A Mockery Of Tradition

Two brides stood at the altar—Melissa, porcelain skin stretched over synthetic curves, and Charlie, all ink and attitude—ready to seal their forever. Their officiant ghosted. Then Jason showed up, grinning like salvation. They almost exhaled until he spat the truth: he hated what they were. The air snapped tight. Melissa’s voice cracked first, Charlie’s fists followed. Jason watched them burn, then dropped his poison with a smirk— he’d marry them, sure, but only if they fucked him first. Rage flared hot in their throats. Melissa turned to Charlie, desperate words tumbling out like broken glass. Charlie fought it, jaw locked, eyes blazing. Finally she gave in, bitter and shaking. Clothes hit the floor in ugly surrender. Jason took them both—hands rough, mouth cruel—while the brides clawed at each other for any scrap of comfort. Moans mixed with hate. He bent Melissa over the altar and drove into her, then dragged Charlie’s mouth to his cock while Melissa licked her from behind. Sweat, spit, and the wet slap of skin filled the chapel. He switched between them, pounding one while the other choked on his fingers, until he came across both their faces, white streaks running down bridal makeup. They swallowed the taste, then stood, wrecked, and let him finish the vows.