Como poden per sas culpas

Based from this confession.

The wedding celebration was lively. People smiling, dancing, flirting a little bit between them here and there, and some laying in the soil due to the alcohol. The music of David Ghetta, DeadMau5, and other DJs whose names I don’t remember resounded all over the garden.

It was the perfect environment to meet new people, reconnect with old friends, and who knows? Maybe to have a lover… because right now I regretted marrying the groom.

Don’t take it the wrong way: My husband is a man of integrity and responsible, virtually the most respectable guy I’ve ever met in my life. His only point against is that he’s terribly humdrum. Always. Since the day I met him.

He never has time for anything or anyone, not even for me, his now wife. He is always at work or at his parents’ home, if it is not in the house of a friend of his. Laboriously, we go for walks in the park. If we go out to dinner or to the cinema, we are always accompanied by his parents and other relatives. Out of that, he doesn’t move from the computer or the cellphone. I want to clarify that I don’t have nothing against that, but I am of the people who think that there is a space for everything, and a couple needs a little time alone, don’t they?

Now, when it comes to the sex… I better become a nun. The man is not good in bed nor in the least. I pretend to be satisfied because I don’t want to insult his manhood, of which he is more than proud. When he sleeps, I wake up and I lock myself in the bathroom to masturbate.

Now, why did I marry with him? The answer is simple: he was a very solitary person when I met him. I was practically his first friend, his first girlfriend and now his wife. We lived all kind of experiences together, from the first sexual relationship (his) until the first fight (us). With me at his side he could connect with many people who called friends, despite all the things that have happened between them (I have my reservations about that).

So let’s say that I got married with him by obligation and compassion, not for love. Sounds hard and cruel because that type of marriage is destined to failure, but do we agree that the man himself is incapable of socializing by his own means? Because it is more than proven that he is an emotionally very dependent person who is afraid of people.

An abrupt silence arose in the room. I turned to the DJ, wanting to ask him what had happened with the music.

My surprise was too big when I instinctively turned to the entrance of the Garden: A tall, muscular, tanned skin man had entered to the site. He had his brown hair tied-up and so beautiful brown eyes that they seemed to glow in the dark. He was dressed with a tuxedo.

Fuck, I thought, amazed.

The newly arrived was Connor Kenway, son of a prestigious lawyer and of a renowned biologist. He and I were classmates in high school and college until we parted and separated ways. When I met him, he didn’t have that marked musculature as now. He was a sweetness of a person: friendly, courteous, attentive. A man very passionate both in and out of the bed, a lot better than my husband.

Regret assaulted me.

Shit… why didn’t I tell him that I loved him the day of our graduation? Why now he has to appear in my…? Wait, I invited him. Silly of me.

“Connor, welcome!” I exclaimed as I hugged him. He hugged me back with a smile, that one I missed a lot since we parted years ago.

“Thank you for having invited me,” he said. “And your husband? I would like to greet him.”

“I don’t know. A few minutes ago he was greeting to some guests… The Fryes, I think,” I replied. "Did you eat already? If you like I can ask to bring you something for eat. The dishes are delicious!”

“What I want right now is to dance with the bride, if it’s not too much trouble for you and your husband.”

I smiled while I readily accepted the invitation. However, before we go to the dance floor, I went to the DJ and whispered something in his ear while I pulled out of the dress’ pocket an USB. Then I returned with Connor and, with mischief, I asked: “Do you remember that dance of our favourite series?”

“Which one?”

“The Henry and Anne’s one in The Tudors.”

Connor smiled. Taking me by the hand, we approached the dance floor. There, at the rythm of Alfonso X The Wise’s melody Como poden per sas culpas, I opened the dance with a slow walk around Connor. Immediately he did a reverence to me, which I returned solemnly before taking his hand to get closer to me at his push.

I felt his tender, sweet, burning caress…

We continued dancing; the tension that was generating between us with each step was more and more evident before the eyes of the guests and of my husband. Needless to say that the discomfort the poor one had gave way to indignation when he saw how Connor sliced his hands on my hips and my breasts at the same time that he was sinking his face in my shoulder.

The dance finished and we fixedly stared at each other. Yonder, the applause was heard, with some inquisitive looks accompanying it. Fuck them, I thought while I stood with the help of Connor and went to the bathroom.

I don’t know how much time passed from the dance. My husband tried to get me alone with him; I imagine it was to give me a reprimand due to my “bad” behavior. However, I didn’t allow him. In fact, I chose to sneak into the cottage, a beautiful Victorian building.

There, in the room, I met Connor, who was exploring the books that were on the shelf. “What a collection they have,” he said with a shy smile as he directed his gaze towards me.

I didn’t say anything. I just went and kissed him, hungry for him. I kissed as I never would have kissed a man.

Fuck with everybody and everything.

We immediately began to strip ourselves of our clothing. I was dazed when I saw his cock. It was big, juicy, and with a cute “Prince Albert” piercing that was a bit large decorating its head.

“What a beauty!” I exclaimed as I kneeled to lick it playfully by the edges. “Delicious!”

Connor turned me away and pulled me toward the carpet. I was on top, moving my hips rhythmically, his colossal beast of a penis inside me. Connor, looking at me with desire, stroked my hips and my breasts. However, I slapped him on the face; he looked at me with confusion first and then with understanding.

He pulled my hair, forcing me to change positions. While at the top, he took my wrists and stretched my arms upwards. He kissed my neck and my lips while caressing my clitoris wildly before penetrate me with greater violence.

I let go myself, taking him by the neck and looking at him threateningly before we changed positions again. Now I was on top, riding him with determination. He was engaged on sucking my breasts and guiding me in the ride, looking me in the eyes, telling me with them how much he had coveted this time.

In a moment of carelessness, he pushed me, throwing me on the ground. Then, he pulled me with my hair and threw me against the table. Pressing my head on the table, he thrusted inside me. The swing of his hips was maddening, rude and slow, without mercy.

“Who is your owner?” he suddenly asked.

Excited, I looked at him. “Y-you…”

He stopped their assaults, looking at me with a mischievous smile. Tilting, he whispered in the ear: “Say it again.”

“Y-you’re my owner,” I said.

He thrusted. “Again! Who is your owner?”

“You!” I replied.

“Who is your owner?”

“You, Connor Kenway! You’re my only owner!”

The rhythm of the penetrations increased its speed, making me moan louder each time. There was a moment in which I began to wrestle with him, since he wanted to be the dominant in the game, but I didn’t permit him. He pulled my hair while continued with his wild and merciless assaults, taking out more moans from me. Then he turned me over, making me to look at his eyes while he put his cock in my pussy again and again. This time he squeezed my neck while I scratched his arm.

At these heights I already didn’t give a fuck if everybody could hear me. I was more interested in continuing to have that thick cock within me, next to getting that wonderful wild orgasm.

“Hey, guys, I w-whoa!”

Connor and I yelled when we saw Jacob Frye, Connor’s best friend, entering to the library. “Shit, Jacob! Couldn’t you knock the fucking door before enter?!” Connor exclaimed. He was so furious while I hugged him.

“Hey, relax, mate!” protested Jacob, “I only come to tell you that soon would be the time of the throwing of the bouquet and the league. It’s not my fault that you decided to skip it to having sex with the bride.”

“JACOB!” we yelled, ashamed already.

“All right! All right! I’m getting out! I’m getting out! If you don't hurry I will tell everybody that you’re fucking…”

Connor rolled his eyes, wondering how the hell Jacob became his best friend being so dense. I took a deep breath, telling him to get dressed and go out to the garden before Jacob announced our happy hour. With a mischievous grin, Connor agreed, but not without kissing me first, then promising to continue our sensual fantasy once we reached Bora Bora for our honeymoon.

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