The Florist

As she began to sag I domed her entire womanhood and she lofted once more. I threaded my tongue into her, tasted the Serpent's heated tails, and felt glad that they had not been lost forever.

This time when she sagged I let her rest. The Serpents slowly reappeared. I watched, fascinated, as they slithered from her to lie in a molten puddle of their own making. A tiny rivulet of Weinotia's essence seeped from her. I found the scene beautifully erotic.

"My goodness." She sounded mildly inebriated. "I loovvve what oatwort does to a body."

"The Serpents and I performed our part, too, you may recall," I teased.

"Oh, yes," she affirmed much too seriously. "You both did so well, you and, the, er, 'Serpents'?"

"They warranted naming." I grinned up at her. She looked at me with bleary, lovely eyes.

"Indeed," she smiled back before her head fell into the pillows. "I just meant that one of the effects of oatwort seems to..."

"Heighten, increase, enhance?"

"Yes, all of those, when it comes to sexual climax."

"The principle reason it is controlled," I reminded her. Oatwort was emphasized early in a Florist's training.

She hummed agreement.

"And, what else?" I inquired.

Another sly smile that I heard rather than saw. "Improves one's..."

"Stamina, desire?"

"Yes!"

"So, does that mean--?"

"Yes!"

Weinotia rose in a fluid motion that surprised me. She pushed me backwards onto the bed and ravished me, using some exquisite techniques with her mouth and hands to quickly lead me to the edge. Then she held me there for a long while, slowly turning up the heat until I felt past ready to boil over. I especially enjoyed her straddling me when we joined at last, and the way her hand guided me into her molten welcome.

She held her hands on my chest as she, well, my best description would be that she "rode" me. Her hips rotated so that she stirred me within her, round and round as our excitement grew. I quivered on the edge and she slowed to let me cool. Then she stilled herself and exhibited a novel and remarkable talent.

Weinotia was able to "stroke" my length while perched absolutely still on my pelvis. Her muscles squeezed me in a grip like a forge's vice, beginning at my base and continuing to the tip. The first time she did it I gasped.

"Like that, Kelline?" She stroked me again.

My powers of speech fled, and all I could do was nod foolishly.

"Good, mmm, that is so nice." She kept up her rhythm and I felt myself swell as she stroked more and more blood into my manhood. My sensitivity leapt, and I trembled beneath her. "This technique has been named 'The Rising Breeze,' after my method and me."

"You, must, mmm, be, pr--, proud," I stammered under her. Her "Rising Breeze" was about to demolish me. It was wonderful. The novelty of it, and the exquisite sensations it produced, drove me quickly into fulfillment. I tensed, and felt her hips begin to rotate once more, still stroking me through her own breathless finish while simultaneously prolonging my own.

She collapsed onto my chest and I wrapped her in my arms. We panted and perspired as our bodies settled. I caressed her curly hair and kissed her forehead gently.

"I have missed you, Weinotia."

"And I have missed you, Kelline."

She raised her head and looked long and deep into my eyes. There was a tiny smile on her lips and in her eyes, but I could not quite read her expression.

She resumed her "Rising Breeze"--it was going to be the death of me--and I grew hard again.

"That is so good, you wonderful man!" she breathed. She asked, "Me, or the oatwort?" Her intimate grip tightened all along my length at once, and she remarked, "Consider your answer carefully."

We both burst out laughing. I almost slipped form her and her expression changed to surprise as she wriggled her hips and pulled me into her again.

"It is all you, dear lady," I told her with subsiding mirth.

She sat up and settled her pelvis in a particularly delightful fashion then told me she wanted the Serpents and me to, "Fill me... completely." She reached for them and put on a fascinating display of her oral talents, getting the Serpents slick in the process. As she reached behind herself I dug my fingertips into her pliant flesh to help her and the Serpents slithered into a new center of pleasure.

Her reaction was immediate, with a deep sigh her eyes closed, she tilted her head back and a flush spread across her chest. Weinotia squeezed her breasts, palming them as her hips went back to doing all those wondrous things to me. When she leaned back I saw the small lump of my tip pressing outward beneath her navel. The distortion moved across her as she rotated her hips again and again.

"Oh, there is, a, truly, magical, spot," she murmured. She pressed on it with an open palm and squeezed my length within her for several beats. Her body debated whether or not to lose itself. She teetered, then settled back with a massive shiver and a shuddering gasp.

"Mmm, that was close..."

"You did, not, need to, hold, back," I gasped, glad that she did but unsure how much longer I could.

"Not done, mmm, yet, and cer, tainly, not, oohhh, with, out, you. Oohhh, yesss. Those, naugh, ty, Ser, pents!"

Further conversation became difficult--and pointless. She grasped my wrist and pulled my arm behind her. I sat up beneath her, found the tails, twisted them and watched her face. With a brief nod her eyes rolled back and she let out a long, sultry moan.

The rhythm and access provided a bit of challenge at first, but she soon perfected her erotic dance. For my part I found the rhythm, too. Lids still closed, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around my neck. Weinotia then looked at me with eyes that had lost most of their focus. I knew she was closing in on her climax, and I judged that it was going to be both beautiful and profound.

I was not disappointed. Her glazed expression and the enticing sway of her breasts against my chest as she peaked will forever remain imprinted on my mind. In the next instant everything within her went tight, hot and wet. I could barely move, the Serpents were trapped, and nectar streamed from Weinotia to coat my thighs. I arched into her, lifting her no more than a hand span as she bore down on me. My own completion happened so quickly and was so intense that it frightened me a little. And in that timeless moment I thought, I love you, Weinotia, I love you, love you, love...!

The impulse lessened as our climax eased, and I regained control over my speech. No longer was it a risk that I might blurt out my emotions in the heat of passion. Then the questions in my thoughts began.

Could I tell her? Should I? How might she react? What good could come from such an admission?

We slowly collapsed onto our sides so that we lay face-to-face. I brushed some strands of curls from her damp forehead and marveled at the gorgeous sheen, flushed cheeks, her parted lips and their little smile. When her eyes opened to me, my heart melted.

Could we...? I wondered for a beat or two.

No, there were too many questions. Too many unknowns. Too many uncertainties. Too many reservations. So I buried my feelings and kept telling myself to enjoy this for what it was, and nothing more. Do not dwell on foolish whimsy....

* * * * * * *

The next morning, late morning to be precise, I found her looking at the glasstern on the mantle. She wore one of my sleep shirts while I sported the matching trousers. It made me feel as though we were a couple, but I pushed that aside, afraid of disappointment. So I kept quiet and watcher her, sure that she had no idea I was there.

Her fingertips traced the curves. I saw her find the small patch the held my thumb print for eternity. She stared, closed the distance, and snorted when she reached her conclusion.

"This is me?" she asked, turning.

So much for my stealth. "Yes."

"It is lovely," she whispered, eyes glistening.

"It is how I saw you in my mind. I was missing you. Very much."

"And your finger has apparently healed." Weinotia struggled to contain her mirth.

"Thumb, actually. Yes, thank you. It's much better now." I wriggled it at her for emphasis.

We shared a good laugh before I tilted my head towards the kitchen and suggested, "Breakfast?"

She nodded agreement. As she sat at the table a lingering question from the night before occupied my mind. It was both a professional and a personal curiosity.

"Weinotia, how did you learn the 'Rising Breeze'?"

"'Work talk'? First thing in the morning?"

"It is not the first thing in the morning," I corrected good-naturedly. "It is practically ten-plus, and you seemed to have no trouble engaging in 'work talk' while we were joining."

"Point--points--taken," She replied lightly. "It was a bit of an accidental discovery. I was using a delighter to train and found that when I reached fulfillment it had... 'nestled'... deeply. So I began exploring until I found that it was something I could control. It became a technique, and the rest is history." She smiled sweetly at her joke. "Did you like it?"

"I found it... effective." I stove for understatement, but a ridiculously huge grin broke through my forced expression of nonchalance. "Actually, it was quite remarkable. Historic, even." She chuckled. "I cannot recall a more fulfilling peak than the one--the ones--we shared."

Her smile grew. "It did seem to have an effect on you. I felt you thicken."

"Oh, don't sound so conceited," I chided her.

"I know..." she mocked. Then, in what I have to admit was a fair imitation of my voice, "'It was the oatwort'. Right?"

My gaze fell on her face. "No, it was all you."

She seemed to warm to the compliment with even more satisfaction.

I turned and was about to start preparing the food when Weinotia spoke.

"We should be betrothed."

All sense of time's passage was lost. I had turned and may have been staring at her for a few heartbeats--or a few bells.

"What?" I croaked at last.

"Oh, Kelline, think about it. Who knows better what a Florist's life is like, and who can better accept that very lifestyle, than another Florist?"

I stared at her.

"You do fancy me, am I right?"

I continued to stare until she must have grown uncomfortable.

"Kelline?" Her voice trembled. For the first time since she strode through my doorway last evening Weinotia seemed truly uncertain of herself.

Slowly, unbidden and uncontrollable, I felt my face splitting into a very broad grin.

"I have rice buns," and turned to get them as quickly as I could move.

She called after me, "Kelline, do you? Fancy... me...?"

The last word held a sob and my heart tightened. I practically leapt back into the room.

"Weinotia," I began, moving to sit next to her. "When you came to me you were annoying and arrogant. I seriously wondered how I would be able to perform what you asked."

"Kelline," she interrupted, nervous. "That is not help--"

"Let me finish, please." She composed herself, but her eyes turned wary, and... sad?

"When you told me you had prepared and you had not, I was angry with you." She looked at the hands in her lap. "But there was something about you that touched me."

She nodded but kept her face averted. "It was my mouth, wasn't it?"

"What?"

She laughed. "You are too easy to play with, Kelline."

I realized that living with Weinotia would mean growing accustomed to her quick swings. So I laughed along with her. "That's better," I admitted.

She grew serious again. "But, please," she whispered, "do not play with me now."

"I will not." I took a breath and continued, "And despite the way we started, by the time you left I already fancied you. I did the glasstern on the mantle because I missed you, when I wondered if I would ever see you again."

Her tentative smile reappeared.

"But now?" I let it hang for effect. Her expression faltered. In a soft voice I stated, "Now, I love you."

Gone was the smile. In its place was a quiver of lip and brimming eyes. She wiped at an errant tear, straightened her back, and regained her composure.

"Good. Then it is settled. You love me." She paused. Her dark eyes peered into the depths of me. "I love you. And we know--intimately--what our calling may mean for a relationship." We both smiled at the pun.

"That is true," I allowed, thinking back on a long-ago failure of a long-ago realtionship. "So, what happens now?"

"Now? Well, there is a wedding to plan, arrangements to be made for living quarters--yours, mine or together?, where to meet our respective appointments, my schedule to reimburse my patronesses, traveling to and from Gatekey...."

"That is a lot," I agreed.

"But right now?"

"Is the oatwort speaking to you again?" I questioned with a sly expression.

"Not just yet. I believe there was the promise of breakfast. Rice buns would be nice. We will need them to maintain our strength and stamina," she stated, eyes dancing.

"Right away, my dear lady."

Epilog.

It has been an interesting three fourteens since we wed. The ceremony was everything I hoped and more. Some came from many spralls by foot or hoof or wagon. Herlesh kissed me and whispered, through an honest smile, of her envy that I had found my escape. The bride took my breath away with her beauty. The rice buns and gourd ale were first rate, and the dancing and revelry lasted well after our departure.

But our wedding night intimacy outshone all of it. We wholly lost ourselves in our love for each other. I had never felt as complete as I did then, yet somehow each day is even more fulfilling.

Afterwards, as Weinotia grew accustomed to her new station, her clients, and her responsibilities, she would confer with me. We would talk through hypothetical scenarios, discuss techniques and the likely physical and emotional responses. What began as an unspoken mentor-mentee relationship evolved; now we confer as equals. And I have to admit that at times her questions can be quite arousing. In those instances we attended to the professional matter at hand before retiring to ravish one another. At other times our mutual, unflagging desire for each other provides more than adequate inspiration for our joining without the voyeuristic "anonymous and hypothetical embellishments."

Whatever our motivation, every time we join is more intimate than the last. At some point I realized the final tendrils of my worry over failure had evaporated. I trusted we would always be together and devoted my heart to her without fear. It was something of an epiphany, an existential change, which I did not consciously plan. I simply embraced it and have never been sorry.

My guild commitment at Gatekey ran its course. But by then I so enjoyed glasstern artistry and its distraction that I received permission to continue there at a reduced pace--about one eight-all every other moon. Since Weinotia is in demand she will sometimes accompany me and meet with clients. She will find me at the foundry occasionally to see what new bauble I am working, and to make sure I do not plant my thumb into another piece.

Because of Weinotia's success there are now six trained female Florists and two male Florists who specialize in Male Relations. Rather than destroying the calling, it has allowed Florists to reach many who were not served in the past. That singular, inclusive change created a renaissance, one that bodes well for the future. And as the first of the "New Dawning" Florists Weinotia attained a certain status. I swell with pride at the thought. She even fulfilled her commitment to her patronesses a full six moons early and is now a patroness herself.

Just as any couple we have had good times and bad. But our ledger is weighted heavily towards the good and I have never felt more complete. For me, Weinotia has made all the difference in my outlook on life. My desires to run, to be selfish, to become someone else, have all left me. I am happy with the person I am, and even happier with the person I love. Weinotia is nothing like my previous failure: she has become my soul; and I, hers.

There can be nothing better than such a life.

Now you will have to excuse me. The market closes soon and we are in need of rice buns, cheeses, harvestlings and gourd ale.