The Groom's Sister's Wedding Reception Temptation

I stood at the edge of the crowded ballroom in my tailored black tux, the heavy gold band on my left ring finger still feeling foreign against my skin. Three hours ago I had said “I do” to Emily, my sweet, gentle bride who blushed at the mere suggestion of anything beyond missionary with the lights off. The reception was in full swing—laughter, clinking glasses, the soft swell of the string quartet—but my eyes kept drifting across the room to her.

Chloe.

My new stepsister. Twenty-two, all sun-kissed skin and wicked green eyes, poured into that dangerously tight bridesmaid dress the color of crushed raspberries. The slit ran so high up her left thigh that every step threatened to reveal the lace tops of her stockings. She had been flirting with me for months—since the first time we were introduced at Emily’s father’s house. Lingering hugs, teasing texts, the way she’d bite her lower lip when our gazes locked over Sunday dinner. Tonight that tension felt like a live wire.

Emily was currently surrounded by aunts and cousins near the cake table, laughing in that soft, reserved way of hers. She hadn’t noticed me watching Chloe. She never did.

I knocked back the last of my third whiskey and set the glass on a passing tray. The burn helped dull the guilt but sharpened everything else. When I looked up again, Chloe was weaving through the crowd straight toward me, that slit flashing a dangerous length of smooth thigh with every stride.

She stopped beside me at the bar, close enough that her perfume—something dark and expensive—wrapped around me like smoke. Her shoulder brushed mine as she ordered a vodka soda.

“Third whiskey already, Marcus?” she murmured without looking at me, her voice low and intimate beneath the music. “Nervous on your wedding night? Or just thirsty for something you’re not supposed to have?”

My cock twitched against the front of my tuxedo pants. I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The words would have come out too rough.

Chloe turned, leaning one hip against the bar so the slit in her dress parted again. Her fingers grazed my wrist, then slid lower, hidden by the overhang of the linen tablecloth. She cupped the growing bulge of my cock boldly, giving it a slow, teasing squeeze.

“I’ve been wet since I watched you say your vows,” she whispered, lips barely moving. “Thinking about how that big dick is going to be wasted on my stepsister’s boring little pussy for the rest of your life. I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day we met, Marcus. This is my last chance before you officially belong to her forever.”

Her thumb circled the head of my cock through the fabric. My breathing grew ragged.

“I’m soaked,” she continued, voice dropping even lower. “My thong is ruined just from watching you in that tux all night. I keep imagining you bending me over and ruining me right here in front of everyone.”

The alcohol, her filthy words, and the firm pressure of her hand pushed me past the point of no return. My fingers closed around her wrist, not to stop her but to hold her there a moment longer. Then I pulled out my phone with my other hand and typed quickly.

Bridal suite. Five minutes. Don’t make me wait.

I sent it to her and watched her eyes light up as her own phone vibrated in her clutch. She read the message, licked her bottom lip, and gave my cock one last possessive squeeze.

“See you soon, big brother,” she breathed, then melted back into the crowd like she’d never been there.

I waited exactly four minutes, heart hammering, before slipping out of the ballroom and taking the stairs two at a time to the private bridal suite on the second floor. The door was unlocked. I stepped inside, locked it behind me, and the click sounded like a gunshot in the sudden quiet.

Chloe was already there, standing in the middle of the softly lit room with a hungry smile. The moment the lock engaged she moved.

She dropped to her knees on the thick carpet in front of me, the tight dress riding high on her thighs. Her fingers made quick work of my belt and zipper, freeing my rigid cock. It sprang out heavy and flushed, the head already glistening.

“Fuck, it’s even bigger than I imagined,” she groaned, wrapping both hands around the shaft. Then she leaned in and took me straight down her throat in one smooth, greedy motion.

I groaned loudly, fingers instantly tangling in her perfectly styled updo. She didn’t tease. She sucked me like she was starving—wet, sloppy, noisy. Her throat convulsed around the head as she forced more of me inside, gagging softly but never pulling back. Spit ran down her chin and dripped onto the swell of her tits still trapped in the tight bodice of her dress. She looked up at me the entire time, mascara already starting to smudge, green eyes shining with pure lust.

“That’s it,” I rasped, voice hoarse. “Take every fucking inch, Chloe.”

She moaned around my cock, the vibration shooting straight through my balls. One hand cupped and rolled them while the other stroked the base in time with her bobbing head. The wet, obscene sounds of her throat working me filled the suite. I gripped her hair tighter and started fucking her face in short, controlled thrusts, pushing deeper each time until her nose pressed against my pelvis and her throat fluttered wildly around me.

After a few minutes I pulled her off with a wet pop. Strings of saliva connected her swollen lips to my glistening cock. Her chest heaved.

“Bed. Now,” I growled.

I spun her around and marched her to the ornate makeup vanity against the far wall. She braced her hands on the edge, arching her back and pushing her ass toward me. I yanked the hem of her dress up roughly over her hips. The sight that greeted me almost made me come on the spot—her perfect round ass framed by a tiny black lace thong soaked through at the crotch, garter straps framing her thighs, stockings taut against her skin.

I hooked two fingers under the thong and ripped it to the side, not even bothering to take it off. Her pussy was shaved smooth, lips puffy and shining with arousal. I lined up the fat head of my cock and drove into her in one brutal thrust.

Chloe cried out, head snapping back. “Oh my God—Marcus!”

She was scalding hot and tighter than I’d expected, her walls rippling around me as I buried myself to the hilt. I didn’t give her time to adjust. I pulled back and slammed in again, hard enough that the vanity mirror rattled. The wet slap of my hips against her ass echoed through the room. I fucked her with deep, punishing strokes, one hand fisted in her hair, the other gripping her hip hard enough to leave marks.

“Harder,” she begged, voice breaking. “Fuck me like you’ve wanted to for months. Please—"

I gave her what she wanted. I pounded into her, the tight dress bunched around her waist, her tits nearly spilling out the top with every violent thrust. Her moans turned into sharp, desperate cries of my name. The vanity shook so hard I was worried it might collapse.

After several minutes I pulled out, cock dripping with her cream. I sat on the edge of the big bed and crooked a finger at her.

“Ride me. Reverse. I want to watch that perfect ass bounce on my cock.”

Chloe didn’t hesitate. She kicked off her heels, climbed onto the bed, and straddled me backward. Reaching between her legs, she guided my slick cock back inside her soaked pussy and sank down with a long, shuddering moan.

The view was obscene. Her round ass flexed and rippled as she started riding me, the tight ring of her pussy stretched wide around my thick shaft. She leaned forward, hands braced on my thighs, and began grinding and bouncing with filthy enthusiasm. The wet sounds of her cunt slurping up and down my cock mixed with her increasingly desperate whimpers.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” she panted. “So much bigger than I imagined… stretching me so deep—"

I gripped her ass cheeks, spreading them wider so I could watch every inch of my cock disappearing inside her. I thrust up to meet her, driving harder, faster. The pressure in my balls built rapidly.

Chloe’s movements grew erratic. “I’m gonna come—Marcus, I’m gonna come on your cock—”

Her pussy clamped down like a vice. She slammed herself down one final time and shattered, crying out my name as her walls pulsed and fluttered wildly around me. The rhythmic squeezing pushed me over the edge. I buried myself as deep as I could and erupted, flooding her spasming cunt with thick, hot ropes of cum. I kept thrusting through it, pumping every drop into her until it started leaking out around my shaft and coating my balls.

We stayed locked together, panting, bodies trembling as the last shocks of orgasm rolled through us.

Then reality crashed back in.

My phone, discarded on the floor near the door, began vibrating violently. Once. Twice. Then a rapid series of alerts. Missed calls. Texts. All from Emily.

Chloe climbed off me with shaky legs, my spent cock slipping from her creamy pussy with a wet sound. Thick white cum immediately began trickling down her inner thigh. She smoothed her dress down hurriedly, wiping at the mess on her chin and chest with the back of her hand. I stood and tucked my cock—still glistening with our combined juices—back into my pants, zipping up with unsteady fingers.

She stepped close, cupped my face in both hands, and kissed me deeply. Her tongue swept into my mouth, tasting of whiskey and sin. When she pulled back she licked slowly across my bottom lip, collecting the faint trace of her own pussy juice that had transferred there.

“Now you’ll think of me every time you fuck her,” she whispered, voice husky and satisfied.

She gave me one last wicked smile, then slipped out the door and disappeared down the hallway toward the reception.

I stood there alone in the bridal suite, chest still heaving, the taste of betrayal thick on my tongue and my new wife’s stepsister’s cum still coating my softening cock inside my tuxedo pants. My phone kept buzzing.

I took a deep breath, adjusted my tie, and went to find Emily.