Sweet Sin Before the Wedding

Sveta Zaitseva was the kind of bride that made every bridesmaid whisper. Cornflower-blue eyes, hair like spun flax, legs that went on forever, and an ass so round and tight and smooth it looked custom-made. The dress hugged her like a second skin, and every man in the room tracked her with his gaze all the way to the bathroom.

"Sveta, you look like a magazine cover!" her friend trilled, fussing with the veil.

Sveta smiled, but her heart pounded low and restless. She was the bride, and standing beside her was the groom—Andrei, tall, dependable. But his friends... Five guys at the table, five hungry stares that undressed her without a shred of shame. She felt their eyes slide over her neck, her tits, her hips, and a sticky heat coiled low in her belly.

"Sveta, come out here for a sec," Sergei, the best man, nodded toward the door. "Got a little surprise from the groom. A gift."

She laughed, took his arm, and stepped into the storage room—cramped, smelling of cardboard and dust. The door clicked shut. Sergei stood too close, his hand already on the small of her back.

"Sergei, what are you—"

"Come on," he smirked, breath hot against her ear. "You've been eye-fucking us all night. Don't lie to yourself."

Sveta tried to pull back, but her feet felt nailed to the floor. Adrenaline slammed into her skull. This was wrong—the groom, the wedding, the guests right on the other side of the wall. But when his hands slid around her waist and gripped her ass through the thin lace of her panties, all that escaped her throat was a thin, strangled moan.

"Quiet, bride," he whispered, hitching her dress up in one motion. "Or they'll hear."

Before she could get a word out, Sergei shoved her toward the stacked boxes, spun her to face the wall, and yanked her panties and stockings down in one rough pull. The dress bunched around her waist, baring her round hips. Cool air bit her skin, and behind her, a zipper rasped open.

"Jesus Christ, that ass... Sveta, this is a fucking work of art," he breathed, spreading her cheeks with his fingers. She felt his cock—hard, thick, swollen—slide between them, smearing her wetness over her tender skin.

"Don't you dare..." she whispered, but her back arched on its own, offering herself up.

And he entered her. Hard, deep, one brutal thrust that filled her to the root. Sveta dug her nails into the cardboard box, biting her lip to keep from screaming. As he pounded into her, he muttered filthy compliments—raw, guttural—and every word sent another wave of heat crashing through her.

"Fuck, so tight... Who the hell lets a girl like you walk down the aisle?" Sergei grunted, driving into her with steady, bottoming strokes.

The door creaked open. Sveta glanced over her shoulder—the others stood in the doorway. Pasha, Dima, Kolya, Tolik. They didn't leave. They just stood there, watching Sergei fuck their friend's bride, and every pair of eyes burned with the same hunger.

"What are you waiting for, man," Dima grinned. "Let the rest of us have a turn."

Sergei pulled out and stepped back. Sveta stayed on all fours, dress bunched at her waist, laddered stockings scraping her inner thighs, listening to the zippers opening behind her. Five of them. Five of her fiancé's best friends. And her treacherous body ached, begging for more.

"Come on, bride. Show us why we love you," Kolya laughed, grabbing her hips and slamming in without warning.

Sveta moaned out loud, biting her lip so hard she tasted copper. Tears pricked her eyes—from pain, from pleasure, she couldn't tell. She felt filthy, cheap, and yet between her legs pulsed a deep, demanding heat. Each of them was different—one fast, one rough, one so slow and teasing she howled and clawed at the cardboard.

"Bride," Pasha drawled when it was his turn, dragging the head of his cock slowly over her swollen clit, making her spine bow until it creaked. "So pure. So beautiful. And all ours."

"Enough with the poetry," Tolik cut in, the darkest of the bunch. "She's about to come. After that, she sucks us all off, one by one. Make this wedding memorable."

Sveta had stopped making sense of words. Everything inside her churned, the world shrinking to the warm cock filling her, the hands gripping her ass, the smell of sweat and cologne mixing into a heady cocktail. She'd forgotten Andrei, forgotten the guests, forgotten everything. She simply was—open, greedy, submissive, and sinful to the point of madness.

When the last one, Tolik, came with a guttural roar across her ass, she collapsed onto her knees, gasping for air. Her dress was ruined, stockings torn, panties soaked through. From outside, the strains of Mendelssohn's wedding march drifted in.

"You almost ready in there?" someone called from the hallway.

Sveta slowly pushed herself up, smoothed down her dress, wiped a trail of cum from her thigh with one finger, and looked at the five grinning men.

"I'll be right there," she said, squaring her shoulders. "Just... fixing myself up."

And she walked out, leaving them staring after her—at that perfect ass that now knew exactly what a real wedding meant. And in Sveta's eyes burned a new, dangerous spark: the whole night was still ahead of her, and who said this was where it ended?