My Valentine

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Author's Note:

Best wishes to everyone's Sweet Valentine! Still finishing up some of my stories, but I thought of releasing this first. If you've got time, rate the story and feel free to share any of your plans this coming holiday, kinky or otherwise! Believe it or not, I'm in love with romance. I know it's ironic considering the type of stories I write, but I actually believe in love, and there's no better time to show how much you love someone than the capitalistic holiday otherwise known as Valentine's Day — except maybe any other day out of the other 365 we have this year (LEAP YEAR, BABY).

So... have fun, and stay safe! Unless you want Scorpios like me.

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"Hey, have I been good lately?" I ask my wife. She turns to me, lying down on our bed, unruly strands of her jet-black hair resting on her cheeks. I can see the realization slowly settling on her eyes; why I was asking her the question.

"Yeah," she replies, placing her leg on top of mine as she leans on her side to face me. "You want to go on a date? It has been a while, huh?"

She pauses for a moment and asks, "Are... are you sure? It's February. I — I know we don't have any plans right now, but we could... do something else."

I chuckle at the sight of her, trying to tamp down her eagerness in consideration of me.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," I reply.

"So we're really doing this?"

I nod, sporting an expectant look on my face. She smiles. I can tell she's excited too, and that sweet, euphoric moment of doubt greets me like an old friend.

"Where do you want to go?" Julie asks, her long and dainty fingers tracing circles on my chest. Does it matter? I think to myself.

"I don't know. Anywhere. Do you have a place in mind?"

She thinks for a moment before answering me, "Oh, there's that amazing Japanese place down Central Plaza. We could go there for dinner, maybe."

I kiss her forehead. "Sounds amazing. Should we head out, say, 7:00 in the evening?"

Julie squints her eyes. "How many hours are you giving me to... prepare?"

My cock twitches just at the thought. Maybe I shouldn't have worn my soft pajamas for bed.

"Two?" I say, nervously gauging her reaction closely from the corner of my eyes.

"Three," Julie negotiates with a grin.

"Deal."

"Great. You'll call him, and ask permission?" she asks me, but the answer's clear. Julie asks mostly to be polite. "Yeah. I'll do it tonight," I tell her. She kisses me on the cheeks. "Good night, baby."

I call him, and the conversation goes as smoothly as usual. It's weird. I always expect some sort of resistance, but there's never any. Which I suppose is a good thing, considering I'm about to faint out of excitement and intimidation at the same time. These calls never get old.

After a few minutes of setting up the details, I hang up the phone, climb through my wife's blanket, and close my eyes.

Unnervingly hearing my blood as they course through my veins, I sigh in exasperation. If I'm lucky, I'll catch about three hours of rest tonight.

Lucky me.

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I wake up with the sun harshly greeting my eyes. My wife is gone. In the past, I would've made an emotional fuss over it — or worry for her safety, at least. I know better now.

The so-called preparation always needs its own assembly. That's basically a rule at this point. I used to help Julie get all dolled up, but when she found out he prefers it done at his house, I never got the chance again.

I walk downstairs to find plain breakfast prepared in the microwave — an easy, reheated ready-to-eat box. Back then, she used to take extra care of me in the morning for our date nights. Eggs, bacon, the whole works. The room would smell of amazing dishes I've never even heard of. Mixed with the vanilla-scented cologne she'd been using for the past ten years — ever since I told her I loved it.

Now that we've settled onto this new normal, she puts that extra effort somewhere else. She claims not to, of course, but I know better than to believe the pretty words that come out of those equally pretty lips.

Still, Julie always manages to leave these cute little notes in the refrigerator for me. As usual, as I scan through the sea of fridge magnets and bills for the familiar yellow paper, I smile. On the top corner, hilariously holding up only because of a fridge magnet despite being a sticky note, I read the words, " Love you, honey. Good luck at work today!"

These messages always make my day no matter what. I pull the note off the fridge to stick it in between my book of recollection— the hardbound binder I keep for our memories together, which has now become a shrine specifically for our date nights.

I had to use glue because the note refuses to adhere to the pages, though.

Heeding my wife's sweet words and keeping them inside my heart, I take off for work.

It turned out to be a busy day, and I should've been exhausted at the end of my shift, but unsurprisingly I wasn't. The entire day, my mind wandered to the thought of my beautiful wife waiting for me; how excited I was for our date.

Driving back home with the same purehearted intent to see her as in our prime days, I spot a flower shop with yellow daffodils just outside the sidewalk. I pause. Julie absolutely adores them beyond passion.

When we walked down the aisle, daffodils were her chosen flowers. They were beautifully incorporated in the archways leading up to the altar. When a flower had accidentally fallen off during our ceremony, I grabbed it from the floor without thinking and tucked it behind her cute ear.

Until now I still think about that moment.

I park the car as close as possible and enter the uniquely decorated shop. The woman behind the counter asks me if I need help, so I tell her about my date with Julie — and how much daffodils mean to us.

"You're in luck. We've just had a fresh batch of yellow daffodils come in if you're interested, sir."

"I'll take a bouquet."

Nodding her head, the woman then prepares for a handful. I search the shop for anything else Julie might like, but I'm afraid I need to turn this place around before I can find something she doesn't like.

Julie's been a flower girl ever since we were kids. Until now, I have yet to see anyone who loved fairy tales as much as she does. She used to tell me I was her Prince Charming.

After a minute, the receptionist hands me the furnished bouquet and smiles. "She's lucky to have you, sir. I'm sure your wife will love it."

I smile back at her before heading back to the car and driving away.

Julie. My sweet Julie.

Chills run down my spine at the thought of seeing her. I'm only a few blocks away from our house — our home now. Julie should be inside waiting for me. Along with the darker part of our fairy tale.

Seeing the expected car on our veranda, I park a few houses away before skipping to the house. Sounds of passion become louder as I approach the front door. The lock is open. I enter with the flowers in my hand.

And there she is — in all of her glory. My hot wife, on her fours, crying out in pleasure while another man fucks her just the way she likes it.

"We-welcome home, baby!" she manages to greet me by the door as her hands grip at the couch for dear life. I hide the bouquet of flowers behind my back. They already started, huh? In the past, they never began without me. Of course, a lot of things have changed since then.

Admiration fills my wife's eyes. Though, it isn't directed to me as much as it is directed to the man currently driving his cock mercilessly on her pussy from behind.

Like he had suddenly hit a super sweet spot, Julie loses focus on me and squeals, "Oh, my Goood! Jack, oh — Ooh, Daddy! Fuck me! Fuck me harder with that big COOoooOCK — !"

Before the last word could properly come out of her mouth, Jack reaches his hand out and holds her by the chin. He then turns her head to face me — a gesture I usually find myself grateful for. Otherwise, my wife wouldn't look at me all night.

Unfortunately, even then, my lonely figure hardly registers in her immaculately reflecting cock-crazed eyes.

"Whose pussy is this, huh? Whose, bitch?!" Jack growls, roughly pulling her beautiful hair as leverage to fuck her harder, a feature of hers I had treasured for so long, with his other barbaric hand.

She sticks her tongue out with a wanton smile, answering him more sincerely than she did saying yes to marry me, "Yours, Daddy! This pussy's all yours! Oh, fuck! Yes! Oooh — you're pounding the back so hard and I love it, Daddy! I — I love you! Please — don't fucking stoooop! Keep fucking me like this! Keep fucking your slut! Make Daddy's worthless little pocket pussy cum on your fat fucking cock!"

The sight of my strong and independent wife renouncing ownership of her own body almost makes me cum. I know she means it. No matter how hard she denies this side of her; this needy — greedy slut. The slut she had hated for so long.

I also know she doesn't believe me when I tell her I love her, even this part of her. I've loved everything about the Julie I had first met back when we were kids — when we moved to the same suburban neighborhood we never left since.

And I know she loves me back.

But sometimes, this gnawing despair suddenly fills me when I see her like this — uncontrollable, fiery; exactly like the woman I had married seven years ago in unadulterated form. Not because I don't enjoy watching her fuck a superior man — I do.

But because I could never figure out what really sparked that look of absolute contentment in her eyes ever since we married each other.

Was it me?

Or was it being fucked by a man bigger and better than her voyeur husband, whose inadequacy only made it hotter?

No one knows, really. Probably not even Julie.

That sense of crippling doubt and insecurity is the reason I stay awake through some nights, and strangely the reason why I wake up in the morning as well.

"OH, MY GOD ♡ He's FUCKING me so GOOOOD, honey! Uh — RIGHT THERE! FUCK, BABY! I love ♡ — LOVE YOUR COCK SO MUUUUCH ♡♡♡ "

Our amused Bull follows Julie's line of sight, right into my eyes, "Who do you love more, you fucking slut?"

"OH, fuuuuck, DADDY! You — you BULLY! DON'T ask me q-questions like THAT ♡♡♡ Oooh — UH, YEAH! THERE — F-FUCK! AH — Are y-you JEALOUS...?"

"Answer the question, bitch!" he growls, slapping Julie's oscillating ass. She looks back at me, as if asking for permission — not the permission to say anything in particular, only to tell the actual truth — her true feelings.

In the end, my opinion didn't matter. Her sexy mouth opens up to speak them anyway, like a devout follower passionately spreading her God's splendor.

"YOU! Your beautiful hard COCK ♡♡ I love — I love YOU so much, DADDY ♡ So please — oh, fuuuuck — don't be M-MAD! Your HUGE FUCKING COCK is the only ONE for me!"

I stop hiding the flowers behind my back to present to her. "I brought you these by the way. Remember our wedding?"

Confusion fills her eyes for a second as an abrupt sense of clarity briefly returns to them with a hard smack in her ass. "YES! Oh, honey! They're — they're beautiful..." Julie darts between me and the man who had just spanked her in the butt without warning. I can tell her attention is divided between a fond memory of the most important day of our lives together and her subjugator's majestic cock plunging deep inside her dripping pussy.

As usual, only one ended up winning in the end.

The next second, as Jack fills her pussy to the brim, piercing her womb — Julie's sweating body writhes, accidentally knocking away my hand as well as the daffodils I had so sincerely offered her. She looks up at me with guilty apologetic eyes.

Jack, seemingly amused by the situation, spits on the blooming flower with a sneer — and to my surprise, Julie's rosy lips parts to laugh in reaction. Like some sort of inside joke I'm not included in.

She caught herself quickly, but I can tell from the way her eyes were shining that she was indescribably turned on with the disrespectful gesture to me and our symbol. So was I.

With the pretty chuckle as the prelude, I slowly see my wife return to the same catatonic woman that passionate sex with our Bull seems to bring about. Jack himself doesn't pay any heed to us — or me, more specifically, as he continues to fuck Julie with pleasure.

Like usual, she fucks back with a force matching his, screaming her lungs out as he brutally pounds her voluptuous body. I see the impact of their perverted lovemaking ripple through her smooth, round ass — which had been decorated with clear red handprints. My wife loved getting smacked in the ass, she admitted to me a few years back.

Not by me, Julie never even allowed me to do anything out of the ordinary — no matter how much I begged in the past. With Jack, however, he didn't even have to ask. When she and I met him for an arrangement a few years ago, she offered up her peachy, bubble butt for a spanking without hesitation. It was the first time I saw her get off on pain, and certainly not the last.

"PLEASE CHOKE ME HARD, DADDY ♡♡ IN THE NECK, PLEASE ♡ — OH, PRETTY PLEASE! W-WRAP YOUR FINGERS, OH, AROUND ME LIKE A PRETTY NECKLACE ♡ OH — YOU CAN FUCK ME HARDER...! TREAT ME LIKE FUCKING SHIT — OH ♡ MY PUSSY FEELS SO, SO GOOOOD! OOOH, S-SHIIIIT — DADDY, PLEASE SPANK YOUR GOOD OBEDIENT SLUT ♡♡♡!"

Over the years, the desire to be hurt and dominated only grew and grew — from both our ends. Julie let him do anything he pleased as I watched on the sidelines. Under my total surveillance, my wife had become someone else's nasty slut. She wore whatever he wanted her to wear; dirty outfits unbefitting of a human, let alone a self-proclaimed feminist. She happily let him fuck her mouth upside down like a fleshlight too, his fist-sized balls repeatedly slapping her eyes, pupils widened in the process — which I was proud to have a Polaroid picture of, tucked safely inside our book.

Of course, those pictures became common for us over the years as theoretically nothing was off the limits. Even rough anal became somewhat of a Saturday for us. I've probably seen Julie's gaping asshole more times than she's ever said she loves me.

Hell, I think she's said it to his cock more than she's said it to me.

Letting that painful ache in my heart grow, I take a flower from the bouquet and place it gently on her ear — the same exact way I did on that aisle. I don't know what came over me then, but she flashes me the brightest smile and kisses me on the lips, moaning into my mouth. I lovingly hold her rosy cheeks to pull her in closer. Despite claiming her soft lips, I knew her pretty words didn't belong to me. At this moment, she doesn't belong to me. No, she's his prized possession; his war prisoner, Jack's right by conquest.

Babbles of worship leave her mouth like peppermint, painting my tongue with the taste of her undying fidelity — not for me, her husband, but for her beloved conqueror's cock.

"You promised me three hours, but you already left in the morning," I tell her, a soft and weak chastising tone present in my voice.

"I'm — FUCK ♡ — I'm so sorry, honey! I r-really am! He called me and I — I couldn't resist again. SHIT, I CAN'T THINK STRAIGHT! FUCK — ooh! FEELS AMAZING! Oh ♡ — OH, baby! I bought this dress for you, but he ripped it apart in the — in the ch-changing room. We almost got caught — OH, CRAAAP ♡ FUCK ME WITH THAT BIG STUPID COOOOCK...!!!"

Only now did I really notice her disheveled clothing. Her curves look amazing in it. The dark red satin dress she's wearing, while torn apart, revealing her lower back and buttocks, still looks straight out of a catalog. It's probably just as expensive. Meanwhile, her underwear, a black slutty g-string that barely covers even her extremities, must've been meant to outline her buttocks gracefully. At its current state, it served only as leverage for the man to fuck her harder — like a degrading leash for an equally degraded bitch.

I rub my erection through my pants. Julie always had the body to pull off the most classy yet dirty dresses you've ever seen. How can she not? She looks stunning in any clothing that hugs her figure.

"Hey, it's okay. I forgive you, babe," I say, barely knowing how much of my 'forgiveness' actually means to her.

My wife, as if she hadn't heard me, organizes her disheveled hair to one side and turns her head towards her Bull, scrunching up her lips exaggeratingly for a kiss like a dumb slut. He obliges, but not before spitting on her mouth, which she gladly opens with a look of love.

They enjoy each other's tongue for the next few minutes. Unlike our gentle pecking, their kiss was fiery and passionate and dirty — everything love is supposed to look like. Her gaze occasionally darts to me, guilt underneath her iris — as if she knows it's wrong, but she's helpless to stop herself.

I smile to reassure her, but romantic kisses shared between the two were often the part of the evening I struggled with. It was one thing to fuck her hard like I couldn't — and another to kiss her in the same exact way I used to.

It always brings to mind a question I feared was true: Somewhere along the line, did some part of Julie and I fall out of love with each other?

Did my wife, at some moment in time, wish she had married some other guy?

Someone more like Jack?

Maybe I wasn't the man or prince in her happy ending story after all, as hard as I tried to be. Maybe I was just the bittersweet prologue to the more exciting chapters of her life with a superior man.

My thoughts are interrupted when the two people break off their kiss with a hard thrust. She moans, eyes rolling to the back of her head. Julie was cumming, and she was cumming hard.

Jack yells, apparently close to his own orgasm. With one look at me, my wife's contorted face loses all hesitation as she pulls herself back, kneels in front of his cock, and eagerly jerks him off.

"Cum on my face, Daddy," she says in mid-orgasm, fingering her clit as her face takes an expression of rapture. I watch by the sidelines as Jack erupts on her ready face, ropes of cum spurting on her flushed cheeks and parted mouth. For a moment, Julie looks... inordinately content — probably well on her way to another orgasm at the feel of his thick white cum painting her face. Similarly, I feel something spark around the shuddering entirety of my spine. Without warning, my own pathetic climax comes over me. I gasp as my cock ejaculates underneath my underwear with a twitch. My legs, on the other hand, tremble formidably — threatening to collapse at the weight of this twisted pleasure.