Squirting Newlywed Bride Takes Hard Cock Creampie. The air in the bridal salon hung thick with the scent of jasmine and anticipation. She’d been counting down the days, not just to the wedding, but to the quiet moments like this, moments of pampering before the whirlwind began. Her skin, already glowing from weeks of pre-wedding treatments and nights spent tangled in sheets with her fiancé, drank in the rich oils of the massage.
He’d been insatiable lately, her soon-to-be husband. Every touch, every kiss, seemed to ignite her anew. She’d laughingly teased him about needing to save some energy for the honeymoon, but secretly, she reveled in it. Her body felt like a finely tuned instrument, each nerve ending humming with sensitivity.
The masseur’s hands were skilled, kneading away the knots of wedding planning stress. She was drifting, almost asleep, when the pressure changed. It wasn’t rough, not exactly, but there was a different kind of intent in his touch now, lower on her back, sliding down towards the curve of her hip.
A jolt, not unpleasant, ran through her. Her eyes fluttered open. He was still massaging, but his strokes were different, more intimate. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, a flush spreading down her chest. This wasn’t part of the bridal package.
Then she felt it. Something slick and warm against her inner thigh. Her breath hitched. He was still moving, still massaging, but his fingers were deliberately tracing the edge of her panties. Discomfort warred with a strange, tingling curiosity.
He leaned closer, his breath warm on her ear. His voice was low, husky. “Relax,” he murmured, the words sending shivers down her spine. “Just relax.”
And somehow, she did. His touch was insistent now, his fingers slipping beneath the lace. She should stop him. She knew she should. But her body was betraying her, responding with a startling eagerness. Her fiancé’s lovemaking had awakened something in her, a raw, primal hunger that this stranger seemed to effortlessly tap into.
His fingers found their mark, teasing, circling. A low moan escaped her lips, involuntary. He pressed harder, and a sharp, insistent pleasure shot through her. It was different from her fiancé, bolder, more demanding.
Then, something else. A low hum filled the air, vibrating through the massage table. He brought something small and buzzing to her clitoris. The sensation was overwhelming, immediate. Her breath caught in her throat.
Waves of pleasure crashed over her, each one stronger than the last. She bucked against the table, her hips lifting instinctively. It was too much, and yet, she craved more. Her body was a taut wire, vibrating with raw sensation.
And then, it happened. A rush, a flood, an explosion of pure sensation. She cried out, her body convulsing, as wave after wave of release poured from her. The sounds she made were primal, guttural, nothing like the soft moans she usually reserved for her fiancé.
He was still there, still moving, pressing against her, and she felt him inside her, thick and hard. She barely registered the entry, lost in the throes of her orgasm. He moved inside her, deep and powerful, driving her over the edge again and again.
When it was over, she lay there, gasping for breath, her body slick with sweat and something else. Shame warred with a dizzying sense of exhilaration. She had let this happen. She, the soon-to-be-newlywed bride, had been taken, pleasured, used, and she hadn’t stopped it. In fact, a part of her, a secret, shameful part, had wanted it. She had wanted it all along.
