A collection of five erotic stories with a Valentines theme.
The Heart-Shaped Box by Justine Elyot
Valentine’s Day is pure commercialism, as far as Hayley is concerned. So when her boyfriend, Spiro, says he’s got a special surprise for her, she isn’t convinced. But Spiro is the one man who truly appreciates her kinky side, and some very naughty treats are waiting for her in the heart-shaped box on the bed.
Exposure by Kat Black
The man in the apartment opposite loves to watch – and be watched. His note asking her to sit at the window at 11 p.m. seems designed to take their voyeuristic games to another level. Then the curtains are drawn back, and a performance more erotic than anything she could have expected begins...
Beer Bottle by Jeremy Edwards
Clearing up after his Valentine’s Day bash, Jim finds the bottle his friend with benefits Eveline was drinking from. Thinking of the way her lips looked wrapped round its neck, he can’t resist inviting her to join him for a very intimate after-party.
Continuity by Shanna Germain
They may be divorced, but that doesn’t stop Zoe and Billy getting together for an annual Valentine’s night of fabulous sex. This year, Zoe’s bought a slutty red vinyl dress and is ready for fun. When Billy calls to let her know he’s got a special new woman in his life, she thinks their arrangement has finally come to an end – until she discovers what makes Billy’s girlfriend so special.
No Stopping by Landon Dixon
Jay doesn’t usually pick up hitchhikers, but this fortysomething babe isn’t the usual hitchhiker. Recently widowed, Barbara is looking for all the thrills she missed out on during 27 years of marriage. She’s hot and eager, and he spots a chance for some easy, no-strings sex, but sometimes once you’ve started something you can’t stop it that easily...
These stories have also been published in Sex, Love and Valentines ISBN 9781907016103
The living room yielded no clue as to the nature of my surprise, so I walked on through the bedroom. Aha. There on the bed, a huge red heart-shaped box, almost the width of the duvet, and about half the length. Beneath the ribbon that crossed its surface was a note, which I plucked out and read.
“Dearest Horny Hayley
Inside this box are treats for you and for me. Those for you are wrapped up in tissue paper – those for me are in boxes. You MUST NOT LOOK at the things inside boxes – I will unwrap them and show them to you when I get back. But you are very welcome to open your own presents – I expect you to be wearing/playing with them by the time I arrive, which should be in about one hour. Don’t let yourself come before I do though, and, most of all …
DON’T OPEN THE BOXES!
Things to wear and things to play with … I suspected he didn’t mean a necklace and a game of Scrabble. Greedily, I whipped off the lid and cast my eye over pale tissue and intriguing boxes of leather and satin-covered card.
The first thing I reached for was soft and squashy – one of the somethings to wear, I surmised, and I found I was right when it turned out to be unexpectedly heavy, falling on to the bed in a liquid pool of blackness. What was it? So shiny and sheeny – oh! Latex underwear! We had discussed this once, in a pre-sex conversation about how we would like to see each other dressed, but it had remained in the realms of fantasy, until now.
Eagerly, I undressed out of my work clothes and struggled into the new acquisitions. It really was a struggle – they were tighter than elastic bands; I had to dust my skin with talcum powder before the shorts would go anywhere near my thighs. And there was something else about them that was special. The bra had little cutaway heart-shapes where the nipples should go, giving a peek-a-boo effect. The cut outs were trimmed with marabou, drawing the eye straight to my chill-hardened nubs. The short shorts were even more scandalous. Crotchless, they sheared away from my bottom, exposing most of it in a similar heart-shaped fur-trimmed frame. They were no more than a plasticised sign shrieking ‘LOOK! RUDE BITS HERE!’ I looked utterly and ravishingly whorish. I loved them.
What else? A small package revealed a pair of pale-pink rubber hearts, nubbed on the inside. I wasn’t sure what they were for, until a glance at the instructions informed me that they were Breast Stimulators. Batteries, I was relieved to see, were included. Frowning a little, unsure of how they worked, I popped one on to a nipple. The soft jelly moulded itself to my skin, the nubs feeling deliciously bumpy. I pressed the button on the control unit and it began a soft vibration, clinging and clamping and massaging so that jolts of pleasure-pain travelled diagonally down to my centre. I cupped the breast with my hand, encouraging further friction and watching myself in the mirror. If one felt good, I reasoned, two had to be even better, so I applied the second and spent a pleasant five minutes letting them do the thing they did best – stimulate me.
They were so effective that I had to switch them off before Spiro’s instruction not to come before he did became impossible to obey. What was next? A long, slender item captured my attention, next to a shorter, fatter one. They went together, I sensed. The shorter, fatter one proved to be a bottle of rose-scented lubricant. Which gave me a clue about the other … ah. Anal beads in the shape of tiny red rubbery hearts, threaded together on a flexible string that ended with a heart-shaped flange. I had to snort. Some people’s idea of romance … Well, it was pretty much the same as mine. Did Spiro expect me to insert these on my own? We had played with plugs and beads before, but he had always put them inside me while I bent submissively, parting my cheeks for him while he clicked and clucked sounds of encouragement, amid stern injunctions against trying to stop him.
Nothing ventured, nothing gained, and six months with Spiro had fired my adventurous spirit, so I unscrewed the cap of the lube and poured some into an oil burner on the mantel. I coated the beads until they smelled like a flower garden in June, then reached around behind me, prodding at my bum cheeks until I was able to locate the right spot. It was too difficult standing, though, so I spread my feet and bent as far as I could without losing my footing, trying once more to spear my back passage with the soft but unyielding tip of the beads. It was not uncomfortably large, and it edged in without too much trouble, slipping past the gate of my sphincter and advancing along the dark and private recesses of my behind, pulling its companions along in its wake. It took a little while, and I almost cricked my neck reaching around, but eventually all five beads were snugly ensconced and the heart-shaped flange peeked bawdily out between my rounded and welcoming cheeks.