"Valentine's Day will be special this year," Alicia's voice was a whisper, silk over steel, as she whispered in Brian’s ear, entering the hotel lobby on the evening of the 14th of February. "I think it's time we tried something... different."
Alicia's words floated through Brian's head as they walked in, opulent chandeliers casting prismatic dances on the polished floors. He had anticipated a night for just the two of them, a private celebration of love twisted in silken sheets. But Alicia's next whisper shattered that illusion, dropping into his ear like a lead weight.
"We’ll have a special guest joining us tonight, baby," she murmured, her breath hot against his lobe. "I invited Greg."
Brian's heart thudded, a panicked deer trapped in headlights.
“Pardon?” He turned to his wife, not understanding what she meant by that. He was really prepared for a romantic, yet vanilla evening in this fancy hotel. And now his wife is telling him... what exactly?
“Don’t worry...,” she went on whispering. They had a short line waiting at the reception so she took the opportunity to explain to him her plans for the rest of the night. “Nothing will happen that you didn’t see in your cuckold porn. Yes, that’s right, I’ve found them in your browser history,” she added when Brian turned to her with his eyes wide. “But relax, I won’t make a scene now. I even enjoyed some of those videos!”
Brian could feel his face turning red now. He could still feel the weight of her gaze, piercing through his digital veils, unearthing desires he'd kept buried within the catacombs of his hard drive.
“So I decided to play along, honey,” the lovely brunette went on. “If you like watching a married woman having hardcore sex with another guy, why not try it? We might both enjoy it! I invited Greg from work, you know, I mentioned his always hitting on me. I thought, why not serve you guys both?”
They stepped closer to the reception, with only one other couple registering and paying in front of them.
"Imagine, baby," Alicia cooed, her lips barely grazing his ear, "you paying for the pleasure of another man with me." Her tone was playful, but the edge cut deep, lacing his excitement with the tang of humiliation.
"Next, please," the girl at the reception with the name tag “Erica” snapped Brian back to the present. The receptionist's eyes were a practiced neutral, but he could swear there was a glint of knowledge behind them. As he handed over his credit card, his cheeks flamed with a crimson hue, a living testament to his internal turmoil.
"Room for Valentine’s special, Mr. and Mrs. Anderson?" Erica asked, her smile professional yet perfunctory as if she were privy to every nuance of their arrangement.
"Y-Yes," Brian stuttered, the word sticking in his throat like dry toast. He fumbled with the card, his hands suddenly clumsy, all thumbs and no grace.
"Sign here, please." Erica slid the paper across the counter, her nail tapping the line impatiently.
His signature, once a source of pride in its looping flourishes, now felt like a confession etched in ink, each stroke an admission of his deepest, darkest urges laid bare for the world—or at least the hotel staff—to see.
"Enjoy your stay," Erica said, handing him the keycard with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
“Oh, we definitely will,” Alicia said playfully, and Brian shuddered at the harsh tone in her voice.
"Thank you," Brian managed to murmur, his voice tight, as he pocketed the keycard.
"Isn't she lovely?" Alicia teased, her gaze lingering on Erica a moment too long as if sizing her up for some unsaid role in their evening's script. "I bet she sees all sorts of things working here."
"Probably," Brian mumbled, unsure if he was more embarrassed by the thought of Erica judging them or aroused by the implication of her involvement.
"Come on, hubby," Alicia said, her arm slipping through his, her touch both comforting and commanding. "Let's not keep our guest waiting."
As they walked toward the elevator, Brian's mind whirred with conflicting emotions—shame, anticipation, jealousy, desire—all tangled together in an exquisite knot that tightened with each step. It was going to be a Valentine's Day unlike any other, and whether he was ready for it or not, the stage was set for their ultimate secret fantasy to unfold.
***
The clack of the hotel room door's magnetic lock disengaging was a gunshot to Brian's composure. The images of the cuckold porn he had watched and read were now running through his mind: will any of them really happen to him tonight? Was his wife speaking seriously? Wasn’t she mad at all?
They stepped into the dimly lit room, suffused with the faint smell of industrial cleaner masked by floral air freshener. The city lights played voyeur through the sheer curtains, casting geometric patterns onto the plush carpet.
"Sit," Alicia commanded, pointing to the edge of the king-sized bed that seemed too big for anything resembling love.
Brian obeyed, his hands resting awkwardly on his knees as Alicia paced before him, a predator in her tailored suit. She stopped and faced him with the precision of a lawyer delivering her closing argument.
"Brian, I found your... collection," she began, her voice threading the needle between accusation and intrigue. "Your digital harem of cuckold fantasies."
He felt a flush creep up his neck, the heat of a thousand suns in his cheeks. His tongue felt like sandpaper as he tried to form words, any words, but none came.
"Shh," she soothed, placing a finger on his lips. "It's okay. I've decided we're going to play it out. Your fantasy, my rules."
She unzipped her suitcase, revealing the scandalous red lingerie and heels he'd unknowingly funded—a mocking gift wrapped in the guise of Valentine's romance.
"Stand up," she instructed.
His movements were mechanical as he rose, his body a marionette under her direction. With trembling fingers, he helped her slip out of her suit and into the silky threads of the crimson lingerie, each strap a shackle tightening around his sense of self-worth.
"Isn't this what you wanted?" she taunted, admiring her reflection in the mirror. Her image, distorted and multiplied, seemed to mock him from every angle.
"Y-yes," he stuttered, the word barely a whisper, his admission of guilt to the judge and jury that was his wife.
"Good boy," she purred, turning to face him. "Now, on your knees."
The carpet burned against his skin as he knelt before her, the juxtaposition of his subservience and her towering dominance an image ripped straight from those clandestine browser sessions.
"Get me ready for him," she demanded, her tone laced with derision.
His hands shook as he traced the outline of her lace panties, pulling them aside. He leaned in, his breath hot against her skin, and with the first touch of his tongue, he tasted the tang of betrayal mixed with arousal.
"Remember, you wanted this," she breathed, her hands finding purchase in his hair, guiding him with an urgency that belied her calm exterior.
And at that moment, he did remember—every late-night session hidden behind the glow of his computer screen, every fantasy spun from the silk of pixels and desire. But the reality was harsher, the taste more complex, the humiliation not just a shadow on the wall but a weight upon his chest.
"More," she insisted, her hips pressing forward, seeking satisfaction from the man bound by his own dark desires.
"Is this how you imagined it?" she asked, her voice a taunting song as his tongue danced to the rhythm of her needs.
"Y-yes," he admitted again, the confession pulled from him with the relentless tug of her fingers in his hair.
"Perfect," she sighed, a note of victory in her voice as she pushed him away, leaving him with the lingering flavor of anticipation and dread.
"Get the heels," she commanded, her eyes already distant, fixed on the door through which her bull would soon enter—the final piece of Brian's fantasy turned merciless reality.
***
The click of the hotel room door announced Greg's entry with the authority of a judge entering court. Alicia, her golden hair cascading over the crimson silk of her lingerie, didn’t hesitate; she dropped to her knees with the grace of a priestess before her deity. The sharp contrast of her delicate form against the stark grey of Greg's suit created an image that seared itself into Brian's mind.
"Wow, eager much?" Greg's voice rolled out smooth and confident as he shrugged off his jacket, his muscular frame outlined by the tailored fabric clinging to his body.
“You don’t really know how much,” Alicia said, smiling, and licking her lips hungrily. Brian couldn’t say anything just stare at his wife kneeling on the plain rug of this hotel room, the heels of her new shoes pressing into the soft flesh of her ass cheeks, and her face turning toward their guest, admiring her strong figure. Greg looked down at Alicia with a cocky smile on his face.
“I’ve been waiting for this for too fucking long,” he stated, enjoying Alicia’s hands crawling up her legs.
“I know, baby and I will make your wait worth it, I promise,” she moaned.
“What about hubby there?” Greg said, looking at him, finally.
Alicia glanced back at Brian, her blue eyes flashing a silent command before she answered.
“He doesn’t mind, believe me, right, honey?”
Brian nodded, feeling his throat very dry. He raised his hand instinctively, but then thought shaking hands with the man who will fuck his wife tonight would not really suit this tense setting the three of them had.
Alicia turned her attention back to the bulge in Greg's trousers. She unzipped him with deft fingers, revealing his ample manhood which sprang forth like a character breaking free from the confines of its story. Without a word, she enveloped him in the warmth of her mouth, her hunger for this moment palpable in every fervent bob of her head.
Brian stood frozen, his breath caught somewhere between awe and devastation. His hands twitched at his sides, uncertain of their role in this visceral tableau unfolding before him. The sight was both more erotic and more gut-wrenching than anything he had ever streamed in the solitary glow of his computer screen.
"Go on, hubby," Greg taunted, his eyes locked on Brian's. "Tell her how good she looks."
"Y-you look... amazing," Brian stammered, the words tasting like ash on his tongue.
"Damn right she does," Greg replied, a smirk playing on his lips, as Alicia's mouth worked tirelessly, the sound of her pleasure-filled moans filling the room like a haunting melody. Brian could tell he was a perfect choice for the role of the bull: aside from his well-built figure, his manhood was also long and girthy, with every vein visible. And Alicia seemed to enjoy her new toy vigorously: she was sucking his cock with loud moans and slurps Brian never heard before. Her saliva was dripping on their guest’s balls and on his elegant trousers which he didn’t seem to mind at all.
"Come here," Alicia suddenly said, her voice husky as she beckoned Brian closer with a curl of her finger. He approached hesitantly, the sinking feeling in his gut a cruel counterbalance to the tightening in his pants. He knelt beside his wife slowly, mesmerized by the sight of the love of his life, the ever-so-innocent Mrs. Anderson kneeling on the floor of this expensive hotel room, sucking her co-worker’s cock like a whore. Her lips left Greg's cock with an audible pop, glistening with saliva, and she reached for Brian, pulling him into a kiss that was both an invitation and a sentence.
"Can you taste him on me?" she whispered against his lips, sharing the flavor of her transgression with her husband. It was a cocktail of dominance and surrender, the tang of another man mixed with her essence—a concoction that made Brian's heart race with equal parts excitement and shame.
"God, this is messed up," he managed to murmur, even as his body betrayed him, leaning into the forbidden kiss, drawn to the degradation like a moth to flame. He could feel his wife’s well-known tongue and lips, along with something else, some strange masculine taste. It had to be Greg’s precum, he guessed.
"Isn't it just perfect?" Alicia breathed, her eyes alight with a fire that burned away any pretense of marital normalcy.
"Perfect," Brian echoed, the word hollow in his ears amidst the stark reality of their twisted Valentine's Day scenario.
"Show some enthusiasm, cucky," Greg interjected, his tone dripping with condescension. "Your wife's giving us a hell of a show."
"Y-yeah, so hot," Brian forced out, trying to convince himself as much as them, his voice a shaky facsimile of the cocksure characters who graced his screen in pixelated fantasy.
Alicia pulled away, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth, leaving Brian adrift in the churning sea of his thoughts. She turned back to her new lover, looked up at his cock again, then kissed its head again.
Alicia's voice was a sibilant whisper, laced with authority. "Help me out here, Brian." Her lips curled into a devious smile as she motioned behind her. "Hold my hair, like you've seen in those videos. Be a part of this."
Brian's knees met the plush carpet with a soft thud, his hands trembling as they found the blonde locks, gathering them with an awkward gentleness. Greg, the embodiment of perverse desire, stood proud before her, his arousal a taunt.
"Been saving up just for this," Greg boasted, his voice thick with anticipation. "A nice big gift for our twisted little party."
Alicia looked back at Brian, her eyes glazed with lust, silently commanding him to watch closely, to be present in every moment of their shared debasement. As Greg pushed forward, Brian felt Alicia’s head having to work on the tension of swallowing that cock deep, the pressure building with each of Greg’s powerful movements.
"Fuck, yes," Alicia moaned around the intrusion, her words muffled and distorted, yet still sharp enough to slice through Brian's ego.
Brian's heart hammered against his ribcage, a syncopated beat that thrummed with humiliation. His hands, acting as a cradle for Alicia's exertions, were a symbol of his own capitulation to the carnal chaos he had once craved from the safe removal of a computer screen.
And then it happened—a crescendo of grunts and shudders as Greg announced his release. "Take it all," he growled and pushed his member deep into Alicia’s hot mouth. His body tensed and shot several doses of his load into the married woman’s throat.
Alicia did not falter; she accepted every pulse of Greg's essence, her cheeks hollowing as she held him deep, her gaze locked on Brian's. He tried to hold the head of his wife as steady as he could, strangely hoping their guest would enjoy the experience. Seeing how much his wife had to swallow, he 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 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 lingered by the door.
"Uh, yeah," Brian stammered, his cheeks aflame with shame and a perverse pride. "They sure are."
Brian was just standing there with the cacophony of forbidden acts sealed behind steam-fogged glass. Each sound felt like a lash upon his psyche, carving deeper into his self-worth. Hearing the familiar scream of his wife’s orgasm from inside, he shuddered and looked at Erica who was still standing there with a coy smile. Brian just wanted to ask her to leave when the shower ceased its hiss, and silence fell like a curtain. Brian's breath hitched as the door opened, releasing a cloud of steam that seemed to carry with it the essence of their transgression.
Alicia emerged first, her skin flushed and beaded with moisture, her hair clinging to her neck and shoulders. She was Aphrodite ascending from her bath, every inch the embodiment of a carnal goddess. Behind her, Greg followed, his chest heaving, his blue eyes alight with a feral satisfaction.
