Vicious Wedding

Diana had replayed this day in her dreams countless times... But what actually happened to her was so drastically different from her girlish fantasies that for many years afterward, she would blush from the memories, which would wash over her in a hot wave of embarrassment at the slightest hint of past madness appearing "on the horizon." Her husband thought it was from love for him, and she never tried to convince him otherwise. Fortunately, he never found out what really happened. And he still doesn't know...

...

The happiest day of Diana's life had arrived—her wedding day. And whatever anyone might say, every girl

prepares for this event since childhood: how many beautiful wedding ceremonies have been enacted in the dreams of young beauties! This day had come for her too—a charming 20-year-old girl.

Diana was like a doll: petite, with a slender waist and an appetizing butt—she worked as a fitness instructor and taught additional twerking classes, which had become very popular lately—thanks to Miley Cyrus. Despite her natural modesty and inexperience on the love front—her sexual experience was limited—she had mastered twerking to perfection. She drove a whole army of admirers (not just men) crazy—her classes resembled performances, and many filmed her erotic pop dance on their phones.

The only thing that caused the girl some inconvenience was her full breasts, too large for sports. Sometimes the sports top she usually wore for classes would ride up and her breasts would pop out. That was only half the trouble (the group consisted only of girls), but the walls of the fitness hall were glass, and anyone who felt like it passed by in the corridor. Including the men who worked out in the gym located on the same floor.

That's how she met her future husband, Arkady, by the way. Once, during class, she glanced at the glass wall of the hall where she was practicing with the girls: a man in a tracksuit was standing behind it. He looked no older than thirty. He was just standing there, watching her. Diana noticed that he kept nodding his head in a strange way.

"Does he have a tic or something?" the girl thought, "so handsome, and yet—completely nuts!" She nodded sympathetically at him. The man smiled and waved back. Then he made a strange gesture: with both hands, he pulled an imaginary T-shirt over his chest and nodded at her.

A terrible suspicion struck Diana. She quickly looked at her chest—sure enough: her firm mounds were completely exposed and were merrily bouncing in time with their owner's movements. In the heat of the workout, she hadn't noticed how the short top had once again failed her, putting her charms on full display. She blushed and quickly pulled it back into place. "He doesn't have a tic!" she was ready to cry from embarrassment and annoyance, "he was just staring at my tits!"

Diana cautiously glanced at the uninvited spectator: he was standing there, covering his eyes with his palm, and smiling. The girl turned away, and then even turned her back to him and continued the class. When it was over, she remembered the awkward incident and glanced at the glass wall of the hall.

Her immodest observer was standing there, now dressed in a decent suit, and looking at her. In his hands was a huge bouquet of flowers, in which something like a piece of paper or a card was sticking out. On it, in large letters, was written: "SORRY." And so began her romance with Arkady, which led to a happy ending—they had signed the marriage certificate that very morning.

...

This insane and sinful day began with Diana's photoshoot. Arkady had rented a luxurious three-story cottage outside the city for two days: the wedding banquet was to take place there (on the first floor), and Diana and Arkady's first wedding night—on the third.

While waiting for the guests—some of Arkady's friends were supposed to arrive later, as they lived in other cities—a photoshoot of the newlyweds was planned. The photographer who arrived—a young guy around 25, laden with photo equipment, after wandering through the halls of the cottage (its luxury reminiscent of a small medieval castle), chose the greenhouse for the shoot.

The setting was indeed very romantic, and Diana, while the photographer was setting up his mobile photo studio, twirled in front of a huge mirror hanging on one of the walls. Arkady still hadn't arrived.

Finally, he rushed in and announced that he urgently needed to leave: one of his friends was stuck halfway to the cottage due to car trouble, and he needed to go pick him up. Arkady suggested that his young wife shoot alone, and then they would make up for lost time together—fortunately, there were plenty of beautiful spots here.

Diana reluctantly agreed, and when Arkady left them, kissing his wife goodbye, the photographer began the shoot. At first, nothing was working out: Diana was sad that on such a memorable day she had to be alone, and therefore reacted sluggishly to the photographer's suggestions.

— This way we won't get anything, — he said, — it's like we're shooting a funeral, not a wedding. — The photographer thoughtfully drummed his fingers on the camera.

— Well... Sorry, — Diana said guiltily, — my mood is spoiled... Tell me what I should do, and I'll try.

— Let's do this! — the photographer suddenly exclaimed, — I suggest you be a bit naughty! We'll play a game: we'll shoot you in a risqué style! Remember those once-popular spicy photos—'pin-up girls'? Since he's not with you on such a day, let him see what he missed! It'll be your little revenge! You have no idea how happy he'll be to see you in such an erotic image!

— You think so? — Diana said doubtfully. She liked the idea immediately, but she felt awkward undressing in front of a strange man she was seeing for the first time in her life. Her cheeks turned pink.

— And besides, — the guy added, — in twenty or thirty years, looking at these photos, you'll fondly remember this experiment. We all age, sadly, but in the photos you'll remain forever young and beautiful, — he concluded. This was a compelling argument, and Diana decided.

— What should I do? — she asked readily.

— Seduce me, — the photographer said simply, — behave naturally, and in a way that makes me want you. That's the only path to success. — The guy armed himself with the camera, turned on the spotlights, and took a test shot. — Only when I say 'stop'—freeze. Then continue again. Well, let's begin!

Diana blushed. Then she decided she would imagine Arkady instead of this young guy, and she would succeed.

— Don't you have any music with you? — she asked, — it would be easier for me.

— I only have my phone, — the guy said, — though, it has a loud speaker... Wait... Here... Will this do?

A romantic melody began to play, and Diana nodded with satisfaction. She sat on a luxurious little sofa standing in the middle of the greenhouse and began to strike languid poses, caress herself, and look invitingly into the camera lens. From time to time, the guy commanded her to "stop," and she would freeze. Then the erotic game would resume again.

Diana got into the spirit and began to perform a classic striptease. She did it excellently: she had just been preparing this routine for her bachelorette party, which had taken place a few days ago very boisterously and merrily. Diana shed her wedding dress, remaining in her veil and dazzlingly white lingerie: panties, bra, and a semi-transparent garter belt to which patterned stockings were attached. Her poses became more and more revealing, and the photographer gave Diana the command to stop less and less often.

— Bra off! — he commanded, fiddling with the camera, — and turn to me in profile: I'll shoot your bust against the plants.

Diana hesitated, but then thought she had already gone too far anyway. And Arkady, seeing his beloved naked, would only be pleased. She unfastened the clasp and slowly removed the bra. Her breasts, now unrestricted, swayed, and Diana shyly covered them with her hand: after all, she wasn't ready to display herself naked to a strange man.

— Hands behind your head, and arch your back! — said the photographer, and the girl was forced to obey. Her perfect breasts lifted, and the photographer stared at them, stopping shooting. Under his frank gaze, her nipples stiffened, and Diana flushed crimson.

— Take your breasts from the sides, squeeze them, and lean forward a little, — said the photographer. His voice grew hoarse.

Diana complied with his request. Then she sat on the sofa, placed her hands on her knees, and began to slowly spread them apart, looking into the lens. A sexual smile wandered across her face.

— Can you do the splits? — The photographer kept clicking the shutter. The guy's voice was completely hoarse.

— I'm a fitness instructor, — Diana said with some pride, then leaned back on the sofa back and spread her legs wide apart.

— Well, why aren't you shooting? — Diana fidgeted on the sofa. She felt uncomfortable under his probing gaze.

The guy raised the camera and began shooting Diana from different angles, constantly returning to her crotch. Diana liked the effect her naked body was having on the young guy. She began to strike even more explicit poses, turning to him, now front, now back. She noticed that the photographer was increasingly pressing his hand between his legs, and she became completely mischievous. She spread her legs wide, lowered her hand to her panties, and began to massage herself, looking into the guy's eyes and smiling playfully.

The photographer knelt before her and began frantically clicking the shutter. Diana got into the spirit. The gentle touches began to feel pleasant to her too, and, moving her panties aside, she began to deeply pleasure herself.

— Take them off, — the guy croaked. He was watching Diana's movements point-blank. His voice was no longer obeying him.

— Better you take them off me, — said Diana, and looked at the guy with a long gaze.

The bride lifted her legs up, and the guy noticed her completely uncovered pussy between them. It was glistening wetly from arousal. He put the camera on the floor and with one motion pulled off her panties. Diana spread her legs into a split, parted the entrance to her vagina, and inserted a finger inside. She began to shamelessly finger herself, oblivious to anyone around. The guy unzipped his fly and slipped his hand inside: his cock had long been standing at attention. Diana opened her eyes and shouted:

— Well, why aren't you shooting? I'm about to cum, and you'll miss everything! Shoot!

The guy aimed the camera at her crotch and began taking serial shots. Her fingers began to move faster, her breathing quickened, Diana suddenly arched and moaned loudly. She convulsed several times and fell still. For a while, the surrounding space ceased to exist for her. Finally opening her eyes, she saw the photographer in front of her: he was standing with his pants down, staring point-blank at her crotch, and polishing his modest-sized dick.

— Hey! What are you doing? — Diana quickly squeezed her thighs together and covered her breasts with her hand. — Where's your professional ethics? This is your job, isn't it? The girl began to frantically get dressed, — turn away! Don't look at me!

After getting dressed and checking in the mirror that everything was in order, Diana turned to the photographer: the guy was still standing near the sofa with his pants down. His cock was pointing at the ceiling. He was squeezing it with his hand, afraid to move unnecessarily. The guy looked at Diana and said:

— You... got pleasure and... Came... Both from the photoshoot and from... The process. I told you—arouse me, and you succeeded... As you can see. And what am I supposed to do now? — the photographer asked, almost crying.

Diana returned and sat on the sofa in front of him.

— And... What do you want from me? — She asked, vaguely guessing what he was getting at. She looked up at him, but besides his erect cock, she saw nothing.

— Suck me off, — said the guy.

— No, — said Diana and shook her head negatively, — and don't even dream about it! And when, by the way, did we switch to 'you'? — she wondered.

— Ask yourself, — said the guy. He was kneading his cock right in front of her face.

— Oh, yes... Indeed... I remember. Sorry... Sorry. I wasn't myself... Well, you understand.

— I want to be not myself too, — said the guy, — I want to be inside you, — he authoritatively took her hand and placed it on his cock.

Diana wanted to pull her hand away, but he held it. The girl sighed resignedly and squeezed his organ. It began to move in her hand, then he released her—Diana continued on her own. From time to time, she spat on the head, rubbed the moisture with her fingers, and continued working with her hand.

She understood that it was easier to let him cum than to explain that it wasn't a bride's job to jerk off the wedding photographer on her wedding day. But deep down, she knew she was doing the right thing: it was her own fault for getting the guy so worked up. In the end, it was nothing special—so what, she jerked him off... It's not a blowjob, after all.

The guy tensed up, a clear stream appeared from the tip, and then Diana realized with horror that she had no idea where this hapless photographer was supposed to cum. God forbid even a drop got on the dress, veil, or hair—she wouldn't last an hour with such compromising evidence: either she'd be found out, or she'd give herself away.

The guy's cock pulsed, and Diana understood he was about to cum. She quickly inserted his cock into her mouth and deeply sucked it in, looking around fearfully for an ashtray or some container to spit out the result of her efforts: the last thing she needed was to spend the entire wedding evening with her beloved and someone else's sperm in her stomach.

Suddenly the door to the greenhouse opened, and Zinaida Stepanovna—her mother-in-law, Arkady's mother—appeared in the doorway. Her husband's parents didn't like her much. Zinaida Stepanovna called Diana a "flirt," and Arkady's father, Gennady Petrovich, even called her an "ass-shaker." The last people Diana wanted to see right now were her husband's parents. Well, and Arkady himself, of course.

— Well, what's going on here? — The mother-in-law didn't see Diana; the photographer, standing with his back to the entrance door, was blocking her view.

At that second, streams of sperm hit her throat. Diana choked and began to quickly swallow, trying not to spill a drop on herself. She quickly sucked him dry, cupped the head with her palm, and peeked out from behind the guy.

— Aunt Zina, everything's fine here! We just finished the shoot, — Diana said loudly and licked her lips. Her lips were sticky and swollen.

— Come on down, we're waiting for you, — said Zinaida Stepanovna, and looked at Diana strangely. The girl gave her an encouraging smile.

— I'm coming now! — she said, quickly swallowing the cloudy warm drops.

The mother-in-law left and closed the door behind her. The bride caught her breath. "Seems like I got away with it," she thought. Diana opened her palm: it was covered in sperm. The girl sighed heavily and began to lick it off her palm—well, what now... And there was nothing to wipe it with anyway.

The photographer confidently inserted his cock into the bride's mouth again and fucked her throat a bit more: he hadn't had sex for a week, and a lot of sperm had accumulated. Diana obediently sucked out the last drops, milking the guy's cock with her hand.

— Well, is that all now? — Diana gave the now-softened cock one last deep suck, and freeing herself, gently pushed him away with her hand.