A White Valentine's

This is my entry in the Valentine's Day Story Contest 2024.

Content Warning: Mild Watersports

Everyone talks about a white Christmas. No one ever talks about a white Valentine's Day. Which is odd because, in the UK at least, we get far more snow in February than in December.

Hannah and I wake up to a foot of it.

That's great. I'd seen the weekly forecast and booked the day off regardless, but I'd also made contingencies. Luckily, they won't be needed.

The other great advantage of Valentine's Day, at least most years, is that it's a school day.

So first the school run. There's black ice and I nearly get rear-ended by another parent who is obviously rushing to ditch their sprog and get to work. If they have Valentine's plans, no doubt, it's in the evening. An overpriced candle-lit meal in some local town restaurant that's working out how to maximize their February profits. Then a cuddle, some sentiment, and a three-glasses-of-white-wine shag. It's a mug's game.

No. We're going to do it properly. The last few years have been crazy. With two kids and Hannah's career as an artist taking off, we haven't had the same amount of time for each other that we used to. Moments have been furtive and snatched. Not today.

I pick up the flowers from the flustered florist. No matter how non-traditional we're going to be, there are some things a man's got to do. I've gone for a theme though, Winter Honeysuckle and Christmas Roses -- white and hardy.

When I get back to the house, I see I've got packages. Most of today will be improvised, or our old stuff dug out of hiding, but there were a few items I just had to have. I pick them up and drop them off in the garage. I don't open them yet as I don't want Hannah getting any early clues. On my way in, I check the depth of the snow in our front garden. There's tons.

"I'm back," I yell up.

"Great," replies Hannah. "I'll come down and we can get started."

"Nah," I say moving to the foot of the stairs to continue our conversation. "Stay in bed. I'm going to need about an hour to get things sorted."

"An hour?" she says. "Christ. Youhave got plans, haven't you? I'll shower then."

"Don't you dare," I say. "This is a shower afterwards rather than a shower before kind of experience."

"Oh, so you want me dirty then?"

I laugh.

"What's so funny?" she asks.

"You have no idea," I reply. "No coming downstairs until I give the word."

"Right you are," says Hannah.

And with that, I set about preparations. I know what I'm doing, roughly, but it's complicated and I take a good minute just standing in the kitchen getting my head straight.

I put the Champaign in the fridge. I open up the smaller of the packages. Six sheets of ice-cube trays. I have to move a chicken, a pizza, and a steak and kidney pie from freezer to fridge to get them all in. I'll have to remember to put them back when I'm done or I'll be in trouble. The item from the second package also goes in on top of the trays.

From the back of the cupboard, I get out our old baby milk warmer. Plugging in and playing with it, I see it goes up to forty-five degrees. I'd have preferred fifty-five, but the convenience is worth the trade-off. I fill it with something other than baby formula. I go back and grab the swimming goggles too.

There's a number of plastic basins under the sink. I get them out and wash the ones that haven't been used in a while. I dump the whole reel of black plastic garbage bags on the top. I fill up our kettle and set it boiling then find the biggest four saucepans we've got, fill them with water and put them on the stove.

Next, I go up to the kids's rooms and locate two water pistols and a Super Soaker. One of the pistols is cracked and I have to toss it.

I move the car from the garage onto the driveway. I check for our neighbours's cars. It looks like the immediate ones are all at work, but there are retirees across the street. I vaguely wonder about the postman. We hardly get anything these days anyways, but if it happens, no doubt he's stumbled across worse in his decades on the job.

Back in the garage, I take stock. We've never been the type to stockpile extra junk. I consider going through it one by one, but I decide it's just easier to dump it all round the back. I thank God that we decided against our eldest getting that giant playhouse last birthday.

I lay down the garbage bags so they cover more or less the whole floor. I grab the shovel and start to move the snow from the garden into the garage. It's hard work and I need to go in and check on the boiling water every so often, but eventually, I get a nice layer of snow all over the floor. I try and spread it around equally without compacting it down too much.

I start to unbox the next part of the delivery. Our previous paddling pool was busted and besides, Peppa Pig hardly sets the appropriate mood. This new one is a more neutral dark blue. More importantly, it's bigger and has a flat base. That's going to be important. Once it's inflated, I sit it in the middle of the garage and study it.

I grab a plant spray from the hall and fill it with water. I add some of the food dye into it and head back to the garage. I give the snow an experimental spray. It turns a weak pink. I double the dose of dye and I get a proper red. I'd hoped to spray the heart shape under the pool, but it doesn't look like it would be fully visible. I settle for spraying four smaller hearts around it, making a rough outline, and then chipping away at the unneeded snow. I set the white bouquet at the entrance to the garage.

I check the electrics. There are two sockets in various parts of the room. To be safe, I shut off the electricity at the fuse box. Then I wind in an extension cord from the hall. I sit it on an old amplified stand and make sure the wires are high off the floor.

I run the tap in our front garden. It's exactly one meter from the garage door. Mercifully it's not frozen. I connect up the hosepipe and pull it into the garage.

Finally, I stand enjoying my handiwork. It's a pity the garage door has to come down, there's a lovely icy breeze blowing in, but our house is just too exposed to the public to risk it. When it's closed, I check it's not trapping the hose. There's just enough space that it should be okay. I open the back windows.

I go and get the candles and light them. Unfortunately, I can't set them too close to the action, so I put a few of each in the four corners of the garage. There are two types. The first are for aromatherapy and are branded as Cold Night. The others burn at an especially low temperature.

Right, back to the house.

"Five minutes," I yell upstairs.

"Great," replied Hannah. "How do you want me?"

"Swimming costume," I reply. "Tops and bottoms."

"Any particular one?" she says.

"Surprise me," I reply.

"Turn the thermostat up in the house then," she cries.

"Will do," I reply, chuckling to myself.In the house.

I go into the living room and turn our electric fire on. I unbox the last of the packages and put some of the contents out a little way from the hearth. I head back into the kitchen and put the others into the freezer. Then I pour the hot water into basins. I leave the two kettles boiling anew.

Hannah comes down. She's looking good in her black and white polka-dot bikini. She's thirty-five and has had two children, so her weight has fluctuated over the years. She's looking great now though. She's gotten the flab she put on when she first started staying at home all day drawing under control. She'll never be eighteen again, but some of the gains are attractive in their own right. She gives me a twirl as she enters the kitchen. I give her a French kiss.

"So?" she says.

"Sit," I instruct indicating one of our wooden kitchen chairs.

I realize I've forgotten the rope, so I disappear upstairs and rummage around the special play corner of our wardrobe. I return with one of the older Shibari ropes. I won't need much today and it'd be a pity to damage any of the newer and longer ones. And, of course, I get the safety scissors as well.

It doesn't take long to bind her. I'm not going for high art, I'm going for restraining her before the ice in the garage melts. She gets her hands fastened behind her back and her ankles to the chair.

"Safewords are Izalith and Ariamis."

"Two safewords?" Hannah laughs. "Why, you really are spoiling me."

"It'll make sense," I tell her. I put the goggles on her.

"Ready?" I ask.

When she nods I lift the chair with Hannah up by the base. Despite what I said earlier about her weight, it's still quite a strain. It's a sturdy chair after all. I walk backwards into the garage so as not to knock her on anything as we go through and also to preserve the surprise. I take few staggered steps in the garage and then turn her around.

"Oh, boy," she says.

I'm quite proud of my own little Winter Wonderland. The surprise was worth lugging her in her, although now I have to navigate getting her chair into the middle of the pool without slipping on the ice. A few careful steps later and I set her down.

"Wait here," I say.

I hadn't planned on it taking quite so long to get six trays worth of ice-cubes into a basin. When I return with that and the drinks, she's clearly getting bored.

"Is it me or is it cool in here?" she says to try and hide the fact she's shivering.

The Champaign puts a smile on her face. I pop the cork and pour us both a glass. When the bubbles have settled, I toast. "Here's to seventeen Valentine's together," I clink the two glasses together myself and then let her take a sip.

I reach into the basin and take a solitary ice cube. I start at her ankles, just above the ropes, and run it up her leg. She tries to move a leg but the restraints are tight enough. All she can do against the shock is to control her breathing. As she exhales, there's a touch of frost vapour even here inside. I run the cube up her stomach and around the edges of her bikini top, circling round one mound and then the other. It leaves a small trail of moisture in its wake.

I get the remaining Champaign and pour it into one of our smaller bowls. I take the ice-cube and dip it in the bowl. When it comes out, it glistens golden. I put it between my teeth and then kiss her with it, transferring it to her mouth.

"Keep it there," I order. "No crunching."

I reach down and get two more cubes. I place one between her big toe and second toe on each foot. "Keep them there or be punished," I tell her.

I repeat the earlier circuit with a fourth ice-cube. This time there's actual concentration on her face as well as agony as she struggles not to wiggle her toes as her body feels the dagger of cold moving round it.

When the ice-cube has reached the end of its journey, I dip it in the Champaign again and kiss it into her mouth. I estimate the other one is at least only half melted.

Hannah's cheeks are now flushed red from the cold. Taking a rose from the display, I present it to her. "For the lady." She, of course, has no hands free to accept it. I brush it up and down her body, across her torso and down her back. I'm not aiming to break her skin, but the florist left the thorns on as I requested and that gives us a little extra frisson.

Returning the flower to the vase, I take a handful of ice-cubes and put them down her top. She breathes heavily "Hu-hu-hu-hu," as each one goes in. Finally, I don' t think the bra-cup can hold any more. I take the hair-dryer and plug it in. I bring it over to her and turn it on, testing the temperature on my hand.

Of course, I've got it on cold.

"Hoo hast-hart," she mouths at me as the blast hits her thighs first, by the time it's reached her stomach the two toe-cubes are on the floor.

I pick up the cubes. "Spit," I tell her and the other two go flying across the room. "Wait."

I return to the kitchen and get the ball-gag out of the freezer. The metal isn't that cold, all things considered, but enough to make a statement. I go back and put it on my wife.

"Do better," I tell her. I put two more ice-cubes on her toes and do the ice-cube and hair-dryer tricks again. This time I go round the back and run them down her spine between the slats of the chair. She clamps her toes down hard on the cubes and when I've exhausted even the extended circuit, they're still there.

That's good. She really needs to be able to say a safeword for this next bit, but now I'm able to take the gag off as a reward. I make a show of putting it in the ice-cube basin, just in case.

"Enough cold?" I ask her. "You want to switch?"

She looks at me with suspicion but she nods.

"Okay, then," I say. I pull out my cock. It's freezing in the garage and my testicles have shrivelled up. That's good. Despite the play, there's no way I'm getting hard easily.

It takes her a moment to realize where I'm going with this. There was one glorious summer where we used to do this all the time, but once you have a family it's something you really don't want to get caught doing and it's difficult to find the mood.

I start to pee, sending a warm yellow trail to her feet. Once the pressure is stable, I start working it up, sending it back and forward across her shins and then her knees. Finally, I'm pissing across her tits, the liquid falling off her body into the pool. I consider raising it to her head. She's drunk it before, but it's been years and I don't want to risk her calling time on it. My stream fades and the moment is gone. She's there, drenched and stinking but her body temperature has been raised again to a balmy thirty-six degrees.

I pull out the Super Soaker. I fill it up with water. I'm not sure the temperature. Fifty degrees maybe. Definitely hotter than body temperature. I pump away, soaking her afresh. She squeals with each blast.

I let her sit there, soaking up the heat.

Then I open the garage door just a fraction, reach out with an arm and turn the tap on.

Water starts to flow out of the hosepipe. I pick it up, half-close the nozzle with my thumb, and then aim it at her. The water pressure must be five times what my dick just produced. For a moment I worry that she's going to tip the chair over when I hit her with it. Instead, I wash her up and down thoroughly with it, blasting my urine off her.

Again, I leave her shivering for a minute when it is over.

Then I walk from the garage to the living room and back, fetching the sex toy.

It's metal and has absorbed the heat from the fire. It's a balancing act. What feels comfortable to my hand may be too hot for her insides. And the lube will cool it down further. I get it to where I think it is about right.

I slit her ankle binds using the scissors. She's seen what I'm holding and parts her legs. As I work the toy up her vagina, I can see I'm about on the money. There's pain at the heat, but also pleasure. Her happiness is as much about the new temperature spreading through her body as it is about sexual needs.

I turn the hairdryer to warm and start to blow dry her properly, starting with her torso, but soon moving on to her hair. When it's dry, I put it in a ponytail. I don't want it flailing around later.

I reach round to the milk warmer, get the bottle, and test the contents on my arm. The mulled wine is a nice temperature. She'll have to drink it through the nipple though. She sucks at it hungrily.

I get the storage heater and set it up at her toes. Again, I want it just close enough to start to be a little uncomfortable after a few minutes.

The dildo will have lost its heat now. I remove it. I fill the water pistol with warm water. I place it at her entrance. I'm not sure of the plastic's ability to withstand pressure, so I ease it only slightly with two fingers supporting it on either side and I pull the trigger, shooting the warm water up inside her. I repeat until it is spent and then remove it.

I insert her favourite vibrator set to her favourite setting. I put my hand in front of the storage heater and make sure they're nice and warm. I massage her feet using lotion, rubbing them up and down. I then get one of the basins of hot water and let her soak them. I end up standing behind her giving her a neck and shoulder massage as the vibrator starts to work its magic. When she gets close, I lean in, kiss her neck, and cup her breasts. I'm close to her when I feel the first orgasm rip through her body.

"Oh, fuck!" She gives but a single yell at her peak.

When it subsides, I go and raise the setting on the vibrator. She tends to need a bit more for her second one.

Then I go and get the special candles. I don't trust her not to kick me, either from pleasure or pain, so I stand behind her as I slowly pour the wax onto her breasts. These are special candles for play. They won't burn her, but she still gasps as each drip hits her. The wax solidifies and before long her bosom is covered with red splotches.

The candle is nearly burned through when the second orgasm hits her. She reacts with such force that I nearly drop the candle despite my precautions. In shock, I step back and watch her body spasming from a distance.

"Oh, wow," she says as she starts to come down. "We haven't done that...I mean...that was...that was pretty comprehensive."

She's laughing now. The laugh of someone who has faced a challenge and survived.

I won't be able to top that, so I unfasten the arm restraints. I offer her a hand up signaling we're done. She takes it, but then sinks back onto the chair after trying to get up.

"Give me a minute," she says. I move the storage heater back by a good twenty centimeters and wait.

"Okay. I'm fine," she says firmly. "Right, now, it's my turn to do you."

And she does. But only after we have a hot lunch and a hotter shower together.