Chapter 1: Under the Table
Carole sat at the head of the grand reception table in a posh London ballroom, her pristine wedding dress cascading around her like a frothy dream. At five feet tall, her voluptuous frame—complete with D-cup breasts—was a vision of bridal perfection, accentuated by white stockings and suspenders hidden beneath layers of silk. In her late thirties, she exuded a confident allure, her sharp green eyes scanning the room with a mix of joy and mischief. Her new husband, Richard, sat beside her, blissfully unaware of the scandal brewing under the crisp white tablecloth.
She adjusted her veil with a dainty hand, smiling at the guests clinking champagne flutes, when she felt a sudden, daring presence between her thighs. Her breath hitched, but she masked it with a polite cough. Beneath the table, hidden from the prying eyes of two hundred wedding guests, was James, the best man—a devilishly handsome rogue with a smirk that could melt steel. He’d slipped under the table during a toast, unnoticed in the chaos of celebration, and now his hands were prying her legs apart with brazen intent.
“James, you absolute bastard,” Carole hissed under her breath, her voice a sharp whisper as she leaned toward Richard, pretending to murmur sweet nothings. “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?”
His muffled chuckle vibrated against her inner thigh as he tugged her lace knickers down with a slow, deliberate pull. “Just giving the bride a proper send-off, love. Can’t let Richard have all the fun on your big day, can I?” His tone was dripping with cheeky arrogance, and she could practically see the glint in his dark eyes even from under the table.
“You’re a sodding menace,” she snapped, her lips curling into a forced smile as Aunt Mabel raised a glass in her direction. She waved back, her other hand gripping the edge of the table as James’s tongue flicked against her, teasing her with a wicked precision that made her toes curl in her satin heels. Her pussy was already responding, growing wet under his relentless attention, and she bit her lip to stifle a groan.
“Menace? Nah, I’m a bloody artist,” James quipped, his breath hot against her skin as he licked deeper, his hands firm on her thighs. “And you, Mrs. Newlywed, are my masterpiece. Christ, you’re dripping already. Didn’t think you’d be this horny on your wedding day.”
“Shut it, you prat,” she growled through gritted teeth, her voice low as she leaned into Richard again, feigning a laugh at some unheard joke. Her husband patted her hand, oblivious, while her body betrayed her, hips twitching ever so slightly under the table. “If anyone catches wind of this, I’ll have your balls on a platter.”
“Promises, promises,” James teased, his tongue swirling in a way that made her vision blur. “But let’s be honest, Carole—you’re loving every second of this. Bet Richard hasn’t got a clue how to make you squirm like I do.”
“You’re insufferable,” she shot back, her voice a strained whisper as she fought to keep her composure. Her chest heaved, the tight bodice of her dress straining against her breasts as heat pooled low in her belly. She was sweating now, a faint sheen on her brow, and she prayed no one noticed the flush creeping up her neck. The risk, the audacity of it all—it was driving her wild, and she hated how much she craved more.
James hummed against her, the vibration sending a jolt through her core. “Insufferable, maybe. But I’m about to make you cum right here, in front of your darling hubby and half of bloody London. How’s that for a wedding gift?”
Her fingers dug into the tablecloth, knuckles white, as she felt the tension building, her body teetering on the edge. She was panting now, disguising it as a series of delicate laughs, her mind racing to maintain the facade. One wrong move, one unguarded moan, and the game would be up. But as James’s tongue worked her with ruthless skill, she knew she was seconds away from an explosive release—and damn if she wasn’t ready to risk it all for that sweet, forbidden high.
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