Dirty Sweet Valentine Page 4
Well, it was obvious which option I was going to take.
Three
Safety was the number one concern at the Open Door. There were several measures taken to ensure that everyone who attended was unharmed during the fun. A password was required for entrance, a new one was given each week. Phones and wallets were turned in at the door. Condoms were always available throughout the space, and consent was emphatically emphasized.
One way consent was emphasized was by the wearing of different colored bracelets that party-goers picked up at the front door. Everyone was required to don one. White meant the wearer preferred to initiate interaction. Black meant that verbal consent was required before anyone touched or complimented the wearer. Red meant that physical compliments and non-sexual touch were welcomed as a means of initiation. If anyone was caught not following the rules of the bracelet, the offender was banned for life.
The only exception was during official games. In those cases, those who played gave consent to allow sexual touch as part of the game without specifically verbalizing it. So when playing naked Twister, a person didn’t have to ask for consent from the people they tangled with when putting an elbow on yellow and a foot on blue.
However.
Some of the kinkier attendees preferred their consent to be more dubious throughout the parties, not just during game play. While not exactly supported by the club administration, those in the know would often wear a bronze bracelet as well as a red. Bronze meant If you touch me sexually without asking first, I might tell you no thank you, but I’m not gonna be mad.
I was one of those who wore a bronze bracelet.
That didn’t mean I didn’t have rules, because I did. I always wore a mask to hide my identity—too many people knew Hudson Pierce, and I did not mix business with pleasure. I never gave my name—people referred to me only as T or Mistress T or Madame T or some other variation. And, while I welcomed all sorts of fingers and mouths and toys in my pussy, I did not allow any penetration with a cock.
I’d broken all those rules with Nate, of course, but that was what kept our relationship special. No matter how much I fooled around with others, there were parts of my body that I only shared with him.
Was that love?
Maybe.
It didn’t mean I thought we should be making declarations about it. The arrangement itself was enough to make it significant. We didn’t need labels or any other words to distinguish it, and if Nate really was the perfect guy for me, he would understand that as well as I did.
I just didn’t know for sure that he did.
So after we’d checked in and the host for the evening—a non-binary Puerto Rican with luscious lips and gorgeous brown skin—informed us that the Valentine’s Day devotions were being held in the great room to the left, I immediately tugged Nate in the opposite direction.
“Hold up,” he said, when I’d taken several steps. “Is there somewhere specific you’re headed?”
I opened my mouth, my mind racing to come up with something on the spot. I’d stopped listening to the host, though, the minute they said where the devotions were, and I had no idea what else was happening around the penthouse.
“Nowhere specific,” I said lamely after several awkward seconds. Just somewhere far, far away from the “lovey-dovey” room.
“Do you mind if I take the lead, then?”
Nate never asked to take the lead. He was a go-with-the-flow kind of guy, and usually the flow went wherever I wanted to be.
He definitely had something planned.
My stomach felt like lead. What was I supposed to say? How could I tell him no when he had asked so little of me?
“Yeah. Sure.” I feigned a smile as I followed him back toward the great room, a tightness spreading across my ribs as though I were wearing a corset versus no underwear at all.
But Nate didn’t stop in the great room. Instead, he led me along the wall, avoiding the circle where devotions were already being declared. As much as they made me uncomfortable, I was intrigued by those who enjoyed spouting their emotions to a room full of strangers, so I scanned the audience as we passed by. Some were recognizable from previous parties, others from work. The host of a famous podcast with his boyfriend. A state representative from the political party I didn’t vote for. A British media mogul who partnered with Hudson, along with his wife, another old acquaintance of my boss.
Before I could spot anyone else I knew, we were out of the room and in the library.
Well. This was unexpected.
Not that I was complaining.
The vibe here was much more my style. The lights were low, people were in various states of undress, and sexual play was well underway. A woman I knew as Justice had another woman I didn’t know bent over a spanking bench. A swing hung from four chains in the ceiling, empty, but in motion as though it had been recently used. Andrew was pinching the nipples of a distinguished gentleman who was riding the Sybian saddle. Lots of people I knew were here, many bronze bracelets visible.
Yes. This was an excellent choice indeed.
Kennedy looked up from the pussy he was pleasuring with his fingers. “Mistress T. Want to come play?” He gestured down to the tent in his pants. It was a cock I knew well, a little on the short side, but thick and pretty. One I enjoyed putting down my throat.
I glanced at Nate—not for permission, just because my eyes naturally went to him when he was in a room—and saw he’d already found a seat at the edge of the room, in the shadows but with a great view. Knowing his gaze would be pinned to me, I gathered the skirt of my dress in my hands and knelt in front of the couch where he was seated and worked on getting Kennedy’s gorgeous cock free.
After a fair amount of teasing, I’d just put my lips around his crown when someone cleared his throat behind me.
“On this Saturday before Valentine’s Day,” the familiar voice said. “I’d like to make a declaration of my devotion.”
Ah, fuck.
It wasn’t Nate speaking, which was a good thing, but if the activity in this room was going to turn into devotions, how long before he joined in?
I decided to ignore it. Pretend Chuck Richard wasn’t speaking at all. That the mood wasn’t being ruined at all. Though, as I resumed sucking Kennedy into my mouth, I wondered who the hell Chuck would make a declaration about. He’d never paired off with any one individual at a party before. Most times I saw him, he spent the evening trying to get me to go home with him.
Curiosity forbid my ears from tuning out.
“I know these declarations are usually made with words, but I believe this one would be best appreciated in action.” A beat passed. “Mistress T?”
I choked, and not just because I had a cock down my throat. “Um,” I said, gliding off the dick. It fell out of my mouth with a pop as I looked toward Chuck. “Me?”
He nodded.
I shot a glance at Nate. He’d unbuttoned his jacket and loosened his tie, but didn’t seem either shocked or bothered by the turn in events.
He was watching though. Watching me. As he always was.
I peered up at Kennedy next who simply shrugged. Not sure how to handle Chuck’s out-of-the-blue declaration, I at least knew I couldn’t ignore it entirely. That would cause more of a scene than responding.
I stood. “Chuck, I…”
“Come here, please,” he said, dismissing my unfinished statement. Cautiously, I stepped toward him. When I was close enough, he took my elbow and tugged me toward the swing. Then he gathered my dress for me up around my waist and handed it to me to hold so he could lift me up into the seat.
Okay.
Chuck was always into kink, but he wasn’t usually the one who took the lead on anything. This was definitely new and different.
And being someone who liked new and different, especially where sexual activities were concerned, it was something I could go along with, however out of the ordinary it was.
With expertise, Chuck situated me in the swing, pr
opping my feet up in the stirrups so my knees were bent and spread, the mesh material of my dress draped to the side and out of the way. When he moved behind me to secure my hands behind my head, I saw that I was positioned to have the perfect view of Nate.
Or, rather, Nate had the perfect view of me, my thighs opened wide, my most private parts revealed and facing him as though I’d been posed for his enjoyment.
I was instantly wet.
I met his eyes, wondering, could he tell? Could he see the glistening on my bare skin? Could he see that I was dripping?
I spent every Saturday night naked at these parties. I’d rarely felt quite so exposed. Rarely felt quite so vulnerable.
My breath shuddered with the realization.
Then Chuck’s hands came around the swing to capture my breasts through my dress, and my gaze broke from Nate’s as my head fell back in ecstasy.
Four
Lost in the enjoyment of Chuck’s breast play, I didn’t notice that Justice had finished up with her spanking session.
“On this Saturday before Valentine’s Day, I also have a declaration,” she said. “One better shown than spoken.”
Justice too? What the hell?
When I lifted my head to look, she was on the ground crawling toward me, her naked full breasts bouncing as she moved across the floor. Chuck eased up on the nipple play as we both stared.
Then Justice was between my legs, her hands sweeping down my inner thighs before settling on my pussy. Here, her thumbs traced my slit, one going up to lift the skin hiding my clit, the other going lower, lower still. Using my own juices as lube, she slid the digit into my back entrance as her mouth lowered to suck the swollen bundle of nerves.
“Holy shit,” I cried out, feeling an orgasm begin to churn deep inside me. Justice was a pussy-licking goddess. Who knew? I certainly didn’t. I’d had my face between her thighs plenty of times myself, and been spanked by her a few times as well, but she wasn’t a domme who was very generous with giving out pleasure. Which was fine—she doled out punishment with mastery. I’d never wanted anything more from her.
Turned out she was a woman of many skills. How fortunate was I?
While Justice feasted, Chuck did as well, moving to kneel at my side so he could suck on my breasts as well as play with them. At first, he adored them through the material of my dress, but soon he pushed my dress up higher so he could lick and suck my bare skin.
I came as soon as he used his teeth.
It was then that Kennedy made his declaration. “On this Saturday before Valentine’s Day…” He trailed off. “Hell, you know the spiel by now.”
He came around behind me and wrapped his hand in my hair. With a sharp yank, he tugged my head back. Then he bent down and began to kiss me, his nose pressing against my chin, his tongue plundering deep into my mouth. He kissed me and kissed me, one hand holding my head where he wanted it, the other reaching up to fondle the breast that Chuck was neglecting.
And as I surrendered to the abundance of pleasure, with so many mouths and hands and tongues and teeth all focused on me, I was still clearly aware of Nate across the room, watching me, probably holding his cock at this point. My eyes were closed, but I could picture him stroking himself, could picture him getting off on my enjoyment, and with sudden distinct clarity, I knew that he was behind this. That this pleasure orgy centered on me was all him.
The realization sent another full-blown orgasm ricocheting through my body, turning my skin into fire and making my body shake with the intensity.
Kennedy released my mouth so I could properly vocalize my rapture, so when I’d settled and the spots had cleared from my eyes, I could see that Nate was no longer across the room, but standing at my side, opposite Chuck. His cock was indeed out, his fist pumping swiftly up and down the length, his face scrunched up in that expression that said he was about to come.
With a jagged moan, he released, spilling his cum over my chest in hot white ribbons. It was hot and it was kinky and so many men had come on me at these parties without it meaning anything, but I had no doubt that this particular marking was all about claiming me as his.
And, to my surprise, I didn’t mind.
I didn’t only not mind, it thrilled me.
Suddenly needing to stand, I thrashed against my restraints. “Help me up?” I said to no one specific.
Kennedy moved to undo my hands while Justice and Chuck released my feet. Nate grabbed a wet wipe and cleaned me off and was done and had retreated back to the side by the time I was free and standing again.
“Thank you, guys. Kennedy, Justice, Chuck. I’ll pay you all back, I swear.” But right now I had other priorities.
I crossed to Nate and, grabbing him by the lapels, I yanked him into me. My mouth crashed against his, devouring him like a sex-starved woman rather than a woman who had just gotten off multiple times in a crowd.
When our kiss had progressed to the point that we needed to either cut it off or move to a prone position, I pulled away, and, without taking even a second to think about it, I said the words I never thought I’d tell a man, especially not in public. “I love you.”
Nate’s eyes went wide. He shook his head in surprise. “Whoa.”
Heat spread across my face, and I was a girl who only ever flushed during sexual activities, never from embarrassment. “I mean…I didn’t mean...I shouldn’t have...” Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Nate cupped a large hand around my face. “Hey. It’s all good. You surprised me is all. I love you, too.”
I drew in a breath and blinked back whatever was happening in my tear ducts. “It is good, isn’t it? This is good. It’s all good.”
He chuckled. “Yeah. I think it is. We’re good.”
“I love you, and we’re good.” Geez, now I couldn’t stop saying it.
He nodded, his face growing solemn. “I love you, and we’re good.”
He kissed me again, slower this time, his lips reassuring me, his tongue tethering me then releasing me again. It mirrored the way we were together, two balloons soaring in the sky, tied together at the strings, pulling away and coming back together, over and over in the wind.
He pulled away this time. With a swat on my ass, he nudged me back toward the others. “You owe some people some paybacks. Go play. Give me a show.”
Later, it would be just me and him, in this room, maybe, or in a bedroom upstairs or back at one of our apartments. We’d be naked together, our skin pressing everywhere, as he fucked me, his measured thrusts taking me to places I could never reach with anyone but him.
But for now, he would watch.
And I would play, sure in his love and certain that he’d always be there for me when I returned.
Read more about Trish and Nate and their adventures at the Open Door in
Dirty Filthy Fix, a 1001 Dark Nights novella.
* * *
For more stories featuring the Open Door,
check out these titles:
The Open Door, a 1001 Dark Nights novella
and
Rivalry
Dirty Sweet Valentine
Dirty Sweet Valentine
I’d imagined Harrington Steele on my doorstep countless times.
How he looked varied in my fantasies over the years, changing based on trends and the current whims of my heart. Sometimes the stubbled jaw that I’d loved so much became a full beard. Sometimes the lines by his mouth had deepened. Sometimes he wore a fitted suit like he’d donned that night we saw Carmen at the opera. Most times he wore a pair of jeans and a Henley, the look I remember on him most. Sometimes he’d changed so much I barely recognized him, and I had to squint and ask in an unsteady voice, “Harrington?”
Sometimes I knew him immediately, but pretended I didn’t. I fancied it gave me somewhat of an upper hand to play ignorant. To play detached and unaffected. Showing him that I had been just fine without him, that he hadn’t altered my very DNA by leaving and taking my heart with him.
Nothing I’d imagined, however, compares to the reality. Nothing I’d imagined prepared me in the least, and after opening the door and finding him here in the flesh—on Valentine’s Day, no less—the most prevalent emotion inside me is relief.
Relief because I always knew he’d come back. Relief because I can finally stop waiting, stop questioning, stop wondering when. Relief because I can set down this weight of longing I’ve carried for so long, roll my shoulders back, and stand tall like the strong woman I’ve been pretending I am.
I did know him immediately. Of course I did. There wasn’t even a second’s pause before recognition. Even with the new creases by his eyes. Even with the receding hairline. He’s still ruggedly handsome and devastatingly perfect. He’s still my Harrington, and he still destroys me with a single glance. My knees have lost their steadiness. My breathing stutters as my chest rises and falls. My heart gallops away from me, and if he keeps studying me the way I’m studying him, like I’m a precious jewel that he’s spent his lifetime searching for, then I’m going to collapse in a heap at his feet.
“Amelia,” he says roughly, and I’m practically undone. I thought I’d remembered exactly how sweet the word sounds on his tongue, but I was wrong. I’d forgotten it was this delicious. Forgotten how he can make four simple syllables sound like a prayer. How he can make me feel not just loved but revered. As though it were the name of a saint instead of plain old boring me.