This story is a lesbian romance story with a twist. It has been entered in the Valentine's Day contest.
Please vote.
A "thank you" to Robert, Bob, Molly, James and my sweet pussycat for your comments.
Though not necessary for reading this story, you can gather additional background on the characters by reading the first three installments of the "Grounded in Toronto" series and "Becoming a Domme."
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, merchandise, companies, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters are 18 years or older when in sexual situations.
Chapter One
Valentine's Day 2018
It was a typical early Sunday morning, one of my favorite times of the week. It was quiet, and not just quiet in our house, but also quiet on my computer and phone. Even our cat was sound asleep. No person, no animal and no thing was making a demand on my time. I had already showered and was in my favorite robe and slippers. I was sitting in our breakfast nook, sipping my second cup of coffee, lazily scanning the Sunday New York Times.
After finishing my coffee I wandered around the house, occasionally picking up a displayed photograph or flipping through an unread magazine, feeling content and at the same time somewhat restless. Sometimes your soul needed solitude and this was the time to feed my soul and reflect on my life.
The calmness of the moment belied the tumultuous five years preceding it.
It was Valentine's Day, and I had decided to assemble a photo book to chronicle my five years with Eleanor as my gift to her. Despite the travails of coming out as an adult woman, these were the happiest five years of my life. The photo book was wrapped and was accompanied with a card I'd made with a drawing of our house on the front of it. I'd always enjoyed drawing with pen and ink and our Victorian style house turned out to be a superb subject.
It was hard to believe that five short years ago I was a pharmaceutical rep on a heavy travel schedule, making a stop in Toronto on my way to London to see my new boyfriend. I ended up being grounded in Toronto. The London-bound plane had serious mechanical issues just prior to take-off that required the airline to put up all of the passengers at a nearby hotel. My seatmate in first class was Eleanor.
Eleanor was like no one I had met before. I found out she was a world renowned author of lesbian-themed fiction and that she was on her way to London to meet with her publisher. She was one of the most elegant women I'd ever seen. Her long lustrous blonde hair was put up in a chignon, and her clothes were expertly tailored and flattered her sensual curves. When we arrived at the hotel we agreed to meet in her room to share dinner. I happened to have two bottles of wine with me for my reunion with my boyfriend. Those bottles were consumed instead in Eleanor's room, where the lively conversation soon morphed into lovemaking. That was noteworthy since that was my first sexual experience with a woman, and at age 32, it made my coming out with my parents and friends a difficult task. Eleanor was bisexual, but her preference was for women, and she turned out to be the best lover I'd ever been with.
Our five years together took us from Toronto to London to New York and then finally to San Francisco. I learned that Eleanor had an outsized personality and a large international fan base, and had never before settled down for any significant length of time with anyone, man or woman. Our London trip was marred by my sensitivity in my role as Eleanor's new girlfriend. There was a lot of loose talk about how I was just Eleanor's latest conquest, and in a word was a slut. Eleanor had to dissuade me of that perception, and during the healing process (which included out of control lovemaking) she instead brought us closer together.
However, it was when we first moved to San Francisco that those tighter bonds were tested. At that early point in our relationship Eleanor had not yet separated her "single" life from her status as "attached" and I had never before had a relationship with a woman. Those bonds were tested one night in a night club when Eleanor was pretty drunk and playing fast and loose with a bunch of her friends and hangers on. I was watching from afar when a tall attractive redhead came up from behind and struck up a conversation. Since I was fresh into my relationship with Eleanor, my mind for the first time was open to the possibility of sex with either a man or a woman. I eyed this voluptuous woman, who was and still is one of the most attractive women I'd ever met, with a jealousy fueled anger brought on by Eleanor's slutty behavior. I fell under Kasey's spell that night, lying in wait for her to ravage my body. She was still a Domme at that point, and used a vibrator, nipple clamps and a riding crop to show me the darker side of her personality, and mine. We didn't have sex in the traditional sense, but we knew that evening that there was a strong sexual attraction between us. I felt compelled to confess this affair to Eleanor. Thankfully Eleanor was the bigger person, accepting my explanation of an inexcusable, but harmless, dalliance.
It was ironic, as Kasey Carter later came to be a dear friend of ours, and it was Eleanor's idea to ask Kasey to be a bridesmaid at our wedding.
My quiet time was over. The mental rehash of the last five years made me yearn for Eleanor's immediate presence. I went upstairs to wake her, with present in hand, but her peaceful sleep caused me to stop at the doorway to our bedroom and study her prone figure, displayed as if she was posing for a Rubens portrait. I first noted the gentle circular curve of her breast. Her head was reclined to the left, lightly snoring. Her arms were both bent with the hands under each breast, fingers overlapping one another. The nipples were erect, jutting proudly out, a rosy color hue tipped with a fleck of white. The snow white breast transitioned to the skin tanned by last year's summer sun. The ring on her left hand was conspicuous, a handsome diamond I had purchased for her as her wedding present. Her long blonde hair was in a ponytail but bunched against the pillow. She had kicked off the covers and had one leg bent, exposing her sex. She was my wife, lover and best friend. I still couldn't believe she was mine.
It wasn't long before she stirred. Perhaps she could sense my presence in the doorway.
"Morning Camille," she said in a crackly voice as she propped herself up on her arms.
"Good morning sleepyhead, and Happy Valentine's Day," I said in a chipper tone of voice, hiding the package behind my back.
Eleanor's eyes widened. "Of course, today's Valentine's Day. I suppose I should have gotten you a present." We played this game every year. She would pretend that she had forgotten Valentine's Day, and then give me something amazing. I wasn't going to fall for her act this year.
"Of course you've forgotten, just like all the other years where you dreamed up some fancy dinner or bought me an amazing present. What is it this year Eleanor?"
She flashed a smile at me as she slipped out of bed. "I guess you'll have to wait till later to find out," she uttered as she sashayed to the bathroom. I watched her nude form as she traversed the room, not ever getting tired of seeing her tall, elegant body. She flipped her hair out of its rubber band as she entered the bathroom.
I put her present on the night stand and jumped into Eleanor's side of the warm, unmade bed, waiting for my wife to take her shower. I started to doze off when I felt her hand on my shoulder. Eleanor was standing next to me, still slightly wet from her shower with a towel around her body and another wrapped around her hair. She smelled of fresh cut flowers.
Eleanor mocked me. "Who's the sleepyhead now?" she said as she ran her fingers through my hair. She picked up the package that was on the night stand. "And what have we here?"
