February Sucks Only If You Let It - Sex Stories

February Sucks Only If You Let It

... wife's hand and said with a smarmy smile, "You are the most beautiful and sexiest woman in this club. Would you like to dance with me, sweetheart?"

The loving look my wife had been giving me easily morphed into a look of intense lust as she stared mesmerized into the eyes of my new enemy. What the hell was going on? Linda had never given any man a look like that before, even me! She began to rise out of her seat. Was she planning to be with this piece of shit for the rest of the evening? Fuck that!

I grabbed her upper arm and yanked her back down onto her seat.

"Sit your ass back down! And you can piss off Marky," I roared.

Both Linda, the scumbag, and everyone at the table were in shock. People at the other tables were looking at us. I had never before demonstrated physical action and foul language. I was always the quiet, polite, intellectual type. Now I seemed to be a brutish caveman which I had no problem being if my world was under attack. The years I spent as an Army officer overseas made me one perhaps. So sue me!

"You insecure asshole! Let Linda go! You don't own her. Mark picked her to be his woman of the night! He'll bring her back tomorrow," Dee hissed.

"That's where you're wrong, mega-slut! She belongs to me as I belong to her. Our wedding vows said so. Now get your ugly, fat face out of our business," I yelled.

"Hey little man, my name is Mark. Be respectful or else! No need to have a baby tantrum. I just want to dance with your hot wife. I ...

... promise I'll bring her back tomorrow sometime. Now you be chill and you won't get hurt too much," Mark growled. To emphasize the point, he squeezed my shoulder and that did hurt. Quite a grip!

I am a 5'11, 195 pound man, and an Army Vet who played high school football a bunch of years ago, about to get into altercation with a 6'3, 240 pound pro-football player. I was going to have to play this smart. Plan-Fight-Win.

"STOP HOLDING ME, YOU ANIMAL! MARKIE GET OUT OF HERE BEFORE I KICK YOUR ASS!" I roared. As I was yelling, the white wine that I was holding was discretely thrown into his crotch. Marky took a few steps back in surprise at the chilled stain on his crotch. Then an extremely dark look swept across his face.

"HEY EVERYONE, I MADE MARKY LAVALOSER PISS HIS PANTS! HE'S SCARED OF ME!"

"I'M GONNA MURDER YOU!" Marky roared.

As he lunged towards me, he saw the dinner knife in my left hand pointed at his crotch, and he tried to stop his movement. He looked comical with his right fist drawn back, his torso bent forward 45 degrees, and the knife tip touching his most valuable asset which certainly wasn't his brain.

There were blurs of movement to the sides of us. It was the bouncer Hank, the manager-owner Tony, and the police officer doing moonlighting for the club. As they pulled Marky away from me, I flipped the knife under the table. Marky's two jumbo-sized teammates stood off to the side telling him to calm down. Marky hit Hank in the face, then the cop and ...