And another rose….
Her voice became more authoritative and more loving, as she addressed her friend.
“Spread your legs apart and then don’t move, I’m going to hurt you. Come close to me.”
Little Anne did as she was told, imploring softly, “No… No… Don’t do that… Please don’t…”
Claire grasped the rose by its stem end, the blossom hanging down, to bring the cruel thorn up against the most sensitive flesh, on the inner thigh up close to the pubis. While her victim kept saying, “No… please… please don’t… ,” Claire pushed the steely point slightly into the skin. Anne gave a little moan and bit her lower lip to keep from crying out.
Claire waited a few seconds like this, alternately looking at the face and at the flesh chosen for torture, then in one motion, jabbed the thorn in and pulled it down. The tender skin was ripped about a quarter of an inch. Anne gave a cry of pain, from deep in her throat, and shrank back a step. But she stayed there in front of us, wide-eyed, openmouthed—although trembling all over, her cunt exposed. Claire, leaning back in her chair, contemplated her victim with what seemed to me to be either hatred, or the deepest love.
Without making a move, or saying a word, the two young women stayed facing each other for quite a long time. Then Anne, who was still holding her dress up, took a step toward her mistress, coming back, offering herself again, as close as she had been before.
A little drop of blood, bright red, had formed on the naked flesh of her thigh. Claire, whose features were softening, leaned forward without getting up from her chair and placed a kiss on each of her hands.
Then, with one finger, she lifted up the edge of the garter belt to the left of the crotch, and with the other hand slipped the stem in under the black material pushing it up towards the hip so that just the flower would show under the filmy ruffle. To keep it in this position Claire just had to push the thorn out to the front where it hooked itself into the lace.