The Bride (F20s gets a visit from her ex 24hrs before her wedding)

My legs shook uncontrollably but he kept pressing deeper, my mouth open in a guttural moan. There was nothing I wouldn’t do for this man. 

*It was my wedding day. Well, technically it was 24 hours before I would walk down the aisle and I hadn’t been fucked like this in years.* 

*Can a person lead two lives? Not simply a real one and a secretive one played out in the shadows, but lives that never meet, never cross, never exist at the same time? I had thought the transition was complete, that I had successfully made the turn away from the past and set my focus squarely on the future. Fuck, was I wrong. Some things are too strong for free will to push aside. I guess some things are too strong for **MY** will to push aside.*

The sink pedestal creaked as he completely filled me. I wanted to press my hand against his chest in an attempt to push him away but instead I pushed back, grasping the edge of the cool counter as he rocked his hips towards me. Our bodies met and we both let out long low animalistic grunts. The absolute guilt I felt moments before disappeared and the tears of betrayal were replaced by tears of pleasure…pain. He swelled, stretching me beyond my limit and mixing my discomfort with surges of pure electricity and utter pleasure. 

*It might be hard to believe (or maybe not, you don’t really know me), but I used to be a bit of a slut. Actually, maybe we did meet for a moment, but chances are I don’t remember. At the time, I owned it, confidently searching happy hours, concerts, or club dance floors for a chase or for the flavor of the week. They weren’t all douches with gelled hair and a swagger that was more about the silver spoon up their asses than the contents of their souls. Well, there were a few of those too. My body was hot, tits perky, legs long, and the years of stuffy dance lessons had given me hips that could rock a hard dick. My quiet studious college years preceded my adventurous early 20s when I had only a roommate and a few friends to judge me and my short skirts. And frankly my dear, I didn’t give a damn what they thought. My headboard squeaked and thumped the wall and my pussy was pounded by sweaty guys thinking they were driving me wild. Some nights were more fun than others, but the only deep throbs of pleasure came from my little pocket rocket, and even those nights feel tame and choreographed now.* 

Suddenly his prickly jaw was against my ear as our bodies pressed against each other, his whisper so close it felt like it was inside my head, “Squeeze me, grip me as hard as you can.” I bore down, flexing a years worth of yoga around his heat. My legs quivered and shook. I thought I was about to slip on the tiled floor but he steadied me and pulled me closer. A jet of hot air wrapped around my neck as his deep moan escaped and I felt him pulse and spurt, my insides bathed in a flood of warmth. My grip tightened on the cold countertop while my body let go completely. Waves shot out from my clenched stomach, my clit throbbed. This moment froze as my vision blurred and the world vanished, his hips pressing against my ass, his cock twitching deep inside of me, and my orgasm crashing through me.

Have you ever cum so hard your skin felt like it was crawling off your body? 

*Male confidence has many forms. There’s the over confident douche and the creepy sociopath. The shy but cute puppy and the painfully awkward loser. Sprinkle in normal guys, the drunk, nerd, jock, and hipster and you’ll get an idea of the herd we get to choose from. But sometimes one stumbles upon, or rather gets chosen by, something darker. We hold our heads high, looking cute in our high heels and playing the part of independent strong women until one look washes away the façade, crumbles the foundation, and leaves us naked and salivating.*

*I was chosen on a rainy evening as I ducked into my neighborhood coffee shop to warm my hands around a tea. The cold and a soul-crushing day at work had me fumbling for my wallet and oblivious to the world around me. A hand came into my narrow field of vision holding my glove I guess I’d dropped as I tried to find $2 to pay for the drink.* 

*”I got this.”* 

*He put the glove into my hand and stepped past me to the counter. “Two of whatever she just ordered.” He had on a simple dark suit and a black wool coat draped over one arm. Even from the back it was clear he was fit. His shoulders wide and waist narrowed under the tailored lines of his jacket. He turned around and handed me a steaming paper cup. My shit day washed away and I was held by his eyes. Cliché, I know. I don’t have the slightest recollection of what we talked about as the cold wet night closed in, but I remember every gesture, nod, smile, and laugh was perfectly on cue and made me want more. He wasn’t that much older than me, maybe a few traveled years between us, but he listened to my drivel and when I said it was getting late, he easily asked for my number.* 

My body sagged on shaky legs as he slowly, deliberately withdrew. The wonderful pain of him throbbing inside of me subsided as he pulled himself out. I immediately felt empty. I rested my hot forehead against the cool mirror, my ragged breath fogging the surface in short little bursts. A warm dribble tickling the inside of my thigh as he dripped out of me. 

“Why did you have to come here, on today of all days?” I finally squeaked out between short hot breaths. 

“Because even though I want you to be happy with whats-his-name, you needed to remember what it feels like to be really and truly fucked. And to be honest? When your normal, comfortable, easy new husband grabs your hips and slides his normal, comfortable, easy dick into you tomorrow night, I wanted you to think of all those times you begged to be filled, pumped, satisfied. In those last few moments before you begin a whole new life, I want my sweat on your lips.” 

The jingle of his belt and rustle of legs going into pants broke into my little world of seeping guilt and cool glass. Could I start a new life in 24…no…23 hours? Was I really trading a dark throbbing hunger deep within me for laughter, warm Sunday mornings, and stability? That was a type of happiness, right? But my naked ass, buzzing from his hard friction, and the void he’d left when he pulled his fucking perfect cock out of me immediately questioned my thin grasp at confidence. The air was sucked out of the room every time I could feel him near, and I hurt for that sweet suffocation. 

“Be a good little wife,” he mocked, giving my ass a pat that left just the right amount of sting. And then he was gone. The air slowly returned to the bright bathroom and I became aware of the state of things. A cheek smudge on the foggy mirror, my makeup a mess. Bottles of lotion, mouthwash, and eyeliner scattered across the counter and the floor. Cum running down my leg. My racing pulse throbbing between my legs. I started to put the bathroom and myself – my life – back together as the warm satisfying fullness slowly disappeared. 

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Hope you enjoyed this. It all started with the fantasy of a bride caught between dark lust and the comfort of a normal vanilla life. Have you been torn like this between safe/comfortable and wild/out of control?  There’s a whole lot of story to be told about how these two got to this point. Or what happens when he dips back into her life later…Anyone want to take a stab at it or have predictions/suggestions?

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/xjdvgw/the_bride_f20s_gets_a_visit_from_her_ex_24hrs