The balloon. Bearing the message, “Happy Valentine’s Day," it bobbed in the breeze created by the slightly open front door. It was helpless, a victim to any passing waft of air, but tethered down by its plastic cord to a shiny weight supplied by The Greetings Card Company.
The rose petals. Like drops of blood, they splashed across the polished wooden floorboards of the hall and up the cream stair carpet, staining it with their crimson dye and filling the air with their cloying scent. Not as metallic as blood but just as pervasive in its own way.
The intruder. He followed the dark scatters, his pace swift but measured. Up the stairs, across the landing, following the scent that had intensified into more than perfume. Now it was the smell of sex, and he was perfectly attuned to that. The door was open, so he could hear them as well as smell them. A few more steps and he could see into the room.
The candles. Dozens of them, church candles. The light they created in there was dancing, from the flames hovering over the dresser, side tables and window-sills. Through one uncurtained window, the full moon was visible: a perfect white orb in a black world. The bed was positioned so as to be viewed unobstructed from the doorway.
Silently, the intruder settled back into the shadows in the corner of the landing and observed, feeling his own lust rise.
The woman writhed. Like the balloon downstairs, she was tied, but straining, subject to the sensations buffeting her as the man teased and pleasured her. The candlelight in the room was not dim enough to prevent the observer from noting the sheen of perspiration which glistened on her smooth, creamy skin. Her chest and cheeks were flushed, but the top half of her face was obscured by a black satin blindfold.
Her hands were bound together above her head and fastened to the metal headboard, her ankles encircled with black ribbon which reached to the bottom corners of the bed, but with enough slack to allow her to bend her knees up.
The sheets were white, virginal, a stark contrast to yet more crimson petals all around her. The man kneeling between her spread thighs was trailing one such petal lightly over her breasts, moving randomly so she didn’t know where to expect the touch next. She strained upwards, desperate for more pressure, more sensation, but he continued to be deliberate and controlled in his movements, stroking the petal up and down one breast, moving to the other to circle the pert nipple, but teasing, avoiding even the lightest touch where she clearly craved it.
Now he brushed it across the underside of her breast, moving so slowly that her teeth dug into her lower lip in an agony of suspense. Her hips shifted restlessly in mute plea.
The observer remained almost motionless, although his right hand began to press against his crotch, adjusting himself as he felt himself respond to the woman’s helplessness.
In the bed, the man reached for something concealed under the pillow, pulling out two small, but intricate devices. Similar in appearance to hairpins, but with a sliding tightening mechanism on each, they were adorned with tiny ruby-hued jewels which twinkled in the flickering candlelight. He slipped one over each of her erect nipples, eliciting a gasp of shocked pleasure-pain from her both times.
He moved up to kiss her, whispering something. She nodded, but remained silent. The observer smiled. He liked her submission.
Hovering the petal above the erect nipple before him, the man slowly brought it down to lightly touch the very tip, and she jerked as if a current had moved through her. Laving with his tongue, and moving his lips over to suckle, he switched the petal to the other side, and continued until she moaned deeply, tossing her head from side to side in need and frustration. The movement exposed the column of her throat as her chestnut hair pooled and rippled over the pillowcase. Her hands fruitlessly clenched and unclenched above her head as she chased the sensations emanating from her sensitive, clamped nipples.
The moan made the man stop his teasing ministrations. Immediately, she stilled and silenced. Before touching her again, the man waited for a few beats, but her relief at his resuming was apparent in the relaxation of her body in his hands. She was seeking total surrender, relishing his control over her.
By leaning over to the side, the man afforded the observer a new view between the submissive's parted thighs. Creamy and luscious, they were already shining with juices. Nestled between them, under a thatch of soft brown curls, her pussy lips glistened invitingly. The observer ran his tongue over his teeth, and increased the pressure of his hand. He realised the man had reached over to dip rose petals into a glass of ice-water on the bedside table.
She flinched as cold droplets scattered over her skin, but she didn't make a sound. The man murmured something approving, and her full, red lips curved into a smile beneath the blindfold, as he continued to flick more icy drops of torment over her breasts and stomach and move lower, over her mound. Now he was drinking from the glass, and the observer grinned, anticipating the next move.
He moved stealthily forward, into the doorway, watching more closely as the woman arched up to meet the warm breath over her pussy. The man parted her folds with his thumbs. It was obvious the instant his tongue, chilled from the water, met her clit, because she shrieked and began frantically trying to squirm away. He held her there, hands splayed over her thighs and hips, forcing her to accept the contrast of hot air and cold touch, and gradually she acquiesced, sinking her pelvis into the mattress, but remaining otherwise still beneath his tongue and lips.