Punishing Chantal

The edges of the pink dress were a dead giveaway that I'd finally found her.

I'd stealthily entered into the bride's room at Hatley Park. This enormous castle in Victoria was home to the one who'd led me on so many times before, and now it was about to be home to the one who deserved this ending. I swig from a small flask of whiskey in my tuxedo pocket. No ushers had even stopped me, everything was a big celebration in this ritzy castle, a big show for the girl who'd dreamed of this wedding since she was 8. Who'd included me in her wedding plans all those times before, when we'd talked about it.

She wasn't going to get rid of me that easily.

"Daddy, is that you? Did you see about the fire?"

The doorway was obscured in a small hall away from the main part of the room. I locked the door behind me, steadied myself, and took another swig to combat everything that was wrong with this. The sweetness, the kindness that I'd always showed towards women, screaming at me to just walk away and let it be. My actual fiancé, who, God bless her, was actually worth my time and who'd probably become a nervous wreck if she'd ever found out that I harbored current thoughts about this.

Then I drew on the flashes that'd given me this strength in the first place. The ones that put me on the plane while my fiancé was away taking care of her recovering grandmother. The ones that were going to win this mental tug-of-war.

The way she'd come on to me so strong the very first night I'd talked to her, dumping her boyfriend in advance for someone who lived a thousand miles away. The drunken cheating and her refusal to stand accountable for it. The frigidness of her eyes in our arguments. When she'd called me "awkward and weird" on the phone. Her canceling on detailed arrangements to meet up with me twice at the last minute. The tears. The weekends of tears. The effort I'd given to set everything up, to move around my life to accommodate her. The trust I'd allowed her. The love that I'd imagined to be mutual. All thrown away so she could feed her self-esteem and go into a cycle of self-inflicted wounds. Push me away, beg for me back.

Well, here I am.

"Daddy? Is it okay?"

Breathe. Breathe. Walk. It was time.

I motion over behind her, to her right, so that I was visible in the mirror.

"You really better hurry up. There should be about 30 minutes before the guests start arri--," her mouth stood open as she saw me. As she turned around and make overly dramatic eye-rubs with her pink gloves. She was just as gorgeous as I remembered her. Blonde hair, green eyes, lips arranged as if she was permanently pouting. Her tight pink wedding dress showing off the well-endowed chest that she was so sensitive about that I'd never seen it bare. That pristine hourglass figure hidden underneath the many folds of her dress. If she'd had a crown on her head instead of a veil, she could've passed for Princess Peach. And she would've liked it that way.

"Hello to you too, goosh," my old pet name for her.

"I...I never thought I'd see you." She stammered and turned back around in guilt. "I would've invited you...I thought it might be awkward."

"I know." I crept up behind her, and put my hands on either side of her waist. She put her right hand on mine and gave a small tug to no avail.

"You can't change anything," she said.

"I don't want to. From what I remember when we were still talking, you've given this man the same run around. He just has less spine than me. Good for him."

Her eyes narrowed and her nostrils clenched. "So you came here to insult me. Typical you. Never could let yourself be anything but the victim. Jealous?"

"Not in the slightest," I ignored her argument attempt, we'd be fighting for minutes if I hadn't. "I'm just here to thank you."

"Oh? Well you could start by kindly getting your hands off me. I'm not your property anymore." She fake smiled. Her killer fake smile.

I crept my hands down lower on her gown. She relaxed a little. "Remember how you always used to dream about the perfect wedding? How we used to talk about it for hours into the night?"

She lit up again. "And it's coming true! Isn't it wonderful? I even got a man who had the courage to love me to stand in for you."

"Right, the poor misguided fool. Well, I'm not here to do anything about that. I'm just here..."

I yanked up her dress quickly, pushing her by her hips down into the mirror stand so that her pink polka dot covered butt was prominently exposed. "...to make of your dream what you made of the dream I had with you." I spanked her right butt cheek as hard as I could and waited for the eruption.

Her legs kicking, churning, swimming away from the scenario. Her heels flung off in the distance as I used my leverage to keep her down, forcing myself between her legs so her kicks were useless, and continuing to pepper her ass with hard spanks. The sort of spanks that, from experience, I knew were her weakness.

Oh sure, there were screams for help. For mercy, even. But my ears were, quite obviously, deaf. The window led on to a balcony, but the music was so loud outside that nobody could hear them. The room itself was so isolated that nobody could pass by it on chance, and I'd taken the liberty of starting a small car fire that would require the attention of most of the main wedding party.

The cries gradually became less loud, morphing into moans. Her panties were sopping wet as I laid a big spank on her pussy that led to her first orgasm. Her legs went limp, then tried to circle me from behind as her pussy pushed into my hand, begging for more friction. I tore her soaked undergarment aside and gawked at her dripping pink pussy. My pussy.

I teased the sides slowly with my tongue, lapping up the mess I'd caused. My pants and underwear hit the ground with a thud as my heavy belt buckle weighed them down, and I turned her around so she could see her fate.

"You always did say makeup sex was the best, didn't you?" Our eyes locked and hers had small tear streams going down. It was a terrible sight for me, so I drew her into a long kiss that ended with me clamping on her lip. Then I plunged all six and a half inches of me inside of her.

She buckled, and her head jerked back to try and not give me attention. I pushed her dresses top down to reveal those wonderful breasts, and the sight of them led me to stop humping for a half-second as I took them in. There was a little sag to them, but they were porcelain doll white, capped off by the tiniest little nipples, all pink. Chantel moaned deeply as I bit into one of them and resumed plowing away inside of her. My balls slapped against her inner thighs as I roughly abused her breasts with my teeth, my hands locked around her waist dragging her down as hard as I could right onto my cock. She grunted, and her pussy clenched down like a vice as she came again for me. I kept pounding her as she went limp again, and laid there for a few heartbeats before she lifted her head up.

"He's black and you're white. I'm not on the pill. You can't do this."

"Oh don't worry, I wouldn't want to do that anyway."

I gave her about twenty or thirty more thrusts, and felt myself getting ready. I pulled her by her hair down to the ground, and left one large deposit of cum right over her left breast and another under her right eye.

"I wouldn't want any of my children to be raised by an enormous whore. Look at how easy you are. Disgusting." I took a bit of my cum on the edge of my finger and slipped it into her mouth. She stared at me vacantly, half-disgusted, half-intrigued.

"Now we're even."

With that, I pulled my pants on, buckled my belt, and zipped them up. She doubled over in the fetal position as shock took hold of her. I stepped out and closed the door. On my terms.