Steak & BJ After Decades Of Neglect

She positioned herself in front of me, standing with her legs spread wide apart. Her nipples were stiff with cold. The pussy, indicated by the dark capital V that I had shaved so many times, trembled.

She squatted on top of me. Her cold pussy rubbed against my hot cock. Her nipples, like two ice cubes, against my warm chest.

She brought her mouth close to my ear.

Her voice trembled with excitement. She was whispering, not to be heard by Trudy, even though the main door was closed, I could tell by the rising temperature of the room.

"Happy March 14, my love. You are free to choose whatever you want, this day is for you, from this year forever.

If you want to stop, let's stop. I will put on cotton pajamas and go to sleep like a frustrated housewife.

If you want me to serve your steak, I need $25. Right now. I have to pay a delivery girl who's waiting outside the door, and I don't have any pockets right now, as you can see, go ahead and check if you want -- search me. Shake me down.

Your call. If you want to lend me $25, on trust, counting on me being able to pay you back tonight, then please put the bills in my hand, because I'm handcuffed.

If all these years my behavior during the holidays, and especially my silly nursery rhymes, have hurt you... if you think it's fairer for me to painstakingly earn my $25... if you order me to do so, I will kneel now and make you cum with a blowjob, and then I will go answer the door with my face and hair covered in your cum."

Before continuing, Violet let out a sigh.

"If you would now order me to get you an available girl for next year...sigh..., I swear I will obey you and give you the services of a girl who will allow you to eat both her steak and her pussy: but don't ask me to invite in my best friend's daughter, just today, that would not be fair.

You choose the characteristics of this New Tradition of ours. I am aware that I have always boycotted you all the Valentine's Days of the past years, and I would like you to give me this opportunity to redeem myself, before the Ebenezer Scrooge of the Past Years comes, with chains and shackles, to wake me up at night."

I said nothing. Leaving her for a moment in doubt that I might choose the worst option for her gave me untold pleasure. I had always done everything I could to make parties great for others, and today for the first time my wife was providing me with an opportunity to create a new tradition.

I whispered to her, "Close your eyes."

I grabbed my pants and she heard the sound of the fabric rubbing against the skin of the couch. She could not know what I was doing: perhaps I was masturbating to facilitate the cumshot with which I would paint her face.

After a moment (which seemed to her to last a century) I slipped three ten-dollar bills between the fingers of her right hand. I had also slipped the belt off the loops.

I told her to open her eyes: she thought for a moment that I would whip her, and that I would send her to the main door exposing a red bruise on her buttocks.

I slid my belt above her elbows, squeezing them tightly, and then buckled her. Her breasts jutted forward because the new restraints forced her shoulders into an unnatural position. Perhaps Violet was in a little pain, but she decided to resist to please me... as I had resisted dozens of feminist meetings and dozens of boring theatrical monologues.

I nibbled weakly on one of her nipples, eliciting a moan of pleasure from her.

"Run and pay Trudy. Leave her a tip. Tell her to leave the boxes in the cabinet. Thank her for her patience and leave the tip. Get right back here."

I closed my eyes, to focus on the melodious sound of her heels running to pay for the delivery.

I listened to short sentences from the two female voices, a double kiss on both cheeks and a couple of joyful greetings. Finally, the girl left, yelling from afar, "Good Luck, Auntie!"

I heard the sound of the main door closing: perhaps the girl had closed it on her way out, or perhaps Violet had pushed it shut with her back.

Here again, was the delicious sound of her heels. Violet was gorgeous: her tits were taut and her nipples erect, both from the excitement of being seen by another person and from the tension caused by the belt tightened above her elbows.

She walked slowly, to give me time to get a good look at her. I will never forget that magnificent gait, majestic and humble, fit for a queen but also a slave: for a queen who had agreed to be my slave for a day.

Violet's lips were half-open. Yes, lips: the two labia that encircled the clitoris. Violet also smiled at me with her delicious mouth: the lips, the other ones, the top ones. Very calmly, she placed her right foot on the coffee table, allowing me to closely contemplate her beautiful pussy.

She wore black lace-up shoes covering only her toes. Tiny laces showed her beautiful ankle in stockings. I didn't remember her ever buying those shoes: they were very elegant, perhaps she had worn them to a friend's wedding. I had given her the stockings but she had never worn them. The thought that Violet had prepared this whole show for me made my heart melt like snow under the sun.

Then, slowly, Violet rested her right knee on the couch, and gently slid into the same position as before, with her knees wide open, her pussy rubbed against my cock, and her tits stretched forward by her elbows tightened by the belt.

With voice matter of fact, I established some corrections to the proposal she had made, both in the note and in the options just enunciated.

"Here are the rules of the New Tradition. Every March 14, or any immediately available date in case of a natural disaster, the two of us will celebrate Steak & BJ.

The celebration will begin at 7 p.m.

You, the wife, are to be decked out in this way at all times, or in other even skimpier lingerie. And you will be handcuffed at all times, at the very least with these Velcro manacles, or with other, more constrictive handcuffs, such as a gibbet or a belt that holds your forearms and neck in place. And heels. Nothing to impede my free access to nipples or pussy.

No conversation. Elegant conversation is a conventional Valentine's Day ritual. Here we are in the cave of the Primitive Man, I don't want to hear talk, I want only moans, grunts, and monosyllables.

I, the husband, will watch television. But not porn, or anything exciting. Your punishment, for denying me twenty years of valentines, will be to blow job me all evening while I watch a sports channel. And as you have never reciprocated me at parties, I will do with you: you will have no orgasm until midnight on March 15.

You wrote that I have had to swallow several boring things over the years. You will have to swallow at least two cumshots or even three. With handcuffs, you will not be able to eat freely: you will have to beg me to feed you, like a small child. And also drink. By the way: soda, light alcohol, but most importantly, free burp.

If next year any of your friends would like to participate -- if Trudy, or any of the girls in the class where you teach self-defense or any of your friends, would like to participate, for free and without payment, we'll see.

I have never paid a woman for sex and I do not intend to do so now. But I have paid cooks, butlers, and violinists to make Valentine's Day evening unforgettable for you. To no avail. Maybe next year you could recruit an assistant, or a violinist, or a cook -- we'll see.

That's all for now. But it's a tradition about to be started, and we may add new rules in the future. If you disagree, say the Safeword we usually use with handcuffs ["tiger cubs"], and I will release you and you will go to sleep like a frustrated housewife, but without swallowing anything. Take your time to make up your mind. If you agree to the rules, then, without speaking, kneel and suck me, that before eating I want to cum in your throat."

Violet kissed me, a long, sloppy kiss, twirling her tongue like a horny teenager. Then without taking her mouth off my skin, she went down with her tongue to my neck, my chest, sliding her pussy down my thigh. She began a slow, sloppy-blowjob, spending a lot of time on my balls and the frenulum under the chapel. Then she made my cock plunge into her throat like a pool welcomes a darting dolphin.

I was about to stop her, but then I thought that a real primitive man would show no kindness.

I didn't have to warn her. I didn't even have to help her. I cum suddenly, almost choking her with the jet. Violet struggled to swallow as much as she could but some of the cum fell on her chin and tits.

If we had been in a fancy club, I would have wiped her chin with a silk napkin. But we were in a prehistoric cave, and I decided I would not wipe her at all. Still a New Tradition of March 14th.

She just said, "TV?"

Monosyllables were accepted.

"Advice?" asked I, still distracted by the cumshot.

Violet's response surprised me: "The Best!"

Oh, wow! So my wife listens to me when I talk to friends! And all these years she's been pretending she didn't know, and dragging me to see "The Phantom of The Opera" and "Hamilton," while she knew full well what "The Best" was!"

With her eyes, she pointed to the remote control. My favorite soccer game was already in the DVD player: the 2005 Soccer Champions League final. So many years have passed, and I don't think it's a spoiler: it was the most famous comeback in sports history. The problem is it's almost two hours long! And my wife couldn't stand that I spent so much time watching a sport!

An Italian team, Milan, was leading by three goals at the end of the first half. All seemed lost: three goals, in soccer, seemed insurmountable, and Milan was famous for having the most compact defense in the world.

But in the second half, the players of the English team (Liverpool) came onto the field with their eyes ablaze with a decision: "We don't give up, it's not over, it's not too late, we can still turn the tables." The captain, Gerrard, scored the first goal. A defender scored the second goal. The Italians panicked. They blundered, they made mistakes. The equalizing goal came. And in the end, the English won.

This match always aroused great emotions in me. It showed that despite the mistakes in the first phase, we always have time to make up for them. My wife had remembered that I liked to watch that game, but perhaps she was not fully aware of the metaphorical meaning: 20 years of failed valentines could be compensated with 20 years of glorious March 14th.

"90?" she asked.

"A normal game lasts 90 minutes. But here we have extra time and penalties. It's at least two hours, even longer. If you need to pee you can ask me."

"No... Thanks... Sir."

Without further words, he continued to lick my cock, which was becoming flaccid, to clean every drop of cum. She did not take off her heels, did not ask for the liberation of her elbows, and continued to lick my balls and shaft for the entire First half of 45 minutes.

I decided it was time for meat. I got up and went to get the two cardboard boxes. It was still hot, but not boiling: perfect. It wasn't a real steak (the restaurant's policy advised against taking steaks home) but it was two gorgeous burgers.

Mine was truly primal. Two huge portions of meat separated by onion, chili, and bacon: my wife was not afraid my breath would get worse, or she was willing to suffer that too to make me happy.

Hers was slightly more feminine, but still prehistoric: a portion of baby meat, with cheese and pistachio seeds. I noticed that her burger had arrived already and cut into small bites.

"What?"

"Meow!" she meowed, with a smile.

What a fool I am. Among the fantasies I had often confessed to her during pillow talks after orgasm, one was that she would open the door naked to a delivery boy at a pizza stand. But another, was for her, handcuffed, to eat her dinner from the bowl, without hands or forks. I had almost forgotten; she had remembered.

She meowed, like a kitten, to draw my attention to the drawer of the coffee table. I opened it. Inside was a striped, furry tail that I had bought many years ago and had never wanted to wear. It was connected with a metal anal plug. There was also a gel packet but a post-it note read "don't need it" written in her soft handwriting.

While I admired the contents of the drawer, she was crouched on her thighs, crouched. Her fully shaven rosebud was exposed to the air, and she was begging me to stick the plug of her tail into her so she could begin to eat from the bowl.

I stuck a fingertip in to feel if she was hot. She was hot. I stroked the groove between her labia: it was wet and hot. My wife had never been a submissive woman, but all that preparation had turned her on.

I decided to use a little bit of lubricant, without telling her: she must have continued to think I had been prim and unkind. I pushed it in slowly: she groaned and wiggled her fingers, but she did not ask to stop me (and never uttered her Safeword).

I opened the carton with her chopped hamburger and allowed her to feed by bending her back: my belt locked her elbows, so her nipples rubbed bare against the rough lace of her hold-up stockings, and I could see that they were erect.

With each mouthful, she inflicted torture on herself with her nipples, rubbing them against the lace of her stockings. My mind was aroused; the cock was still flaccid from normal dormancy times. She knew this but continued to suffer, to arouse my most repressed instincts.

As I watched my wife suffer on her knees for me, I made the second half begin on TV and began to eat my double burger using both hands. Unlike her, that night I was free, serene, and with no obstacle between me and pleasure.

At the first English goal, she heard me exult, so she got up from the bowl and crawled toward me walking on her knees. She had not wiped her chin, which was now smeared with cum and pistachio sauce.

All she said was, "BJ?"

"Allowed."

And she began to lick a limp cock, from a man who was thinking of something else entirely. Liverpool was coming back one step after another, and my cock was also regaining energy, one lick after another. After the goal of the temporary equalizer, I had a remarkable erection, grabbed my wife's skull, and fucked her mouth without any respect.

She let me do it. In the only moment of pause I gave her, she said only, "Cum in!"

I didn't let her tell me twice. I cummed in her throat angrily, with all the nervousness I had accumulated all these years. I had finally achieved peace.

I resumed watching the game, not at all bothering to reciprocate, make conversation, or even clean her up. She was slumped on one buttock, her head resting on the sofa. I wondered why she was not sitting normally, then I remembered that she had the tail plug in her ass. It was an item she used so rarely, that I had forgotten about it.

Violet was fatigued, but it did not diminish her enthusiasm. After swallowing all the cum in her mouth, she licked her lips, then began to lick my shaft and balls to clean me well.

She devoted a lot of time to licking my knob. It almost looked as if she cherishes polishing it as if she were polishing a brass knob to make it shine in the middle of the living room.

She noticed that a large drop of semen had fallen on my right tit. So she rubbed it against my cock and then with her tongue scooped up whatever she could, trying to maintain eye contact as much as possible, even though I flaunted disinterest, often distracting myself by watching TV. It was humiliating but also exciting, certainly for me, but I think also for her. After the first big drop, she sought to repeat the same gesture and humiliate herself even more, just to turn me on.

I don't remember Violet ever devoting so much time with her mouth to my cock: normally she used her hands, or even her feet, her tits, and especially her pussy, but today she was extremely focused on oral attention. I felt that a wonderful Tradition was being born that we would repeat in future years.

After the end of the second half of the soccer game, there was still half an hour of overtime left. I ordered her to get up, "Get up, I need your service, unless you are too tired."

"Ready."

With much effort, propping herself up against the couch with her elbows tied, Violet stood up on her heels. She stood in front of me, her thighs slightly open and her chin covered with sauce and cum.

"Yes."

"First, I want to see you walk to the kitchen. I want to see waving your dangling tail: you will have to sway your hips a lot as you walk. For the elegance of your gait, I recommend that you always put one foot exactly in front of the other.

In the kitchen, you can open the sink faucet with your mouth, and rinse your chin. I will join you later -- I will walk behind you, to enjoy the view."

She walked very slowly, shaking her ass and swaying on her heels. Her tiger tail swayed left and right. I let her humble herself by wetting her face in the faucet, and then I turned off the water and dried her off.

From the freezer, I took some ice cubes and a soda. I didn't want the alcohol to ruin the memories of that evening. I handed her the glass and allowed her to take a few sips, although some of the liquid fell on her nipples, causing them to swell from the cold.

She gave a little burp and smiled at me. She did it on purpose to encourage me. One more New Tradition. I took a long swig of soda and then let out a loud belch, which in a prehistoric village would have gotten me elected chieftain. In a fancy club, it would have been embarrassing; in our cave, it was a sign of intimacy and complicity.

There were ice cubes left.

Violet looked at me hopefully and said, "Ice?"

"Yes, dear, Ice. You already have a toy in your rosebud, but you are missing something in your pussy, which I know is at my complete disposal."

"Purr..." she hummed like a cat in heat.

I took an ice cube and ran it over her nipples.

She gasped.

Then, unceremoniously, I slipped a cube inside her pussy and pushed it in with my finger. Before she could react, I took another one and slipped it in. The first one was already melting rapidly.

"Walk to the living room. Go fast on your heels if you don't want to drip all over the hall. I still have to see the extras, and if I had a loving and affectionate wife, maybe she could give me a third blowjob again."

My wife opened her eyes wide in amazement. Three ejaculations within two hours would have been quite abnormal for me. More importantly, that way she would have dried me dry, reducing to zero the chances that I could fuck her at midnight. But she had promised to obey, and she obeyed, even if it meant giving up her orgasm to give a third to me.

Sitting on the couch, I watched the game. My wife was straining to make me cum with her mouth, as her pussy contracted from the effect of the melting ice, and the anal plug kept urging from behind.

But after two cumshots, my cock was flaccid and reacting very little. My wife understood that it was just a selfish whim on my part: I was not aroused and had already had two orgasms, and indirectly I was asking her to give up her own. On a normal day, my selfish behavior would have triggered an argument full of words, but on the Traditional B & J Holiday, we had agreed that she would utter nothing but monosyllables.

Violet could have resorted to Safeword, but she decided to continue, even though she understood it was a futile effort.

Violet continued relentlessly, never asking for a respite. Even after the game was over, she continued licking and sucking. She continued again and again, desperately, moaning, panting, because she wanted at all costs to fulfill my order even though it was an almost impossible order.