The Groom's Father's Urgent Wedding Night Temptation

The heavy bass from the band’s final slow song still throbbed in Lauren’s veins as the last guests trickled out of the ballroom. She stood near the marble pillar in her lace wedding gown, the delicate veil brushing her bare shoulders, when Marcus approached.

He was everything Ethan wasn’t. Late forties, broad through the chest and shoulders, silver threading the dark hair at his temples. His tuxedo looked like it had been cut for a man who knew exactly how to wear power. When those steel-gray eyes locked on her, Lauren felt the air change.

“Finally got you alone, Mrs. Caldwell,” he said, voice low and rough like gravel under tires. He didn’t ask. He simply slid one big hand around her waist and pulled her into the slow sway of the music. The scent of his cologne—something dark, woody, expensive—flooded her senses.

“Mr. Caldwell,” she answered, trying for polite. Her new husband’s father. The words felt ridiculous in her mouth.

“Marcus.” His palm settled possessively at the small of her back, fingers splayed wide. The heat of him burned straight through the satin and lace. “You’re stunning, Lauren. But you already know that. What I’m wondering is whether my son knows what to do with a woman like you.”

She should have pulled away. Instead her breath caught.

His mouth brushed the shell of her ear. “You deserve a real man on your wedding night. Not some clumsy boy who’s still learning where everything goes.”

His hand drifted lower, thumb stroking the top curve of her ass. The bold claim sent a hot pulse between her legs. Across the room, Ethan was laughing too loud with his college buddies, already half-drunk and oblivious.

Marcus’s grip tightened. “Think about it.”

Then he was gone, melting back into the crowd like smoke.

---

The honeymoon suite smelled of roses and champagne. Ethan had managed to carry her over the threshold, tripped on the rug, and immediately collapsed face-first onto the king-sized bed still fully dressed. His snoring started within minutes.

Lauren stood at the balcony doors in her gown, staring at the ocean, skin still buzzing from Marcus’s touch. The ache between her thighs had only grown. Ethan’s fumbling fingers earlier in the limo had left her frustrated, not satisfied.

A soft knock at the door made her jump.

She opened it without thinking.

Marcus filled the frame, jacket gone, tie loosened, two glasses and a bottle of whiskey in his hands. The hunger in his stare was no longer veiled. It was raw, open, and it made her pussy clench.

“I came to properly welcome my new daughter-in-law,” he said, voice velvet and gravel. “Figured the boy might not be up to the job tonight.”

Lauren’s nipples tightened against the lace of her bodice. She knew she should close the door. Instead she stepped back and let him in.

The lock clicked behind him like a starting gun.

He set the bottle and glasses on the sideboard without pouring a drop. His eyes dragged down her body, taking in the expensive white dress, the veil still pinned in her dark hair, the flush on her cheeks.

“Tell me you’re not wet right now thinking about what I said on the dance floor,” he growled.

Lauren’s lips parted. The filthy words came easier than they should have.

“I’ve been wet since you put your hand on my ass in front of two hundred people.”

Marcus’s smile was slow and predatory. He stalked closer until she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.

“My son’s cock ever made you cum so hard you forget your own name?”

“No,” she whispered, honest and ashamed and unbearably turned on.

He cupped her jaw, thumb stroking her lower lip. “That’s because you married the wrong Caldwell, baby. But it’s not too late to get fucked the way you need tonight.”

The dirty promise snapped something inside her. Lauren surged up on her toes and kissed him.

It wasn’t sweet. It was desperate, open-mouthed, tongues sliding, teeth nipping. Marcus groaned into her mouth and grabbed two handfuls of her ass, yanking her hard against the thick ridge of his cock trapped in his trousers.

“Fuck, you taste like sin in a wedding dress,” he rasped when they broke apart. “Get on your knees. I want to see those pretty lips wrapped around Daddy’s cock.”

The word Daddy should have made her hesitate. Instead it sent a fresh gush of wetness into her lace panties. Lauren sank to the carpet, veil spilling around her like a fallen halo, and attacked his belt with shaking fingers.

When she freed him, her mouth actually watered. Marcus was thick, veined, heavy. The fat head already glistened with precum. She looked up at him through her lashes, then opened wide and took him deep.

“Jesus Christ,” he hissed, one hand fisting in her veil like reins. “That’s it. Suck your father-in-law’s cock on your wedding night like the greedy little slut you are.”

Lauren moaned around his thickness, saliva already dripping down her chin as she bobbed, hollowing her cheeks, working her tongue along the underside. She forced herself deeper until her nose brushed the dark hair at his base, gagging wetly, eyes watering with mascara tears. The obscene sounds of her sloppy throat filled the suite while her husband snored ten feet away.

Marcus fucked her face with slow, controlled thrusts, never letting her pull off for long. “Good girl. Take every inch. Ethan could never feed you a cock like this, could he?”

She shook her head as best she could, humming desperately around him.

He finally pulled her off with a wet pop, strings of spit connecting her swollen lips to his glistening shaft. “Enough. Get up. I’m going to ruin that married pussy.”

He spun her around and bent her over the edge of the bed, right beside Ethan’s unconscious form. The contrast was obscene. Marcus yanked her voluminous wedding skirt up over her hips in rough handfuls, exposing her white lace garter belt, thigh-high stockings, and the tiny soaked thong that barely covered her.

“Jesus, look at this perfect cunt,” he muttered, ripping the thong aside. Two thick fingers plunged into her without warning. Lauren cried out, pushing back onto them.

“So fucking tight. And dripping. You’ve been aching for this all night, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” she gasped. “Please, Marcus. Fuck me. I need it.”

He lined up the fat head of his cock and drove in with one brutal thrust.

Lauren’s mouth fell open in a silent scream. He was so much thicker than Ethan, stretching her walls in ways that made her eyes roll back. Marcus didn’t give her time to adjust. He gripped her veil like reins, wrapping the tulle around his fist, and started pounding her in deep, punishing doggy-style.

Each thrust slammed home so hard her tits nearly spilled out of her bodice. The wet slap of his hips against her ass mixed with her desperate moans. He leaned over her, teeth grazing her neck.

“Tell me how it feels, baby. Tell me how much better Daddy’s cock is.”

“So much better,” she sobbed. “God, he’s never fucked me this deep. Never this hard. Don’t stop—please don’t stop—”

Marcus growled and fucked her harder, the heavy bed creaking dangerously. He reached around and rubbed tight circles over her swollen clit. The pressure built fast and vicious.

When she came, it was catastrophic. Her pussy clamped down on him like a vice, and a hot rush of squirt sprayed down her thighs and soaked the front of his trousers. Lauren buried her face in the duvet to muffle her scream.

Marcus didn’t slow. He flipped her onto her back in one powerful motion, shoving her legs wide and high until her knees nearly touched her shoulders. The wedding dress was a ruined mess around her waist. He drove back inside her in one stroke, pinning her down with his heavier body.

“Look at me while I fuck you,” he ordered.

Lauren’s eyes locked on his as he pounded her missionary, the wet squelch of her soaked cunt loud in the room. She clawed at his back through his shirt, heels digging into his ass, urging him deeper.

“My husband could never fuck me like this,” she panted, voice breaking. “Never. I’m yours tonight—fuck, I’m yours—”

The words tipped him over. Marcus slammed deep one final time, then pulled out with a guttural groan. Thick, ropey jets of cum erupted across her heaving tits, splattering the white lace of her bra and the delicate wedding lingerie. Some landed on the underside of her chin. He kept stroking himself through it, milking every drop onto her skin until she was painted with him.

They stayed like that, panting, staring at each other in the aftermath.

Marcus finally tucked his still-hard cock back into his pants and zipped up. He looked down at her—flushed, disheveled, covered in his cum, wedding dress askew, veil tangled around her throat like a leash.

He smirked, slow and satisfied.

“Enjoy the rest of your honeymoon, Lauren. Keep my cum on your skin under that pretty dress. Let it dry there. Every time you feel it crack, I want you to remember who really fucked you on your wedding night.”

He leaned down, brushed a surprisingly gentle kiss across her cum-smeared lips, and straightened.

Without another word, Marcus turned and walked out of the suite. The door clicked shut behind him with quiet finality.

Lauren lay there on the honeymoon bed beside her snoring husband, chest still heaving, thighs trembling, her father-in-law’s warm spend cooling on her breasts and belly. She dragged two fingers through the mess, brought them to her lips, and licked them clean.

She was already aching for the next time.

And she knew, with absolute certainty, that this was only the beginning.