A Blooming Pleasure

This story contains bondage, D/S, and an employer-employee romance between middle aged men navigating a class power imbalance.

(There's smut in this one.)

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Mercifully, there was nobody in the hall outside Jiorich Reindling's study. There was no one in the stairwell either, or on the second floor landing. In fact, the entire house was so quiet that only the muffled sounds of clattering from the kitchen below, and birdsong in the far-off summer evening, assured the half-elven Ambassador that all life hadn't been somehow wiped cataclysmically from his entire estate.

They made it all the way to Jiorich's private rooms without seeing anyone, which was odd but a relief. Feyhr Gielz, the big orcish gardener, had followed behind him the whole way, as docile as a kitten; his cheeks flushed purple, the top of his shirt open where Jiorich had touched him. None of Feyhr's coworkers-- Jiorich's own staff-- ought to see them like this, the thick haze of desire clinging to their every movement.

Someone had been in Jiorich's rooms unasked, and drawn a bath, which was also odd. The stone basin was full of warm, scented water.

"Sit," Jiorich directed the orc to the edge of the bath, and was rewarded with one of the panting, submissive glances that sent warm shivers down his spine. "Good boy."

It was amazing how beautifully Feyhr responded to orders: immediate, graceful, resolute. Jiorich went into the other room and removed his cloak and boots, and when he returned there was Feyhr, completely unmoved: head bowed, hands behind his back. Jiorich went to him then, and kissed him. He kneaded one of the orcs big ears gently, making Feyhr whimper into his mouth; a sound so small and high it hardly seemed possible it could come from one so large. Jiorich laughed a little into their kiss, and reached down towards the hem of the bigger man's shirt.

***

Thankfully, the bath had been built long before Jiorich's time, and big enough to accommodate occupants of any size. There was room for the massive orc to recline comfortably in the sweet-smelling water, while Jiorich sat on the edge, trousers and shirtsleeves rolled up, washing his guest's blue-green chest.

Naked, Feyhr Gielz was magnificent. For one so strong, no part of him was hard or sharp. Instead, the orc's figure was wonderfully soft. Jiorich ran his eyes along round blue hills and yielding purple valleys, discovering a topography of sweet little folds and furrows. Here and there, he found the softness interrupted by biting, whitish scars-- marks from some past in which the orc had been treated cruelly. The thought that anyone could want to cause this timid, gentle man pain awaked a hot fury in the half-elf, which turned around in his belly to become desire again, and burned its way even lower down into his body.

He noted with satisfaction that Feyhr's cock, although enormous, was small for his size. Hard as it was becoming now, it was barely as thick around as Jiorich's fist. The half-elf smiled as he gazed at it, nestled between blue thighs. It was a good size of cock-- a size they could have fun with.

Resisting the temptation to touch that cock; to taste it, to slide his body against it, to buck on it like on a blue horse into oblivion-- Jiorich moved around to Feyhr's back. And, having washed it, he draped himself over the taller man's shoulders, plucking a couple of long stemmed flowers from a vase that had appeared beside the bath earlier this week, like so many such vases of flowers had been appearing this month.

"Tell me about these flowers you've been leaving all over my house," Jiorich drawled over the big orc's shoulder, as he began lazily to toss pink and white petals into the water over Feyhr's lap. "What are they called?"

"Camellias, Sir."

Jiorich felt a warm moistness spread across the front of his shirt, where he was pressed against the orc's broad back. Suddenly inspired, he traced the head of a flower along Feyhr's chest, enjoying the pleasant little twitches he got in response.

"What is it they stand for again, camellias?"

"They mean devotion, Sir, and elegance, and longing, and... and desire."

"Feyhr Gielz." The half-elf sat up a little. "Do you mean to say that all this past month, you've been filling every room in my house, and half the garden, up with 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘳𝘦?"

Jiorich watched the back of the orc's earn turn a deep plum.

".....Y-yes sir."

"Hah!" he nibbled the ear in question, causing Feyhr to gasp delightfully. "I love them."

***

"Kneel," Jiorich pointed to the centre of the rug mildly. "Good boy."

The Ambassador's rooms were fine, but simple. Unlike the bath, the bedroom furniture was recent and had been sized specifically to the half-elf. That the bed probably wouldn't hold the weight of an enormous orc now seemed like a massive oversight he couldn't believe he'd never considered.

Removing his damp shirt, Jiorich made a bit of a point to flex his chiseled core in Feyhr's direction-- not that the big man was gazing anywhere other than placidly at the floor-- and went to a chest beside the bed.

Jiorich was well schooled in the noble arts of seduction. He knew the Thirty-Four Poses for Spider and Moth, and the thirteen styles of elven knotwork, though he doubted any rope he had here could really hold a full grown orc against their will. Still, he withdrew a coil of silk cord from the chest and went to stand in front of Feyhr.

"Show me your hands."

And Feyhr did, with the same breathtaking obedience as always. Jiorich gazed at the calloused blue hands, palm-up, and remembered them stained with raspberry juice, remembered them among thorns, remembered them amid roses. His lips found the tender spot on the inside of one wrist, and kissed it. With the gentlest pressure he took the orc's big wrists, and Feyhr allowed his hands to be turned palm down and bound, wrists crossed.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"No Sir," came the breathless whisper.

Jiorich kissed the orc's lips, then his jaw, then his neck.

"Above your head," he touched Feyhr's bound hands gently, "and lie down on your back."

The half-elf stepped back as the huge, fantastic mountain of Feyhr Gielz moved like an earthquake. Only it wasn't like an earthquake at all-- it was too fluid, too curving. He was a river, a flood. Jiorich, was drowning in him. He couldn't breathe. He almost forgot to call him a "Good boy," but then he remembered, and then the look of bliss on his blue face made Jiorich's stomach flip-flop again.

With the silk rope, Jiorich cast around the room for attachment points. A pillar by the window, a bracket from an unused torch; would the foot of the bed offer some weight, at least? The evening had taken on a curious, floating feeling. The sun had set and outside crickets were singing. In a part of his mind as far off as the moon, Jiorich thought he perhaps should feel some care or caution for his performance tonight. But instead, the ecstatic pliability with which Feyhr responded to his every move had made him feel light and easy. It was as if, in this moment, anything he could do would be tinged with rapture.

He took a camellia from the dresser-- more camellias here, camellias everywhere-- and ripped the head off the stem into a fistful of petals. Feyhr was bound, wrists together above his head, legs spread, his slender cock erect in the air. He lay perfectly still, breathing shallowly, not straining the bonds at all; until Jiorich opened his hand and blew, and the orc's pelvis twitched deliciously as pink petals floated into ticklish places.

The half-elf laughed a little in delight, and loosed his trousers, and went to straddle Feyhr's vast torso. His chest was wider than any horse Jiorich had ever ridden. He'd once seen, in court, pictures of princes from the East mounted on big, grey, tusked creatures and he wondered if this might be what that was like.

"You're very beautiful, Feyhr Gielz."

"Aa-ahh--"

Jiorich's left hand had found a blue nipple. The other ran over purple lips until they parted, and a thumb slid inside. In the huge, warm, orcish mouth, the half-elf's finger felt unimaginably small. The bigger man's tongue rolled over him like a hot wave.

Flower petals clung between their skin as Jiorich moved his hand to tangle in Feyhr's curls, and kissed him. They kissed long and deep and Jiorich tasted the heat of him and felt the sweet point of a tusk prick the inside of his lip.

Jiorich began to kiss his way down the orc's body, nipping here at the neck, there at collarbone; drawing his teeth gently over a nipple. Feyhr made happy little panting noises as Jiorich lingered teasingly around his pelvis and thighs, and then finally settled himself between the twin pillars of his sea-green legs.

Regarding the swollen cock in front of him, Jiorich slid his tongue up it from base to top, swirling his tongue around the tip and then dipping down for more. The orc was cut-- unusual for the orcish fashion-- and Jiorich rolled the smooth head around on his lips. He moistened his long fingers and wrapped them around the base of the cock while he kissed and sucked at the tip, delighting as Feyhr gasped and twitched in front of him. The orc seemed to be fighting to lie still, but Jiorich thrilled at the way his blue hips twitched up towards the stimulation regardless, uncontrollably. When the orc was panting and Jiorich thought he was close, he stopped to nibble tauntingly at the big man's hips, before returning, slowly, to his cock.

They continued like this for what felt like hours, Jiorich ministering to Feyhr's cock with hands and tongue, bringing him close, and then stopping to tease his stomach, or thighs; or clambering up to kiss and suck on his sensitive ears, which made the orc moan gloriously; until Feyhr was sweating and breathing heavily and flushed violet down to his shoulders, and Jiorich thought a single touch might send him over the edge.

"Do you want to come, sweet boy?" he purred into the orc's ear, rolling a nipple between his fingers.

"Hnnuh-ahh"

"Tell me."

"Y--aahh--yessnnn" the big orc gasped.

"Good boy," Jiorich said, turning back to his cock, mouthing along the side to the tip. He wrapped his lips around the enormous head and was preparing to swallow, when something extraordinary happened.

Feyhr bucked under him, and let out a long, moaning cry. He shuddered, almost like a woman, and fell into spasms of pleasure that lurched under Jiorich, who had to ride the bigger man's torso like a writhing serpent. The bracket in the wall groaned, and the bedstead scraped a half a foot across the floor towards them, as the orc thrashed against his bonds. Amazingly, only a tiny drop of white moisture formed at the tip of Feyhr's cock, and his shaft stayed hard and erect in Jiorich's hands.

The half-elf was so surprised it didn't even occur to him to let go, a diplomat's instinct to carry on camly in any circumstance prompting him to just keep stroking slowly and grip with his legs as Feyhr roiled under him. After a while, the quaking calmed into a rhythmic rolling, which Jorich felt almost moving up through his own body as the orc's pelvic muscles clenched and released under him. But Feyhr kept pressing up into his hands, and his cock stayed hard, and so, experimentally, Jiorich lowered his mouth back onto the head.

Soon, Feyhr was moaning and gasping again, and this time, Jiorich was prepared. He bore down with his legs as the big man exploded into another earth shattering orgasm, and again his hands didn't leave the orc's cock.

Jiorich was beginning to understand the tempo of it, now, and was able to bring Feyhr twice more to a shuddering, buckling, miraculously dry orgasm. Finally, he felt the big orc's muscles trembling from exhaustion under him, and Feyhr made a gurgling noise that sounded a bit like, "Please," and so Jiorich let go and allowed the body under him to roll slowly until it stilled.

"Are you alright?" he asked, a little out of breath, "Feyhr?"

"Mmm...yuuh...sssss," the orc barely managed. But his round purple face was smiling sweatily, and slowly returning to it's usual blue, and so Jiorich thought it must be ok.

"You really are something special, aren't you?" he said, caressing Feyhr's chest and gently kissing his cheek. He redirected a damp curl off the bigger man's face, and watched as his breathing returned to normal. Then he stood and got his shirt from the bed and used it wipe gently down the orc's body, untying the silken bonds as he went. He found a pitcher of water on the sideboard and brought it down to the floor.

"Drink." He allowed Feyhr to suckle water off his fingers like an injured animal. "Do you want to leave, Feyhr? Or do you want to sleep here?"

"Yes sir," came the sleepy answer.

"I'm afraid we'll have to sleep on the rug."

"Yes...sir..."

"Alright, my sweet boy."

Jiorich sat back with a sigh and surveyed the incredible, enormous, drowsing man in front of him. Feyhrs cock had softened, and his wrists were still neatly crossed above his head, which lolled peacefully onto a shoulder.

Looking down, Jiorich discovered his own hardness, which he had almost forgotten. But after what he had witnessed tonight, he found himself feeling strangely calm, and cleansed. Almost purified. It would have seemed crass to ruin the moment by satisfying himself bestially over this beautiful, sleeping man.

Suddenly overcome by warmth and weariness, he went and gathered the heavy counterpane from the bed and spread it over Feyhr. Sliding under it himself, he hitched a leg and arm up over the orc's torso, and felt himself begin to grow soft against the big man's side.

Barely audible, in the moments before sleep, he mumbled something that might have sounded to any observer almost like, "I hope you stay on as my gardener."

And then the two of them slumbered, flower petals in their hair.