The Florist's Assistant Ch. 01

Part 1

I was twenty when I first started working at the florists' shop on Broadway. It was a cold, wet, clinging sort of winter, and I was hardly thrilled to be out pounding pavement, knocking on doors at business after business. It seemed as though the strip was already full of dishwashers, greasers, and clerks. When I pushed the glass door back, ringing the little brass bell above, I sighed, expecting yet another refusal. And I didn't particularly care -- flowers held little fascination for me.

"Come in," I heard a musical voice say, ringing like the bell above the door.

Inside the walls were wrapped with greenery and flowers of all colors. Even the countertop was covered. A few old sticky notes clung helplessly to the cash register. The place was quiet, and a little dusty, but it smelled like -- well, like a bouquet of flowers. As I stood awkwardly in the center of the room, hands jammed in my pockets, I looked around for the source of that sweet, song-like voice.

She stepped out from the back room and instantly a shiver ran through my body, instinctively. I had expected the florist would be a woman, but not one like this.

From head to toe she radiated warmth. Thick, wavy black hair fell to her shoulders, a few streaks of gray betraying the years that her nearly perfect skin kept hidden. She had large, dark brown eyes, accented with a bit of liner, a delicate nose, and full, red lips. In stark contrast to the colorful walls of her shop, she was dressed entirely in black, wearing a turtleneck sweater and a skirt, both of which hugged the curves of her body. And what curves! She had a generous hourglass figure that woke stirrings in my heart -- and other places. I was speechless.

"Well," she said, arching her eyebrows amusedly at my silence. "Can I help you?"

"I -- I'm looking for a job," I said, hoping I wasn't blushing.

"Oh, really?" she asked. "Not here picking out roses for your girlfriend?"

"No, ma'am," I stuttered. "I, er, don't have one."

"Well there's no need to call me 'ma'am,'" she answered, stepping behind the counter and placing both hands atop it, wrists turned out to reveal beautiful white forearms. Her eyes narrowed, and her luscious lips pulled slowly into a smile. "I'll have you fill out an application, but that's really just for show. You seem like a nice boy. I assume you don't have an arrest record or any sort of ugly things I need to know about?"

"No," I replied.

"And what kind of hours can you work?"

"Oh, any," I said. It was true -- I had hardly anything going on.

"Great," she answered. "I'm Angela Valletta, by the way. You can call me Angela -- there's no need to be formal around here. As a matter of fact, you'll be the only employee. I don't suppose you mind being left alone from time to time?"

"No, that's fine," I said.

"Wonderful." She reached out and took my hand, pressing it between her narrow fingers. Shivers ran through my arms again, and I hoped it didn't show.

"I have a distinct feeling," she said, "that you're going to work out very well."

Part 2

The weeks dragged on and turned into months as the long, rainy winter kept up its miserable routine. Outside, the storefronts were streaked with sleet and salt from the roads, but inside Valletta's on Broadway, it was always warm. Angela taught me the names of the various flowers, how to cut the wires and arrange them, and dropped useful hints about the sort of things that women liked, no matter how many times I insisted that I had no one to buy flowers for. She seemed convinced that I must have a girlfriend hidden away somewhere and that I was just to shy to bring her around. I couldn't see why -- I didn't think of myself as particularly attractive. I was five-eight, brown-haired, with the sort of non-descript features that any kid from any old Catholic family in this town seems to have. Sure, I kept myself in shape well enough, bicycling to work and visiting the neighborhood gym on weekends, but in social situations I just faded into the background.

February came -- the busiest season of the year -- and as we dashed around the shop filling orders and answering the phone, time and time again I would have to slip past Angela in the narrow space between the counter and the door to the back room. Each time, her tightly sweatered breasts or her full, soft ass would brush against me with excruciating pleasure. I was terrified that one day she would catch me glancing at her curves -- most of all because, despite her overflowing sensuality, she seemed entirely innocent. She never swore, never even raised her voice, and the closest she came to talk of sex was the mushy, overdramatic sentimentality of the cards that we placed in each floral arrangement. Somehow, in her musical voice, it didn't seem so sappy.

When the final customer left -- ten minutes after official closing hours on the night of the 14th -- we both breathed an enormous sigh of relief. I locked the door before any more hapless bachelors could come knocking. Angela brushed a few stray strands of hair away from her eyes and looked at me.

"You've done a wonderful job," she said. "I couldn't have gotten through the season without you. I'd offer you a celebratory drink, but I imagine you've got a date to get to."

"I don't, actually," I muttered, hardly thrilled. Being at the shop had cruelly driven home the point that I was permanently single.

"Well, that's just terrible," she said. "But in that case, why don't you stay a while? I've got a nice bottle of wine upstairs and no one to share it with."

My heart pounded. Angela had never invited me up to her apartment before.

"OK," I replied. As I followed her up the stairs, nervousness took hold of me. What was going on? I imagined her offering to 'slip into something more comfortable.' Of course, that wasn't going to happen. What would, then? What if, in a moment of veritas in vino, I said something offensive?

Needless to say, I was petrified. The apartment was plain enough, just a quiet living room hidden behind a nondescript white door. The decaying shag carpet was an amusing relic of the seventies; aside from that, the furniture consisted of a small leather sofa, a few lamps, and shelves full of books and other odds and ends. The kitchenette was tiny, the bathroom tinier. With the blinds tightly drawn, the lamps bathed the entire room is a fuzzy, yellowish glow. A single closed door indicated where the bedroom must be. So this was where Angela spent her nights -- alone, though I couldn't see how.

"Don't be so stressed," she laughed. "Singles Awareness Week is over. Have a seat, I'll get the wine."

I sank into the couch as she stepped briskly over to the kitchenette and poured two glasses of dark red wine from a bottle on the counter. Taking a seat beside me, she crossed her legs and offered me the second glass. As I nodded appreciatively, I stole a furtive glance at her thigh, slowly revealed to me as her skirt rode a little higher.

Then it happened.

"What are you looking at?"

I froze. "Uh, I.. I..." I stammered, but no words came out. I was doomed. Trapped. Then, suddenly, her expression of indignation melted into a smile.

"Did you just check me out?" she asked, grinning broadly. Even as she laughed, I couldn't muster a reply. I was too embarrassed.

"Oh, come on," she said, as I turned away shyly. "I know better than that. I'm old enough to be your mother. I'm more than sure you've got some little girl keeping you all the company you need, right?"

I still couldn't answer.

"You can tell me, you know. Are you having problems?"

Pained with embarrassment and loneliness, I couldn't bring myself to answer. I glanced at Angela for a moment, then turned away ruefully, unable to bear the gaze of her soft brown eyes. Silence descended over us, and slowly, her smile melted away again, into a focused, careful stare.

"You are by yourself, aren't you?"

I nodded.

She reached up and brushed her fingers lightly against my cheek. I flinched toward her at the sudden physical contact. She had inched toward me on the couch, and now her leg was partially pressed against mine. I could see her chest rise and fall lightly with her breath. I was shaking with nervousness.

"Listen -- do you trust me?"

"Yes," I replied.

"I'm going to ask you one more time," she said, softly. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes, I trust you, Angela."

She smiled, with anticipation, and leaned in closer, her face just a few inches from mine, eyes fixed on mine. Her voice, always so musical, seemed to drop an octave.

"If you give me permission," she said, "I'll take care of you."

"What -- what do you mean?" I stuttered.

Her eyes narrowed, and she leaned in past my face, and brushed her lips against my ear, with her thick black locks falling over me.

"I'm going to fuck you."

The word was like a gunshot going off in my ear. Fuck.

"I'm going to do filthy, dirty things to you," she said. "I know you need it. I've seen how you look at me. Do you think all those times I squeezed by you at the counter were by accident? It was very cruel of me. It's a wonder you didn't explode." She was running her other hand up and down my chest now, brushing it lightly. "Of course," she added, "I always thought you must have some nice girl taking all that pressure off. I guess I'll just have to fix that myself."

She kissed me roughly, and I kissed back. Her lips were unbelievably soft, her tongue was wet and hot as she slipped it into my mouth and ran it along my teeth. I kissed her back the same way, hard and pushing. My cock was straining against my jeans. Tentatively, I began to run my hands up and down her sides, from her hips to her shoulders. She crawled into my lap and straddled me, her legs planted on either side, squeezing me between her warm thighs. Suddenly she stopped and pulled away.

"Oh come on," she said. "You can do better than that." With that, she grabbed the base of her sweater, and making a crossing motion with her arms, peeled it off in one smooth movement. Underneath, her tits shifted seductively back and forth under a white tank top. She grabbed my hands and placed them on her chest, pressed them into the soft flesh. "I may be old enough, boy, but I'm not your mother. I bet you've never had a real woman before. Come on!" With that she pulled my head toward her chest. I licked and kissed my way down the curve of her neck and into her cleavage, nuzzling against her. She moaned with satisfaction.

"Oh, that's a good boy," she whispered. "Ever felt a girl squeeze you with her pussy?"

I shuddered, and kept licking. I think I muttered the word, "No," but it was lost in the space between her breasts.

"Ever had somebody swallow your entire cock?"

I couldn't believe it. Angela -- my boss, who had never acknowledged the existence of sex before this moment, was talking to me like a whore in the gutter.

"Well, you're going to," she continued. "And then I'm going to fuck you until you beg for mercy."

She climbed out of my lap and pulled me with her to the closed bedroom door. Inside, it was completely dark -- I only had a momentary glimpse of the bed before she shut the door behind us. We kept kissing. She pushed me away for a moment and when I drew close to her again I could feel the naked warmth of her bare breasts. I bent my head down to them and licked each one, squeezing first one and then the other in my hands as I worked my way to her nipples and flicked them back and for with my tongue. She moaned softly as I continued to knead her tits, licking the space between them, sucking her nipples and then moving back up her neck again. Any pretense of our former relationship was gone. She was a rutting wild animal, and I was determined to satisfy her.

She shoved me roughly down on the bed. I heard a 'zip' noise and realized she must have taken her skirt off. Once again, she straddled me, and this time I could feel the heat radiating from the place between her thighs. I could smell the sex on her. I placed a hand on each leg and caressed her smooth skin. She leaned over me, with her hair spilling around my face, tickling. I could feel her breath, she was so close.

"First," she ordered, "you're going to eat me."

With that she grabbed the bottom of my shirt and pulled it over my head, then inched up my torso until she reached my neck. In the pitch darkness, I could see nothing, only felt it, when suddenly she lowered herself onto my mouth, cunt first. I was covered in warmth and I felt her wetness already dripping over my lips. Pubic curls brushed against my nose. I started lapping at her like a dog at a water bowl, pressng my tongue against the folds of her pussy, splitting them open and drawing between them, licking up high to reach her clit. She moaned appreciatively and lowered more weight onto me, nearly smothering me in her heavy, wet sex.

"Oh, that's a good boy," she groaned. "Yes, that's good. Come on, harder, harder!"

I licked harder and harder, even as my neck strained with the effort. She was getting wetter and wetter, and the hot, sticky mix of her cunt and my spit dripped back into my mouth. I swallowed it, it tasted sour and salty, but it was Angela and I relished every bit of it. She began to rock her hips back and forth now, grinding her clit and her folds against my face, each thrust making a wet sloppy noises. My tongue pushed back against her in time, rhythmically, and I felt myself sink deeper into the bed.

"Come on!" she groaned, pushing against my face. "Come on, dammit! Oh God!"

Harder, faster, and wetter. All I could feel was her soft, wet folds pressing down on me. The wetter she got, the more I swallowed, warm and and syrupy, I could feel it dripping over the sides of my mouth and onto my face. I could hardly breathe, but all I wanted to do was please her, and she kept grinding, harder and harder, fucking me into the pillows with her pussy.

"I'm going to cum," she moaned. "Make me cum!"

I licked and licked. She was moving too fast now, and I tried to push against her clit, but I couldn't stay put. It didn't matter though. She was going to make herself come on my face, no matter what I did. She ground harder and harder into me. My hands reached up and blindly found her tits, and I began to squeeze and knead them rhythmically in time with her thrusts.

Slowly but surely, her whole body began to shake, and from the depths of her chest she let out a deep, heaving moan, groaning against my face, shoving me into the bed until I thought I would suffocate, covering me with her hot wet cunt. She came and shook with the force of her orgasm, gripping me with her thighs. I lost my hold on her tits and just licked, licked, licked, pushing against her folds with my tongue as she moaned, "Yes, yes, yes!"

When she had finished, she lifted herself slowly off of me, and lay by my side. My face was covered with her sticky juices, now drying, and silently she began to lick them off.

"Thank you," she murmured. "That was very good. That was just what I intend to expect from you. I should've known. You've always been such a good boy."

Her hand found its way down to my throbbing cock, still imprisoned in my jeans.

"And I think you deserve a reward."

Slowly, she kissed her way down my chest, until she reached the waistband of my jeans. The button came undone quickly, then the zipper, and she pulled them off in a fluid movement. Underneath, my erection was making a painful tent in my boxers, and she quickly freed it, grasping the hot shaft in her hand. I gasped.

"Does that feel good?" she asked. I weakly nodded, quivering with arousal. She began to caress it with her fingers, slowly dragging them up and down. "I bet it does," she continued. "I think it's just terrible that none of those girls you know will give you what you deserve." A drop of precum leaked from my slit, and she rubbed it in gently with the palm of her hand while my back arched in perfect agony. Then, she made a fist around the base of my shaft and slowly began to jerk it up and down.

"That's it. Lie back. I'm going to make you cum now. You've been so good to me today."

She eased herself down the bed. I felt her soft, warm tits brush against my thighs, and then I felt her hot breath on the tip of my cock.

"Do you know what's going to happen now?" she asked. I had no answer. I was struggling not to cry out as I felt her fist stroking me, over and over again. She dipped her head and for a moment I expected to be enveloped in the warmth of her mouth. Instead, she passed by my cock and lowered her mouth to my balls, licking first one, then the other. My toes and fingers curled. "Do you know?"

I still had no answer. Suddenly, I felt her mouth engulf my entire sack, her tongue running over it gently, a strange and intensely erotic feeling. After a moment, she released me to the cool air.

"Now," she said, matter-of-factly, "you're going to fuck my mouth."

She pulled me over so that I was lying on my side, and now I felt her soft lips slowly part over the head of my cock as she guided me in, slowly. It was unbelievable. She ran her tongue over and under it, and then made a swallowing motion, Suddenly, I could feel her lips near the base, the head of my dick now pushing against the hard back of her throat. I was completely inside her. After a moment, she pulled away, making a smacking noise with her lips as she did. I could feel saliva clinging to my shaft as I heard her lick her lips.

"Well," Angela said, "what are you waiting for? Fuck me."

Obediently, I began to move my hips gently back and forth, thrusting my cock into and out of her warm, waiting mouth. As her lips rolled back and forth over the head, I shook with pleasure that seemed to run through my entire body. We settled into a rhythm, no talking, just quiet, soft, wet slurping sounds of my dick fucking her perfect, pouty lips, and the occasional "mmph" when I pushed to far in and brushed against the back of her throat. I'd had blowjobs before, but never like this -- certainly never had anyone ask me to fuck their mouth before. I could still feel her soft tits against my legs -- I tried to reach down, but it was too far, and settled for running my fingers through Angela's thick hair as she murmured and slurped and sucked on my hard dick.

Bit by bit, I felt a hot, boiling feeling building deep inside.

"I'm gonna come, Angela, I'm gonna come!"

"Mmph... that's it baby, come in my mouth! I want to swallow it!"

That did it. The rolling wave inside me burst forth, and I poured a thick, heavy load of hot cum into Angela's waiting mouth. She took it expertly, holding me still while I gradually filled her up. My mind was as blank and black as the room, filled with nothing but the sensation of fucking and cumming and the tip of my cock still firmly between her perfect lips.

When I was done, she released me, slowly, sending a final shiver of pleasure through my body. I heard her lick her lips, then swallow, twice. She crawled back up the length of my body, pressed her warm, soft tits against my chest, and kissed me. I could taste the cum on her lips.

"Thanks, baby," she said. "Did you like that?"

"Oh my God, it was incredible. I... I've never -"

"That's good. That's exactly what I wanted you to feel."

We lay there in the darkness for a moment, lightly stroking one another's bodies. Finally, she reached over and turned on the light on the bedside table. An old-fashioned clock sat beside it. It was nearly 4 AM.

"Wow," I muttered. "It's awfully late. I guess I should..." I started to sit up.

Angela laughed, then grabbed me forcefully and pushed me back onto the bed.

"You're not going anywhere, boy," she laughed, licking her lips and staring at me with her dark eyes suddenly narrowed, almost menacingly. "I'm just getting started with you."