Blood Red Roses

Amanda stood quietly on the doorstep of his house. He was taking forever to answer the door, she thought to herself, her stomach in turmoil. While they had been dating for about a month, and had been together before, tonight was going to be something special. Tonight, he had consented to be her dominant, to take utter control of her and the situation, though he'd never done that sort of thing before. It would be a night of exploration for both of them, because while being submissive was a thing she craved, she too had never participated in anything of that nature. She had no idea what to expect from him.

He answered the door with a deep red rose in his hand. He used it to brush her cheek softly, and then beckoned her into the house. He had prepared a light meal, but he insisted that she serve it, and to wait until he was done before she was permitted to eat. She smiled and did so willingly, knowing this was only the beginning of the evening. The table had continued the theme of the rose: spaghetti with a deep red sauce, strawberries, and 4 more red roses in a vase on the table.

After she had eaten, under his watchful and silent eye, he led her to the bedroom. It would serve as the dungeon for tonight's entertainment. The sheets on his four-poster bed were black, and strewn with red rose petals. Beside the bed was a table with another vase of the red roses. Also on the table lay the tools of the evening, the shiny metal and dark leather gleaming in the light of the candles burning all around the room.

He walked over to the table and picked up four pairs of handcuffs. He ordered her to strip, and after she did so, had her stand at the foot of the bed. She shivered in anticipation under his stare as he looked over her, evaluating her. She had, of course, been with him naked before, but this time was more personal. She somehow felt more than naked under his gaze.

He had her spread her legs, and her arms above her head. Then, he methodically handcuffed her to the two posts that framed the foot of the bed. The reach was tight enough that she could not lean forward or back, but could only stand up, perfectly straight.

"Our safeword tonight is roses," he whispered to her, "but I will be very disappointed in you if I have to use it. A good slave takes what her master gives her."

With that he walked back over to the table. He picked up a black leather flail, and brought it over to stand in front of her. He showed her the flail, and she shuddered a little, afraid of how it would feel against her flesh, but already feeling herself getting wet with the anticipation of what was to come. He waved it around in front of her before bringing it down sharply on her lower stomach when she wasn't expecting it. Her breath hissed with pain, but she refused to cry out.

"Good," he said, "I'm glad you could handle that so well. We'll see how you handle what I have next in store."

With that, he walked back to the table, and put down the flail. She tried to crane her neck to see what he next picked, but she was held to tightly to see. After what seemed like an eternity he came back into her line of sight, holding one of the long stemmed roses from the table. Ever so softly, he trailed in down her cheek, her neck, her breasts. The touch was ever so light, barely there, and she tried to squirm away from the tickling, but the handcuffs held her fast. The soft touch continued down her abdomen until it stopped at her clitoris. There he paused, continuing the unbearable tickling.

She tried to pull away, the sensation was intense, she could feel it bringing her close. She closed her eyes and gasped for breath, when suddenly, the sensation stopped. She opened her eyes to see the rose reversed, and the stem, still thorny, slashed her between her legs. The pain was harsh, and she felt small prickles of blood form on her clitoris and labia. She gasped as the slashes came again, but they felt so good through the pain. He switched the rose again, using the petals to wipe away the blood and sooth her sore clitoris, bringing her close to the edge again, and then lifted to the rose to his lips and delicately tasted the blood which stained the petals a deeper red.

"Very nice," he whispered, and then faster than she could blink the stem slashed at her again. This time he rubbed it there, down the stem so the smooth side of the thorns rubbed against her lips and now swollen clitoris. He teased her open with the bottom on the stem, but paused before putting it into her.

"Should I?" he teased. "It would hurt, but wouldn't it feel good, scraping inside you? And how good it would feel when I pulled it back out? But no, not that, not today. It would, perhaps, be a little too damaging…"

She shuddered with relief when he pulled away from that rather frightening prospect. However, her relief was not to last, since he returned to tickling her with the petals of the rose. He ground the blossom into her clitoris, the pressure and the tickling building until she finally climaxed with a scream. As her knees went weak, he caught her and released her from the handcuffs binding her upright. He lowered her onto the petal-strewn sheets and held her until she stopped trembling.

"I hope you enjoyed our playing, my pet," her whispered as he smoothed her hair. "You make such a good little slave. I think I'll keep you."

-fin-