I spread her even wider, her thighs sticking out in the air, and pull her clit into my mouth, sucking, licking, and tugging on it until she’s practically writhing…
…all over the wedding cake.
Oops. Sorry, brother. But not sorry enough to stop.
Because, I swear, my sexy little voyeur is starting to shake. She gasps, grips the wall, and I fucking swear she’s coming.
She’s literally coming as she watches me.
I’m about to explode out of my pants, rip right fucking through them.
Slutty Bridesmaid comes again, then goes limp into the wedding cake. I pull back, reach up to my lips that are coated in two kinds of sweet sticky cream, and swipe my fingers over my mouth.
With my eyes still only on this sexy as fuck girl, I give her a wink, tip my fingers toward her—some fucked up kind of nod to what just happened—then slide them into my mouth.
My intention is clear.
Your turn.
Chapter 2
Mira
Oh, god. Oh, god, oh, god, oh, god!
Did that seriously just happen?
I want to tell myself that it was all just some crazy dream fantasy or something, but the sticky cum soaking through my panties tells another story.
Holy shit. I totally just came watching some random man eat out my mom’s bridesmaid. What the hell?
I watch as he licks the creamy frosting—or is it cum? Cum cake? I don’t even know—off his fingers, and I still can’t seem to tear my eyes away.
Something must be wrong with me.
Oh, yes, that’s right. This is about as close as I’ve ever come to a real sexual experience.
Twenty-five years of pent-up desire, with only my hands and toys to keep me company, apparently unleashes with me getting off watching other people.
I had no clue I was a closet voyeur.
But no. That’s not right.
It’s just this guy…there’s something about him that draws me in. I can’t drag my gaze from his. It’s like I’m mesmerized, trapped, by those eyes.
Eyes that are currently dancing with mirth as he withdraws his fingers from his mouth and gives me another sly little wink.
Fuck.
I’m trembling again.
Yeah, right now, I feel like I might do anything this guy asks.
I can’t explain it. That’s not me at all. I don’t just throw myself at random men. Obviously. Hence, the V-card.
“You want some of this, baby?” the man says, and the deep rumble of his voice practically reverberates through my body. I can feel it all the way in my clit.
Mom’s bridesmaid writhes on top of the ruined wedding cake, moaning, “More…more…”
But the question wasn’t for her.
It was for me.
Now would be the time to turn and leave. Well, let’s be real, the time to turn and haul ass right back out the door would have been the second I stumbled in here.
But the shock and pure eroticism of what I found was so much that, well, I didn’t.
“That’s right, baby,” he murmurs—to the bridesmaid—I mean, his eyes are still on me. “You want me deep inside your pussy, don’t you?”
“Yeeeessssss!” she wails, and her voice stops me just in time from nodding my head at his words.
Fuck. I can’t think straight.
I do want him deep inside my pussy. I can’t even explain it.
I don’t know who this dude is. A total prick, by the looks of it.
But I can’t help it.
There’s something that has me sucked right in to whatever game he’s playing right now. Some magnetic type of pull that defies explanation.
I mean, come on, that shit’s not real, right?
You hear about people or read about people in trashy romance novels who have this connection. Like they see someone and just can’t resist that pull.
I always thought it was bullshit.
“Beg for it,” he commands. “Tell me how bad you want me.”
It’s like he’s reading my mind.
“Soooo bad, baby. Fuck me. Please.”
Oh. Right. The bridesmaid again.
I watch as he takes his fingers, still wet from his mouth, and parts her pussy lips, sliding two long digits right inside her, all the way to the hilt.
The sleeves of his dress shirt are rolled up, and I can see the muscles in his forearm twitch as he finger-fucks her.
I can only imagine what magic those fingers must be working.
Yeah, that’s right. Imagine. Virgin, remember?
I mean, it’s not exactly like I’ve never had an orgasm. Like I said, I have fingers of my own.
But I have no idea what it must be like to have a man’s fingers deep inside me, stroking, thrusting, and curling to hit my G-spot just right.
Here’s the thing, babe.
I’ve worked my ass off for years, all through college, to develop my lingerie company, Wilder Lingerie, from the ground up. I started out making my own designs, even doing the actual sewing myself in the beginning.
I paid my way through college—and then some. The company has grown beyond my wildest dreams. I’m on the brink of major success, the kind that people only imagine.
So, basically, I haven’t had time to fuck around. Literally.
Not to mention, I don’t trust guys not to be out for themselves.
I mean, it’s not exactly like I’ve had a good example with my mom’s track record.
But back to the issue at hand. His hands.
I mean, how am I even more turned on right now looking at his hands? But they’re large and strong, his fingers long and skilled.
Believe me, I know. The bridesmaid’s moans and whimpers tell me all I need to know about how adept this guy’s fingers are.
And why shouldn’t they be? He looks like he’s had his fair share of women in his day.
He’s definitely older than me. Ten years? Fifteen?
I can’t tell.
His eyes crinkle slightly at the corner when he smirks at me, and there’s a trace of silver at his temples.
But other than that, he’s kind of ageless. Like some kind of Greek god or something. His body certainly fits the bill.
He’s fucking gorgeous. And he knows it.
I continue to watch him work this woman over, totally entranced as he leans over her again, his fingers still pistoning inside her, while her moans grow louder and louder.
Then, he grazes his tongue from the top of her pussy all the way up her stomach to her breasts—which by the way are bouncing away just as well as any porn star’s—and flicks it across her nipples again, taking another scoop of frosting away with him as he straightens back up.
God, it’s so wrong somehow, I just know it is, but I want more. I want to keep watching. I want to see what he’ll do next.
How the hell did I even end up in here?
Oh, that’s right, I was looking for a reprieve from people asking me where my date was tonight. After about the hundredth time of telling them I’d pretty much been stood up, I needed to find some space to catch my breath.
And instead, I found this.
Yeah, I’m catching my breath alright. Right now, I’m sucking air into my lungs in almost-gasps.
“Come for me, baby,” he growls out.
I pause. Who is he talking to this time?<
br />
And why do I want so badly for it to be me? I really shouldn’t.
I should actually be totally repulsed by what’s going on here. Yet I’m not.
“I’m coming!” she wails, answering the question for me about just who is supposed to be coming for him.
That’s fine. I already did. I just hope to god he doesn’t know it.
I have no idea what I must look like right now. A sex-starved mess?
God, I hope not.
As he withdraws his fingers, he scoops up more frosting—fuck, there’s going to be nothing left of this wedding cake. I don’t even want to imagine my mom’s reaction—then holds his hand out toward me yet again.
“Want a taste?”
Holy shit. It’s like the illusion is burst.
Like he was some actor on a stage, and I was just a quiet observer in the audience. Then he just busted that fourth wall wide open. Shit just got real.
The bridesmaid is all but forgotten.
He gets up and starts toward me, his eyes boring into mine. I can feel the overwhelming weight of whatever this is between us.
But I can’t give in to it.
No matter how much I might wish he’d do every dirty thing to me that I just witnessed, my brain somehow snaps out of its lust-induced haze, and I realize just how crazy this is.
This guy is a total stranger. He obviously has no respect for women or weddings.
Yet I find myself drawn to him…?
No. Fuck that. I’m not going to get tangled up in any bullshit tonight.
It’s my mom’s wedding night, after all. I should be out there celebrating with her, not in here getting off like some little voyeuristic little ho.
Another step closer. And another.
He’s closing the distance fast.
“I asked you if you’d like a taste.” Dammit, there’s that sexy smirk again. “I know I would.”
My heart is about to pound out of my chest. Because, yes, I very much would. I can imagine myself licking cake off his fingers, his mouth, his very hard cock.
My eyes drop down, almost as if they have a mind of their own. Holy hell. This guy is packing something massive.
I feel my pussy gush all over again just looking at the outline of his thick cock straining against his dress pants.
The desire I’m feeling right now is like nothing I’ve ever experienced in my life.
Another step closer.
Yeah, I have to get out of here. Like, now.
Without a word, and with everything in my body screaming NO, NO, NO at me, I spin on my heel.
My body is betraying me as I walk unsteadily toward the door. Like it knows I don’t really want to leave.
But you know what? My mind is stronger. And, somehow, I make it out the door without dropping to my knees in front of that man.
The only thing I can hope for now is that I don’t see him again tonight.
Because I’m afraid I can only resist for so long.
Chapter 3
Owen
“Wait! Where are you going? We have so much cake left.”
She ignores me and makes a beeline for the door. I watch her shake her cute little ass away from me for about five seconds before the temptation to follow her overwhelms me.
I look over at the bridesmaid I’ve just soiled, who seems to be looking for a towel.
“Need anything else?” I ask her, hoping the answer is no.
She smirks. “I’m good, thanks. Excellent service. Five stars.”
“See you later then.”
Off I go, leaving what’s-her-name behind me to try to clean the frosting off her tits.
Good luck with that, sugar.
I follow the little Peeping Tom into the ballroom. Amid a sea of swirling skirts and squeaking patent-leather shoes, I find her standing at the bar, where the bartender is filling her champagne glass to the brim.
“Do you have a bigger glass?” she asks him, ignoring me lurking behind her.
“Allow me.”
She widens her eyes in surprise as I reach over her shoulder and grab the entire bottle, along with an extra glass for me. I know old Carl has sprung for an open bar, but I drop a couple of big bills into the tip jar to show her that I know how to be a gentleman.
It’s just that I prefer not to be. In fact, I would like to pour this entire bottle of bubbly on her dress until it soaks through to the skin, clinging to her every curve and making her nipples hard. After all, wedding cake is meant to be enjoyed with champagne.
“Cheers,” I say, topping off her glass and clinking it against mine.
She acquiesces, taking a sip and glaring at me. “Where’s your date?”
“Oh, she’s had enough of me for one night.”
She snorts. “I can see why.”
“You mean because I let her have dessert first, satisfied all her cravings, and went back for seconds?”
“I mean because you’re a bad, dirty man with cake on his face. Who invited you, anyway?”
She’s lying. I am spotlessly clean. Although what I’m envisioning right now is very, very dirty.
I can tell she’s stifling a smile.
“Are you flirting with me?” I ask as I feel my face with my fingers, looking for crumbs.
“No.”
Yes, she is. She doesn’t know it yet, but this bad, dirty, sexy man wants to fuck her, and she wants to help him do it.
“Why don’t you give it a try? You might like it.”
“Why don’t you try locking the door? I’ll never be able to un-see what just happened—or look at cake the same way.”
That makes two of us. I’ll never forget the look on her face when she caught me straddling the bridesmaid like the world’s sexiest cake topper, spreading my frosting all over her. She looked hungry, and soon, it’ll be her turn to get a taste.
“Don’t be so uptight, sweetheart. What you walked in on was a girl checking a wedding fling off her bucket list. She won’t miss me. But if you walk away now, I think you will.”
In one big gulp, she drains the bottle and thrusts it in my hand, along with her now-empty glass.
“I’m done with my champagne.”
I calmly return the bottle and glasses to the bartender.
“Good. Then you can dance with me.”
She opens her mouth to respond, but before she can give me an answer one way or the other, I gently grab her by the waist and whisk her away to the dance floor. On the stage, a very skilled string quartet is enchanting the crowd with what I’m guessing is Mozart.
Unlike the younger men who are now enviously eyeing her, I’ve had a few years to practice all my moves, and it shows. I’m agile, light on my feet, and I know how to coax a woman’s legs over her head.
On the dance floor, I mean.
In school, I took ballroom dancing instead of enrolling in sports because it seemed like the easiest way to get laid. I can even do the infamous lift from Dirty Dancing, the one that made all the girls drop their panties in the ‘80s.
But tonight, I’ll start with something simpler—a waltz. I can’t just grind against her like I’m at a club. If I give her a few inches of space and treat her like a lady, she’ll be rubbing up on me before she even knows she’s doing it.
I take her hand and put my other hand on her waist. She slips her other arm around my back and follows my lead.
“One, two, three,” I instruct her as I move my feet, leading her through a simple box step.
“What’s with the counting?” she asks.
She’s fighting me with her lips, but she’s encouraging me with her hips. I can already tell she’s going to make me work for it. Pressed against her, I can feel myself rising to the challenge.
“Don’t make me get to four, or you’ll get a spanking.”
She laughs. “I’d like to see you try.”
That’s the answer I was hoping for.
I slide my hand down her back and give her a light smack on her ass, enjoying the way she squ
eaks in surprise. It feels so good that I leave it there for a while, lifting her tight little cheek with my palm. I’ve been wanting to do this since the moment I laid eyes on her.
“Are you going to let me go?”
It’s not a request; it’s a question.
I gaze into her young, sweet face. She has perfectly smooth skin and such long, beautiful lashes. Her hair falls around her face in shiny ringlets, still in her natural color. She’s a clean slate, and I want to write dirty words all over her.
“Do you want me to?”
“Maybe.”
“What if I use both hands? Would that feel better?”
I reach down with my other hand and show her what I mean, gently pulling her hips toward mine.
“What if I tell you to stop? Will you do it?”
I lean down, put my lips close to her ear, and whisper, “Not until you say uncle.”
Before I pull away from her, I give her a soft kiss on the side of her neck, just to see how much she likes it. It’ll just be a matter of time before she asks for more and kisses me back.
And like I predicted, she moans. Inching forward, she presses against me, and I can feel her give into whatever fantasy that’s been running through her mind since the moment she caught me in the cake room. She looks into my eyes and smiles at me, parting her lips in invitation.
I’m about ready to RSVP with my tongue when I get a much better idea—one I think she’s going to like. But it’s going to take all the willpower I have not to kiss her right here and now.
I dodge her lips, kiss her on the cheek, and back away. Then, I take her by the hand and start weaving through the crowd.
“What are you doing?” she asks, raising her voice to be heard over the music. “I thought you wanted me to dance with you.”
“I think you’re ready for a private lesson.”
“What does that mean?”
She stops in the middle of the dance floor, pulls her hand away, and folds her arms across her chest, waiting for an answer. She wants to know what she’s getting herself into, but that’s a question only she can answer.
“I can teach you any move you want. Whatever fantasy you have, I’ll make it happen. No judgments. All you have to do is ask.”
Her face turns bright red. She can pretend all she wants that she didn’t like what she saw, but I can see right through her, and she knows it. This girl has cravings, too, and I plan to satisfy each and every one before the night is over.
