The Bridesmaid's Husband's Filthy Backseat Craving

The soft glow of the reception hall’s chandeliers spilled across the driveway as the black stretch limo idled at the curb. Lena smoothed her hands down the front of her lavender bridesmaid dress, the silk cool against her flushed skin. Inside, the band was playing a slow number and her best friend Claire was laughing in the arms of her brand-new husband. Lena should have been in there too. Instead she was climbing into the back of the limo with him.

Marcus held the door open, his bow tie already loosened, the top button of his crisp white shirt undone. At thirty-two he looked unfairly good in a tux—broad shoulders, sharp jaw, and those dark eyes that had been tracking her like prey for the last six months. Ever since the engagement party, when he’d cornered her by the bar and told her the bridesmaid dress she was wearing tonight made him want to ruin it.

The heavy door shut behind them with a expensive thunk. The driver, separated by a tinted privacy partition, pulled away from the curb without a word. They were alone.

Lena sat on the long leather bench, knees pressed together, heart hammering so hard she was sure he could hear it. Marcus settled beside her, close enough that the heat of his thigh burned through the thin fabric of her dress. For ten full seconds neither of them spoke. Then he turned, voice low and rough.

“I’ve been hard since I saw you walk down the aisle. Every time Claire kissed me today I was picturing your tight little pussy instead.”

Lena’s breath caught. The crude words should have shocked her. They didn’t. They soaked her instantly. She felt the slick heat bloom between her legs, her lace panties clinging obscenely.

Marcus didn’t wait for permission. His big hand slid onto her knee, then higher, pushing the silky hem of the bridesmaid dress up her smooth thigh. “Six months, Lena. Six months of jerking off in the shower thinking about bending you over every surface in my new house. Claire’s sweet, but she’s not you. She doesn’t get wet like this.” His fingers brushed the soaked crotch of her panties and he groaned. “Fuck. You’re drenched.”

Lena’s head fell back against the seat. The limo swayed gently as it merged onto the road that looped back toward the reception hall. Her pulse was a roar in her ears. She should stop this. She was married. He was just married. This was insane.

Instead she whispered the filthy truth that had lived in her mouth for months.

“I’ve always wanted to know what your cock tastes like.”

Marcus’s eyes went black with lust. “Then get on your fucking knees.”

The limo’s back seat was wide enough. Lena slid off the leather and knelt between his spread thighs, the movement hiking her dress up around her hips. Her fingers trembled only a little as she opened his fly and freed him. His cock sprang out heavy, thick, already leaking at the tip. The veined shaft was flushed dark, the head swollen and glossy. Married cock. Her best friend’s husband’s cock.

Lena didn’t tease. She opened her mouth and took him straight down, lips stretching wide around the girth. The salty-musky taste of him flooded her tongue and she moaned like a whore. Marcus hissed, one hand fisting in her elegant updo, ruining it instantly.

“That’s it. Suck it like you’ve been starving for it.” He pushed deeper, hitting the back of her throat. Lena gagged wetly, eyes watering, but she didn’t pull off. Thick strings of spit drooled from the corners of her stretched lips, running down his shaft and soaking his tuxedo pants. She bobbed frantically, hollowing her cheeks, tongue swirling around the fat head every time she rose. The obscene gluck-gluck-gluck sounds filled the backseat.

Marcus groaned, hips flexing. “Look at you. Claire’s perfect little bridesmaid choking on my dick in the getaway car. You love this, don’t you? Filthy married slut.”

Lena whimpered around his cock, nodding as best she could. Her pussy was throbbing, clit aching against the ruined lace. She shoved a hand between her own legs and rubbed herself shamelessly while she slobbered on him.

Suddenly Marcus pulled her off by the hair. Spit connected her gasping lips to his glistening cock for a second before it snapped. “Turn around. Hands on the seat.”

Lena scrambled up, spinning on her knees and bracing her forearms on the leather bench. Marcus yanked the long skirt of her dress up over her ass in one rough motion, then ripped her soaked panties to the side. He didn’t bother taking them off. The cool air kissed her dripping cunt for half a second before the fat head of his cock nudged between her swollen lips.

He thrust in hard.

Lena cried out, the sudden stretch burning so good she almost came on the first stroke. Marcus was thick, thicker than her husband, and he didn’t give her time to adjust. He gripped her hips and started pounding her from behind, the wet slap of skin loud in the moving car. Each brutal thrust rocked her forward, her tits nearly spilling out of the low-cut bodice.

“Fuck—Marcus—oh my god,” she panted.

His hand slid up her back, wrapped around her throat, and squeezed just enough to make her see sparks. “Quiet. You don’t get to scream my name unless I say so. This pussy is mine now. Say it.”

“It’s yours,” she gasped, voice hoarse. “My married pussy belongs to you.”

He growled in approval and fucked her harder, the angle letting him grind against that perfect spot inside her. The limo took a corner and the shift in momentum drove him even deeper. Lena’s eyes rolled back. She was going to come already.

Marcus felt it. He leaned over her, lips against her ear. “Don’t you dare come until I flip you over and watch your face. I want to see what you look like when you squirt all over my wedding suit.”

He pulled out, leaving her cunt clenching around nothing. In one smooth motion he spun her, shoved her onto her back along the long seat, and hooked her legs over his shoulders. The position folded her nearly in half. Her dress was a wrinkled disaster around her waist. Marcus drove back inside her with a single savage thrust.

This time he didn’t hold back. He fucked her like he hated her and loved her at the same time—deep, punishing strokes that made her tits bounce free of the dress. He latched onto one nipple, sucking hard while his cock wrecked her. Lena’s hands flew to his hair, pulling him closer as her orgasm built like a freight train.

“I’m gonna—Marcus, I’m gonna squirt—”

“Do it. Soak me.”

He slammed into her three more times and Lena exploded. Her pussy clamped down around him, gushing clear fluid that sprayed across his crisp white shirt and cummerbund, drenching the front of his tuxedo pants. She wailed, thighs shaking violently as the orgasm tore through her in long, filthy waves.

Marcus fucked her straight through it, growling like an animal. When her squirt finally tapered off he pulled out, stroking his glistening cock furiously. “Open your mouth. Tongue out.”

Lena obeyed instantly, dazed and dripping. He aimed and came with a guttural groan.

Thick, ropey jets of cum lashed across her tongue, her chin, her tits. One heavy spurt even landed on the lavender silk between her breasts, staining the expensive dress. Lena moaned at the taste of him, swallowing what landed on her tongue and leaving the rest to drip obscenely down her skin.

For a moment the only sounds were their ragged breathing and the low hum of the limo’s engine.

Marcus sat back, chest heaving, looking at the beautiful mess he’d made of his wife’s best friend. Then he grinned, that same cocky grin that had started all of this months ago. He swiped his thumb through a thick glob of his cum on her chin and pushed it between her lips. Lena sucked it clean without being told.

“This is only the beginning,” he said, voice rough with promise. “I’m going to fuck you in every room of the house I just bought with your best friend. You’re going to come on my cock while she’s in the next room. Understand?”

Lena nodded, licking her lips. “Yes.”

They moved quickly after that—wiping, tucking, smoothing. Marcus used his handkerchief on the worst of the cum on her tits and chin, though nothing could hide the wet spot on the front of his pants or the unmistakable smell of sex that clung to both of them. Lena tried to fix her ruined updo and failed. Her panties were hopeless; she balled them up and shoved them into his jacket pocket like a filthy trophy.

The limo slowed. Through the tinted windows they could see the bright lights of the reception hall again. The driver’s voice came politely over the intercom.

“We’ve arrived back at the venue, sir.”

Marcus looked at Lena, both of them flushed, sticky, and reeking of come and cunt. He leaned in and kissed her once, hard and deep, tasting himself on her tongue.

Then he pulled back and gave her the line that shattered the intensity like a pie to the face.

“Try not to drip on the dance floor, Mrs. Bridesmaid. Wouldn’t want the bride to think her maid of honor sprung a leak during the Electric Slide.”

Lena burst out laughing, half-hysterical, as the driver opened the door. She stepped out on shaky legs, pussy still fluttering, cum drying on her cleavage beneath the dress, and walked back into her best friend’s wedding reception with the bride’s husband’s load cooling on her tongue.

Behind her, Marcus adjusted his cum-stained cummerbund and followed, already wondering how soon he could drag her into the bathroom for round two.