Her Wedding Strip Made Me Cum

"You think I'm just some drunk bride looking for trouble?" Sabine's voice cut through the muffled thump of wedding music leaking from the reception hall. She stood there in the dim garage, her white gown hugging her curves like a second skin, arms crossed under those full tits that strained against the lace bodice. We'd slipped out here five minutes ago after locking eyes across the dance floor—me, Dante, the random groomsman Pierre dragged along as his plus-one, and her, the stunning bride who'd just said "I do" to some finance bro named Nate. Strangers, yeah, but the spark hit like lightning. Now she was pissed I'd called her out on grinding too close during that slow dance.

I leaned against a dusty BMW, heart pounding. "No, I think you're bored as hell and that ring on your finger's already feeling like a cage." Harsh? Maybe. But her cheeks flushed, not with anger—excitement. The garage air hung thick, smelling of oil and exhaust, faint cheers echoing from inside where her new husband was probably shotgunning beers with the boys.

She stepped closer, heels clicking on concrete. "You don't know shit about me, Dante." Her breath was warm, laced with champagne. Those dark eyes—Ananya? No, Sabine—locked on mine, challenging. But her hand brushed my chest, fingers trailing down. Tension crackled. I grabbed her wrist, gentle but firm. "Then why'd you follow me out here?"

She didn't pull away. Instead, she smirked, that glossy red lip caught between her teeth. "Because I saw you watching me. All night. Like you wanted to unwrap me yourself." Her voice dropped, husky. Strangers or not, the chemistry burned. Exhibitionist thrill already buzzing—she glanced at the half-open garage door, where shadows of partygoers danced just beyond. Risky as fuck. Anyone could wander out for a smoke.

I should've walked. But my cock twitched in my slacks. "Prove it," I muttered, voice low. That did it. Sabine's eyes lit up, wicked. She spun, back to me, and reached for the zipper at her side. The hiss of it undoing echoed louder than the bass from inside. "Watch me, then. Watch your bride strip for a stranger." Fuck. Gentle heat building, no rush—just her swaying hips as the gown loosened.

It pooled at her feet in a frothy white heap, leaving her in a white lace thong and matching bra, thigh-high stockings, garter belt framing that perfect ass. No panties underneath the thong—just a thin scrap barely covering her smooth pussy. She kicked the dress aside, bending just enough to flash me. My dick hardened instantly, straining. "Jesus, Sabine. You're... fuck."

She turned slow, like a private show. Garage lights caught the sheen of sweat on her olive skin—Indian wedding vibes, mehndi still faint on her hands. Full C-cups heaving in that bra, nipples poking through lace like they begged to be sucked. "Like what you see?" she whispered, stepping into my space. Her hands roamed her own body, cupping tits, pinching nipples through fabric. Exhibitionist as hell—she arched toward the open door, letting distant laughter remind us we could get caught. "Anyone walks in, they see the bride half-naked for some groomsman."

I groaned, palming my bulge. "You're insane. Hot as fuck, but insane." She laughed soft, gentle, pressing against me. Her lips brushed my ear. "Insane enough to suck you off right here? Make you cum while my wedding plays on?" My hands found her waist, skin fever-hot. Strangers hooking up in a garage—pure thrill of the unknown. No names beyond first ones swapped in that flirty toast earlier. Just bodies aching.

She dropped to her knees on the gritty concrete, not caring about the dress she'd ditched. Exhibitionism ramped up—head turned toward the door, ass out like an invitation. "Unzip," she ordered, voice breathy. I fumbled, cock springing free—thick, seven inches, veined, pre-cum already beading. She licked her lips. "Mmm, bigger than Nate's. Bet he never gets this hard."

Her fingers wrapped around my base, cool and soft, squeezing rhythmic. Gentle pressure, thumb circling the head, smearing that slick pre-cum. I hissed, hips bucking. "Sabine..." She looked up, eyes sparkling. "Say my name again. Loud. Let 'em hear inside." Fuck, the risk. Music swelled—her song, probably. She leaned in, breath ghosting my shaft, hot and teasing.

First contact: her tongue flicked the underside, flat and wet, tracing the vein from balls to tip. Salty taste hit her—I saw it in her moan vibrating against me. "Tastes like want," she murmured, swirling around the head. Slow circles, lips parting to suck just the crown—gentle suction, cheeks hollowing. Pressure built like a slow burn, her mouth velvet-warm, tongue probing the slit for more pre-cum. Popped off with a wet smack, string of spit connecting us. "You like watching the bride worship your cock?"

Hell yes. I threaded fingers in her dark waves—not pulling, just holding. She dove deeper, lips stretching around half my length. Inch by inch, texture heaven: soft inner cheeks, ridged roof dragging. Saliva pooled, dripping down my balls, cool in the garage air. She hummed, vibration shooting straight to my core. Rhythm started gentle—bob up, swirl tongue, bob down deeper. Gagging soft when she hit three-quarters, throat fluttering, but she didn't stop. Eyes watered, mascara smudging, but that smile around my dick? Pure exhibitionist joy.

Garage door loomed in my peripheral—footsteps? Nah, just my pulse thundering. She pulled back, hand pumping slick shaft, twisting at the top. "Feel that? My wedding spit all over you." Voice muffled, dirty talk tailored to this insanity. "Nate's inside, clueless. I'm out here, choking on stranger cock." She spat on the head—warm glob landing perfect—then slurped it up, messy and loud. Sucking sounds echoing off concrete walls.

I thrust shallow, gentle—her control. Nose to my pubes now, full deepthroat. Throat muscles milked me, tight ring squeezing the head. Heat intense, like velvet vice. She held it, swallowing around me—glurk-glurk—till tears streamed. Pulled off gasping, coughing spit onto my balls, massaging them in. "Cum for your stripper bride. Paint my face—let 'em see when I go back in."

No way I lasted. But she edged me deliberate. Slow strokes, tongue lapping frenulum— that sensitive spot sparking fireworks. Balls drew tight, ache building. Her free hand slipped between her thighs, rubbing her thong-clad pussy through lace. Wet spot growing, scent musky-sweet mixing with oil and sweat. "I'm soaked, Dante. Stripping for you... sucking you... fuck, the risk makes me drip."

Pace quickened—head bobbing faster, hand twisting base in sync. Sloppy now, saliva flying, chin slick. Pressure mounted, coiling low. Every suck pulled harder, tongue relentless. Texture overload: bumpy taste buds dragging veins, teeth grazing harmless. Temperature shift—cool air on wet shaft between plunges, then scorching mouth enveloping.

I panted. "Sabine, close... gonna—" She moaned approval, doubling down. Deepthroat rhythm: five fast bobs, hold deep with swallow, repeat. Vibration hummed constant. Balls tingled, shaft pulsed. Exhibitionist peak—she popped off, jerking hard, mouth open wide toward the door. "Cum! Show the wedding who owns this bride's throat!"

I exploded. First rope hit her tongue—thick, hot, salty burst. She swallowed half, let rest splatter lips, chin, drip to tits still in bra. Second spurt arced, landing on cheek—warm trail down. Third weaker, she caught in mouth, swirling like fine wine before gulping. Hand milked every drop, squeezing from base up, gentle till empty. Aftershocks—her lips nursing the head, soft sucks drawing whimpers from me.

She rose slow, face messy with my cum, bra dotted white. Kissed me gentle—taste of myself on her tongue, mingled with her sweetness. Pulled back, grinning through the glaze. Garage air cooled our sweat. Music faded; someone called her name faintly.

Wiping a streak from her lip, she licked it clean. "Think Nate'll notice the glow?"