Nuptial Suite

I sit in a large ornate chair next to the California king bed at the center of a huge, richly furnished bedroom, the centerpiece of an elegant suite. My chair, or maybe some might see it as a throne, faces the suite's door to the private outer hallway, this is the only room on the top floor. I take another sip of the deep caramel colored liquid in My thick glass tumbler before placing it on the silver tray next to the decanter and ice bucket, feeling the warmth bloom in My chest momentarily. My tuxedo jacket is unbuttoned but otherwise I've not changed or removed anything since leaving the crowded ballroom several floors below a few minutes before you. After wiping a tiny scuff from My impeccably shined shoes, I lean back. I have a slight, proud grin that I'm unable to fully get rid of despite the magnitude of the moment.

There. The muffled sound of laughter from the hall. The footsteps are also muted by the thick carpet and decorative runners that line the passage. But there's no mistaking the rattle and click of an actual key entering a sturdy lock and turning. I focus My gaze on the door. This moment will never come again and I want to remember every detail.

The door knob turns and the door opens just slightly. There's a brief pause and for a moment I wonder what is happening out there. Shuffling. Laughing. A quick squeal. Then the door opens suddenly as though kicked, but not with enough force to cause damage.

You enter the room, carried by your brand new husband over the threshold.

You are both looking deeply into each other's eyes as you step inside so there's a long moment where neither of you take note of Me sitting in the chair, watching intently. That moment ends abruptly however as the groom suddenly halts his march towards the bedroom.

There's confusion in his eyes and he blinks rapidly as though he's not sure what he's seeing. This is a very old hotel after all. Perhaps the distinguished man with a fiery gaze wearing a tuxedo is some kind of spirit?

The groom, still holding his beloved, looks to you seeking some confirmation that you too see this figure in your honeymoon suite. You gaze towards the seated man then look back at your new husband. You don't say a word but your husband notes that you seem to be much less concerned about this unexpected guest than you should be. The groom looks again, perhaps all you saw was an empty chair? No, the man hadn't vanished in a wisp, he remains seated, motionless and appearing to be quite solid.

The silence in the room has gone on longer than it should under the circumstances and the groom finally finds his somewhat distressed voice. "Um, hello?"

"Hello." I reply without inflection. Neither threatening nor apologetic.

Your groom gently places you onto your feet and takes a small but noticeable step forward, inserting himself between us. "I believe you are in OUR room..."

"Yes."

The poor young man is at a loss. As he considers what to say next, I consider him. He's a little older than you, but not so much that he would be seen as a fulfillment of your "daddy issues" which we've explored numerous times over the years. He's handsome but not in a boyish or pretty way. He's got a strong build but not to where he'd be mistaken for a lumberjack or construction worker. More like a man who can build a respectable tree house or rebuild an engine on the weekend if he's not already out camping or hiking. He cleans up nicely, smooth shaven today instead of wearing his typical three day stubble. He's a man but not quite a Man's Man.

Looking past him, I make eye contact with you. Behind his back he can't see the fire in your eyes and the slight mischievous upturn of the corners of your mouth. I look back to the man I watched you exchanged vows with less than two hours ago. It appears he has decided on his next words but is not entirely satisfied.

"Well, then please leave." Not an order, but still a little more assertive than the last time he spoke. This makes Me grin for the first time.

"No." There's no ambiguity in My tone.

Again it's taking him a moment to process the conversation as it is unfolding in an entirely unexpected manner. He doesn't notice you step away just quickly enough to shut the door to the hallway but he does jump, startled, at the loud sound of you twisting the bolt to lock it securely. He turns slightly to look at you while keeping Me in his periphery. You see the unspoken questions in his eyes, the certainty in Mine, and you feel the heat as your cheeks flush.

For a brief second you sheepishly look down but you immediately realize your mistake. You know that I would not be pleased to see you show any shame. You raise your gaze, lift your chin up slightly higher than usual and stride purposely back towards your groom.

You could hear a pin drop as you continue to walk past him and towards Me. For the first time today, instead of a blushing bride I see the confident and adventurous woman who has been guided, trained, by Me for so long. Longer than you've even known the groom who stands frozen in shock as he watches his new bride, with noticeably more sway in her hips sashaying towards the "stranger" in the opulent chair next to their bed.

The dress is white but no one, not even the groom, reads any hint of purity into that. If someone didn't know the bride, the plunging neckline of your dress, which I picked, revealing more cleavage than would ever be allowed in a house of God would give them a pretty good hint that you weren't a shy, meek virgin. So would the length of the dress, barely covering the tops of your snowy white stockings at your mid-thigh. No garter belt with this outfit despite my love of such adornments. No, the unique lace patterns lean far less on the flowers and much more heavily on the negative spaces that allow more than a bit of tanned skin to show through, and the garter belt would have stuck out like a sore thumb.

The pure white thong, riding high on the hips - My favorite - and then steeply diving into a minimal triangle in the front, is accentuated by just enough additional similarly laced fringes to keep the ceremony from becoming overtly pornographic. Anyone attending would have had to stare hard at your glorious curvy ass to figure out if they were seeing your panties through your dress or if the dress's own pattern just allowed for slightly more modesty in those more discrete areas. And standing towards the back of the ballroom, I'd observed more than a few men AND women trying to ascertain just that. I beamed with pride. Your confidence to wear such a sexy outfit for such a hallowed occasion was a lot of My doing.

In addition to the sheer veil which was discarded almost as soon as the couple was officially introduced to those in attendance by their friend - whose certificate from an online church vested him with the powers required for such an official proclamation - you wore one other unique accessory. One that few at the ceremony would know the significance of. It was a white lace choker that had a slim band of black "ribbon" running around the middle and a shiny silver circle with a brilliant stone seemingly suspended within.

But all was not as it seemed. The white lace of the choker was actually removed from the bottom of the dress during the alterations which had shortened the hem to a level that I deemed to be appropriate. The stone? A beautiful but ultimately worthless bobble glued to the lace. The black ribbon was actually a narrow black leather strap and the silver circle was actually an "O" ring, selected specifically because, when pressed flat against your neck and the lace, it would LOOK like it was the setting for the ornate attention grabbing stone. No one would have suspected that it was something that one would attach a lead to. But I knew and of course you did too. You were thrilled to be wearing My choker at your wedding in front of everyone you know. Even your unsuspecting groom.

Of course, while he may have been clueless as to the identity and intent of the sharply dressed stranger sitting calmly in their room or why his bride of just a few hours seemed not only unperturbed by this but was actually sauntering towards the Man, he was most definitely not unaware of your adventurous nature. He'd seen many instances of your "wild side" in the time since he met you, including the first night you went out, which literally climaxed on the side of a not quite deserted forest highway with your bare ass sticking out the open driver's side door of his truck, pumping back furiously against the thrusts off his hips, driving his hard cock into your dripping wet pussy. Your moans and his grunts joined by a chorus of owls, crickets, and the occasional intermittent roar of an engine and shine of headlights from cars passing by just quickly enough to not be certain what they may have just observed at the side of the road.

And that was just the beginning. Since that first date, in addition to all of the "typical" dates spent out at restaurants or cooking at home and watching Netflix while cuddling on the couch, there were numerous outings where he found himself taken to places or doing things he's never dreamed of. Fucking hidden in the darkness of the back row of a movie theater was very exciting but nothing compared to fucking in front of a bunch of strangers in a porno movie theater. Going to strip clubs and buying lap dances for you as opposed to him was a great change from just going with the guys, especially as the dancers seemed to be very loose with you. Handjobs under the table of fancy restaurants while you whispered in his ear about the dirty things you wanted to do with the hot little waitress became a favorite of his. He'd even started to become a little more confident about the "rough stuff" you kept pushing him to do since you got engaged, but he was still holding back.

He often referred to you as a "free spirit" because of your apparent lack of shame or modesty when it came to these matters of the flesh. But he didn't know that the "freedom" was an illusion. You weren't "free". Quite the opposite. You belonged to Me. It was My time spent training you and your desire to please Me that had developed the courage of conviction you needed to go forward with those "wild side" experiences he had grown to love. Even in the beginning of your relationship, it was Me that told you to go out with him and that IF you were to fuck him that night, it would have to be at a particular spot on the way home where you could potentially be seen. He had no idea.

What's more, YOU had no idea that I was watching you from a discrete distance that first night to make sure all went well. Nor did you see me in the back of the porno theater while the old perverted "regulars" gathered around stroking their small, semi-hard dicks as you two, following My orders from earlier in the day, fucked in the glow if the large screen. You didn't know that I'd already paid "a little extra" to some of the strippers before you two arrived at the club I'd sent you to so that they would be looser with the rules about touching during your dances. I enjoyed training you, watching your progress and ensuring that, when you found a partner who could give you both the emotional support and stability of a "normal" relationship while still giving you the "freedom" you need to continue to pursue your desires, the correct steps would be taken to ease him into your world gradually, allowing him to begin to bloom in the same way you did when we first began.

And now, here we are. Your wedding night. Your honeymoon suite. Your new husband still standing by the door watching you approach Me, your hips swaying in your sexy white wedding dress. It has all come to this.

You reach My chair and look down at Me. My eyes lock on yours in a burning stare and you visibly shiver in anticipation. I look at you, look down at the floor in front of My chair, and look back up. Without a word you understand. You slowly lower yourself to your knees. Now, looking up at Me you wait.

Your new husband can't believe what he's seeing.

"Brittany, hon? What the hell are you doing?" He starts to take a step forward and I raise My voice slightly for the first time. "Stop." Though he doesn't know Me from any of the other well dressed people in the hotel's ballroom he instinctively understands that My words carry weight. He stops his march towards Me but immediately tries to speak.

"Look, man, I don't know who the fuck you are but..."

"Be quiet."

"... b...but you need to get the hell..."

"I said: Be Quiet."

"... out of here... before I... I mean, goddammit I'm gonna..."

"Brittany, dear. Tell him."

You turn, look over your shoulder and tell your husband "Be quiet! He's speaking!" and then look to Me with the eyes of a puppy dog looking for approval from its owner.

It's not that far from the truth, is it? I give a small, kind smile to you, proud of your obedience and blown away by how beautiful you look sitting on your knees in front of me. Your cheeks and your chest are bright red from both arousal and nervousness. I can see your cleavage rise and fall as you breathe heavily. I see small beads of sweat starting to form on your forehead. Your blonde hair is still immaculate, falling just midway down your elegant, sexy, swan-like neck. I love that you've kept it shorter considering that when we began our lessons it had gone down to your waist and you'd been so frightened to cut it. Your hands, which were first resting on your thighs when you knelt down, are now reflexively fidgeting with the hem of your dress as it slid up higher in this position. You've never looked more beautiful.

Your new husband on the other hand is stunned speechless. He's shifting his weight back and forth and clenching then releasing his fists like he doesn't know what to do with his body.

"Who are you?" he asks, his voice no longer loud and demanding. It's almost like a plea.

One side of My mouth twists up in a mischievous grin and I raise an eyebrow. Now we're getting somewhere. I look down at you and again I say "Tell him." You look at Me, uncertain.

"Tell him what you call Me."

You turn your head to look over your shoulder once more. "He is 'Master'."

Your groom stares at you, sure there will be further explanation, but none comes. You've already returned your gaze to Me and are rewarded with a satisfied smile.

"What do you mean, 'Master'? His name is 'Master'? What the hell kind of name is that?"

What should have been painfully obvious is taking its time to sink into the groom's brain. I decide that further demonstration is in order. "Brittany, my love?"

"Yes, Master?"

"I believe we'll have to show your husband what we mean. Stand-up."

"Yes, Master."

You oblige and return to your feet. Your long, shapely stocking covered legs and your fancy heels make you appear even taller than you are. Statuesque. Your dress, which had bunched up slightly at your waist as you knelt now exposes an inch of delectable thigh flesh above the top of each stocking in the front and the shadow of your sexy ass cheeks in the back. I stand as well. Your heaving bosom is nearly touching my chest. I feel the heat from your body.

"Take your dress off."

Your husband is stunned to see that without a second's hesitation you reach back and begin to unzip your dress. He starts to step forward and I hold out My hand, palm up wordlessly telling him to stop. Not even knowing why, he does just that and is transfixed as he sees you slide your bridal dress down over your shapely hips and curvy ass cheeks, revealing the lacy white thong before letting the dress fall to the floor in a heap and stepping out of it.

You're looking into My eyes desperate to be commanded again. I'm looking down at your bare breasts with their hard nipples. I can see goosebumps on your skin and I know it has nothing to do with the temperature in the room. I take My hand and reach out My index finger barely touching your navel. You shudder and exhale. My finger traces its way up your belly, between your exquisite breasts, and finally arrives at your neck. Or, more specifically, your choker. I slowly and deliberately hook My finger round the "O" ring and pause for a moment. I see a faint grin on your face. I return with one of My own.

Suddenly I yank on the "O" ring of your choker, the quick tug catching you by surprise and causing you to stumble slightly. I pull you across the floor over to your stunned husband until we are standing directly in front of him. I look him in the eyes as I reach into My tuxedo pants pocket and pull out a long, black, narrow lead with a shiny silver clip and without blinking I hook it to your "O" ring. I tug down on the lead just enough to signal you to get down on your knees again and you comply like the perfectly trained slut you are.

"THIS is who I am." I tell him, and glance down. "Brittany? Take My cock out and suck it."

"Yes, Master."

You eagerly unzip my trousers, reaching in to grasp My hard member. As you pull it out, your husband's eyes widen and his mouth falls agape. This is surely not the way he thought his honeymoon was going to go down. Not with his new bride sucking another man's cock before his own which, even under these unbelievable circumstances, was beginning to twitch and swell on its own. Disturbed not only by the sight of you taking My tool slowly into your mouth but also by his body's shocking reaction to the scene, he leans back against the door for some stability. The floor and perhaps even the entire room feels unsteady around him. You don't even notice as you are fully focused on your assignment. I've rarely given you the honor of sucking your Master's cock and you want to give it your best.

You're pumping My cock with one hand while sucking it in and out of your hot mouth, the slurping noises filling the suite. Your other hand unconsciously reaches up and plays with one of your hard nipples. You've become quite the talented slut under My instruction. You take My cock out just long enough to run your tongue slowly up and down My shaft like your favorite ice cream treat before sucking it back into your hungry mouth.

Your husband is transfixed at the sight and without realizing it his hand absently slides over the growing bulge in his suit pants. His nearly naked bride sucking on a strangers cock like she's been starving for days. "She's quite the slut, isn't she?"

My voice and crass comment snaps him back to the reality of the situation and he jerks his hand away from his crotch. "How dare you..."

"Oh, I mean no disrespect. That is a high compliment, isn't it dear?"

You remove my saliva covered tool just long enough to reply "Yes, Master." and then continue your task.

"You love being told you're a slut? Being called a whore? Don't you?"

"Yes, Master."

I look at your husband and give him the same patient look a High School teacher would give one of his struggling students. "You should be grateful that I've taught her to be such a slut, you know? You've benefited many times from the lessons I've taught her. But you realize that now, don't you? It's all becoming clear now." Your hubby doesn't know what to say to this and it makes Me chuckle. "Stop."

Both you and and he freeze, unsure who I am speaking to. This amuses Me even more. This will be so much easier than I thought. I pull on the lead, pulling you forward but not up. Making you crawl on your hands and knees. I bring you up to where your face is just inches from your husband's bulge. "Now, slut, suck your groom's cock."

He stares down as you quickly pull his erection from his pants and envelop it with your soft wet lips. You've sucked his cock before, and in front of others, so in a way this is nothing new. But in another way, this is very different. Sex with you, even in the middle of a porno theater, always bordered on "making love" with a woman he cared deeply for. Someone he wanted to provide for and protect. And yet tonight, on his wedding night, the woman sucking him off suddenly feels like a stranger. A horny, slutty, uninhibited, insatiable stranger. And he liked it. As we both knew he would.