The flower shop had closed hours ago, the neon "CLOSED" sign casting a pink glow through the front windows. In the back room, where Audrey II's pot had grown to dominate the space, the air hung thick with the scent of nectar and something darker—something alive.
"Feed me," Audrey II's voice rumbled, low and resonant, his massive pod swaying toward Seymour. But tonight, the hunger wasn't for blood. "I been watchin' you two lovebirds. All that flutterin' and blushin'. Time to stop teasin' and start pleasin'."
Seymour stood nervously by the workbench, his shirt already unbuttoned from Audrey's impatient fingers. Audrey herself—human Audrey—sat perched on the edge of the pot, her legs dangling, her dress riding up her thighs. She bit her lip, looking between her two lovers with wide, wanting eyes.
"I don't know about this," Seymour stammered, though his body betrayed him, already hard and straining against his trousers. "I mean, you're a plant, and Audrey's a lady, and I'm just—"
"You're just the main course," Audrey II interrupted, a vine snaking out to wind around Seymour's wrist, pulling him closer with insistent strength. "And she's the appetizer. And I'm the whole damn feast."
Audrey slid off the pot, her heels clicking against the concrete. She was bolder now than she'd been in the Skid Row days—Audrey II's influence had awakened something hungry in her too. She pressed against Seymour's back, her hands sliding around his waist to work his belt loose while her lips found his ear.
"He's been so patient, Seymour," she whispered, breath hot against his skin. "Letting us play, letting us get close. Don't you think we should... return the favor?"
Another vine—thick and veined, pulsing with alien life—curled around Audrey's waist from behind, lifting her slightly so her feet dangled. She gasped, her back arching as the tip of the vine teased along her inner thigh, just barely brushing the lace of her panties.
"Easy there, big boy," she laughed, breathless.
"Easy?" Audrey II's laugh was subsonic, vibrating through the floor. "Baby, I don't do easy. I do *thorough*."
The vines moved with choreographed precision. One stripped Seymour's trousers down in a single fluid motion, leaving him exposed and trembling. Another two lifted him off his feet, spreading him suspended in the air between Audrey II's massive pod and Audrey's waiting body. He hung there, vulnerable, his arousal bobbing heavily in the humid air.
"Look at him," Audrey II commanded. "All that need. All that *tension*. Audrey, baby, you ever seen him this desperate?"
"Never," she breathed, stepping forward. She was still fully dressed, the contrast maddening—her floral dress and pearls while Seymour hung naked and spread-eagle in the vines' grip. She traced a single finger up his thigh, stopping just short of where he needed her most.
"Audrey, please," Seymour whimpered, hips thrusting into empty air.
"Please what?" She tilted her head, playing innocent even as her eyes danced with mischief. "Please touch you? Please stop? Please make you wait?"
"Please don't make me wait," he begged. "I've been thinking about this all day, ever since you whispered in your ear at lunch, ever since he—"
A thick vine wrapped around Seymour's shaft, silencing him with a strangled cry. The surface was warm, almost fever-hot, and slick with some natural lubricant that smelled like jasmine and rain. It didn't stroke—just held, firm and unyielding, a band of pressure around his base.
"Edgin'," Audrey II explained, his voice dropping to a purr. "You think you're ready to blow? Think you've earned it? Nah, Seymour. We got hours. We got *all night*."
Audrey stepped between Seymour's suspended legs, her hands sliding up her own thighs, lifting her dress inch by agonizing inch. The vine at her waist had migrated, two thinner tendrils slipping beneath her panties to tease her while she teased Seymour. She was already wet—Seymour could see the dark spot on the lace, could smell her arousal mixing with Audrey II's nectar.
"She's drippin'," the plant observed. "You did that. Just by hangin' there lookin' all pathetic and pretty. You want a taste?"
Before Seymour could answer, Audrey had shimmied out of her underwear and climbed up, her legs wrapping around his waist. The vines adjusted, supporting her weight, bringing them together until her heat hovered millimeters from his trapped, throbbing length.
"Audrey," Seymour moaned, trying to thrust upward, but the vines held him immobile. "Please, I need—"
"I know what you need," she whispered, and sank down onto him in one slow, devastating movement.
They both cried out. Audrey's head fell back, her blonde hair cascading toward the floor as she began to move—not fast, but with deliberate, torturous rolls of her hips. Every time Seymour got close to the rhythm he needed, she would slow down, or the vine around his base would tighten, cutting off his orgasm before it could begin.
"Not yet," she breathed, her nails digging into his shoulders. "He wants to watch you suffer first."
"And sufferin' looks *good* on you," Audrey II rumbled. More vines emerged—dozens of them, slithering over every available inch of skin. They wrapped around Seymour's chest, teasing his nipples with feather-light touches. They curled around Audrey's breasts, squeezing rhythmically through her dress. One particularly adventurous tendril found its way between Seymour's legs from behind, pressing against his perineum with firm, circling pressure.
"Oh god," Seymour gasped, his whole body shaking. "I can't—I need to—"
"First one goes to her," Audrey II decreed. "You don't get yours till she gets hers. And maybe not even then."
Audrey was riding him with abandon now, her dress hiked up around her waist, her breasts bouncing, her face flushed and open and beautiful. The vines at her nipples and clit were working in concert with Seymour's cock inside her, a symphony of sensation that had her babbling nonsense, calling their names, begging in a way that would have shocked her old self.
"Close," she panted. "Seymour, I'm so close, don't stop, don't you dare—"
The vine at her clit flickered—rapid, vibrating movements that sent her over the edge. Audrey screamed, her body convulsing, her internal muscles clamping down on Seymour in rhythmic pulses that made him see stars. She kept moving through it, chasing the aftershocks, grinding down on him until she was oversensitive and trembling.
"Beautiful," Audrey II crooned. "Now that's what I call a show. But you, Seymour—you're still hangin' in there, ain't ya? Balls tight, cock drippin', ready to explode?"
"Please," Seymour sobbed, genuine tears of frustration in his eyes. "Please, I can't take it, I need to come, please—"
"Since you asked so nice."
The vine around his base loosened. Audrey, still quivering from her own orgasm, began to move again—faster now, rougher, angling her hips so every stroke dragged across that spot inside her that made her gasp. The vine at his perineum pressed harder, and new tendrils wrapped around his balls, rolling them with just enough pressure to hurt so perfectly.
"Come for us," Audrey commanded, her voice throaty and raw. "Come *now*, Seymour."
He did. It was violent, overwhelming, a full-body convulsion that tore a ragged shout from his throat. The vines held him through it, milking him, as he spilled into Audrey in endless pulses that seemed to go on forever. When he finally sagged, spent and shaking, they didn't release him.
"Oh, honey," Audrey II laughed, the sound rich and dark. "You thought we were done? That was just the warm-up."
Audrey climbed off him, her thighs slick, and dropped to her knees. She took Seymour into her mouth—still half-hard, hypersensitive, twitching with aftershocks—and began to suck with lazy, devastating strokes. At the same time, two slick vines pressed against her from behind, one entering her still-pulsing pussy, the other teasing at her ass, making her moan around Seymour's cock.
"Round two," the plant announced. "And three. And four. I told you, Seymour—we got *all night*."
By dawn, the flower shop was filled with the sounds of their pleasure—Seymour's broken pleas, Audrey's rising cries, Audrey II's triumphant laughter. They'd lost count of orgasms, lost track of time, lost themselves in the endless cycle of tease and release. Seymour's voice was hoarse from begging, Audrey's legs were shaking, and still the vines came, gentle now, caressing, coaxing one more shuddering climax from exhausted bodies.
"Best little shop in town," Audrey II murmured as the first light crept through the windows, his lovers collapsed in a tangled heap against his pot, utterly wrecked and utterly satisfied. "Best little shop indeed."
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