The Temptation of Sinful Cynthia

His smirk faded, and he shrugged. "That's understandable," he said after a weighty pause, then cracked a fresh grin, one more playful than confident. "I should have known that Sinful Cynthia wouldn't be an easy catch. That's part of what made you alluring when we were kids, after all." He then turned his back to her, and began to make his way back to the hotel room door, still self-possessed, still using that cocky saunter.

Cynthia watched him, her mind racing in time with her heart. He backed off right away, something that wasn't in keeping with the mental memory of who Vandal was in high school. If the roles were reversed, would Brad have done the same? Whatever he was back in high school, Vandal was giving her the impression he respected consent now, and while that didn't necessarily make him a good person, it did imply that if she was to give in to his temptation.... "Wait," Cynthia told him, pushing herself off of the vanity. She bit her lip, eyes going to the door. "If Brad is going to treat me like a trophy," she said, eventually, carefully, making sure her thoughts matched her words, "Then I want to prove to myself, at least, that I'm not."

Vandal had frozen in mid-step when Cynthia spoke up, and now he was turning back to her, wearing that arrogant smirk that made her want to rub her thighs together again. "So what are you telling me, Sinful Cynthia?" he asked, his voice suggesting that he already knew the answer.

Cynthia turned her ass towards him, and bent over the surface of her vanity. "Kitten wants her pussy fucked by Daddy," she purred, her confidence growing as she committed herself to betraying Brad, "Send me down the aisle to my husband with a cunny full of another man's cum, please Daddy."

What came next was a flurry of activity. Vandal didn't waste any time, coming towards her to wrap one strong arm around her waist, pulling her ass against him. It was hard to tell through the layered skirts of her wedding gown, but Cynthia thought she could feel a hardness that made her want to wear her own triumphant smile. He wanted her, and was hungry for her, and the sense of power she had over "Daddy" flooded into her like a balm. His free hand gripped the bodice of her dress and yanked it down, letting her modest breasts pop free. He squeezed one of her mounds, as he pulled her back against his chest, his fingers finding her hard little nipple even as he buried his face in the crook of her neck, his teeth nibbling on the muscle of Cynthia's shoulder. She sighed, relaxing into the large man's arms, letting him have her way and relishing that sweet surrender.

Held against Vandal's broad chest, his hands went to Cynthia's chest, tweaking and tugging at her nipples, holding the soft little mounds in the palm of his hands. "Oh, Daddy," Cynthia sighed, melting against him, reaching up to wrap her arms around Vandal's neck. Every twitch of his fingers sent a thrill of pleasure through her, with a delicious flicker of sweet pain with every pinch and twist. She rubbed her ass against his crotch, hoping to catch another fleeting taste of his hardness, and trying to stir him forward. Vandal was confident, dominant, so unlike her fiance, who was like a energetic, eager to please puppy in bed. The fact that she had driven him so wild made Cynthia feel more attractive and sexy than she had in years.

He pushed her forward, back onto the vanity, and Cynthia gratefully gripped the surface while Vandal pulled at the skirt of her gown. Throwing a wad of bunched up fabric over the small of her back, Cynthia moaned, feeling the cool air against her stocking-clad legs and ass. She watched in the mirror as Vandal all but ripped off her lacy wedding night thong, and they moaned together as he pressed the smooth head of his cock against her pussylips, teasing them both. Cynthia became aware of just how wet and thirsty she was for this man. She was thinking about how much foreplay she needed from Brad, when it struck her- their entire repartee was a kind of foreplay, wasn't it? This man that she had dismissed as an arrogant, horny meathead in high school had made her more aroused with a little teasing and flirting than her fiance ever had.

"Beg for Daddy, Kitten," Vandal told her, his voice thick with desire as he rubbed his cockhead on her pussy. The sensation against her labia made Cynthia shiver, and she realized how badly she needed to be penetrated, right down to her core. "Oh please, Daddy," she moaned, pushing her hips back against him, hungry for him, "Give Kitten what she needs, Daddy. Violate your Kitten on her wedding day, please!"

Vandal wanted her just as badly, it seemed, because he didn't need much more encouragement. She could feel his fingers on her pussylips, gently prying her open, and the feeling of his cock on her inner sex made her gasp with pleasure. As he eased his cock down into her depths, Cynthia let out a long, low sigh, as if releasing some kind of pressure she didn't realize was building up inside her. He filled her beautifully, her pussy eagerly accepting his thick cock. She could feel his shaft rub against that one special spot deep inside, that made her shiver and arch her back, and when he wrapped one huge hand against her delicate, exposed throat, she gasped again in pleasure. "Please, Daddy," she begged, her eyes shut tight so her entire world was composed solely of sound and sensation.

Whatever she was begging for, Cynthia loved what she got. Vandal's thrusts were controlled and steady, unyielding, the frantic groping giving way to his confident control now that he had his Kitten in his grasp. Every plunge into her pussy seemed to penetrate deeper than the last, and Cynthia was lost, carried away on wave after wave of pleasure as she gave herself away to this man. The vanity was rattling, banging against the wall with every movement of their hips, Vandal pistoning his rigid cock into the bride's disloyal sex, while Cynthia rocked back to eagerly meet every one of his thrusts.

Cynthia forced her eyes open, wanting to see the handsome man she was lusting for violate her. The image in the mirror seemed to be of two strangers. She had never seen herself aroused before, and hadn't realized her eyes were watering with the intensity of their coupling, streaking her mascara even more than before. Vandal appeared to be in a fury, his face twisted in animalistic hunger as he used her body, one hand on her hip and one had holding her by the throat like she was a prey animal, and he the predator. Their eyes met, and Vandal's face contorted into a sneering grin. He raised his free hand, and swiftly slapped the bride's jiggling ass, sending a sharp spike of sweet pain through Cynthia's body. She let out a surprised noise, halfway between a bark and a moan, and blushed to hear it.

Her climax crept up on her like a stalking animal. Soon, Cynthia was seized in it's jaws, groaning in pleasure as the powerful orgasm shuddered through her body, reducing her entire world into nothing but her body and his. "Daddy," she heard herself panting, repeating it like a chant, "Daddy, daddy, daddy, oooh yes daddy, daddy!" She could feel the slickness running down her legs as she squirted uncontrollably, her fluids soaking them both.

Vandal wasn't long behind her. With a wordless roar of pleasure from him, Cynthia felt something hot and sticky invade her pussy, gushing into her. She shut her eyes again, exulting in the feeling, a sort of trembling warm gratification that she had managed to please him. That he was cumming into her raw make everything seem even more exciting, and briefly she wondered if she would catch from this, if her first child would have Brad's blue eyes, or Vandal's brown. The dark, hungry eyes of her Daddy... if that was she wanted him to be after today.

She heard a faint scraping near her head, not realizing she had all but collapsed on the vanity after her climax, and opened her eyes again to see that Vandal had picked a tube of lipstick out from the cosmetics that had been scattered around. He popped off the cap and twisted the base, and with a blush Cynthia realized his cock was still buried inside her, that her Daddy was capable of acting so casual and in control after they had fucked like animals in her wedding dress and he was still buried inside her. She felt the cold kiss of the lipstick on her thigh, as Vandal wrote something there, before clapping the lid back in place and tossing the tube down on the vanity next to her. "You look like you need to get cleaned up," he said, giving her an arrogant grin as he eased his cock out of the desecrated bride-to-be. Cynthia moaned as she felt the fresh glut of semen seeping out of her freshly used sex, and she barely registered Vandal wiping the fluid off his wonderful cock onto her petticoat before lowering her skirts over the mess he had made of her.

"Who's fault is that?" Cynthia shot back, before shivering with the aftershock of her powerful climax. "That was... incredible, Daddy. I haven't been fucked like that..." she trailed off as she thought, "...Maybe ever."

Vandal chuckled in response. "I could tell," he said simply, "See you at the ceremony, sinful Cynthia." He reached forward, and grasped her chin again, running a thumb almost tenderly over her cheek, before releasing her and turning away.

And just like that, he was gone. Having gotten what he wanted, having used her as only a man like that could use a woman, he immediately moved on. Cynthia wondered briefly if that was another manipulation, dismissing her so thoroughly so she would eagerly crawl back to him like a lost pet, before she decided it didn't matter. She gave him what he wanted, and she was rewarded with an incredible climax and a pussy full of cum for her wedding day. And maybe she would want to crawl back to him. She thought that she could develop a taste for that kind of surrender.

Pulling up her dress over her breasts once again, Cynthia turned and lifted her skirt to see what Vandal had written on her. It was a single word, "Daddy", followed by a ten digit number. Grinning, Cynthia bent towards her purse, hunting out her phone to add Vandal's number to her contacts. After a brief debate, she took a photo of her thigh. She might some use out of that memento later, when she wanted to remember what just occurred. She let the skirt drop without cleaning the writing off. Now, she just had to make sure Brad was drunk enough that when bedding time rolled around, he didn't notice that another man had written on her. The thought of fucking her husband for the first time as a married couple with the number written on her made her pulse race anew.

By the time Sara returned, hesitantly knocking at the hotel room door, Cynthia had mostly gotten herself back in order. She couldn't do much about the sexual fluids soaked into her dress and lingerie, but with a little luck later on Brad would think any odour was just a result of her own arousal and an evening of sweat. The cosmetics had been set aright, and with a little luck the maid of honour would just think that Cynthia had endured a really good cry.

But Cynthia knew better. As the assistants and bridal party returned to the room to fuss over her again, she could only blush and smile, thinking of the secret she held between her legs, and the Daddy she could call on at need.