Cuckold Valentine - Sex Stories

Cuckold Valentine

... understood Greg's former reference on saving up. At first, he almost felt sorry for her being on her knees, swallowing like a cheap slut. But then he realized, this was what she organized the whole night for. Her deep moans told the men in the room how much she enjoyed the filthy swallowing.

When Greg finally stepped back, she remained on her knees, her mouth a chalice brimming with conquest.

"Come here," she beckoned Brian, her voice now softened with a perverse tenderness.

Their lips met, and Brian tasted the bitter tang of betrayal mingled with the metallic zest of victory. It was a kiss that sealed their fates, an intimate blasphemy that rewrote the vows of their marriage in invisible ink.

As they parted, a stray bead of Greg's climax traced a slow path down Alicia’s chin. With a nudge of encouragement from Alicia's expectant stare, Brian extended his tongue, collecting the remnants from her skin. To his surprise, he didn’t dislike the taste, found it like a thick drop of saliva. The sensation felt even more satisfying when his wife touched his face.

"Good boy," she murmured, caressing his cheek with a thumb smeared with the residue of their shared degradation. That’s when Brian felt the ring on her finger also touching his face. The wedding ring he bought her years ago, was now a poignant reminder of the promises they'd made and the lines they'd crossed.

Greg stepped to the sofa, throwing his clothes down, visibly preparing for round two. Alicia stood ...

... up now, and leaned to the table, her fingers danced over the hotel phone, her nails clicking against the plastic like stilettos on marble. "Room service," she purred into the receiver, "Two of your finest club sandwiches, extra pickles on the side, please." The line hummed with affirmation before she hung up.

"Brian," she said, turning to her husband with a glint in her eye, "I'm famished, but there's something I need first."

Her words were a velvet lure, and Brian felt himself ensnared. He watched as Alicia, his wife, the poised attorney who had once defended him from his own insecurities, now stood as the architect of his deepest shame.

"Tell Greg what you want for me," she insisted, her tone laced with mockery.

Brian swallowed, his voice cracking like thin ice underfoot.

"Greg...,” he turned to the naked men standing in the middle of their hotel room, “please give Alicia what I—what I can't." Each word was a stone in his throat, heavy with humiliation.

"Say it louder," Alicia commanded, her eyes gleaming with the reflection of her own wicked desires.

"Please fuck my wife, Greg. She needs a real man," Brian managed, the sentence an audible self-flagellation.

"See this, Brian?" Alicia taunted, gesturing towards Greg's confident smirk. "This is how a real man, with a real cock fucks a woman. Not like your pathetic attempts."

The air was thick with the scent of lust and degradation as Greg rose, stretching his muscular form like a lion preparing to ...