Bully's Wedding Night Claim

Uninvited Echoes

The wedding hall was a gaudy cathedral, all high ceilings and the kind of fake elegance that tried too hard to impress. Rows of white chairs lined up like soldiers, ribbons and roses everywhere, the air thick with the sickly-sweet stench of flowers and old wax. Eleni stood at the front, her tits and ass practically bursting out of a tight rehearsal dress that left nothing to the imagination. The lights made the ivory fabric cling to her curves, showing off every inch of her body. Her dark hair spilled down her back, her green eyes sharp and restless. Next to her, Lysander looked like the poster boy for 'nice guy' grooms—athletic, clean-cut, suit pressed to perfection, eyes full of puppy-dog devotion. He squeezed her hand, his thumb stroking her palm, and Eleni felt a little jolt, but it was more nerves than anything else.

They were halfway through the vows, the old lady officiant droning on, clipboard in hand. Lysander repeated the words, his voice steady and soft, like he was reading a bedtime story. Eleni tried to focus, but her mind wandered. She felt a dull warmth in her chest, but lower down, a sharper ache started up between her legs. She shifted, the silk of her dress rubbing her nipples, making them hard. The whole thing—the ceremony, the attention—made her horny in a way she didn't want to admit. She caught Lysander's eye, tried to imagine his hands on her later, but the thought felt tame, almost boring.

The friends and family sat there, all fake smiles and polite clapping, until the double doors groaned open and in walked trouble. Andreas. He didn't belong, and he knew it. He strode in like he owned the place, broad shoulders filling out a black shirt that hugged his muscles, a tattoo peeking out from the open collar. His hair was a mess, his blue eyes sharp and hungry, and when he looked at Eleni, she felt her stomach drop. That smirk—she remembered it from high school, the way he'd bully Lysander and then corner her, whispering filthy things that made her blush and her pussy throb, even when she hated herself for it.

He swaggered up, the smell of his cologne hitting before he even spoke. "Well, well," Andreas said, voice dripping with sarcasm, "guess I missed my invite. Had to see the happy couple." His eyes locked on Eleni, and she felt a jolt run through her. Lysander squeezed her hand, but Andreas reached for her anyway, his big, rough hand swallowing hers. He held on too long, thumb stroking her wrist, and all she could think about was the way he'd used to press her against the lockers, whispering about how Lysander was too soft, too weak, and how she needed a real man. Her thighs pressed together, her body betraying her.

Lysander tried to sound tough. "Andreas? What are you doing here? This is private." Andreas just laughed, let go of Eleni's hand, and winked at her, making her cheeks burn. "Just wanted to see the bride. You look even better than I remember, Eleni. That dress is practically begging to come off." The words hit her like a slap, and her pussy clenched, shame burning through her. She forced a laugh, but inside she was furious at herself—why did this asshole make her so wet, when Lysander was right there, being everything she was supposed to want?

Andreas didn't leave. He just leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, smirking like he owned the place. "Those vows are pretty weak," he said loud enough for everyone to hear. "Shouldn't there be something about obeying? Maybe promising to surrender to someone who knows what to do with you?" He looked right at Eleni, and she felt her nipples go hard, her face burning. She tried to laugh it off, but her voice came out shaky. "Andreas, you're such an ass," she said, but her eyes met his, and she couldn't hide the spark there.

Eleni's mind was a mess. Lysander was safe, sweet, the kind of guy you marry. But Andreas was the one who made her wet, the one who made her want to drop to her knees and beg. She shifted, feeling the wet spot growing in her panties, hating herself for it. Why did his smirk make her want to be used? Why did she want him to humiliate her, right here, in front of everyone?

The tension escalated when Lysander pulled Andreas aside near the side of the hall, his voice low but firm. "You need to leave. This isn't the place for your games." Andreas just smiled, unfazed, his broad shoulders shrugging. "Games? I'm just here to catch up with Eleni. We have history, you know." Lysander's face reddened, but before he could retort, Andreas turned back to the group, his charm deflecting the confrontation. Then, with a subtle nod, he caught Eleni's eye and gestured toward the hallway leading to the backroom. "Hey, Eleni, got a minute? For old times' sake?"

She hesitated, glancing at Lysander, who was now distracted by a family member. Her heart pounded, but curiosity—and that insistent heat—propelled her forward. "Just a quick chat," she murmured, following him into the secluded storage space. The backroom was dimly lit, cluttered with stacked chairs, extra tables, and piles of linens, the air heavy with the scent of aged wood and faint dust. Privacy enveloped them like a cloak, the distant hum of the rehearsal muffled by the thick walls.

Andreas didn't waste time. He pressed her against the wall, his body crowding hers, heat rolling off him. "Been thinking about you, Eleni," he whispered, fingers sliding over her shoulders, making her shiver. "All these years, and you're about to marry that soft little boy." His breath was hot on her ear, his words cruel. "I vow to give you what he can't. I vow to make you beg for it." He grabbed her waist, pulled her in so she could feel his cock, hard and thick, against her thigh. The humiliation burned, but her pussy throbbed, desperate for more.

She should shove him off, but her hands just pressed against his chest, feeling the hard muscle. "Andreas, we can't..." she whispered, but it was a lie. His fingers slid down, tugging at her neckline, brushing her breast, and she arched into his touch. Her panties were soaked, her body screaming for him. She wanted to be used, to be told she was his, not Lysander's. Every word he whispered made her wetter, made her want to drop to her knees and beg for his cock. The shame only made it hotter.

His hand slid lower, fingers tracing her hip, tugging at her dress. Eleni gave in, grabbing his hair and yanking him into a kiss that was all tongue and teeth. He tasted like sweat and arrogance, and she let him take whatever he wanted. Her knees went weak, her body pressed against his, surrendering completely.

Lysander slipped away from the hall, looking for Eleni. He stopped outside the backroom, heart pounding, and heard Andreas's voice: "I vow to take what he can't give." The words hit him like a punch—rage, humiliation, and something darker twisting in his gut. He stood frozen, cock twitching, forced to listen as his fiancée was claimed by the man who'd always made him feel small.