Tuesday, 22 October 2013

THE GARDEN

Madeline settled back against Paul, her loose summer 
dress blowing freely in the breeze passing through the 
secluded garden. His caresses on her arms and sides 
moved down to her legs and thighs as her heart beat 
faster with excitement. The sun shining through her 
diaphanous sundress revealed that, today, she wore 
nothing underneath. 

Her coming through the hedge-maze to where Paul tended 
her favorite plots at just this moment in time had been 
a clear signal to him that she wanted what she would 
never say. She had faced him, blushing, eyes downcast, 
as he drew off his gardener's gloves and lead her to a 
contemplation bench, which he stood in front of, turning 
her around so her back was to him as he started 
caressing her.

Paul's strong, callused hands roamed her trembling body, 
across her slim waist, up and down her arms and upper 
legs, and gently across her small, firm breasts. He 
brushed her almost painfully erect nipples through the 
sheer fabric of her dress, sending shivers of guilty 
pleasure up her spine. He kissed her neck and breathed 
soft, loving, encouraging words into her ear, causing 
her to sigh. 

Paul sat back on the deep bench, allowing his hands to 
roam down Madeline's body, across her ripe ass-cheeks, 
almost visible through the translucent fabric, down the 
back of her thighs and calves and up the front. He 
gently traced the line where her legs joined her body 
down to the top of her pubis, the short tangle of hair 
in her triangle adding texture other than smooth skin 
under her light garment. Each caress caused little jumps 
and startles in the young newlywed, as they seemed to 
trace fire across her body.

Gently, Paul pulled down at her waist, causing Madeline 
to sit down in his lap, feet and knees together and 
muscles tense. As she sat, she could feel the bulge in 
Paul's workpants press up to her seat cleft, and she 
wondered whether it would feel different with him than 
with the automaton-like lovemaking of her groom. But 
that was not what this was about. 

She had been promised a more innocent, romantic bliss, a 
less dangerous rendezvous with the groundskeeper who 
said he had fallen for her the day she had moved in 
during the dead of the past winter; who had labored in 
the weeks of early spring to create the garden spread 
out before her just for her, and who wished only her 
happiness.

The rough hands caressed her upper thighs, gently 
drawing the fabric of her dress higher and higher on her 
legs, aided by the warm, gentle breeze exposing her inch 
by inch to the garden masterwork. Madeline sighed again 
and leaned back into Paul's chest, his muscles well 
defined through the thin work shirt. 

Slowly, gently, Paul parted his legs under Madeline's. 
At first, hers stayed closed, but with gentle outward 
pressure from his hands, her legs opened with his. Her 
dress was now drawn up to her upper thighs, and as they 
spread open, her most intimate, secret parts were slowly 
exposed to the multicolored flowers and vines of her 
garden. It felt almost as if she were flowering herself, 
spreading open to the sun and sky.

She could not bear to watch. She closed her eyes and 
turned her head, there to find Paul's gentle lips. He 
kissed her deeply and whispered how she was the finest 
bloom in the garden, and how he needed to tend her to 
ensure her flower opened to perfection. His fingers 
traced their way up to the opening folds of her labia, 
and Madeline jerked slightly and gasped in to their kiss 
at the contact. 

She was wet, her nectar glistening in the warm sun as 
Paul dipped one, two, three, more fingers into it and 
spread it across her outer and inner lips, one finger 
finding and coaxing her clitoral bud from its hood in 
the most intimate blossoming. Madeline sighed more 
loudly and quaked gently at the touch of the many 
fingers on the petals of her sex. One would occasionally 
dip into her, coat itself with her honey, and dance out 
again to caress her. Sometimes it would stay a little 
longer and massage her from the inside, but it would 
never stay long, always returning to her lips, clit, 
thighs, or belly.  

Sometimes a hand would stray wetly up under her dress to 
directly stroke a breast, or gently brush, squeeze, or 
pull at a nipple, sending more shocks through Madeline's 
body. All the while, Paul whispered to her about the 
garden he made for her, and how perfect her beautiful 
pink bloom was among the others, and how her nectar was 
as sweet and clear as that of the honeysuckle in the 
maze-hedges.

Without even realizing it, Madeline spread her legs 
wider with each passing minute, opening herself more and 
more without the coaxing of Paul's legs or hands. Slowly 
she bent and raised her knees until her feet rested on 
the edge of the bench, outside of Paul's legs, her knees 
wide apart. 

Her dress was now bunched up around her waist, a 
colorful band of fabric above her creamy white thighs 
and blonde thatch of hair. Her vaginal lips were fully 
open and engorged with blood, glistening with her juices 
as Paul continued caressing her with one or both hands. 
Her hips swayed side to side, or up and down, or in 
small circles depending on his touch. She would hiss and 
tremble as the occasional brush of a callused digit 
touched an extra sensitive spot.

Madeline's pleasure rose to heights she had never before 
imagined. This powerful man loved her and pleasured her 
in an intensely physical way her new husband did not 
seem capable of. Her hips began to undulate, slowly 
circling up and down, grinding her buttocks into the 
bulge in Paul's pants and lifting her pelvis a few 
inches into the air to press against the light touch of 
his fingers.

For a brief moment, the groundskeeper paused, sliding 
his hands up Madeline's body, drawing her dress up with 
them. Impatient for the return of his touch, she raised 
her arms and allowed the sundress to be pulled over her 
head and off, leaving her completely open and exposed to 
the warm sun, just like the roses, tulips, snapdragons, 
crocuses, and multitude of other blossoms of her garden. 
Her hands fell limp to her sides as Paul's returned to 
her body, one on her sex, another on a breast, gently 
kneading each, before resuming slow caresses. Madeline 
timidly opened her eyes and looked down, gasping at the 
sight. She was completely open to the garden and the 
sky. 

Paul's dark, tanned and weathered skin was a stark 
contrast with hers, pale and smooth. She began to blush 
deeply, both from the lewdness of her exposure and the 
excitement in her body, adding color that spread across 
her face and chest. Madeline saw bumble bees lazily 
buzzing from flower to flower, and as she closed her 
eyes again and leaned her head back on Paul's shoulder, 
she imagined the bees visiting her bloom to take her 
nectar. Paul's busy fingers became their wings on her 
petals and his whispers became their buzz.

The hands switched positions so that Paul could caress 
and knead the other breast as Madeline's excitement rose 
again. Her hips resumed their slow gyrations and her 
breathing grew quicker with each minute. He kept calling 
her his flower, the garden's great centerpiece. The 
heady scent of her own juices, spread by the gardener's 
hands across her belly and breasts, blended sensually 
with those of the garden's multitude of blooms.

The hand at her breast moved down her side and under her 
ass-cheeks as her hips undulated, the fingers on this 
hand creeping up from under her and curling around to 
massage the lower part of her womanhood as his other 
fingers concentrated on the upper part and her clit. Her 
sighs turned into shuddering moans as she lifted her 
buttocks up into the air, now pushing up against the top 
fingers or down into the lower ones, her back arching as 
her pelvis gently raised and gyrated, coaxed by the 
always moving fingers. Madeline was rising towards a 
release so heavenly she did not know how to describe it. 

Paul's hands now began switching, now the right hand on 
top, now the left, sometimes one hand on her, teasing 
her, sometimes both. Sometimes a moistened finger grazed 
the ring of her rear entrance, causing her to jerk 
slightly at the sensation, jarring her clit against 
another caressing finger. She was completely oblivious 
to Paul opening and pushing his workpants and briefs 
down to his knees with the hands occasionally freed from 
caressing her. His throbbing cock, once freed, sprung up 
under Madeline's quivering hips, its bloated, purple 
head pulsed just an inch or two below where she shook in 
his hands. 

Madeline was in another place, rising higher and higher 
on wings of pleasure. She neared the peak, a white-hot 
spark in her sex ready to ignite, and drew in a final 
breath as her muscles tightened. Her back arched further 
and her body rose up, her neck lying on his shoulder. 
Everything froze for one breathless second. At this 
moment, in the space of a heartbeat.

Paul's fingers spread her lower lips - two from above, 
two from below. With another finger gently but firmly 
stroking her clitoris, his hands adjusted her body 
position slightly, and then pushed/pulled her down onto 
him. Her womanhood was settled perfectly above his 
throbbing phallus and it divided her lips and drove up 
into her as she was guided swiftly down, sinking onto 
the thick pole about two-thirds of the way at the very 
instant of her climax. 

For shocked seconds, Madeline froze, every muscle taught 
and straining against itself. Her head snapped forward, 
eyes flying open in panic. Then, instead of a gentle 
surge of orgasm, her body convulsed in a shuddering 
spasm around the penetrating invader. Instead of the 
sigh of release, she let out a keening cry of passion. 
Instead of reaching a peak and floating off into 
pleasure, she was sucked into a whirlwind of ecstasy as 
the first contraction of her orgasm met with the 
incredible fullness of Paul's penis inside her. 

Her arms flailed and gripped his as he pulled her 
further onto him. She sank, inch by inch, as her climax 
shattered her into millions of burning sparks. The 
contact on her clit and now deep inside her drove her 
into a frenzy as her body jerked and shuddered and 
screamed with the power of her orgasm. Her inner muscles 
squeezed him as if to stop his entry, but she was 
inexorably pulled fully onto him until she was sitting 
back in Paul's lap, his fat, long, throbbing cock buried 
to the hilt in her quaking sex. One hand was now back at 
her breasts rubbing them and gently pinching her 
nipples, adding to the fire spread throughout her body. 
And all the time he whispered to her, urging her to open 
for him, to complete his garden, to blossom for him. 

She moaned at the contact of her buttocks with his lap, 
her body still shivering from climax, realizing what had 
happened - the betrayal of Paul, and of her own body. 
But he had promised...what? And she had come here; 
alone, dressed like that, knowing no one would disturb 
them... Had she known, in her heart? Had she wanted... 
what?

She cried out again, all rational thought driven from 
her mind, as his hands moved to her waist and pulled her 
upwards, his swollen member dragging out of her as she 
rose, and then pushed her back down onto him to be 
impaled again by the rigid cock, his skin scraping wetly 
against her inner walls. He was so much bigger than her 
husband... she felt so incredibly full, her nether lips 
and passage stretched as never before, every nerve 
strung tight and buzzing with pleasure. Madeline's view 
of the garden blurred and distorted into brilliant, 
formless colors through the tears welling in her eyes. 
Whether they were from sorrow or ecstasy, or both, she 
didn't know.

Paul lifted and lowered Madeline onto his erection again 
and again, never allowing her to catch her wind to voice 
any real protest. Her breath came too fast, and the only 
noises she could make were mewls and small screams of 
pleasure at what the unexpected penetration was doing to 
her. All the while he whispered about the garden he had 
prepared for his most prized flower, and how the 
planting of the blossom would now be its final 
completion.

Paul pushed forward off the bench, holding himself 
buried deep inside Madeline with one hand and clearing a 
leg out of his loose workpants with the other. He 
stepped forward, kneeling and easing Madeline's body 
forward and down. One hand first pushed on her back, 
then reached around to her chest to grab a soft breast 
and slow her descent. Instinctively she reached forward 
to support herself with her hands, which landed in the 
rich, loamy soil of the garden. 

Her face now hovered above a bed of blood-red flowers 
she couldn't identify. Her open knees also pressed into 
the soft, deep soil of the garden, and she slowly became 
aware that flowers surrounded her on three sides and 
below her, their delicate petals caressing her skin more 
lightly than Paul's most delicate touch. Behind her 
knelt Paul, still embedded inside her, his knees 
slightly apart inside hers spread wide. His hands now 
both gripped her lower waist, as he slowly pulled 
himself almost all the way out of her sex, then plowed 
straight back in, the force of it taking Madeline's 
breath away. 

Then again...and again. Each time, as he drew out, the 
flesh of her tunnel gripped his retreating member as if 
to keep it within her, and as he pushed forcefully back 
in, her nether lips stretched inward with his passage. 
Madeline's velvet tunnel was so tight that Paul would 
never be able to pump very rapidly, but he was steady, 
driving himself into her.

He was breathing heavily now, still telling her in low, 
now growling words about the care of his garden and his 
prized bloom. Only the best soil, only the purest water 
only the right nutrients to fertilize the growing things 
in his care. Madeline had never completely come down 
from her climax, and now was rising again, faster and 
higher on the realization that Paul was now inside her, 
tilling her, plowing her, making love... fucking... her 
and was probably going to... pollinate... plant his 
seed... come... inside her, in moments. 

Her rising passion was now tinged with fear, since she 
was not protected. She had agreed to have children with 
her husband, a good, if distant provider. Surely, Paul 
was not using protection as he took her. But, if 
anything, the fear and lack of control or choice or even 
the ability to protest coherently served to increase the 
intensity and speed of her arousal.

Madeline's entire body was now hypersensitive with the 
ever heightening stimulation of her insides, as Paul 
gradually quickened his pumping pace and increased the 
power and ferocity of his thrusts into her. The flowers 
caressing her skin traced gentle fire across her breasts 
and belly. One bloom, by happenstance, was pressed up 
snugly onto her sex, some of its petals brushing her 
bud, and Paul's testicles swung into it as he yanked out 
slammed into her. Of its own volition her body pushed 
back onto the plunging phallus, drawing it into her as 
deep as it could go, just barely touching the end of her 
passage, the entrance to her womb, the slight jarring 
contact making her gasp each time it happened. 

They approached the peak together, Madeline's back 
arched, her rear raised to Paul's driving copulation. 
His cock swelled larger, and Paul stiffened, gripped her 
hips tighter, and slammed into her one last time, the 
head of his penis ramming all the way to the end of 
Madeline's passage, as he shuddered and ejaculated deep 
into her. 

The groundskeeper's climactic spasms sent Madeline over 
the edge as well and they cried out together, into the 
flowerbeds, and hedges, and sky. Madeline could feel the 
seed fill her and be pushed both deep into and out of 
her around the phallus that overfilled her. Her inner 
muscles squeezed it, milked it of every last drop as it 
surged and erupted into her over and over. Madeline 
cried out with each contraction of her inner muscles, 
her body shaking uncontrollably with the release. 

Gradually, their climaxes ebbed. Paul now slowly, 
languidly, slid himself a little out and back in as 
Madeline's shudders lessened and her muscles relaxed, 
exhausted, one by one. Her head hung down, cheek resting 
on a fragrant red bloom as her mind swam with what had 
just taken place. She felt Paul, slowly softening, 
gently pull out of her, leaving her feeling empty, 
almost hollow. She felt the gentle caress of a rough 
hand on her side and buttocks. She felt the intermixed 
nectars of their passion flow slowly out of her and down 
her thighs to wet the soil into which Paul had planted 
her. She felt the sun warm her back, her legs and rear, 
and the bloom of her still open sex. She felt the gentle 
breeze blow across her body, cooling her fevered skin.

Eventually, she knelt back and lifted her head. The 
deserted garden shone in its perfection, Madeline 
positioned in its very center. She looked down to see 
the flower that had tickled her was now pressed against 
her sex, as if trying to drink the honey that flowed 
from her. She stood up and brushed the dark soil from 
her arms and legs. Gingerly she stepped out of the 
center of the garden to the bench, where she found her 
sundress draped across one of its arms, a single red 
rose placed atop it. She saw Paul's gloves, discarded 
and forgotten off to the side. 

Madeline went over to the gloves and picked them up. She 
used the backsides of them to wipe away the wetness 
trailing down her legs from within her sex, thinking of 
Paul using the back of those gloves to wipe his face and 
forehead during a hot days' work. She placed the gloves 
on the bench, drew on her sundress, and walked to the 
hedge-maze entrance. She turned and looked back at her 
garden, his garden, their garden. Things grow here, she 
thought. Seeds take root. She rubbed her lower belly 
with one hand.

She would be back tomorrow.

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