Confession: The Forbidden Dessert at a Wedding

“You’re going to leave me breathless,” Renata managed to say, her voice broken, when the cock slipped from her mouth for barely a second.

She was sitting on the floor of a hotel room, her back against the wall and her knees spread beneath her bunched-up red dress. Her lips were wet, her eyes bright, and one hand was buried between her thighs, rubbing her pussy with an urgency that contradicted any complaint.

“That’s what you wanted from the moment you sat beside me,” I replied, gripping the back of her neck. “You wanted a real dessert.”

She smiled with her mouth open, obscene and proud, and swallowed my cock again as if she’d been waiting all afternoon to do it.

***

A few hours earlier, Bruno and Martina’s wedding had been brief, civil, and without any great luxuries. No church, no enormous ballroom, no endless speeches: an intimate formality in an office downtown, followed by a meal reserved in the private dining room of a quiet restaurant. There were only a few of us, all adults, almost all over thirty, close friends and family who knew the newlyweds wanted to celebrate without turning it into a spectacle.

I had gone as Bruno’s witness. My name is Elías, and that afternoon I was only thinking about being there for my friend, raising a couple of toasts, and getting home early. I had no idea that the last guest, the friend who arrived late because of traffic, was going to change my plans with insulting ease.

Renata appeared when they were already serving the appetizers. Dark-haired and self-assured, with a heavy mane falling over one shoulder and a red dress that didn’t reveal too much but suggested enough to make a man look twice. Martina greeted her with a hug, introduced her in a hurry, and seated her in the only empty place: beside me.

“Sorry for arriving like this,” Renata said, adjusting her skirt. “But at least I made it in time for what matters.”

“The food?” I asked.

“Depends on how hungry everyone is,” she replied, looking at me in a way that was anything but innocent.

At first I thought she was one of those people who flirt out of habit, without any real intention. She touched my arm when she laughed, left her hand on my thigh when she leaned over to speak with Martina, and brushed me with her knee beneath the table as though she didn’t notice. But she did notice. She did it with far too much precision.

The meal progressed amid toasts, jokes, and drinks. I drank little, because I had never liked losing control, but Renata let herself be warmed by the wine and by her own game. Every time someone made a risqué comment, she added something worse, more direct, and then looked at me to gauge my reaction.

“It’s hot in here,” I said when I saw her fanning her cleavage with a napkin.

“I didn’t say I was hot,” she whispered in my ear. “I said I’m horny.”

I felt my erection harden beneath my trousers. She lowered her gaze, held it for a second, and smiled as if she had just confirmed a bet. Then she went back to talking with Martina about her husband, who had stayed home that night, and mentioned him with a calmness that made everything dirtier.

When the cake arrived, Renata barely touched it. She pushed the cream aside with her fork and shoved the plate toward the center of the table.

“I’m not into this kind of dessert,” she said.

“You can order something else,” I replied.

“I’ll see if someone offers me something better.”

She said it without lowering her voice, her elbow resting on the table and the tip of her shoe brushing my ankle. I should have pretended not to notice, but I couldn’t. I had spent the whole afternoon looking at her legs, the black stockings, the edge of a garter that appeared every time she moved, and each of her provocations pushed me a little closer to the point where a person stops pretending to be prudent.

After dessert, they moved the tables aside to improvise a dance floor. Latin music played, then something slow, then a bachata that got several people on their feet amid laughter. I was going to remain seated, but Renata took my hand.

“Don’t tell me the witness doesn’t dance.”

“I dance badly.”

“Then stand still and let me do the work.”

She pressed herself against me shamelessly. Her hips marked the rhythm against my pelvis, first as part of the dance, then as an obvious provocation. I put one hand on her waist, and she lowered it to her hip, pressing it against her body so I would understand that I didn’t have to be polite.

“You’re going too far,” I told her in her ear.

“Not yet.”

The song ended and we returned to the table. Her breathing was quick, her hair a little mussed, and she wore the smile of a woman who knew exactly what she was doing. She took a sip of water, leaned toward me, and placed her hand on my thigh, this time without pretending otherwise.

“I’m leaving in ten minutes,” she said. “I can call a cab and go home, or I can say the party is running late and let you take me somewhere else.”

“Do you always do this at weddings?”

“Only when the dessert looks promising.”

I looked her in the eyes. She didn’t move her hand. Her fingers slid up until they brushed the bulge of my erection, and then there was no possible conversation left.

“Go out first,” I told her. “I’ll pick you up on the corner.”

Renata said goodbye with a perfect excuse. I waited a few minutes, hugged Bruno, invented an early appointment, and left without looking too closely at anyone. I found her on the corner, leaning beneath the light of a closed shop, her red dress gleaming like a warning sign.

We said little in the car. She settled into the seat and let her skirt ride up until it revealed the garter. I drove with my hands tense on the wheel, watching the road and, out of the corner of my eye, her thighs. Renata noticed my effort and opened her legs just a little wider.

“Don’t crash before we get there,” she said.

“Then don’t tease me.”

“That’s why I came.”

The hotel was on an unassuming avenue, without pretensions, perfect for people who entered without asking too many questions. We paid for the room with the awkward naturalness of strangers who had already imagined each other naked. As soon as I closed the door, Renata left her purse on a chair and stood in front of me.

“I don’t want to talk about guilt,” she said.

“Neither do I.”

I kissed her before she could add anything. Her mouth tasted of wine and sweet cream, and her tongue thrust into mine with fierce urgency. She took off my jacket, loosened my tie, and slid her hand down to grab my cock through my trousers, squeezing it with a low laugh when she felt how hard it was.

“So the serious one gets horny too.”

“You’ve been asking for it all afternoon.”

I turned her against me and lifted her dress to her waist. She wore stockings held up by a black garter belt and a damp thong clinging to her pussy. I slipped my hand around the front, moved the fabric aside with two fingers, and found her soaked.

Renata let her head fall back against my shoulder. I stroked her clitoris in slow circles, feeling her open and clench against my hand, while she rubbed herself against my erection in increasingly undisguised movements. I bit her neck, squeezed one of her tits through the dress, and she let out a hoarse moan.

“Tell me what you want,” I asked.

“I want you to stop behaving yourself.”

I shoved her against the wall, and she unbuttoned my trousers with impatient fingers. When my cock came free, hard and hot, Renata knelt without my having to say a thing. She took it in both hands, looked at it for a second, and ran her tongue slowly over the tip, teasingly, before taking it into her mouth.

At first she sucked slowly, savoring every inch, lowering herself as far as she could and rising with her lips tight around the glans. Then she let go. She looked up at me from below, her eyes wet and her mascara slightly smudged, and began sucking me with obscene devotion, burying me in her throat while one hand massaged my balls and the other continued rubbing her pussy beneath her dress.

“Your mouth looks so good full,” I said, holding her hair.

Renata answered with a muffled moan that vibrated along my cock. I gripped her more tightly and began moving my hips, thrusting in and out of her mouth in short strokes. She coughed once, breathed through her nose, and opened herself to me again, eager, dirty, happy to be there.

I filled her mouth to the back several times. Saliva ran down her chin, and every time I pulled my cock out, she licked it from base to tip as if she didn’t want to waste anything. When I felt I was getting too close, I pulled her away with a gentle tug of her hair.

“Not yet,” I said.

“Don’t leave me like this,” she protested hoarsely.

I lifted her, carried her to the bed, and pulled her thong down her thighs. She took the dress off over her head and was left wearing her bra, garter belt, stockings, and heels. She didn’t look embarrassed. On the contrary: she spread her legs over the edge of the mattress and offered me her glistening, swollen pussy, begging for my mouth.

I knelt between her legs and licked her without tenderness. I ran my tongue over her lips, buried it in her wet opening, and moved up to her clitoris until I heard her moan louder. Renata gripped the sheets, arching her back, while I alternated tongue and fingers, thrusting two of them deep inside her, curling them within her, fingering her until her thighs began to tremble.

“Yes, don’t stop,” she panted. “Don’t stop, please.”

I didn’t stop. I sucked her clitoris firmly, barely nipped it between my lips, and quickened my fingers until her pussy began contracting around them. Renata came with a cry she tried to muffle by biting her forearm, but pleasure overcame her; she thrust her pelvis against my mouth, shook all over, and soaked my tongue while repeating my name, as if in that room nothing existed except what I was doing to her.

I let her catch her breath for barely a minute. I climbed on top of her and set the tip of my cock against her entrance. Renata wrapped her legs around my waist and looked straight at me.

“Put it in me.”

I entered in a single thrust, all the way to the hilt. Her pussy received me hot and tight, so wet that the impact made a slick sound in the room. She opened her mouth soundlessly and dug her nails into my back. I began fucking her with a hard rhythm, holding her wrists against the mattress, watching her tits move beneath her bra every time my pelvis collided with hers.

Renata didn’t lie still. She sought me with her hips, squeezed me with her legs, and asked for more whenever I slowed down to make her desperate. I turned her onto her stomach, lifted her ass, and penetrated her again from behind. The garter belt was still around her waist, the stockings taut over her thighs, and that mixture of ruined elegance and shameless desire finally drove me out of control.

“Look how much you like it,” I told her, delivering a slap to her ass that cracked sharply. “All afternoon pretending at the table, and now you’re dripping.”

“I like it,” she admitted, her face buried in the pillow. “I like you fucking me like this.”

I fucked her harder. Her moans became short and animalistic each time my cock plunged all the way in. I slipped one hand beneath her body and rubbed her clitoris in time with my thrusts; then Renata tensed again, squeezing me with her pussy until she nearly made me lose control.

When she came again, she trembled against me, thrusting her ass backward as if she wanted to swallow every blow. I had to pull out to keep from coming. I caressed her back, took a deep breath, and watched her turn her head to look at me over her shoulder.

“There’s still one part of the dessert left,” she said.

I understood what she was offering before she even positioned herself. Renata stood facing the wall, put her hands up against it, and spread her legs. I approached from behind and moistened her anus with her own fluids and saliva, first with my fingers, slowly, until she stopped tensing and began moving against my hand.

“Go slowly at first,” she asked.

I pressed the tip against her and pushed with controlled firmness. Her body closed around me, resistant and hot, and Renata let out a deep moan when the glans entered. I stayed still, caressing her pussy with one hand, waiting for her breathing to change. When she pushed back, I continued sinking in centimeter by centimeter until my cock was buried in her ass.

“Like that,” she whispered. “Now yes.”

I began slowly, sliding in and out, feeling her grow accustomed to me. Then the rhythm increased. The wall took the impact of her hands; the entire hotel seemed reduced to the wet sound of my cock entering her ass and her moans mingled with curses and pleas. I held her mane, tugged lightly to make her arch, and continued masturbating her pussy while penetrating her from behind.

Renata lost every remaining trace of composure. She said yes, more, don’t stop; she called herself a slut with a broken smile, enjoying every word because it was part of her game, part of the clandestine freedom she had chosen when she left the wedding with me. I fucked her harder and harder, feeling her muscles squeeze me, hearing pleasure fracture her voice.

Her third orgasm arrived as one long convulsion. She remained pressed against the wall, trembling, her pussy wetting my fingers and her ass clenching around my cock in spasms that dragged me along with her. I thrust to the hilt and came inside her with a low growl, emptying myself while holding her by the waist so she wouldn’t collapse.

We stayed like that for a few seconds, breathing as if we had run through the rain. Then I pulled out slowly, and Renata rested her forehead against the wall, laughing weakly.

“The cake was awful,” she said.

“I told you there could be another dessert.”

She showered first. Then I went in. When I came out, she had already put her red dress back on and was fixing her hair in front of the mirror, with an almost indecent calm. She looked like the same elegant woman who had arrived late to the wedding, except for her satisfied expression and swollen mouth.

At the hotel entrance, she ordered a car and put her phone away in her purse. There were no promises, no exchanged numbers, no false tenderness. Just a clean goodbye, as if we both knew that afternoon worked precisely because it wasn’t meant to last.

“Congratulate the newlyweds again for me,” she said.

“I will.”

Renata got into the car without looking back. I stood on the sidewalk for a moment, still tasting her skin in my mouth and with my body exhausted from pleasure. Then I walked toward my car, started the engine, and thought that, in the end, that wedding really had had an unforgettable celebration.