Gardening is such a chore but it has to be done...
Admittedly I'm somewhat neglectful. Other things to be done so by the time I'm back out there, the lawn is sprawling untidily, and the weeds have thrown a party among the roses.
The garden faces east so the sun rises over it. I'm always out early, racing the late summer dawn to prune and clear before it gets too hot. Come 9 a.m., a couple of hours work later, my jeans and long sleeved top are smeared with green stains and mottled with small burrs. Perspiration unpleasantly and uncomfortably stains me. Even with a hat on, my tied back hair is a mess of tangled strands, as overlong branches play catch with my scalp.
As I bend over, back-breakingly for the umpteenth time, I have a sensation of being watched. Of eager eyes burning a hole in my already sun-heated ass. I peer back, past my denim-clad thighs.
Not sketching or painting this time, though he might be, in his mind's eye. Undressing me with his creative imagination. He's certainly getting a good peek if that unseen, indecent canvas, has me down to my undies, or beyond...
"Good morning!" He calls, aware he has been caught.
Straightening, I reply. "You're out early."
"I was enjoying the view."
I'm not exactly on his way anywhere I can think of. I can only hope I was his main intent. How did he know? Chance encounter? A pleasant one, if that.
Before I know it, he's through the gate. Quick glances to make sure no-one else is around this Saturday, and he has me in his arms, intruding my mouth in the most passionate and eager of snogs, knocking my hat back and off. My knees, above my wellies, grow weak and tremble. One hand grips his face and keeps him at mine. The other drops limply, and lets the secateurs fall to the earth.
Another garden, in my panties, tingles hotly. My body is already on fire from the sun. Now an inner heat is rising rapidly to its zenith.
Fighting for breath I claw him, reluctantly, off me.
"I'm such a mess... " I pant. "I must stink to high heaven, and I haven't even brushed my teeth."
"Don't worry, you're fine. Pretty fucking hot in a tomboyish way, what with the dirty jeans." He lunges at my mouth again, "And I'll give your teeth a rub while I'm... "
And I'm gagged by his tongue again for a second, longer, lingering smooch that sets alarm bells ringing... well, everywhere to be honest.
I'm caught between struggling less, submitting to his impromptu passion, and feeling so unclean, so dirty - and not just sexually - that I want to be at my best for him. Not jumped on between the rose bushes, as nice as that might sound. I'm not about to let him put on a show for the neighbours...
I've lost sense of time under his deep, intense kiss. Birds are singing... no, really they are. It's not a metaphor, at least not completely. Some are chirping away in the tree, in chorus with the ones in my head.
Held up by one strong arm, I'm aware of a fumbling at the zipper of my jeans. I gasp his name, as a strong hand slips in through the undone fastening and roughly massages my muff. I let out a stifled moan of pleasure as long adept fingers slip inside. My hips impulsively gyrate at his swirling, stirring penetration. It's been far too long since...
Then, as suddenly as it began, he's stopped. I'm left standing, swaying on far too unsteady legs, jeans open, nipples pertly alert under my thin top. Totally dazed by being left in the bright sun after the shadow of him on me. I blink at the daylight, at his unexpected abandoning.
I finally spot him at the gate, glancing back.
"See you later?" he asks.
"When... ?" Is all I can pant back.
There's just a wink, and he's gone.
I'm too aroused, too tired from the gardening, to continue, and the sun is burning hot now. I drearily collect up the boxes of cuttings and toss them near the gate to go up the dump later. Still more to be done, tomorrow.
And then, him again. Hopefully. After I've cleaned myself up. Made myself a presentable woman again, and not the soul sister to Worzel frigging Gummidge.
- - -
I'm having a long, lovely relaxing and well-deserved mid-morning soak in a hot cleansing bath. All the aches soothed away with water and moisturing soap. If he's planning on seeing me soon, I might as well tidy up the garden of my body while I'm at it. Shave my legs and arms. Should I do down below too? A little pruning and trimming is always good. Keep it neat. Smelling sweet.
My subconscious thoughts of him rise to the surface again, retreading the path he had already taken from my mouth, searing its way down through me, to where it counts. I'm still tingling there, and after tidying up down there, my needs overwhelm everything else and I fantasise it's his fingers inside me again, not mine. That he is spreading my legs and teasing me, gently at first and then far more vigourously, enthusiastically, drawing a hidden orgasm out with alternating softness and rough play.
That leaves me gasping, legs twitching, breasts heaving, half-submerged in the soapy water, part satisfied, part needing more than just fingers and imagination...
- - -
I try and keep my libido under control at the thought of him coming back. Just dabble and flitter round the house, making sure things are simple and tidy. Hoping he still has that daring, intruder-at-the-gate attitude of earlier.
I'm aware I'm touching myself a bit more than usual... a brush of my now oversized nips, braless, through my thin dress. That my panties are getting sodden again in anticipation, having to go upstairs, dab myself dry as best, change into clean ones, more than just once. The summer humidity isn't helping either.
By sunset, he hasn't appeared, and I've gone loopy with need, barely dented by disappointment. I toss myself on the bad, no longer caring about creasing the perspiration damped dress, and claw my vibe out of the bedside play drawer. Even though I'm cursing his name, his lack of courtesy at not even calling, let alone actually being here, it's still him in my filthy creative dreams. Legs akimbo again, tugging my panties to one side or slipping down inside the soft wet fabric, stretching it out until the shuddering buzzing shaft is held thereby itself, and my hands wonder up my body, tearing the dress open and caressing my attention hungry nipples...
Turn and slam my face into the pillow as I wish he would, me on all fours, his cock ramming into me without abandon. Like there's no tomorrow...
Push the vibe in, not pulling out, just further further harder everso roughly in... until...
Gnawing my lip to swallow the short sharp scream of a cry as I let go, kneeling thighs relaxing, almost bonelessly spreading out as I collapse slowly on the sheets, consciousness slips away in the most satisfying of orgasms I can hope for, by myself, on the spur of need...
- - -
To be continued...