Roses Are Red

Sonya’s alarm sounded early that Thursday morning. The redhead rolled over and hit the button that would quiet the annoying chime. She rubbed her eyes, and looked around her large, neat bedroom. It was clean, showing no signs of last night’s…activities. Her pet had done an excellent job cleaning. She expected that much from him: she had very high standards, and he knew that unless these standards were met, he would be shown to the door.

However, Sonya was disappointed in one respect. Today was the day of St. Valentine, February 14. And there was nothing to show for it from her pet. She frowned – it was most unusual for him to forget Valentine’s Day, a day hailed for its celebrations of romance, love and passion. Ah, well…maybe he forgot. She sighed and got out of bed. No sense in crying over spilled milk. Sonya promised herself one thing: if he had forgotten today, he would be crying tonight.

She crossed her bedroom, heading for the master bathroom. Upon opening the door, she held her breath. He hadn’t disappointed her after all: a single, blood red rose rested on her enormous bath towel. Sonya smiled and picked it up, mindful of the thorns. Upon the long stem was a thin silk ribbon of the same shade of red as the rose’s petals. She held it to her nose, inhaling the delicate fragrance, and reluctantly put it down on the wall-length vanity, and turned on the shower.

Once the water was steaming the way she liked it, she stepped inside, feeling the hot water hit her pale, freckled face. She closed her eyes, face upraised, and felt deeply relaxed. She started every day with a shower, and often had a bath at night, too. The hot water rained down her curvaceous body, and she ran her hands up from her round hips, to her smooth, flat stomach, to her soft, yet firm breasts, to her erecting nipples. From there she moved her hands to her hair, and began to massage it, soaking the deep red tresses with the steaming water raining down on her.

Sonya twisted the showerhead away from her head, so that it was aimed at her chest. Turning around, she reached for the shampoo, and squeezed a generous amount into her palm. Having long and thick hair meant lots of shampoo, so if she had an evening bath, she didn’t wash her hair, just tied it up. Sometimes when her pet was there, she allowed him to wash her hair, as a special treat. She massaged the thick, sweet smelling lotion into her hair, then adjusted the showerhead again, and began rinsing it out. Sonya turned the dial on the showerhead to massage, and pulled the tap out for maximum water spray. Through this, she thoroughly rinsed her hair out, and began to apply the conditioner just as thickly as she had with the shampoo.

She was proud of her body. Granted, she had big hips and legs, but that bothered her not at all: she didn’t agree with rake-thin women. However, she wasn’t fat. She had a flat stomach, kept into shape by serious exercising. She didn’t watch what she ate, but ate in mini-meals (except on special occasions), and worked it off by exercising. Sonya rinsed out the conditioner, and ran her fingers over her hair once more, moving down this time, past her breasts, down her stomach, and to her slit. She always shaved it, keeping away the hair. That was the way she liked it: no hair getting caught while having sex, no jolts of pain to tear her away from the throes of passion.

She adjusted the showerhead once more, and picked up the bar of vanilla-scented soap, and began to twist it around in her hands, lathering them up. Sonya then began to wash herself, starting at her throat and working her way down her arms, and focused on her breasts. She rubbed the twin orbs, catching the nipples between her thumb and forefinger, and pressed them together, soaping up the underside and sides. She let her head fall back and she let out a soft moan, swirling her fingers around the areola, enjoy the pressure and motion, then reluctantly moved her hands down further, over her stomach, to her waist, to her hips and thighs.

She rested a foot on the small ledge that resembled a seat coming out of the side of the shower, and began to soap up her smooth, long leg. Sonya worked from there to her outer labia, and then she switched legs, feeling the drenching water rolling off her body. Now she moved up to ‘Pandora’s box’, easing a soap-covered finger inside her, working it in, cleaning herself, touching, probing, pleasuring. She removed it, and began to pressure her clitoris, pressing the hood back and stroking the little nub of flesh with her smooth finger. Unable to suppress it, she moaned with pleasure once more, and this time continued.

As she fingered herself, Sonya let the waves of pleasure associated with such activity roll over her, and pressed harder, faster, whimpering to herself with anxiety. With her free hand she held onto the grab bar protruding from the side above the ledge where she rested her foot, not wanting to fall. Moments later, her grip tightened, her face flushed, and she let out a long sigh of contentment. “God… that felt so good…” Sonya murmured, straightening in the shower, bathing in the glowing aftermath of her climax. Then she got back to business, cleaning the soap off of her, and stepping out onto the rug.

She picked up her large towel, wrapping it around herself, then picked up a smaller one for her hair, and toweled it dry, wrapping the long red locks up until she was going to deal with them. Once she was completely dry – hair excepting - Sonya walked to her bedroom, and started going over what to wear today. She worked in an office where dressy-casual was the code of cloth, and selected a pair of black muslin pants, and a cream colored, long sleeved shirt with flared wrists. Now that she had the hardest part picked out, she could concentrate on the underwear.

At work, Sonya generally avoided clothing that was going to damage her reputation. So it was black, low-cut panties and a white bra for her, along with a pair of knee socks. She stepped into her panties and pulled them up, and sat on her bed –still unmade, her pet would make it when he got home, as he arrived home earlier than she did. She slid her bra on and did up the hooks, straightening it, and dressed herself quickly, and pulled on her slippers, not wanting to soak her socks, and applied her makeup, selecting a thin gold chain necklace to rest around her throat, and a slim gold watch on her wrist. In her ears she always wore three sets of gold rings, appropriate with what she wore. Then she let her hair down, and attacked it with a blow dryer and a brush. Checking the clock that she had strategically placed above the wall-length mirror, Sonya ran the brush through her hair. She had plenty of time.

She went to the kitchen and got a muffin from the refrigerator, and sat down at the table. Pet had placed the daily paper on the table for her. Lying on top of the folded newspaper was another rose; identical to the one she had already received. Smiling, she inhaled its fragrance, then set it aside, and began to gloss over the headlines as coffee dripped into the pot on the counter. Finishing her muffin and seeing nothing of interest, she set the paper to the side and got her cup of coffee, putting it in of those lidded ‘car cups’, as she tended to call them.

The redhead put on her ankle-length pointy-toed high-heeled boots, and tested the weather, opening the door. Not bad at all, but she pulled on her coat anyhow. No sense in getting sick now, was there? Sonya gathered her coffee, keys and stepped outside into the chilled morning air, locking the door behind her, and headed to her car.

As she drove to work, there was a definite lack of traffic: looked like everyone else was sleeping in, like she should be, with her pet curled around her feet. Oh well, work was work, so what could you do? She got to her office in record time, as the roads were practically empty. Sigh, the joy of working on Valentine’s Day.

She entered the large building of the accounting firm where she worked as a chartered accountant. As she suspected, it was nearly empty. The receptionist was there, arranging a bouquet that, by Sonya’s estimate, must have contained a good two-dozen roses. She strangled a wistful sigh, thinking grouchily about her pet: only two roses? He better have more planned; that was for sure.

Sonya took the elevator up to the large office she shared with three other girls. Surprisingly, they were both there, and were chattering about their upcoming evenings. “Are you going to the dance tonight?” Marlene chirped.

“I haven’t thought about it.” Sonya replied, which was the truth. She didn’t much favor dances. The occasional dinner party was fine, but dances could be tiring. “Are you two going?”

“Yeah,” replied the other girl, Doreen. “We’re bringing Trent and Jake. Do you think they’ll be adult enough for a Valentine’s Day dance?” the two students laughed, and Sonya sat down at her desk, rolling her eyes. Unlike their desks, Sonya’s was clean and not covered with Valentine’s Day cards and candies. It was a corner desk made of oak, with her own printer behind it, while the other two shared their printer. She flipped on her computer, and got to work.

The day rolled by faster than Sonya had expected, and soon it was 5:30. The other girls had left an hour ago, and Sonya stayed behind to go over things as she usually did. After doing a backup of her computer system and tucking the disk away in her bag, the redhead got up, and gathered her things, locking up the office for the night. She pulled on her coat as she waited for the elevator. Once she got to the main level, Sonya said goodnight to the receptionist, and headed for her car. Sitting inside, on her seat, was yet another blood red rose. She smiled and shook her head. How much like pet. She started the car up, and put the pedal to the metal, the rose resting on the passenger seat beside her. The roads weren’t as empty now, since so many people were driving to various parties and dances and dinners. Sonya laughed to herself as she drove past a clogged floristry shop. Many people were trying to get last minute flowers and gifts. The chocolaterie was filled with a similar crowd.

Naturally, she had already gotten her pet some gifts, and planned to give them to him tonight, after dinner. As she finally got home, she could see that a few of the lamps were on, but not the overhead lights. Typical of him, she didn’t like overhead lights too much, and he knew it. She thought they could be rather harsh to the eyes.

His car was parked in the two-lane driveway, furthest from the door. She parked her car beside his, and walked up the steps. Sonya was about to open the door, when it opened for her.

A young man, her age, with short hair the color of dark sound waited, dressed in a white thong and a white leather collar. This was her pet. His real name was Blair, but he responded to ‘pet’ and ‘slave’ to her. He was nicely bodied, since the two of them frequently worked out together. Sonya, in truth, preferred him in the white leather instead of the black because the white looked better with his tanned skin. “Welcome home, Mistress.” His eyes shone happily, and he held the door open for her. She smiled, and walked in.

The house smelled heavenly. “How was your day, pet?” she asked him as he carefully placed her things on the little table and set about removing her coat gently.

“It was very good, thank you, Mistress. Did Mistress like her flowers? I made dinner and cleaned up.” He hung up her coat and crouched down so he could remove her boots. She placed a hand on his bare shoulder as he carefully eased first one boot, then the other.

“Yes, pet, I did. They’re very nice. Thank you.” She smiled down at him. Once she was on balance again, she petted his hair, and headed for the dining room, as he followed anxiously behind her.

The table was set, and candles lit. There was a covered tray, and she could tell from the scent that he’d made spaghetti for them. The bottle of merlot waited, beside a pair of wine glasses. He held her chair out for her, and then eased it in. Then he crouched beside her chair, waiting for her permission. She nodded, and he climbed onto his chair, and then removed the coverings of the tray.

Surrounded by a circlet of stem-less roses, sat a plate of spaghetti, bright red with the sauce, while a loaf of golden garlic bread covered with mozzarella cheese awaited. At her next nod, he carefully poured the wine into her glass, and then put some in his. Then he waited, waited for Mistress to take the first drink and bite. She raised her wine glass, and he did likewise. “Happy Valentine’s, pet.” She toasted, and clinked her glass to his.

“Happy Valentine’s, Mistress.” They sipped their wine, and she picked up a fork. Catching and twirling a piece of spaghetti, she raised it to her mouth, and put one end in her mouth, the other end in his. Then they both took it in as one, and their lips met her a passionate kiss. They swallowed their pieces of spaghetti, and Sonya pushed her tongue into his mouth. He suckled on it, and then released it as she took another forkful of spaghetti, putting the plate between them. He picked up his fork at her nod, and the two of them shared dinner, the candles’ light illuminating the two of them.

Blair gazed into her eyes as they finished, then lowered his gaze, blushing. “I am sorry, Mistress. I forget myself.”

“It is alright, my pet. Let’s clear the table, and I’ll get you my gifts.” His face shone like a child’s on Christmas day.

“Mistress bought me a present?” he was surprised. “But Mistress had no need…”

“I had plenty of need, love.” She kissed him, and began to gather the dishes. He scrambled to help her, carrying the tray, laden down with their plate and utensils, as she carried in the bottle of wine and the glasses. She took a seat in the kitchen as he started the dishes, putting on a frilly little pink apron in honor of the occasion. Sonya laughed, and sipped her wine, then rose to get her gift for him.

She walked to her room, and wasn’t surprised to find it lit with candles, with flowers strewn out. A red leather dress lay on her bed, his gift to his mistress. She smiled, and undressed herself, going panty-less and braless, and put on the tight dress, zipping it up at the side. She pulled on a pair of high-heeled, black leather boots. She went to the bathroom and twisted her hair up into a high ponytail, and adjusted her makeup, removing her necklace and her watch. By day, she was an accountant, by night, a sexed-up Mistress.

Picking up the gift bag, Sonya picked up her favorite riding crop, and walked down the stairs. He had finished the dishes and was waiting at the bottom, eyes upraised, shining with adoration. They had been good friends in university, gotten together, and he had admitted his submissive tendencies to her, knowing how dominant she was. He had then asked her to give him the honor of allowing him to be her slave. She had agreed, and the rest was history.

“Mistress…” he breathed as she approached the bottom steps, “you look more beautiful than the moon’s rays.” She smiled, and touched his hair with her hand, knowing he meant it.

“Come along, pet.” She walked towards the den, and he followed her, crawling quickly at her heels. She made herself comfortable on the couch, and he sat in front of her obediently. She set the bag down on the ground before him, pushing it to him with her foot, and then re-crossed her long legs. However, he had had a good view of her shaved pussy, and was rock-hard in his thong.

He nosed the bag, carefully using his teeth to pull out layers of tissue paper. Two layers later, he pulled out a new ball gag, the ball and the strap black in color. He smiled in delight, and kissed her foot. “Thank you, Mistress, it’s beautiful.” He nuzzled her calf, and then went back to opening the present. Sonya smiled and waited, absently tapping her crop against the toe of her opposite boot. Further on, Blair discovered a pair of leather-lined handcuffs, and by the looks of them, they were custom made.

He gazed up at her adoringly. “Thank you, Mistress. Thank you” he carefully set them aside, and continued into the tissue-filled bag. Sonya’s pet next pulled out a slim chain lead with a white-leather handle. “Thank you, Mistress. Thank you, thank you, thank you.” He gushed, and began to kiss her boot; placing butterfly kisses along from the sole to the top. He was about to continue up her bare leg, when the crop thwacked his cheek lightly. He whimpered and shrank back, staring at the carpet. “I’m sorry, Mistress.”

“Give me your leash, pet.” She ordered, and he carefully picked it up by the chain in front of the handle, and held it out to her. She took it, and he stretched his head back and rose up on his knees to give her easier access to the numerous rings on his collar. She clipped it to one, and she picked up the ball gag, and Blair held his hands behind his back for her to cuff. Sonya latched them up tightly on his wrists: they were a perfect fit. He looked up at her obediently, watching while she picked up the ball gag, and held it to his lips.

The two of them, Mistress and pet, did not break eye contact. He opened his mouth, and let her insert the gag. She buckled it in behind his head, and then stood up. Inwardly, Blair admired her tight, well-shaped ass, and followed her on his knees, keeping the leash slack as she moved up the stairs, her crop lightly tapping her calf. This he eyed warily, too many times had he been at the receiving end of it for disobeying or annoying her in some way.

He managed to get up the stairs pretty well, despite having his hands bound behind him, and having an erection that wasn’t going to go away any time too soon. Granted, at times he had to partially stand, but as long as he kept up with her, and didn’t stumble, then she didn’t mind too much, he didn’t think. Sonya reached the top, and started to their bedroom. His head bowed low, he followed.

He followed her on his knees, and she crossed the bedroom floor. All this time he was thinking that no dress ever made could do his Mistress justice. Sonya sat on the bed, and pulled straight up on the leash. He sat up obediently at her feet, and by doing so slackened the pressure. Patiently he waited, knowing she would get around to whatever she had planned in good time. And indeed, she did.

His mistress pulled forward on the leash suddenly, and caught off guard, he lurched towards her, pressing his face against her wet crotch. He didn’t do it to be impudent or to take liberties; it was simply what she had meant to make him do. Blair sharply inhaled, anxious to taste her, to run his tongue amongst her hot, wet folds. However, his goal was thwarted by the fact that he had no way to work his tongue past the gag, and with his hands bound, the situation wasn’t very promising.

But he was ready; and rubbed his face along the length of her slit, until he had worked himself into the position he desired. He pushed the tip of his nose against her hardening clitoris, while Sonya leaned back and propped herself up on her elbows. She watched him with satisfaction, and emitted a low moan. Encouraged, he pushed against her harder, and felt her fingers run through his hair, as she began to massage his scalp, moving her fingers through his hair like she was shampooing it. This served only to urge him on further, building his passion and lust.

Her next words brought him back to reality. “That’s enough.” She released his hair and he quickly moved back on his knees, begging with his eyes. She smiled slyly. “Would pet like to continue?” he nodded furiously, betraying his eagerness. “Better still, would pet like mistress to remove his gag?” he nodded again. “Very well. Good pet.” His eyes sparkled in the candlelight. She leaned forward, giving him an excellent view of her cleavage as her breasts were strained against the tight red leather. Of course, like every got-blooded male, this had been one of his first concerns when buying the dress: how much skin his partner would show when wearing it.