The group chat had been simmering for days, each message building the fantasy higher.
**Sarah:** Next dare needs to feel like a wedding night gone wrong. Muffin in her actual wedding dress. Veil and all.
**Alex:** Airbnb with a games room. Snooker table. Felt, cues, the works.
**Me:** Three guys from FAB. We tell them we just got married that day—honeymoon celebration, old friends crashed it with champagne.
**Muffin:** I want the full bride treatment. White lingerie underneath. Heels. And eye contact with you the whole time. Watch me take them. Then reclaim me after two loads.
**Sarah:** We arrive late. Walk in like we’re the after-party guests.
**Alex:** Raw. Creampies. Multiple angles on camera.
**Muffin:** Yes. Make it feel real. I’m your bride getting ruined on our “wedding night.”
**Me:** Booked. Saturday. Games room Airbnb. Three vetted guys. They think it’s our real honeymoon night.
Saturday evening. The Airbnb games room glowed under low pendant lights—green snooker table center stage, cues racked, leather sofas pushed back, bar stocked. We’d briefed the three guys from FAB Swingers on arrival: we’d married that afternoon, this was our private celebration, they were “old friends” who’d shown up with champagne to toast the bride. They bought every word—grinning, clinking glasses, eyes already locked on Muffin when she walked in.
She was devastating.
The wedding dress—her real one—had always been dangerously sexy. Ivory satin, off-the-shoulder neckline that framed her small breasts into perfect, soft cleavage. The bodice hugged tight, the skirt flared just above the knee, flowing like liquid every time she moved. She kept the short veil—delicate sheer tulle edged in lace, pinned into her red hair so it framed her face like a sinful halo. Underneath: white lace lingerie that turned innocence into sin—balconette bra lifting her tits, sheer cups letting dark pink nipples show through; matching thong with satin ribbon ties at the hips; garter belt clipped to sheer white thigh-high stockings; white patent stilettos with thin ankle straps that clicked like a promise.
She looked like a bride who’d come to get defiled.
The guys stood around the table with drinks, pretending to line up shots while stealing glances. I leaned against the bar, watching. Muffin caught my eye, smiled slow and wicked under the veil, then sauntered to the snooker table.
“Newlywed privilege,” she purred, hopping up to perch on the edge. The skirt rode high, stockings gleaming, garters peeking. “You crashed the honeymoon. What are you going to do about it?”
One stepped forward—dark hair, broad shoulders. He set his cue down, hands sliding up her thighs, pushing satin higher until the lace thong was exposed. Muffin parted her legs wider, veil brushing flushed cheeks, eyes locked on mine across the green felt.
He tugged the ribbon ties. The thong slipped away. She was soaked—lips swollen, glistening. He freed his cock—thick, veined—and rubbed the head along her slit, coating himself. Muffin bit her lip under the veil, staring straight at me.
“Fuck your bride,” she whispered.
He thrust in raw—one long, deep slide. Her head tipped back, veil slipping slightly, red hair spilling over felt. She moaned loud, heels hooking behind him, stockings rasping against his sides. The table creaked with each stroke—tits bouncing in the tight bodice, nipples straining lace.
I stroked myself slowly, eyes never leaving hers.
The second guy moved to her mouth. She turned her head, veil brushing his cock, lips parting eagerly. He slid in; she sucked hungrily, cheeks hollowing, drool running down her chin onto satin. The first kept pounding—harder now, hips slapping wetly. Muffin’s muffled moans vibrated around the cock in her throat.
First guy groaned, buried deep, hips jerking as he came—thick pulses flooding her pussy. Muffin clenched around him, eyes fluttering, still staring at me through the haze. When he pulled out, cum leaked from her swollen lips, dripping onto green felt in slow strings.
Second guy flipped her onto her stomach—dress rucked to her waist, ass presented, veil trailing over her back. He slid in from behind, using the first load as slick lube, groaning at how hot and full she felt. Muffin braced on her forearms, tits pressed to the table, staring straight at me—eyes glassy, lips parted, whimpering with every thrust.
“Watch him fill me again,” she gasped, voice wrecked. “Your wife… getting bred while you watch.”
He slammed in hard, held deep, unloaded with a low curse. Another thick load pumped into her, mixing with the first. When he withdrew, cum poured out—running down her inner thighs, soaking lace stocking tops, dripping to the floor.
The third guy stepped up, but I raised a hand.
“My turn.”
They backed off. I crossed to her, lifted her gently, turned her to face me. She wrapped legs around my waist—heels locked, stockings rasping—dress still bunched, pussy dripping onto my cock as I slid inside her. Two loads already there, hot and slick. She clung to me, nails digging into my shoulders, veil brushing my face as she kissed me desperately.
I fucked her standing—slow rolls turning hard bounces, her body jolting against mine. Her eyes stayed on mine—tears of overstimulation, mascara smudged, pearl necklace gleaming.
“Reclaim me,” she whispered. “Fill your bride.”
I did—deep, grinding thrusts until I came hard, adding my load to the mess. She shuddered through another orgasm, pussy milking me dry, cum overflowing and running down my shaft, dripping onto felt.
We stayed locked together, panting, foreheads touching—her veil tangled in my fingers.
Then the front door opened.
Sarah and Alex walked in—Sarah in sleek black, Alex with champagne—smiling like they’d timed it perfectly.
“Looks like the honeymoon started without us,” Sarah purred, eyes raking over Muffin: dress rucked, stockings laddered, cum leaking down her thighs, veil askew.
Alex popped the bottle. “Room for two more?”
Muffin laughed—breathless, satisfied—still clinging to me.
“Always.”
The night had only just begun. |
