Bromine

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“Down.” She said, and Paul descended down between her legs, breathing heavily while holding up her long white gown. She tilted her head up and smiled as he kissed between her smooth soft thighs. Karen was such a small and fragile woman, but so strong willed and open minded, seemingly able to accept him for who he was like so few others: a man of uncontrolling desire and spirit. Her arms stayed around his neck and pulled him into that wetness, and she gently lifted to rest her shapely legs on his shoulders and squeezed. He tried to come back up but she resisted, passionately.

Karen O’Neil was co-owner florist at Cantor Flowers on Dieppe Avenue. She’d been working there for nearly eleven years and developed a keen eye and smell for the proper arrangements, and for the right occasions. It was one of their early investments. Though few people had the particular interest in common, Karen’s was orchids. It had developed into a hobby, and now an obsession.

Paul O’Neil was her husband. For nearly six years their marriage had been on the brink of divorce, persistently finding smaller and smaller things too much of a burden to tolerate. He’d lost his dream job at about the same time, and ever since it was a case of never finding satisfaction. He was having an affair as a consequence, and though Karen knew, she tried to keep what were once both their dreams alive. She was the only one though. Paul jumped from one job to another with longer and longer unemployment intervals in between and had taken to heavy drinking, and infidelity to quench his thirst for youthful life.

The two of them made long and deep breaths in the heat of passion early that morning. Karen sat on their bedroom dresser in her nightgown, awakened by her husband who’d not come home the night before. When he came in she seduced him with her rare loveliness, her face full of a strange and displaced woman’s joy that Paul immediately responded to without question. But as his head hotly kissed there between her legs in all that feminine wetness, Karen opened her eyes and turned her gaze down to its top. “Good baby … Good.” And her smile disappeared into a look of seriousness. A sinister look of dubious control. She held on with her legs many minutes, modestly resisting his urge to rise, and slowly ran her fingers through his hair. Then all at once she cried out, excited, putting both her hands to her mouth in silent scream. Her husband fell. He fell down to the floor. His body shaking wildly in convulsion and eventually paralysis.

There’s a rare orchid called “Port Alice”. A hybrid mix between Paphiopedilum "Western Sky" and a species called Paphiopedilum appletonianum. It’s a beautiful slipper-type orchid with a wonderful scent that just barely a year ago Karen had began to grow in her shop. She had a huge collection of orchid, and made it a wonderfully pungent meditation and revocation that supplemented coping with what slipped away from her marriage. It was an accident really. She’d prepared a cup of tea on a quiet morning’s workday, and placed it next to a Port Alice bloom. When she turned around one of those beautiful white leafs had fallen into her hot drink. She pulled it out along with the tea bag only to find a taste that she’d found unusually elegant.

She knelt down to her knees and grabbed his face. “Honey? Are you ok? Sweetie?” Paul just turned and stared up at her. His face had broken out into a sweat. His mouth remained opened and breathed sporadically, but he never spoke. “Come on.” And she grabbed his arm and pulled his heavy weight partially around her shoulder. “Get up.” Paul tried desperately, but the muscles in his legs acted like they were charged, and he kicked, bending as if to get up, then kicking outwards uncontrollably. His muscular arm did the same to Karen’s dainty frame, shaking her back and forth. Then she grabbed with both her arms and heaved, pulling her husband up to the mattress of the bed.

“No. It shouldn’t be a problem.” She laughed. “Ok, I was just curious.” “You say it tastes good?” “It tastes wonderful. It has a …” There was a long pause on the receiver as she searched for the right language. “… masculine flavor. But not salty.” “Bromine.” “Yes! Like Bromine.” “I hope you don’t taste Bromine.” “No.” “Well Karen, I’m sure there’s no problem. Some forms of orchid can be dangerous, but I’ve heard of no reference to Port Alice. Keep in mind though that it’s a new species. If you start to feel anything strange, let me know right away.” “Thank you Doctor.” “No problem. How’s Paul?” “Oh … same.” “I hope everything works out.” “Me too. Bye.” “Bye.”

“Paul …” She whispered. “Paul listen to me. I know you can hear me.” Paul lay on his back, his face facing the ceiling. His convulsions had relaxed into a steady shiver. “I can’t let you live like this. I can’t let you do this to us.” Her dark hair was messy, and a strand curled up in front of her eye. She lay on her side, her head whispering in his ear as if something were some big secret. “I know what’s happening to you, and it’s for us.” A whimper that led out several spazomed, almost like cries, came from his voice. Nothing audible or readable. Then she kissed him on his cheek and slowly sat up, reaching for her gown to pull over her head. Despite her age Karen was an incredibly beautiful woman. Perfectly round C cup breasts poked out wetness at their nipples, and her slender stomach softly breathed in and out in what any man would claim passion. Then crawled and lifted her perfectly muscular leg up and over her husbands’ body, and rested that soft dark pubic center over his opened mouth. A wonderfully warm smile formed on her face. One of not passion but compassion.

“Drink.” She whispered and slowly, indulgingly, closed her eyes.

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"I know." "You know?" "Yes." "But ..." Then almost as if she were being punched, in an ugly awkwardness, Troy grabbed for her around her head and tried to kiss her. She immediately resisted. "Don't!" Then she pushed at his chest and he let go, frustrated. "I don't want to see him hurt you Karen." He was embarrassed while Karen just stared at him, the look of fear and anger in her big dark eyes. He rubbed his hands on his jeans as if wiping off grease and backed away, pulling open the bell toned shop door and disappearing around the corner. There was something strange. She felt it in her panties beneath her knee high blue dress. A wetness, though she wasn't excited. It almost seemed masculine, as if her body was trying to defend itself. She paced over to the shop bathroom, pulled up her skirt, stripped down her panties and felt. A transparent fluid collected on her fingers. She smelled it and it smelled like sex. But how could that be?

It was mid afternoon. Paul’s head was underneath a pillow, under his neck. His head tilted upwards in a glossy glare. Around his cheek was more of that wetness. So much it seemed like a plastic mask. And over top of Paul’s' face Karen massaged her vagina and her clitoris like a patient woman would. Short and slow stroke that seemed a ballet of elegance, over top that hidden gape, massaging upwards towards his nose and then away. The pressure was all woman. A soft and gentle touch. The only danger being what fell in the excitement from her strange orchid desire. It was soft and quickly cooled exposed to the air, cold. But deep inside both her and her husbands mouth was much more of it, hot and living. "I have to smother you." She barely whispered. Her stare was one of misery. Insatiable misery. She looked down at his sorry eye so intensely aroused that it seemed she couldn't help herself. That what was started couldn't end until it was done.

"It's normal." "But I don't understand." "Troy Butler ... Did he hurt you?" "No." Karen smiled at Doctor Ted Donor, sitting there on his examination table. His old gray look of disgust in his bearded face. "Doctor I don't understand. I wasn't aroused. It never came out like that before." "You think you're sick?" "I don't know." "Have you been feeling anything else?" "No ... well." "Lay back." The doctor put on a set of rubber gloves. "I have been having these strange feelings." "Tell me about them." And he gently placed a finger into her vagina to feel around. "Some thoughts. Passionate thoughts."

It was a desperate struggle, despite the paralysis. Paul’s' body almost seemed to assume an involuntary self defense role. It hacked and jerked, squirting out snot and fluid from the nostril. His limbs flailed, punching, jerking, the same way as when he first collapsed hours ago. She was afraid, but she knew that it wouldn't last. She knew that it would only be a few more minutes, so she rode on top elegantly squeezing those bearded lips on his like a mask. The sexiest thing to her was his voice beneath all that thickness. The way the vocal chords in the neck tried to scream. It shivered all the way up to her belly button in electric waves. And she let that quiet bedroom air know in hot pants of delicate excitement how intimate it felt. Eventually they subsided. Eventually the fighting stopped, and all that remained was a womans ecstatic orgasm, deep and consuming.

"Most of it is psychological. That would be my guess. Karen, there's nothing wrong with you. You could pass for a teenager." She laughed. "If you don't mind me saying, maybe you should think of leaving." "Paul?" "Yes. Forgive me, but you're a beautifully attractive woman, with her whole life ahead of her. Find someone deserving of you." "Doctor, really." And after a long pause with him sitting at his desk: "I'm sorry, Karen." "It's ok." "Get dressed, you're fine."

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The sexiest thing to a woman is a baby. The sexiest thing. Because its beautiful, and of her body, directly. Her flesh and blood. And a baby is the same way towards its mother. Its flesh and blood. A life giving connection that can't be construed as anything other than life’s' loving embrace. But a man and a woman share something much different. Not at all the thing of intimacy comparable to that of the womb. She thought that if there were a God or a philosopher somewhere out there designing the world, that this were his or her message. This orchid "Port Alice". "Love one another, gross, and beautifully ..." It said. "... with more intimacy than you can know."

A potted plant fell to the floor breaking on the hard ceramic, its dirt exploded outwards. Troy had tried again, but this time instinctively Karen climbed up his torso with her legs. At first she squeezed not entirely knowing something new, as if to wrestle the big man, but the momentum of Troy's passion, and how it made him even more excited, reminded her. Instinctively. Troy obliged and stuck his head underneath her skirt. She breathed heavy, athletically, as he tore away at her Hanes. And when he kissed she thrust her vagina forward, and everything it had hotly bottled up in its container shot outwards, ejaculating. Troy swallowed attentively, so turned on he was unable to see three feet in front of him. The blood rushed to his head making him dizzy, and Karen held on, squeezing, and squirting. Afraid.

"See?" She said with a big white smile on her face. "You're breathing!" She massaged his head like he were a pet with her two hands. "You're breathing Paul!" Paul’s eyes stared up at her, confused at her optimism, glancing down at that beautiful white smile and those red luscious lips. Then they went back up to meet her eyes, in tears. "You're breathing ... Oh!" She whispered hotly, and she lost herself in her own seduction. She stroked long and determined, while the wetness poured, oozing in a slow and persistent current. She pressed like a man would.

"Doctor!" "Karen?" There was panic on the line. "I didn't know who to call!" "What is it? What's wrong?" "Can you come down here?" "Well I'm busy ri..." "Doctor please! I need you to come down here! Please?" There was a long silence while she breathed heavily, obviously terrified. "Ok Karen. I'll be right there ... you hold tight now, ok?" "Ok."

"What's wrong with him?" "I don't know!" You could tell she was upset. Old tears had ran the mascara on her face. "Its what we talked about. It just came out!" Doctor Doner knelt to where Troy lay. He was in a shiver. Cold sweat was everywhere on his body, permeating through his shirt. "He's paralyzed." "He tore off my panties. I just held on. I just held on and it came out!" "Now calm down ... calm down Karen." "Is he going to die?" Doctor Donor reached in his medical bag and pulled out a breathing device while feeling his pulse. It was a mask with a dark pump handle to force in air. "He's still breathing ..." Then he pumped the handle, helping Troy with his desperate struggle for oxygen. Troy spit out the fluid in heaves and rolled over to his side. His body was convulsing. "I have to bring him in." "Please don't tell anyone."

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"Mmmms and ahhhhs" like a meditation. That's the way she felt laying there on her back in a state of comfort she'd rarely known before. A method to a madness, or a state of grace too beautiful to comprehend. The day fluttered past as if it were a relaxingly cool breeze, in plains of velvet and cotton. Hours now minutes. Like clouds of irresistible memory and feeling, explained to a blind man, who has never known. Who has never seen before and who was now trapped between two lovely legs. Who’s only response were a silently electric massage deep in his neck. A whine. And a helpless look up her landscape, goosebumped, soft, and delicate. The breath of both their lives gently rising up and down in wave as if set free. Unleashed. "I did this before Paul." She explained as if half asleep. "I know you're afraid, but I know what’s going to happen. Trust me ... Your wife ... Its going to be beautiful."

"I think you should stop, yes." "I did ... two months ago." "And it hasn't changed?" Karen laughed, nervously. "I don't know. I guess I have to get attacked again to find out." "I've never seen anything like it before. For some reason as yet uncertain the mucous in your vagina has changed chemistry." "What can I do?" "Nothing. Hopefully it will subside. There’s nothing in the books about this. Its new." Karen sat back in that office chair before Doctor Donor at his big victorian desk. "Have you heard from Troy at all?" "No. Scared to death I'd say." "Not because of you. I told him that if I were to find out he'd spread some rumor, as your doctor I'd report his actions to the police." "Thank you Doctor." She said, withdrawn and feeling a chill. She rubbed both her arms, afraid. "You sure you're alright." "I'm just scared." "Nothing else beyond this?" "No." "Well I'd say you got off light. This should be over soon if not already. Orchids are strange creatures." He laughed, trying to spark a hobbyist’s optimism.

For a long time there was silence. Doctor Donor had a lot of work to do but Karen needed medicinal consoling. This was as much a part of his job as anything else. Then she acted as though she was going to leave saying thank you again, but asked: "What do you think its purpose is?" "Its purpose?" "Yes." "Why does it need one?"

Imagine yourself suddenly faced with a change like this. A gift that protects you from what you don't want, but changes you in the process. Something that makes you feel acutely aware, on a deep and biological level. The workings of your body. Not by definition, like a boring half asleep read of some text, but by meaning and feeling. As if it were a new sense of your world, hidden in the pleasant fragrance of a strange flower leaf. A tea. The rays of reality came clashing down and shined on her. On her womanly needs ... and stated instead of asking: "What is my purpose."

He lay there late at night at Cantor Flowers on Dieppe. He was on the floor face up, a rich flower patterned quilt protecting his naked body from the cold cement floor. A candle lit off to his right, and a bottle of red wine left. Why does an orchid plant need nourishment? Why does a relationship need love? Why does a woman try to save her failing marriage? Abandoned by some stroke of some rich CEO pen? It needs one, Doctor. It needs one...

[bill512]

ok.... last chapter coming up. This is getting boring. Time for some action. :D

[bill512]

"Breathe!" She shouted, holding tightly his head off the floor, off the quilt. She'd wrapped her hands around his head in prayer, and pulled as if there were some gigantic penetration of the man she held in shiver. Stooping over him. Staring insidiously down on him, between the milk that leaked from her nipples, into his terrified eyes. Her vagina spread wide as it could go, forcing out the fluid like it were a slow dump. The pressure was high. His cheeks spread as if playing brass, but locked thickly tight, squirting excess out the corners, and perpendicularly out the cracks of her vagina to his nose, to his neck, a slow paste. She felt the pressure all the way up to her womb, now twice its pear shaped size. Her connection. The mucous had grown both ways to make one thick flowers stew. Communicating. Penetrating. It was everything to her to force it in. She didn't know why. She didn't even care. She only knew that it was a satisfaction of some kind she'd never felt before. Ecstatic and unending in magnitude, scope, and pleasure. What could possibly be bad?

Doctor Donor’s arms and legs shivered in spasm off to the side. His eyes rolled far upwards and downwards staring then looking away unbelieving, into his own brain. Begging into her eyes: "Please Karen ... Please!” Occasionally his jaw would quiver as if under her control, "open" "close" ever so slow. And she adored it. Intimately, the thing inside her told her everything about him, his heart beat, his lungs breathe, his throat quiver, his mind see, and made him let her.

"Ahhhh!" She screamed, her hands locked around his neck. The feeling was torture. A kind of torture she couldn't let go of. She lay on her arched back, her gaze cross-eyed up the headboard, pulling her husband in. Pulled with the strength of ten men, while her hot sweaty legs yielded off to the side. The mucous would not stop flowing. As if there were more room somewhere, when both of them knew there wasn't. Her feminine desire obliged to force open the two of them. To spread wide their latex of muscles and welcome her new found orchid. Forcing that wonderful fluid into the both of them she whispered unable to control her wind: "What could possibly be bad?"

Her squat collapsed, banging the Doctors head into the concrete floor. There was a flash of light so intense she got dizzy and had to let go to keep her balance. She sat quick and winded, and loose, her arms holding her steady. Then it came again. "Ah!" She screamed quick and afraid. It blinded her. "Oh! ... Ah!" She jolted, as if being struck by some ghostly force. What was happening? Breathing like she had no energy left, the sweat rolled off her body down the small of her back, collecting and pouring between her buttocks. "What is this?" She whispered.

"Yes! ... Yes!" Lightning struck and her gorgeous figure electrified. Jerking and squirming with each flash of light. "Yes..." She whispered as the signal came clashing in.

She closed her eyes, her head slowly dancing from side to side, like she was high. "I see everything ... everything ..." She whispered, while the rays of her man's light shined in. Her vagina climaxed and held it steady. But it were as if her mind were separate while she slowly got back her wind. As if that one moment of orgasm were frozen in time, and the nerves of the mind held on, welcomingly, releasingly but never letting go. Her vagina felt like it was on fire. A beautifully warm fire of soft blue velvet light.

Like the sperm on the egg, she felt her desire with both the men. Too afraid to submerge herself in, for fear of it ending. She skimmed off the side, gently touching its surface. Stroking it with the palm of her hand. Reading what it had to say. What it had to show. It was a ball of bright white light that she wanted to keep, forever locked up in a jar somewhere. And touch as though a plaything. A partner. On the verge of cataclysmic release she'd pull away in a playful trance. With a smile on her face and goosebumps all over her sweaty body, at the wonder of the thing. And the smell. Oh the smell. It didn't smell like sex at all. It smelled like waste. Like shit. But it was beautiful. It was elegant and personal. But pungent. "Like Bromine." She whispered as she breathed in deep commemorative breaths of the stench of it. "Bromine scent."

Then all of a sudden she couldn't take it anymore. She wanted the release. She wanted it so bad. She wanted the ejaculation. The penetration. So she opened her arms and legs wide and grabbed that bright white ball, then disappeared.

Her vagina lifted from Doctor Donor’s face and the fluid poured out, spreading everywhere. She knelt up over him and let it fall, screaming in ecstasy while her womb and the pathway down to the doctor vacated its high-pressured release. All the muscles relaxed while her vagina grabbed in orgasm at the falling debris. It farted frantically, forcing the fluid out in frequent jet streams. Then she softly fell off to the side, her hand caressing her hip, exhausted, and satisfied.

"No!" She cried. "No!" As the great ball showed her. Revealed to her, her husbands affair. They made love hotly and defiantly, and that wonderful feeling of an energy held turned bitter, and grave. "You bastard!" She cried looking into the great white light, and the feeling of ecstacy in her vagina grew hot.

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Paul’s head increasingly got hotter. His life was in the grip of something he'd never known before. His eyes teared while the sweat poured off his brow staring up at his lovely wife, who was relaxed now, with her eyes closed. He could see the bottom of her chin turning slowly from side to side. She almost seemed in a trance. But it was the echo he heard deep in his body that shook him in seismic fear: "You bastard..." And the fluid she held tightly and deeply inside him seemed a boil.

As the heat got more intense he felt his life drain away. He stared at her that navel slowly and gently slid up and down in a relaxed state, while the pain intensified. His need for oxygen was being ignored, and it was burning him everywhere, draining his life away as if being emptied down some sewer. He tried to scream but his voice was gone. He tried to move himself away from the hot stove but his muscles were paralyzed. His eyes sunk deep in their sockets as his life slowly slipped away, as the hearts beat pumped down to nothing.

Karen stood clear of the big white ball of light. His restless spirit on display before her was something she couldn’t find love for. She backed away in tears, and stared hurt and disparaged at what was being revealed before her.

Then in a quiet release, Karen had her final orgasm with her husband. The fluid slowly relinquished its internal pressure on her womb emptying in her husbands body. It was quiet and barely noticeable, melting through him. As the fluid passed out her vagina and in his mouth the room was quiet. Solemn. No excitement. No ecstasy. She softly opened her grip with her legs and Paul’s head rolled off to the side, spilling out fluid all over the bed, all over her thigh, and his head rolled away, dead.


“Karen.” Doctor Donor shook her quiet sleep. “Karen wake up.” She slowly woke, quiet, and when she saw him she grabbed out for him with her arms, embracing him around his neck. Then began to cry.

“He’s dead.” “I know.” “What am I going to do?” “I’m going to take care of you now. Don’t worry about anything anymore.”


“I’ve no explanation for the condition of my wife. All my medical expertise can find no scientific description that might lead to a cure. She seems to have a strange power given to her by the orchid Port Alice, thetas somehow enabled her to read my mind. My soul. She’s no longer afraid of it like she was before, and each day I increasingly become anxious at the power she places over me. I can’t hide anything from her. And I can easily lose my life in her ecstasy. I can sense it. But where ever I have thoughts of defying her I break out into a sweat and become sick. Her power over me reaches beyond my bed, into some strange and mysterious force that I’m never able to find freedom from.”

While Doctor Donor scribbled in his journal he heard his new wifes call from the bedroom. A tear fell down his eye because he had to obey. He had no choice. He closed his journal, pulled off his reading glasses, and walked over to the bedroom. “Come here, honey. Put your head here.” “Please don’t hurt me again.” “Oh, sweetie. I’m going to love you like you’ve never been loved before.” Karen lay back on his bed, a white tee shirt and nothing on underneath. She spread her legs partway apart to reveal a smoldering vagina. Wet, red, pulsating, and hungry with the smell of Bromine.