Hello everyone, this is my entry for the Valentine's Day Story Contest. I would like to thank users GoldFever and sexnovella for their help editing.
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Finally, after a full week of teasing torture, it was Valentine's Day. It was a special day for Sam and me, since I happened to be born on February 14th. At first I thought it would be a burden, having my birthday a romantic holiday, but my wife took it as a challenge to make it wonderful. And at least I never had to worry about accidentally forgetting it's coming up.
I woke up that morning with a raging erection. Sam was under the sheets, and had her lips wrapped around my cock. Her head bobbed up and down, and her hand gently stroked my shaft. It was an incredible way to wake up, and I was desperate to ejaculate, but I knew what was about to come. Or rather, what wasn't. Just before I was about to climax, she stopped, and her head popped out of under the sheets.
"Good morning, darling. Happy birthday!"
"Oh god, please don't stop, Sam!"
"I already told you, I want you filled to the brim with cum for this evening." She crawled towards me, and kissed me. I loved the way her soft lips pressed against mine.
The week before, she told me she had something special planned for my birthday. She called it a "magical night of sexual wonders." The caveat was that she stopped having sex with me, and made me promise, under an oath of death and torture, that I was absolutely forbidden from masturbating. I didn't think it would be a problem to go a week without sex, I've done it before, but Sam hadn't mentioned the part where she'd tease me relentlessly. Every. Single. Day. Starting with a morning half-job. If I didn't love her so much, I'd probably have gone insane.
Sam is the most spectacular woman I have ever seen. I knew that from the moment fourteen years ago, when she had walked into my fifth grade math class for the first time.
"Class, this is Samantha Fox, a new transfer student."
The teacher might as well have announced, "Tom, you are now, and forever, irrevocably in love."
Sam had long, dark brown hair, soulful doe eyes, and a smile to die for. She stood at the front of the class, and looked so alone that I couldn't help but wave at her. She noticed, and that was the start of our inseparable relationship.
We dated throughout middle and high school. Because we spent so much time together, our parents became friends, and we were almost like one big family. We lost our virginities to each other at senior prom, and I proposed to her during the graduation ceremony. The crowd cheered, and she said yes with tearful, happy eyes. I slipped the ring on her finger that I had bought with the money I had saved up from all my summer jobs. It felt like the entire universe revolved around us on that day.
After high school, I got accepted at an almost-but-not-quite Ivy League level college, and went for a bachelor's in biochemistry, while Sam worked part time as a waitress. After I finished my degree, I got a well-paying job at the pharmaceutical company where Sam's dad works. It paid far more than someone with no experience could expect, and I only got the job with a lot of his help.
We got married that fall, on a beautiful sandy beach. I watched as she walked down the aisle with her dad, wearing a spectacular white dress, looking radiant. She stood next to me on the altar, and my heart fluttered wildly.
"Do you, Tom Cooper, take this woman, Samantha Fox, to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, in good times and woe, for richer or poorer, keeping yourself solely unto her for as long as you both shall live?"
"I do," I said firmly, and I meant it.
"Do you, Samantha Fox, take this man, Tom Cooper, to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, to love, in good times and woe, for richer or poorer, keeping yourself solely unto him for as long as you both shall live?"
"I do," she replied, and I slipped a diamond ring on her finger—bought with my very first salary.
"By the power vested in me by the State of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride."
As we kissed, deeply and passionately, I considered myself to be the luckiest man in the world. I had just married the woman of my dreams. The light of my heart. The breath of my soul.
Three years later, we were living in our own house. I had been able to afford a nice, two story, four bedroom house with a backyard in the suburbs. It was too big, of course, but both of us wanted children, it just hadn't happened yet. Not for lack of trying, though. Sam had quit her job as a waitress, since I was making more than enough for the both of us, and she spent her time writing children's books, and exploring the culinary arts.
Whenever I returned home from a long day at work, Sam greeted me at the door. She threw her arms around me, pressed her soft body against mine, and kissed me with tender lips. It was the best part of my day, and no matter how stressful things were at work, I always had Sam to look forward to.
Every morning, we went jogging together, trying our best to stay in shape. For her part, it worked amazingly well. Despite, or maybe because of, her hobby cooking, she developed curves in all the right places. She was a few inches shorter than me, just over five feet. Her voluptuous breasts were firm and round, her ass was plump and full. She was soft, and cuddly. Warm, and inviting. And when she wanted to be, hotter than all the fires in hell.
The first half of our combined Valentine's Day tradition was usually my birthday celebration. Sam always baked a cake to die for, and we invited our families for a nice, quiet, early-afternoon bash. Since it was the middle of the day, it involved far less drinking than regular birthday parties, which, in my opinion, worked out nicely. Parties never got out of hand, or lasted too long. Everyone then headed home, to do whatever they had planned for Valentine's Day in the evening.
For us, that could mean a variety of things. Sometimes we dressed up, me in my finest suit, Sam in a sinfully revealing dress, and then headed out to a fancy restaurant or show. Sometimes, when work permitted it, we went on a weekend getaway. Sometimes we just stayed at home, and spent the evening writhing in carnal pleasure.
It would be another one of those days, I was sure.
We only invited immediate family, this year. That meant both of our parents, and my sister. Neither Sam nor I had really close friends, since we had spent most of our teenage, and all of our adult years in each other's arms.
My sister Amy was two years younger than me, and the proverbial black sheep of our family. In middle school she started smoking, because her "friends" convinced her to. Mom and Dad had grounded her for months when they found out, and forced her to stop. She dropped out of high school in her junior year, because she wanted to spend more time with her then-boyfriend.
They broke up eventually, of course, and she got fired from her job as a cashier. At my parents' insistence, she went back to school, and finished her high school degree. Ever since then she's worked as an exotic dancer, and changed boyfriends more often than some people change their underwear.
According to Mom, she'd been with her current boyfriend, Brad, for a few weeks now, but none of us had ever met him—and probably wouldn't.
Richard and Pamela, Sam's parents, were the first to arrive, and I greeted them cordially. "Happy birthday, Tom!" they chimed in unison, and put down their presents on the coffee table in the living room. Soon after, Mom and Dad arrived, equally well spirited. We sat around the dinner table, and chatted amicably, waiting for my sister to arrive. After half an hour, we gave up on that, and decided to just start the festivities without her.
"So, my dear, what delicacies have you prepared for us today?" asked Richard. Sam's culinary skills were renowned throughout our extended family.
"You're all being treated to a three course meal, courtesy of Sam's Kitchen," I replied proudly. She had gone all out, preparing all the ingredients the day before so she'd have time to cook everything fresh. "For appetizers, we have beer-battered potato wedges with chili dip, and cherry tomatoes stuffed with ricotta cheese and herbs."
Sam brought them out on a platter, and everyone oohed and aahed.
"This is amazing," commented Dad.
"Simply divine," added Pamela.
They were both right. I kissed Sam, and told her, "You truly are an amazing cook."
When she got up to get the main course from the kitchen, she whispered in my ear, "You truly have an amazing cock." I instantly got an erection, and hoped nobody at the table would notice. Her hand trailed along my arm, and sent shivers down my spine in anticipation.
Sam had just brought out the baked salmon, pulled pork casserole, garden salad, and buttered rolls when we heard a car pull up. The doorbell rang, and I went to answer it, erection thankfully subsided. Amy burst through the open door, and hugged me.
"Happy birthday, Tom!" Just behind her stood a tall, muscular guy. He must have been over six feet tall, and looked like your stereotypical jock.
"Good to see you, sis. Who's your guest?" I asked.
"Oh. Him. That's Brad." She didn't exactly sound pleased.
"Hey," Brad said. Even his voice sounded like it had muscles. I instantly disliked him, not sure because he was (probably) fucking my sister, but there was something extremely unpleasant about him. Like God had given him a great body, but forgot to give him charisma.
"Hello," I replied to him, coolly. Then, to Amy, "You remember it was supposed to be family only, right?"
"Yeah, sorry. I didn't wanna bring him, but he was whining about not wanting to be alone on Valentine's. It's not a problem, is it?"
I sighed. "I guess not. We'll manage. Come in."
Back at the dinner table, everyone fell silent when they took notice of Mr. Muscle.
"And who's that?" asked Mom acidly.
"'sup all, I'm Brad, I'm Amy's squeeze, uh, I mean boyfriend."
We made room for him at the table, and Sam brought out an extra plate. Conversation died down, while everyone tried to feel out the new situation.
"The food is simply marvelous," stated Pamela, in an attempt to restore the atmosphere.
"Oh yeah, great stuff," agreed Dad, with a mouth full of food.
"Mine tastes like shit," said Brad, who had scooped some of the casserole. Amy slapped him across the arm.
"Shut the fuck up, Brad," she rounded on him.
"We also have the baked salmon"—"Ugh, I hate fish," Brad interjected—"and rolls," Sam finished, in a fruitless attempt to placate him.
I wanted to punch him, but restrained myself. "Yeah well, we didn't exactly plan our menu around you," I told him scathingly. "Amy, could I have a word in the kitchen?"
Amy followed me in the kitchen.
"What the hell is that jerk-off doing here?" I asked her in a low growl, out of earshot of the others.
"He wanted to come along. I warned him it would be lame." I ignored the fact that she just called my birthday "lame."
"He's a douche, and he's ruining the party."
"Sorry."
"Can you get rid of him?"
"I'll try."
"Thank you."
We rejoined the others, who sat in silence. Amy dragged Brad by the arm out of the front door. I breathed a sigh of relief.
