Considering Marriage

They had exited the restrooms at the same time, smiling at each other awkwardly. Normally they would have stopped at smiling, figured out somehow who was going to go first, proceeded back up the stairs into the real world. But her mind was not in a normal place, and the world upstairs was not her reality. It was her boyfriend's reality, her boyfriend's friend's wedding reception, in a strange building on a strange college campus, and there was nobody there she knew, except her boyfriend and his parents.

She was feeling more adult than usual, this being the first time she'd ever been invited to a wedding on a date, and yet her adjunct, out of place social status was pushing down the feelings of adulthood and causing a rebellious streak that surfaced only on rare occasions and always with far-too-interesting results.

The wedding had been, well, rather boring, every faith bloc in both families apparently having insisted on clergy representation, and every clergy person being of the long-winded advice-filled sort. She had passed the time people-watching, idly swinging her leg, trying to get her boyfriend's attention, sizing up the groom's attendants, eventually focusing on one who had a young-Kevin-Costner-in-tux thing going on, the same young man, quite coincidentally, whom she now faced in an otherwise deserted basement hall lined with promising doors.

Another second of hemming and hawing and implied "after you, no after you" type gestures passed before she took charge, stepped past him, swayed past him, stepped down the hall, toward the stairs, past all those doors, forcing him to turn to watch her, testing the first doorknob as she languored past it, lingering her hand across the knob when it refused to turn, past the next door, left hand this time, also locked, also lingering. She had a thing for locked doors, long halls, strange men, frantic boyfriends. The memory empowered her, emboldened her, the third unyielding door did not discourage her. She knew destiny, felt history repeating itself, felt the fourth knob turn, felt his eyes on her swaying ass, pushed the door, stepped in to an empty conference room, looked over her shoulder, watched him follow, held the door for him, locked it behind them, turned and gazed up at him.

He stood enthralled, slightly dazed, in her power. She liked them that way, strong, young, handsome, docile, intellectually inferior, and easy to bend to her needs. She stepped forward, hands on his chest, feeling the power, pushing the tux jacket back, half way down his arms, leaned forward, on tiptoe, head back, pulling his head down, holding him in place as she kissed him.

The jacket fell to the floor behind him as she willed his hands to her ass. This, she liked above all, strong, young, handsome, docile, intellectually inferior with his hands on her ass.

Technically she didn't have much time, but she was going to take it anyway. The opportunity was much too good to be rushed, and her boyfriend would never find them, would never suspect, would assume he was wrong if he did suspect.

The vest had very few buttons. The shirt had quite a few more. More time to kiss him as she undressed him, to show him who was boss, to leave him panting for more and eager to please.

Suddenly he was naked from the waist up, the shirt still on his arms, the arms behind him, as though bound. She stopped kissing him, held his urgent head back as she stepped back half a step to admire him, to run her hands across his smooth muscular chest. He was quite a firm young man, irresistible, in need of licking. Still fully clothed herself she stepped toward him again, tilting her head up slightly, licking his neck with broad swaths of her tongue, down his chest, nibbling slightly at his nipples, unzipping his fly, reaching inside, grasping his firm young cock in her supple hand, gently squeezing, feeling the smooth hardness of his erection in one hand, the smooth hardness of his muscular arms in the other, tasting the slight saltiness of his chest on her tongue.

He stood there, taking it, softly moaning, arms still entangled in the shirt behind him, until she finally pushed it off into the pile with the jacket and the vest on the floor.

She knelt before him, but there was nothing docile in the kneeling. She controlled him with her mouth, with her tongue on the tip of his hard young cock, with the gleam in her eye as she looked up and smiled, her mouth forming into a round accommodating O, her head pushing forward, his erection sliding between her soft warm lips. She watched his face, so young, so handsome, so wracked with lust that she could not help herself, stole her hand up under her dress, pushed her panties aside and flicked at her clit with her left index finger, gasping at the pleasure she bought herself.

She was ready. They were both ready. She stood, facing him, still grasping his cock, then turned, her back to him, her ass up against him, turned and pulled her hair out of the way, lowering her head, allowing him to kiss her neck, to unzip her dress, to let her dress fall to the floor with the tux. She moaned softly as he licked her nape and brought his hands up around her, then rose again on tiptoe and slowly gyrated her ass back against has erection as he cupped her heavy breasts and gently pinched her nipples.

Panting with desire she sank to knees, less in control this time, his hand on her back forcing her down willingly on to all fours, her breasts against the floor, her ass in the air, her cunt wet and ready to be taken. She gasped as he entered her, for he was bigger, longer, thicker than her boyfriend, and she did not let her boyfriend fuck her like this. She realized also with a start that he was not wearing a condom, knew that she should care, that she was fertile, but being fertile, being turned on by the moment, by the boy, by his cock, she was too far gone to care, and thrust back against him all the harder, all the needier, again and again, picturing her boyfriend upstairs checking his watch, rising from the table, wandering among the guests, distractedly congratulating the bride and groom yet again, finding the stairs, descending the stairs, walking the hall, testing the knobs as she had tested them, hearing her cry out, for she was crying out, could hear herself over the pounding of blood in her ears, through the trance-like state of the in and out, the emptying and filling, the hard slap of his hips against her engorged little clit, the back and forth of her breasts against the cold tile floor. She could hear the grunting of the young man fucking her, the footsteps in the hall, the rattling of the knob, the sound of her name on her boyfriend's voice, and then, as the young man came, spasming, pulsing, spurting inside her, their mutual shouts of ecstasy.

They lay on the floor for minutes that seemed like hours, basking in the glow of post-orgasmic bliss, the young man's cock still inside her.

Slowly, regretfully, she disentangled herself, helped the young man to his feet, dressed him, dressed herself, opened the door, peered out into the hall, and then kissed him long and hard one last time, before sending him on his way to safety.

Ten minutes later she found her boyfriend back at the table, slipped into the empty seat beside him and kissed him on the cheek.

He looked at her accusingly.

"I'm sorry" she said "I was overwhelmed, and I needed a nap. This was really nice though. Thank you for bringing me. Maybe we should start thinking about getting married soon."

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