The Flower Arrangement
Adelaide Cole
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I came into the Riggs household in the winter of 1903, when I was seventeen years old. I’d done nicely selling flowers in the London markets for a year, but a cold, wet summer had wreaked havoc on all the farmers, and I couldn’t buy any decent blooms to sell. The big sellers snatched them up and left the rest of us with naught. Sachets of dried lavender and hyssop hardly paid the rent. I resorted to dirty char work, which paid little. I could barely pay for my room and certainly had no money to heat it. Then my luck changed. I had sold roses and sweet pea in Covent Garden Market with a girl named Margaret, and it was thanks to her that I found a new undertaking. Margaret had been hired to cook for a household, and she brought me there.
After Margaret left Covent Garden we still had a pint together sometimes. She knew that I was on my own and she thought me a hardworking girl, which I was, and she knew I needed a better wage. In fact, I considered my industriousness my best quality, alongside pretty, brown curls, of course. She gave me a stellar reference when Missus Riggs began looking for a live-in house servant. I am forever grateful. Being taken into that household changed my fortune.
I hadn’t wanted to return to the countryside, where I had some family. A village was no place for an independent girl. I would be expected to marry and that would be that. I simply knew that I would lose all the pleasures and freedoms of my life. I’d likely be treated as a maid, but without the earnings!
I was happy in London. The working girls in the city markets were a delight, and we were truly family to one another. The city wasn’t without its perils, and some surely fell to those hazards, but I was careful in every way. I had lost my mother to pneumonia, and my brother had left the city to apprentice as a stonemason. Our father had abandoned us many years before. I suffered losses to be sure, but on the other hand I was free to decide my life quite by myself. I could make my own successes—and failures!—and I had only myself to answer to. I needn’t worry about a family reputation, or of pleasing others.
I tried to be careful and clever, as a girl had to be in order to avoid the dangers and pitfalls of the city. I’d seen other girls led into drink and drugs, disease, begging and even prostitution. I was determined to stay independent and childless. I wanted a better life, and I needed to secure savings for my goal: a flower shop of my own. The world was opening up to women, and I knew I had a chance.
I had advantages. I was pretty. I had big green eyes and a lovely ivory skin tone. I had a good, round bosom, which I took advantage of for flower selling. And my beauty wasn’t just good for my livelihood, but for fun as well! Like my girlfriends, I loved a romp with the lads. I enjoyed lifting my skirts for a hot, wet fuck with a handsome boy.
Delicious! We working girls could do such things. We didn’t have family reputations to concern ourselves with, but we had to have our wits about us in every way. Who knew that my job in the Riggs household would combine two of my talents: flowers and a good fuck.
So I was introduced to the household by Margaret. Missus Riggs was involved in charitable causes about town, and she needed to have the house kept up. Her three small children were looked after by the nanny, Olive. We three working girls shared a room beside the kitchen, which suited us nicely. Our small space was warm and clean and I had nothing to complain about. Margaret and Olive were chatty, and the household was a friendly place and there was enough to eat. We were lucky, indeed. I cleaned, did the washing, ran errands, served meals and dealt with the tradesmen. It was a lovely house on a quiet, tree-lined street, and I dreamed of living like that one day. I knew I could if I applied myself and worked hard.
Master Riggs was an officer in the Royal Navy. He had served abroad and now was stationed in London. I saw him occasionally, as he came and went, and only by a glance when I served the meals. He cut a powerful figure in uniform, and was a handsome man. I liked to sneak a look at him. His starched white shirts fell off his shoulder blades and emphasized strong shoulders; and I could see the shape of his slim ass under his trousers. He had deep blue eyes and thick, dark hair. But in any case, I answered to Margaret or the Missus and my path crossed little with his.
Doing chores, I imagined running my hands over hard muscles…his hands squeezing my ass…his full lips on mine…undoing his trousers and taking his hard cock into my mouth. I would take a deep breath, squeeze my pulsing cunt between my thighs and beat a rug very hard to relieve myself of such frustration. “What energy you have, my girl!” said Margaret, standing at the kitchen window, seeing me return inside with freshly beaten carpets.
Sometimes, on an evening out, I would stop by one of my lads in a pub in the market. I’d twirl a soft, brown curl with my finger, and run my tongue over my open lips just enough to encourage a sweaty romp in his room. We would roll about, his sweaty flesh to mine. I imagined it was Master Riggs caressing and squeezing my tits.…and that it was his cock diving into the warm, pink flesh of my pussy.
The devil makes work of idle hands, and over the months those excursions allowed me to stay out of any trouble and concentrate on work. And I wasn’t only drawn to Master Riggs, but I also had to keep myself from the handsome tradesmen who came to and fro. A simple effort with the fat butcher and the scrawny milkman, but by the summertime it was not so easy to leave off the virile carpenter who was around the yard for days on end, with his shirt off and the summer sun making sweat glisten off firm, undulating muscle.
“Why did you close the curtains, Emma?” Cook asked, looking at me as though I were mad. “It’s not even midday. Besides, summer sun is fleeting.”
“Sorry, Margaret,” I replied. “I was dusting there. I must have forgotten to open them again,” I replied. Why, indeed? I could hardly tell her that the sight of the olive-toned flesh of the half-naked tradesman in the yard was making me lose my breath, could I?
Time passed like that, and I was proud of my work. By the time autumn turned to winter I was given more responsibility and a raise in my salary from the Missus. I saved my earnings and envisioned a day when I might have my shop. The idea even began to regularly occupy my thoughts. My own shop! Such independence!
One gray and wet autumn afternoon I was sweeping the floors and polishing woodwork in the Master’s study, when he came in. “Good afternoon, sir,” I said, continuing my work.
“Yes…good day, Emma…” he replied in a preoccupied way. He stood in the doorway, seeming to look at his own feet. My heart began to beat hard as I felt his presence on the red Persian carpet. The sounds amplified in my head, of the rain hitting the windowpanes and of my heart beating. Silly girl, I thought, he’s taking no notice of you. No need for such theatrics! I continued my work.
Then I heard the door close and the key turn in the lock. I stole a quick glance and saw that he was inside. Indeed, he was preoccupied with something. He went to his desk. Where was everyone? I wondered. In fact, the Missus was at the dressmaker’s, and Cook would have been quite occupied at that hour with lunch preparations. The children were at the park with Nanny. I realized that Master Riggs and I were quite alone.
But when I gathered my things and turned to leave, I turned and found him looking straight into my eyes. Our eyes locked together for the first time ever, but he was quite silent. “Uh…” I stammered out. “Can I do something for you, sir?”
“Draw the curtains, Emma, if you would,” he replied, betraying nothing. My cunt began to pulsate and I swallowed hard.
“Yes, sir,” I replied. I went to the window. Outside, the rain still poured. I drew the curtains closed. Pale light was all that remained in the room.
“Emma,” he said quietly, “will you sit down?”
He motioned to a nearby chair. I sat in the straight-backed chair, keeping his gaze. “I’m led to understand that you are an ambitious girl.” He seemed to want a reply. He stood calmly but straight, with his hands in his pockets.
I returned a breathless, “Yes, sir…I suppose that could be said of me…” My heartbeat still reverberated in my chest.
“You know you’re a lovely-looking girl, don’t you…?” His voice was low and intoxicating. “And you must know you’ve a comely figure as well. I’ve watched you for some time.”
He stopped, but I didn’t know what, if anything, to say.
“What would you say if I asked you to open your dress…?”
I felt the blood rush into my pussy. My nostrils flared with excitement, but I felt that I needed to keep my wits about me. “Sir…I might comply, sir…” My head swam. Was this some sort of trap? Was my job in jeopardy if I refused? Would he think me wanton if I did as he wanted? But I wanted him! I didn’t know how to answer, or what to do.
“Then would you open your dress, please?” We held eye contact as my fingers unbuttoned my bodice. He could see that he had his willing partner. “Open wider,” he said. He moved behind me. He slipped his hands inside my dress, on my bare shoulders. He pushed my dress off my shoulders and shoved the fabric off of me. I was exposed. He slid his hands from my bare shoulders and cupped my breasts. Slowly, even calmly, he lifted the round weight of them, squeezed them gently, pinched my nipples and palmed them with open hands. I caught my breath, but tried to keep from moaning aloud. Then he began to speak.
“So you’re ambitious,” he breathed softly in my ear. “I think ambition is a worthy attribute and ought to be rewarded along with hard work. And I’m told you are indeed very industrious as well. Would you raise your skirts and open your legs…?” he whispered. I pulled my skirts up till they sat high on my thighs. “Push your knickers down and open your legs…”
I raised my ass off the chair just enough to push my kickers down, then I kicked them to the floor. I spread my thighs open. “I’ll bet you have a beautiful pussy,” he said calmly, sotto voce. His hands left my breasts. One hand grazed my thigh, and the other skimmed the dark hair on my pussy, petting it like a cat. I moaned out loud. His fingers ran lightly from my ass, up to the top of my aching, hungry cunt. His finger slipped stealthily through the slippery, wet folds of my sex into my cunt.
“Sir…” I said quite pointlessly. His other hand returned to my tits, and he pinched my nipples and rolled them between his thumb and fingers. My body warmed and quivered.
He continued speaking quietly. My senses could barely process both the sensations on my flesh and the words coming in my ears. “I have a business proposition for you, Emma.” He paused. “An opportunity to fulfill an ambition, which I’m told might include opening a small flower shop.” My head swam with the sensation of his fingers rolling my red, erect nipple, and his other hand fingering my pussy. “And I might have something I need, as well…” His voice trailed off.
“And here’s what I need now…” and his hands left me as he moved around to be in front of me. “Undo my trousers,” he said. His crotch was at my face. His thigh brushed my nipples. I clumsily unbuttoned his trousers, and his hard cock strained against the fabric. I didn’t wait for instructions. I took his sex out, and it was like the stamen of a flower about to burst with seed. I looked up at him and he looked at me, breathing hard. He ran his fingers through my curls and pushed my head to him. I took his cock in my mouth and pumped it, making it wet with my spit. I licked it like a sweet from the shaft to the head. He moaned. I licked his balls and ran my hands along his thighs that I’d fantasized about for so many months.
“Down on your hands and knees,” he whispered urgently. I came off the chair and dropped to all fours. In a moment he was behind me. He pushed my skirts up to my waist. My pussy wetness dripped out of me. He held my hips and I felt the head of his big sex slip through my opening and slide into me, firing every nerve in its path. My cunt exploded in waves of pleasure deep inside. I panted and cried out, but his hand covered my mouth. “Shhhhhh!” He moaned low and fucked me, pumping my cunt. My body shivered in ecstasy.
His arm encircled my hip, and his other hand ferociously kneaded my tits. Then he pulled himself out of me, held me to him and groaned as he came in my skirts. After a moment, he caught his breath, then, “We don’t want you in the family way, do we?” he said, panting.
We were both spent. He let go of my waist and got himself up. He wiped his brow and buttoned his trousers. Disheveled and sweaty, I picked myself up and sat in the chair. He stood and gathered himself.
Finally, he spoke again. “So then let’s talk about an arrangement, my dear.” An arrangement? I thought. “You’re clearly a respectable girl,” he said with a coy wink, “if a bit wicked…” His voice subdued and more serious, he continued, “Of course, this would be an entirely secret proposition…and a benefit to us both. We can ‘meet.’” He said the word with a sly smile. “And over time you’d be in a financial position to leave us for a more independent venture.”
A domestic prostitute? I thought to myself, horrified at the word, and it came out of my mouth. “But I’m no prostitute, sir!”
“Oh, my,” he said with an indignant tone. “I wouldn’t have one under my roof, dear…It’s an arrangement,” he repeated. “The terms of the deal are secrecy and great care. You don’t seem like you mind the ‘work’ too much,” and he said this with a smile, “and you can view it as a financial dividend.” He put his hand in his pocket and removed some pound notes. He placed a generous sum on the desk. “Do we have a deal, Emma?”
I looked at him and replied as demurely as I could muster, “Why, yes, sir. I believe we do.”
“Then good day, dear,” he said, and turned to the door. He unlocked it, and left. In the hallway he took his hat and coat, and I heard the front door open and close with a bang that shook the brass knocker. I straightened myself and went downstairs to the kitchen.
“Margaret,” I said to the cook, “I forgot to run to the butcher’s this morning. Do you mind if I fetch the roast now? Would it be a bother for you to serve lunch?”
“Not a bother, dear,” Margaret said, not even looking up from her turnips. “You go right ahead.” I took my coat and cape and left, more than happy to have a reason to walk in the fresh air and clear my mind of the strangest event I could ever have imagined!
In the weeks and months that followed I went about my work and didn’t utter a word to a soul. Nobody in the house suspected, nor should they if I were to keep my job. It was surely a prosperous adventure for me, a pleasurable one for Master Riggs. Earning the money for my own shop and all the while frolicking around the house with this gentleman? An offer I could not have refused!
Springtime arrived and I asked the Missus if I could take over the flower and bedding plants from the gardener. Missus Riggs may not have known how I was earning my extra pay, but she knew I had in my head to open a flower shop, so she let me at the garden. That spring I planted purple iris, primrose, daffodil and wallflower. When the summer came, I did orange marigold, blue geranium, pink meadowsweet and mullein. My buttercups did nicely, as did the red campion, honeysuckle and lily. I learned which seeds did better in certain soils, and which needed more sun or less.
My flowers and posies now regularly sat in vases on the Missus’s tables. Cook helped me improve my reading, and I learned about flowers and plants from botanical books. And I couldn’t have been bored, since every so often I’d be surprised by a visit from Master Riggs.
He took me where he liked, though he was always careful of two things: that no one should find us; and that he shouldn’t make me pregnant. But still, he often surprised me with an adventuresome appetite. One afternoon, he brought home another gentleman. I didn’t think a thing of it until he called me to his study. “Emma!” he called, and he rang the bell in his study.
“Yes, sir,” I said, and noticed a gentleman with him. I t
ook their hats and coats and went to leave.
“Then return, please,” he said.
I half wondered…
And when I returned, the Master did indeed turn the key in the study door. “How would you like to earn a bit extra for your pot, dear?” he asked. I was taken aback. I didn’t know quite what he was wanting, but at the same time his friend was a fine-looking man, and I couldn’t refuse a little well-paid adventure. What a wicked girl! “Sirs…” I replied, not wanting to refuse but not wanting to appear as if I anticipated any pleasure out of what might transpire.
The gentleman looked at Master Riggs as if to get permission, then he looked at me. “Let me see your titties, my girl…” I also looked at Master Riggs, but he revealed nothing. I looked at them as I undid my bodice and opened my clothes, freeing round breasts and hard, pink nipples.
“Mmm…” the gentleman moaned immediately. He stepped right to me and turned me around so that I faced the desk. There, he bent me over the Master’s desk, pushed up my skirts and dove his cock right into me. He held my shoulder and fairly slammed into me. My breasts bounced and slapped against me, and he grabbed them as though they were pieces of ripe fruit. Master Riggs enjoyed the whole sight. He worked his sex with his hand till he came with a moan in a handkerchief.
The gentleman pulled himself out of me and his hot, white cream spilled over my ass and down my thighs. “What a girl!” he said, and he smacked my bottom hard with his hand.
“Ouch!” I cried, and he laughed. And though I liked a quick fuck also, his manner didn’t please me and I was satisfied when he was gone. I was paid very well for that time, and was glad for it.
When I wasn’t working I began to spend time at Kew Gardens, where I learned more about trees, bedding plants and flowers. At the Riggses’, I even planted herbs in pots in Cook’s kitchen. And since the small glass conservatory had become a bit of a fashion in London, Missus Riggs had one built. I worked on roses, violets, irises and other plants out of season. Margaret was glad to see my kitchen herbs out of her windows and into the glass house.
The Flower Arrangement Page 1