Benedict Bridgerton Regency Imagines || Benedict Bridgerton

Swallow

"Yes, that's it, perfect," his voice is encouraging and rough, his fingers running into your hair, blunt nails scratching your scalp lightly. Holding you against him, your nose pressed into his public hair—the buttons of his gaping trousers rubbing against your neck.

You can't respond; your mouth and throat are too full of him - so hot, so hard, so there, overwhelming your senses. The uneven wooden floor feels slightly painful for your knees, but it's a welcome distraction, something to anchor you to this moment. You can hear the wedding party, your party, distantly through a door.

"Look up at me," he implores, and you tip your head slightly, meeting his gaze. You know your eyes are watering, but that is precisely what he wants to see.

"Oh yes, you look so beautiful, my girl," he praises lavishly, stroking your cheek, his wedding ring catching against your skin "look at you taking me all in on your first time; you are doing so very well."

Fuck if your pussy doesn't flood even more from that praise.

He slides out and gives you some reprieve to take a few breaths. You cough and gasp for air, strings of saliva dripping onto your chin, onto your damn wedding dress.

"Open up again, my girl." You obey without thought. And then he's teasing you, getting you to concentrate on his head. His precum tastes salty and tangy, and you just can't get enough. You run your tongue hard along the slit down to his frenulum, listening to his heavy breaths and little moans. You are drunk on the power you have over him right now.

"Suck a little harder; let's see those cheeks hollow," he directs softly.

So eager to please, you take a quick breath around him, the best you can, then suck hard, Your mouth narrowing to just the width of him, making obscene noises as you move up and down slowly, going deeper on each movement. You feel every ridge and vein pass over your lips. Your tongue is lathing the underside of his cock, his foreskin rolling against you. More than anything, you want to please him, Benedict, your husband of about two hours.

"Oh yes," he hisses, "that's it, fuck, you are so very good at this." His hips start to rock slightly, tilting himself against your tongue, pushing harder, further. You move to grab his thighs, attempting to control a little of the motion.

"Nuh-uh, keep those hands at your side, wife," he warns.

"Yes, husband," you attempt to say as you drop your hands, but it's mostly a muffled noise that makes him groan and push harder. You feel yourself gag slightly, and it just encourages him.

"What a lucky, lucky man I am. You are such a good girl," his voice is a gentle murmur that settles over your skin like honey.

Oh. He's already worked out your praise kink. The prospect of this, of him, you both as a couple feels heady, potent with possibilities - what an excellent choice of husband.

His noises are whiny and desperate as you keep up the suction and movement. His hands are holding your face, directing you.

"Ohhh, I am so very close," he pants a warning.

You have heard rumours of what happens next - ladies maid idle gossip - but nothing can prepare you for its reality.

You feel a strong ripple up his cock, and then a salty, sour taste hits the roof of your mouth and coats your tongue. It keeps coming as he holds you there, his body curling slightly, groaning heavily.

"Be a good girl and swallow it." His hand slips to hold your throat; his tone brokers no argument.

You do as asked, feeling his palm against your windpipe.

"Oh good girl, such a good fucking girl."

He effortlessly pulls you to your feet and starts to gather up your dress, pushing your back against the column you stand by, and sinking to his knees before you.

"Your turn, wife," his voice like velvet.