Everyone in her office admired the flowers that George had given Ivy for Valentine’s Day, but no one knew the cost of those flowers to her and what else was in the bouquet. She savored the scent of the blood red roses, petals so red they almost looked black. But she knew that there was more in the box.
She and George had been devoted patrons of an almost clandestine sex shoppe out of Paris that they had stumbled into.
Before they were even together.
It had been pouring rain outside, and Ivy was admiring the frame of the Centre Pompidou, but not enough to get completely soaked. She walked into a tiny store for cover, and the elegant woman at the door greeted her with such rapid-fire French all she could do was smile at her and the words she recognized.
As she looked around, she realized she was in a shop filled with flowers, and the scent of roses hit her like a monsoon. She bopped a bit to the 60s French songs that were playing, and as she moved around, she realized there was more to the store than just roses.
There were slick, cleverly designed flower structures throughout the store. When she picked one up, she realized they were sex toys. A man walked into the store while she was looking at one, playing with its controls and pressing them to her pelvic bone through her coat.
He stared at her with a smile, and the next thing she knew, the rain had stopped, and she was with him in a bar that only used pictures for their cocktails. Customers picked their cocktails based on the images that appealed most to them.
That was how Ivy and George met. She knew from the beginning that she would never be bored with him—and she had not been.
Especially not sexually.
In her office, she removed the tiny blood red rosebud shaped toys from the bouquet. That was the charm of Les Fleurs du Mal—the sex shop named after the poetry collection of Charles Baudelaire. These evil flowers were meant to be placed inside her undergarments.
One for her bra, close to her nipple.
The other was for her clit.
Closing her office door, the voyeur in her turned to the window, as she slipped the first rose in her bra and the other in the crotch of her thong.
He had warned her he wanted her to come all day.
“And just when you think you cannot cum anymore, I am going to wear you out when you come home,” he had said when he kissed her ear. She had almost passed out as she felt his breath against her skin.
He was a flower of evil. George knew her far too well and he made her succumb to pleasures she had never even imagined. She never thought her pleasure could be used against her—but it was!
He took every opportunity he could to puppeteer the onslaught of her pleasure. Since he could remotely control the rosebuds, he did—all day. Ivy felt lightheaded from the onslaught and in a constant state of arousal. She had either just come or was on the verge of coming again when she picked up her phone.
“Don't you have work to do?! :P” she texted him at lunchtime feeling powerful that she had had all those orgasms and finished a proposal for work that she had to deliver after lunch.
“Pacing myself until I can do you! :P” he texted back, and she smiled to herself.
Having wrapped up the proposal, she ordered the car she needed and requested a quiet driver. She had not had lunch yet and she couldn't even imagine a conversation with the driver in the state she was in.
Her car was quiet—there was even a partition between her and her driver. There was water in the back, which Ivy grabbed, warm from all of the rushing she was doing—and because of the pleasure that flooded her body courtesy of George.
He knew today was a day she was going to be working independently, and that was why he was relentless with the onslaught. He wouldn’t do this to her, if she was going to be working with her team. But knowing she was going to be in her office, and then delivering her proposal...she was at his disposal.
The car hit a pothole, and Ivy jolted—doubly jolted.
There were slow circles moving around her nipple and clitoris like an aura. A slow, slow build-up that made her want to caress them both, but she couldn’t in the car—even if it was a quiet one.
Could she?
Ivy sat back in the plush seat and tightened her legs together making the circle around her clit spread out. Her clit was the epicenter of the quaking that now moved across her thighs.
Pressing her head against the window, she tightened her legs more, the circles spread out even more, moving like an actual orgasm would—but she was not having one yet.
A tiny moan escaped her; she was trying to resist coming before she was ready. She was going to come—there was no way that she was not going to come.
George knew which patterns would send her over the edge. The technology on the rosebuds let him know if her nipple or clit was hard. It could measure subtle things about her body that let him know if she was going to come. There was no hiding what she was feeling. Plus, when she picked up her phone, she could see what he could see.
Slipping her hand inside her blouse—just for a second— she found her hard nipple and flicked it. The mock seismograph on her screen let her know she was on the very precipice of an orgasm.
Legs tight, and perfectly still Ivy was pretty sure she was going to come any second.
She did, pounding the seat and throwing her proposal on the floor. When the waves stopped, she picked up the binder on the floor and rubbed her hand over her blouse making her breast throb.
Looking up to see if the driver was paying any attention to her, Ivy was pleased that he was looking at the road.
But she was not done— George was not done. This time she tightened her legs but shifted, so that she rode the rosebud toy between her legs.
The sensation from that was so good, that she stopped. She had ordered a quiet ride, and if she kept that up, she would scream with orgasm.
She froze, instead of circles now the toy sent waves through her. Sensations so good that it made her bite her lip and hold onto to the front of the seat.
The rosebud hit her clit straight on. She closed her eyes and flailed as she came so hard, she thought she was going to be unconscious.
“Miss are you okay?” the driver turned around suddenly as she lurched forward with her third-time's-the-charm orgasm in the car.
Her face against the seat, she murmured,
“I am fine,” she said.
She was quiet for the rest of the ride.
The graph on her phone was still, and her breathing finally started to even after a while.
“Can't wait to drive you crazy later Valentine...” George texted. Ivy smirked.
She was pretty crazy already.
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F. Leonora Solomon is an editor and writer, who lives in New York City. As an editor, she has published several anthologies, most recently TIE ME UP. As a writer, her short stories have been featured in anthologies, including CHEMICAL [se]X and SPY GAMES. She is a bibliophile, and has severe wanderlust...
Visit her at http://www.fdotleonora.com, where you can find all of her social media outlets and books.
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