Impatient Stranger Takes Eager Wedding Guest

Rhys slammed Cordelia’s wrists above her head against the humming ice machine. His other hand clamped her waist and yanked her flush against the hard, impatient line of his cock.

The cold metal bit into her spine. The packed wedding reception thundered just beyond the swinging door—laughter, glasses, a DJ’s bass thumping through the wall—and she was already drenched, panties clinging, thighs slick, breath leaving her in one silent rush as he shoved a thick thigh between hers and pinned her there like he owned the corridor. She couldn’t move. She didn’t want to.

His mouth found her ear. Not a kiss. A low, hot, deliberate observation pressed right against the shell of it, wet breath and nothing louder. “You’re dripping already. I can feel it through that little dress. You were sitting at that table thinking about this, weren’t you? Getting your cunt messy while they cut the cake.”

The hand at her waist dragged down and up under the hem, hooked her panties aside without ceremony, and two fingers drove straight into her. She was so wet the sound was obscene even over the ice machine’s rattle—a slick, greedy squelch that made her hips jerk forward onto his hand. He worked her hard and fast, palm grinding her clit, fingers curling against the front wall, stretching her open while his other hand kept her wrists crushed to the metal. Her knees wanted to buckle. His thigh didn’t let them.

“Fuck. Look at you. Making a mess of my hand in a service hallway.” His lips brushed the rim of her ear on every syllable. “You’d let me wreck you with the door swinging, wouldn’t you? Let me bend you over the ice bin while your cousin’s out there giving a toast.”

Cordelia’s head thunked back against the machine. A sound tried to climb out of her throat and she bit it back so hard her jaw ached. He felt it—she knew he felt it, because his fingers went faster, his palm went harder, and then he tore his mouth from her ear and took her mouth instead.

It wasn’t gentle. It was teeth clashing and his tongue shoving past hers, the taste of champagne and the salt of his sweat, spit slicking both their chins. The moan she’d been strangling finally broke loose and died in his throat, swallowed whole, his mouth the only thing keeping it from carrying down the hall. She kissed him back greedy and graceless, sucking his tongue, biting his lip, grinding her cunt down onto his knuckles while he fucked three fingers into her now, stretching her, the wet running down to his wrist. He kissed her until she couldn’t breathe through her nose fast enough, until her lungs burned, until her whole mouth was swollen and slick with him. Then he dragged his lips off hers, down her jaw, and sealed them back against her ear.

“Quiet,” he hissed. “You’re so fucking tight. Gripping my fingers like you’re scared I’ll stop.” His thumb mashed her clit in tight circles and her cunt clenched on him hard enough that he grunted, low, right into her ear. “Feel that? That little clit’s so swollen I can feel it twitching under my thumb. You need to get filled. I can smell it on you. I could smell it across the fucking table.”

Each sentence landed like a stroke. She clenched on every word, pussy fluttering around his fingers in frantic little pulses, slick running down her inner thighs and gathering behind her knees. The ice machine vibrated against her pinned wrists. Footsteps passed somewhere down the hall and she went rigid, every muscle locked, listening—and he didn’t slow down, didn’t even pause, just curled his fingers harder and dragged his thumb slower, and the footsteps faded, and she sagged against him, soaked and shaking, hips rolling onto his hand like she couldn’t help it. Sweat was gathering in the dip of her collarbone. Her nipples ached against the thin fabric of the dress, hard enough to hurt.

“That’s it. Ride my fingers. Get them sopping.” His breath was coming faster now, hotter, and she could feel the hard pulse of him jammed against her hip through his trousers, a hot bar of pressure that twitched every time she clenched. “I’m going to lift you up and put my cock in this slick little hole and you’re going to take it without a sound. Nod if you understand.”

She nodded against the metal.

He yanked his fingers out. They gleamed in the ugly fluorescent light. He shoved them between her lips and she sucked them clean without being asked, tasting herself—salt and musk and heat—moaning around them as quietly as she could, tongue working the webbing between his fingers. He watched her do it with his jaw tight, eyes gone black, and then he slid his fingers out of her mouth, dragging a wet line down her chin, and let go of her wrists.

Her arms dropped. The hand that had just been in her mouth went flat against her stomach, pinning her to the ice machine, and the other went to his belt.

She watched him do it one-handed. Buckle. Button. The zipper’s teeth parting, loud as a scream in the tiny space. He grabbed her hem and hauled it up over her hips, baring her to the fluorescent light—soaked panties still dragged aside where he’d left them, the swollen pink of her showing at the edge of the lace. Then he shoved his trousers and briefs down, just below his hips, the waistband snagging high on his thighs, and his cock sprang free, thick and dark and already shining at the tip, bobbing heavy against the bare skin of her lower belly. The heat of it shocked her. It left a wet smear just above her mound where it touched, and he didn’t let her look for long. He stepped back half a pace and dragged his thigh out from between hers—her legs nearly folded without it—then crouched, ripped her panties down one leg and left them dangling off her ankle, and before she could find her balance his hands were under her ass, fingers digging into the flesh, hauling her up.

Her legs locked around his waist on instinct. He turned, two short hobbled steps with his trousers binding his thighs, and slammed her back against the wall beside the ice machine hard enough to knock a clipboard off its nail. Her shoulder blades hit plaster. His cock dragged along the drenched seam of her, once, twice, the blunt head catching on her clit and making her hips buck—and his hands were full of her ass, so she did it herself, one arm hooking up around his neck while the other hand dove between them, wrapped around the hot thick weight of him, and dragged the head down until she felt him notch against her entrance. Hot. Blunt. Leaking. He held her there for one breath, his forehead against her temple, his mouth at her ear.

“Not a sound.”

He didn’t ease in. He pinned her to the wall with the whole weight of his hips and drove up in one brutal standing thrust that punched the air out of her lungs and stretched her wide, her hand yanked out of the way just in time, her cunt grabbing him in a greedy spasm, wet enough that he bottomed out with a muffled slap of skin on skin. The size of him knocked the breath clean out of her a second time. She was full. Too full. Her mouth fell open against his jaw and nothing came out but a thin thread of breath.

She turned her head, found his mouth and bit his lower lip to stay quiet, hard, until she tasted copper. He let her for one second, then tore his mouth free of her teeth with a wet sound and dragged it hot and open down her cheek to her ear.

“Jesus. You’re running down my balls.” His voice was shot, scraped raw, barely more than breath. “Clenching like you want to milk it out of me right here. Tight little wedding-guest cunt, taking it against the wall while they’re out there dancing.”

Then he moved.

He pulled his hips back slow, the ridge of the head dragging along every inch of her, and she felt it—felt the vacuum of him leaving, the obscene wet suck of her body trying to hold on. He held her there, her ass in his hands and her back flat to the plaster, just the tip stretching her open, and then he rammed his hips forward. The stretch was so sudden her eyes lost focus, her cunt forced wide around the thick base of him, her clit grinding into the coarse hair at his groin. The slap of it was wet and heavy. He flinched at the sound and shifted his grip, hitching her higher up the wall, trying to smother it—but there was no smothering it. Every time he drove into her, her slick made a sound like a boot pulled out of mud, and he fucked her through it anyway, teeth gritted, breath hissing through his nose.

Her shoulder blades scraped the wall with every stroke. Plaster dust caught in her hair. Her arms locked around his neck and her heels dug into his lower back, dragging him in on every thrust, and she could feel everything—how hard he was, how he throbbed inside her on the pull-out, how the veins along his shaft dragged against her inner walls, how her own slick had coated him root to tip and was running down to soak the bunched waistband of the trousers wedged at his thighs. He drove in. She clenched down. In. Down. The angle hit something deep and mean inside her and her thighs started to twitch. His fingers were going to leave bruises on her ass. She hoped they would.

The door to the reception swung once, letting in a burst of music and someone shrieking with laughter, and settled.

He didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow. He just pressed his mouth harder to her ear and kept going, low and vicious. “You feel that? Hot. Sloppy. You’re gripping me so hard I can feel you flutter every time you hear that door.” He drove in and held it there, deep, grinding. “You like it. You like knowing anybody could walk through and see you spread open on my cock with your panties round your ankle.”

Her cunt clenched so hard around him he grunted into her hair.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “That’s what I thought. Made to get used in a hallway.”

Her thighs were shaking now, properly shaking, the muscles burning from holding on. He felt it. He hitched her up, cock still buried to the hilt, and pivoted off the wall—two staggering, lurching steps, swinging her round so her back was to the counter, the trousers hobbling his thighs so badly he nearly went down with her—and they crashed onto the nearby stainless edge.

A prep counter, waist-high and unforgiving. Her bare ass hit the steel and the cold shot straight up through her like ice water. She jolted. The impact drove him even deeper and a tray of something slid off the far end and hit the floor with a clatter that rang off every hard surface in the corridor.

They froze.

He was still inside her, pulsing. Her legs were still locked around him. Neither of them breathed. She stared at the swinging door over his shoulder, at the sliver of light under it, listening past the roar of her own pulse for footsteps, for a voice, for the squeak of a hinge. Somebody out there laughed. The bass kept thumping. Nobody came.

His breath came back against her ear, ragged. “Still want it?”

She dug her heels into his ass and dragged him in.

He braced one hand flat on the steel beside her hip, shoved the other between them and found her clit with two fingers, and started again—harder. No more long strokes. Short, vicious, hammering thrusts that barely left her, that skidded her ass across the slick metal and slammed it back against the lip of the counter until the edge bit into her cheeks and her whole body jolted on the steel. The wet slap of it was constant now, a filthy rhythm he’d given up trying to hide. Her slick was pooling on the metal beneath her. She could feel it, cold and slippery under her ass, smearing wider every time he rammed into her.

“Come on it.” His lips never left her ear. The words came hot and fast and hissed between his teeth. “Silent. I want to feel you lock up and drench my cock while they walk by. Don’t you dare scream.” His fingers mashed her clit in brutal circles. “You’re so fucking wet. You’re making the counter wet. You’re going to come in a hallway on a cock you barely know and you’re going to do it with your mouth shut—”

She was already there.

The orgasm hit like a seizure—violent, internal, nowhere to go. Her cunt clamped down so hard it hurt, pulsing in deep, wrenching spasms that squeezed him with every beat, slick gushing around him and running down onto the steel. Her abs locked. Her thighs trembled. Sweat broke across her chest. The scream clawed up her throat and she turned her head, found the join of his neck and shoulder, yanked his collar aside with her teeth and bit down. Skin. Muscle. She bit until she felt it give under her teeth, until her jaw screamed with it, until he flinched hard and jerked into her with a strangled hiss.

He didn’t stop fucking her. He kept driving into her while she convulsed, his shoulder clamped in her jaw, her whole body shaking apart around him, and his mouth stayed welded to her ear.

“That’s it. That’s it. Fuck, you’re crushing me. Keep going, keep coming, give me all of it—” His voice broke and he dragged it back down to a hiss. “Good girl. So fucking good. Bite harder. Don’t let it out. Come all over me, let it run down—Jesus, you’re still going—”

She was. It rolled through her in wave after wave, each one pulled tighter by the drag of his cock, by the bruising grind of his fingers on her clit, by the hot stream of words pouring into her ear. Her teeth stayed in him. The copper taste of him was in her mouth now. She shook and shook, silent, cunt flooding him, slick dripping off the lip of the counter and spattering on the floor between his shoes.

He followed with his teeth clenched so hard she heard them creak. No sound. Just a long, strangled breath forced out through his nose against her hair, his hips slamming once, twice, grinding deep as he emptied into her, cock kicking inside her in hard pulses she could count, filling her hot until it had nowhere to go and leaked out around the seal of their bodies. His hand on the counter shook. His whole body locked against her, rigid, every muscle straining to stay quiet while he came.

They stayed like that.

Panting through their noses. Her legs still wrapped around him, ankles crossed at the small of his back, the panties still swinging off one of them. His cock still twitching inside her, softening slow. Both of them dripping—her slick, his cum, a hot slow slide running out of her and down the crack of her ass onto the cold steel beneath them.

Footsteps passed inches away on the other side of the swinging door. Someone laughed. A tray clattered. A voice called for more champagne.

Cordelia’s teeth were still in his shoulder. She unclenched her jaw slowly and saw the ring of marks she’d left in his skin, already purpling, two of them beaded with blood. She didn’t unclamp her legs. He didn’t pull out. The ice machine hummed. The reception thundered on.

His cum slid out of her onto the stainless steel and spread, white and thick, toward the edge.