It's the evening of Erica's wedding day and while her husband entertains guests downstairs, she must meet with her ex-boss Gavin to meet his bastard blackmailing demands.
Erica stood on her own in the broad corridor, checking fearfully in case she might be seen, by whom she was not sure. Then the other elevator doors drew apart and Gavin’s imposing form was looming over her, his petite helper standing innocently by his side. The fragrance of his Givenchy Pi Neo drifted over her and she recalled his arrival that morning, that momentary pang in her parents’ hallway. She recognised it now as one of regret—that she had never been taken by this man, never been alone and naked with him in a moment of utter surrender. Well now she was about to get what she thought she’d missed. Not that they’d be quite alone ...
“Take us to your suite,” Gavin instructed. “We’ve got limited time and I don’t intend to waste a minute.” She gulped at the words and her pussy responded as it had done the night she promised her body to him and her heart to Stephen.
She moved urgently, the skirts of her dress filling up the brightly-lit passageway as she progressed, plastic card clutched sweatily in her hand. Gavin and Clementine matched her pace. “It’s fine—the staff here are very discreet; they won’t ask questions if they see us,” her ex-boss assured her as they arrived at the Infinity Suite and she fumbled to fit the card in the slot.
“I know your … friend is here to help,” she said tersely as she jabbed at the lock mechanism, “but can’t we do this alone? You know, the main part of it?”
“Clementine has a multi-functional role,” Gavin informed her, as she finally succeeded in accessing the room. “She’ll be leading a short ceremony, won’t you, sweetheart?”
Ceremony? What the hell …
“Yes, I’ll make myself very useful,” Clementine assured Erica as they followed her inside. “But if you want some special time alone with Gavin, I’ll totally understand.”
The younger girl was already gazing around at the lavishly-furnished Infinity Suite, as Gavin toyed with the room’s lighting system. Erica too had the first sight of her bridal boudoir, outside of the hotel’s on-line brochure. In other circumstances she would have pored in enchantment over the living-room’s vast space, with its cream and ivory décor, its dark maple furnishings strewn with vases of thick-bunched dark-red roses. Right now Clementine was doing that in her place. Gavin had already locked the door and was operating the curtains so that they glided smoothly around the great curve of the room’s far wall, shutting out the London night-lights. Erica could only wrestle down her mounting anxiety as the event unfolded.
“Stephen’s provided you with quite the magnificent backdrop,” Gavin observed, Clementine gasping her agreement. “Unfortunately I won’t have the luxury of appreciating it fully. We need to move things along. Clementine, do you have the vows?”
The young blonde was already withdrawing two gilt-edged cards from her hefty shoulder-bag. “Right here. It’s okay, I know my part.”
Erica had been shocked so many times today her dread was giving way to indignation. “Vows? What the hell is this, Gavin?”
“Hush.” He planted a finger lightly on her lips. The quiet command of his one syllable disempowered her utterly, reminding her how completely she was ensnared by this domineering man. “For one short hour you’re mine completely,” he told her, drawing away his finger. “You’ll do everything I say without question, if you’re a smart girl. Do we have an understanding?”
Stephen Laughton’s bride stared into the calm, hard face of the man who owned her. There were no cards to play, no reason left to panic. She was at his mercy and she knew now beyond doubt that he would show her none. He would take the bride however he pleased, completing his corruption of her day, and she would submit. Within herself she might try and cling to some form of loyalty, but outwardly she knew to whom she belonged. Maybe it was a fitting punishment. She nodded and let Gavin take both her hands—and it began.
“We are gathered here,” Clementine began, standing between them and speaking her lines like a precocious student in a school play, “to witness the first sexual union of the newly-married Mrs Erica Laughton, with her prospective debaucher Mr Gavin McClain. We are here to fully enjoy their coupling and to encourage them by our presence in their erotic activities. I wrote this part myself, it’s kind of the royal ‘we’,” she added delightedly to Erica, before turning to the ‘prospective debaucher’. “Mr McClain, would you like to read your vows first?” She handed him one of the cards and, having briefly referred to it, he began, staring into Erica’s helplessly mesmerised eyes the whole time.
“I, Gavin Drummond McClain, take you, Erica Louise Laughton, to be my sexual slave for this next hour. I will enjoy your body relentlessly and will endeavour to make you forget your wedding day as you surrender to adulterous orgasm, even in this sanctum of your marital love.”
Erica was stunned by the quiet conviction with which he uttered the words. She recalled his promise to her that morning as she had hung limp and molested in his arms and recognised the challenge ahead, one to which she must surely rise. As long as she did not climax, as long as she resisted the thrill that was bubbling up in her stomach, he would not have her totally. She would not lose herself. There would be something left for Stephen.
“And now you, Mrs Laughton?” Clementine passed her the other card. She sought for resolve, sought to rise above whatever she might be made to do. This was simply a task. She was mouthing someone else’s words, their fantasy. It meant nothing. As she scanned the elegantly-printed script and read it out, however, she trembled.
“I, Erica Louise Laughton, give my body over to your pleasure, Gavin Drummond McClain, for this next hour. I will submit myself to your hands, your mouth and your … your cock and will do all in my power to prove myself a … a good and willing f … fuck-slut.” She could not meet Gavin’s eyes.
Clementine retrieved the cards, clearly pleased with the proceedings thus far. Her voice, as she concluded, held all the sweetness of a true romantic. “I declare you Defiler and Defilee. What we have brought together, let no one put asunder for the duration of this hour. Gavin, you may now fuck the Bride.”
“Oh I will,” he replied, and his normally restrained demeanour burned with intent so fierce that she simply had to look at him. “I’ve been saving myself for her.”
There was a moment’s exquisite, excruciating tension. Clementine’s gaze scarcely mattered to Erica now. The fingers of her right hand lingered softly in Gavin’s grip. Her nipples, she realised, were swelling against her corset and her loins tingled as though the egg was still in place. She opened her mouth to voice some statement of defiance, some avowal of her love for Stephen, but before she could make a sound, he was on her.
Gavin’s powerful hands seized Erica’s corseted waist and his lips descended to her neck, claiming the sweet-spot he had discovered that morning, the one which made her knees buckle and her pussy melt. She sucked in a great gasp of air, as heat from his mouth rushed over the entire surface of her body. He pulled her tight to him. She could feel the tension throughout his tuxedoed frame, and knew that the layers of her dress were cushioning that great rigid slab she had encountered earlier. Her breasts were heaving against the tight bodice of her dress, like they were trying to burst free, nipples pumped so hard it was painful.
As his tongue traced the same route to her ear it had tested before and his teeth bit on the lobe, her head went light. She hung limply in his grasp like a cliché in a historical romance, weak from the day’s demands, her body giving itself up to his lustful onslaught. Stephen’s face was hovering vaguely in her consciousness, but as Gavin’s tongue writhed in her ear all was being blotted from her mind other than one treacherous thought: this is how a bride should be taken on her wedding night.
Erica rebelled instantly against the notion, but then Gavin’s mouth was on hers, his tongue thrusting inside, tasting of menthol and cabernet sauvignon. His hand slid up the laced back of her dress to clutch her head as their mouths locked. She tried not to respond, but was being overwhelmed from within as well as without. She felt welded at the lips to Gavin, the muscle of his tongue invading and conquering her in prelude to that other imminent invasion. He broke from her and his lips curled into a savage smile as he registered the look on her panting face.
She was hopelessly revealed before him.
“You want this,” he said with quiet satisfaction. “More than that, you need it.” He cradled her jaw in one hand, slipping his thumb between her lips. She felt its pressure on her tongue as he stared into her eyes. “My beautiful bride,” he said softly. “You’re so ready.”
He bent down, wrapping one arm around her back and scooping the other beneath her ankles, below the folds of her skirts. Then he lifted her voluptuous five foot eight off the floor with ease. She cried out in surprise, linking her hands involuntarily around his neck as he raised her. Clementine was already opening the door to the master bedroom, so that he could carry his bride smoothly over the threshold, her veil draping behind her; Erica glimpsed the girl’s excited smile as they passed inside.
Gavin set Erica down next to the room’s king-size centrepiece. Clementine had already brought the room’s lighting up to a warm glow, throwing its rich dark colours and textures into relief. Then Gavin was turning her around and pushing her onto the end of the four-poster bed, its drapes all roped back to expose the expansive linen surface. Erica had an image of pristine sheets folded back over a gold-embossed bed-cover, red and white rose petals scattered in preparation for the happy couple. The scene for her perfect first evening with the knight who had claimed her heart, only now the story’s villain was going to have her here instead. So wrong, so vile. And yet as the side of her face was pressed firmly down into the centre of the bed, her chief emotion was heart-thumping excitement.
“Stay there. Don’t move.” Gavin’s instructions were hard and simple. Then to Clementine he said, “Okay, help me out.”
Erica gasped once more as the full satin folds of wedding skirts were lifted and piled about her waist; the conditioned air in the suite was cool against her suddenly exposed flanks. The legs and buttocks she had worked so hard to tighten and sculpt for Stephen’s delight were stretched taut over the bed, so that Gavin could gaze on them instead in all their lingerie-clad glory. He slipped the tuxedo jacket from his shoulders and threw it casually onto a chair, then ripped his bow-tie loose, before pinning her skirts against the small of her back with one hand and commencing to tear at his bulging trouser flies with the other.
Then he paused. “I wonder would that mirror move?” He strode on impulse to the other side of the room. She heard the sound of some heavy piece of furniture being shifted from wall brackets. “Yes,” he mused, “I think the bride should have a good view.” The mirror was heaved into place before her, one more reminder to the bride that on hers and Stephen’s wedding day, she was being mastered by someone else. And still she couldn’t quell the thrill in her belly, the relentless moistening of her loins, as in the periphery of her vision that great cock sprang free. Damn—it really was as huge and angry as she remembered from the morning.
Clementine’s soft hands began to unhook the straps from her suspender-belt, the girl waxing poetic as she busied herself, sampling the smoothness of the bride’s hips with her palms. Even this sent a frisson of excitement to the peaks of Erica’s breasts. “That’s it, babe, let me undo everything and take off these pretty silk panties. God, you’ve got them wet today, haven’t you? Poor darling.”
The sodden fabric was tugged free of Erica’s ass and drawn smoothly down over her thighs, suspender-straps now dangling from the tops of her stockings. “Step out, darling,” Clementine said sweetly as they reached her ankles. She slipped her pump-shod feet free of the garment, so that the little blonde could pass it to Gavin. He relinquished his hold on her and moved behind, letting Clementine take possession of the skirts and keep them hoisted free of her naked ass.
She could raise her head now and look into the great ornate mirror, and somehow she had to—at the beautiful forlorn bride with mascara running and tresses of hair pulled awry, prone on the marital mattress with a ruthless debaucher readying himself behind her. His shirt was ripped partway open and his trousers were around his thighs, that huge weapon barely disguised by her bunched dress. Elsewhere in that same building Erica’s friends and family were drinking and dancing in here honour, her husband downing celebratory pints with his friends, while here on the bridal bed she was about to get fucked by another man.
And never in her life had she been so insanely aroused.
Gavin was gazing at her in the reflection, letting her see him press the silk knickers to his face and inhale her musk. “God you smell good,” he said. Then as if they had served to whet his appetite he threw them onto the bed beside her, dropped to his knees and claimed her ass with both hands.
She cried aloud as he pulled her buttocks apart and buried his face between them, driving his tongue into her already wet slit. He kissed and lapped and made fierce oral love to her cunt, making her wetter still. She writhed and moaned like a heroine in direst peril as he devoured her, slathering his tongue from her pussy and diving into her tight, shocked anus, the first man ever to do so. He wriggled and probed his tongue inside her puckered hole, chiefly to draw out and enjoy her shocked response—she was sure of it. Then he returned with relish to her pussy and feasted there some more, tongue lashing back and forth furiously, hands massaging deep into the muscles of her ass. God, the bastard knew from her every moan that she could not help loving it.
Gavin emerged from the depths, his face wet with her juices. He leaned over and kissed Clementine, allowing the elfin girl to sample Erica briefly on his tongue. The bride was too suffused with panic and desire even to care. There was a brief flash of that great erect pole bobbing up from beneath Gavin’s shirt-tails and she knew what was next; she watched him reach down so he could fit himself to her, then felt the dome of his cock search out the slick opening which his tongue had made ooze. He pushed and the massive head split her lips, causing her to gasp in erotic trepidation. The first of Gavin McClain had entered her, the rest of those inches cued up for the big push into her tiny-seeming hole. Escort Clementine might be used to such dimensions—Erica was not. Her fingers clawed into the bedspread and her whole body braced, fearful but wanting.
“Keep looking, Erica,” Gavin said with grim exuberance, and one hand came to rest firmly in the small of her back. “It’s only right I fuck the bride in her dress, right? At least to begin with.”
Oh god, get on with it, you bastard, fucking do me!
He thrust, burying at least half of his cock-length inside her, letting her feel his substance as it opened her cunt wide. She yelled out in response to his massiveness inside her, yet was surprised—relieved? disappointed maybe?—that he had not plunged in further, not driven as far as he could go. Then he withdrew and began a slow piston in and out, probing deeper on each stroke, testing her wetness, her preparedness. She ached at having cock—his stiff, unlawful cock which had no business to be there—gliding easily against the tight-stretched walls of her cunt. Coupled with the enjoyment all over Gavin’s handsome face it was unbearably, cruelly sexy.
She stared, breath bated, hands clenching fistfuls of linen, as Gavin sped up, fucking harder, deeper … Then satisfied all was ready, he pulled out almost to the tip, pausing to let her know what was on the way.
He rammed hard, burying most of himself inside her. She could see the look on her own face as her cunt was crammed with more cock than it had ever taken before. Her eyes were staring wildly, her mouth a wide-stretched scarlet O, her whole face a testament to being penetrated so deep and stretched so wide. As for Gavin’s face, that was a picture of the most profound pleasure. His delight in being thrust so far inside the bleating bride was etched all over his stony features. He retreated, gripped her sides with both hands and drove deep, sinking himself utterly inside her, so that his quadricep muscles impacted hard against her ass. She wailed in helpless ecstasy as her tight pussy took all of him, every other thought erased by the sheer sense of being expanded and filled by this ruthless bastard.
“Oh god, that’s it,” Gavin’s voice grated, as he slammed hearty strokes into her, his groin whacking against her now on each deep-delving thrust. “That’s it, Erica, take it. Take it all.”
Amazingly she found that she could. Her body was opening up to the severest...
