The summer wedding hummed with love and laughter, but I wasn't sold on the vibe. My girlfriend had dragged me along, her arm hooked in mine as we shuffled to our seats under twinkling lights. I don't do forced cheer--grew up in a strict house, older brothers drowning out the silence with their loud lives, shaping me into a guy who craves control. Sex hit my radar after I turned 18--rough, hard, dominating every woman I've fucked since, owning them in bed with a grip that never slips. It's my game, wired deep by my early 20s, though a buried part of me wonders what it'd be like to flip it, let a woman take charge.
That's when I saw her--petite, creamish-brown, curly hair spilling wild, laughing with guests like she ran the show. Her energy slammed into me--raw, infectious--cutting through the dull haze. I couldn't look away as we traded small talk amid clinking glasses and floral air. Her name was Sonia, and she spilled her story quick--raised in a repressed Christian home, parents enforcing purity 'til marriage, sex a taboo locked tight. But her spark screamed rebellion, a caged bird beating at the bars, and it hooked me. I was with someone, though--didn't dwell on it. She was a passing thrill, or so I figured. That wedding meet was the first thread of a game I didn't clock coming.
Days later, I'm locking up the office after a late shift when she strolls in--bold, like she owns the joint. I'm caught off guard but roll with it--show her around, grab drinks, end up on a stairwell, me standing, her plopped on the bottom step. We chat, but she's not hearing me--eyes locked on mine, dark and naughty, that smirk curling her lips. She asks bullshit questions, mind elsewhere, sucking her straw slow and sensual, never breaking eye contact. My cock stirs, traitor that it is.
"I'm in a relationship," I say, voice steady, firm. Her smirk widens. "I know, but I'll break it up," she teases, sucking that straw like a promise. I shut it down--"Not happening"--but she's fearless, rocking a zip-up shirt screaming trouble. She unzips it, eyes daring me, and I'm stunned--this repressed girl's got balls. I lean in, zip her up, but she's at it again--muttering, "I won't do it again," only to unzip fully minutes later. She grabs her tits through a white bra, squeezing them, staring me down like she's staking a claim. They're perfect--perky, ripe--and my dick's hard despite myself.
I reach to zip her again, but she's quick--hand rubbing my bulge, smirk growing as I stiffen. "Sonia, stop," I growl, lifting her off the step. "I'm taking you home." I haul her to my motorcycle--her petite frame light in my grip--and ride her to her parents' place. She presses her swollen tits into my back the whole way, nipples stiff through her shirt, grinding like she's branding me. At her door, she slides off, tosses an "I'm sorry, please call me," and slips inside. She calls after--flirty chats, nothing heavy--but we don't meet again. Not yet.
