Valentine's Blisse Kiss (Sunday Snog #112)

I know it's not quite Valentine's Day, but this is the last Sunday before the only day of the year dedicated to love and romance, so of course you know that Victoria and her friends (including me) are up to something special.

Every author participating in today's Sunday Snog is offering a prize. I'm no exception. Leave me a comment (with your email, please) and you could win a copy of my new release Her Secret Ingredient. For more information, and an excerpt, just go to https://www.totallybound.com/her-secret-ingredient

To make things even sweeter, Victoria's giving away a Lelo Ora, a space-aged sex toy that you have to see to believe. Check it out, and follow the links to the other participants, here. 

My snog is actually an entire quick story, a bit of romantic BDSM. The kiss is at the end. You'll have a lot of fun getting there, I promise!

Don't forget to comment!

An Old-Fashioned Valentine

Sometimes I think I can't bear it. His absence hurts me more than any whipping or caning he might administer, especially when he's very so far away, on the opposite side of the globe. I desperately miss his orders - never mind how difficult they might be to obey. His touch, alternately rough and tender - his hypnotic voice - his fierce, inescapable lust – I can't live without them anymore. I stumble through my days dazed with need. Working, doing chores, eating, even sleeping, I'm preoccupied by memory and desire.

In erotic stories, Doms always text their instructions to their slaves, but he doesn't even own a mobile phone. There's email, of course. He worries about privacy, though, and so I must be content with vague messages that scarcely satisfy me. "Dear Pet, I'm thinking of you. Are you being good?"

I know what he means. Yes, I'm good. It's a matter of pride, and practicality too. An orgasm at my own hands will never provide that sense of completion he can bestow. I'd far rather wait and reap the sweet rewards of obedience.

Given the twelve hour time difference, phone calls require prior planning, and because of the costs, they're usually short. Still, it's a gift just to hear him breathing. He's paranoid about being overheard – not necessarily unrealistic given where he's working – so we stick to safe topics. I can't tell him how badly I need to feel the sting of his palm on my backside or the tight embrace of his ropes.

The past three weeks have been hard enough, but today is Valentine's Day, usually a special occasion for us. He is surprisingly sentimental as well as devilishly clever. Each year that we've been together, his meticulously designed Valentine's scene has broken his own previous record for creative perversion. I steel myself to the fact that this year will be different. For me, February the 14th will be a day like any other. We'll talk tonight – tomorrow morning his time – but meanwhile I'll go about my business, trying to forget the hungry ache in my chest and emptiness between my thighs.

I'm about to leave for work when the mail slides through the slot and tumbles to the entry way floor. Bills, for the most part, and advertisements, many touting Valentine's Day promotions. There's one envelope, though, heavy cream-colored paper with a rainbow assortment of foreign stamps and the precise handwriting I know so well.

My heart pounds as I tear open the flap. The envelope is lined with gold foil. The card is gold, too, with a crimson heart and "To My Valentine" in flowery script.

The sight melts me. He's so incredibly sweet! And how did he manage to arrange for his missive to arrive exactly on Valentine's Day? Sometimes I believe he controls the rest of the world as fully as he does me.

The inside of the card is densely inscribed in his strong, neat hand – a black fountain pen, if I'm not mistaken.

Heat floods my body as I read. My pussy is molten and my nipples are round and hard as river-washed stones.

To my darling pet,

I'm sorry I can't be giving you these instructions in person. I have no doubt you'll obey as fully as if I were present.

Oh yes. He knows me so well, though he may not fully appreciate how much I've longed for this.

Remove your clothing.

I've just finished dressing for work, but I strip without hesitation: jacket, skirt, blouse, pantyhose, bra and panties. I'm breathing hard, as though I'd just run a marathon. My forehead is sheened with sweat despite the drafts wandering through my Victorian-era condo.

Retrieve the clover-leaf nipple clamps from the drawer on my side of the bed and attach them as tightly as you can bear.

I leave the card on the telephone table while I race to the bedroom. These clamps are the stiffest we own. I've never fastened them to my own nipples and I find it quite awkward. The experience is totally different from having him do it. There's no suspense – I know exactly when the jaws will bite into my swollen nub. A star burst of pain radiates from that point. It's harder still to attach the second, since each movement I make sends new pangs sparking from the first. The silvery chain strung between them tickles my abdomen, reminding me of his delicate, maddening fingers.

I breathe deeply, letting the pain flow wash through me as I've been taught. When the fiery sensations have dulled a bit, I head back to the entry to read his next instructions.

Attach one three ounce weight to the chain – or two, if you really want to please me.

Oh my God! Of course I want to please him, but a mere three ounces, pulling the cantilevered mechanism of the clips and tightening them around my screaming nips, brings tears to my eyes. Once more I wait, trying to accustom myself to the heightened pain. I can do this, for him – for us. I hang the second weight from the chain, close my eyes, and struggle to adjust.

It would be easier if he were here. With him watching, supporting and encouraging me, I've endured unbelievable agony. I picture him standing over me, tall and commanding, his dark eyes brimming with pride and lust. You're doing well, pet. I almost hear his lush, velvety voice, and all at once I am determined to succeed in meeting his Valentine's challenge.

Now insert the red butt plug with the jewel in the base into your ass. You may use as much lube as you need.

Compared to the clamps, this is easy, though the familiar sensation of being stretched brings me perilously close to orgasm. I'm tempted for an instant to touch myself. The brush of a fingertip would be enough to send me off. He'd never know... but he would, I'm certain, and even if he didn't figure it out on his own, I wouldn't be able to resist to the urge to confess. I'd rather go months without coming than see that rueful look of disappointment on his face.

So I try to relax my sphincter, letting the plug settle inside my body and working to ignore the urgent hum in my clit.

Ready? I'm sure you look quite delightful, pet, with your nipples like plump raspberries and your wetness coating your thighs. I want everyone to see how lovely you are. Go to your front door, open it, and kneel on the threshold.

I drop the card as if I'd been scalded. I can't do what he asks – the door opens onto a common hallway, and at this time of the morning, one of my four neighbors is bound to be leaving for work. I'll be evicted from the building if anyone sees me, maybe even arrested...

But I can't refuse him either, because I promised to love and obey him in every way. I stare at the door, frozen by indecision.

If he were beside me, I could do it. His presence would give me strength. Alone, though? I don't know if I can go through with this, no matter how much I want to.

You can do it, pet. Show me you're mine, my delicious, dirty little slave girl.

The card has fallen open on the floor, and there's his answer, written out, as clear as if he were speaking aloud. He knows me so very well. Tears prick my eyes, this time from gratitude. At this point I scarcely notice the pain.

Quickly, before I can change my mind, I pull the door open and step out onto the welcome mat just outside. I sink to my knees with thighs spread. Automatically, my head bows and my hands clasp at the small of my back. After all my time with him, this position feels as natural as breathing.

I close my eyes and listen. The building is surprisingly quiet. My pulse thumps in my ears. My nipples throb, a sensation that borders on pleasure. The plug in my anus shifts. I tighten around it, sending shimmers of delight cascading toward my clit. I struggle to relax.

Now what? I can't go back inside to see if he has sent further orders.

I hear footsteps, ascending the stairs to the second floor. Panic seizes me. I want to run, but it's too late for that. It's all over, our delicious, kinky years together. They'll lock me up, in jail or in an institution. I'll lose my job, my home, and worst of all, they'll keep me away from him....

"Good morning, Pet."

Relief floods me, spring rain after a fearful drought. "Master! What are you doing here?"

I gaze up at him, though he hasn't given permission. He's rumpled from travel, with a day's stubble on his chin and dark circles under his eyes. His smile tells me everything I need to know. He's pleased. My spirit takes flight.

He carries a bouquet of roses in one hand, a heart-shaped box of chocolates in the other. "I thought we'd have an old-fashioned Valentine's Day," he murmurs, as he helps me to my feet. "Inside now." He gives my butt a playful swat as he ushers me back into my apartment. For a moment I think that touch – his touch, after so very long - will undo me. But I maintain my self-control while he sets down his gifts and closes the door behind us.

Then he sweeps me into a kiss and everything disappears – everything - except his body pressed against mine.