Slave To Six Worlds

CHAPTER ONE: On a Blushing Bride’s Happiest Day, the Revelation of Secret Desires-3

And as she opened her mouth to speak, he pushed his hips forward and slipped the swollen purple head of his p***s right between her lips. She gasped in shock, but he merely smiled crookedly and pressed himself deeper across the cupping trough of her tongue. She choked and sputtered and tossed her head around the brutish intrusion, but suddenly his eyes gleamed hard, and he simply rubbed himself back and forth in the sticky pit of her confused mouth, back and forth, until she learned to take his deep thrust without gagging.

“Make yourself come now, Cynthia,” he growled, seeming to excite himself with the sight of his great bestial red organ stabbed deep into her pretty face, his swollen scrotum jouncing against her chin. “You know you want to. Don’t you?” he asked, pushing deeper between her soft cheeks until her eyes watered, and she gagged again, helplessly. “Don’t you!”

Her wide blue orbs pleaded somehow, rolled up in long-lashed astonishment at the deeply flushed face of the over-excited man to whom she had just bound herself, legally and morally, for ever and ever and ever. Was this what it meant? Mute and slobbering, stabbed full of c**k like a piece of meat? What a strange, strange thing! And yet—well, it did have its own peculiar charm, did it not…?

At her silent, drooling entreaty the man stepped back slightly, withdrawing the bulbous purple glans to the pucker of her rounded red lips, and suddenly it seemed the most natural thing in the world that she kiss the tip of the bloated, faintly oozing thing with a worshipful, almost chaste reverence. “Yes, Steven,” she admitted belatedly but very dutifully, her face warm.

“That’s my darling,” he smiled gently, stroking her golden hair. His grin deepened. “That’s my own sweet, darling little slut-wife,” he said, “my naughty, dirty w***e…” Then he pushed his rigid flesh deeper between her soft cheeks, sinking thickly into her vulnerable mouth again, down to her very throat to take her breath away. “Now show me,” he commanded her, trying to remain calm despite the wild look his eyes. “Show me. Show me how good it feels to be a cocksucking slut.”

Oh, how his frankness thrilled the sheltered debutante! Her husband’s demeanor now was like nothing she had ever seen in him, but this unblinking forthrightness was what she perhaps had longed for in secret, scarcely even knowing. With her lips wrapped comfortable and wet around the shaft of Steven’s c**k, the thrilled girl complied, willingly. While her wanton hands played so desperately upon the open pink funnel of her sopping v****a, Cynthia worked her wondering mouth about the center of her husband’s desires. This was not what she had expected… but it was deliciously dirty nevertheless. If putting that marvelous rod of heavy flesh between the tremulous lips of her sweating young cunt had been forbidden but an hour before, then how much more so was this? Never had she imagined such an act!

Yet now she abandoned herself to the selfless joy of pleasuring her man so intimately. To the bride nothing could be forbidden again, nothing! Improvising happily, she fluttered her tongue along the loose sensitive skin piled up along the underside of his shaft just behind his swollen cockhead, at what must have been, she supposed, the circumcision line. That seemed an area specially made for her oral attentions, and she was wickedly pleased to hear him gasp in delight. She rocked her comforting mouth around him again and again, taking him to the very back of her welcoming throat so that her lips almost seemed to touch his belly. She loved him wildly.

As she fellated him with this new hunger of hers, teetering on the brink of her own orgasm, some little corner in the back of her mind could not help wondering how many girls had done this before her. How many lissome wenches had submitted themselves to Steven’s whims, down on their naked knees as their pretty faces accepted this delightful perversion? Between how many flushed cheeks had her husband-to-be pushed himself triumphantly, ever more rapidly, until nimble young lips and tongue coaxed the thick spurts of his semen from the tight-coiled vesicles of his clenching balls? How many times had he sighed out his gratitude, his fingers twined in another girl’s flowing tresses as he emptied the stringy white gouts of his satisfaction convulsively across an indulgent tongue and down a whorishly open throat?

Prodding her naughty little clit ecstatically, she realized that it mattered not. That life was over, and she could not begrudge what already had happened. She could not change the past, and perhaps she could not even fault his appetites. Suddenly she could understand the wild joy he must have felt in picking out some pretty stranger and performing whatever wondrously dirty acts his fertile mind imagined. Why, if she herself somehow had been able to experience such debauchery, unencumbered by care of what others might say, who knew what the supposed good girl Cynthia would have done? The idea excited her terribly.

Whimpering around the thick shaft of her husband’s pulsing c**k, Cynthia finally brought herself off, gratefully. The pleasures building within the quivering nubbin of quintessential pleasure at the very heart of pampered t**t sprang gloriously free, a rich liquid glow that spread from her spasming p***y, through her shuddering hips, all along her trembling limbs, even through the mouth which sucked so lovingly at its salty treat. Nameless blisses seared at the base of her brain behind her sweetly closed eyelids, and her soul felt consumed with happiness. On and on she stroked herself, grateful and sleepy and warm, as the man whom she had pledged to love, honor, and obey towered demandingly over her and watched every pretty, once-private shiver with a thrillingly leering intentness.

She had never felt more contented and fulfilled.