The Hardest Part

"I've wanted to fuck you since the first moment I saw you." He says it matter-of-factly. Conversationally. The bastard.

I pause for a long moment, struggling to keep my face impassive. I can't decide whether to jump him or punch him. Finally I snap, "What the hell took you so long?"

He shrugs, grinning now, challenge in his eyes. "I try to wait until I can't stand it anymore," he says. "I like the anticipation."

And then he's on me--biting my neck, pawing at my tits, pinning me against the wall. He pulls my shirt up, finds my nipple and sucks. I swoon, delirious. He doesn't kiss me. This isn't about romance. This is about heat, about desire, about him getting inside me as soon as humanly possible.

He hikes up my skirt, gropes me through my panties, then pushes them aside. Without warning he shoves a finger into my cunt, and then another. I open to him readily, gratefully, panting and groaning with pleasure, and then his hand is over my mouth. "Shut up," he murmurs, and whirls me around. I barely have time to brace myself against the wall before he slides inside and begins to fuck me, grabbing my hips, pounding into me relentlessly. I come so hard I see stars. I feel his cock twitch and pulse a second later.

Breathless, we slump against each other.

"So," he says, "was it worth the wait?"

I kneel, take him into my mouth. I'm not waiting anymore.

[written for Alison Tyler's "seven dirty words" contest]

"Do You Take This Man..."

Josh had been teasing me mercilessly all day, groping me when we were alone and whispering dirty things in my ear when we weren't. The end result being that, regardless of how inappropriate it was, I was now sitting for my wedding pictures with a soaking wet pussy.

"Now the garter," the photographer prompted, and I groaned. The stupid garter. I thought it was tacky, but Josh hadn't budged, saying that he deserved a few shots of his bride showing some leg.

I sat, and Josh knelt in front of me, sliding my dress up one thigh. I was so worked up that, even through stockings, his hands felt so good on me that I almost closed my eyes in pleasure before remembering where we were. I glared at him, pulling the skirt back down an inch or two.

But when he slipped the garter on, he held the hand closest to the camera motionless while his other hand crept under my dress and between my legs. As soon as he brushed against my panties, my resolve crumbled, and he knew it. He pushed the silky fabric aside, slid a finger into me, then another, and began to thrust hard and fast while his thumb circled my clit. Completely helpless under his touch, all I could do was take it, blissfully.

So it was that under the watchful eye (and lens) of the photographer, my husband-to-be brought me to the final orgasm of my unmarried life.

Best wedding photos ever.

[written for Alison Tyler's "photography" contest]