Wedding Ring Fucker

The marriage bed was wide and white, rose petals scattered in a heart neither of them had ordered. Barrett, twenty-two and still a virgin, stood beside it with his dress shirt open and his palms damp, the rest of the tuxedo already on a chair. Bianca, twenty-one, his wife since that afternoon, faced him with color high in her cheeks and both hands on the straps of her gown. They had waited through every date, every long kiss that stopped at the waistband. Tonight they would finally see each other. Tonight they would consummate it.

"You first," he said, voice rough with wanting. "Please. I need to look at you."

She smiled, nervous and bright, and peeled the satin down her arms. The gown slithered to the carpet. She wore nothing underneath. Pale skin, slender through the hips, a narrow waist and long legs. Her breasts were small and budding, little swells tipped with tight pink nipples that hardened in the cool air of the suite. Dark brunette hair spilled over her collarbones and brushed the tops of those small breasts. She turned once, slow, so he could see the narrow curve of her ass and the soft shadow between her thighs. Barrett made a helpless sound. His cock was already straining against his pants.

He fumbled the belt, the zipper, the boxers. Fabric hit the floor. He stepped free and straightened, and the eager light in Bianca's face died.

His cock stood up thin and short, a narrow little erection barely thicker than his thumb, the flushed head clearing the dark curls by scarcely an inch. It jutted, earnest and ridiculous, against the flat of his stomach. Bianca stared. The smile collapsed. Disappointment flooded her features, then something hotter and sharper, a satirical fury that pulled her mouth tight and made her hands curl into fists. The air between them, thick with heat a second ago, went thin and bright with her anger.

She laughed. It cracked out of her, high and mean, and filled the quiet suite.

"That," she said, pointing. "That's what I saved my pussy for? Jesus Christ, Barrett. Look at it. It looks like it belongs on a doll."

Heat slammed into his face. Shame flooded his gut, thick and immediate, and under it his thin cock jerked, still hard, harder, a clear drop already beading at the tip. He had never shown it to anyone. He had hoped, stupidly, that wanting her this badly would make the thing look bigger. It did not. The little erection bobbed when he shifted his weight, and Bianca's laugh sharpened.

"I was going to let you fuck me," she said, voice shaking with contempt and something hotter underneath. "I was going to spread my legs on that bed and take my husband's cock for the first time. And you brought me that. A little pencil. A joke."

She yanked the wedding ring off her finger. Gold flashed under the lamp. She threw it. The band struck his chest and bounced, spinning, onto the carpet between his bare feet.

"You can fuck that instead," she said. "Fuck the ring. You're not putting that pathetic little thing anywhere near my pussy. Not tonight. Not ever, if that's all you've got."

Barrett's throat worked. The humiliation sat on him like a hand and squeezed, and his cock leaked another drop onto the rose-petal carpet. He looked at the ring, then up at her naked body—the small budding breasts, the pale stomach, the dark triangle he was not allowed to touch—and the want on his face was so naked she laughed again, louder.

"Oh my God," she said. "You're still hard. You like this. You like me telling you how useless you are."

He nodded, once, wrecked and hungry. The shame burned and the burn fed the hardness, and he did not look away from her. His expression was pure submissive want: cheeks scarlet, eyes wet, thin cock twitching every time she spoke. He wanted the cruelty. He wanted her to keep going. The absurdity of it only made his pulse hammer harder in that inadequate little shaft.

"Pick it up," Bianca ordered, folding her arms under her small breasts so they lifted, nipples tight. "If you want to come on your wedding night, you do it with my ring. Slide it on that tiny dick and jerk yourself while you stare at what you don't get to fuck. I want to watch how pathetic my husband is."

He dropped to one knee. The ring was warm from her skin. His fingers shook as he closed them around it. Above him Bianca stood over the marriage bed, pale and slender and furious and beautiful, and his cock ached so badly the head glistened. He looked up at her, humiliated and painfully aroused, and waited for the next cruel word like a man waiting for permission to breathe.

"Go on," she said, softer and meaner. "Put my wedding ring on your little cock and fuck it. That's the only hole you're getting."

Barrett slid the band over the head of his thin penis. It was loose on the narrow shaft, warm gold circling flesh that barely filled it, and the sight made Bianca laugh so hard she had to brace a hand on the bedpost. He worked the ring down until it sat snug near the base, a bright circle proving how little there was to circle. Then he wrapped his fist around shaft and ring together and started to stroke.

The metal dragged. Each pull tugged the band along the thin length, a tight bright friction his own hand had never given him, and he groaned, eyes locked on her. Bianca did not move to cover herself. She stood with her weight on one hip, small breasts bare, pale stomach taut, the soft lips of her pussy visible between her slender thighs, and she watched him masturbate with her wedding ring while she tore him apart.

"Look at you," she said. "Jerking a ring because your dick is too small to fuck a woman. Stroke it. Let me see that tiny head disappear into your fist and come back out still useless."

He obeyed. His hand moved faster, the gold band clicking softly against his fingers, the thin cock sliding through the circle again and again. Precum smeared the metal. He stared at the budding swell of her breasts, at the tight pink nipples, at the faint line of her hipbones, and his hips jerked up into his own grip like he was trying to fuck something that would never open for him.

"You were going to put that in me," Bianca went on, voice bright with satire. "You thought that little thing was going to stretch me. It wouldn't have reached. I could have worn the ring on my finger and still had more inside me than you were ever going to give."

"Bianca—" His voice cracked. The ring was slick now, his strokes wet and frantic, the thin shaft flushing darker. He could not look away from her body. Every insult landed and his cock jumped in the gold circle, leaking, desperate.

"Don't say my name like you get to have me," she snapped, and stepped closer so he had to tilt his head back. Her pussy was inches from his face, untouched, and she did not offer it. "You get the ring. Fuck the ring harder. I want to see you ruin yourself on a piece of jewelry while you stare at the wife you'll never properly fuck."

He moaned and pumped faster. The band rode up and down the narrow length, catching under the head on every upstroke, a cruel little collar he had put on himself because she told him to. His balls drew tight. His thighs shook. He worshipped her with his eyes—the pale skin, the small breasts, the slender waist, the dark hair between her legs—while she stood over him and laughed at the size of what he was stroking.

"Pathetic," she said, almost fond in her cruelty. "My husband, the wedding-ring fucker. That's what you are. A tiny-dicked virgin who comes in a circle of gold because he isn't man enough for a pussy. Keep looking at me. Don't you dare close your eyes."

He didn't. He stared at her stomach, at the place just above her mound, and his hand flew. The ring flashed. His cock, thin and oversensitive, throbbed inside the band. The humiliation and the friction braided together until he couldn't tell them apart, and a broken sound tore out of his throat.

"I'm—Bianca, I'm going to—"

"Then do it," she said, and she stepped in so his stroking fist nearly brushed her thigh. "Come on me. If you can't fuck me, you can at least make a mess on the body you don't deserve. Stomach and leg. I want to feel how little you shoot."

He groaned, loud and wrecked, and the orgasm hit him in humiliating spurts. The first pulse striped her pale stomach, a thin white line across the skin below her navel. The second and third spat lower, hot drops landing on the top of her thigh and sliding toward her knee. His thin cock jerked in the wedding ring, emptying in short, shameful bursts while he stared up at her small breasts and her mocking mouth. Cum dripped from the gold band onto his fingers. He kept stroking through it, obedient, milking every last weak spurt onto her until he was shaking and empty, the ring still tight around the base of his spent, glistening little cock.

Bianca looked down at the mess on her stomach and leg and burst into triumphant laughter. It rang off the walls of the suite, bright and merciless, while Barrett's chest heaved and his face burned scarlet.

"Down," she said, still laughing. "On your knees. You made the mess. You clean it."

He dropped fully to the carpet, the ring sliding a fraction on his softening cock. His hands hovered, not quite daring to touch her until she nodded, sharp and amused. Then he leaned in, worshipful, and pressed his mouth to the cum on her stomach.

"Thank you," he said against her skin, voice hoarse and sincere. "Thank you for letting me. Thank you for the ring. Thank you for looking at me while I did it."

She laughed harder. He licked, diligent and grateful, tongue dragging through the thin stripes on her pale stomach, swallowing what he had shot there. He moved lower, to her thigh, and cleaned every drop that had slid toward her knee, murmuring thanks between licks—thank you for not letting him inside her, thank you for the humiliation, thank you for still standing naked so he could see what he had ruined his wedding night over. The taste of himself coated his tongue. He did not stop until her skin was clean and shining with his spit, and even then he stayed kneeling, forehead nearly against her leg, the wedding ring loose now around his spent cock, whispering one more wrecked thank-you into the quiet that followed her laughter.

She would never take that tiny cock inside her, and the ring on the carpet between them was the only wife he had managed to fuck.