He wants Evie, but first some premium pussy

Damian slipped his hands back into his pockets, shoulders relaxed, like he was just another guest who’d wandered in late. He looked almost bored as he started talking again.

“You know, Evie,” he said, eyes fixed on her, “after you left me, I was devastated. I didn’t know what the hell I wanted to do with my life anymore. Couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t think straight. And yet one thing stayed clear the whole time: I had to get you back. One way or another.”

His voice hardened on the last words, anger bleeding through the casual tone.

“When I found out you were getting married to this loser…” he jerked his chin toward Ben without looking at him “...I had **** but to step in. I know you probably hate me right now. That’s fine. I’m only doing this for my own catharsis. Soon you’ll be mine again, in the complete sense of the word. And your pretty little boyfriend will be able to do nothing about it.”

He smirked at Ben then, slow and mocking, letting the silence stretch just long enough to make it sting.

“Man, all this monologuing is getting boring,” Damian said, rolling his neck like he’d been standing too long. “I need some stimulation. Especially after the fun little show your parents put on.”

He scanned the pews again, eyes drifting over the calm, smiling faces. Then they landed on the row where the bridesmaids sat, eight women in matching pale lavender dresses, still seated with that same placid look everyone else wore.

“You lot,” Damian called, voice carrying without effort. “Come kneel in front of me in a row and get rid of those stupid dresses. You won’t be needing them anymore. I want to see which one of you has the prettiest pussy. That’s the one who’ll be keeping my cock warm while I mess with your dear friends.”

The bridesmaids stood up without hesitation. Hands reached behind backs to unzip, fabric sliding down shoulders and pooling at their feet. They stepped out of the dresses, heels clicking softly on the stone floor, and knelt in a neat line in front of Damian. Naked except for lingerie and shoes, smiles never wavering, like this was just another part of the ceremony.

Damian walked the line slowly, hands still in his pockets at first. He stopped in front of each one, bending at the waist to get a closer look. When he reached a brunette with a neat landing strip, he tsked and reached down, grabbing a fistful of pubic hair and yanking hard. The woman yelped, body jerking, but her smile stayed fixed.

“Sloppy,” he said. “Next.”

He did the same to another blonde, completely shaved except for a thin strip who yelped louder when he pulled. “Better. But still not premium.”

Finally he stopped in front of Sofia Ramirez. The maid of honor. Latina, long dark hair cascading over bare shoulders, olive skin glowing under the church lights. She clearly took care of herself, toned stomach, full hips, pussy completely bare and smooth, lips plump and pink. Damian tilted his head, studying her like a painting.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “This one.”

He offered his hand. Sofia took it gently, letting him pull her to her feet.

He led her to the side table near the altar, the one that had held the guest book and programs earlier. With one sweep of his arm he cleared it, papers fluttering to the floor. Then he bent her over the edge, ass up, face down toward the wood. He unzipped his pants, pulled out his already hard cock and pushed into her in one smooth thrust.

Sofia let out a soft sigh, body rocking forward with the impact, but her expression stayed vacant and smiling.

“Oh yes,” Damian groaned, hands gripping her hips. “I’m glad I can still recognize premium pussy.”

He started fucking her steadily, deep strokes that made the table creak faintly.

He glanced back at the remaining bridesmaids, still kneeling naked in their row.

“The rest of you, go rub your cunts against random guests. You’re not allowed to stop and cum until you’ve made every member in the audience cum.”

The women rose immediately. They moved into the pews, climbing over laps, straddling thighs, pressing wet pussies against clothed crotches, hands guiding cocks through fabric or freeing them outright. Soft moans started up, wet sounds mixing with the rustle of clothing.

But Damian wasn’t done.

“Everyone!” he called over the growing noise. “You’re not allowed to react to the bridesmaids’ presence or actions, no matter how hard they try. Ignore them. Let them do whatever they want. And you’re not allowed to cum here.”

The congregation didn’t flinch. The moans stopped. They sat perfectly still, faces calm and pleasant, even as bridesmaids ground desperately against them, fingers working clits, mouths trying to coax reactions. The women’s movements grew more frantic, hips rolling faster, breaths coming in short gasps, but the guests just stared ahead, untouched in every way that mattered. No release. No acknowledgment. Just endless, pointless friction.