A Perfect Valentine's

[[Author's Note: This is my entry into the 2020 Literotica Valentine's Day Story Contest. It contains themes of romance, cheating, occultism, and supernatural powers/entities.

Special thanks to Thesunmaid, for making some great suggestions.]]

*

The theme of the day was perfection. Everything had to be perfect.

I pulled the heart-shaped spice cake out of the oven just before the timer went off and checked it with a toothpick. It was perfectly done, light and fluffy and magnificent. Wonderful. I sighed happily and put it on the cooling rack before turning to the freezer to check on my hardening chocolate-dipped strawberries. I whistled while I worked; it was difficult to contain my excitement for this evening. Valentine's Day was my favorite holiday.

I told my husband and my kids, and anyone who asked, that Valentine's was a sad day for me. That my father had died on Valentine's when I was a teenager, and I preferred to spend it by myself in his cabin in the upstate, putting flowers on his grave and reconnecting with his memory.

That was half true. My father did die on Valentine's when I was a teenager. I do come up to his cabin partly to see his grave. I take the time to do a dance on it, and spit on it, and -- depending on how many cups of coffee I'd had on the drive -- squat and piss on it. My father was more than a sonofabitch; he was a truly evil man, and I'm happy every time I see the sinking patch of dirt where I buried him.

I looked out the window at the snow piling up around the cabin and felt my heart flutter. My lover wouldn't be here until sunset, but I imagined I could already smell him. In spite of the fact that I spent all year trying not to think about him, the way his body pressed up against mine haunted my dreams. Now, waiting on his arrival at our little hideaway, I was a mess of nerves; I was as anxious as a teenager about to be picked up for the Prom.

I threw two more logs into the fireplace to get it nice and hot, then turned and surveyed the rest of the cabin. I'd shined up all the wood on the tables and the legs of the chairs, and vacuumed the last year's worth of dust out of the upholstery. The freshly scrubbed and oiled hardwood floors gleamed under the soft white light, and I smiled happily.

I crossed the living space and opened the door to the master bedroom. I had made the bed with fresh red linens and brand new pillow cases. Pillar candles, also red, were placed on the dresser, on the vanity, on the floor by the door and at each corner; I couldn't help but giggle at how wonderful everything was. How perfect. "Christine, you've outdone yourself this year," I said to myself as I sat down on the stool in front of the vanity mirror and began applying my make-up.

I was happy with my appearance; the only good thing my father had ever done was pass on his genetics. My deep red hair and piercing grey eyes came directly from him, as did my tendency to resist the effects of aging; even at twenty-eight I had to be prepared to be carded for beer. I was afraid of the day that I would get so old that my husband wouldn't find me attractive anymore; the way he ogled the high school girls at the bus stop in front of our house told me I didn't have much time. But my lover? We shared a special connection. I knew it in my heart; he would never reject me, never trade me in for another. I knew he would never abandon me. We were linked.

I finished my make-up and brushed my hair, humming a soft tune. My eyes sparkled back at me in the mirror and I cheekily blew myself a kiss. My husband might be too tired, or too stressed from work, or too caught up in his video games to be interested in taking the time to fulfill my needs, but I was ok with that. He didn't have to. On Valentine's Day, I always knew I was beautiful and treasured.

I finished my beauty rituals and went back to the kitchen; I dropped the steaks into a hot pan and set about frosting the cake, letting my knife carefully sculpt the cream-cheese frosting into a smooth finish while the smell of sizzling meat made my stomach rumble. I thought about snatching one of the strawberries out of the freezer; the "chef's prerogative" was to "test" the dessert before it was served, after all. I resisted the temptation; if I ate anything now, it would make the night less than perfect. Everything had to be perfect.

I pulled the steaks off the stove. It didn't take long to get them right where I wanted them: a juicy red rare. I put them in the warming cabinet above the wood stove to let them rest and took the strawberries from the freezer, arranging them on the frosted cake before putting the whole works into the fridge. He would be here soon. It was nearly time.

I took a deep breath to calm my excitement and ran through the checklist in my head. Wood for the fireplace? Check. Generator filled with diesel? Check. Dinner and dessert prepared? Check. Back door locked and deadbolted? Check. I ran through more than a dozen preparations, most learned from the mistakes I'd made in the past. Everything was done. Everything was perfect.

I went back into the bedroom and opened the closet door, pulling the chain for the bare bulb. The closet smelled strongly of mothballs and neglect, and I winced. That was not perfect, but it would be ok; nobody was going to see the inside of my closet anyway. I walked to the back and put my hand on the tiny smooth spot on the wall, pressing firmly to open the secret room. It used to be my father's, but now it was mine. The thought sent a thrill through me, just like it did every year since his death.

Hanging inside were his old hooded robes, black and hemmed with gold, threadbare and brittle and untouched for a decade. I sneered at them as I walked past them; an expression of triumph and contempt, directed at everything he stood for and everything he was. I walked to the back of the small room where my own robe hung, red and hemmed with silver, fresh and clean and soft. I stripped off my clothes and donned the robe, sighing at the touch of the soft velvet on my bare curves. I'd sewn them myself, making them specifically for my body; to delicately drape my modest breasts and cascade just slightly over my wide hips, stopping at my upper thigh; they made me feel powerful and sexy, gave me the confidence to bear my lover's gaze without feeling small and unworthy.

I gathered up my tools from the secret room and returned to the bedroom, throwing the heavy braided rug aside to reveal the ritual circle. A shudder ran through my body; we always made love next to the circle, and its forms and symbols were inextricably connected in my mind with the deepest carnal pleasures. I felt the space between my legs respond to the twirling patterns and sighed deeply. I wanted to touch myself, to tease myself a little before he came to me, but again, I resisted the temptation. I considered him my true husband, and tonight my body was his and his alone.

I lit the candles, moving counterclockwise around the room, and began the chant to start the ritual. The first few years I'd had to read it from my father's books, but by now I had every syllable and intonation carefully memorized. A darkness settled over the bedroom, different from the simple absence of light caused by the sun beginning its journey to below the horizon. This darkness was a heavy darkness, like a warm blanket settling over my skin. Only the light of the candles held it back, and only in tiny flickering pools.

The lines in the circle began to glow; it was a pale, sickly color reminiscent of mushrooms in the deepest caves, a glow that held no real light and less warmth. A glow that sent sparks through my body, the tingle of delicious anticipation. I could feel him now, drawing closer; I felt as if I could hear with the ears of the hare, hear footsteps crunching in snow, coming nearer to the cabin. That was one of the effects of the Goddess's blessing on my work; the proof that I had connected to her realm. The proof that everything was perfect.

The Goddess never spoke to me. My father had claimed, many times, that the Goddess spoke to him, but he was a liar. I knew that now. The Goddess spoke to no one. She showed her favor in soft, dark caresses and in heightened senses, she showed her favor in the subtle, tiny smile I could see behind my eyelids.

The darkness fell heavier upon me. It dragged down on my arms and legs, made it feel like I was walking through water as I continued to circle the room, chanting and drawing the holy symbols in the air with my ritual wand. I heard the door rattle; was it a gust of wind? Or was it... I shuddered again, my desire cresting into base, wanton need. A need my other husband could never fulfill, had never wanted to fulfill. The need that drew me back to the cabin, year after year.

I felt, rather than heard, my lover at the door.

I moved to the center of the circle and the darkness trembled like water as the door opened. Flakes of snow blew into the bedroom on a chill breeze. Her realm was always cold and dark, its warmth and love only evident in the Goddess herself, and in her servants. The frigid breeze passed over my skin as if I were naked and I was instantly covered in gooseflesh. I gasped, and I could feel his eyes upon me as if his gaze was a physical touch. He was here.

I stood still in the center of the circle until I was certain; until I could hear his slow, heavy breathing and smell his delightful, enticing sent. "It's time, baby," I giggled as I felt his glance rake across my figure, lingering on my ass, savouring my legs. "It's our day. I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you."

I turned around; I couldn't see him in the darkness, but I knew where he stood, where he always stood. My heart leapt into my throat and I moaned softly with lust. "Happy anniversary, baby," I whispered as I slowly opened my robe, revealing myself to him in the cold blackness, aching for his touch.

I let my robe fall to the floor and stepped backwards out of the circle, sitting down at the foot of the bed. I opened my legs wantonly, enticing him with my aroma, and I felt his smile, heard his moan, so low it was almost a growl.

"Your wife is ready for you, my husband," I teased, letting my fingers slide long my moist slit. "Take me. Make love to your wife." I rubbed my foot on the chalk lines of the circle, breaking the magic.

The sickly glow faded, and my husband, my true husband, came to me. He caressed the skin of my thigh, his touch hot and wet; his smooth appendage leaving a trail of moisture behind it that felt like liquid silk on my skin. I bit my lip; I could feel his desire in that touch, his love and adoration, and I opened my legs wider. "Yes, baby..." I cooed, my breath shaky.

He touched my cheek, softly and adoringly, and I turned my head to kiss the moist, supple tendril. I ran my tongue over it, delighting in his taste; it was musky, heady, and sweet, like nothing of this world, and I craved it. I opened my mouth and he obliged me, sliding the tip between my lips; it was about the width of a finger at the end, but widened quickly as I drew him in, flexing and growing to stretch my jaw. I moaned around him, playing with him with my tongue, and I heard his breathing come quicker.

My heart fluttered as I felt him come over me then, flowing like warm oil over my body, pushing me onto the bed as his arms, his many arms, touched my thighs and breasts and cheeks. His smaller appendages coiled around my wrists and ankles, and I spread my legs wider for him, urging him on. The tendril in my mouth withdrew, and I pouted for a moment, still craving the taste of him. "Baby, yes... I love you so much... I need you, I'm yours," I whispered to the darkness. His lips found mine; his soft, pliable alien lips, and his tongue pushed into my mouth. It was much like the tongue of a man, but it had the softness of a woman's, and was far longer and more flexible than anything on this planet. I sucked on it happily as he pushed it in and out of my mouth.

I had tried to count, early on in our relationship, just how many arms he had, but it was impossible. They varied in width and strength and purpose, and as the nubbed ones slid over my nipples I moaned into his kiss. A multitude of tiny little strands found my clit, rubbing it and flicking it and wrapping it up all at once and I arched my back as much as I could against his hot weight. I pulled back from the kiss and let out a primal groan of need.

"Baby, please... Don't tease me, I need you, I love you so much..."

I wished he could have taken his time; I always wondered how beautiful it would be to give him my body as a playground for as long as he desired. But my spirit was the only thing holding the door open for him, and while I had grown more powerful over the years my strength was still limited. Still mortal.

He understood. I felt his understanding and his love ripple through my soul, and I sighed happily. "Make love to me, baby..."

When he parted the wet folds of my pussy lips, it was like being filled with an enormous water balloon; his flexible cock swelled and shrank to match the shape of my pussy walls, putting the perfect pressure on every inch of me. He didn't fuck me, like my other husband did; instead he pulsed inside me, making ripples in his flesh that ran along his shaft, giving me the feeling of being totally full while still stimulating all of my nerves in a delightful rhythym.

His amorphous body pressed down harder on top of me, drawing me into him, holding me tightly and lovingly in what felt like a warm mass of firm gelatin. I couldn't move my arms or legs; only my head was free as I floated inside his form, while his cock throbbed and swelled inside me. I loved that feeling more than anything in the world, the feeling of being totally helpless and totally safe, completely used and completely loved.

"I love you baby, oh goddess, I love you," I moaned as an orgasm shook me, my pussy clenching against his eldritch cock. I bent down to kiss his body, feeling his hard but yielding flesh on my lips. He didn't let up for even an instant; instead his rippling and throbbing sped up, and his tiny tendrils assaulted my clit more aggressively. I threw my head back and screamed, a primordial scream of pure love, and I felt one of his thin arms pressing against my asshole.

"Yes, yes, baby, fuck my ass, it's all yours, I'm yours, I love you!" I panted.

He obliged me, roughly pushing his thick, silky, lubricated tentacle past my ring and I orgasmed again, hard, screaming into the darkness. He kissed me again, letting his tongue roam deep into my mouth and I kissed him back, trying to channel all of my passion and desire and adoration for him through my lips as he held me motionless inside him. His cock was strong and soft, and the appendage in my asshole was rough and slippery, and his tongue was sweet and insistent... it was overwhelming. No sensation could compare to the passion of my true husband.

I laughed and cried, and saw the image of my father standing behind my husband, chained and whipped for his arrogance. I couldn't believe, at the time or now, that anyone could be evil enough to want to bind this beautiful creature, to cast him from our plane of existence altogether, to render him powerless and throw him into the void. I had seen him do it to many creatures from the Goddess's realm, but I was a child, I didn't know any better.

Until I met my true husband. On my 18th Valentine's Day.

I broke my father's circle that day. On purpose. I let the Goddess take him, and I laughed the whole time. Good riddance. And then I gave myself to my true husband for the first time.

I snapped back to the present as I came again, and then again, proclaiming my love and calling out his name with each explosion of passion as he lovingly filled me and fucked me and held me tight, until I felt my strength begin to falter. The room shimmered, a warning sign, and he broke our kiss. I could feel him looking at me, and I knew he was asking about how much time we had.

"Yes, baby," I said, my breathing ragged, my body on fire. "It's almost time."

He began to pull out of me, and I knew he was getting ready to spill his hot gelatinous seed. I loved it when he covered me in his cum; it was like a physical manifestation of his love and tenderness. But tonight, I wanted something else.

"No, baby," I said, and he stopped. I felt his confusion. "Cum inside me, baby. I love you. I want to try for a child again."

It had never worked before; it had always ended painfully, usually before spring, and I knew my husband was loathe to put me through that. But I could feel the Goddess blessing our union; somehow I knew, this was the time. I would bear his child.

"Cum inside me," I begged him. "Please. I want a baby from you."

He surged back into me, my request filling him with love and passion, and I screamed as I felt that balloon cock break inside my willing pussy, filling me with his seed. It burned painfully and pleasantly within me and I came again; he freed my hands and I wrapped my arms around him, peppering him with soft kisses as I spasmed inside his body.

We laid together for a few minutes, panting and breathless, kissing and touching and playing with each other until I felt the strength beginning to bleed from my body.

"I can't hold it anymore, darling," I said, biting my lip. "I'm sorry."

I felt his understanding again, his bittersweet happiness, his appreciation and his love. He was ready. I closed my eyes and let the last of my energy leave me with a long sigh. The darkness wavered and I felt him slide off of me, going back to his home.

I opened my eyes; the velveteen blackness was gone. Only normal darkness remained, lit by cheerfully burning candles, and I wiped a tear from my eye. I wanted to lay there forever, to keep the memory of my true husband's touch on my skin from fading, by my stomach cramped. I gasped in pain and rolled off the bed, stumbling weakly to the kitchen. The effort of holding the gate open left me literally starving; my body would eat itself if I didn't feed it immediately.

---

An hour later, I leaned my nude body back against the dining room chair. I had eaten both steaks, all of the strawberries, and all but two pieces of the cake, yet I still felt pangs of hunger, in spite of my stomach being full to bursting. I would finish the cake in the morning. I sighed and rubbed my tummy, smiling happily.

It had worked this time. I could feel his child growing inside me already. The Goddess had blessed me.

This time next year, I would be introducing my true husband to his daughter.

It would be perfect.