A SAINT VALENTINE'S DAY GIFT

Saint Valentine’s day, and he had nothing to give to his lady. The love of his life. No roses for Ulena; not even a card. Nothing except himself and she already owned him, body and soul.

How had she known? He hadn’t known himself; not really. But during the days, and nights of ritual torture and humiliation, Joseph had had plenty of time for reflection. And he’d come to realise that his Mistress had gently coaxed him into realising his true orientation. He was a submissive.

He thought about childhood games, how he’d always try to manipulate them, so that he’d be the prisoner; the one who was captured and tied up. He’d experienced his first naïve arousals, struggling against his bonds. He’d had his first orgasm: pale and empty, alone in the dark, tightly bound with string around his wrists and ankles. He’d been imprisoned; they’d kicked him under the bed, where it was dusty and dark. The tight confine making him feel as if he were in a coffin. How there was one woman in his past, who’d been sexually aggressive; riding him violently. Digging her finger nails into him; lacerating his back. God, how that had turned him on. But he’d never thought deeply about his desires; until now. Surely, he wasn’t natural?

What sort of man was he, that he’d thank his girlfriend for pissing into his mouth? Or grovelling at her feet, begging her to let him orgasm after hours of a bobbing, painful erection? In fact the only time he could achieve orgasm these days was at Ulena’s command. He’d tried to masturbate away a throbbing erection, just that morning in the shower. He’d failed miserably. His massive, hard cock was proof; as if he needed it.

He squirmed uncomfortably on the hard, wrought iron balcony seat as he gazed out over the Primrose Hill vista. He would have marvelled at the view of London town displayed before him, if it weren’t for his damn erection.

He breathed in the cold February air, watching as his breath plumed into smoky clouds. He was tempted to try masturbating again, but knew it would end in sweaty, painful failure. Ulena’s training had worked.

He also knew he would be in trouble for cooling himself down, on the balcony. He was hot after his workout and shower. But his Mistress was particular about his health; taking care of him as if he were a prize stallion, or bull. She ordered him to work out every morning and evening. She wanted him in perfect, glossy condition. He would be punished. Well let her do her worst, he thought rebelliously. The delayed gratification of his orgasm would be all the better for it. These days and nights he had orgasms like he’d never thought possible. He’d come, with his ears ringing, three or four times in a night, exploding into a sticky, white mess. A couple of times he’d lost consciousness. His Mistress had been impressed and allowed him to sleep in her bed. Usually he slept on the floor, on a sheet of newspaper; curled up like a pet dog. Joseph didn’t mind. As long as he was close to his Mistress, inhaling the Chanel number 5 fragrance she always wore; it was enough for him. His thoughts caused his erection to throb. He again shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

He hooked another chair with his bare foot; perhaps his erection would ease if he raised his legs off the ground. It didn’t.



Ulena pushed open the heavy oak door, into the temple of Diana and looked around admiringly at the display. She was satisfied. The dozens of red roses she’d had delivered from Harrods had arrived, and had been beautifully arranged on antique marble stands; in fragile porcelain vases, from ancient China and in antique, Russian silver and crystal vases. Her breath drifted on the chilly air; she shivered, hugging her opulent fur coat around her. February in England always seemed to be the coldest month of the winter. The old stone temple was icy; it needed to be, to keep the roses fresh. But tonight, Saint Valentine’s night, the fires would be blazing, the branding irons would be glowing white hot in the brazier, and the flowers would be opening out, releasing their exotic perfume.

Tonight Ulena would put her mark on Joseph. She closed her eyes and imagined his agonised, animalistic bellows echoing around the temple, as the irons were buried hard into his smooth, round buttocks. Her own insignia, forever carved into his perfect flesh. When the lesions were healed, she would run her fingertips over them; knowing that she owned this flesh. He would belong to her.

She plucked a long stemmed rose from a display. She would give it to Joseph. It was still very early in the morning. If she hurried, she would just catch him as he finished his morning workout. He would be surprised at the act of tenderness.

Saint Valentine’s day. The day for lovers; Ulena never sent cards to celebrate Saint Valentine’s day. But if she did, she would sign her name, boldly. A card from her would strike fear into the heart of the recipient. But what would be the point? She could have any man she desired. Ulena never received Valentine’s day cards. Nobody dared.


Joseph both longed for, and dreaded, Ulena’s return. She was like a drug to him. Her kindnesses were few and far between, but when they came, he would weep with gratitude. Her cruelties were always simmering beneath the surface. And he knew that she had plans for his morning session with her. He tried hard to please her; but it was impossible. Always, there would be some misdemeanour that would entail punishment. Her coffee might be too hot, or too cold; or he’d failed to load the dishwasher properly. Sometimes he drew her attention to his failings; he relished the control she had over him. The rhythmic, stinging slap of her hand on his buttocks gave him solace.


She’d known he’d been masturbating, as soon as she confronted him on the balcony. For a small, slender woman, she was surprisingly strong and she tangled her slender fingers in his long, dark hair, and marched him into the bathroom.

She dragged off his thick sweater and unzipped his jeans. He desperately wanted her to touch him, but he knew she wouldn’t. She never did. She liked to watch him touch himself, unable to orgasm until she gave the command. She’d watch him fuck her friends; and though he could bring the women to orgasm, he was not allowed to come, until Ulena spoke the word.

She’d order him to pleasure her with his tongue, coming to a wild and crashing orgasm; but she’d never let him penetrate her.

“Slut.” she hissed. Her anger all too real. “You can keep that all day as your punishment,” pointing to his pulsating, drooling cock.
“Please Mistress,” Joseph blubbed. “Let me come. I’ll do anything. It hurts.”

She laughed at his tears and produced from a drawer a set of golden toothed nipple clamps. Joseph had seen them before. He’d been with her when she’d bought them at the Slave Fayre. That was the day she’d completely humiliated him, by commanding him to strip in front of all those people, when she’d had him measured up for a Japanese harness. A set of ropes and straps, designed to keep a slave immobile for hours.

Joseph recalled the sales woman on the restraints stand. She’d had dark hair and slanting, oriental eyes; in another life, Joseph would have been attracted to her. But now, he was devoted to his Mistress.

The woman had lingered over his cock and balls, as she measured him.
“May I?” she asked Ulena. Ulena nodded.

The woman tested the weight of his testicles in the palm of her hand.
“Impressive,” she remarked to Ulena, as if he were a prize show animal. “Does he serve you well?” She handed Ulena her business card. “Let me know if you decide to sell him on. I’ll get you a better price for him, than if you put him into the auction.”

Joseph was scared. Surely, she wasn’t training him to sell him on when she tired of him. He loved Ulena so much, he would die if he were separated from her. He couldn’t bear it.

At the Slave Fayre, Joseph had realised that there was a whole community based around submissive men and women and their Mistresses. He’d felt reassured, but daunted too; and excited. So he wasn’t the only one; he wasn’t totally weird. Just different from macho guys. He saw men collared like dogs, on their hands and knees, being kicked into submission by their Mistresses. Two dark, hairy, collared males, were fighting over a female, with breasts so large they resembled a cows’ udders. They were sniffing her rear end, both had huge erections; they were ready to mate. Snapping, snarling, growling, biting. Joseph briefly felt sorry for the woman being so humiliated; then he noticed her erect nipples and her fat, swollen labia lips. Her inner thighs glistened damp. She gazed up at her Owner pleadingly, with her huge, dark eyes. She wanted it. Joseph could see she was trembling with need, whimpering, panting. Her Owner soothed her, rubbing her behind her ear.

“Good dog, ” he heard the Owner say. “Not one of these.”

Did that mean she was going to be mated to something more refined? Joseph knew it was only a game; but he could see that both bitch and Owner were totally engrossed in their parts. Why were they doing this to themselves? Why was he doing this to himself? It was beyond Joseph. All he knew was that despite the pain and humiliation, he felt happier and freer now than at any other time in his life. He glanced at his Mistress; she had an excited flush on her high cheekbones as she watched the fracas with the dogs. Joseph wondered if she ever thought about this strange life they shared. Perhaps one day he would dare to ask her.

He’d felt proud of his Mistress. Proud to be with her. She had dressed like a super-model for the occasion and was every inch a Mistress in her skin tight, black leather jeans. She’d pulled down the zipper on her black, leather jacket, almost exposing her beautiful breasts. With her neat blonde hair, expertly cut level with her jaw-line, she looked like a goddess for the twenty first century.

He was surprised that she could stand, let alone walk in her black killer heels; but somehow she did. Gliding gracefully from stand to stand; she was easily the most beautiful Mistress there and despite his bowed head, he could see she was attracting a lot of attention.

That day she’d also bought a cock clamp. A vicious looking instrument, that he was hoping she’d forgotten. It was designed to clamp a semi-erect cock into place. A sort of male version of a chastity belt. The tight device made the wearer aroused, but the spiteful spikes on the inside of the gadget made full erection impossibly painful. The guy wearing it would be in a state of anticipated pleasure and pain, for as long as his Mistress desired he wear it. He had felt Ulena’s eyes on his face, as the woman explained the mechanics to her. The sales woman had even demonstrated the device on her beautiful young model. Joseph watched the model’s painful grimace and heard him groan, as the clamp was padlocked with a loud click into place.

“Try and make him erect,” the sales woman had said to Ulena.

Ulena leant down and blew gently on the tip of the model’s cock. Her straight, blonde hair brushed his groin. She poked out her small tongue and lapped at the swelling cock, as if she were a kitten lapping up cream. The model groaned in agony as his cock tried to swell, and the spikes inside the clamp pierced him.

Joseph felt no empathy, in fact he had seethed with jealousy. She had never done that to him. She had refused even to touch his cock, unless she was fitting a cock ring on it.


But this Saint Valentine’s Day, Joseph knelt before his Mistress, groaning and sinking to the floor, as the clamp teeth bit into his nipple. He wore only his jeans; they were unzipped. Ulena knew how pain turned him on; she liked to watch the veins in his cock stand out, the moment before he orgasmed. She’d decided to let him orgasm. She knew he was hoping she’d forgotten about the cock clamp. She hadn’t. She was going to make him wear it today for work. She needed him flaccid in order to fit it.


A wave of agonizing pain crawled over his belly and into his groin as Ulena attached the second clamp to his tight nipple. Sweat trickled through his hair. The pain shot up his spine. He needed to defecate and he clamped down his muscles on his treacherous bowel sphincter. He tried to smile up at his Mistress, standing above him. His lips trembled; tears sprang in his eyes.

“Sshh, little slave,” she whispered. “It’s your Saint Valentine’s day gift. Be happy.”
She gently, touched his face with the crimson rose. He took it from her slender fingers and moaned his thanks.

She tugged, not gently, on the chain linking the clamps. The pain roiled over him. He closed his eyes, tight, seeing flashes of brilliant colours. Heady Chanel number 5 mingled with the smell of his sweat. The room tipped from side to side. His gut clenched and he retched through a wave of nausea. He thought he was passing out, then he breathed through the agony, as she had trained him to do.

Ulena gently stroked his hair. Pleasure and pain. Particularly, Joseph’s pleasure and pain. There was nothing like it.
“May I speak, Mistress?”
She could barely understand him. He gibbered through clenched teeth.
She placed a slender finger on his lips, silencing him.

She was quiet for what seemed like a long time, holding his gaze. Joseph’s heart plummeted; so did his erection. She was going to dismiss him. Take on another slave. Sell him at the slave auction. Contact the oriental woman from the Slave Fayre.

He opened his mouth to speak again. To beg her to keep him. He willed his erection to come back. To please her. But his cock remained flaccid; he was afraid.

Ulena shook her head, her blonde hair moving softly against her jaw. When she spoke, her voice was low and husky.


“Tonight,” she said. We are going to visit a temple. The temple of Diana. You will be naked; presented before a lot of people. Despite the cold outside; it will be hot. Fires will burn. You will be exhibited. Women will touch you; be intimate with you. They may order their male slaves to be sexually active with you, and use you.”

She cleared her throat, as if she were having difficulty breathing. Her colour was crimson on her cheekbones. She fidgeted, from one foot to another. She was aroused. Joseph could smell her.

“Then, you will be restrained; strapped over a strong, padded, metal beam. Your wrists tied to your ankles. You will struggle as you realise what is to befall you. You know that you will experience pain, that you will never have dreamt possible. There will be braziers burning either side of you. You will feel their heat caressing your naked skin. Two strong men will take branding irons from the flames. The irons will be white hot. They will pause briefly, then simultaneously, at my signal, the irons will be buried in each of your naked buttocks, branding you as mine.”


Ulena ran her tongue over her lips, moistening them. Her voice continued; mesmerizing him. It was as if she were telling a story. Talking about someone else; anyone but him.


“To ensure the branding is complete the irons will be buried in your flesh for some minutes. The insignia will mark you as mine, for the rest of your life. You will smell the spluttering of your burning flesh; hear the sizzle of your meat as you cook. You will scream and curse me, because it is I, who will be controlling this ritual. You will probably piss yourself; your bowels might even let you down. You may ejaculate. You may vomit. When you are weeping and exhausted you will be taken away and your wounds carefully tended.”

Ulena gazed at him wide eyed. She looked vulnerable and scared. Suddenly aware of the horror she was asking of him.

“Can you do this for me?”

Joseph had felt the blood drain from his face as she’d been speaking. Telling him about this atrocity. This calculated act of debauchery that she had planned to the last detail.

How had they got into this twisted, perverse relationship?

He was silent. His joy was complete. She wasn’t going to sell him. She must love him, just a little. She wanted to keep him. Have him branded as hers forever.

“Now, what was it you wanted to ask me?”

He took a long, slow breath. Hadn’t he been wondering what he could give his lady for Saint Valentine’s day? His cock was hardening again.

He held her gaze and nodded.

“Mistress,” he said. “Will you marry me?”