A Cuckold's Valentine

I'd pulled out all the stops this Valentine's. I'd secretly taken the second half of the day as annual leave so I could be home earlier to prepare. By the time my sweetheart started her commute back home after work my plan was already well in motion; flower petals all the way from the front door to our bedroom where on the bed sat a hamper filled with chocolates, photos of us together, a card, a bear, and a very expensive set of lacy, red lingerie. In the kitchen, I was in the middle of making her favourite dinner: a mushroom risotto with a side salad adorned with feta cheese. Figuring out how to cook the rice correctly had taken weeks, but I had given myself plenty of time to prepare. At this point, I honestly could have cooked it correctly in my sleep, without the use of a clock, while hanging upside down, using one hand. In the dark. I didn't have to though, as I'd lit some candles, many of them scented, to illuminate our apartment about five minutes before she was due (and had use of both of my hands). When she finally opened that front door she was immediately hit with the smell of vanilla and butterscotch as she stepped into that beautiful ambience I'd created.

I couldn't contain my excitement when I heard that front door swing open. Giddy as anything, I grabbed a bouquet of roses I'd had to hand for this exact moment and took my time with slow, deliberate steps as I walked down the corridor, following a practiced routine so that I'd be there waiting in the doorway right as she reached the bed and started to read her card. I'd be waiting behind her for when she turned around so I could explain to her just how in love I was and what I'd prepared for our night together. My heart was pounding with excitement as I rounded the corner and stepped into the doorway - I'd timed it almost perfectly, though she'd finished reading the contents of the card and was picking up the lingerie to examine it.

"Happy Valentine's Day, my love!" I called softly from the doorway. She turned to look at me, still holding her new lingerie, with the biggest, sweetest smile on her face. I could have melted.

"Oh. My. God! I love it! Thank you so much!" She was giggling with delight as she spoke. Everything was coming together so perfectly for me; my weeks of planning, all the effort - it was so worth it. More than I could possibly articulate. My heart swelled with love and pride.

"And if you'll follow me through to the kitchen, my darling, I have the most wonderful banquet for you to enjoy." I continued, speaking in my best aristrocratic accent. But she frowned at me in confusion, then her expression got sympathetic.

"Oh, honey... I'm pretty sure I told you, didn't I?"

My heart was already sinking. "... told me what?"

She stepped over to me to place a comforting hand on my cheek as she spoke, "I've got plans tonight, sweetheart. I've been speaking to a guy Sarah knows - we're getting dinner. That's okay, isn't it? I could've sworn I told you."

I was crushed. Completely, utterly destroyed. Of course it was my fault, in a way - I'm the one who had suggested once that maybe she should sleep with someone else, that it could be a fun thing to try. Once she got a taste of sex outside the relationship I was up against the wall. Couldn't close it back up. I'd had no choice but to make a compromise to placate her; I gave her permission to sleep with whoever she liked, as long as she told me. I guess I should've been specific about the amount of warning.

"It's fine. Of course it's fine." I told her, smiling weakly. I'm not sure that I did well to hide the despair behind my eyes, but if she noticed it she pretended not to.

"Yay! Oh my goodness, you're so lovely to me." Her whole face lit up in this beautiful smile when she said it, and she leant forward and kissed me on the cheek. "Well, I need to get ready, so..." I failed to hide the disappointment on my face this time. "I'll be back here though, after dinner? I 100% double mega promise you!"

"Alright."

I left her to do her thing, pretending my heart wasn't discarded on the carpet beside me as she closed her door to apply her make up. Down the hall, I heard the oven ding in the kitchen; the fucking risotto was ready. Awesome. I dished up portions for both of us, and left hers on the counter to cool down before I put it in the fridge, hoping she might still get a chance to try it reheated tomorrow. I know what you're thinking, but the rice thing is mostly a myth. I sat there for the next 30 minutes slowly eating my dinner with a glass of water, trying my honest best to avoid engaging with the swirling cloud of emotions inside my chest. I didn't want to explore them, certainly not right at that point, but I got the impression they were mostly negative. When she left for her date she didn't even come to say goodbye face-to-face, just called a cheery 'Goodbye! See you later!' down the hall and left halfway through my response. It was probably for the best I didn't get to see her before she left.

I wish I could say that I found something to do to pass the time while she was out, but I don't want to lie to you. At most there was maybe a good five minutes in there where I was momentarily captured by the program on the TV; I think it was some sort of reality show, but couldn't figure out what the gimmick was before a husband picked up his excited wife at the airport and I immediately switched it off. Most of the rest of the time she was out - two-and-a-half hours of it - I spent staring down the wall, imagining that if I focused my energy it would crack. I'm disheartened to report I cracked first; I finally heard my darling's voice outside at the front door to the apartment block, and rushed to grab the bottle of wine I'd set aside for us. She was saying goodbye to her date at the door - perhaps I had a second chance at the night, a second chance for us to have a special evening together.

When she walked through the door she was not alone. He was tall and well-kempt, with a cropped beard and a neat haircut that suited him frustratingly well. He was wearing an off-white linen shirt that was open a few buttons to show his muscular chest. His arm was around her waist, holding her right up against him.

"Oh, uh... hey sweetheart. This is Stavros." She told me sheepishly, at least once she finally noticed me standing right in front of her. In hindsight I suppose he did look greek, so that checked out. Her eyes lit up when she saw the bottle in my hand. "Oh! Thank you lovely." She reached out and took it from me. "This is my favourite wine!"

I knew that. Of course I knew that. It was one element of many in my perfectly planned, perfect Valentine's Day surprise for her, the one I had prepared solely to make her happy, to express my love and fondness for her. For our special day together. I wonder if she'd put a similar amount of thought into the very low-cut, black dress she'd worn for him; I didn't even know she had one like that. Based on her heavily made-up face I imagine she'd left the house with lipstick on, but I couldn't see any now.

"I see you're a romantic." He said, with genuine kindness in his voice. "I don't blame you, she's gorgeous."

"Stavros, stop!"

"Hey she's playing coy now but you should've seen her in the taxi."

"Oh my god, stop!"

For a brief second I genuinely believed I was about to projectile vomit onto the carpet. In truth, I was quite disappointed when I didn't; I imagined it would have been possibly the only thing that might have put them both off each other for the night.

"Well, thank you so much for this, sweetheart! Though, he's more of a whiskey guy himself." She gestured towards her suitor. "Don't you have a nice one that you're always on about?"

Surely you're fucking joking, I thought. The man who's taken my wife, the love of my life, on Valentine's Day - you want me to give that man a glass of my fucking aged-twelve-years Penderyn?

I wish I could tell you that I exploded in a fit of rage and left her right there, but honest to god what prevented me was the fear of making a scene. Of being an inconvenience. I felt too bad about the prospect of ruining their night that I just... said 'sure' and turned around to go pour him a glass. I didn't acknowledge his 'thanks, brother' as I left.

I had too much respect for the whisky to make it shit, so I put a normal measure in a small glass with a whisky stone plucked from the freezer - a whisky stone that my wife had bought me for Christmas. I poured myself a glass too while I was at it. It felt like I probably deserved one, all things considered. When I walked back down the hallway to bring the whisky and a wine glass for her, they were already out of sight in the bedroom. She didn't even notice me when I nudged open the door, so caught up was she in placing sloppy kisses up his neck, from his collarbone to his chiseled jawline. He'd pulled her dress up to grab a firm handful of her ass in his rather large hands.

"Thank you, champ," he said, looking over the top of her head at me as I placed his drink and her glass on the table next to the door. She only realised I was there when he spoke, and at least had the decency to stop what she was doing for a moment.

He pulled away from her to come try the whisky, and I caught a flash of the red thong and leg garters of the set I'd bought her as her dress fell down. I spent the whole time he took a slow, thoughtful sip of his drink trying to stop my lip from trembling. He really was very tall - he towered over me, at the very least.

"Wow, that's fantastic." He remarked in genuine appreciation. "You really do have wonderful taste." He continued, grinning as he cast a glance back over to her, then to his drink again. The worst part was I could tell it was an honestly good-natured comment. I fucking hated it. Somehow, it seemed it would be so much easier if he was just a cunt. At least then he would have a negative quality I could focus on.

"Enjoy it," I muttered, turning on my heel to walk back down the hall to drink my glass of whisky alone in the kitchen, while Stavros got up to whatever he wanted with my wife. I focused my attention intently on the drink as I swirled it around my mouth again and again, bending every facet of my mind towards analysing the subtle tastes, the fruity notes, the hints of oak - anything, really, that was far away from the state of my evening, my awful predicament of my own making. The issue with this approach was that every moment I didn't have whisky in my mouth the world threatened to swallow me whole and drag me, screaming and crying, into a pit of miserable, spiralling despair, and so I was drinking the whisky quickly. Much quicker than I typically would, much quicker than intended, until I'd polished off the glass within ten minutes or so and there was no veil between me and the prison of my mind.

All I could think about was them - what were they doing right now? What was she doing for him? What was he doing for her? After a point, the uncertainty of it is somehow worse than witnessing it with your own eyes, and so I started to walk quietly back down the dark hallway.

When I got to the door I found that it was ajar just enough for me to peek inside unnoticed. The familiar scent of vanilla wafted out of the gap, and peering into the dimly lit room I could see that they'd lit the candles; the romantic candles that I'd purchased especially for us, creating the ambience for them instead. He was sat on the edge of the bed amongst the flower petals, and I noticed his shirt was unbuttoned. She was on her knees in front of him, and... well, her dress was behind her on the floor. I imagined what I had narrowly missed - him helping her step out of her dress, seeing the reveal of the lacy, red lingerie set that I had bought especially for her, and that she was now wearing especially for him - and my stomach dropped to greater depths, the kind where I could find some solace in being mercifully crushed by the pressure into a cube the size of my shoe.

She was sucking him off. Well, that was the cliff notes of what was happening, at least. I wish I could say that's all it really was, that it was run-of-the-mill and ordinary, that it wasn't such a big deal, but of course that would be far too kind a mercy for the sort of evening I was having. No, she was worshipping his cock - his enormous, thick cock. She had a hand wrapped around the base of it, though she could have fit both, and was exploring every inch of it with her mouth. I watched as she ran her tongue the whole way up the bottom, then teased the underside of his head with it as she noisily massaged the tip with her plump, wet lips.

He had a hand in her hair but only to massage her scalp; she didn't need any guidance. After teasing his tip she ducked down to worship his balls, sucking on them gently in an alternating fashion while she ran her tongue around in messy circles. Periodically she sucked one further into her mouth before releasing it with a pop and moving onto the other one, watching his face carefully and responding with renewed enthusiasm to every pained expression he made, every moan that ejected out of his lips, every minor reaction. She was trying so, so hard to impress him and it ruined me. She had never shown me the same treatment, the same eagerness to please and submit. Only him, and his massive cock that she drooled on and giggled around, running her tongue up every vein and slapping it against her face.

After several long eternities of this royal treatment she started actually sucking his dick, wrapping her lips around his cock and bobbing her head up and down in long, languid strokes, taking about half of his length into her mouth before coming back up to the edge. She was struggling, and this fact only bruised my battered ego further, but somehow it was made even worse by the fact that she only responded to this difficulty with renewed determination, cupping and massaging his balls gently with one hand as if holding on for leverage, and forcing herself further and further down on each stroke. Even from the hallway I could hear the wet sounds of him entering her throat, the low, loud groans that he made, and the noises of her choking and gagging often. Not that it seemed to put her off at all - no, not even slightly. In fact she seemed to try harder, and harder, and harder, spurred on by his obvious enjoyment.

I felt the nausea return in force. I swear I could actually hear the discordant violins playing in my head as she smiled up at him, throat filled with his cock and her tongue desperately reaching to taste more. It was clear, abundantly so, that while we were the ones who were married to each other, she was his wife. I wondered where it all went when she took it into her mouth, wondered how she hadn't thrown up already, and most of all wondered how I would ever be able to look at her the same again after seeing how she was slutting herself out so ardently for this stranger in our bed.

In some sick, twisted way I eventually got what I wanted, in that after a little while she stopped. She had been right in the thick of it, deepthroating him so thoroughly that her outstretched tongue almost reached his balls - and with some pace and fervour might I add - when he gently pulled on her hair to encourage her to stop, muttering 'wait, wait, wait...'. She pulled away panting, looking up at him adoringly with several sickening strands of spittle between her lips and his thick cock.

"What?" She whispered, on the verge of giggling and clearly very, very proud of herself.

"You're going to make me cum if you carry on." He responded.

With a mischievous grin she rushed to grab his cock and wrap her lips around it again, moaning around his length as he got a couple pumps in before he pulled her away again.

"Wait, wait!" He urged, laughing. "Crazy girl. I want to fuck you first."

If there was anything I could choose to forget in life, it actually wouldn't be the 20 minutes preceeding that conversation. No, I'd choose to forget the look of sheer delight etched on her face as she literally jumped at the opportunity to be fucked by this other guy. She sprang to her feet so quickly I flinched, and then I watched her climb onto the bed on all fours in front of him.

"No, no, lie on your back. I want you to look at me when you take it," he said. She obliged his request immediately, and I watched with teary eyes through the crack of the door as he leant over the bed above her, dragging her closer to the edge of the bed with ease and pulling that tiny little thong to the side. He looked enormous looming over her like this, like he was twice her size, and I couldn't avoid noticing how the flickering candlelight caught the contours of his powerful shoulder muscles.

I continued to watch, horrified but unable to look away, as he eased her into it. He held his cock steady in his hand as he teased her gently, rubbing the thick, engorged head through her vulva, coating it in her slick wetness as he dragged it from the bottom, and making her squirm and moan softly as he nudged it against her clit at the top. She was like putty underneath him, whimpering, breathing heavily, and quietly begging.

"Fuck, Stavros... Ugh! Put it in, put it innn!"

He smirked at her as he refused her demands and made her wait. Tears started to roll down my cheeks. He leaned down to kiss her and she sucked on his lips needily in response. I could hear her heavy, desperate breathing from the hallway.

"Do you want it? Tell me how badly you want it..." He whispered in between kisses.

"I need it. I need it, Daddy! Please. Please!"

"Are you sure?" He teased. "It might be too big for you my darling... are you sure you can take it?"

"Stavros! Stavros I don't fucking care!" She couldn't contain her voice to a whisper any longer, grasping at his shoulders and hips needily and trying to pull him against her. "What does it fucking matter!? Fucking make me take it! This pussy's fucking yours!"

He slipped it in.

She gasped, which slowly turned into a yelp, and then her voice climbed higher and higher until she was laid there silent with her mouth hanging open, looking at him with a look of divine agony.

"Shhh, erastís... you can take it." He cooed, reaching out a hand to gently stroke her cheek while still slowly, steadily splitting her in half.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god..." She muttered to herself, eyes darting between his comforting, smiling face and the view of his cock slowly disappearing into her. He was gentle, but relentless, and it was so obvious for me to see, hear, and just sense, in my bones, how much she fucking loved it. Choking back tears of shame and humiliation, I found myself reaching inside my underwear to stroke my already hard cock as he sunk his into my wife.

She gripped his hair between her fingers as he started to fuck her slowly. She made so much noise for him - far more than she ever did for me - but if I was being entirely fair it didn't seem like a deliberate choice. Her pussy visibly widened to accomodate his impressive girth as he slid inside and elicited begging moans from one set of lips and a wet, sticky sound from the other. He slipped his thumb into her mouth as he gradually increased his pace, and though she sucked on it hungrily it did little to quiten her; if anything she grew louder as he increased his pace and carefully, daringly subjected her to more and more of his length.

"God, you're so fucking tight... so fucking tight..." He grunted.

She grabbed his face between both hands. "I love. Your fucking. Cock. I fucking love it. Ugh!"

She carried on as he went faster, her arms falling back against the bed above her head, repeating herself over and over; "I love your fucking cock, I love your fucking cock! I love your huge fucking cock!"

Outside the door I matched his pace with my hand, stroking faster as he sped up and even bucking my hips into it, fucking my own hand as he thrusted more insistently inside of her body, inside of my wife. I even slowed down when he did, putting my other hand into my boxers to massage my balls as he began to push deep, coaching her through it as he did.

"Fuck, fuck!" She hissed, her mouth agape and brow furrowed as she struggled to take it.

"Shhh, you can take it, you can take it," he whispered to her, brushing her hair out of her face with his free hand, propping himself up with the other. "That's it... good girl, just a little more. You can take it... you're going to take it..." He continued, his tone becoming more encouraging as she audibly struggled more. She hooked her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck as her body swallowed up more of him. To be honest, I didn't really know where it was all going, didn't know how she could fit so much of his length inside of her.

He couldn't help but moan in satisfaction as he got closer too fully sheathing himself. I couldn't see it properly from where I was, with her legs hooked around him, but I could imagine vividly in my mind's eye the way that her pussy must've been gripping him at that moment, at its absolute full capacity struggling to accomodate him. My stomach flipped at the thought, but I nearly came at the same time.

Suddenly, every muscle in her body seemed to tense at the same time, and though she looked like she might scream she fell entirely silent. Only his hushed words pierced the quiet, "that's right. That's right. Every last fucking inch."

I knew, I truly knew in my mind that he was all the way inside her. That he was filling her completely. I wondered if her pussy would ever be the same again, if I would ever be able to come close to pleasing her again after she'd had... him. I watched as he withdrew a few inches, then jerked his hips forward and buried himself in her again. This time she moaned loud, her voice shaky as her eyes rolled back into her head. She sounded like she was in pain, but as much as it must have been a struggle I knew she wasn't. She was in complete and utter bliss. Would she ever let me fuck her again?

He carried on like that for some time, withdrawing the smallest amount before slamming his full length back into her, making her sing for him, then taking his time to enjoy the feeling of her pussy clenching desperately around him before he did it again. It seemed like he would never stop, but eventually she seemed to grow fatigued and collapsed back against the bed again, muttering between exasperated breaths.

"No... I can't, I... fuck... I just need... I just can't take it all... again..."

I could hear his dry laugh as he said 'of course', and watched as he slowly pulled out of her. His cock glistened with her wetness in the candlelight, streaks of thick, creamy cum running down his cock and bunching near the base, confirming how deep he really had been inside her. She lay panting on the bed for a while, before he flipped her limp body over onto her front.

"How about like this?" He asked, punctuating his question with a firm slap of her ass as he readjusted her thong to be firmly out the way.

"... yes" She responded weakly.

He slapped her ass again, harder this time. She yelped.

"You wanna get fucked some more?" He asked louder.

"Fuck - yes, Daddy, I want you to fuck me."

He propped her up onto her knees on the bed so she was face down, ass up and nudged her labia with his cock again as she continued, "I want you to fuck me like you own it, Daddy. Like it's fucking yours."

"Yeah?" He asked, pushing a little ways inside her.

She moaned. "Yes, yes! It belongs to you! Do whatever the FUCK you want!"

He didn't even let her finish before he started pounding her, his cock gliding easily into her sopping wet cunt. Her body wanted it, her mind wanted it, every facet of her spirit craved his brutal domination and he was more than happy to provide, more than happy to heed her words and fucking use her however he pleased. I watched her ass ripple as his hips collided into her on each thrust, and listened to her yearning moans and yelps. He slapped her ass over as he destroyed her tight pussy, and the only thing I could think to do in response was stroke myself faster.

"Does your husband know what a nasty little slut you are?" He asked, grabbing a handful of her hair and pulling hard.

"Shall we- Ugh! Shall we make sure?" She asked between gasps and moans. "Mmmmmmmm FUCK yes, Daddy! That's YOUR fucking pussy Daddy!" She screamed. It was deafening from where I was stood, so I could only imagine how clearly the neighbours must've been able to hear her.

Stavros just laughed and slapped her ass again a few times to enthusiastic expressions of gratitude. She was so fucking wet. I could hear it in the sound of him pounding her, see it in the way his huge cock slid so effortlessly, so deeply inside her, and well... she kept fucking telling him. Kept exclaiming about how soaked he made her, how she was made to be his pocket pussy. Whenever he slowed down she'd pick up the slack, throwing her ass back into him to get more of his cock - it was like she couldn't go without for even a moment, like she needed him more than oxygen or life. Sure, she'd finished her glass of wine, but really she was cock drunk; intoxicated, addicted, outright obsessed. He was beginning to slow down. Even he wasn't able to keep giving her what she needed.

He'd barely finished asking her if she was going to 'ride this dick' before she was pulling him onto the bed to climb into his lap. I watched as she eagerly impaled herself on him, pulling the straps of her bra down to expose her tits and pulling his mouth onto them before she started riding him with reckless abandon, keen not to miss a beat, yearning to pick the pace right back up from where they'd left it. There was an exquisite cruelty in the fact that she was encouraging him to devour the same breasts I'd not seen for days, and relegating me to watch her perfect ass bouncing on his cock.

It wasn't long before she started making those telltale noises that she was going to finish, gripping his shoulders tight with both hands as she hissed at him about how close she was, how hard he was going to make her cum, as she stopped bouncing so much as grinding against his hips with his cock fully buried inside her, dragging her sensitive clit against his rock solid abs as she chased that finale with reckless abandon. It wasn't long before her filthy words weren't quite coming together anymore. Instead, she was just muttering breathlessly in half-completed thoughts and slurred words as the pitch of her voice climbed higher and higher - until with incredible clarity she said those words.

"I'M GOING TO FUCKING CUM!"

I watched as she hurriedly wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him right against her, then froze in tensed silence. She forced herself as far down onto his cock as her body would allow, squeezing her legs against him and tensing her ass as her head span. Then came the eruption - the half-moan half-scream as the orgasm tore through her body, the shaking in every muscle as it decimated her, and the desperate clenching of her pussy around his cock. And the whole way through it I stroked myself furiously as he whispered encouragingly into her ear.

"Good girl, good girl... you're so beautiful when you cum. Fuck, that's right, savour it..."

He kissed up her neck to her ear and nibbled on her lobe in between words as she rode it out, then eventually collapsed into him. Still fully inside her, he held her steady as she panted and trembled, head hanging over his shoulder and still weakly gripping his arms. He let her soak in the moment for some time before he spoke again.

"Are you okay?" He chuckled. She pulled away far enough that he could see her face and nodded slowly. Her hair was matted against it, stuck to her forehead by sweat. I watched as she leaned in and they kissed passionately, and couldn't help but notice something more than the physicality of it all; there was a certain care in the action, a tenderness - a connection. I sniffed back another tear and heard the chorus of lip smacking pause for just a moment, before it resumed. Eventually she pulled away from him and cupped his face between her hands.

"How do you want me?" She asked, smiling. He smiled back

"Are you feeling grateful?" He asked.

"Is that a question?"

He laughed. "Get on your knees again. Show me how grateful."

She was happy to obey. She quickly dismounted him, more of her thick cum sliding down his cock as she did, and dropped straight to her knees as he got to his feet. What struck me the most about the view of her knelt before him as she started stroking him and sucking his balls wasn't the depravity of it, wasn't the enjoyment etched on her face, not even the sight of her own cum dripping off his huge cock and onto her face. No. What struck me most was the way she was staring right at me, right in the eyes. Maintaing direct eye contact as she wordlessly serviced another man, as she gladly degraded herself for him, and not me.

They ended much the same way as they'd started, with her noisily worshipping his whole length as she giggled, slurped, and spat, ever darting her eyes up in search of his approval. She was thorough, her lips roaming over every visible inch of skin twice at least, and her tongue three times more. She lapped up every drop of her own wetness from him before she sucked the precum gathering at his tip, then took him straight into her throat and really got to work. She deepthroated him for the second time that evening while she maintained eye contact with me, with her pathetic husband, the man touching himself in the corridor; and not once was there a hint of remorse in her eyes. No - as much as this was a performance for him of how happy she was to debase herself, it was a performance to me, to show me what she would never dream of doing for me, to show me what I would never deserve, never experience. The feeling of my relationship shattering around me made me harder than I'd ever been.

Every time he moaned she would moan around his cock in response, even as she choked and tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She was challenging herself to go deeper on each head bob as she chased his finish, that glorious finale. One hand massaged his balls as the other stroked his cock into her mouth, from the base to her lips as she pulled back, over and over, faster and faster. The only time I saw her pause even for a moment was to ask him where he wanted to cum.

"Is it okay if I... make a mess of that pretty face of yours?" Were the words he eventually choked out in response.

She frowned at him confused for several seconds, and for the first time I saw him lose his confidence for a moment, saw him doubt himself, wonder whether he'd said something wrong. He opened his mouth to apologise, but she interrupted him by making her own statement.

She straightened up to bring her face above his cock, then rested her bottom lip against the head of it. Looking him in the eyes now, she slowly opened her mouth and began to drool over his cock. It wasn't a quick show. Rather, she knelt there salivating onto his cock, slowly moving her mouth further down it to coat it evenly, for more than a minute. By the end, much of it had already fallen onto the carpet and her thighs below. She slowly began stroking his cock, spreading her spit so that each visible patch of skin was covered, then lowered herself again. She slapped it against her face many times, hard enough that I could hear it and see the droplets of spit splashing off onto the floor and into her hair, then held it flush against her face from chin to hairline. She dragged it slowly from the left of her face to the right, then back to the left, then back to the right, then rapidly oscillating between the two a few times, rubbing it against her pouting lips as she spluttered yet more saliva from between them. Then, she angled his cock downwards and leaned in to rub her face against the top. She nuzzled against it lovingly like a cat, alternating sides and smiling the whole time.

When she finally looked back up to him, having not said a single word in response, she looked a state. Her mascara was ruined, her eyeliner smeared over her face through what remained of her foundation, a wet lump of saliva sitting on her eyelashes. She didn't wait for any acknowledgement, just rested the tip of his cock onto her bottom lip and started flicking her tongue rapidly at the frenulum while she began furiously working her two hands on his throbbing length.

I tried to race him. I thought my chances were good - I'd kept myself right on the edge for some time now already, and thought I could finish and leave before having to see how this ended, fearing it would be more than I'd be able to bare. But she was too good. Far too good at worshipping his perfect cock, far too motivated to please the first real man she'd had in front of her for a long time. And so his groaning turned to moaning turned to 'oh FUCK' far too quickly.

It was grotesque. Rope after rope of cum exploded out of him, each spurt a reasonable load in its own right. She was quick to respond, clearly anticipating it long before it happened, and caught only the first in her mouth before she shifted her position to let the rest hit her face. He covered everything; every beautiful feature of hers that I'd complimented, looked at longingly, daydreamed about, he drowned in his cum. There was an impressive deposit in her hair, a great quantity on either cheek, streams of it running down her face from her forhead and dripping in several places from her chin and jaw. There was only a couple small places where her nose was still visible underneath all of it, while lakes of it forced her to keep her eyes screwed shut, and glued her eyelashes together in clumps. What had landed in her mouth she'd quickly swallowed without a thought, and she'd latched her lips back onto his cock the moment it slowed to extract what more she could as he moaned, and mumbled, and wobbled on his feet.

I was filled with shame, and jealousy, and grief for our relationship, and just about every negative emotion I could experience. I hurried away down the hall, unable to contain my sobbing, trying to step out of my clothes as I rushed to the bathroom.

Ah, yes, well, here's the thing. As soon as I saw him paint her, claim her as his - as soon as he'd shown me that my woman never was and never would be mine, I came. I didn't think it was going to happen so soon. I mean I knew I was somewhere close, but as soon as I saw him finish it just... happened. I wasn't ready for it, I hadn't really thought ahead. So my boxers were saturated - completely soaked through with my own cum. It was pooling still inside them and as I hurried to clean myself up I felt it running - no, flooding down my legs. It only made me sob harder.

I slept poorly that night, alone on the sofa commando under a thin blanket. She never came out to talk to me, or check on me. Didn't even send a message. She was too busy for me. For hours I was forced to hear the same sounds on loop; voices chatting and laughing, the clinking of glasses, the ambient hum of a TV program, and then at the end, without fail, the sound of the bed creaking, of skin slapping violently against skin, and her screaming out in pleasure. I would never forget any of the things she said. How she was a hole made to pleasure him, how she was an obedient little slut for Daddy, how much she loved getting railed by a real man for once, and of course how his cock was far too big to take - and how he should make her take it anyway. It was almost certainly by design that I overheard where he finished each time; once filling her mouth, at least twice inside of her, once on her ass. I had no idea how he went so many times. Guess that's something you can do if you're a 'real man'.

It was easily the worst Valentine's of my life. And probably her best.