The curtains were drawn for a reason.
Not that anyone could see through the windows anyways; the honeymoon suite at this elevation was practically a fortress, but still, thought Monsieur Pierre Baudelaire, ambiance can be a vital instrument in these sort of circumstances...
The tall, impeccably dressed foreigner groaned deeply in his final hunch over a blind and muzzled, leather hooded groom strapped face down to the heart-shaped bed...
Pierre pulled his thick, deranged manhood from the miniscule little boy-pussy of the groom with a slurping wet
pop
, allowing the faceless whimpering inferior to gasp in relief.
The ungodly shaft, creamed with buttery issue, draped from his fly as Pierre took a step back from the gaping hole, and ran his bejeweled fingers through his wet mop of black hair.
"Not a bad fuck for a
pretty little groom
," cheered Pierre, patting the tender cheeks.
"Mmmm!" the helpless sub groaned in pain, tingles jolting him against his restraints.
Pierre's grin, a red slash of a mouth, curved like the blade of a sickle in delight to see the hurt boy-pussy catching its breath. Its pursed lips inhaled and exhaled like a blossoming flower.
"Ah, springtime in the winter," he sniggered. "And how are you faring with that
adorable new bride
, my darling Maurice?"
Pierre glanced over his shoulder at the second man in the honeymoon suite.
"Lovely, my lord. Just lovely," replied Pierre's faithful man servant, Maurice, a black behemoth of a man, in his usual baritone voice.
Pierre grinned for, presently, Maurice was sitting back on a velvet chaise lounge near the far wall of the suit, his walnut shaped face cracked in a wry grin. Strewn on the floor beside him was a wedding gown, and the face in his lap belonged to a blindfolded bride, stripped of her dress and clad in white stockings and garters, who busily slathered over an unconquerable cock.
Her hands were cinched behind her back, just as her her ankles were cinched together as well, and she laid longways across the chaise lounge, willfully submitting to Maurice's cock.
"Wonderful," Pierre beamed, and then turned his attention back to the helpless groom, whose creamy ass had been propped up on the bed under a stiff cylindrical pillow sild under his tummy.
Where the tuxedo pants hand been ripped open, the plump red-spanked buttocks presented like the engorged hindquarters of a baboon.
"You'll have to bill me for the pants, my friend," he sniggered.
"Mmmmm!" the groom groaned.
Maurice chuckled, looking down as the bride choked and sputtered, unable to swallow even half of the ten-inch pipe. And, despite knowing this, Maurice still held her down with one hand on her head while his other hand slid between her thighs, and catered to her clit as the sounds of her own moaning spurred her on.
Pierre stowed his blood-drained, uncut cock back into his trousers, and smiled at the groom.
"Just look at you, my little sissy groom," said Pierre, as he lowered to get a better view of the groom's undercarriage.
There he saw the once proud cock so uncomfortably smashed in the tiny little cage, hanging between his thighs like a pocket full of change. Dabs of pre-cum marred the pillow.
"Your little cock is positively dripping," Pierre sniggered, enjoying the view of the hapless sub from this angle. He gave the cage a little jangle. "Does that hurt?" He sniggered.
"MMMM!" A wonderful little feeble cry escaped from behind the leather hood, as the groom suffered the bundled-up manhood swinging to and fro like a pendulum.
"Oh, stop your complaining," Pierre said. "Be happy it was only you who took the cock, and not your darling new wife, my friend."
Pierre strolled to a desk where some papers were spread out, and a pen lay waiting.
"But now, I am famished," he said, signing each of three documents. "It is time for brunch, I am afraid.
"Mmmppff?!" pleaded the groom, as if to say, "You can't leave us here like this?"
"Oh, hush. I'm sure housekeeping will be around to check on you two soon." Pierre was throwing on his suit blazer. He glanced over at Maurice.
"Come, Maurice."
At once, Maurice rose, his black python slithering out of the bride's open mouth.
The bride lolled forward onto her belly, tittering unbalanced with her hands and feet bound. She suddenly peered around blind, cock-less and confused. Her wide sensual mouth was still gaped, and reaching, as if hoping to find the massive cock again.
"Sorry, darling, but the fun is over. We must be going," said Pierre.
The bride scooted to the edge of the chaise lounge, blindly moving her head about the room.
"The deal is complete?" she asked, almost with the innocence of a virgin, but after seeing her skill with a cock, Pierre was certain she was not.
"Yes, the deal is done, darling. You and your husband now own a vast share of the land holdings just outside of the Rocky Mountain Districts."
"Thank you, Monsieur."
"Yes, you are both very welcome."
Pierre turned to the leather hooded, caged, and bound groom splayed out across the heart-shaped bed, and said, "I hope you and your darling new wife have enjoyed our little wedding exchange, my friend. I am sure, you and Mrs. Del Mar will live a long, and luxurious life together. For now, I bid you adieu."
"Mmm?!" the groom moaned.
"The locks on the restraints are on a time-lock. You have fifteen minutes left. Don't fret. You will get free."
Pierre paused, and gaped in awe of the wonderfully beautiful bride, who was tied up and half-naked in the lacey white lingerie, and just sitting alone on the chaise lounge...
Ripe for the plucking, he thought. He could envision it now, every morning he would awake in his castle in the mountains with this woman's luscious red lips on his cock, satisfying him to his wits end.
He leaned into Maurice, and whispered. "Drug her, gag her, and bring her. I want her for my collection."
Maurice need not hear anymore. He retrieved a ball gag from his pocket, and went to the defenseless, unbeknownst woman as Pierre never looked back as he exited the room.
Outside, along the wall of the hallway, a row of men in expensive suits waited.
Pierre nodded to each of them as they passed by, handing him an envelope. And one by one they entered the honeymoon suite to get what they paid for: the groom's gaped ass.
