50. Stefan
50
STEFAN
“Good morning, wife,” I call out as I enter the penthouse suite. It’s not as grand as the one we shared with Fern and Bradford, but I didn’t want roommates on my wedding night, and I’m glad because last night was off-the-charts erotic. Who knew my wife was such a sex fiend?
Dropping the shopping bag by the door, I walk farther into the room with breakfast. I want to start married life with my balls intact, so I ducked out to get coffee and OJ. We all know Wren doesn’t function until she’s had her morning glass of OJ and her coffee.
“W-w-w-wife?” she stammers.
Nodding, I walk over to her and place a kiss on her lips. Grabbing the juice from the tray, I hold it up. “Drink this and once you’ve had your bitch juice and debitch, we can talk.”
“Can’t you just call it juice, like a normal fucking person? And I’m not a bitch, no sane person likes mornings. Whoever invented them should be shot and then boiled in a vat of pig shit.”
“Case in point, wife, you’re bitchy first thing in the morning.”
“I’m not bitchy; I’m just hungover. And stop calling me wife.”
“Would you prefer ball and chain? Missus? Other half? Old lady? Nah, that won’t work. I’m not a biker dude and you’re not old. How about?—”
“Just shut up and give me my juice.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Twisting off the lid, I pop in a straw and finally hand it to her.
“Thanks,” she whispers and when she wraps her lips around the straw. I’m accosted with a memory of her in the shower last night … or was it early this morning?
…Wren is on her knees staring up at me. Water cascades over her shoulders, and I watch the rivulets track between her breasts. She has her hand on my cock and is pumping my dick like her life depends on it. Then she leans forward, kisses the tip, and covers the head with her mouth. She pumps the base and wraps her gorgeous lips around my shaft.
Shaking away that thought, I readjust my hardening dick but when I notice the ring on her finger, I’m transported back to the shower.
…The ring on her finger sparkles in the light and I smile.
My wife is giving me a blow job and life is great. She takes my dick to the back of her throat, and the sound of her gagging is music to my ears. “Wife, you suck my dick like a champ. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life gagging you and getting blow jobs from you.”
She murmurs her agreement around my shaft, and then she relaxes her throat and takes it all. Her nose presses into my stomach, and the feeling is indescribable. She squeezes my balls and it’s game over. Grunting, I spill my seed down her throat. She sucks every last drop. My cock pops out of her mouth and she wipes at the corner, my gaze catches on her ring and I can’t help but smile. She’s mine.
Once again, I find myself grinning and Wren stares at me. She drops her gaze to where I’m staring and her eyes widen. She flicks her gaze from her ring finger to me to my ring finger and back again. Placing the empty juice bottle on the coffee table, she asks, “What happened last night?”
“We got married,” I tell her.
“I figured that but, umm, how? How the fuck did we get to that point? The last thing I remember is heading to the lobby bar with you after Simon hit me at dinner.” Simon fucking Simon . I want to pummel that asshole’s face again. Apparently, he hit her because she refused to blow him. Not that I blame him; Wren is fantastic at that, but no means no and she’s mine. Literally. Now I have the piece of paper to prove it.
“While you drink your coffee, I’ll fill you in.”
She picks up her coffee, and I open the paper bag. Reaching in, I grab a pain au chocolat—we are at the Paris Hotel now, so a French breakfast is called for—and hand it to her. Grabbing mine, I drop onto the sofa next to her.
Nibbling on her breakfast, she tucks her legs underneath her. The sheet slips open, giving me an unobstructed view of her tits. Tits that I remember losing myself in just a few hours ago.
…Pulling down the top of her dress, I quickly unclasp her bra and flick it to the side. Cupping her tits, I lean down and suck on her nipple before I bury my face in the valley of her breasts, and I breathe in deeply. “I love your tits,” I mumble before I take the other nipple in my mouth and gently bite down. I could lose myself in her tits and that’s exactly what I do for the next few minutes.
“Stop looking at my boobs,” she snaps, readjusting the sheet to cover up her chest.
“That’s not what you were saying a few hours ago while I was sucking and nipping at them. I distinctly remember you asking me to fuck them and for me to coat your face in cum.”
“I did no such thing,” she hisses, but from the pink tinge glowing on her cheeks, she remembers me doing just that. And from the way she’s subtly pressing her thighs together; she wants it to happen again. I will happily fuck my wife’s tits anytime she wants. After all, happy wife, happy life, and what’s better than titty fucking?
Licking the crumbs off her fingers, she reaches over and grabs her coffee again. Taking a sip, she closes her eyes and savors the flavor.
“Is your coffee black like your soul enough for you?”
“Yes, it is.” She pauses and smile. “And thank you. I appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.”
A comfortable silence befalls us and we quietly sit here and drink our coffees. I can see her brain running a million miles a minute and when her face scrunches, I know it’s time to fill her in, and that thought is confirmed when she says, “Okay, tits and coffee aside, how did this”—she lifts her left hand and wiggles her ring finger—“happen?”
“When we got back to the Bellagio, you suggested a nightcap. Fern and Bradford ditched us to no doubt fuck, so you and I went into the bar off the lobby. You and I started drinking martinis, and at one point we had a drink that came covered in smoke?—”
“I remember,” she excitedly says. “It’s called a Poof! And it’s whiskey based.”
“That’s the one. Anyway, we had more than one nightcap. You went to the restroom at some point and when you came back, you were crying. You sat back down next to me and declared, ‘I need to get shitfaced drunk to forget’ and that’s what we did.”
“Did I ever tell you why I was crying?”
Nodding, I mumble, “You did.”
“And what did I tell you?”
“You told me you received a text. It was a video …”
At my words, she jumps up and searches for her phone. With trembling hands she taps the screen to wake it up and her eyes widen when it does. She turns her phone around and her lock screen image is a picture of the two of us inside the chapel. I’ve dipped her back and I’m about to kiss her. We both look drunk but we also look happy and in love. She pulls her phone back and unlocks it. Her hands fly over the screen, and I know the moment she sees the cover image of the video. Her eyes well with tears as she presses play, but I quickly jump up and snatch her phone from her. “Are you sure you want to watch it again?”
Looking at me, she tearfully nods.
Handing her back her phone, she hits play again. Standing across from her, I watch her as she stares at the screen. Simon Simon is sinking his dick into some skinny chick while a tattooed, muscular steroid junkie steps behind Simon and eats his ass before he slides his monster cock into Simon’s ass. But the most shocking part of the video? Wren is lying on the other side of them. Her eyes are closed, it looks like she’s passed out.
“I have no recollection of that night,” she sobs, then she laughs. “Simon always told me anal was disgusting.”
“Babe, I’ll fuck your ass anytime.”
She laughs. “Thanks, but that’s the last thing I’m thinking about right now.”
“What are you thinking about?”
“Why did he send this to me? And how did I go from watching my ex-boyfriend be part of a gangbang while I’m passed out to marrying you in Vegas?”
“That’s a very good question but before I answer, you need to put some clothes on and th?—”
“Bet you’ve never said that to a woman before?” she teases.
“It is a first, but I can’t concentrate on this story knowing you’re naked under that sheet, when all I want to do is tear said sheet off of you and fuck you into next week … again.”