Valentine, Be Mine Ch. 01

Step into my parlor….

Hypnosis is different than normal sleep. True, I knew I was going to be hypnotized, just as I know when I am going to sleep. I awakened, knowing time had passed, just as I did every morning after a night's repose. Unlike sleep, I was acutely aware something happened, yet I remembered nothing; not even a dream. It was the ultimate inside joke – and I was on the outside, looking in. Joanna gazed at me, a benign smile on her lips.

"Did you… learn anything?" I asked hesitantly.

Her smile widened a notch; otherwise, her face was neutral.

"It was… fruitful," she replied cryptically, revealing no further details.

The sessions continued; more blacked-out hours in my life. Joanna confirmed my headaches were psychosomatic and she was, at last, making progress towards understanding and curing my affliction. She was evasive when I asked for more information about my condition.

"It's too soon for that, Bobby," she demurred. "It would be like throwing you into the deep end before teaching you how to swim. To be honest, I have to be sure, too."

Sure of what, dammit? I warily suggested we should bring our sessions to an end; that I was really growing uncomfortable with her manner of 'stealth healthcare'.

When the time is right – when I think you are ready – I will review everything with you. That is a promise."

Remember what I said about couples keeping secrets from each other? I felt more than a little uneasy about this one. Still, I convinced myself this was a professional issue, not a personal one. Joanna was speaking as my doctor, not my wife. I had to reconcile the difference between the two – and didn't like it a bit.

If anything, our sex life was better, more creative than before. Joanna's passion took a quantum leap in intensity, as though she couldn't get enough. My mate got heavily into oral and anal play – giving and receiving – and was driving me out of my mind with pleasure. Of course, I was more than happy to return the favor. The headaches diminished in frequency and intensity, then vanished altogether. I didn't know what my wife was doing for me, but I made the extra effort to let her know her efforts were greatly appreciated. She got the message; her screams of ecstasy echoed in my ears as she shuddered through climax after climax.

Our supercharged sex life was reflected in her changing wardrobe. I bought her a set of La Perla lingerie for her birthday and her curvaceous body looked sensational in it. Of course, we had to go out and buy more. She took an extra measure of pleasure having me help dress her in her naughty, sexy underthings, stockings and heels. Over time, she had almost completely eliminated pantsuits from her wardrobe in favor of increasingly short, tight skirt suits with filmy, revealing blouses for work. Her footwear changed accordingly. The heels were higher, spikier, more provocative. By the time we were ready to go out the door, it was all I could do to refrain from diving under her skirt and giving her the tongue-lashing of her life. Sometimes I didn't refrain. My oh-so-professional spouse stumbled out the door with soaked, squishy panties, flush face and dreamy Cheshire smile on her lips. I was much the same.

After hours, her wardrobe was even more daring. When we went out shopping or dining together, there was no end to the admiring glances she received. She, in turn, openly flirted with her eyes, smile, and body. What would she have done, had I not been by her side? For that matter, what did she do when we were apart? Jealousy? Well, maybe, but I didn't have anything to point to and say I had something to be jealous of. There was no denying she was sensational in her provocative new 'look'. There was no question she was enjoying the attention every bit as much as her admirers. Didn't that reflect well on me, that this amazing, educated, talented, sexy woman was my wife? Hadn't she been proud when other women hit on me? I guess so, but….

The erotic appeal of our morning dressing ritual more than made up for any silly suspicions I might have. I helped her into her pretty underthings, then she helped me into mine. My lingerie drawer was filled to the brim with La Perla, as well as some Victoria's Secret, Frederick's of Hollywood, Christian Dior, Givinchy, and the like. The only difference in our foundations was my additional need for a tightly-laced, heavily-boned corset to 'train' my figure to be as svelte as hers. The light of love in her eyes as she beheld me in my lingerie made my heart skip a beat. I had to admit, my long, slender, hairless legs looked divine in their nylon hosiery, just as hers did. We both adored the smooth front presented by my pantied snatch, with my 'clitty' tucked away, safe and sound, between my thighs.

"Sweetie," she would murmur appreciatively, "you are such a turn-on. My panties are going to be soaked all day from me fantasizing about you. Hurry home tonight, okay? Don't keep me waiting."

I, myself, would be in a dream state all day. It was amazing I got any work done at all. I thought back to the morning and my sweet spouse's words. Then I thought ahead to what the night would bring. Once home, I doffed my suit, shirt and tie, hung everything up, then slipped into one or another lacey negligee and spike-heeled pumps or platform slides I wore for Joanna's pleasure. I adored the way the sexy attire showed off my perky breasts and the swell of my hips and tush. Damn, if I didn't seem to be filling out more every day! I hurried into the bathroom, did my eyes the way she likes, applied a thick, creamy coat of lipstick, then fluffed up my hair. With each passing day, I noted with satisfaction how long it was getting. Would I look good as a blonde? I thought so – and thought Joanna would think so, too. A spritz or two of Shalimar and I was good to go.

When I heard the front door open, then close, I would hurry to greet my mate. There, again, was that look of delight and desire in Joanna's eyes; worth every second of the fuss to make myself pretty for her. She would attack my mouth with her own. There were times I thought she would suck all my internal organs out with the intensity of that kiss. I broke our lip lock long enough to take her hand, lead her into our bedroom, then throw her down on the bed. Most times, I didn't even bother to undress her; at least, not right away. I simply scrunched her skirt up around her hips, slipped off her lacey thong, and feasted on her hot, throbbing pussy. Joanna was always as good as her word that morning. She wasn't just soaked; she was gushing. After six or eight good orgasms, my magnificent mate was finally sated. She buckled into her strap-on harness and fucked me into oblivion. On one such occasion, somewhere between the third and fourth orgasm, I happened to remember Joyce's words:

I'm sure she will find a way to make it up to you on the back end.

She certainly had.

The days, weeks, and seasons came and went. Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's; each holiday was more special than the last. Things had not been going well for me at work of late. For weeks, my co-workers – people I had once had a close working and social relationship with - had been creeping me out, for reasons I couldn't begin to understand. It's not like I was unattractive as a blonde; far from it, if I do say so myself. I received oral, then written reprimands for "inappropriate manner of dress." I should have sued them for harassment! It wasn't like I was the only one to wear skirts to the office. Just because mine were a little shorter and tighter, and my heels a little higher, than most of the two-faced, sanctimonious cows I worked with….

The thing that infuriated me most was having to sign the written reprimand for the records; that, or risk adding 'insubordination' to the list of character assassinations. I seethed as I applied "Bobbi Valentine" to the signature line, dotting the "I's" with little hearts as I always did.

It all came to a head when I returned from my holiday vacation, sporting the boob job that had been Joanna's Christmas present to me. So what if I wore my fitted satin blouse with a couple or three buttons unbuttoned to show off my pretty new titties? Some people like the 'done' look; others don't. I guessed my former 'friends' were in the latter camp. Oh, well…

Joanna had contacts all over town. She made a couple of calls and landed me a new job in the office of one of the larger, better-known video production companies in The Valley – yes, one of those companies. It was less money, but the work was enjoyable, they were much less anal in their dress code – and more appreciative of my 'assets'. In fact, Management lobbied me heavily to work in front of the cameras. I couldn't do that – could I? Anyway, I didn't miss my old job at all. Besides, Joanna made more than enough to support us in style. I was enjoying my life again – and hadn't had a hint of a headache in months.

My co-workers and the 'talent' that came and went for the video shoots were all super-friendly. The guys especially all wanted to get close to me. That was new to me. I had had a few close male friends before; usually current or former models like me. Most of the 'rank-and-file' had kept their distance, occasionally casting a smirk in my direction. That was no longer the case; at least, not here.

I was eating up all the new attention. I stayed to socialize with them after hours, sometimes going out to one or another of our favorite watering holes. One hunk in particular, a stud named Matt Michaels who was in the office for video shoots several times a week, had set his sights on me. Me! Oh, how he tried to get me to go out with him! There was something about that concept that troubled me, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Anyway, he was a little too arrogant, too pushy, too self-confident for my tastes. It wasn't enough he knew he could have any woman he wanted; he acted as though my eventual acquiescence was a done deal.

Besides, I wasn't going to cheat on my wife, whom I loved with all my heart. I knew she felt the same. Our romance was setting new records every day. Every night when I came home to her, she was wetter and more ready for me than she had ever been before, even when we began dating. Honestly, she was dripping down her thighs with anticipation.

It was Valentine's Day – a beautiful, sunny Friday and my birthday (save the jokes; I have heard them all before). I suspected Joanna would be taking me out to dinner, so I had opted to wear something a little naughty for the occasion. My body was adorned in a tight, rose satin spandex skirt suit with wide lapels that formed a neckline plunging almost to my navel. Underneath, I wore a long-sleeve sheer black chiffon fitted blouse with plunging ruffled lace neckline and matching ruffled cuffs. My DD-cuppers were round and firm, so I had not worn a bra. The ruffles strategically covered my nipples. The rest was a feast for the eyes and jiggled sweetly as I moved. The welts of my jet-black seamed stockings played peek-a-boo with the short hem of my skirt. My feet were shod in matching rose patent ankle-strap platform sandals with six inch stiletto heels.

My lips, fingernails and toenails were all in Softsilver Rose with silver nail art. My hair was newly permed and fluffed out. With the extensions, it cascaded past my shoulder blades. Throwing caution and manual dexterity to the wind, I had had my nails done in an ultra-glamour length and square-cut with beveled corners.

I was doing my eyes and cheekbones more boldly than I used to, owing to the influence of the girls I see every day at the office and on the set. Our staff makeup artist couldn't have been nicer about working with me, showing me how to achieve the right 'look' for any given occasion. On this occasion, the look was pure seduction, right down to the thick, lacey false eyelashes and broad swaths of eyeliner extending beyond the corners of my eyes; perfectly suited for the outfit I now wore. I wasn't wearing Shalimar; I exuded it, seemingly from every pore. The unmistakable scent preceded me into every room I entered.

Joanna hadn't seen this outfit yet, much less the rest of my new 'glam' look. I had purchased it for the occasion, surreptitiously packed it in the trunk of my car the night before and changed into it in the bathroom at work before going to my desk. Compliments? Oh, yeah! The guys were all over me – and I loved every second.

Most of the office was going to The Blue Zebra for drinks after work. Of course; doesn't every office staff party after hours at a gentleman's club? Well, maybe not every day, but it's no big deal in our business. Matt wouldn't take no for an answer, getting right up in my face like he owned me – or wanted to.

"I've got a new video I want to preview with you before we go," he offered. "I think you will like it. This late on a Friday afternoon, we will have the screening room all to ourselves."

Hmmm; watch porn with a notorious skirt-chaser, just the two of us, before we go out for drinks – just to get in the mood. Sure, that's my idea of a good time… NOT! I wished he hadn't been so ham-handed about it. I was flattered by his show of attention – maybe even a little tempted. Yet, I wasn't going to betray Joanna – especially not on that day. I was certain my honey had planned something special for us, even if she hadn't said a word about it. Besides; who would I really rather spend such a special occasion with? In the end, I excused myself from Matt to go to the bathroom to "just touch up my lipstick before the show" – and snuck out the back door.

Joanna did, indeed, have a surprise waiting for me upon my arrival. She was already in bed. The room was bathed in candlelight. There were two crystal flutes and a bottle of champagne in an iced bucket on the bedside table. Soft music played on the stereo. There was nothing soft about the ten-inch dick that was, at that moment, plowing in and out of her drenched love nest; nor the muscular, shaven-headed Black man attached to it.

Well, this is awkward.

Apparently, not for Joanna. She didn't even realize I was there. At that moment, her eyes were closed, her entire existence narrowly focused on the steel bar of a cock thrusting in and out of her pussy. I stood in the doorway, out of their field of vision, and watched. From the gist of her conversation – if you could call a stream-of-consciousness spate of shrieks, moans and guttural entreaties that – I learned the man's name was "Jake". He continued to 'plow the field', equally unaware of my presence. I had an eerie, déjà vu feeling about the whole scene. I knew him, or thought I did, but from where?

***

"That's it," Joanna gasped. "Right there. Keep doing that. Yeahhhhh, oh yeah. Fuck me, Baby. Fuck me harder!"

My heart sank, watching my wife and her lover. I am closely attuned to her emotions. Just in the time I had been there, I could tell she had already experienced four massive orgasms in rapid succession, with more to come. Jake hadn't missed a stroke, much less shown any indication of slowing down. Joanna radiated the glow, the expression of pure bliss I adored seeing on her face. She looked so angelic lying there, as that huge piece of meat filled her beyond full. A soft sheen of perspiration clung to her face and body. I only wish I had been the one to put that look of bliss on her face.

At last, she opened her eyes. Through the haze of sexual abandonment, she must have sensed a third presence in the room. Her eyes turned to mine. It was difficult for her face to register shock in the greater context of extreme sexual arousal, but she managed.

"You aren't supposed to be here yet," she gasped between thrusts, "Matt was supposed to… Oh, God. Sweetheart, this isn't what you think. I arranged… you were supposed to… I had a special birthday present for you. I did it for you, for us."

I thought I was going to throw up. I just turned and walked out the door. I needed fresh air, fast!

"Baby, wait," Joanna cried out. "Stop. Come back. Please wait, Evie!"

She was still plugged into Jake's joystick and had been on the edge of yet another massive orgasm. Even if she was able to invoke coitus interruptus, I had a head start – and intended to use it. I'm not sure why I grabbed her purse and keys from the hall table as I hurried towards the door; instinct, perhaps. Maybe I just wanted to give myself a little extra edge on the getaway by slowing her down that much more. Lord knew I didn't have much else going for me – or to my name, for that matter.

My mind was in turmoil as I drove away. She did it for me, for us? How could she say that? It stands to reason she would tell me "it isn't what it looks like." Don't cheaters always claim that when they get caught red-handed? What, exactly, is it then, Sweetheart? How can she cuckold me right before my eyes, then profess her undying love and devotion to me?

I became even more angry at her mention of Matt Michaels' name in her rushed explanation. So, his confident, heavy-handed come-on had been a set-up, arranged by my wife to deflect blame away from her own infidelity. Yeah, right; like a gay tryst with a male porn star, which I neither solicited, nor encouraged, is gonna make me feel guilty enough to forgive my spouse for fucking another man in our own bed. That bitch!

For that matter, why couldn't I do anything about it while I was standing there? There was a time I would have thought nothing of picking up the lamp from the bedside table and beating the cheaters to death with it. Instead, I just stood there, soft, serene, watching my wife knowingly, enthusiastically betray me.

I glanced down, past my prodigious new bustline, to where my short skirt barely covered the cleft between my thighs. 'Soft' was exactly the right word; soft, flaccid, harmless, the complete antithesis of the one I had just witnessed. I didn't mean just then; I hadn't been able to get hard for… I couldn't even remember how long it had been. As good as the sex had been lately between Joanna and me, I hadn't thought a thing about it – until I had seen Jake's enormous, rock-hard cock ramming into my wife's pussy.

My cell phone rang. I checked the Caller ID display. Guess who? Now it starts. I let the call go to voicemail, then turned the phone off. At that moment, I didn't want to speak to anyone. That couldn't last. I felt we had just stepped over the line from loving to adversarial relationship. Joanna could muster some pretty big guns to her side. I would have to do the same, to the best of my limited ability. That meant I would have to be available to them when they called. I would have to start the process as soon as I landed somewhere – wherever that may be. That was for later. My mind wandered back to the trauma at hand.

Evie. She had called me Evie. That name… long, so long ago…. Evie had been the name of my sister Janie's close childhood friend. I remembered the glow in Janie's eyes when Evie came to play with her. We had done everything together, Janie and I… we?

There was no burning bush, no celestial host, no voice thundering down from the heavens. The memory just came back; quietly, certainly, with finality. It had been a family joke. When I was just learning to talk, Mama and Dad had tried to teach me to speak my own name. I guess I did all right with "Robert", but the closest I could come to pronouncing "Everett" was something like "Evelyn". From that point, the whole family had teasingly called me "Evie". One day, a few years later, Janie had taken the tease one step further; dressing me up in one of her dresses and painting my lips with lipstick. She made me be her 'girlfriend' all afternoon. I was a little embarrassed by it all, but I really liked my big sister and, as always, glowed at being the center of attention. If I remembered correctly, we had a good time. Mama had a good time with it, too. I think she thought I was cute as a girl. The whole thing had evolved over time. Janie and 'Evie' became inseparable girlfriends.