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.

Transfixed as the woman gave in to pleasure, the observer fought his own instinct to claim. Her legs began to shift and tense, and she thrust up towards her lover's mouth now, seeking more contact, more pressure. He was alternating long, slow strokes of his tongue up her slit with dancing flicks over her clit, and it was clearly driving her wild. Her breathing was becoming more laboured and gasping as she moaned and undulated her hips beneath him.

Now that she was no longer needing to be pinned down to accept her exquisite torment, the man slipped one hand from her hip and down to her soaking entrance, sliding his fingers into her. Her legs parted further, knees raising as she welcomed the intrusion, thrusting forward onto his hand and upwards onto his tongue as she found the perfect rhythm for her enjoyment.

The observer was now fully aroused and struggling to contain himself as the sounds and scents of hot sex filled the air. The woman's total arousal was evident, and every sound and move she made signalled her imminent climax. Her moans became louder when the man's movements increased in pace, and she braced herself, pushing up to him one more time, groaning out her satisfaction and release, before collapsing in ecstasy. The man continued to lick and lap up her juices while she shuddered and whimpered through the limits of her orgasm. Her entire body trembled in reaction, jerking sometimes again in aftershock if his tongue or fingers found a spot that was still too sensitive to bear more stimulation. Only when she was still and quiet beneath him did he raise his head, sitting up and wiping her wetness from his mouth.

He ran his hands up and down her torso a few times, soothing, for now avoiding her still-clamped nipples. However, the result of a brief spoken exchange was that the next thing to appear in his hands was a ball gag.

Biting her lip, the woman appeared uncertain initially. But he kissed and stroked and reassured, until she gave the slightest of nods, and opened her mouth wide to accept it. She raised her head to enable him to fasten the straps around the back.

The man got out of bed and stood back to admire his prize. Bound, blindfolded and gagged, spreadeagled, with the evidence of her orgasm dripping from her pussy lips and coating her thighs. Nipples clamped, those red jewels sparkling in the candlelight. Still surrounded by a sea of blood-red rose petals, she was the centrepiece of a work of erotic art. Her breathing was calm; she was mentally preparing for what was to come.

He picked up his phone and snapped a photo. Now she could be frozen forever in this moment, a beautiful testament to the power of submission.

“I’ll be back in two minutes,” he promised, and she nodded slightly and settled back into the pillow.

The observer retreated silently into the shadowy corner of the landing, but the man was too focused on getting downstairs and back up to his ultimate goal to be aware of anything else. Once he was halfway down the stairs, the observer moved noiselessly into the room and took a second to drink in more closely the sight before him. A delectable feast laid out purely for his enjoyment, beautifully trussed and gagged for his convenience.

The movement of the mattress was enough to alert her of his presence, and the lips at her throat were cool but sure. Her moan of pleasure was stifled by the ball gag as his tongue swept out to smooth her flesh before he struck. Fangs sliding in smoothly, penetrating her fragile layers of skin, he sucked and drew her hot, salty lifeblood into his mouth, shuddering with sheer pleasure.

Endorphins from her orgasm gave a whole extra flavour to the dark wine he craved - a vintage unique to her, that was particularly satisfying. Rich, sweet, potent nectar exploded on his tongue, bringing him instantly to his own orgasmic level of bliss. He continued, drawing and pulling, feeling the energy seep out of her to nourish him, the heat moving through his icy veins, as he sated himself fully. He was hard and desperate, reaching his own brand of climax even as he registered the slowing and fading of her heartbeat.

Reluctantly, he pulled away, withdrawing his fangs, feeling her go limp beneath him. The heat was leaving her body already; she was useless to him now. Skin noticeably paler, lips no longer red. Her eyes beneath the blindfold would be glazed, even as the ruby jewels adorning her breasts continued to sparkle vacantly in the refracted light.

The man re-entering the room, intent on finishing what he had started, did not notice the breeze from the open window, nor the silhouette of the bat flitting across the full moon. His valentine lay cool and still on the pillows, head lolled over to one side, and when he went to sweep some of the rose petals from the pillow, the crimson stains remained.