You were good at sex. Or, well, at least you liked to think so. I mean, at the very least you weren't a bad lover, right? There's no way anybody could have sex every night for two years and somehow be bad at it. You were always attentive to your wife's needs, never selfish, always willing to spend time on the things women enjoyed: kissing, foreplay, that sort of stuff. Unfortunately, your wife was not the most vocal lover. Valkyries weren't really known for being sexually adventurous or open about their desires. There was a lot of guesswork involved as you attempted to discern minute changes in her stoic expression. It had been the source of quite a bit of anxiety early in your relationship, but she assured you that she deeply enjoyed making love to you, she just wasn't the type to have wild, screaming orgasms.
Although you had just left it at that and learned to enjoy yourself without thinking about it too much, lately things had been worse than usual. You could swear you detected traces of disappointment on her face. Your fears ignited anew, you began reading up on sexual techniques online. Outside of the tantric, Eastern, Kama Sutra type sites, most places suggested an increase in foreplay. They insisted that most of a woman's pleasure comes from the build-up, the actual act itself simply the icing on the cake. And so, you began worshiping her body more and more, your mouth lining her taut abdomen with kisses before making its way to her glistening cunt, your hands constantly caressing and stimulating her most sensitive areas. You told her how much you loved her, how beautiful she was, how you wish you could just make love to her all day. You showered her entire being with affection.
And yet things continued to worsen. Frustrated and running out of options, a thought occurred to you. Maybe she had some secret fetish or something? Something too embarrassing to tell you about? You didn't even care if you had to dress up like a clown and pop balloons at this point. You were prepared to do anything.
And so it was you found yourself sitting in front of her laptop late one evening. You had to be quick. Coming home from work she had immediately jumped in the shower and you had only a precious few minutes to conduct the operation. Her browser history produced nothing. In fact, it had recently been cleared. Suspicious. Moving onto step two, you began rummaging through her folders, checking for anything unusual. In some forgotten little corner of her program files, a folder with an innocuous sounding, officey name read as containing 38.7GB of data. Jackpot.
Or so you thought. Searching deeper revealed a massive cache of netorare and cuckolding videos. Your heart sank. Refusing to believe what was in front of you, you desperately scrolled through them all, thinking maybe you'd find something else, maybe this was just her most recent interest. But it only served to further reveal the extent of her interest. As you heard her exiting the bathroom, your despair turned to rage. Had she been cheating on you? When she told you she was going to the store had she really been sneaking off to a secret tryst with her lover? Was she planning to have you inadvertently raise another man's child?
An evening shower was part of her preparatory ritual for sex and despite your anger you found yourself hard in a twisted, pavlovian manner. It only served to work you up more. She'd always said she wanted to present herself to you clean. You used to think it was cute, but now you found yourself wondering if it was just to rinse the evidence of another man's love from her body.
As she entered the room she looked as beautiful as the day you met her: flowing blonde hair, long golden wings, flawless porcelain skin. She really was an angel. Only a thin, slightly damp towel separated you from her everything, its simple, clean whiteness reminding you of your wedding night.
The soft smile on her lips caused you to falter slightly. Seeing you so obviously distraught that smile quickly faded. Not knowing what was wrong she simply asked, “Husband?”
That's right. You were husband and wife. She swore to be yours for as long as you lived. With fresh determination, you demanded to know if she'd been cheating on you.
“What? I would never! Where is this coming from?”, she cried.
You told her you knew about her NTR fetish and that you weren't going to accept that sort of twisted relationship.
Shocked, she started stammering, “W-wait, no you've got it all wrong, those are just fantasies, let me-”, but you would have none of it. Cutting her off, you grabbed her wrist sharply and threw her onto the bed, her towel coming loose and exposing her ripe body in the process. You stood above her and explained that she was yours and only yours and if that wasn't good enough for her then you would file for divorce tomorrow morning.
Something changed subtly in her expression. Looking up at you strangely, she simply said, “Then take me.”
You were rough with her that night. You didn't care about foreplay, or gentleness; you simply marked her as yours. The only affection you showed her was contained within the deep kisses you forced upon her as you bottomed out in her most intimate place. She seemed particularly receptive that night, gasping, moaning, locking her legs around you. You went several rounds without rest before you both passed out together. Waking up the next morning, you noted a look of deep satisfaction etched upon her slumbering features, as of a woman who just experienced multiple powerful and fulfilling orgasms.
She gazed at you strangely throughout breakfast. It was a painfully quiet morning, hardly a word passing between you before you went your separate ways for work. That night she was late. An hour passed, then two. You began to worry. Were you too harsh last night? Had you put into motion a series of events that would end your marriage? You began to drink.
Around ten she waltzed through the front door, her usual, modest office attire replaced with a revealing black dress. The chest was deeply cut, exposing an absurd amount of cleavage. Its tightness completely revealed the outline of her elegant hips and her full, round ass. It was the sort of dress a woman wore while hunting for a man.
You asked her what the fuck she was doing.
“Nothing much~. Just went out for a night on the town with the girls. Had a few drinks, went shopping, that sort of thing. You wouldn't believe how many guys tried to buy me drinks. The men these days are so forward.”
You asked her again what the fuck she was doing. At this point she noticed you'd been drinking and her slightly curled smile turned into a full-on smirk.
“If you've got a problem with it maybe you'd better be extra thorough in explaining it to me tonight. How I'm only yours and all that? You should probably mark my body so thoroughly with your seed that no man would dare approach me. Just to be safe, you know?”
This fucking bitch.
You ended up fucking her even more roughly than the previous night, your drunkenness making you even more aggressive in how you sought pleasure. With little regard for her comfort, you rutted into her endlessly, successfully goaded on by her demands to “do it harder, faggot.”
You awoke groggily the next morning to find her making you breakfast. This was an unusual occurrence. When you asked what the occasion was, she informed you that she'd be waking up early from now on to make you a rich, nutritious meal. Hardly in a position to complain, you accepted the plate of eggs and salad. She seemed somehow happier than usual as you ate breakfast, an unfamiliar smile on her lips. She asked if you would accompany her shopping and you agreed.
You were completely unprepared for what she changed into. In place of her usual clothes, she wore a top that came just shy of covering her navel, extra tight jeans that left little to the imagination, and four inch strapped heels. Even though you felt like opening your mouth, in the end you said nothing. You couldn't really chastise her seeing as how you were going out together.
Once you were out, she asked every male clerk she could find some question or another, thanking them deeply when they informed her that the canned beans were in aisle seven, or that they stopped carrying clock radios years ago. She carried herself confidently, her ass swaying with each step. Even random passersby couldn't help but sneak glances at her figure. Everyone's eyes were on her at some moment or another.
After about half an hour you pulled her aside and told her you'd had enough. You weren't drunk like last night. You understood exactly what she was doing.
“But Anon, I haven't even finished half of what I need to,” she complained.
You informed her that if she kept this up you'd just take the car and leave her there.
“Oh, my. I at least have to finish up here seeing as we're almost done. If you really can't wait I suppose I'll just have to ask one of the kind young men here to give me a ride,” she said. Ten minutes later you were walking out of the store fuming while she was humming happily. Another fifteen minutes and you were stripping her in the foyer, a deep need to prove your masculinity having overtaken all else. It was exactly what she wanted, but you honestly had no idea what else to do in this sort of situation. You took her on the floor and pounded into her over and over again. Soon you realized you were brushing against something deep inside her. Every time you hit it, she gasped. You'd always understood that hitting the cervix was a source of pain, but with her practically delirious with pleasure beneath you, you continued to pound away, your tip just managing to stimulate her sweet spot. Seeing her thrash and moan in ecstasy made you quite a bit more confident in your technique and you decided to just keep hitting her depths until your hips gave out. You'd never noticed before, but apparently her wings spasmed when she was really enjoying it.
That evening she was incredibly clingy, constantly finding excuses to touch you, insisting that you eat off the same plate for dinner, even going so far as to spoonfeed you a couple of times. She was acting like a freshly smitten young maiden. Unaware of how to broach the subject of the events of the past couple of days, you said nothing. Instead you simply lay on the couch with her, a deep sense of comfort settling over you. The exertion of pleasuring her wore you out more than you'd like to admit and you soon found yourself falling asleep.
The next few weeks saw her foregoing her schemes to inflame your jealousy for the most part. Instead she began to directly entice you, lounging about the house in more and more provocative clothing, petting your thigh whenever you sat together, french kissing whenever you parted. The kissing was kind of awkward when you were just going to the bathroom, but you weren't one to complain.
Something within her was changing. She was more open these days, talking at length when once she was terse. Where once you were comfortable together in relative quiet, you discovered how fulfilling evening conversations can be. You loved hearing about her past, her opinions, even her day. You found you never actually knew her as well as you thought you did. Even her face which used to be a difficult puzzle became much more expressive. You were now graced with her raucous laughter when you were lucky enough to amuse her. She no longer had to resort to underhanded schemes to get what she wanted in terms of lovemaking, unafraid to simply tell you to “mess her up inside”.
Where once she had favored light colors she began to exclusively wear black. Her once vibrant blonde hair had faded, her alabaster skin turned a sickly hue, even her golden wings had become a deep grey. And yet looking at her, you could honestly say she was more beautiful than ever before.
And then one day, after she had bathed in preparation to accept you, she announced that she wanted to bear your children. When you responded that you weren't sure if you were ready to be a father, she smiled coyly and said, “If you don't hurry up some other hung stud might just come along and have his way with me. Wouldn't you rather stake your claim to my fertile womb now, just to be sure? Or are you not man enough?”
You laughed, unable to believe just how well that shit still worked.
Some time later you would learn she'd actually been imagining you as the dominant male in those videos, saying it was your destiny to someday father many descendants who would become the rulers of many nations.
But that is another story.