Sod The Roses - Sex Stories

Sod The Roses

I'm doing a quick midweek shop for stir-fry ingredients at my local supermarket, and when I can barely enter through the sea of red rose bouquets and a floor-to-ceiling display wall of lovey-dovey cards, I gag a little. I hate Valentine's Day with a passion.

Then I remember what we have planned for it and quickly correct myself, grinning ear to ear self-righteously. There's nothing wrong with V-Day; it's these roses and cards being shoved down everyone's throats I have a problem with. That's not the kind of thing I like being shoved down my throat. Yes, you've guessed right, I prefer a big thick cock in there.

And that is exactly what I am getting. Apparently. Because that's the husband's kink. And I can't say I mind. I've also bought him some perfume samples because he's experimenting with new scents at the moment and a bottle of his favourite booze. Both will sweeten our devilish plans for the night. Of course, my main present is providing a nice wet pussy for his threesome fancy. Hehe.

Am I the perfect wife, or what?

Thanks. I probably will have a badge with that title one day, or a tattoo, or a necklace to wear along with my 'slut' and 'kinkster' ones.

My point is, those damn roses and cards will only end up in the bin. Wasteful and boring. Buy a potted plant instead, a bottle of something or my personal favourite: a sex toy. I'm getting one of those again, too. I just haven't decided what I want yet because I already have so much junk. But at least those ...

... do get some use. Some of them more than others. (Anyone interested in a toy review story series by any chance?) None of them ended up in landfill yet, apart from a pair of vicious magnetic nipple clamps. Urgh. Avoid those at all cost. Torture - and not in a good way.

'Roses are red, violets are blue...

All I want for Valentine's is a nice cock

Better still, make it two'

I sing to myself, browsing the veggie aisles for oyster mushrooms.

Yeah, I'm a bit high, in case you're wondering. Not on drugs, though. Let me elaborate...

So, after a huge identity crisis, borderline mental breakdown that saw me smash things around the house disguised as aggressive cleaning, now I'm taking my husband's advice and switch my brain off a little and just 'be chill'. I've cut back on work, and instead of my stressing, overanalysing self I'm taking his 'just go with the flow' approach.

Just as he has his trademark theatrical eye-roll, I now have my shoulder-shrug streak. I'm still perfecting it with a sideway pursed lip-twitch or a lip roll depending on the level of fucks given.

I will not bore you with the details of how this approach translates to everyday life. The only thing you need to know is that I've put all the control into his hands when it comes to swinging dates.

I still run my own account to chat, and if I like someone, I send them his way to set something up, but now he has the final say when we have a meet and whom we are seeing. This new arrangement also ...