[FM] My husband Henry and I ruined my wedding dress

My partner Henry and I have wanted to do the whole “exchange rings and then dance the night away” thing for a while, but the pandemic has made it a little difficult to gather our family and close friends in one place for even a casual courthouse wedding. As recently as the end of June, we still held out hope that we could have a small in-person ceremony at some point in 2020 instead of one over Zoom. But then Henry’s sister, a doctor, finally told us to give up on that dream for at least a year.

At the beginning of July, I decided to quit my job on July 31st and start a new one in the middle of August for a bit of a break. The new gig came with some decent perks, including better health insurance for spouses than the insurance Henry had through his job. It was an interesting incentive. Around the time I put in my notice (don’t burn bridges with your employers, kids), Henry and I sat down before bed to plan out the rest of the summer and talk about the future. We stared at each other from across the kitchen table in our pajamas, our eyes narrowed with suspicion as we tried to suss out how the other person was feeling. “Should we…?” I finally asked slowly.

“I mean, it makes sense,” he replied.

“Especially before I actually start the job so the paperwork is over and done with.”

“Nobody would be able to come on short notice, though.”

“They wouldn’t be able to make it anyway.”

“So when?”

“Is this Thursday too soon?”

“Maybe next week so you can order a dress?”

“Do you really expect me to wear a white dress? We’ve fucked each other up the ass – I’m not exactly a virginal bride.”

“Classy as always, Lily.”

“But yeah, you’re right, I’ll want to buy something new.”

“So next Thursday? We’re actually gonna do this?”

“We’re actually gonna do this.”

We grinned at each other excitedly. And then pounced, giggling like idiots as I climbed on the table and scooted my legs over the edge. Henry pushed me down on my back and leaned over me, kissing me roughly as he tore my panties down my legs and slid his hand between my thighs to tease my entrance with his fingertips. I moaned against his lips and wrapped my arms around his shoulders. He kissed down my neck, using his other hand to pull my nightshirt above my tits. “Please,” I begged, gently guiding his shoulders down my body until his mouth was hovering over my pussy.

He paused. “Or,” he whispered, glancing up at me, his warm breath fanning out over my aching clit.

“Or what?”

“Or we could wait until our wedding night.”

I snorted. “Fuck that.”

Henry smirked and pulled back, removing his fingers from where they were teasing me and leaving me panting and splayed across the table. “We’re waiting,” he insisted.

“Oh my fucking god,” I huffed, laughing and pushing myself upright as I pulled my nightshirt back down, “You’re getting all traditional on me? You gonna stop begging me to play with your prostate too?”

He sat back down, tilted his face upwards, and kissed me once chastely. “Just until the wedding,” he replied simply, refusing to take the bait, “I know you hate clichés, but I want to wait until we’re married, and I actually really want to see you in a white dress. I didn’t realize how much until you said you weren’t going to get one.”

My face softened when I saw how serious he was. “With a veil and everything?” I asked, genuinely curious how far this interest went.

“And a bouquet. And a garter. And the frilliest white lingerie you can find.”

“Only if you pose for pictures with me after the ceremony,” I countered, folding my arms across my chest.

“Deal.”

“With a professional photographer,” I insisted.

“We’re saving a ton of money by not flying anybody in or throwing a party. We can afford a hundred professional photographers.”

“Then I’ll buy and wear the dress. And wait until our wedding night. For you.”

Henry kissed me again, deeper this time, more insistently, his tongue sliding into my mouth briefly before he withdrew to nibble on my lower lip. After a moment, he pulled back to smile wickedly at me. “You’ll only have to play the blushing bride for a couple hours,” he murmured, his hand sliding up my thigh, “Because then I’m going to fuck you until you and your white dress are torn apart and covered in cum.”

I laughed, but I felt my pussy flood. “What, is this some new ‘destroying innocence’ fetish of yours?” I challenged, spreading my legs and placing my feet on the armrests of his chair.

That same wicked smile stayed on his lips. “I’ve never been into the schoolgirl fantasies or naughty nuns or virgins or anything like that,” he murmured, his eyes raking down my body until they reached my pussy, “But I have to admit that I am incredibly turned on by the idea of claiming and fucking my bride raw on our wedding night.”

I reached down and spread my labia with two fingers so he could see how wet I was getting. He let out a slow exhale and leaned back in his seat to get a better view. “I can get behind this bridal fetish,” I whispered, “But I’ll want you to get really fucking rough with me.”

“How rough?” he asked, sliding his hand up my inner thigh and then pushing two fingers into my dripping pussy.

“As rough as possible without bruising or breaking skin,” I moaned breathlessly.

He grinned up at me and captured my lips again, biting down hard enough to elicit a sharp gasp before pulling away. His overtly dominant side is not an infrequent presence in our sex life, but it is still a treat whenever he truly gets aggressive. His fingers began pumping inside me roughly. “You’re going to be my fucking wife,” he whispered excitedly, his other hand brushing my hair away from my face.

I grabbed his hand and guided it to my throat. “You’re gonna be contractually stuck with me,” I smirked.

He gently squeezed the sides of my neck, careful to avoid pressing down on the front of my throat, and then suddenly released me, slowly removing his fingers from my pussy as he remembered his goal to not have sex again before the wedding. “Shit. I’m sorry,” he murmured apologetically, “I shouldn’t have started something I wasn’t going to finish.”

I grabbed his hand and slid his fingers into my mouth, suctioning my cheeks and slowly cleaning them with my tongue as I moaned softly and met his gaze. His other hand grasped his erection over his sweatpants and began slowly stroking it. I smiled to myself. His resolve was clearly weakening. But he had said he wanted to wait, and I never wanted him to regret having sex with me. With a suctioned pop, I released his fingers from my mouth. “It’s ok,” I grinned, leaning down to peck his lips, “The waiting will make it that much hotter when you eventually tear me apart in my stupid white dress. But I’m gonna need an hour with my vibrator now.”

He smiled gratefully and pulled me onto his lap for a tight hug. “I can’t fucking wait to marry you,” he murmured.

“I’m gonna put a ring on that finger so fucking hard you won’t even know what hit you,” I whispered, wrapping my arms around his shoulder.

“What do we tell people when they ask how we finally decided to get married?” he asked softly as he rubbed my back.

“You don’t want to tell them about starting to choke and finger me on the kitchen table?” I teased.

“Somehow, I have the feeling that you won’t want to tell our future grandkids that,” he laughed.

“We’ll make up some kind of proposal story later and just be clear that I never wanted a ring.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment. A quick glance at his face revealed he was chewing on his bottom lip, his brow knit together as he lost himself in thought. “Hey. What’s wrong?” I asked, cupping his face with one hand and turning him to look at me.

He shook himself from his reverie and kissed me softly. “Absolutely nothing,” he smiled.

After some much-needed alone time with my vibrator, the rest of the night was spent emailing photographers and videographers and researching marriage licenses in our county. The next day, we called our immediate families and told them the good news. Although everyone knew marriage had been on our to-do list for a while, it still came as a bit of a surprise that we were throwing a wedding together so quickly and doing it during quarantine. Most notably, my dad started happy crying, and Henry’s mom threatened to murder us if we were joking.

In between wrapping up work projects, I shopped for a white dress online, angling my computer away from Henry’s prying eyes and sending options to my parents and siblings on my family group chat. I had to admit, it was kind of fun. By the time it was the Tuesday two days before our wedding, the dress and lingerie had arrived and been tried on (out of Henry’s sight of course), the bouquet was ordered, the paperwork was signed and approved, the Zoom link was emailed out to our families and friends, and the videographer was confirmed. And Henry and I hadn’t had sex since before that night on the kitchen table. On the one hand, it was tradition and what we agreed to do. On the other hand, I was mad horny.

I came home from an after-work grocery shopping trip to find an empty living room. “Hey, fiancé!” I called out, “You home?”

“Come to the patio!”

After putting away the perishables, I opened the sliding glass door and stepped onto the wooden planks in my slippers. “Oh my god,” I laughed.

Henry stood there in a suit, grinning from ear to ear amidst the obscene number of plants that we had started growing during quarantine, with a banner stretched across the railing reading “Will you marry me?” and champagne and fresh strawberries on the patio table.

“It’s not much,” he said sheepishly, getting down on one knee, “But I wanted a non-fake story to tell our relatives. Even if we have to lie about the timeline.”

“It’s perfect,” I beamed, hating myself for getting choked up, “But please don’t tell me you got me an engagement ring I’ll only need for two days.”

“No ring,” he promised, laughing, “Will you marry me anyways?”

“How fucking funny would it be if I said ‘no’?”

“Hilarious,” he murmured dryly.

I walked over and stood in front of him, holding his outstretched hand. “Let me think about it,” I teased, “Will I have to change my name?”

“No,” he laughed, squeezing my hand.

“Will I need to quit my job and cook and clean for you?”

“Please don’t cook for me.”

“I thought you liked my shakshuka!”

“Yeah. One dish out of a hundred.”

“Is this a proposal or a roast?”

“Porque no los dos? Now what’s your final answer?”

“Yes, of course I’ll marry you,” I laughed, pulling Henry to his feet, “It would be really awkward to return the dress at this point. Like a Hemingway six word story.”

He cupped my face and kissed me fiercely, both of us smiling and laughing against each other’s lips. After a long moment, our kisses slowed. He pecked my lips once or twice and smiled down at me, his thumbs brushing against my cheeks. “This was cheesy but very sweet,” I admitted, wrapping my arms around his waist and crushing my face against his broad chest.

Henry held me tightly, one hand rubbing my back while the other tangled in my hair. “That’s what I was going for,” he admitted.

My hands trailed down his back to cup his ass, my fingers giving a quick squeeze as he laughed. “What are you doing?” he warned rhetorically.

“Oh nothing,” I murmured innocently, dragging my fingertips along his belt and unbuckling it as I slowly lowered myself to my knees.

“We agreed to wait,” he laughed, but one of his hands pulled my hair back in a fist as the other unzipped his fly.

“Fuck waiting.”

My fingers nimbly dipped under his boxer briefs to pull out his cock. Just as I began to flick my tongue against his tip, Henry yanked me to my feet. He turned me around and bent me over the patio table, kissing down my back and slipping a hand down the front of my shorts to cup my neglected pussy. Suddenly, he stopped and took a step back, removing his hand. I looked over my shoulder at him in confusion. “Nope,” he said simply, tucking his dick back in his pants and shaking his head, “We agreed we weren’t gonna fuck until after the wedding.”

“Henry—“ I whined, turning to face him.

He pecked my lips once. “I’m saving us from your lack of self control, you animal. You’re welcome.”

I huffed. He was right. With a sigh, I kissed him on the cheek and thanked him before stalking off to use my vibrator in the shower for the fifth or sixth time since we decided to wait. That night and the next night, I slept on the couch, not trusting myself to sleep next to him.

Thursday morning, Henry woke me up by pressing a soft kiss to my lips and then waving my favorite tea under my nose. “You ready to be Mrs. Yang?” he teased, placing the mug on the coffee table and brushing my hair away from my face.

“You ready to be Mr. Abrams?” I shot back, yawning.

“We should do a combo. The Yams.”

“I love it. Piss off both our families and confuse everybody.”

He climbed over me on the couch and spooned me, wrapping his top arm around my waist. “Do you think we’ll feel different?” he asked softly, pressing sweet kisses along my shoulder and cheek.

“I probably won’t,” I replied honestly, tracing my fingers along the back of his hand, “I’ve thought of you as my life partner for so long that the legal status of ‘spouse’ doesn’t feel like that much of a distinction to me. Why, do you think you’ll feel different?”

“I mean, I will own you and all your land and titles, so that’ll be cool.”

I snorted. “Enjoy my student loan debt, idiot.”

He laughed and tucked his chin over my shoulder. “How long will it take you to get ready?”

“Probably two hours? I’m going all out so you can have more fun fucking it all up later.”

He kissed my neck and smacked the side of my ass. “Get going, then, fiancée. I’ll see you there.”

Henry showered and put on his suit while I ate breakfast and then took over the bathroom, and he popped his face in the shower to give me a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving to pick up the bouquet. I took my time showering and shaving and then styling my hair. If there were ever a time to get fancy, it was definitely our wedding day. After putting on waterproof makeup because I was probably (ok definitely) going to start crying, I slipped on the frilly white lace lingerie and pulled on my wedding dress. I felt like the Sugar Plum Fairy or a cupcake. But a very pretty cupcake.

The wedding itself went off without a hitch, with the videographer using her own camera for the classy images and setting up my laptop for the ceremony so that our guests could attend via Zoom. Henry and I obviously burst into tears the second we saw each other. Laughing at ourselves as we both cried, we pointed at each other and essentially looked like a fancy, wedding-themed version of the Spider-Man pointing meme.

I’d rather keep the actual details of the ceremony private. Suffice to say that we were sappy and gross and blissfully fucking happy, even though we wished our families and friends could have been there to celebrate with us in person.

After all was said and done, Henry and I chatted with our guests for a bit, posed for more pictures, and bought some grocery store sheet cake to bring home, drawing stares and congratulations as we walked through the bakery section in our wedding outfits with our matching face masks and bouquet. Internally, I was incredibly thankful that I had successfully talked him out of the veil.

When we got home, we sat down at that same kitchen table where we finally decided to get married, our shiny new rings feeling a little heavier than expected on our fingers. I opened the box, pulled off a piece of cake, and lifted it towards his lips. He did the same for me. We laughed as we mashed the cake into each other’s mouths, intentionally smearing frosting all around. Henry successfully licked and wiped all the frosting off his lips and chin, but he had been much more generous and vicious with my cake than I had been with his.

Grabbing his hand, I used it to swipe up frosting from my cheeks and chin, licking and sucking the gathered frosting from his thumb as I went. His lips parted as he watched me. I smirked and nibbled lightly on the pad of his thumb before sucking it into my mouth and swirling my tongue around it, my eyes never leaving his. Removing his thumb from my mouth, he brought his hand back to the cake. Dipping two fingers in the frosting, he trailed it down my neck and to my collarbone, following his fingers with his lips and tongue. My breathing became shallow. Slowly, I placed my stocking-covered feet on his lap.

Henry continued devouring my neck, his warm mouth and tongue drawing out soft sighs from my lips as he tangled his hand into my hair. Carefully, I began rubbing my feet along the outline of his erection through his pants. Rather than wait for me to tease him with my stocking-covered feet, he quickly pulled me into his lap in a straddle, kissing me passionately as I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and while he slowly slid his hand under the skirt of my dress to run his fingers along my garter and stockings. He broke the kiss to lick, nibble, and kiss his way up my jaw to my ear. “How much was this dress?” he asked.

“Surprisingly cheap,” I admitted, grinding my lingerie-covered pussy on his erection as he pulled me against him.

“Do you have any emotional attachment to it? Did you get enough pictures with it intact?”

I bit my lip and smiled. “No attachment. And more than enough pictures,” I laughed before lowering my voice to a whisper, “Fucking destroy it.”

Henry smiled against my skin and removed his hand from under my skirt to grab my waist. With a quick lift, he placed me on the table. I grabbed his tie and pulled him towards me, kissing him wildly as I wrapped my legs around his hips. Henry slipped his hands under each side of my neckline and pulled. The dress ripped several inches down the front, exposing the white lace bra I had purchased for the occasion. “The lingerie was expensive though,” I warned, breaking the kiss just long enough to speak and then frantically pressing my lips to his again.

He deftly unzipped the back of my dress and unhooked my bra, and I quickly slid the straps down my arms from under my dress and pulled the bra off, tossing it across the room. Henry grabbed a handful of cake and smeared it from my jawline down between my breasts, frosting catching in the dress’s lace. I giggled against his lips. He pushed my back against the table and leaned over me, his hands slowly massaging my tits as his tongue swirled along my skin, licking up cake and frosting and making me shiver.

My hands reached down to grasp the hem of my dress. With one harsh motion, I ripped the front until the new slit exposed the tops of my thigh-high stockings and my fancy new garter belt. I unhooked the thigh-highs from the belt and gently pulled my lace panties down my legs, tossing the scrap of fabric over Henry’s shoulder. He then grabbed my hips and pulled me to the edge of the table. After a dramatic pause, he ripped the front of my dress more and pulled my tits through the gap. I moaned softly as his tongue swirled around each of my nipples in turn, his warm mouth leaving trails of sugar-filled saliva along my skin while his hand trailed up my inner thigh. “Don’t touch or lick my pussy,” I warned, “The sugar will give me a yeast infection.”

Henry withdrew his hand and displayed it for me. “This one hasn’t touched any cake,” he explained.

“Oh!” I remarked, blushing, “Well, then, please proceed.”

He laughed and teased his fingertips against my clit, rubbing me with feather-soft strokes. I bit my lip and smiled shyly. “That’s not what we agreed would happen,” I murmured challengingly.

We locked eyes. I guided his hand to my throat and leaned back against the table, Henry’s torso hovering over mine so we could maintain eye contact. He squeezed the sides of my throat, his fingers tightening deliciously over my skin. “Color?” he asked.

“Green.”

Without warning, he pushed two fingers roughly into my dripping cunt. He kissed me passionately, one hand still tightened around my neck and the other pounding two long fingers in and out of me. Our tongues wrestled violently, neither of us going for the soft, slow, loving kisses we usually enjoyed at the start of sex. Henry curled his fingers to press against my g-spot. I moaned loudly into his mouth, and he pulled his lips away from mine and squeezed my neck a little tighter. “Still green,” I moaned, showing him I could speak easily and safely.

He smiled cockily and adjusted his fingers so that his thumb could rub against my clit as he worked me. Small gasps of pleasure tore from my lungs. This was heaven. I relaxed into the table and moaned louder as his thumb rubbed my clit harder. My hands clutched the forearm connected to the hand wrapped comfortingly around my throat. Another minute and I was cumming hard against his fingers, my thighs clenching around his hand and my abs spasming roughly as I stumbled over the peak and fell into a violent orgasm. Henry broke the kiss and squeezed my neck tighter, drawing out a wide smile on my lips. “Green!” I called out, my eyebrows knitting together as I panted.

He continued to work me through my orgasm, stopping only when my moans tapered off into soft sighs. Our lips crashed together. He released my throat, gathered another handful of cake, and placed it in the valley between my tits. Pressing rough bites and powerful kisses along my skin, he made his way down to devour the cake and me. He removed his fingers from my pussy and grabbed my hips. While watching him, I untied his tie and tossed it over his shoulder before pulling off his suit jacket. He pulled back from my tits to look up at me. “Can you get my shirt and pants?” he asked, laughing at himself and showing me his frosting- and pussy-covered hands.

Laughing at the mess, I sat up and helped him out of his shirt, pants, and boxer briefs. His hard cock stood at attention. I wrapped a hand around his erection and dragged it up and down my labia. He smiled at me and tangled a hand in my hair. Suddenly, he yanked it back and down, elongating my neck and bending me backwards, my tits displayed for him. He sucked a nipple into his mouth and bit it roughly once. “Get up and bend over the table,” he ordered, releasing me and stepping back.

I did as I was told, pressing my exposed tits against the table. Henry lifted the back of my dress and slapped my ass roughly, my cheeks stinging as he smacked one and then the other over and over again. My knees buckled. “Please fuck me!” I cried out, loving every second.

My fingers gripped the sides of the table as he forcefully pushed his cock inside me, drawing out a loud, gasping moan from deep within my throat. He grabbed my shoulders and held me down against the table. “Is this what you wanted?” he panted, thrusting quickly and roughly without giving my body a moment to adjust, “To get tossed around by your husband?”

“You call this tossing around? This is nothing,” I smirked, my laughter turning into another moan as he pulled out and spanked my ass again and again.

“Want to say that to me one more time?” he whispered dangerously, pushing back into me and fucking me wildly.

I moaned and shook my head, pushing my hips back to meet and intensify his rhythm. He groaned, his pounding thrusts getting faster as he moved one hand to hold my waist and the other to pull my hair roughly. My breaths turned into pants as he continued fucking me, his pelvis slamming against my ass with every pump. Careful to use fingers that hadn’t touched sugar, I slid a hand down my body and rubbed my clit roughly. “I’m close,” I whispered, “Please don’t stop.”

“Cum for me,” he demanded, releasing my hair to grab the back of my neck roughly and hold me against the table.

Seemingly on command, my body exploded. My legs shook as my pussy pulsed around Henry’s cock, soft cries of pleasure bursting out from my mouth. He let out a quiet laugh as I came, his rhythm faltering slightly as my pussy gripped his cock too tightly for him to maintain his pace. He pressed his chest against my back, his warm body pinning me to the table as the last waves of my orgasm dissipated. I smiled and turned my face towards him. He kissed my cheek and buried his face into my neck, laughing as I squirmed from ticklishness.

With another kiss to my neck, he got off me and pulled out, giving me a moment to breathe and hop back onto the table. I cupped his face and kissed him slowly. His sticky hands wrapped around me to gently lean us back down against the table. I guided his cock to my entrance. He pushed the tip inside, both of us panting softly. “I’m ready again,” I murmured, kissing down his jawline.

“You sure?”

“I know my pussy better than you do, husband of mine. Though you’re probably close a close second.”

Henry laughed and thrusted the rest of the way inside me. He docked his erection deep inside me for a moment, my legs wrapping around his hips and one of his hands brushing back my hair as we smiled sappily at each other, our cheeks flushed from adrenaline and pleasure. “You’re my fucking wife,” he marveled.

“Good luck getting rid of me now, idiot. You’d have to hire a lawyer and everything.”

“Good thing I have no intention of letting you go,” he murmured, beginning to thrust slowly.

I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes. Cupping his face again, I kissed him softly and then smiled up at him. “I love you so much,” I whispered.

“Sap,” he snorted, gradually picking up the pace.

I laughed and smacked his chest, my breathing getting shallower as his thrusts jostled me against the table. He pressed his chest against mine, wrapping his arms under my back to hold me closer. “I love you so fucking much,” he murmured in my ear.

Scraping my nails down his back, I squeezed my legs around his hips, my soft moans of pleasure getting louder and louder as he fucked me faster and harder. After a moment, Henry leaned upright, both of us yelping from the pain of the sudden movement as our skin stung from being yanked apart. Clearly the sticky frosting had glued us together. I cackled as he gently rubbed his chest, his brow knit together in pain. “Shut up!” he laughed, grabbing my stocking-covered legs and pulling them over his shoulders as he resumed his rhythm.

“Is that any way to talk to your wife?” I smirked, attempting to retain some semblance of a casual tone even as my whole body flushed and shuddered.

I began rubbing my clit again, another orgasm brewing in my pussy. With my other hand, I dipped two fingers into the cake and brought them to my lips, sucking the frosting from them and moaning softly. “I’ll talk to my wife however I fucking want,” he hissed, watching my fingers, “And I’m gonna stop working out and start drinking more now that I’ve locked you down.”

“Good, that means I can stop shaving my armpits and plucking my eyebrows. You’ll be married to a cavewoman within a month,” I teased.

“Mmm that’s my type,” he laughed, reaching a hand across me to grab more cake and then smear it along my breasts as he squeezed them and teased my nipples.

Our joking mood evaporated as my face flushed, the orgasm rapidly growing and nearly overtaking me. He pumped into me roughly, his mouth gradually opening with pleasure. My fingers rubbed my clit harder. “You’re close, huh?” he teased softly, a wicked smile on his face.

All I could do was nod breathlessly. “Good. You gonna cum for me, Mrs. Yang?” he whispered, pounding me into the table, “I want to feel your pussy clench around my cock again. I want you to scream my fucking name.”

“Fuck!” I cried out, almost there, “Don’t stop, Henry, please don’t fucking stop, oh my fucking god!”

“Yes! Lily!” he called out, his head tipping back in pleasure as my pussy began to tighten around him.

I came roughly, my eyes squeezing shut and my body shaking against the table violently as I called out his name again and again. He fucked me through my orgasm, waiting until I stopped screaming before he pulled out and jerked himself over me, thick ropes of cum landing across my ripped, frosting-covered, absolutely ruined wedding dress.

We paused for a moment, panting and giggling and smiling at each other as our heartbeats slowly returned to normal. He grabbed my hands and brought me upright to a sitting position as he kissed me gently, careful not to let our chests touch out of fear of us sticking together again. I broke the kiss and pressed my forehead against his. “I need to shower. And we need to throw away this dress,” I laughed.

Without warning, Henry scooped me in his arms bridal style. I shrieked softly, clinging onto his shoulders as he carried me into the bathroom, only putting me down once we were standing on the bathmat. I shimmied out of my ruined dress, rolled it up, and tossed it in the sink as Henry turned on the shower. We turned to each other. Henry’s eyes raked up and down my garter belt and stockings getup. “Thoughts on wearing this for me again this weekend?”

“Well, it is our honeymoon after all,” I laughed, slipping off the garter, rolling the stockings down my legs, and folding them gently before placing them on the countertop.

We climbed into the shower together, whispering horrifically sappy things and washing the cake and frosting off each other slowly. Once we were squeaky clean, we just held each other under the scalding water. “Do you feel different?” he asked quietly.

I shrugged and shook my head against his chest. “Do you?”

He nodded slowly, a little embarrassed. “Hey,” I placated, smiling up at him and rubbing his back, “I’m not going to make fun of you for placing importance on it. I’m really glad it’s so meaningful for you.”

He kissed the top of my head and squeezed me against his chest. “My wife,” he whispered in a Borat voice.

I cackled buried my face in one of his pecs. “Your wife is getting pruny,” I admitted.

“Your husband is overheating.”

Neither of us moved. For at least another ten minutes, we stood in the shower, holding each other tightly as the room slowly filled with steam. I glanced over at the ruined dress. “Was it everything you wanted?” I asked, “Ruining the dress and smacking me around and pounding me into the table?”

“Don’t forget the cake.”

“How could I forget the cake?” I cried.

Henry laughed and kissed my forehead. “It was fucking perfect. Thank you for buying the white dress.”

“It was my pleasure,” I smirked, “Do I just throw it out now?”

“We should frame it.”

“Wouldn’t it get moldy?”

“Eh.”

“I’ll toss it. Wasteful, but I probably wouldn’t have worn it again anyway even if we hadn’t destroyed it.”

After another moment, we finally turned off the shower. I grabbed a fresh towel from the shelf beside the tub and wrapped it around my husband’s shoulders, smiling up at him as I rubbed his arms over the soft fabric. He did the same for me, draping the towel over my head and laughing at the way it covered practically every inch of my body. This is what happens when you only own Henry-sized towels. We leisurely dried off, pausing occasionally to be grossly sappy and make out and giggle excitedly. After I was dry, I left to toss the dress in the kitchen trashcan and then padded back into the bathroom, staring at my wedding ring as I walked. The tiny gold band meant more to me than I expected. Who the fuck was I?

We got ready for bed with minimal distractions, one of us (ok definitely me) occasionally pausing to attack the other with kisses and wandering hands. “You’re acting awfully giddy for somebody who didn’t care about getting married,” Henry pointed out as we brushed our teeth, my naked body wrapped around his arm as I refused to stop touching him for more than a moment at a time.

“I never said I didn’t care!” I laughed defensively, spraying toothpaste across the mirror, “I just said that I didn’t feel different.”

“The first time we ever talked about marriage, you said, and I quote, ‘I have no interest in ever getting married.'”

“It was a true statement at the time!”

He rolled his eyes. We finished getting ready for bed with interspersed bickering about who was the bigger sap. I barely had enough time to rinse out my mouth and put my toothbrush in the holder before Henry picked me up again bridal style, ignoring my squeal of protest as he carried me into our bedroom. “Are you ever going to let me walk again?” I laughed, running my fingers through his hair.

“Nope,” he replied simply, tossing me on the bed.

I giggled like an idiot and climbed under the covers as Henry went around turning off lights and plugging in our phones. He slid in next to me and pulled me against him. We settled in together, wrapping our arms around each other’s naked forms. After pressing a gentle peck against his lips, I glanced across the room at the clock on the dresser. “It’s only EIGHT?” I shrieked into the relative darkness.

He laughed and shrugged against me, holding me tighter. “What better way to start our lives as a boring old married couple?”

“We’re not boring or old! We’re newlyweds! We should be fucking constantly and drinking champagne and making everybody give us free shit!”

Henry rotated us until he was on top of me and settled between my legs, his hardening cock pressing against my labia. “Well, we don’t have any champagne…” he murmured, kissing my neck as his hands wandered over my skin.

I pushed him off me and straddled him, sliding my body down his until my lips brushed against his growing erection. “We have to stay up until at least ten,” I insisted, glancing up at him in the dim light, “Or we are officially ancient.”

My hand circled the base of his erection and angled it upwards, my mouth enveloping the tip of his cock as my tongue flicked along the slit. Henry laughed and gathered my wet hair in his fist as he spoke. “I think we’ll find a way to pass the time.”

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/i7h6ii/fm_my_husband_henry_and_i_ruined_my_wedding_dress