It was cold, the day they were married. The sky was so dark, one might almost think it was night though it was only 3 in the afternoon, and the sun's weak light barely lit the stained-glass windows of the church as John stared down at his new wife's beautiful, delicate face--a face he would delight in defacing.
She was a beautiful woman, with the face of an angel, and the soul of a whore, and now she belonged to him.
"I do." Her words rang across the church and no one spoke for a long moment. Then applause rent the air, and it was done. He closed his hand around her waist, pulled her close in a chaste kiss and escorted her along the aisle past their smiling, clapping guests, down the church steps and into the limousine.
"What's the rush?" she asked sotto voce, but climbed willingly into the back of the limo, lifting the long, wide bell of her white lacy dress. "The guests will think we're rude."
He nodded at the driver and climbed in after her, but didn't answer her question. Instead, he eyed her tits, pushed up high by the tight bodice.
"Pull up your skirt."
Her brows lifted high, now, as she scooted across the leather seat, smoothing down silk and lace to avoid wrinkles. All snooty, she'd been raised to behave a certain way. She wasn't used to taking orders. "Excuse me?"
She had so much to learn, and he would relish teaching her.
The driver sat in his seat but didn't close the privacy partition. Maurice had been with John for years, since he'd graduated college and taken his position at hisf ather's company. Maurice would bear witness to his wife's undoing. "Take us to the hotel," John said.
They had about ten minutes to get there for the reception, and already his dick was so hard in his pants it felt as if it might snap off. "I said, pull up your skirt. Don't make me repeat it again."
Her jaw dropped, patrician brows lifting even higher up to her blonde hair, the perfect pink of her tongue glistening in the dim light.
He tisked and, careful not to ruin her carefully coiffed hair, he wrapped his hand around her thin, elegant neck, forcing her forward, onto her knees on the limo's floor, a position to which she would soon become well acquainted. "We have a marriage to consummate, Mia."
Moving beside her, he lowered his lips to his ear. "Lift your skirt for me."
She shivered.
Maybe it was the position, maybe it was the dominance in his voice, maybe it was just his will subduing her, but she didn't struggle. No one had ever treated her like this in her entire rich and spoiled life. She was probably too shocked to resist.
"Do it."
"J-John? Honey? I'm glad you're so...eager...but can't this wait until after the reception?"
"No."
He rucked her skirt up around her waist, baring her luscious thighs and ass. Garters around her thighs, pale white stockings, and a tiny scrap of a thong. She trembled in his hands.
Anyone who looked through the windows would see a small, slender woman, naked below the waist, on the floor on her hands and knees.
Hooking a finger through the waist band, he yanked the thong down her thighs. Her perfectly waxed asshole and the cleft of her cunt came into view.
