Taking the bride for a spin – Part 1 [noncon][m30][f30][slowburn]

The evening of idiotic wedding customs continued. First was the terribly awkward speeches. Then shitty sway dancing with parents. Cutting the god awful cake. Throwing half dead flowers to a group of desperately unattractive women. And now, throwing bird seed or some other stupid shit at them as they left. At least that officially signaled the end of the evening. Hell, I don’t even know why I went. In another life, I dated Sarah – the bride – and I think she invited me out of nothing more than “I doubt he’ll come” politeness. But here I am.

I was actually one of the first to RSVP, as was evident by my hotel reservation. They reserved a block of 20 or so at some swanky hotel downtown. Doing my best to avoid her family – especially given our history – I opted to reserve my room outside of the block. And since I was in a good mood, I even reserved the Executive Suite, which seemed to be the highest tier available outside of the Newlywed Suite, which was unsurprisingly reserved.

Even as I completed my room reservation online, I had my own mental reservations playing through my head. Did she really want me there? Doubt it. We didn’t end on the best of terms.

It was almost as a form of petty revenge, accepting her invite as a way to make her day more uncomfortable, even if slightly. After all, she drug me through 7 years of a teasingly sexless relationship. How do you end up a 25 year old virgin while being in a relationship for the better part of a decade? Fucking prude. Fucking religion, really. Or at least the veil of it. We’d done lots if touching, even juvenile ‘exploration’, but never sex. For some reason Jesus didn’t mind if I sucked on her tits, but did mind if I fucked her. And so I didn’t. 7 years of blue balls. Only to end up at her wedding to another man. I lost my own virginity only a few months after we broke up, and even managed to get a good amount of practice ever since, but it didn’t matter. If taking her virginity was the prize, I still lost. Oh well, that’s life.

As my mind fades back to the present, I see the bride and groom walk by – smiling, laughing, and covered in that fucking bird seed. Children have sparklers, for some reason, and they’re waving them in the air, as if it signifies the ultimate congratulations.

Sarah and Matt – the groom – are both visibly intoxicated, although Matt more so. As they continue through the crowd, they stumble and slur, en route to their newlywed suite, where he’ll finally take what I never could.

‐————–

An hour or so later, I stumble to my own room. I enter my suite, exhausted and dehydrated. It takes a lot of alcohol to get through your ex’s wedding, though I was somehow still in much better shape than Matt. He must have really gone crazy on the open bar. I’m sure Sarah’s dad will be pleased to see the bill.

I search the room for water, which I hope this overly expensive suite provides. And I’m in luck, 4 bottles neatly arranged in a basket by the mini-fridge. And surprise, they charge $6 each, conveniently charged to your credit card. Assholes. It wasn’t even cold. I grab my key and head out the door to search for the ice machine.

It’s about 1am at this point, as I reach the soothing low hum of the commercial ice maker. I fill up my shitty little ice bucket and head back to my room. Except, I’m a bit tipsy, and it’s a large, unfamiliar hotel. I get turned around and end up going in the wrong direction. As I wander the halls I hear a door open, probably 6 to 8 rooms ahead. Except this isn’t any door, this is the door to the hotel’s most expensive room – the bridal suite.

I see Matt practically fall out of the room, somehow even more intoxicated than an hour earlier. He yells something unintelligible towards the open door (something about a Coke, maybe?), then attempts to pull it shut and presumably find his wife a beverage. Except he finally hit his tipping point, collapsing outside the door in a drunken stupor, passed out and snoring. And the best part? He didn’t manage to close the door.

I should mention, Sarah has a type. And by that, I mean that Matt and I have a similar look. Both around 6 feet tall, dark hair, deep voices, and an average build. I suppose this is fortunate for my new circumstance.

I make my way farther up the hall, now a mere foot or two away from Matt’s pseudo corpse. I give it a light kick, which is met with…nothing at all. Inside the room I hear Sarah, who’s also more drunk than earlier, call to her groom to come back to bed – apparently she doesn’t need a drink after all.

The alcohol clouds my brain and I form sinister thoughts. More and more menacing by the second. “Absolutely not” I tell myself as I quietly enter Sarah’s room and close the door.

It’s dark, nearly pitch black really. Cool with a breeze – they have a fan running, creating much needed white noise to shield my anxiety from myself.

I see her for the first time, as a silhouette against the dim light of the curtain covered window. My eyes adjust and give me just a little more detail, enough to appreciate what I see while also hiding my own identity. She’s wearing lingerie – lingerie picked out especially for Matt, especially for this moment, I’m sure. She’s laying on the side of the bed, facing away from me, with her legs hanging over the edge. Likely a comfort position after the evenings cocktails. From my vantage point, her breasts look incredible. I’m not the weirdo that knows bra sizes, but I know hers are huge, and laying in this position gives her a natural push up bra effect. The creamy light color of her skin means her body is really the only thing visible in the room. It’s magnificent. In our entire 7 years, I rarely, if ever, had the opportunity to see what I’m seeing now.

Her only other item of clothing is a pair of panties. I couldn’t even tell you what kind or color – it was too dark, but I can tell they’re there. Her long brunette hair is lost in the shadows.

She calls my name – well, Matt’s name – and I’m startled. For a moment I forgot someone else was in the room. She hears me walk towards her, masked by the shadows, and speaks again.

“There you are,” she says sweetly, “where have you been?” Her words are heavily slurred, but I can still understand them.

Unwilling to blow my cover, I remain silent. Instead, I start to take off my clothes , attempting to meet her level of undress. This seems to placate her and she motions me – a shadowy figure that resembles her husband of just a few hours – toward her nearly naked body.

My mind races. I can still leave. I SHOULD leave, and nobody would ever know. But I don’t. Instead I think of the 7 years of blue balls. The sad nights of finishing myself off. Being denied hundreds of times in the name of some dumb fucking religion.

And I stayed. To finally take what I deserve.

I knew I had little time. Every minute that passed increased the risk of real Matt’s arrival exponentially. So I got to work. I moved closer to Sarah, concerned that our proximity would trigger my secret, but she was half way out herself, remaining none the wiser. She was still hanging over the side of the bed – those beautiful pale legs – Jesus Christ. I grabbed each of her ankles as I approached. It’s amazing the feeling you get when a women’s ankles are in your hands, acting as a key to what lies between. It’s even more exhilarating when it’s another man’s wife.

I use my leverage to push her legs open, and our bodies converge. Our thighs touch, followed closely by more intimate areas, though both still clothed. The girl who dumped me just two years prior was now laying on her marital bed, legs open to my own body to do as I please. She laid awaiting for her husband to finally take a prude’s virginity. Except he wasn’t there. I was.

(To be continued)

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/12qa9w6/taking_the_bride_for_a_spin_part_1