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The Plucking of a Rose

I was his precious white rose. His virgin flesh to have and take as he would. Dressed in a white gown, white gloves, white shoes and stockings, white under the breast corset, white rose mask and of course, white satin panties, I was pure for him. The candles around me softened the white and made it less blinding, but still, I sparkled for him as I stood there waiting.

He walked to me, across the room; I was fidgeting nervously. He watched my apprehension with a certain amount of glee, it was satisfying, to him, that he could make someone so beautiful nervous. I knew, whatever was to come tonight would not be easy, but I was going to take it for him. I was excited, my nipples stiff and their dark shape in perfect contrast to the white leather corset. My panties were wet as well. Standing there, waiting, I had nothing to do but imagine and build my own anticipation.

He had one hand behind his back as he walked up to me. As he neared he brought it out and showed me the dozen pure white roses he carried. I smiled and blushed; I did love flowers, especially roses. Reaching into his pants pocket he took out a small pair of scissors and snipped them in the air and watched my smile take on a curious and confused aspect. Walking past me, he went to the night stand where there was a silver tray hidden under a white linen sheet.

Tossing the sheet to the bed, he revealed the contents of the tray to me. First was a silver bowl, filled with aromatic oils and coconut milk mixed. The creamy white liquid was almost like mother of pearl in color, the oils and milk not quite mixing all the way. There was a long strand of red ribbon next to the bowl, carefully folded and waiting for use. The last item was a crystal vial with a stopper. I could not see what was in it, but he knew it to be empty. It was a tiny vial, only holding a little over 1/4 an oz of liquid when full.

The items on the tray were diverse and didn’t give me an idea of what was to come. I tried to study them with stolen sideways glances, I can be as curious as a kitten at times. He took his time unwrapping the roses from the tissue paper they came bundled in. One by one he laid each long stemmed rose on the white linen sheet on the bed. Spreading them out, he laid them in a fan configuration, all the stems radiating out from me.

Taking up one rose he brought it to his nose and sniffed deeply. The scent was not as potent as he would have liked, but that was OK, it soon would be. He playfully reached out and let the petals caress my lips, teasing me with the sensation. I smiled and breathed in deeply. He snipped the scissors in the air and I gave a little start, lost for a moment in the sensation of the flower.

Taking the rose he walked to the night stand again and carefully measured down the stem and snipped the petal free, letting it fall into the bowl of oils and milk. One by one, he took up each rose and snipped them all free, leaving just a tiny handle of the stem. Then the last rose, this one he slipped with a longer piece of stem and then trimmed the thorns off it carefully, leaving it smooth. This one was laid on the silver tray beside the bowl and not mixed with the others.

I was pouting at first as he cut the flowers and then intrigued. As each fell in, he knew my mind was racing and thinking of all the things he might possibly do to me. He smiled as I squirmed and tried to figure out his plans, knowing I hated not knowing. He took his time even more, making sure I was very frustrated from not knowing. He wanted me desperate to figure it out; it made it so much more fun.

“Knees,” he said and his voice caused me to jump. The silence was so encompassing that the sound of him talking was amplified. I only hesitated for a moment and then knelt down on the fluffy faux fur rug. I looked straight forward, not taking any chances with glances now. His voice and command told me that things had started; I was not being teased any more. My training told me now was when I must focus and pay attention.

He took up the bowl and walked over to me, making sure to brush my shoulder as he passed by. Then, pausing for effect, he turned on his heels and looked down at me. I was staring slightly down, eyes open, knees parted. He left me sitting there like that for a few more moments to allow the head space to sink in. Reaching into the bowl, he took a rose by the stem and lifted it up. He allowed the oily mix to drip so that I could just see it. Dipping it back in he stepped up to me and reached out the rose and touched me with it, the liquid slowly drizzling down my shoulder and back.

The mix was cold, that was why he had selected a silver bowl, so the metal would steal more heat from it. He began to paint the skin of my shoulders and up my neck. I shivered as the mix spilled over me and then down my breast. Dipping the rose back in, he began to paint the other shoulder and soon, I was glistening nicely for him.

He squatted down and tossed the first rose to the side on the hardwood floor. Taking another, he began to paint my neck very slowly, very careful to allow the liquid to drizzle all over my chest as he covered my neck. I was trying not to quiver as I felt the rose petals caress my skin, the silky petals made slippery and wet so that it was like I was being licked by the flower.

Tossing the second away, he began to paint my perky tits with the third rose, letting the petals flick across my nipples wetly and drip slipperiness down my body. He painted under each breast carefully until both were well coated and slick. Reaching out his hand, he took one breast gently in his palm and then made a fist, the flesh slipped free with an audible pop sound. I winced and bit my lip to keep from moaning. He liked that.

He placed the bowl on the floor and took two roses, one in each hand.  Slowly, painfully slow he painted my thighs, soaking my stockings through. From just inches below the top of my thigh to knee he painted me, leaving my skin shiny and with a slight white tinting from the mix.

Tossing those away, he grabbed up several more and used them all with one hand and pained across my exposed abdomen, letting the globs of cold liquid drip down into my panties, in seconds the white satin grew darker as it was soaked. I could not stifle a moan this time and he let me have it. It was satisfying to hear me pushed beyond silence.

“On the bed, face down laying flat.” he said to me and then stood and stepped back from me. I rose up very gracefully, careful not to be jerky in my motion or use my hands for a push. I stood there and turned and walked to the bed and laid myself face first down on the satin sheets. My ass was framed perfectly in the white stockings and garter and t back panties. He stepped up and stared down at me, watching the dancing flames of the candles shade and reshade me in different hellish glows.

Grabbing the rest of the roses at once, he held them over my ass and let them drip on me. The oil explored every inch of me, slowly working its way down my crack and across my waiting pussy. I moaned and squirmed just a tiny bit. He smiled and dipped the roses in again and then began to paint my flesh. He let the roses saturate my panties and ass cheeks, making sure to tickle the sensitive areas at the top of the crack and under each round of my ass. I squirmed again and he cleared his throat, that was all it took and I was motionless again.

He dipped the roses back into the mix and lifted them out fast and slopped them onto my thigh, the oily goo splashing and soaking the stockings and dripping between my legs. I was moaning little mewing noises and he stopped painting me to listen and enjoy it. It sounded so sweet . . . he poured the rest of the mix onto my ass in one big splash, soaking me, my clothing, the bed, everything.

I squealed in surprise, but managed to stay still. He could tell it was hard for me. He rubbed the mess with his bare hands now; making sure my ass was well coated. The oils were quickly either soaked into my skin, softening it, or rubbed away except for a trace of them. He massaged my ass cheeks and then my legs and shoulders, letting me feel how slippery I was, how completely soaked. Then he slid just the tips of his fingers down my spine, across the corset and down to my ass.

Very gently, he slid his fingers under my panties and grabbed them. “Baby. . .” His voice was so soft, so soothing, I purred a response. “Time. . .” He pulled the panties a little, bringing them very tight on me. “To. . .” He laughed and I braced myself, something was coming. “Start.” He snapped the panties easily, but that instant before the fabric gave, it bit into me hard and I was lifted by my underwear several inches off the bed. As they ripped I plopped back down onto the bed, my breath taken by the pain.

He was laughing and grabbed my hands, I was pinned before I knew what was happening, my soaking panties used to tie my hands behind my back. I squealed as he pulled the elastic fabric tight around my wrists and then left me laying there. I turned my head slightly and saw him walking back to the nightstand and taking up the red ribbon, the rose stems, and the last rose, the one with the longer stem piece still on it.

He walked out of my view and back around to my feet and waited. Again, the anticipation was driving me nuts, but now it was coupled with a slowly tickling as the oils and my own arousal dripped down my lips. When I was starting to squirm, he took the stems and placed them in a bunch and used the red ribbon to tie them around the base. He wrapped them twice and tied a large bow on it and laid them on my bare ass. I stopped squirming.

Taking the rose bud he placed the stem end against my tight little asshole and slowly pressed it in. My first response was to clench my cheeks and not allow it but the oils made that impossible. He was slick and the thin stem slid in me with ease.

“Clench your asshole.” He said. I did. “Don’t let that rose fall until I tell you that you can.” The stem was longer then the others, but still felt very close to sliding out of my ass at this position. I mewed protest and he cleared his throat. I went quiet again and concentrated on keeping my asshole tight as possible around the flower.

My mind was focused and I lost track of the rest of the world as I clenched. Then he hit me for the first time. The rolled up bunch of rose stems came down hard and brutally across my bare ass cheeks. I squealed and almost dropped the rose bud and then remembered and clenched again. “Hold it…don’t you let that drop.” He laughed and then struck me again across the ass.

Each time he struck, the thorns cut into my flesh. Because they were bundled tightly, they did not cut as badly as a single rose stem would when struck that hard, but they dug into my ass each time deep enough to bring forth screams. I wept and screamed for him and his cock became rock hard. Pulling it out with his free hand and stroking it fast, he continued the savage caning of my ass.

I was shaking and mewing noises now, slowly drifting away from the pain as it washed over me. “Don’t you drop it!” He commanded and I held the rose bud through all the pain. Blood dripped down my cheeks and he growled and stepped between my legs and stroked his cock hard and fast. Moaning, he began to cum on me, his squirts of cum striking in my ass crack and running down, slowly coating the rose bud as they filled my crack and flowed down to my pussy.

He finished cumming and struck my ass once more for good measure and stepped back. The cuts were only surface, not deep at all, but they gave that appearance. My ass was stained red from the flow of the blood, red like the petals of a rose. He smiled, I was his rose.

“Let it drop now.” He panted.

I released the hold and the rose drooped and then fell to the floor. I cried with joy as I felt it slide free. I couldn’t say why, but I was happy, the pain had burned away everything but joy.

He stepped back to the nightstand and came back to me. Pressing the tiny crystal vial against my ass cheek, he gathered up drops of my blood until the small container was mostly filled. Adding to that, he scooped in some of his cum and also the juices of my soaking pussy. Taking the rose from the floor, he ripped off a shred of a petal and slid it into the vial and closed it, placing it next to me on the bed.

Reaching out, he stroked my hair. I looked up at him and smiled. He wiped several tears with his fingers and placed them on his lips to taste them. He shivered and tried to keep my eyes open as I watched, but couldn’t. I was cold. He stroked me and then placed a comforter over my body. I reached out and took the vial beside me, clenching it close to my heart. I was deflowered. I was a virgin no more.