Accidentally Sexting My Wedding DJ
A flustered bride accidentally sexts her hot wedding DJ and they fuck at the reception.
Prefer to read it? Open the full story →
Chloe’s thumbs flew across her phone screen under the rehearsal dinner table, dodging another absurd spreadsheet cell about napkin folds and vegan options that made her want to scream. Twenty-eight, marketing coordinator by day, bride-to-be by chaotic night, she was drowning in white tulle and vendor emails. Her situationship—some guy named Tyler who ghosted more than he texted—had sent a half-hearted “u up?” so she hit record on a voice note, voice husky with leftover wine and pure frustration. “God, I need you to fuck me stupid tonight. Bend me over and ruin this stupid lace thong, make me come so hard I forget my own name and this entire circus of a wedding. Your cock, my mouth, no mercy—”
Send.
The whoosh sounded final. Then the name popped up: Max Rivera, Wedding DJ. Not Tyler. Max. The cocky, absurdly hot 32-year-old who’d been hauling speakers into the corner all evening, all broad shoulders and that stupidly charming smirk, dark hair falling into eyes that had already caught hers twice with a wink that felt illegal.
Panic flared hot. She nearly dropped the phone into her salmon. Before she could type a frantic “WRONG PERSON DELETE,” a reply voice note landed. She jammed an earbud in, heart hammering.
Max’s voice rumbled low, deadpan, laced with pure amusement. “Typos aside, ‘ruin this stupid lace thong’ is solid work. Though I’m guessing you meant ‘your’ cock, not ‘you’re.’ Grammar’s hot, Chloe. And since I’m already here setting up your forever playlist… want me to expand on the no-mercy part? Because that mouth of yours sounded hungry.”
She choked on her water. Across the room Max glanced up from his laptop, one eyebrow raised, lips twitching like he was in on the world’s best private joke. Heat flooded her face—and lower. Stupidly attracted. The giant diamond on her finger suddenly weighed nothing. The wedding was now the most awkward foreplay backdrop imaginable, and her pulse kicked into a rhythm that had nothing to do with the soft jazz he was testing.
She typed back under the table: “Delete that. Immediately. I will end you.”