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.