Jemimas Bloom

The sound of the door brought Jemima to her senses from the sleepy state of relaxation that had fallen over her as the afternoon progressed like a starting pistol to an athlete and in a second she was up off the sofa and on her feet. The suite they had paid for in the hotel was in reality little more than a hallway, bathroom and a tiny kitchen with a sofa and matching chair. But it was the bedroom with its floor to ceiling glass wall that made the whole thing worth the expense, a special place to enjoy a special night.

Entering the bedroom, she was struck again by the sight of the entire city spread out before her. But now the evening had begun the inevitable turn to night and as the light faded the city lit up a little at a time until the entire vista was picked out like a work of art. Jemima stood; spellbound for a moment before she turned her attention to the large black travelling bag that had made up most of the luggage he had brought with them to the hotel.

This was something of a new experience for Jemima and she was, if she admitted it, a little daunted in the best way possible by what lay ahead. In the past they had experimented in creative and some might have said outrageous ways in the bedroom, but every time she had been more or less in control of what they had planned. She had always had a fair idea of what was in store, but not this time.

This time the entire scenario had been devised by her partner from start to finish, packed up in that one bag and she had no idea what to expect.

His leaving the room to head down to the hotel bar had been her cue and he would not return until she gave him the signal via text. She had already prepared as much as she was able, showering, shaving and primping what she could. But then she had been forced to simply don a pair of sweats and a T-shirt and wait for further instructions.

Jemima's mind had been spinning the most elaborate ideas and speculating wildly for days and now the time had come to open the bag and discover the nature of the thing, she was seized by a momentary sense of trepidation. This was uncharted territory and a small part of her was worried that whatever was in the box would fail to chime with her and that she would be unable to make the idea work when the time came.

She was not concerned that there would be something in the bag that would outrage her, she knew him too well for that. More realistically she was scared that she might miss something that he taken the time and care to invest in the idea and thus hurt his feelings. Recently they had enacted a fantasy in which she had played a mermaid and initially Jemima had failed to see the potential. But she had experimented with the costume and found herself swept along with the experience despite her initial misgivings.

Not having that chance worried her, but not even trying would have been far worse.

Jemima took a deep breath and unzipped the bag before she could talk herself out of it.

She had to admit that the first thing she expected to find had not been a terracotta pot.

Jemima lifted the thing out of the bag and placed it on the ground, puzzled already as to what was afoot. The pot was unglazed, about a foot and a half in width and two in height and unremarkable save for the fact that while it appeared to be filled with earth, she could see that in fact it had a cleverly made fake surface. She knelt down and prodded the mock layer of earth with her hand and found that it was soft and springy, but the surface was not solid and her fingers slipped into a hole that seemed designed to widen as her hand went deeper into the pot.

She pulled her hand out, none the wiser and went back to the bag.

The next item to emerge was the kind of clothing bag that might have been seen on any drycleaners racks. She opened the zip and caught a glimpse of green lycra that seemed instantly more familiar and filled her with a sense of relief that there was at least one element of his latest fantasy that was in some way familiar.

Last of all Jemima found a box that in any other context would have been sure to contain a hat of some kind. Before she opened the box, she noticed an envelope taped to the top of it and eagerly pulled it free and tore it open. This could only be some kind of list of instructions and she was desperate to have any insight into what was on the cards.

Her suspicions were proved correct and as she read the hand-written note he had left for her expression went from surprise to intense interest and finally to an evil little smile as the purpose of all the elements that were in the bag became clear for the first time.

Jemima was thrilled by the fact that he had both managed to surprise her and excite her with the prospect of his idea and she set about following his instructions to the letter.

She stripped off her clothes and moved the pot into a convenient position before turning her attention to the garment in the bag. She pulled the green lycra out of the bag and shook it out, recognising the familiar shape of a body stocking that had been modified specially for her own use. She had worn more than one of these in the recent past and was an expert at slipping into them unaided.

Jemima sat down on the edge of the bed and tucked her feet into the bottom of the stocking. The garment allowed no separation of her legs and instead held them together as she zipped it up to her waist. This was nothing new for Jemima, who had worn similar stockings to play her part as a mermaid and even a jack-in-the-box, and she experimentally moved her encased legs to ensure the fit was good before slipping her arms into the sleeves and zipping the entire thing up to where it ended in a hood that covered everything but her face.

She took special care to ensure that the gloves that covered her hands were in place correctly, checking the fit on her fingers. The gloves were unusual in that they were each set in the middle of an oval of lycra that came to a point perhaps three inches from the tip of the middle finger. The effect made Jemima's fingers resemble the rods of a fan, or more appropriately the veins of a leaf.

Opening the hat box, she pulled out a headpiece that looked at first sight like a twisted green imitation of a knight's helmet with an elongated visor. But closer examination revealed that there were no holes provided for the eyes and the entire from of the headpiece, which tapered to a point, was divided into half a dozen separate pieces that were hinged at the base.

Jemima carefully pulled the thing on, sliding it down over her head until she felt a fain click as hooks in the fabric of the body stocking connected with those in the neck of the headpiece. She opened her hands as the written instructions had told her and was suddenly able to see once more as the threads linking the gloves to the headpiece pulled the front open. All six parts of the front opened outwards, revealing the rich red colour of their interiors and framing Jemima's face like the petals of a flower.

Of course the headpiece opened like a flower, that was just what the costume intended her to become.

The effect was striking and Jemima grinned at her reflection in the mirror before slipping her feet into the hole in the fake earth of the pot and standing up to see just how much she was able to move in the costume. Her experience with belly-dancing and other forms of expressive movement had made her balance far better than most and she found that she was able to twist and turn in the pot to an impressive degree without the threat of toppling over. The fact that the base of the pot seemed to have been weighted with this in mind helped immensely and soon she was confident in what she could get away with and making a mental note of how she could put that to practical use.

He had explained in the note that while all women appreciate the gesture of flowers, he wanted to share the idea that there was really no flower more beautiful than a woman herself. Every day there were myriads of flowers on display all over the world that were appreciated with the eye, their scent filling the air and the feel of their stems held in the hand. So why, when a woman was the most beautiful of all was there no opportunity to do the same?

He admitted that there was a very selfish motivation for his fantasy. He wanted to appreciate the form of her body, but at the same time he wanted to root her to the ground, wrap her body in the stem of the costume and hide her face under the hood of petals. He wanted her to be something that he could savour in private, a bloom that would open for no one but him.

It was selfish, he admitted; but, he asked, was it not very much like love itself?

Jemima was sensitive to such thoughts, but there was also a very real part of her that was excited at the prospect of playing the part of a pampered blossom. She loved the way that the green lycra of the body stocking gave the illusion her form was one shapely stem, breasts proud and buttocks pressed against it tightly. There was a feeling that the costume somehow gave her permission to cast off some of the elements of her personality that were essential to a modern woman for a short time.

When she pouted and moved in a manner that showed off her body, she felt no guilt or shame in the action. She was a flower and there was nothing more central to her purpose than to be alluring and sensual.

The feeing was similar to the odd surge of desire she had felt when playing a mermaid and contemplating becoming forever a submissive pet. In this form her life could be so simple, no complications or responsibilities, just the thrill of being kept as an object of pleasure and desire.

Jemima sent the text message and tossed the phone away before pulling her petals closed again and waiting.

He rode the elevator to the correct floor and slid the key card through the lock, all the time trying to hold his mind in a state of anticipation. Though he had seen the costume and created some of its elements with his own hands, he had only been able to imagine what she would look like once the effect was complete.

Opening the door to the bedroom, he tried to make as little noise as possible in the hope of catching Jemima off guard. Knowing that she would be rooted to the spot in the costume made him oddly keen on the idea of surprising her with an unexpected caress of the buttocks.

But when he saw her standing before the window, he found that all he could do for a moment was stand and try to take in the sight.

Jemima had crossed her arms over her breasts and placed each of her hands on the opposite shoulder, her head was tilted forwards and she was perfectly still. She had decided that not only would she keep her petals closed until the time came, but she would also portray herself as a blossom that had closed with the fading of the light. Now that she had fallen into a natural slumber, she would need something worthwhile to awaken her again.

He followed the line of her body from the top of her head, beneath the closed petals, down her back and to where the curve of her buttocks was visible through the green lycra. His eyes went on down the length of her legs, given the appearance of a wide stem and finally to the point where they disappeared into the pot.

He knew that this was a costume, which he had made it himself. But all the same his imagination allowed him to imagine that Jemima's stem tapered into roots in the depths of the pot, that she was some exotic blending of striking flower and beautiful woman.

He stepped forwards and gently placed his hands on the top of her hips, feeling the smooth texture of the lycra and the warmth of her flesh beneath.

Jemima had remained awake with her face concealed behind the petals, though her ability to hear what was going on around her was almost smothered totally by the headpiece. As a result she had failed to hear him enter the room and her first knowledge of his presence came with the sensation of his hands on her body.

There had been a momentary worry in her mind that she had not been able to prepare, to get into character for the role. But then she had come to the realisation that there was little beyond the need to be alluring and desirable in the role of a flower.

And why did they strive to do even that?

It was in order to attract the attention of a creature capable of pollinating them of course.

As soon as she realised that, she knew that all she had to do was be as seductive as possible in her current position. After all, what good would a pollinating bee have been to a flower of her size?

Surely a blossom of her stature would require the services of a creature more in keeping with its own stature?

He was that creature and all she needed to do was convince him that she was ripe for his attentions.

Jemima eased her buttocks backwards into his groin and pressed a portion of her weight into him, teasing him with the motion of her body against his as if hinting as to the rewards that could lie in wait for him. She noted that his body was already responding to the sight and the feel of her and the dance had only just begun.

She unfolded her arms from around her body and found his hands with her own, the fabric of the leaf-like gloves brushing his palms. She held his wrists and gently guided him to the base of her stomach where she encouraged him to feel her belly and move upwards, pressing his hands against her all the time.

When he reached her breasts, Jemima steered his hands so that they cupped the mass of each in one palm. His touch was gentle, but she almost forced him to grip their weight more firmly, massaging them and finding her nipples erect beneath the fabric.

She appreciated his instincts to tread gently, but Jemima wanted him to feel her and caress her with purpose. She was playing her role to the full and wanted him to feel how firm and healthy she was, how fertile...even how ripe her body was. Gripped in the part of a flower eager to attract his attention, she wanted to be proven ready for him and that meant allowing her body to be explored in intimate details by his hands.

Jemima gasped beneath her petals as one of his hands strayed from her breast and began to stroke her clitoris through the thin covering of the lycra.

Now, she though, was the time to open herself to him and make sure she was pollinated...pleasured, Jemima was sure she had meant to use the latter term rather than the former.

She gripped his right wrist with her left hand and pulled him forwards, hinting that he should come around to face her. He took the hint, aware of her limited capacity to communicate and willing to be guided by her.

He placed his hands around her waist as she placed hers at the base of his spine, manipulating the threads that controlled her petals a mere second before they were in place.

The petals opened like blossoming of a fantastic bloom, broad red framing Jemima's face and mirroring the red shades that she had chosen for her eyes and lips.

She opened her eyes slowly and leaned forwards to meet his own lips, which she noticed were slightly apart as he pressed his body against her.

Jemima lingered in the kiss as she deftly unbuttoned his shirt, unbuckled his belt and opened his trousers. She had been teased and aroused while deprived of her senses with her petals closed and now that they were open she needed to escalate things to the next level of intimacy.

She was a flower that had been coaxed open and stimulated to the point where she was ready to be pollinated and there was nothing she wanted more than to do what she was intended to do.

One of her hands stroked the back of his head while the other mimicked the action along the shaft of his penis. He knew what the brush of her fingers meant and he knew that there was only one point of entry for him in the costume.

As he returned to his position behind her, Jemima leaned forwards against the glass of the window. She felt a slight tug as he opened the hole in the back of the stem and then a surge of satisfaction as he leaned into her and their bodies became as close to one as was possible. The lycra pulled against her body and chafed her nipples, only adding to the sensation of his motion inside her and Jemima, rooted to the spot by her costume felt every second of the experience.

He climaxed and the feeling of his muscles tensing made Jemima think for a moment that she would be torn out of her pot. She was surprised to find that the idea scared her and filled her head with images of her roots torn out of the soil rather than her feet coming free of the costume.

His body relaxed and she felt a sudden disappointment as she realised she had not been in time with his own pleasure. Her sense of deflation was short-lived though, as he plucked her up into his arms, pulling her pinned feet from the pot and carrying her to the nearby bed.

Intimately aware of her reactions, he laid her down on her back and sat astride her.

His hands gently located her vagina beneath the lycra and he lowered himself into a position where his tongue could make contact. Jemima reclined on the pillows of the bed and gripped the covers with her leaf-like hands as he brought her to her own climax. Her green-clad body rippled with the pleasure of completion and she gasped, biting her lip to keep from crying out as the waves passed through her.

She wore the costume as they slept, his hands playing over her body gently.

The last thing she was thinking of before she drifted off to sleep was when she could slip her feet into the pot again, there was something very buried deep down inside her that had fallen in love with the idea of living the life of a flower and existing simply as an object of desire.