Summer Roses

Summer is here and so are the roses. I love my roses and spend hours every day cultivating them, pruning them, weeding around them. My yard is fulled with roses - all neatly arranged in an English style garden. I love the feel of the velvety petals, the heady scent, the sturdy stems, the tortuous thorns. My Love enjoys all of this as well. He sits now, in the gazebo, watching me at my work. I wear a simple white cotton sundress and white Keds. I look up at him, sipping his wine, and smile. I see his eyes darken and know he is becoming aroused. He stands and inclines his head toward my Play House. This is a foolish name, but he chose it and so I go along with it. 

My Play House is a small cabin build on the back lot of our home. We live on the outskirts of a small town and own quite a bit of wooded and cultivated property. It's a lovely little structure. One room, really. Electricity for the air conditioner and hot water heater, but a Franklin stove for the winter heat and small amounts of cooking and oil lamps or candles for light. Two straight backed chairs, a tiny drop leaf table, a double bed and a bathtub, stool and sink. At the foot of the bed is a steamer trunk filled with supplies, on the wall one cabinet filled with towels and bed linens, on hooks by the door jackets and a few other articles of clothing.

Shaking my head a bit, I return to my task, now slightly altered simply by a look from him. I cut four roses, bright red this time, and leave the stems long. When I enter the Play House holding them, he is already seated on one of the chairs. I place the roses on the table and remove my clothing, hanging the dress on a hook. Here, I am nude. Always. I kneel and wait for his instructions.

He has tied my wrists to the headboard and blindfolded me. I love the blindfold. It and his silence force me to pay attention only to sensations. I hear a harsh clipping sound then, something hard and narrow inserted, just barely, into my cunt. No need to worry about wetness. The moment I enter the Play House I am ready for him. His finger on my clit, the object enters further. A rose stem. He has trimmed every thorn from it and is using it to fuck me. In and out. His fingers torturing my clit. I pant and come so very close. Then, he stops. He leaves the rose inside of me but stops moving it.

He climbs on top of me, still clothed. and whispers in my ear, "It's going to be a long afternoon for you. I want to see you squirm, beg, cry out from my treatment of you. But be sure of this, my love. You will cum only when I allow it."