Hearts and Flowers

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Charleston Hartwell was a good business man. He had made a quiet living in his early adult life, working for others and learning the business of his choice – flowers. Then, when his grandfather had died, he had been given the opportunity of a lifetime. A healthy inheritance, invested the right way, paid off with bonuses! And Mr. Hartwell soon found himself the proud owner of his own prosperous business, Hartwell’s Hearts and Flowers. His one little store turned quickly into a chain, with many who wished he would franchise. But he refused, keeping his fingers tightly on the reigns of his own little enterprise for many decades.

That’s how he got to be so lucky, he told himself as he stared across the table with appreciating eyes at his companion.

It was only because Mr. Hartwell had remained the sole owner of his flower shops that he had just happened to be around when Victoria Michaels came in. She was ordering flowers for her deceased mother’s grave. And she had politely asked Mr. Hartwell to excuse her as she reached across his line of sight and touched a particularly expensive flower vase.

He had stepped back courteously, noting the young woman’s soft smile and lowered gaze. She had pale misty blue eyes and platinum blonde hair, probably dyed to get that beautiful golden colour women envied of each other. She had reached out to the vase, delicately turned the hanging price tag over, and had sighed softly before moving away. Mr. Hartwell watched her go from the corner of his eye, then took a look at the price of the vase himself. It wasn’t really that expensive. Her reaction to the price of the vase made him wonder.

Quietly, he had followed her about the store with his eyes, avoiding the store clerk and the counter as much as he could. He didn’t want the girl to know that she was actually standing in a store he owned. He wanted to observe her more, for she had piqued his curiosity. If she thought the vase was too much, she might really have walked into the wrong store. Hartwell’s was about quality more than quantity. Only the best, he had always insisted. But he almost felt downtrodden imagining a pretty girl like this being unable to buy anything he had for sale.

Victoria Michaels had finally settled on one of the bouquets of prepackaged flowers from the coolers against the walls. When she approached the counter shyly and opened up her purse, Mr. Hartwell stood behind her in line. He watched over her shoulder, ignoring the glances from the clerk behind the counter as he looked into the pretty blonde woman’s purse.

Carefully, she counted out the bills and change for her purchase. She made sure she had exact change, counting it out to the last penny. Obviously a woman of little means, he had thought then. She had taken her wrapped flowers and slowly made her way out of the store, looking one more time longingly at the vase.

The look in her eyes nearly broke Mr. Hartwell’s heart. So it wasn’t surprising that she got only a few feet beyond the doorway before he put his hand on her shoulder.

She had been so startled when he turned her around carefully and presented her with the vase.

“Oh my! No, sir, I couldn’t possibly-” She had begun to object.

But he had insisted.

“How will I repay you?” she had asked. And he had just smiled.

“You have no need to repay me, child,” he said in his eloquent speech. “Do you know who I am?”

The girl blushed and looked down at her feet. She did not know.

Then, boldly, he had put his finger under her soft round chin and lifted her eyes up to his. He pointed a crooked finger at the sign in the window of the shop they stood next to. There was a portrait of him there, on an ad bragging about how many years Hartwell’s Hearts and Flowers had been serving this neighbourhood. He was even wearing his hair the same and a suit almost identical to the black one in the photograph. When he smiled, he was sure the smile was just a bit older than the picture’s…but not by much.

“You’re…you’re Mr. Hartwell?” the girl gasped as the information sunk in.

He nodded, pleased by her reaction. She was flustered and beyond speech.

“So no, dear, you don’t need to repay me.”

He smiled and handed the vase to the young lady standing so flabbergasted infront of him. She gaped and her mouth worked in silence. Even so, it was the most beautiful mouth he had ever seen.

“But,” he said slyly, “you could do me the honour of dinner. Tonight, perhaps?”

She could turn him down, he knew. He was old, slightly stooped because of his age. His hair was snow white, and his wrinkles had wrinkles. But he did so love beautiful women. He’d married three. And though he’d sworn off them ten years ago, he found himself unable to resist. Just one more try, he thought as he looked into lovely Victoria Michaels’ eyes. Just say yes!

“Yes!”

“Yes?” he asked.

“Yes I will go to dinner with you tonight, Mr. Hartwell,” she had said, blushing again.

He held her hand in both of şişli escort his, stroking the soft skin as he smiled.

“Wonderful. Where shall I send my car to, then?”

And now they were here, having dinner at his country mansion thirty minutes out of the city itself. He’d considered causing a stir and taking her to the most expensive restaurant in town. But some part of him doubted that she would have the clothes to fit in. The last thing he wanted to do was make her feel alienated. All he really wanted was her, all to himself. His country home was the best place to make that happen. The servants were few and rarely seen. And the coziness of the patio at this time of year was perfect.

He looked out at the sun as it began to set beyond the horizon. The vineyards were his and beyond them, an orchard. All he surveyed was his. Mr. Hartwell looked back at the delicious blonde who hadn’t taken her eyes off of him.

Perhaps even she would be his, he thought.

Under the table, inside his slacks, some ancient beast stirred hungrily. And it made him grin even as much as it surprised him. The young girl, probably no more than twenty years old, was awakening in his body a thirst. As he lifted his wine glass to his lips and met her tender gaze evenly, he wondered if she knew what she was in for.

After dinner, he gave her a full tour of the house. He pointed out the grand piano in its special room reserved for concerts performed by one of his nieces. He led her through the kitchens and watched with pleasure as she ooh’d and ahh’d over the shining appliances and lengthy cupboards and counters. And when he showed her the master bedroom, she wasted no time in going to the bed and running her fingers over the highest quality faux fur quilts he kept on the bed. They were vestiges from his youth, when he had always hoped to one day be able to afford real fur. In his wisdom and older years, he realized the foolishness of such a dream and supplanted it at last with a much better choice. It looked and felt the same, at least to him, and that was all that mattered.

Victoria ran her hands over the furs, luxuriating in the feel of the soft tufts between her delicate fingers. Then she blushed crimson, realizing he was watching her. He stood with his hands behind his back, wondering if she could see the hard on she was causing in his loose slacks.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, moving to sit up.

“Oh, please don’t apologize!” He smiled at her. “Every man loves to see a beautiful woman on his bed, thoroughly enjoying herself.”

He wondered if his voice sounded like a seductive purr to her, like it did to him. And he wondered if he was being too obvious. Then he just stopped caring and smiled at the young woman.

Victoria raised an eyebrow in an almost bold gesture. To Mr. Hartwell’s surprise, she leaned carefully back on the bed, keeping her eyes on his. She spread her long platinum blonde tresses out behind her and smiled softly.

She looked like an angel just then, with a golden aura or halo above her head. He walked slowly forward towards the bed, stopping only when his knees brushed hers.

“Do you have any idea what a sight like that does to a man? Even a man my age?”

She nodded, and slowly sat up, eyes still locked to his.

Mr. Hartwell put a hand next to the woman’s cheek, stroking the soft skin with his thumb. He watched as she licked her trembling lips, and his heart went out to her.

“Maybe you only think you do. Maybe the recent loss of your mother is causing you to act…differently than you would normally.”

Her smile disappeared, but she looked no less beautiful to him. She lowered her eyes for a moment, then looked back up to the old man’s face.

“My mother…she took care of me, Mr. Hartwell. Losing her like I did changed me. I know that I might not be myself right now. But…”

She blinked and looked deeply into his eyes.

“But whoever I am, I’m still sitting here on your bed, Mr. Hartwell. Whoever I might be, I’m still here, with you. That just doesn’t seem like a bad thing, like something I should regret.”

Her words were confusing, all the more so as she lifted her fingers to his belt and began to undo the buckle. He sucked in his breath, feeling his cock jump in his boxers as she unzipped his slacks and pushed them to his knees. Slowly, she tugged his underwear down, pushing them to his pants. Then she lifted her eyes up and gasped, blinking at Mr. Hartwell’s cock.

He wasn’t a small man. His member had seen better days but it had always been well exercised. When he’d come into money, and had become secure in his finances, he had made sure that his penis saw the benefits. He’d been married three times to girls just like Victoria Michaels. Sweet young women, or so he’d thought each time. But they’d all turned out to be harlots, whores really. They just wanted his money. None of them had given him children, and that was mostly because once he found out they were sluts, he felt a huge disappointed çapa escort and stopped desiring them.

Would young Victoria here turn out just the same? At least he’d get to see that much before having to marry her or make some silly commitment. She was sitting here, staring at his thick cock, and trembling like a school girl. Was she really so innocent?

She lifted her hand up to touch his cock and he quickly gripped her wrist. He pushed her back suddenly on the bed, forcing himself ontop of her and staring intently into her frightened eyes.

“So what is it you want?” he demanded. “Why are you here on my bed, Victoria?”

She stuttered and gaped, looking so afraid. It excited him.

“Maybe you aren’t here because you’ve changed. Maybe you’re just here because the moment I saw you, I wanted to fuck you. Real bad, girl. Real bad.”

He grabbed her other wrist and put it above her head, holding both in one hand. He was surprising himself with his sudden strength and vitality. Thank you, he thought to Victoria. This is turning out to be a great night after all.

Slowly, Mr. Hartwell lowered his free hand to Victoria’s face. She was terrified, that was very obvious. He had indulged in all sorts of deviations during his youth and early adulthood. He knew terror and fear when he saw them in a young woman’s eyes. He saw them now, but he also saw something else. There was a hunger in this woman’s face, a craving for something only he could give her.

He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her, hard, fiercely. And she returned the kiss as best she could. Apparently, kissing was something he could teach her.

Later, he thought. I’ve got to check something first…

He moved his hand down from her face, pulling himself up on the bed and kicking off his shorts and pants so he could lean over the young woman. He watched himself as his hand grazed over her blouse. It wasn’t the most expensive material but poorly made blouses tended to tear with greater difficulty than the ridiculously expensive ones. Just one of life’s ironies, he knew. He cupped her breast over the blouse, then stared into Victoria’s eyes as he gripped the buttons in the front and pulled. He pulled hard, two times, before the blouse finally gave way. The girl was breathless.

Mr. Hartwell looked down at Victoria’s chest. Her brassiere was simple, cotton or linen, and white. He easily slid his hand under one cup and gave her breast a squeeze.

It was real. Her beautifully curved breasts were full, her nipples hardening as he massaged from one tit to the other. And bless all the angels, her tits were real!

Unable to believe his luck, Mr. Hartwell moved his hand from Victoria’s chest. He moved it lower, stroking her abdomen and watching her eyes as she nearly fainted from his touch. Something tickled in the back of his brain but he was not willing to hear the happy sound just yet. He had to know for sure first.

Slowly, he watched as his hand moved lower, pulling open the young lady’s skirt. It was the kind of skirt someone should be wearing to an office, a secretary’s skirt. Maybe that’s what she did for a living. He hadn’t had the time to find out yet and didn’t know if he cared. Right now, it was an offending piece of material keeping him at bay. He looked at Victoria sternly as he released her wrists and rose up above her.

On his knees now, he ignored her pleading face as she bit her lip. The skirt finally came apart in his hands after several strong pulls and tugs. The seams just seemed to melt away and the fabric separated at last. He threw the skirt remnants away and began to stroke over Victoria’s hips.

“Please,” she was begging softly.

Did she want him to stop? Or could she be asking him to keep going? It didn’t matter.

Mr. Hartwell moved cautiously over the girl’s underpants. They were some sort of cotton blend, and not very sexy. He stood now, rising off the bed but still hovering over the woman’s body. He tucked his fingers in the waistband of her underwear and pulled them down her legs, dropping them to the floor.

The excited scent of woman was divine as it wafted up to his nose. He lowered his mouth over her and kissed her belly, loving the way she convulsed at the unexpected and unaccustomed touch. He put a hand on her jutting hip bones, moving down her legs to her thighs. Then he pushed her legs apart.

“Please. I was…I was going to give you head, Mr. Hartwell. I’ll please you, please don’t do this.”

So she thought she’d just give him head, did she? Is that what she did for all the men who bought her vases? He wanted to giggle but didn’t.

The sight of her pussy was absolutely beautiful. She was slick with juice already. He reached out a hand and stroked over the brown tufts of pussy hair. Yes, she definitely dyed her hair blonde, because down here, where she was the most natural, she was a chestnut colour. He lowered himself to his knees, pulling her to the end of the bed so that her round ass lined up with fındıkzade escort the bed’s edge. Then he pushed her legs up over his shoulders. With his hands over her slender thighs, he could maneuver his thumbs very well. And he used them to pull her hairy pussy lips apart. The pearls of pussy juice inside were irresistible and he flicked his tongue over them, tasting them.

She cringed and squealed as he began to feverishly lick her crevices. No secrets were left unrevealed as his thumbs kept her swollen lips pried open. He explored her folds, her clitoris as it became a hard wet bud, and even the tight hole she begged him not to ‘kiss’. He was going to kiss it, alright. He thrust his tongue inside her depths and found himself coming up against a barrier.

Could it be? She was a virgin!

He tongued the barrier as best he could, appreciating and respecting it rather than tearing it. That would come soon enough!

Mr. Hartwell rose up at last. He hadn’t let her cum though, hadn’t let her reach full orgasm. Whatever sexual adventures she had thought she’d had in her short life were about to be put asunder. Mr. Hartwell knelt on the bed, between Victoria’s pale legs. He looked down at her, daring her to stop him.

The young woman put her arm over her eyes, covering her face. Mr. Hartwell pushed her hand away.

“If only you could see what I see, darling,” he said. “If you could appreciate the view I have.”

He moved his hand over her pussy again, thumbing her clit and making her wince with the pressure. Then he stroked his cock. It was just as long as it had always been, longer than he’d seen it in some time. And it was just as thick, just as ready.

“Please,” she said, still begging hopelessly. “I’m not on the pill! I might get pregnant!”

That gave him pause. What if she did get pregnant? None of his women had ever done that. And he knew it wasn’t because of his sperm. He’d been checked, checked and rechecked. It just hadn’t been ‘right’, the experts had told him. Sometimes that’s how things went. And sometimes people paid exorbitant amounts of money to MAKE things go well. He wasn’t willing to do that.

So what if she did get pregnant? She’d be the first.

He smiled down at her.

“Do you know how very wealthy I am, child?” he said.

She nodded through some crocodile tears.

“If you get pregnant,” he said, not even believing his own words, “I will marry you. On the spot.”

Victoria Michaels blinked up at Mr. Hartwell. “Are…are you serious?”

He nodded. He was serious. He just didn’t expect he’d have to actually follow through on that promise. But he didn’t doubt the effect his words would have on the woman beneath him.

He held his dick in one hand, pushing the fat head against the woman’s swollen pussy lips. His other hand reached down and pulled one of her large tits out of her bra, squeezing it hard. She winced but did nothing to stop him. Then she raised up on her elbows, pushing his hand harder against his chest.

She watched as he used his big cock to part her pussy, to open her up. There was no doubt in his mind that nothing had ever penetrated this fine cunt infront of him. Maybe a digit of a finger here, the rub of a toy there. But she’d put nothing really fat into her puss before, nothing of substance. He was going to change that. Right now.

Mr. Hartwell put his hand behind Victoria’s neck, almost folding her in half without letting her pussy slide away.

“I’m going to fuck you. With this cock, right here. It’s going to hurt.”

“But…but if I get pregnant, you’ll take care of me….so…so it’s okay…”

He wanted to laugh out loud but didn’t. The pure innocence of her kept him hard and excited. And he wanted to fuck her, so bad.

“Watch,” he commanded. Victoria watched.

He pushed his cock harder, releasing her neck now and putting his hand on her thigh. His fingers dug in, releasing some of his tension so he wouldn’t go too fast. She tried to watch as he entered her, but just couldn’t and fell back onto the bed.

He licked his lips, looking down as both hands rested on Victoria’s thighs. He let his cock do all the work now. And he pushed harder with his hips, forcing his cock into the tight hole that awaited him.

It was so tight. So fucking tight. He pushed more. And she yielded, just slightly. He pushed more. And more of his length was inside her. This divine being of goodness and purity was opening up beneath and before him. His fingers dug into her thighs and she squealed again, covering her face with her arms. He couldn’t resist, couldn’t hold back anymore.

Mr. Hartwell threw himself ontop of Victoria, pushing his cock deep inside her objecting cunthole. He could feel it sucking at him, convulsing around the foreign flesh. But it was unexpectedly rhythmic and only served to further his excitement. He grabbed for Victoria’s arms and held them above her head on the bed. Then he began to rut inside her, thrusting hard and fast. He was unstoppable now, even though she cried and wept under him. He looked at the fresh tears streaming down her face, and wondered if she was crying out of pain or shame.

Was she so different from the sluts he had known?

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