Red Roses

Red Roses!

I stop off at the florist and buy you a dozen long stemmed red roses, wickedly expensive as usual but you are worth it, I believe as I watch the woman behind the counter wrap them carefully.

"For a special occasion, sir?" she inquires and I give her a nod but refuse to elucidate more as I pay and head out of the shop back to my car. The journey down passes quickly and soon I am outside your door and I knock and wait. You open it quickly and I experience the usual fond delight at seeing you standing there, waiting eagerly for me. You exclaim with delight over the flowers and I smile as you go off to place them in water and soon they are in a vase in the lounge, looking over us as we settle down on the sofa.

My hands start to caress your breasts through the thin top that you are wearing and I am pleased to see that your breasts are unfettered by a brassiere and have been pegged. I tell you to remove the top and see that a thin elastic cord connects the pegs and then leads up to the leather collar that encircles your neck and you gasp with pain or possibly delight as I pull the cord tighter then release it sharply. I spank your creamy breasts softly, jiggling them from side to side with each blow and I watch your pretty green eyes reflect the little darts of pain that shoot into your nervous system. I slap them harder and you give a little gasp as each palm lands on your skin and the red blotches blossom like the petals on the roses that I have brought for you.

I make you stand up and strip off and watch the beautiful full buttocks bloom as your panties slide down to your ankles. I trace down the knobbly bones of your spine and feel your skin shift and shiver as I near the cleft of your arse cheeks. I run one finger inside and trail the tip of my nail over your puckered hole and then down across your perineum and along the moist softness of your labial folds which part willingly and wetly.

You bend over for me, reaching forward until your fingers are balancing your weight on the ground and I pluck the first rose, stem wet and glistening, from the vase and slide the green shoot up inside your anal rosette, hearing you moan softly as I take care to strip off the thorns. It goes in deep, slithering in until the flower lodges against your orifice in a blaze of red against the white cheeks that surround it. I make you lie down on your back and your eyes watch me cautiously as I take another rose and begin to sweep the soft petals across your breasts in broad strokes that caress your skin with the delicate whorls. Your coral-tipped nipples begin to rise, swelling to meet the gentle brush of the rose over your flesh and then I push the stem against your white skin and the thorns stick in and a bead of blood bulges to the surface and trickles agonisingly slowly down your breast.

I leave that rose fixed into your skin by its thorns and start to stroke your other breast with another rose and this time I can feel the mounting tension in your body as each brush brings the thorns closer as your bud swells. I see the little catch in your throat as you gasp in a quick breath as I stop for a second and you think the time has come but then I continue to stroke, tantalising your whiteness with the red petals. Then suddenly I fix the thorns in as I sweep across and you moan as sharp stings shoot into your body and the rose lies across you, petals pointing up to your chin. I taste the tiny bead of blood and lick it up off your skin as I take a fourth rose from the vase and hold it up for you to see. Your tongue licks your lips nervously and your eyes follow the flower as it descends towards your flesh and then touches your stomach before sweeping down into your mons and then over your pouting labia. There is fear and pleasure lurking in your eyes as the petals caress your skin; soft, tender touches that stir your soul.

I strip off the thorns except for one and then feed the green stem up into your quim, watching the thin shoot slide easily inside you, sucked into your wetness until the thorn just before the flower pricks the inside of your labia. Another rose joins in, entering your body until the final prickle becomes a thorn in your flesh, stabbing into your interior membranes and sending a gasp of pain shooting from your lips. A third squeezes in as I turn your pussy into a flower arranging piece, pink lips almost hidden under the blood red of the roses while the palest white skin frames them.

Another rose fits beautifully between your lips, a row of sharp thorns piercing your delicate mouth, pressing in as you hold it firmly while I place others behind your ears before I am finally satisfied by two flower heads fitted carefully over your eyes to subsume your sight. I can resist your attraction no longer and I take myself in my hand and stroke slowly up and down my glistening shaft, feeling excitement stir in my blood as I watch the flowers shift slightly as you breathe. My seed comes fast, erupting thickly into the petals of one of the roses on your breast and the whiteness stains the blood red and is clutched tight to its heart. More fountains out and coats the flower, dripping down deep inside and then I pluck it from your breast and remove the one from your mouth.

I tilt the sperm soaked petals to your lips and my seed begins to trickle down, slowly and steadily running off the red silkiness and onto your ruby lips which part and begin to drink my nectar. I raise the flower further and more flows and your tongue flickers out and scoops up the white sperm like a cat taking the cream and I know your eyes beneath the blindfolding petals are purring with pleasure.