Wedding Night Rites

**Chapter 1: Unveiled Traditions**

The hotel room was a haze of champagne fumes and the heady scent of roses, the bed a sprawling altar of crisp white sheets. My new wife, Becky, stood before me, her blond hair cascading over her shoulders, her emerald eyes glinting with a mix of anticipation and raw desire at 25. She was a vision in her sheer lace lingerie, the fabric clinging to her curves like a second skin. I, still in my tuxedo shirt, felt my pulse hammer as I watched her, my body already responding to the promise of our wedding night.

The door clicked open, and in strode my mother, Evelyn, a statuesque woman with a commanding presence and a smirk that could cut glass. Her dark hair was swept into a severe bun, and her eyes, sharp as knives, surveyed the room. 'Tradition, my dears,' she purred, her voice a velvet blade. 'A groom’s mother must inspect the bride. Ensure she’s… fit for purpose.'

Becky raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a sly grin. 'Inspect me? Evelyn, I’m not a damn racehorse. But if you’re so keen to play, let’s see how you handle the reins.' Her tone was pure steel, laced with a challenge that made my blood run hotter.

Evelyn chuckled, a low, throaty sound. 'Oh, darling, I’ve broken in wilder fillies than you. Let’s get that pretty wrapping off.' With deft fingers, she began to peel away Becky’s lingerie, each piece falling to the floor with a whisper. Becky stood unashamed, her skin glowing under the soft light, her gaze locked on mine, daring me to look away. I couldn’t. I was already hard, aching, my cock straining against my trousers as I lay back on the bed, watching this surreal dance unfold.

'Straddle him, Becky,' Evelyn commanded, her hands guiding my wife with a firm grip on her hips. Becky complied, but not without a quip. 'Careful, Evelyn. I bite if the ride gets too rough.' She swung a leg over me, her thighs strong and warm as they framed my hips. I groaned, the heat of her so close, her pussy hovering just above me, already glistening, wet with anticipation.

Evelyn knelt behind her, her presence a dark shadow of authority. She reached down, her fingers brushing my cock as she grasped the tip, guiding it with a precision that made me grit my teeth. 'Let’s make sure this fits just right,' she murmured, her voice dripping with wicked intent. As she aligned me, her fingers spread Becky’s pussy open, two digits parting her folds with a slick sound that drove me wild. I felt the brush of her touch against my shaft as I slid inside, the heat of Becky’s body enveloping me, tight and dripping.

'Fuck, you’re a meddler, Evelyn,' Becky gasped, her voice sharp even as her body shuddered with the penetration. 'But I’ll be damned if you don’t know your angles.' She rocked her hips, taking me deeper, her ass grinding against me with a rhythm that had me panting already.

Evelyn’s hands slid up Becky’s torso, her fingers finding her nipples and squeezing hard. Becky’s head tipped back, a moan tearing from her lips as her body arched. 'That’s it, let go,' Evelyn whispered, her tone almost tender if not for the predatory edge. Becky came with a cry, her inner walls clenching around me, her body trembling as I fought to hold on, sweating with the effort.

But Evelyn wasn’t done. Her eyes met mine over Becky’s shoulder, a glint of something feral in them. 'Your turn, son. I want to feel you, missionary style. And Becky, darling, you’re on breast duty.' Her command was a whip-crack, and Becky smirked, her breath still ragged. 'Oh, I’ll suck those tits raw, Evelyn. Just don’t expect me to beg for seconds.'

As Evelyn positioned herself beneath me, her legs parting with a brazen invitation, and Becky leaned in, her lips already seeking skin, I knew this night was about to ignite into something beyond forbidden—a firestorm of lust, wet and wild, waiting to consume us all.