Wicked Wednesday: The Reception

They met in the coat room.  He pulled the door shut behind them as she stepped out of her light brown platform heels.  They had precious little time before the champagne was opened and the celebration began.  

They spoke no words before getting started.  There was no idle chit-chat, no "I can't wait to hear your speech", no "I've wanted this for so long."  They both had, of course.  Though they'd known each other only a short while, the attraction was strong.

Their kiss was brief, neither one wanting to waste the few minutes they had.  Their hands met at his zipper, both trying to lower it.  He let her handle that, and unbuckled his belt instead.  Soon his cock was in her hand, raised to steel hardness by her touch.

"You got a condom?" she asked.

He grunted, still enjoying her manual ministrations, and took his wallet from the pocket of his slacks.  He withdrew a condom before replacing his wallet, and began to tear open the foil.

"Want me to do that?" she asked, taking the condom from him.  She placed it between her lips, then lowered her mouth onto him, taking care to unroll the condom slowly to squeeze out the air.  He stifled a groan, then watched her bobbing up and down.  He could have enjoyed this pleasure all day, but they had to get moving.

He pulled her to her feet, turned her around, and pulled up her long, billowy dress.  She wore a tiny black thong beneath, the material smooth against his fingers.  Holding the dress in place with one hand, he slipped the other into her panties, feeling her warm flesh as he began to slide them down.

Her hand joined his.  "Yeah," she said breathlessly.  "Just take those off."  The thong slipped to her ankles and she stepped out of it.  He put both of his hands high on her hips, keeping the dress bunched up at her waist, and entered her, feeling her slick wetness as she swallowed him up.  He filled her completely.

She moaned, less from the considerable physical pleasure than from the release of tension.  The anticipation of this moment had dogged her every move for months, and seeing him in his tuxedo that morning made her wet.  She had longed to be this close to him, to have him so deep inside her.  He, on the other hand, was sure that the sound she made was caused entirely by his member.

She leaned against a counter as he moved inside her, bracing herself against the force of his thrusts.  Each motion brought his cock up against her G-spot.  She leaned her head back toward his, and they exchanged a precarious kiss, tongues lapping at one another because their lips weren't close enough to touch.

"Fuck me," she said, even as her climax was beginning to envelop her.  Her voice was merely a whisper.  He tightened his grip on her hips and thrust even harder, moving faster, feeling himself sink even deeper than he had before.  Her moans were passionate, energetic, and erotic, and the sound filled his ears with arousal the likes of which he couldn't have imagined.

As she came, he felt her contract, squeezing his own orgasm out of him.  He filled the condom, then slowly withdrew.  He dropped it into a wastebasket near the door, then zipped and buttoned his slacks and buckled his belt.  

He opened the door a crack, and peeked out.  She protested, as she was only now putting her thong back on.  He could see into the hall; the guests were all seated.  On the other side of the lobby, the wedding party stood in line, bride and groom standing in front and waiting to be announced.  

"We'd better hurry," he said, opening the door wide for her.  

She stepped into her heels.  "All right, stud," she said.  "Let's go celebrate."  

This week's prompt:  Celebrate