Cuckold Valentine - Sex Stories

Cuckold Valentine

... claim his territory. He strode towards the bathroom, casting a look over his shoulder that seemed to pull Alicia along in his wake. The lovely wife got naked while walking to the door, throwing her red lingerie to the floor easily, also leaving those damn sexy high heels behind.

"Wait here, Brian," Greg ordered, his voice echoing off the tiles. "And when the food comes, be a good hubby and take it."

Brian nodded, mute and marooned in the vastness of his own twisted fantasy. As the shower hissed to life behind the closed door, he imagined the steam curling around them, the water cascading over their entangled bodies. He was Pandora, peering into a box of perverse wonders he'd unlocked himself.

"Remember, you asked for this," Alicia's sultry voice floated back to him through the growing symphony of water and desire.

The thought carved itself into Brian's mind; he had indeed asked for this. And now, as he sat waiting for the knock on the door that would bring sandwiches and solidify his role in this play, he wondered whether he was more captivated by the taste of betrayal or the aftertaste of forbidden fruit.

***

The knock was soft, almost apologetic, like a whisper against the heavy wood of the hotel room door. Brian stood, his limbs feeling foreign and uncooperative as he made his way to answer it. The smell of sex and steam slipped through the inch-wide gap beneath the bathroom door, riding on waves of heat that seemed to mock his tepid existence.

"Room ...

... service," came the chirpy voice from the hallway, a stark contrast to the guttural symphony behind him.

"Come in," Brian said, his voice barely cresting above the rush of water and muffled moans.

Erica, the very same receptionist who had administered their arrival before this debaucher had started, stepped in with the tray, with a practiced smile plastered onto her face. Hearing the male and female voices of pleasure, her gaze flickered towards the bathroom, curiosity briefly alighting in her eyes before she schooled her features back to professional indifference.

"Where would you like it?" Her question was pointed, laced with a double entendre that wasn't lost on Brian as he handed her a few crumpled bills—a small tip for delivering more than just food.

"Here is fine," he replied, gesturing to the coffee table. His fingers brushed hers during the exchange, a touch electric with shared knowledge.

"Enjoy your evening," Erica said, but her words were swallowed by the crescendo of pleasure peeking behind the closed door.

"Thank you," Brian murmured, his eyes darting away, unable to bear the knowing look in hers.

He turned his back to her, focusing on the sandwiches with an intensity reserved for the sacred and profane. There was no mistaking the rhythmic thud against the shower wall, an insistent pulse that seemed to synchronize with Brian's racing heart.

"Sounds like someone's having fun," Erica remarked, her words dripping with feigned innocence as she ...