Pleasure's Edge

You know I love flowers - all kinds of flowers - roses, daisies, phlox, carnations, freesia, lilac, lavender. I love the scent, the soft petals, the hard stems, the color, the beauty and individuality of each individual facet of the flower. And so, you brought me roses tonight. They were not, however, a gift, but rather, toys to be used for your pleasure and mine. You caressed my skin with the softness, delicately scenting my body with their fragrance. You play with me, keeping me on edge, vulnerable, exposed. You warned me but I ignored you and I came without your permission. For a while, I thought it would okay. You said nothing, but allowed me to suck you, service you, lick your balls, you  cock, rose petals decorating my body. You climbed on top of me, crushing the petals into my skin, staining me with redness and scent. You took what you wanted, what I wanted to give and you blessed me with your Pleasure.

Then, then you showed me the stem. Just the stem. All of its thorns intact and ready. You whispered in my ear, reminding me of my indiscretion, my weakness. I could say nothing for there was nothing to say. I simply accepted your decision as is right and good. You helped me stand, facing the window so that I could look out upon the garden and see the expanse of beauty. You placed the stem in my hands and pressed my wrists toward the glass, forcing the thorns against my skin. I gasped, expecting to feel a multitude of puncture wounds, but you stop me, just in time. And I realize, you have pushed me to a limit, just to the brink, to the edge and here you will keep me until I truly understand that this is where I should have stayed - at the edge of Pleasure.