The Big Day 5

I feel my phone buzz in my tuxedo trouser pocket. It's precisely when you said you'd have some moments free to yourself, some alone time free of your mother and your maid of honour, just long enough for the fucking you'd need as part of the Big Day.

Surreptitiously I slip my phone out, my cufflink hitching slightly on my pocket as I hastily snatch it. I lean back against the wall so my screen is hidden from the other guests milling about in the chapel reception area. It's more than a message, the alert thumbnail enough for me to know this is not a catalogue shot of some model in a wedding dress but rather you in all that expanse of white fabric. Opening the app, quite a glorious sight greets me. I take in the picture for a moment, my eyes quickly flashing up to scan the room for gawkers, though surely no-one would suspect the bride-to-be is sending a dirty selfie to another man an hour before the main event. A smile curls at the corner of my lips at the thought that I am the lucky insider here. Eyes back down, I see that somehow you've managed to lift enough of the lengthy train of your dress to snap the pure white panties in your mirror, fingers clearly rubbing that needy little pussy. Underneath the text: Daddy, your pussy needs you NOW.

Closing my phone, I slip it into the inside breast pocket of my tux jacket. My senses are heightened, feeling the crispness of my shirt against my nipples and the warmth of my cock inside my boxers. I move, casually striding across the room and slipping through the side door to the dressing rooms out the back and up a narrow flight of stairs.

You usher me in hastily -- not a word on either side -- before pushing the door closed softly. Your dress rustles its shifting music as you swish round to face me, your chest heaving. My right hand clasps the base of your neck and I step forward, pushing you back against the door you've just closed, pinning you against the hard surface. My body is an inch from yours, not quite making contact yet. I take a moment to drink in just how lovely you look: your bare neck and shoulders, those sumptuous breasts, the elegant lace dress. You're the perfect blushing bride. But there is fire in your eyes that betrays the fact that the blood is not just rising in your cheeks. Your pussy is pounding beneath that dress for attention.

Your breaths are short. I feel the rise and fall of your chest in my palm against your breast bone. My fingertips clasp your neck, my thumb gently pressing the pulse in your jugular. I take a moment, looking into your wide, begging eyes for a few still moments. You love this; you love how bad it is; you love that your bridal panties are soaked because you're about to be fucked by your Dom on your wedding day. Your mouth opens silently in a little gasp as if to speak but we don't need words right now.

I yank your dress down to expose your wonderful tits, your corset tight but yielding enough for your already hard nipples to be on display. You let out a yelp before you can clap a hand to your mouth to stifle the noise at this shocking exposure. My dark growl is full of the lust built up over days of anticipation. We arranged this but hadn't discussed it. Hurriedly, I tug one nipple, then the other; a little twist, a rough squeeze. You can barely contain yourself but you wait patiently like the good submissive you are.

Of course this is just a prelude. Really, I know exactly what you want in this moment: "On your knees and show me what a good little cockwhore the bride is." You struggle down in the swathes of material but your hands are at my belt, your mouth salivating instantly at the mere thought of my thickness swelling in your mouth. You have my pants unzipped in a flash, seizing my cock as it springs up. It's a delightful vision: the bride, half-exposed breasts bouncing in her eagerness to grasp my cock and feed her craving need.

You take me without restraint. No teasing licks or subtlety. You're my whore, you're hungry, desperate, slurping me down instantly. "Your mouth is as wet as your pussy, girl," I mutter as my shaft disappears balls-deep again and again. My shaft is so slick with your spit, already drooling over my balls and down your chest. You don't care, you'll have to wipe the spit stains from your chest and your tits, but you don't fucking care. Your dress and corset fall further off you and you pull my cock from your mouth, gasping for breath. You use the break to pump your fist up and down my wet shaft before kneeling up a little higher to grab your tits and slide my cock between them. You look up at me now, revelling in your own dirtiness, loving the look of lustful pride in my dark eyes. I watch my beautiful bride tit fuck my twitching member several times before I take my cue.

Careful not to mess your hair, I grasp your head in both hands and, forcing you back fully to your knees, I stuff my cock back in your mouth. This thrust hits the back of your throat and you're gagging on me. Your eyes flash upwards to mine again. I know what you want. I always do. Those eyes beg for me to deliver my load down your throat. I pump, pound, drive myself into your face. The tension builds in my balls, ready for release. I can't stop it, I've wanted this moment for weeks now. I hold you fast to me, balls pressed against your neck, your face reddening from the lack of breath. Your own hands reach up and grasp my hips, as if doubling the intensity of your shaft-suffocation. The heat shoots down the base of my shaft. My seed pulses across your tongue. It floods your throat, the taste and scent of me all-consuming as my beautiful bride takes daddy's cum down her throat, the warmth seeping down your chest and into your belly. It's the nourishment you need. Belly full, chest a mess, white bridal panties drenched. Ready for more.

I ungrasp your head and you reel back gasping, eyes wild, your chin, neck and chest spattered with spit. I fall back, panting, my cock just as much of a mess. We look at each other, almost laughing at the state of us both. Here is the bride half undressed, wiping another man's cum from her mouth with the back of her hand. We're both slightly delirious on sex, half-disbelieving our own crazy cravings. But we know we're not done. "How much longer?" I ask hoarsely. Glancing at the clock on the wall you estimate, "Ten minutes, maybe fifteen."

I'm on you again, pulling you up into a kiss. I can taste my saltiness on you and, in between passionate tonguing, I quip, "You better brush your teeth before the bit about kissing the bride, you cumslut." You're too horny to even bother with a comeback, vainly fumbling under all that dress trying to get your panties off.

"Daddy, fuck me daddy. I need you to fuckkk meee," you beg. This is what we planned, the bridal blowjob an unexpected necessity in the heat of the moment. "Don't worry, babygirl, daddy always gives you what you need." And with that I'm on you again, this time grabbing your wrist and throwing you front-first over the couch in the centre of the dressing room. Together we manage to get the train of your dress up enough so that I'm in behind you and it's up over your back and over your head. You feel my hands on your ass. A slap or two, enough to bring up a hint of rose on your fair skin but there's no time for punishing a naughty girl. Urgently I'm tugging down your lacy white panties, yanking them just down to your knees, such is our urgency. And then there's the rush of my mouth between your legs from behind, kissing and licking at your soaked pussy. You grunt and I feel you push yourself back into me, as if forcing my tongue inside those wet lips. You can't reach back, the dress is too big, so you grip the back of the couch and grind your hungry mound back into my face. I taste the sweetness of your need, the hours of desperate horny anticipation. "Ohhhh fuck daddyyyy nnnnnnmmmm," you groan, making way too much noise but you can't help yourself. I spin round so I'm on my back and underneath you so I can get my mouth wrapped around your clit and send my tongue upwards, circling it. This can't be good for the dress, surely it's going to be creased, but fuck it you need this. I need this.

Your pussy drips down into my mouth, my beard soaked. Always such a wet messy girl, now ruining my crisp, carefully constructed outfit. It flashes through my mind, as I push my fingers into your creamy hole that I'm going to have the scent of your pussy in my beard through the ceremony. Your legs shake, one of your heels falling off. I sense the familiar signals of your orgasm. "Daddyyyy, fuckkkk, c-c-can I...." But the words barely form on your semen-stained lips when your climax washes over you, the crash of your release sending waves of ecstatic electricity through you. Your body melts into the couch, you're nothing and everything all at once. The dirty little secret whore bucking her hips and cumming her creamy sex over her daddy's face in her wedding dress.

Each spasm of pleasure pulses your nectar into my mouth with each gasped syllable of "Ohhh...ohhh... ohhhhfffucckkk... fffuccckkk...I can't, I can't...". You don't finish the sentence but each of us knows you can and you will.

It's my turn to wipe cum from my mouth, emerging from beneath you and the dress. I stand, regarding the panting bride bent over the couch in her dressing room an hour from walking down the aisle.

There is a brief silence, bar the ticking of the clock.

You reach back, trying to hoick your panties back up but you feel my iron grip again on your wrist stopping you. "I'm not done with you yet." My voice is dark and cool. And you feel me tugging your panties right off over your one shoe and bare foot. For a moment, looking up at the clock you almost fight to keep them on. You're getting married in an hour... But it's a false resistance that yields almost as suddenly as it rises. Now bare-cheeked you lie still, breathless, pussy glistening and ready for me.

I reach round and stuff your panties in your mouth, the musky sweetness of your need filling your senses now. Again your first instinct is to protest but you open your mouth like daddy's good little slut. As you take the lacy damp fabric into your mouth I growl, "We're going to need to make sure you stay quiet for this..."

I take you hard, suddenly. My cock is rammed inside your hungry pussy before you've even adjusted to breathing through your nose, an exhalation pushed out of you as if my length has filled a void. And in that perfect moment it genuinely is as if the emptiness you've felt all morning is satiated. Here, bent over your bridal couch, bare ass in the air, drenched panties in your mouth, your sticky cum-tracks coursing down your silky thighs, wedding dress over your head... here, in this moment, you feel complete with daddy's masculinity wrecking your pussy that is betrothed to another.

You scream into your panties and, still, I can make out your muffled cry of "Fuckkkk, fuck me daddy. Fuck your little whore bride!!!"

And I do. I fucking do. I fucking fuck the living fuck out of you. I grunt and groan and pound my hips against you. You hear the familiar growl of my lust, intensified a hundred-fold by the secret gift of your body to me on this day of all days. I grasp handfuls of the train of your dress for purchase as I ram my cock again and again deep into your belly. My first orgasm still warm in your stomach, you can feel the abandon of my raging lust ready to release a second flood deep in your pussy. Your bare pubic bone grinds into the expensive dress below you, each thrust of my hips rubbing your mess into the fine lacy fabric. It runs through your mind that you're getting the dress wet, hoping the clear juices won't show as you walk down the aisle. But you do know -- as you feel the ecstatic stream of cum flow out of me again -- that you're going to feel daddy's cum running out of you into your soaked panties as you stand in front of the dearly beloved and say "I do".

I'm cumming. I can't believe how much there is for a second orgasm in such quick succession, it seems to keep pouring from me endlessly. We've lost all control, pumping and grinding and cumming inside and all over everything. Raw sex.

I half collapse over you, our hips keeping a reducing tempo. Gradually, we regain our senses, realising our time is up and we need to get you back into a state befitting a bride. You turn and slump down on the couch, face flushed, half-hanging out of your corset, chest heaving. I sit beside you, whispering "open... good girl" as you let the panties fall from your mouth and into my hand. "I'll keep these," I mutter, slipping them into the pocket of my abandoned suit jacket. "Good thing you bought some extra," I smirk, my mind cast back to your message last week showing the two sets of lingerie you'd bought for the Big Day.

Together we dress you again, righting the corset, pulling it tight, adjusting the dress as you stand and we flare it out again into its elegant form. It's a moment of unspoken tenderness. We know what we've done is wrong...or at least if anyone else knew they would consider it so. But it's our secret and in that sense it feels completely right.