1. Valentine's Card


    Date: 2/11/2015, Categories: True Story, Cuckold, Erotica, Female Domination, Humiliation, Voyeurism, Wife, Author: willingwimp, Rating: 80, Source: sexstories.com

    Happy Valentine's Day, My Love, Let me tell you how I love you. I love, worship, and adore you with all my heart and soul. I love watching men watching you. It fills me with pride. I watch their eyes dip down your blouse, lighting up as they gaze upon your breasts. I watch their heads turn as you walk by. I love your power over them. I love your power over me. I love preparing your bath. Making you ready for your lovers. The tub, the room, I carefully scrub for hours. Hard work, scouring with a toothbrush. Rinsing, scouring again, rinsing, until my hands turn from pink to red and my arms and back pound with pain. I plan carefully. The water and air temperature must be just right. The bath oils perfectly matched with scents and bubbles. I light candles. Soft music. Warm a cozy, fluffy towel. I want to give you perfect pleasure. No demands. Unconditional love. You will be completely relaxed and ready, ready to be swept into the strong masculine arms of your choice of man. I love working and slaving for you. I am happy to work hard, to work long hours so you do not need to work at all. I deposit my paychecks directly into your account. It is not a joint account. Every penny goes to you, and then you give me an allowance. Performance based. I make money. You spend it. Country club memberships, private lessons, exotic vacations, designer clothes. The best. Only the best. I love cleaning up after you. I love that you leave your soiled panties on the floor for me. A gift. A ...
    treasure. I lie on the floor and bury my nose in your silky panties, inhaling deeply. I run my tongue on the cotton crotch searching for every trace, every taste, of your days, your nights, your lovers. I love painting your toenails. I lie on my tummy on the floor concentrating fully on dipping the little brush in the red enamel. Making sure that no stray strand blemishes the perfect skin of your toe. I lightly blow on your toes to dry them, before adding a second coat. You say not a word. I feel invisible. I love to buff and rub your heel and toes, to dissolve any trace of hardness in your skin and restore its pink softness. The soft crevasses nestled between each toe are one of the many secret delights that your heavenly body holds for me, a perfect fit for the tip of my tongue. I bathe your toes with my tongue. I am your kitten, licking, cleaning, purring. And you are so tolerant of me, allowing me to grovel and squirm. I love the instep of your foot, the very last extremity of your perfect body that you are willing to share with one so unworthy as myself. You honor me by allowing me to be your footstool, to lie at your feet, allowing me to be the pedestal upon which rests your ideal feminine form. I must bother you, I know I must. And yet you are able to ignore me completely as though I don't exist, as you read your book, watch TV, talk to lovers on the phone. I will try to remain still, to be a good footrest, not to distract you with my own pursuit of pleasure at your expense. ...
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