I run through the grass, arms outstretched.  The lush foliage tickles me as I run.  Like the caress of a lover, the downy tufts rub against my naked legs, my thighs, teasing my damp pussy.  The warm rays of the sun leave me sweating; a glistening sheen of moisture drips over my face, down my neck, over my breasts, down my back and softly rolls over my ass, between my cheeks.

Lush, bright, green grass grows wildly, high as my waist in many places.  Colorful dollops of reds, pinks, whites, blues, purples, and every other color dot the field as wildflowers weave themselves into the grass.  I stop running and listen.  A gentle breeze blows from the east, making the grass bow in homage.  The wind cools my sweat, giving me goose bumps.  My nipples harden and I start shivering, half from the sudden chill, half in anticipation of my dance with the flowers.  I lower one hand to my pussy, lightly rubbing my moist, swollen labia.  My hand comes away wet.  I lick my fingers, tasting my juice; it is sweet and syrupy, like peach nectar or honey.  I wish I could eat my own pussy; what I’d give to be able to dart my tongue deep into my soft folds and pink crevices.  Licking my fingers would have to do.

The desire to put my fingers back in my pussy is great, but I’m almost there.  I run again, faster this time.  My joy at being in the field has been replaced by my desire to feel the flowers against my skin, and my hands against my pussy.

A vibrant thatch of flowers is just ahead.  The ground is thick with grass, above which rests hundreds of flowers of every possible color.  Slowing once again, I slink over to the bed of flowers.  Their smell is intoxicating; I feel my juices run down my thighs as I inhale.  Lightly I run my arms over the velvet pedals, allowing them the barest hint of the skin they would soon be kissing.

I lay, face down, on top of the flowers, letting the soft pedals kiss my breasts.  Their delicate tongues put me in a frenzy.  Never have I felt the touch of a lover so giving, so full, so promising, and still so satisfying.  I slowly roll over, coveting their kisses on every inch of my body.  I snap two yellow flowers off at the base of the pedals. 

Rolling the flowers in mesmerizing circles, I wrap their delicate pedals around my nipples.  After a moment of sweet passion, I squeeze the flowers, pinching my nipples.  I tug harder, almost to the point of pain.  But it is impossible to truly hurt myself; I can only to drive myself deeper into the flowers.  I know the flowers will leave their mark on me, staining my porcelain skin yellow.  Stephen will wonder, but he will never ask.

My hand lowers to my smooth, pouting pussy.  The barest touch of my fingers is almost enough to make me cum.  My middle finger slips between my lips, teasing my clit with slow deliberations.  I touch it and feel the first wave of ecstasy.  I move my fingers faster with each caress.  Then I am frantically frigging my clit, moaning, almost yelling, but I know I am alone, so I do not care. 

My hand is not enough, it never is.  With my other hand I grab some flowers.  I see a brief flash of blue, yellow, and purple as I snap the stems a hand span away from the flower.  Bunching the stems together, I spread my pussy lips apart and push the stems into my vagina.  I need more.  Almost every flower within arm’s length is quickly gathered, and slid into my pussy.  I have a feeling of fullness.  It drives me wild as I play with my clit.  I am almost there.

One last flower wraps its delicate lips around my clit, sucking and tickling.  I arch my back, howling as I go to the blurry white place.  My mind and body explode as my pussy spurts its juices onto the flowers.  My body shakes and my face contorts as I embrace my orgasm. 

I go flaccid…panting, sweating, dripping.  My body is the colors of the rainbow as I close my eyes and drift away.

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Dinner waits as Stephen returns from work.  Sitting at the candle-lit table, I let him come to me.  His eyes glow as he sees me, they always do.  Then he notices the bouquet of flowers on the table.  He smiles, a smile that hides a laugh underneath.  He dips his head down to the arrangement and inhales deeply.  His eyes close and he drifts away for a moment.  He looks at me beams, “It’s amazing, honey.  I can never tell if you smell like the flowers, or if the flowers smell like you.”  He knows the food will be cold by the time we eat.

Copyright Ó JoAnne Whisper, 2002.  All rights reserved.  May not be reproduced without permission of copyright holder.