The Fantasy
I had a notion. A question. A daydream. A fantasy.
What if we had known each other before? When we weren't allowed to know each other - at least not in the way we know each other now.
Would you notice me? Would you want me? Would the hidden sub in you be able to spot the dominance in the softly spoken giant in front of you?
Would we just meet and smile and become polite acquaintances. Would I kiss your cheek and make you laugh and say how nice it is to meet you.
Or would we sense something. Would I be able to take you.
Take you away from your friends, your husband. Would I be able to induce the same glassy-eyed look you're giving me right now. Would I be able to corrupt you and make you squeeze your thighs together as your cunt throbs in my presence.
Would you risk it all just to feel the briefest brush of my fingertips against your clit.
Would I be able to steal you. Away from your busy life and your demanding job and your expectant family.
Would I be able to steal you on your most un-stealable day.
The day in which you are at your happiest. Your purest. With all the flowers. The food. The guests. The church. With your immaculate make up and your brilliantly white dress. The day in which you must be beautiful but not sexual. Charming but not flirtatious. The day in which you should be noticing no man other than your husband.
On that day and in that place, would I be able to violate you.
She considers the question for what feels like too long but really is no more than thirty seconds. I think she would have answered more quickly but she wanted the dramatic pause.
Finally, when the decade-long half-minute was up she looks at me and speaks:
"I still have my veil".
The Veil
I wasn't there the first time but it still looks brand new. She puts it on and smiles shyly. I asked her if it was the first time she had worn it since that special day.
"Yes, Daddy"
It's not just the veil. She's considered other details. She's wearing white underwear and even a garter. Her nails are done. Her makeup is delicate. She has dressed to provoke my malicious intent.
I imagine her walking down the aisle, her pretty face concealed behind the sheer white. The tears in her bridesmaid's eyes. The smiles of her guests. The pride of her future husband.
That's all it takes. I seize her by the throat and throw her against the wall. Her first gasp is laced with panic and excitement and she pants the second gasp straight into my mouth as I overwhelm her with my size and kiss her like she's my first meal. She kisses me back, desperately trying to keep up with my hunger while stoking it at the same time.
"The speeches will be soon" she whispers I squeeze her breasts. "I have to go". She meekly pushes against my chest and it has no effect on me whatsoever. We are no longer in our room. We are in the bathroom at her wedding and her new wedding ring sparkles on her hand as her fingers wrap around my leaking cock.
Out in the main hall, her guests are charging glasses, her father rehearses lines from his speech and her groom chats to his best man - idly scanning the room and wondering where his ornate bride is and what she's doing.
What she's doing is trying to breathe against the wall now that I have turned her around and pushed her face against it. I kick her heels apart and notice how expensive her shoes look before dragging her flimsy underwear to the side.
I hold here there for just a moment, breathing into the back of her neck through her veil. I can't believe you're letting me do this, I whisper into her ear as my hand grips the back of her neck. One hundred and twenty people are here to watch you get married to him, and here you are, my needy little slut, getting fucked right before the speeches.
She nods and moans and it's at that exact moment of shameful admission that I choose to push my dick into her newly married cunt.
She sobs against her own hand, desperately trying to stay quiet, and I growl into her ear, having no concern at all for the noises I make. Not for my guttural exhalations, not for the sound of my balls slapping against her, and not for the way I call her a good girl when I can feel her cunt clench around me.
She's hot and wet and I am surely damaging this perfect dress with the rough way I flinging her around into new angles so I can climb as high up into her as possible. We can hear the clinking of glasses in the main hall and the bustle of tipsy and expectant loved ones, all waiting for the star of the show to glide into the room on a glowing cloud of romance and contentment. They will have no idea that my cum will be leaking down her thigh, and the thought makes me curl my fingers even harder into her hips as I feel myself getting close.
"We can't. Please. No". She looks behind at me with tears in her eyes and for a moment I almost believe it. I cease fucking her and let my dick twitch inside her, mad with lust, waiting for the next move. She must be feeling so much. So much arousal and shame. So much emotion. So much filth. I love the feeling of her tight around me, knowing that her husband will be the second man to have fucked her after he just married her.
Tell me to stop, I say, and I'll stop.
She takes a beat. She can hear laughing party voices pass the door outside. Someone asks what time the speeches are due to start. Someone else says any minute now. If they can only find the bride. More laughter.
She reaches around behind her and pushes me back deeper into her cunt.
"Fill me up, Daddy".
She hardly reaches the "d" of the last word before I spin her around and sweep her off the floor and slam her back against the wall. Her heels snap around me and I drive into her with ferocity, picturing how, in a few minutes time, she will catch my eye over all the candles and champagne glasses between us and her cheeks will burn. That while she politely laughs at the best man's jokes she will be brimming with my cum.
The thought sends me over and while she digs her fingers into my shoulders I flood her pretty cunt, completing my violation of her body on her day of pageantry.
Back in the real world she trembles on my dick and buries her face into my neck with satisfied embarrassment.
What are you thinking, I ask her. Tell me what's in your head.
"You ripped my veil, Daddy" she says. And she's right. It lies mutilated and discarded on the floor.
I feel a moment of contrition. And just as I am about to apologise for destroying a sacred piece of her past she cuts me off:
"Next time, I'll bring the whole dress".
