"Quick. Fuck me now. I can't wait til we get upstairs."
I could hardly believe my ears. Apparently, the blushing bride of a few hours before, in her haste to drag her new husband aboard the elevator and while making sure her train wasn't caught in the door, had failed to notice me standing in the corner. The reception hall was on the mezzanine level of the hotel, but I had hopped on the elevator from the lobby, after a brief breath of fresh air. I had been the last minute escort for a co worker, a former room mate of the bride. My date had abandoned me early to dance with her old flame from school. I had last seen them disappearing into a coat closet. The mistreatment did not hurt any less from the regularity with which I experienced rejection. It was like I had "nerdy twenty five year old virgin" stamped on my forehead.
The groom was in no position to notice. His wife had her lips locked to his before he was inside the doors, faces pressed tight together. One hand clenched a handful of hair. Her other travelled swiftly from tie to back to ass, stopping there to grab hold and grind him against her. They briefly paused for breath, but his eyes, if open, were locked on hers.
The collar stud of his tuxedo shirt whizzed past my ear, bouncing off the wall to the caret. Four hands were travelling fast, tugging, unzipping, and lifting. I remained silent, barely breathing. My eyes were locked onto the free show. If they turned and noticed me, no way would I be able to disguise my voyeurism by looking at the floor indicator, as normal elevator etiquette demanded. But, in my defence, what was normal about being trapped in an elevator with newlyweds trying to fuck three feet away from me, all in a ninety second ascent?
Maybe they would press the stop button, either on purpose or by accident. My brain wondered if that would result in my presence being noted, and if so, how quickly that would abate their enthusiasm. My cock cared not at all, demanding more blood as it surged to fullness, straining against my pants.
The groom's shirt was now unbuttoned, his bride nibbling at his nipples as she locked her heels behind his knees, her skirt hoisted up past the lacy tops of her white stockings, a few inches of porcelain white skin a treat for my eyes. Her perfectly shaped ass was suspended in mid air by his long fingers, her weight balanced in his palms. Their loins were humping against each other, interfering with her efforts to extract his cock from his unzipped trousers.
As her hands fumbled, he hoisted her higher so that her shoulders rested against the wall of the car. He ripped open the front of her elegant gown. The support must have been built in, because she wore nothing underneath the bodice. This was my first opportunity to really appreciate her firm young boobs -- slightly bigger than the mythical champagne glass, but still, not a millimetre of droop- topped like cherry sundaes by shiny red nibblies.
"Fuck me," the bride repeated, tossing her head back against the wall as her new husband lowered his head and drew her nipple between his lips.
I watched as he grasped her flesh in his teeth and tugged the nub away from her tit. My hand fell to my pants, lightly brushing my bulge.
Her hands were now both busy extracting his cock from his pants. I only got a peek of the inflamed pink mushroom head. Though I remembered that I should be watching the floors whizz past, I could not peel my eyes away.
