Bed Of Roses

*

I'm sitting in my den, drawing on my pipe, contemplating the universe. And waiting. Waiting for the lovely woman who has graciously allowed me to spend my life with her. She'll be home soon and I have a special surprise waiting for her.

At that moment I hear the front door open, and close. There's a silence different from her usual routine as she notices the three red roses in a vase on the table where we keep keys and such. I visualise her smiling, puzzling, opening the note leaning against the glass container.

"Go to the bedroom," it reads, "take the roses with you."

I can make out footsteps as she heads down the hall to the stairs leading to the second story of our home. There is another pause as she finds the second vase, also with three roses and a note.

"Get undressed when you get there. Take these flowers as well," this one says.
That one stair creaks as she ascends. At the top she discovers the vase I've placed there, three more roses and yet another note.

"Lie face down on the bed, you'll see where," is the message this one imparts.

I'm too far away to hear anymore but I imagine the rest of her journey. She arrives in the bedroom, sees the ensemble on the night table next to the bed. Vase, roses, note, and a blindfold. The bed itself contains another dozen roses, laid out so as to frame a person lying in it. I know my lady well and I can clearly imagine the delicate shiver that runs through her at the sight.

"Place the roses you carry in the vase," that last missive reads. "Put on the blindfold when you lie down."

My mind creates what happens then. I can see those sweet feet come free of her shoes. Her finely shaped legs appear as she removes her pants. That ass, so squeezable and lickable, is revealed as she peels her panties off. Doffing her jacket and blouse brings her lovely torso, pale skinned, narrow waisted into view. Her bra comes loose and those tasty breasts of hers jiggle free.

She pads across the carpet, kneels on the bed, crosses the barrier of thorns and takes the position demanded of her. The blindfold goes over her eyes. She lies her head down and waits.

Having given her enough time, I tamp the heel of my tobacco into my ashtray. It seems I can feel the jerk she gives as the sound reaches her. For all she knew, she was alone. I visualise the tautening of her buttocks as a clench of anticipation runs through her.

I fold my recliner up and stand. With deliberate motions I strip my clothes off. Then I follow her path to the bedroom.

I have to stop and enjoy the vision of her as I enter. What an erotic, sensual display she makes. Outlined by roses, her creamy skin shines in the low lighting. Head resting on a pillow, her dark hair flows over her shoulders and the soft cotton of the pillowcase. Her arms are at her sides, legs together and that beautiful bum adds an interesting divergence from the smooth line of her back. My already hard member twitches at the view.

Silently, I go to the bedside vase where she has so obediently placed her flowers. I draw one free. She notices the soft scrape of thorns against glass and I hear a soft gasp, see her ass tighten.

Making no noise, I walk to the foot of the bed, reach out and run the soft petals up the sole of her left foot.

"Oh!" comes from her in a soft sigh. Her toes twitch.

I twitch as well at her sultry sound. I've heard it so many times. It's one I'll never tire of hearing.

With a gentle flick of my wrist, the stem slaps at the spot just caressed. The thorns jab lightly against her skin.

A "Meep!" sounds. Her body jerks at the feel. Reflexes try to pull the foot away but her discipline keeps her in place.

A deep breath fills my lungs at her reaction. My chest grows warm and I feel myself harden even more.

I repeat my playing, stroke and slap on the other foot. Her sounds are similar although louder and sharper, a little. The jerk turns into a tremble for a moment.

On my face a wide grin grows. I feel my features glow as heat fills my body. This is one of my greatest joys; teasing, pleasing this wonderful woman.

Now I stroke the flower up the far side of her body, playing over the soft skin of her calf and thigh. I finish by fiddling at the bottom of her sweet cheek.

Her legs cord, release, tighten again. She takes a quiet gulp at the feel of the bloom sweeping across her gorgeous bun.

Laying the stem against the back of her leg, I slowly run the points of several thorns along her pale skin. There's a very tiny amount of resistance as they try to dig into her flesh.

She draws in a hissing breath, not stopping until I reach her ankle. As I pull away, that air is released in a lengthy gasp.

A tiny tremor runs through me. Her sharp sound echoes inside, rattles at a spot below my awareness, brings that lustful animal I become in her presence closer to the surface.

Using the flower once more I run up the inside of both legs. I watch it intently, marveling at the stark and beautiful contrast between her limbs and the rose.

At this touch, she lurches, her ass flexes. She makes a sudden murmur of sensuality. A slight flush appears to colour her skin, an indicator of the delight she feels.

The thorns are placed against her near leg, drawn downwards over her sensitive flesh.

Her long inhalation this time is underscored with a soft whine, the exhalation is sharper and more sudden.

My shoulders tense, my neck muscles shiver in anticipation, causing my head to shake a little. My skin begins to moisten. The heat in me grows higher.

I use the flower to tease the leg nearest me, a long, slow motion that never leaves her limb.

"Oh," she groans in a languorous, carnal tone. Her body is now shaking with a barely noticeable quiver.

I lift my floral instrument up, move it to her bum and bring it down. The stem slaps across her right cheek, the thorns jab her, just a little. The next instant I treat her other buttock the same way.

Her head snaps up, she squeaks a cute, "Ee!" with each stroke.

Reversing my grip, I push the bloom between her legs. Twisting back and forth, the blood red petals play over the sensitive little ridge below her anus. Then I sweep it up her crack, teasing over her crinkled sphincter.

She lowers her head back to the pillow. A moan shivers from her mouth. Her rose twitches at the feel of the botanical counterpart harrying it.

I can barely hold back my own moan. I know her well. I know how exciting she finds my teasing. I know how high I can bring her. I know how intense the finale will be.

With little taps, I scourge the soft skin of her back, moving upwards slowly. I don't draw blood but tiny dots appear.

At each stroke my beautiful lady draws in a short, sharp gasp. Her body twitches, muscles tightening, ass clenching. Miniscule beads of sweat seep from her pores.

Now I sweep the flower back and forth like a artist's brush down the area I've lashed, spreading a layer of pleasure.

Her pants grow longer, a quiver of lust flavouring them. The twitches become a steady quiver. The perfume of the roses filling the air gains a slight hint of the savoury musk of my lady's arousal.

My breath grows short. I can sense her euphoria, how it fills her. My soul resonates to it, begins to demand that I take her. But there's much more to go first.

Lifting the rose once more, I move it upwards. I run the silken end across her shoulders, over her neck. Her cheeks receive soft pets.

She purrs at the feel. Her head comes up once more and she leans into the strokes, enhancing the feline sound with feline action.

I need both arms and so lay my floral flogger down. Stepping forward, I lay one knee on the bed, pick her up and replace her on her back inside the frame of flowers and thorns.

At the feel of my skin on hers she draws a thin hiss. Her mouth drops open, then smiles for a moment. A soft wail is heard as she discovers I'm merely rearranging her and intend to continue to play. One arm falls across the boundary I've set. With a jerk and a gasp, she pulls her limb back where it belongs, withdrawing from the sharp points that keep her confined.

My eyes slit at that. I know she likes surprises, and pain. The sudden reminder of her limits, and the consequence of crossing it, will arouse her even more.

I snatch up my toy. I stroke the scarlet petals over her forehead, along her cheek and under her nose. I pause there for a moment.

She pulls in a deep breath, stuffing her nose with the sweet scent of the symbol of my caring for her.

The blossom runs down, I play it over her perfect mouth.

She purses her lips, gently kissing the soft bloom.

Unconsciously I mirror her action. I'm so familiar with the feel of that soft, sexy mouth that I can taste it without touching. I run my tongue out as if we were lip to lip. My member pulses at that, a dribble of seminal fluid leaks from my tip.

Moving on, I tease her neck and shoulders with the satin blossom. Again, I'm struck at how beautifully the rose contrasts with her skin. That skin's colour deepens with the heat I'm stoking. Little mews of bliss fill the air. She squeezes the hottest part of herself with her thighs, her sound becomes a fervid groan.

I pull the flower away. With a gentle strike, I bring the stem down on her right breast, then again, and once more. With the last lash I make sure one sharp point impacts at the very centre of her nipple.

She hiccups at each touch, drawing in air as her body jerks. The nipple I needle grows hard. Her body starts to tremor, running out of her control.

With another set of delicate switches I play with her other tit. The last one again adds that little fillip of pain.

The hiccups are almost inaudible grunts this time. Her skin begins to shine as a thin layer of sweat forms.

My heart starts a soft hammering. Tiny drops of liquid bead my skin. I adore teasing this woman, guiding her, leading her, pleasing her. My lust, and love, wants to take her, now. But there is still so much more I have planned.

Now I use the flower. I brush down her torso and tummy, pestering, tantalising, teasing.

Her hands crumple the sheets. She quivers a sweet trill, letting me know how much she loves what I'm doing. The shine on her skin becomes a slick.

Once more I swing the stem against her flesh, the thorns prick at the skin above her hip joints.

She gurgles, grunts at the touch. Her vaginal lips are now engorged, wet with her body's response to my playing. Her pelvis makes delicate pumps and so betrays how much she now wants.

I avoid her shaven pussy, play down her legs. I vary my journey from the last time here. The blossom runs down the outside her nearer leg, thorns up the front, petals down the far leg and stem up the outside. Then the flower goes between her legs, strokes smoothly up and I run it along the dewy area at her apex.

My lovely lady groans, tenses, burbles and shivers. At me finally touching her most sensitive spot she lets lose an "Oh!", sharp and sweet. Her body tautens, pushing her mons against my teasing implement.

I pull that implement away from her.

It's so difficult to keep quiet. My passion wants to make noise, sound out what I feel. That would break the mood though and this mood is for her and her only.

She relaxes but I see her jaw set in determination, and anticipation.

I move up, hold the rose above her face, and roll the flower in my fingers. The petals shake loose, rain down on her.

The first falls on her forehead. She shrills a tiny noise. The next lands on her nose, settling there. Another small squeal sounds. One descends on her cheek, runs along it until the scarlet square drops to the bed. Her lips draw back for a moment and she pulls in a hiss. A blood red leaf falls on her mouth. She purses her lips again, giving another gentle kiss. Her nose twitches as the perfume of it wafts into her nose. The final petals land on her neck and shoulders. Each one elicits a tiny jerk from her.

My heat is intense now, as high as I've ever known. The sound and sight of the beautiful woman on the bed, responding so strongly, so elementally, drives it to ardent levels.

No more is left of the rose so I place its remains on the night stand and fetch another from the vase. I dribble silken rectangles down on her. These descend on her lovely breasts. They tickle the creamy mounds and rosy nipples.

She babbles a lusty moan, her back arches. The sensuous perfume of the flowers now shares equal time with the heady aroma of my lady's excitement. More petals fall on her chest and stomach. They stand out in bright display against her fair skin. Her lungs pull air in and out. The sharp, lusting pants telegraph her blinding passion. Her hips fidget. She's fighting so hard to hold herself in place.

My floral weapon weapon empties so I pull another from the vase. Again I roll pieces free. They plummet down on her hips, land on her dewy vulva. I make sure one teases the sweet little nub that now peeks from her folds. Onwards and they are scattered over her legs.

She grows very still, sets her jaw. Only a slight tremor of her tummy shows that she's anything but an erotic statue. The sweat on her has formed into drops, showing the effort she's making to hold back.

I'm sure she can hear my heavy breaths now. My body trembles with excitement. My skin is as slick as hers. I have to concentrate very hard, focus on the job at hand, to keep from answering the now insistent demands of my lust.

I remove one last rose from the vase. I place the soft petals on her pussy, start to brush and roll. I stroke over her now quivering lips. Upwards then, I sweep the petal covering her clit aside and play my silken torture instrument on it.

My lovely lady's jaw drops and her hips snap up, pushing hard against the sweet agony. A long, rapturous keen seeps out.

I reach out and pull the blindfold from her eyes. They focus on me instantly. Her brown irises are glittering with a sharp glaze. I can see the desperation in them. Her passion shines out.

With a wide smile I tell her, "Go ahead."

Her eyes roll back and her head an instant later. Her hips pump and she lets out a ferocious shriek. Her orgasm makes her shake like a leaf. She squirms, throws her arms out, pulls them in again at the bite of the thorns they land on. The mild pain only feeds her fervour.

She wilts slightly. Her random motions slow, become less sharp. Her face turns to me. Her eyelids flicker and the ghost of a smile is on her face.

I don't stop. The now damp rose runs up and down, back and forth, playing more luscious pleasure into her. "You have more in you," I say to her.

She grabs my free arm with both hands, hard, as if I was holding her back from a precipice. Her face blanks, her mouth forms an astonished circle and she falls despite her anchor.

Glorious rapture flashes through her once more. She wails, a high keening noise seemingly too high for human vocal cords. Her knees come up and she spreads herself wide, allowing me full access to her sensitive centre. She grips my arm so hard I feel bones creak. Her hips work vigorously, at the rhythm only capable in orgasm.

This riptide fades as well. Her hands loosen a little and her movements slacken. She looks at me, her eyes lambent and face slack. Sweat blinds her and she blinks the drops clear. Her chest pumps raspy breaths. The perfume of the roses is almost smothered in the rich fragrance of her spending.

I keep the now sodden flower working. "You have more. Come for me."

And she does. Her siren call sounds. And I answer it.

Throwing the rose aside, I mount the bed, place myself between her legs. My crown is placed at her entrance and I push myself inside her.

She lets go of my arm. All her limbs wrap themselves around me and she yanks me to her. She jerks her hips up, meeting my thrust. Our pelvises smack together and we begin that ancient, frantic dance.

I pound at her, feeling the tight thrum of her inner muscles. It feeds my fire. My passion fills me. So many sensations fill my mind. I can feel her stiff nipples prodding my chest, her fingernails digging into my back, her legs wrapped around my ass. I hear the squelching slap of our wet flesh smacking together. The aromas of our sweat, her excitement, and the roses fills my nostrils.

It's too much for me and my sperm spurts from my cock, filling the woman who demands it. My hands grab her ass cheeks and pull her hard against me. A triumphant howl roars out.

She never stops. Holding tight she accepts all I give her. Her mouth pours out a grunting, gibbering yell, a primeval sound that tells of the radiant bliss that fills her. She claws at me, nips at me, pulls me close until the breath is squeezed from my lungs. With all this, she shows how much she loves me.

We move together for an eternity. We melt together in a blazing mass of flesh; pounding, pulling, coming. We forget that there is anything other than now and here. And then that fades as well.

Reality seeps in on me. My first awareness, of course, is her.

She heaves full breaths. Her arms are still around me but her legs have fallen away. Her pussy trembles ever so slightly around my limp member.

I move my hands out from under her, use them to push myself erect. Coming to my knees, I pull myself from her.

She makes an unconscious, almost silent grunt. Her limbs fall to the side, across the barrier I have arranged. Another small noise is the only indicator she's noticed.

My chest expands at the beauty of her. Her eyes are closed and there is that sweet, sated smile I so love on her face. Spread out around her, her dark hair frames her features so wonderfully. Red petals are stuck to her skin, dotting her, displaying and enhancing what a gorgeous woman she is.

I begin to pick up the flowers of her prison, gather them into a bouquet. I lift her limbs where necessary to do so. No more sweet pain for her tonight.

When finished, I place the bouquet on her chest, flowers under her nose. She inhales and smiles, ever so slightly. Taking her arms, I wrap them around her former boundary.

I draw a sheet up, lie down next to her and pull it over us. My arm goes over her torso and I pull myself close. I barely notice the tiny jabs in my skin. I'm so enervated, my senses are almost gone.

Her face has gone slack and her chest rises and falls in the gentle rhythm of sleep. I have time for one thing before I join her.

"Happy Birthday, beautiful," I whisper.
Comments ( 0 )