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“Is such devotion, loyalty and delicacy within a D/s relationship really possible?”  © J.L. Thomas 2016  As my warm lips co...

Wednesday, 9 August 2017




The Florist’s Boutique

Le souffle du bébé celeste
‘Heavenly baby's breath’


There are two people you’ll meet in your life. One will run a finger down the index of who you are and jump straight to the parts of you that peak their interest. The other will take his or her time reading through every one of your chapters and maybe fold corners of you that inspired those most. You will meet these two people; it is a given. It is the third that you’ll never see coming.
That is the one person who not only finishes your sentences but keeps the book.
 Author unknown.


With a tone of utter amazement, my boss and my closest friend Angelica shrieks out the most piercing of sounds and sings, “It’s him, Helena. Honestly, I truly swear to you, that it’s most definitely him!”
While the shrillness of the sound of her voice makes me feel as if I have just jumped out of my skin, I shake my head from side-to-side for I am assuming that my boyfriend-less friend is off on one of her I am currently available and I am looking for a partner mission. Picking up the bouquet of red roses from the countertop, I place the floral arrangement to my nose and deeply inhale the delicate, fresh fragrance that is buried deep within the abundance of soft, dewy petals.
 “You have to see him,” she urges. “For I can guarantee you that when you set your eyes upon him you will most definitely find yourself swooning.”
“What on earth are you waffling on about, Angelica?” I exclaim. “And would you care to enlighten me as to what you mean by swooning?”
Amused, she gleefully questions, “Yes swooning. I know what it means but do you know what it means?”
“Of course I do,” I say. “It means to feel, to feel...” I pause, inhale another soupçon of the alluring scent of the flowers and add, “It means to feel, faint.”
Clapping her hands together, showing appreciation of my answer, the loudness of her actions making me jump yet again. She then tells me I am correct and replies,
 “And by the way, my dearest friend, I’m not jabbering on, but I am telling you, sweetie, that that man sitting across the road in that beautiful, vintage Porsche is most definitely that single, sexy screen god, Darius Carter.”
“Well as lovely as that all sounds, I don’t think it could be him. It’s not possible.” is it?
I shudder a little at the thought that there could be a slim chance that the mystery man may be him – and that there could also be a chance that he may be unattached. Darius Carter has always mesmerized me when I’ve seen him imaged in issues of celebrity glossy magazines. With him now firmly invading my mind, my fingers trembling slightly, I clumsily secure the green ribbon around the stems, as I go to try to fashion said ribbon into an acceptable looking bow, I hear her quiz,
“Why do you assume such a thing, Helena? Anything’s possible in life, don’t you think?”
Now feeling a tad curious at who this man may be, I shrug my shoulders, and reply,
 “I don’t know. It just can’t.”
“Well if you don’t know then come and take a look and then you will know.” She coerces.
I sigh, give in to her ask and swing around. While she waves a hand in the air, beckoning me forth, she hastens, “Quick, quick… Hurry before he decides to buckle up and drive off into the distance.”
On reaching the window seat, I plop myself down next to her, place the bouquet on the sill and gaze out of the window. When I see the mystery man run his hand through his mass of dark curls, by that gesture alone of his, my curiosity arises. I promptly arrive at the conclusion that a little spying on this man won’t do any harm, would it? So with my interest now stirred, I give in to this ridiculous scenario, playfully jab Angelica on the arm and say, “I’m going outside to sneak a closer peak. You are coming too?”
She jibes me back and giggles, “Of course I’m coming! You know how the old saying, Helena - Safety in numbers?”
“Yes, I do.” I laugh, “but I also know the other old saying that two’s-company and threes-a-crowd!”
Grabbing my hand, she titters, “Touché, Mademoiselle Helena.” Giving my palm a light squeeze, she rises to her feet, pulls me up and in a hushed whisper of a voice, as if she is guarding the holiest of secrets, quietly says, “Now I suggest that we stop wasting valuable time, go outside and begin our undercover mission!”
We’re both now tittering like a pair of naughty schoolgirls who have decided that to play truant would be much more fun than taking dreary, educational lessons, so as we step out onto the pavement, our childlike moment is interrupted by the shrill sound of the shop phone casting its urgent ring. Releasing hands, I turn to face her and suggest, “I think you’d better answer it, Angelica. It’s most likely our latest, overbearing bride-to-be, Ms Prim-and-proper!” I roll my eyes and pull a grimace. She mirrors me and we laugh again. Continuing, I say, “I bet Ms PP is panicking about her flower order again because the last time we spoke, she demanded that the next time she calls she wishes to speak to the boss, and since said boss is you, my dear friend, she’s all yours!”
Flaying her arms in the air, she wails, “Why oh why do I have to be the boss right at this particular moment in time, Helena?” she pitifully cries. “I so want to be you – the lowly paid understudy!”
I stifle a giggle at her drama-queen like performance, shrug my shoulders, and then sympathise with her that it’s such a shame that she is the boss. She then, with a hint of amusing annoyance upon her face, turns, and reluctantly marches back inside the shop. Now all alone, I look over towards said car and when I see the door open, and a pair of well-attired, long legs gracefully rotate out, for some reason, I find myself pointing my lashes down, only to quickly flick them open to finally see the mystery man in his entirety. It would appear that Angelica was correct in her assumption of who this man may be, for the aforementioned man is indeed Darius Carter. He is now casually lounging up against the side of his car and I have become even more curiously intrigued by him.
Trying to remain inconspicuous, I busy myself among the foliage and floras that Mother Nature’s beauty has provided, and as I come to the end of my make-believe-fumbling-flower arranging, I clap my hands to signal that I am satisfied with my work. Next, I don’t know what made me do this, but I span around on my ballet-pumps, stilled and then focused directly upon him. It appears that he too is carefully surveying me. While I held him in my stare, I became aware that my lips were curling up into an ‘O’ and my thoughts rapidly wandered off as to what it would be like to press my lips up against his and lose myself in a deep, lingering entwining of tongues. With my mind now crammed chock full of silly, girlish romantic thoughts, I broke into one of the sweetest smiles I could muster and tilted my head to one side. As the late spring’s breeze wafted through my flowing tresses, I smiled as he slowly removed his sunglasses. Those dreamy, steely-blue irises of his. A dead give-a-away. Confirmed – it’s most definitely Mr Carter.
While his stare penetrated my very soul, again I averted my gaze down, and turned around. Feeling a little overwhelmed at our silent contact - This is a form of quantum entanglement, isn’t it? – Two atoms colliding and never wishing to separate? I then, as elegantly as I could manage, walked back into my place of work. My mission had been accomplished!

I do believe right before my very eyes, the man of my dreams may, without consciously knowing, have just captured a small fragment of my delicate soul.
- Helena.



Outside ‘Heavenly Baby’s Breath’



   After applying the handbrake to the latest addition of my ever expanding fleet of cars, I switched off the engine to my silver-grey Porsche 1958 356A Speedster and relaxed back into the seat. Feeling absolutely chuffed to smithereens with my latest choice of vintage extravagance, my frame of mind soon changed to one of a darker, broodier mood when I pushed back the pristine French white cuff that graced my wrist and noted the time on the most favourite of all my timepieces that I owned – A Blancpain Fifty Fathoms watch – it read, eleven-forty-five. Giorgio, my right hand man, had now been gone just a little over twenty minutes, and as I was due to attend a meeting, well more of a tête-à-tête, (one which I must admit to you that I am not looking forward to in the slightest) in just under an hour. I was beginning to turn rather impatient for his return. Now drumming my fingers upon the steering wheel, I narrowed my gaze and spied in the wing mirror. Hoping to see Giorgio striding down the street with my new pinstripe suit, fresh from the bespoke tailors of Saville Row carefully draped over his arm, I was distracted from looking out for him when my vision was drawn to a svelte figurine of a female across the road. She was wearing a rather unflattering, baggy, green tabard over a three-quarter length sleeved polka dot dress, and that ghastly uniform did absolutely nothing to flatter what I assume was an enticing petite figure hidden beneath. While I carefully surveyed her from head-to-toe, she appeared to be fumbling away with an array of flowers, vases and the like on the pavement outside the quaint little florist’s shop, which I noted was named le souffle du bébé celeste. Being affluent in French, among a few other tongue twisting languages, I translated said shop name as ‘heavenly baby's breath’.
“What a charming name.” I whispered out. So pure. So innocentmuch like her perhaps? Now wouldn’t that just be perfect if she was untouched, untainted by another’s hand?
Now curiously intrigued by this woman, I stepped out of my car, leant back up against it, and crossed my arms. Focusing intently upon my flower girl, who was now busying herself among the foliage and floras that Mother Nature’s beauty had provided, I don’t know why I couldn’t help myself from ogling her from the top of her head down to her tippy-toes, but nevertheless I was doing so, and truth be told I was rather enjoying the pleasant distraction from thinking about that damn elusive suit of mine and my forthcoming meeting with my soon-to-be, ex-submissive, Alice. On noticing the rich, dark colour of heavenly baby’s breath employee’s long tresses, I half-smiled, for this radiant beauty was much to my delight, a brunette, and over time, as you get to know me, you will realise that I have always had a secret penchant for hair tones of that particular shade. As she seemingly came to the end of her fumbling-flower arranging, she clapped her hands to signal that she was indeed finally satisfied with her art. I gasped out when I was taken by surprise at her following actions. She span around on her peachy coloured ballet-pumps, stilled and then to my utter and complete amazement she focused directly upon me. Removing my sunglasses, I blinked a few times, adjusted my vision to the soft hues of the daylight, and as she transfixed me within her magnetic stare, I was aware that my jaw had gaped. The reason for this mannerism of mine was because I had just seen her lips curl up into one of the most delectable ‘O’s’ imaginable, and it was then, without any prior warning, my darkest thoughts rose from deep within my soul and I found said thoughts wandering off into the direction of my personal room of pleasure.
Oh what I could do to this woman in the confines of that room. I can assure you that if I was so privileged to have her in situ, I would be feeding that pretty little mouth of hers with more than just an abundance of tongue claiming kisses.
Next, she broke into a very, very sweet smile – one that was almost too sugary for my tastes but nevertheless, it was an amusing expression, and I was quite looking forward to becoming acquainted with her mouth and, as the adrenaline began pouring into my bloodstream, in response to this hormonal onslaught, my heart reciprocated to the adrenal fluid by thumping wildly in my chest. The metronomic beats gained even more rhythm when she tilted her head to one side, and as the late spring’s breeze wafted through her free flowing hair, I was mesmerised. She finished me off so to speak when to my complete and utter amazement, she looked down at the cobbles beneath her feet and fixated upon the ground for what seemed to me to be for several minutes. Per-fec-tion.
 By her, well let’s call it a non-verbal gesture of submission to me, my manhood made no hesitation into joining into this chance scenario by letting me know it was too indeed aroused by her. While I mentally forced the pleasing sensation in my cock to ebb away, and thankfully said sensation did, I looked up to see that she, my flower girl, had disappeared from my view.

I do believe that the perfect submissive; one than I had been craving for, for so, so long, may have just been birthed right before my very eyes. For me, it was now just a matter of time before she wholly belonged to me.


©JL Thomas 2017

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