Nosegay

"This might sound weird," she finally forced herself to blurt out. The guilt gnarled in her gut like a dagger. "But did... didn't we break up already?"

Across the white cotton-topped dining table, Michelle peered into her glass of chardonnay, the only remaining dish from their dinner.

Michelle turned her head up to meet her gaze, holding the same bemused smile. She knew Michelle's eyes well - a lush forested green, almost always obscured by her discerning eyelids, shaded in a deep, sparkling amethyst. With a single glance, she could stir many emotions at once. Ferocity, and compassion. Scorn, and forgiveness. Authority, and unyielding love.

"Hmm?"

That was all Michelle had to say. The knife twisted in her. She loathed having to repeat herself, having to push through this awkwardness again.

"I mean... What I mean is, to say... I remember having a talk before where I... broke up. Called it off." Her eyes darted from corner to corner of the dead Italian restaurant - the empty booth, the 2nd floor window looking out into the night, the other empty booth, the wall-hung planter, anywhere other than her face. They could have picked a busier restaurant to mask the conversation, she realized.

"My dear tulip," Michelle cooed, "is this another one of your dreams?"

Michelle had said something similar when, over coffee, she'd sworn remembering a certain visit to her house. As she'd recalled, Michelle had somehow convinced her to get on all fours and bark like a dog. She'd even "climb" up onto Michelle's couch and lay her head on her lap. The whole affair struck her as so uncharacteristic of her, she was immediately willing to write it off as a weird dream, but she'd since developed a guilty enjoyment of Michelle affectionately scratching behind her head.

On another occasion, she shared a dream she had with Michelle one weekend morning. She regaled feeling lost in a jungle, then awkwardly and timidly described a green anaconda extending down from the tree canopy and tangling up around her body. She held off on the details of the tightening feeling turning her on. Michelle joined her in laughing it off, and agreed with her how odd it was how she'd only just shared her interest in rope play only a week ago.

"I really don't know," she answered, "but you know I wouldn't want to bring it up like this, if I didn't think it happened!"

Michelle refused to falter from her melancholic smile, and watched over her wine glass. "Do try your best to remember."

"Rememb- AH!" All at once, the last two years of dating finally came to her. Michelle's cycle of promises, broken promises, and vague excuses. Michelle's lavish dates and generous gifts, in exchange for pushing her buttons. Mental probes, sexual favors, and a blurred line between requests and demands that left her split between used and aroused. Each memory struck with renewed hurt and distrust, and the familiar, unwelcome sense of being toyed with returned.

Michelle had sort of access to a hidden zipper somewhere on her - one she didn't realize she had, and once realized, she intended to keep closed. Only her most intimate thoughts and secrets were kept behind this guard, and despite her best efforts, Michelle could not only peak inside, but feel around a bit from within. On her worst days, it was the most heinous of personal violations, and on her best, the most erotic experience she never thought she could get off to.

"I DID break up with you!" she shouted, as soon as she could collect her thoughts. "It was months ago!"

Michelle said nothing, and started toying with her wine glass, so she continued. "I said something like... I was tired of being played with, taken advantage of. And I still am!"

Michelle had begun circling the rim of her wine glass with her finger, which fired her up. "Even now, you're ignoring me! Which is FINE, because I have SO much to say to you."

Michelle was maintaining a steady rhythm with her finger. It wasn't even making a cool whistling noise. "You've always carefully ignoring my issues and feelings, and just waiting for me to stop being mad at you. But I'm not going to stop! Or, rather, I AM going to stop... and keep you waiting. You know what I mean!"

Michelle kept watching the glass, unperturbed, stroking her finger around and around. At least, she assumed that's what Michelle was doing, as she kept on watching her finger, herself, as she ranted. "You always just wait and wait until I'm no longer upset, so you can try and make me happy again. Or you just wait until I forget... or something. Even now..."

Michelle's finger glided along the shimmering glass, in a simple miniature ballet with an audience of one. She gazed on. "You always do this... and I forget... I don't understand it."

Michelle's finger twirled around, and around, and around. She thought nothing of this simple, inoffensive gesture. She thought nothing of the overall dinner, or whatever topic they were discussing. Nothing simply came to mind. Consciously, she tried to recall what she was talking about. "I don't... understand", she spoke aloud without thinking.

She might as well watch the lovely display while she waited for the thoughts to come back, she thought. Michelle really knew how to entertain. Even the simplest of gestures, gracefully performed by Michelle, left her captivated.

"Try as you like, my dearest violet", Michelle finally spoke, her cadence matching the pace of her twirling finger, "but I know what you want as well as you do."

She didn't have an immediate guess what she was referring to, but knew Michelle would provide the answer soon, so she waited until she answered: "You want to watch, and you want to listen. And it's perfectly fine to want these things. And I know you want to."

"Try your hardest for me to turn your eyes away." She already knew this would be challenging, since the thought of looking away hadn't even passed her mind. Was the thought to look away supposed to come before the movement itself, or did the movement just happen without thinking? She spent several seconds thinking it over in silence, watching.

"Now try your hardest to speak." While many small and fuzzy thoughts swam around in her mind, none were clear enough to form ideas to be shared aloud. Her mouth dropped slightly open, and hung in a relaxed, open state, but seconds passed, and no words came out.

"You may save your effort, my darling daffodil. We both know that you watch, because you want to watch. And you remain silent, because you want to listen."

She nodded in acknowledgment - or was it agreement? She wasn't in the mood to disagree. Despite this, a small nagging thought wouldn't go away, insisting that she disagree, no matter how comfortable Michelle's voice sounded. It frustrated her how conflicted this nagging thought made her feel, and how persistently this idea tried to pull her away from the lovely wine glass display. Thankfully, each turn of Michelle's finger around her wine glass would successfully recapture her attention each time this discomforting thought came to mind.

"For now," Michelle continued, "You need not bother to listen anymore. You may continue to watch for as long as you'd like, safe and comfortable, drifting into a wonderful reverie."

She welcomed this news, knowing that there was nothing wrong about watching. There was never a problem. Michelle's reassurance was a gracious and generous gift that she couldn't be thankful enough for. With her permission, she took a deep sigh, and leaned in, starting to now feel the weight of her head on her shoulders.

Turn after turn, each rotation relaxed and enraptured her more and more. She began to find new simple pleasures to appreciate. The subtle arcing of length of her finger between the left and right motions. The swaying and shifting of the wine in her vessel. Even the shimmering reflection of her hand from her drink perfectly complimented her view. She wondered if she should sway her head with the motion, completely unaware that her head had already been swaying.

In one smooth and uninterrupted motion, Michelle's finger released from the wine glass, and pointed upward. She wondered how long she'd been watching. Her eyes curiously followed the length of her finger, then up along her flowing, black dress, and up her neck, to her face.

Michelle's eyes.

Two full rings of emerald green, unshielded, locked fully with her own eyes, and held her in place.

Her vision narrowed, and the room around her appeared to go black. In the silence, a single phrase rang out in her mind so clearly, it seemed to come from around her: "You cannot escape."

She instantly felt her heart now suddenly beating harder and faster in her chest. Her muscles locked in place, and skin started to tingle. Unable to move, unable to look away, all that she could do was focus on the state of her body.

She remembered the conditioning. Heavy breaths starting coming from her open mouth. She remembered the late nights at Michelle's, forced to stare back into Michelle's beautifully entrancing eyes. Her breathing became heavy enough to break the silence. She remembered the sexual teasing sensations of her fingers along her exposed thighs and chest, followed by a flick of a switch, and surges of vibrating stimulation on her nipples and clit. Her breathing turned into slow, quiet moans.

Outside her range of vision, phantom sensations of Michelle's hand crept up her left calf, gliding across her skin. She vividly pictured it rounding over her knee, and landing on her inner thigh. Without breaking eye contact, she felt another ghostly sensation of a hand traveling up the right side of her waist, up her side, and finally, cupping her breast.

Both captive and primed, the taboo emotional dualities returned. Her feelings of helplessness titillated her. Her urge to run away fueled her need to be submissive. Her feelings of being trapped helped her feel free. In her mind, the nagging thought from before had returned in full view, in the form of a raging flame. It warned of her individuality being in danger, her mind being manipulated and controlled, and her dignity being threatened by self-humiliation.

She accepted this, and the flames completely engulfed her in the familiar and forbidden bodily sensation: arousal by submission.

Instinctively, she knew what Michelle wanted her to do, what would end the agonizing arousal that gripped her mind and body. She swallowed in preparation, then started speaking a string of disconnected thoughts and words, only loud enough to be heard. She mumbled about weakness, helplessness, submission, pleasure. She rambled about obeying orders, pleading for release, being mindless, and quashing resistance from within. And as she went on, the hands she vividly visualized, while staring back into Michelle's captivating eyes, got to work at massaging and stroking her, only for as long as she spoke.

The wonderfully conditional nature of the pleasure deeply satisfying her sexual appetite goaded her to continue. She knew simply saying these things took priority over staying coherent. At times, she would even repeat the same words and phrases over and over. Gasps and moans began to separate her speech. Her words gradually turned more explicit - she was begging to cum, describing the throbbing, wet state of her pussy, giving her body and mind completely to any and all of her sexual desires.

Her mind succumbed to the vivid image of her most intimate areas being lovingly and carefully stroked, and her body reacted in kind. Pulses of warm sexual energy surged from her enlarged clit and sensitive breasts to her overloaded mind, and back again. In the wake of each pulse, an electric tingle overwhelmed her muscles and caused her to shake and shudder, but never enough to break her away from Michelle's gaze.

"Good girl, my lovely lilac."

Per Michelle's key words, the symphony of sensations all began to slowly fade. As her body returned to a relaxed state, she quickly realized the tiredness in her eyes from staring so long. She blinked hard, then gave into the temptation to blink again. Finally, free of willpower and strength, she let her eyelids stay closed.

As her mind and body rested, Michelle painted a mental image for her. "I want you to picture a wonderful bouquet of freshly-picked roses. Their petals, my favorite shade of red, carry small beads of water that shimmer in my eyes. When I stroke the petals, they're the softest and most delicate, and bend gently to my touch. And the long, green stems of each of them bundle tightly together, just the perfect size to hold in my hand."

Upon hearing Michelle's endearing words, she desperately yearned for her praise, and couldn't help but imagine herself as the bouquet. Droplets of water rested on her head and shoulders, and she watched Michelle's eyes covet her. Michelle's hand graced her cheek and appreciated her skin. She stiffened her body, ready for Michelle's loving grasp.

"But the stems, bare and naked as they may be, still have thorns, don't they? This otherwise perfect bouquet can't be held. It's so beautiful, but still resists being touched."

She fidgeted in her seat.

"Now dear, I'm plucking one rose at a time from the bouquet. Then imagine for me, from the very top of the stem, my fingers wrapping around it, and gently stroking the length of the stem, alllll the way down to the bottom. And as I'm doing this, one by one, each little thorn slides cleanly off."

She shuddered and shivered in her seat.

"And I move on to the next rose, and do the same thing, leaving yet another rose totally removed of its thorns. Completely defenseless. And beautifully bare-naked."

She whimpered. Her head rocked, her shoulders rolled, and her hips buckled to the phantom sensations.

"And I do this for each and every rose. One. After another. After another."

She whimpered and convulsed more, and considered repeating her mantras again.

A hand cupped her chin, and she immediately opened her eyes. Michelle had stood up and approached the side of her chair, and now towered over her, tilting her head upwards. She held her attention to Michelle's face, now just behind her breasts, no matter how her well her features had been beautifully shaped by her attire.

"My dearest rose, tell me, are you worthy of my attention?"

Before any emotions could register, Rose stared back absentmindedly and remembered the vase. The ornamental vase that was perfectly centered on Michelle's coffee table, resting on an otherwise plain doily. That was coated in a white gloss and adorned with thin, blue lines swirling in unpredictable patterns that were painted on with the kind of intention of having viewers stare at it for hours.

Upon every visit, Michelle would ask Rose to notice the new display of flowers she had in the vase. One day, she would gush over the warm energy that her pink carnations and yellow roses brought to the room. Another day, she would invite Rose to contemplate the duality of the sunflowers and eucalyptus, as if it were a complex art piece. Most recently, she raved over the inane simplicity of her arranged poppies of red, orange, and yellow.

As she had her head tilted back by the beauty who stood before her, the vase she envisioned was empty. And now being perfectly thornless, beautiful, and completely to her meticulous preferences, Rose was poised to be her special bouquet. In her mind, Michelle was delicately and ceremoniously lowering her stems through the opening of the vase. The welcoming pools inside bathed her stems in an overwhelming tenderness, and within, a sensual release triggered within her - a miniature orgasm, followed quickly by fulfilling emotional closure that nearly brought a tear to her eye.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Good girl. Let's go home."