The Brass Heart

This is the story of our Valentines weekend away last year.

I was looking forward to this Valentine's weekend away. I had planned it as a surprise for my cute and sexy wife, Susan. She knew only that we were going away, nothing more about my plans. Every year we plan a Valentine's outing. We take turns planning a surprise getaway. This year it was my turn.

As to those plans, I had really put some thought into this. I'd called and found a charming, historic bed and breakfast in a nearby town. I had taken pains to reserve the tower suite on the top floor, just so we could have our privacy. Although Susan loves bed and breakfasts, we have found that they really aren't that private--old houses with thin walls and a couple right next door, even sharing the bathroom sometimes. This was going to be different.

I'd even arranged for chocolate and roses to be the first thing Susan would see as she walked into our suite. Dinner plans included one of the best restaurants in town. I had done my research on this. The internet provided me with many reviews, and I had picked out the finest one, also close to where we were staying. A foolproof, romantic evening. Or so I had thought.

I had just finished packing my clothes and grabbed the bag. I was heading out the living room door to the car when Susan called, in a honeyed tone, "Come over here, my sweet man." She was using one of her voices--she has a full repertoire--and I knew immediately that something was up. I quickly set down the bag and walked over to where she was sitting on the couch. To my surprise, she reached up and undid my belt. As she slowly slid my zipper down, I began to anticipate a pre-trip blow job, another thing Susan was often wont to do before we left for a vacation. In one smooth motion, she pulled my pants and underwear down. My cock flopped out and began to come to attention as she handled my balls.

" Mmmm, Love. You're soooo very nice and smooth." My cock was in full rise, now. Oh, how I loved the way Susan could use those full lips on my member.

She then grabbed my cock and held it firmly. I started in wonder: in her other hand she was holding an old, brass heart-shaped lock about the size of a half dollar. I recognized it immediately. Some months before, I'd found this little lock in an old cigar box among other old locks and keys in my grandfather's basement. I brought it back home and had forgotten about it and lost track of it. Apparently it hadn't escaped Susan's notice. She obviously had something planned for this lock and its single key.

Let me back up a bit and explain something about my anatomy. I'd had what you might call a botched circumcision. Most likely my parents must have thought it was, and the doctor had probably pretended it had never happened. As for me, I rather liked the results. On the side of my cock where the shaft meets what was just then a very full and pink head, there's a small connection of skin which forms a small slit, almost like a piercing. This flap of skin had always been a fun source of play, a fascination to Susan. It was through this slit that she now slid the shackle of the lock and latched it. She turned the key.Click.The lock snapped onto my cock. I stood before her, pants around my ankles, with a heart-shaped lock now secured to the end of my cock. A blow job? Hardly!

"Goodness, that heart looks handsome on you. Happy Valentine's Day! You are now officially my Valentine's slave and I am your Valentine's mistress," she announced as she released my cock. We both watched it bounce and drop a bit with the weight of its new jewelry.

I continued to stare, mulling over this strange, new predicament. Me, a slave? And how was that thing going to come off? Now what had she done with that key? In my amazement, watching my cock with the heart, I had missed seeing where she'd stashed it. I could feel the lock's weight as it hung there--it wasn't unpleasant, but it tugged noticeably.

"Good thing we aren't going through any airport metal detectors, isn't it?" she chuckled. "Now my 'heart' is on you my Valentine Slut." She seemed to be trying out the word, unfamiliar to her personal vocabulary. She then pulled a necklace out of her shirt, where I imagined it nestling between her luscious little breasts, and strung the key on the chain, dropping it down again into the front of her rather demure turtleneck. She usually wore fairly conservative, comfortable clothing to travel in, and I found myself getting into the spirit of this adventure as I considered the idea that something so sexy as that key now hung safely between her breasts, unseen. And entirely unlikely.

And yet...I shuddered as I realized there would be no way to get that lock off without that key. Well short of bolt cutters or a hacksaw, or, God forbid, cutting through the skin of my cock. Yikes!

I bent down to pull my pants back up with all this going through my mind. I pulled them up and looked at her again. A tiny, pink mesh thong was now swinging from her index finger. She smiled. "And oh, yes, these will look very nice with that lock and those lovely smooth balls. And it's just the right color for Valentine's day."

"Where in the world did those come from? Ebay? or Victoria's Secret?" I asked her, a note of admiration creeping into my voice. Man, she had put some thought into this. I suspected I was in for it.

"Never mind, you. All that need matter right now is doing what you're told. Now put these babies on," she replied with a definite smirk.

I accepted my fate and the panties, pulled my jeans off, and replaced my more staid, plaid boxers with this new, flimsy bit of nothing. The sheer mesh just barely managed to cover my balls. I would need to wait for my cock to shrink as its swollen pink head, replete with brass lock, peeked out over the top. Susan giggled. My cock was pretty cute, if I do say so.

I finished putting my jeans on so we could get going. Gradually my cock shrank, and I could feel my new thong flossing my crack and the heart tweaking and teasing its tip. We loaded up and were on the road. I was driving, as usual. Susan doesn't like to drive on trips so that she can be free to chatter at me nonstop and let me deal with the heavy traffic and the trucks. That little brass tease in my pants reminded me that I was hers, and I wasn't going to forget it. When we stopped at the rest area, I realized that I had better wait to pee until no one was near. Unfortunately, the place was mobbed. There were only two stalls, and they were taken. There was only one place left in front of a urinal. I really had to pee. It was all I could do to get it out and relieve myself without anyone seeing. I cupped my hand over the lock but had a hard time aiming. Feeling like the world's biggest dork, I dashed out of there and practically knocked over two older ladies as I sprinted to the car. In the car I faced another smirk from my dear wife.

"Run into a good locksmith?" she beamed.

"I managed ok, with no thanks to you and your little surprises," I muttered.

"Watch your tone, Slave. You'll pay for your disrespect later," she said, flicking her finger at my cock, through my jeans. I suddenly envisioned my usually giggling wife holding a whip and flicking it at my cock, but not through my jeans. Said cock jumped a little inside my pants at this image.

As we came into town, I began thinking of the fun surprises I had planned. I was beginning to suspect, however, that she might have devised some of her own plans. The bed and breakfast I had chosen from among many on the web was quaint and cozy; we had a suite way up in the tower. Oh-so-private and just right for the fun I had in mind for us. We found the place without too much difficulty and greeted the Innkeeper, a pleasant woman who led us up to our room at the top. The last, narrow flight of stairs wound its way up to a door on the third floor. The Innkeeper let us ascend the last flight on our own, as it would be difficult for three to wind their way up. The door had a hand-painted sign that read, "The Crow's Nest." Perfect. I glanced over at Susan, who was looking very excited.

We entered our nest. It was bright and airy from a large window overlooking a park across the street. The ceiling sloped in places from the roof, and the window formed a bay, with white lace curtains on either side. A small, elegant Victorian couch was placed before it. There was also a large iron bed, painted white, and an antique chest of drawers, also painted white, on the wall next to the bed. In the corner was a large overstuffed chair. Thankfully, the room lacked a TV. My plans didn't include watching television that evening. The room was decorated in what I call "arts and craps," but it was cute, I'll admit. An artist, I'm hard to please. But Susan was delighted, especially with the the single pink rose on the little round table next to the bed and the box of her favorite truffles next to it. When Susan spotted those, she turned to me and gave me a huge hug and a kiss, saying,"I just love Valentine's day."

We were running a bit behind; it was nearly time for our dinner reservation. We washed up and readied ourselves for our evening out. Susan had brought along a classic red sheath dress and quickly slipped it on along with some matching red pumps. I thought I'd better get dressed as well. By now my cock was getting teased from the lock, and my asshole was chaffing from the thong, so I asked Susan if it would be ok to undo the lock. Anyway, I was going to take off that uncomfortable thong before we went out for dinner. After all this was not my plan. Applying a bit of makeup at the mirror, she looked over her shoulder at me, giving me one of those looks that spells trouble. Big trouble, this time.

"No, I think not. In fact, I would like you to lie down on the bed."

I laid down as requested.

"Now roll over and get on your knees."

Huh? What did she have in mind? I was having major second thoughts about this whole slave scenario at this point. She came over and undid my belt and zipper. Down came my jeans. My bottom was in full view, that thong not covering a thing, and to top it off, I couldn't see what she was doing. But then, maybe I didn't want to. I felt the thong being pulled aside and something slippery being applied to my small, tight hole. My virgin hole, I should add. A finger--no, a ball of some kind--was being slipped into my ass, which closed around it. But now another, and then another. She was popping a whole string of balls into my bottom! I was experiencing something completely new and bizarre. My bottom felt full, my cock certainly was. I was liking this, it was telling me. I squiggled and wriggled as I reacted to all the unfamiliar sensations coursing through my body. And along with the sensations came a dawning realization that I was being used, here. Taken.

"There, that should do. Not another word," Susan said as she snapped the thong in place.

"Oh, my," I moaned as the thong stung my tender hole. Susan giggled and pulled it back and snapped it against my anus again. I think she liked the little squeal I emitted or the way my private parts were clearly visible through the mesh. She gave me a quick, hard swat on my butt. "Done, now get dressed." I had counted five or six of those balls going in. Reaching back, I could feel a large rubber ring hanging out under the thong between my cheeks.

"Since you're all set with your dinner beads, I'm ready to go to now, my sweet Valentine," she announced with another of her throaty chuckles. I pulled on my dress pants, still feeling very squiggly and full. I had a lock on my cock and a string of beads in my bottom. Not to mention the skimpy pink thong. Not exactly what I had planned to wear out to dinner.

We found the restaurant, and luckily for me, we were seated in a private little corner since I kept having to shift around in my seat, trying to adjust to the strange additions to my anatomy. I had carefully chosen this restaurant after reading many reviews. It was supposed to be one of the best. The atmosphere suggested "expensive and tasteful." I found I couldn't pay much attention to my surroundings, though. But interestingly, there were times when I almost forgot about my unexpected predicament because we were enjoying our conversation. Susan was thoroughly enjoying it all--the excellent Mediterranean cuisine , the engaging conversation, and my delicious discomfort. But I kept wondering what was coming next. And damn it! I wasn't supposed to be wondering. I had planned this trip, after all. It was clear that I was no longer in control, here.

My surprise for her was becoming my own surprise.

A few gin and tonics later--and I sure did need a few, and Susan also wanted me to have a few and then a few more--I was feeling no pain, as they say. Susan wasn't much of a drinker, so she drove us back to our B&B, which was only a few blocks away. Following behind me as we once again climbed those three flights of stairs, she was ostensibly helping her tipsy guy up, but she kept feeling my ass, biting my ears and murmuring such delicacies as, "you're going to be my little fuck tonight." Her dirty talk was getting me hot. We weren't in the room a minute and she was pulling at my shirt to get it off. We fell onto the bed--she in her effort to remove my shirt, me more from the drinks, I think. Now I wasn't drunk although I was probably more out of it than I realized at the time.

I guess that's why I still don't have a clear memory of those moments, but somehow in the scuffle over my shirt, my making out with her and rolling about on the bed trying to get her pants off, I ended up with a pair of handcuffs on and my shirt off. I don't know where those came from, but suddenly there they were before I consciously realized it. "Ha, gotcha," she laughed, kneeling next to me, seeing the startled look in my eyes as my predicament came home to me. Snapping back to reality, I tugged on them a bit. I heard a discouraging clink from the chain that connected them as the cuffs pulled taut and I knew, with a sinking heart, that I truly was bound. I'd never been handcuffed before, and there's nothing like the realization that once handcuffed, I really couldn't get out of them!

Fussing and fuming over the handcuffs had distracted me so that I hadn't noticed what she was up to... until everything went dark. Susan had slipped a blindfold over my head, the sly minx. "What the hell!" I exclaimed.

"Shhh, my slut-pet," she cooed, stroking my cheek, "I'm in charge now."

Wow, it was becoming an entirely different sort of evening than the one I had planned. I actually hadn't gotten much further in my mind than the moment when I wrestled her pants off. What normally followed that was far different from what Susan now had in mind. There was really little I could do; I was nearly helpless (after all I am a big, strong guy and my legs were as yet untrammeled.) I didn't want to make lots of noise even if we could be heard, which I doubted, though that was an option if things went too far. I was beginning to worry. How far was this going to go? And did I really want the innkeeper showing up? I'd always had the sense in the past that I was the one ultimately in charge of our lovemaking. I just lay there, wondering what Susan had in mind since she was the one in charge now.

I didn't have to wait long until she spoke. "Let's get those shoes and socks off, and, while we're at it, those jeans too." I didn't resist. Why didn't I object, I wondered? Maybe because I was finally getting into the spirit of this thing. My cock sure was. It was hard and throbbing more with each second that passed. In short order, there I was, naked except for my skimpy see-through mesh thong, my growing cock with its pink head trying to poke out, and my lock. That crazy old lock, which had begun this whole adventure.

"Gracious me, looks like he's getting a little heated up, my love." Susan loved seeing my cock peek out from my underwear; she helped it out and pulled the waistband down so that now only my balls were covered by the mesh. I could feel the elastic pushing in on my pulsing shaft. "At this moment, you are my special Valentine with your brass 'heart on.' I'll be ready for you in a little bit. Just relax." As if I had any choice? And relax, she said? I lay there like that as she put on some quiet jazz and moved about the room. In my present condition it seemed there was little to do but go along with her plan. And, I admit, I was enjoying myself. But I'd be damned if I'd let her know that.

I could still hear her moving about. She draped something across my stomach--after a moment I could tell it was the rose from the vase next to the bed, a bit prickly and dripping water, which rolled down into my navel. I was curious as hell to know what she was up to, so I finally spoke up: "Susan, Susan, what are you doing?" Uncharacteristically, she still wouldn't speak. I felt her remove the rose, and she then rolled me roughly over onto my stomach, and CRACK! A stinging swat right on my ass. "Hey, tha..." I began, and as I tried to speak again, she landed another CRACK! on my other cheek. Whatever she had swatted me with had left me stinging, pissed off and-- surprisingly--aroused and wanting a little more.

"You are not to speak unless I tell you to, and then you will address me as Mistress Susan or simply as Mistress."

"What," I managed to squeak, and oops! I goofed. Crack! Another swat.

"You just aren't getting it, yet, are you, Slave? It is Mistress to you." I was beginning to get it--my ass was, anyway. "y-y-yes, Mistress," I stammered.

"Good. That's much better, my sweet whore. Your mistress has a few things to prepare, and in the meantime, you will lie there quietly."

"Yes Mistress," I heard myself saying again, quickly. Once again I heard her moving about our little room.

This time Susan took up her usual manner of chattering to herself: "Now I do like that little ass of yours in pink. Your bottom is starting to pink up nicely for Valentine's Day." And as she said that, she landed several more blows on my ass. "Not too bad," she said, brushing one hand over them. I felt her bending over, her breath warm on my skin as she gave each cheek a wet kiss. Then she blew on the damp places where she'd kissed me, and I tingled from the chill, the excitement, the control she now had. I knew I was hers. I loved being hers right then. "But these cheeks could use a bit more color," she said, and she landed a few more swats on my ass, which I'm sure was more than red-enough. Yet I didn't dare say a word. She would be done when she was satisfied. I gritted my teeth and just laid there. "Yes they are definitely looking just the right shade of Valentine's pink now," she said, stopping to closely inspect my rear again with her hands. Oh, how my ass cheeks stung, but I wasn't going to say a word. Nope. Not one word.

She moved around the bed some more, returning to play with my ass. I jumped as she touched it, expecting another swat. Instead she pulled the thong further down on my legs but not yet completely off. Then she once again laid what I'm certain was the rose across my butt cheeks. I could feel the stem and the soft petals. She rearranged it several times, moving away after each adjustment. I began to have my suspicions. Yep, she was taking pictures of me. She yanked the thong down even further. I heard her as she had moved away, probably snapping pictures of that thong, now wrapped around my ankles.

"Let's try you in a new position," she said, lifting the rose from my bottom. She helped me up and led me over to the seat under the large window. "Careful don't bang into things," she said facetiously as she maneuvered me around the end of the bed and stopped me short, right in front of the Victorian loveseat, which I could feel against my knees. I felt around for the cushion in front of me, turned and sat down. The velvety fabric felt good against my stinging bottom. My arms and cuffed hands had naturally fallen in my lap. Susan then lifted my arms and positioned my hands behind my head. She also moved my legs, I assumed for a better view of my cock and lock. "Now that's better. That'll be a good shot," she purred, tapping my cock up and down with her finger tips to get it to full extension. For extra measure she gave each nipple a pinch, which always caused my cock to harden and twitch. This time was no exception. In fact, I think my cock was beginning to weep white pre-cum. I could have wept with it. I had never been this high, this used, this violated. Tears of pain or joy? At this point, I couldn't have said.