I should look away. I should close my eyes. I should fucking do something other than stare like a starving man at a feast. But I can tell I’m not going to. Some part of me that I’ve spent years trying to suppress has taken control, and all I can do is watch with fascination and dread as Giovanni Torrini prepares to seduce me on our wedding night.
Ginni is beautiful. Stunning in a way that defies description. And I have a pulse. I’m not strong enough to not watch, apparently I’m not even strong enough to maintain even a shred of dignity in the face of his particular brand of temptation.
My pulse quickens as Ginni continues to move, and I realize this isn’t just undressing. This is performance art. His hands speak a language of their own. One of grace, refinement and pure seduction that he’s clearly spent time perfecting. Every gesture is calculated for maximum impact, designed to render me speechless and helpless.
He turns around, presenting his back to me. He looks over his shoulder and smiles sweetly.
The beaded bodice of the wedding dress requires careful handling, and Ginni takes his time with each tiny clasp and hook. His fingers work with practiced precision, effortless grace, as if he’s rehearsed this moment a thousand times in his mind. Which, knowing him, he probably has.
When the clasps are all undone, he turns around to face me. His eyes blaze with naughty promise as laces are undone with ceremonial slowness. Each loop loosened with deliberate care, the bodice gradually releasing its hold on his torso. The white wedding dress slides off perfect skin in a fall that doubles as a caress, silk and lace pooling at his feet like water.
I blink, and somehow the transformation is complete. The dress is in a pool of silks at Ginni’s stocking-covered ankles, and now he is standing before me in lingerie.
A snow-white lacy bralette that does nothing to conceal his rosebud pink nipples, the delicate fabric a work of art in itself. White suspenders embrace his hips with mathematical precision, creating perfect lines that draw the eye downward. White silk stockings gleam on his legs like liquid moonlight, while the flash of naked skin on his thighs, nestled between the stockings and suspenders, does terrible things to my blood pressure.
The contrast between the stark white lingerie and his pale skin is hypnotic. Every piece fits him like it was custom made, which it probably was. Ginni would never settle for anything off the rack, especially not for something this important to him.
I tear my gaze away from the taunting skin of his thighs, desperate for some kind of anchor to sanity, only to discover white silk panties. The feminine underwear skimming over a pronounced bulge starts short-circuiting my brain wiring entirely. The sight is so incongruous, so perfectly Ginni, beautiful and feminine and undeniably masculine all at once, that I can’t process it.
Ginni makes a happy sound, somewhere between a sigh and a purr. He is beaming. Glowing with satisfaction and joy and anticipation. I’ve never seen him so happy, and it really damn suits him. The radiance coming off him is almost blinding, like he’s lit from within by pure contentment.
This is what he’s been waiting for, I realize. Not just today, not just this moment, but this feeling. This sense of complete satisfaction, of dreams finally becoming reality. Of being wanted and desired.
He looks like someone who’s gotten everything they ever wanted for Christmas, and I’m apparently the gift he’s most excited about unwrapping.
The thought should terrify me more than it does.
“It’s a G-string!” he boasts, hands artfully fluttering over his panties. “You can access my hole without having to take them off.”
My mind screeches to a full and utter stop. I cough. Several times. His fear about me having a heart attack might not be entirely unfounded.
Ginni reaches behind himself. He wriggles, and his pink tongue pokes out a little. He makes a noise of satisfaction.
His hand comes back around to his front. But now it is holding a butt plug. A chrome one with a diamond set on the edge of the flared base.
He places it carefully on the bed by my feet. Jesus Christ. He had that in while we were getting married. He recited vows about true love while his little hole was stuffed and stretched. He is such a fucking minx. A sheer and utter menace.
“See? I didn’t have to take my panties off, and now I’m all ready for you!” he exclaims proudly.
Before I can process what’s happening, he snatches the blanket and pulls it off. Exposing me utterly.
His blue eyes go to my cock. My very hard cock that is standing proud.
Ginni squeals in delight. “And you’re ready for me!”
He skips over to the bedside cabinet and grabs the industrial-sized bottle of lube. Then he dances his way back down to the foot of the bed.
I yell as a giant glob of cold lube hits my dick. The shock of it is intense. Painful.
“Whoopsie!” Ginni says cheerfully.
His hand glides up and down my cock. Mechanically smearing the lube around. His hand is hot, and combined with heat from my cock, it is warming the lube up.
Now everything is warm and wet, and I can’t stop the little groan that stutters out of my throat.
Ginni smiles at me. A devastating smile. One that makes me believe that making him happy is the best thing I’ve ever done.
I blink and suddenly Ginni is on the bed, knees on either side of my hips. Straddling me. A very determined expression on his gorgeous face.
