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The Gardener

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The morning is still as you sit on your back patio. You feel a warm energy as the sun breaks through the trees and touches your skin. Somewhere amongst them a Pied Butcherbird starts up its beautiful song. You smile, close your eyes as the sun creeps across your face. You keep them shut, breathe deep and listen to the birdsong as it makes its melodic whistles.

Your morning reverie is broken by the sound of a car making its way up your driveway. A frown appears on your face as you open your eyes. It was as if you were in a state of meditation, with the sounds of nature being your guide. Realising that you are in your tired active wear and without a touch of makeup on, you quickly begin to wonder who it is that you should be expecting. Checking your phone for the date, you remember that it is Mike’s ‘on’ week.

Mike came through once a fortnight in the summer and had been managing the garden on the property for years. They were beautifully kept, with a mixture of tidy lawn, tropical trees, accompanied with lush undergrowth and surrounded by natives on the outskirts of the property. It was one of the reasons you bought the property a little over a year ago. So, it made sense to keep Mike on, the property was too big to manage it alone, he really knew his stuff and was an endearing older gentleman.

Standing up with coffee in hand, you walk over to the edge of the patio to say hello to Mike. You hear the crunch of stones under boots as he approaches. Only as you look at the approaching figure, the face greeting you isn’t Mike. The person looking back is younger than him, a faded trucker cap obscuring his eyes from the morning sun. As he moves closer you notice that he has kind, deep-set brown eyes and a five o’clock shadow — he smiles.

“Sorry, can I help you?”

“Morning, I’m here to do the garden.”

“Oh, umm ok. I was expecting Mike.”

As you finish your sentence, you vaguely recall Mike telling you that he would be away for a few weeks and that somebody else would fill in for him whilst he was on leave.

“Actually, I just remembered Mike telling me that he was going to be on holiday. I had spoken to him about a couple of things I was hoping to have done this week…”

“All good. He has given me clear instructions for the next couple of weeks.”

“Ok great, I’ll leave you to it then.”

He smiles again before passing by you and heading down the property. You catch yourself watching him walk away, and cannot help but notice that beneath the worn, casual tee is a body that is not unfamiliar to manual labour. His arms noticeably firm, are bronzed along with his legs, another sign of spending his time outdoors. You turn to go inside and catch a woody aromatic smell lingering in the air from his cologne. You rush inside, suddenly self-aware of your attire and bed hair.


‘What the fuck?’ you think to yourself. You are lying in bed, drowsy having just woken from a dream. Even though the morning is warm, you pull the doona up to your chin, feeling into the comfort that its weight brings. You close your eyes again, almost trying to dive back into the dream. At least to recall it and piece it back together in your lucid state. ‘It was intense’ you tell yourself. You can also feel the physical response to it. Underneath your top, your nipples are hard. Down lower a feeling of wetness. ‘Damn it’ you think to yourself. The dreams details elude you, but you know it had something to do with the gardener from the day before.

Too aroused to simply jump out of bed and start the day, you gently allow your fingers to trace your body. One hand slides up and under your top circling your breasts, the other heads in the opposite direction, finding its home between your thighs.

You hear the Pied Butcherbird start up its song in the distance.


You arrive home from the hairdresser, pulling up to the sounds of some garden equipment in the backyard. Heading inside you place the keys down on the bench and head to your room. You stand in front of the mirror, tussling your hair a bit, throwing it over the side and back again. Happy with that, you begin to play with your blouse, untucking it at first and then changing your mind and tucking just the one side into your denim shorts.

You then undo another button from the top, adjusting your chain. ‘What the fuck am I doing?’ you ask yourself suddenly, ‘it’s just the bloody gardener’. You do the button back up again but can’t help to take one last glance in the mirror. Staring back at you is a woman with long legs, their contour highlighted by your tan. Your waist and shapely ass are accentuated in the denim shorts. And even though you readjusted the buttons, you love how perky your breasts are. You are close to forty, not that many people would be able to tell, and you have always made the effort to take care of herself. You are proud of how you look.

Stepping out onto the back patio, you Escort İstanbul see the gardener using the whipper snipper to tend to the garden edges. His back is turned, and you can see the effect of the day’s work in the sun. His khaki work shirt is wet, sticking to his body. It grabs at his torso, shaping his lats as he works the lawn over with the whipper snipper, moving left and right. He turns the machine off, removes the earmuffs and adjusts his hat. You clear your throat, and he turns around.

“Hey, morning.”

“More like afternoon” you reply with a smile.

“Ahh so it is” he says, ignoring his watch, instead looking up at the sun to confirm the time.

He pulls the whipper snipper strap, up and over his chest. It causes his shirt to lift, and you catch a glimpse of his torso. He puts it down and starts to walk over as he rolls up his shirt sleeves and dusts off his blue jeans with his hands. They are dirty with grass, faded and worn in places, but are well fitted to his body, with the cuffs tucked into his ankle high work boots. As he gets closer you pick up the same woody aroma from the first meeting.

Suddenly you have a flash of memory, only it isn’t a memory, it’s a moment from the dream two weeks ago. It had escaped you in the drowsiness of the morning and left you only with a feeling. Now you can see it as clearly as if it were happening. He, the gardener, has you in his arms. You are off the ground, legs wrapped around his waist, pressed hard against his body and his hands are holding you up, grabbing tightly to the underside of your thighs. He is inside of you.

The flashback only lasts a split second, but it is long enough to missed what he is saying to you. “Sorry” you reply, as you feel your face become flushed with heat. You know that in that moment your cheeks and the side of your neck have turned red. And it hasn’t escaped him either.

“Lemons” he says pointing to a basket on the patio table. “You tree was full of them, and they look nice and ripe.”

“Oh, right, thanks” you reply.

“You, OK?” he asks with a smile forming on his face. A soft, disarming smile.

“Yeah, I’m good” you respond, trying to sound nonchalant. You quickly change the topic back to the lemons so that he doesn’t have a chance to follow his line of questioning and point out that you are blushing.

“I think I might go inside and make some lemonade.”

“Well you know what they say, when life gives you lemons” he replies, smiling again.

You are thankful for the awkward joke and smile back before turning on your heels to go inside. You glance back over your shoulder slightly just as you go inside, and you notice that he is watching you as you walk away.

“Hey” he calls.

You stop and look back at him.

“I like your hair cut.”

With that he turns and heads back into the garden. ‘Well, I guess I better make lemonade now’ you think to yourself as you enter the kitchen.

A couple of hours pass and its warm with the sun high in the sky. You decide to offer the gardener some of the home-made lemonade. You take the jug from the fridge and top it with ice, pour some in a glass to taste it. It is sweet and refreshing, with the right amount of zing. Grabbing a couple of fresh glasses, you carry it outside, place it on the table with the ice clinking against the glass.

You head down onto the lawn to find the gardener and spot him around the corner. He is bending forward to pick up a full wheelbarrow. As he grabs the handles you can tell that it’s heavy by the way his forearms tense and his veins show. His shirt is still wet, pronouncing his round shoulders. Then he stands up straight, revealing that his shirt is open at its front.

He is facing the sun. You clearly see the glistening of sweat, mixed with dust across his torso. As he comes to stand up, his abs tense slightly along with his chest, before the muscles relax as his arms take the weight of the wheelbarrow. You can see the shape of his lower obliques as the line disappears into his jeans. Clearly, his body has been shaped by the land.

“You look like you could use some lemonade.”

“That’d be great, I’ll be over in just a sec.”

He takes the wheelbarrow over to a garden bed and dumps its contents. As he walks over to the patio, he removes his gloves. You can’t help but to wonder if his hands are smooth or rough to the touch. You shake the thought from your mind and come back to the present. Pouring the lemonade into the two glasses and passing one over.

He takes a long drink. Pauses. And then another.

“This is great, do you mind if I pour myself another.”

“No, go ahead. Please take a seat.”

Placing his gloves on the table, he sits down and reaches across the table to take the jug, pouring himself another glass.

“How did you come to work with Mike?”

“He is my uncle. I run my own business but help him out when he needs.”



“Your business?”

“Ahh yes, sorry. It is a gardening business, my uncle got me started in it, but I like İstanbul Escort Bayan it. Keeps me outside and my hands busy.”

You take a sip of your lemonade. Whilst he casts a look back over the garden.

“How long have you been living here” he asks.

“Almost two years now.”

“It’s a beautiful spot.”

“Thanks. But your uncle can take some of the credit for that. And I love how quiet and private it is.”

“It is…private.”

The word hangs in the air for a moment.

“Well, I am glad that my uncle asked me to help out.”

“Oh yeah, why is that?”

He smiles once more. But doesn’t respond. Instead, he takes another sip of lemonade, staring down the glass back at you. You smile back awkwardly. Unsure what to say next. To your relief he breaks the momentary silence first.

“Thanks for the lemonade, very refreshing. I better get back to it.”

He gets up and makes his way off the patio, down towards the garden. You watch him walk away for a moment and then get up and walk around the table to pack away the glasses and lemonade. You don’t notice him coming back, with your hands full you turn to head into the kitchen and almost collide into him. He instinctively places a hand onto the small of your back to alert you of his presence and to stop you from taking another step and spilling the lemonade all over the both of you.

“Sorry! I didn’t see you there.”

“That’s ok” he laughs “close one.”

“We nearly ended up with this lemonade all over us.” You laugh.

He joins your laugh. “My fault, I forgot my gloves.”

You smell that woody scent once more, combined with spring grasses and musk. Then you notice his hand is still on your lower back.

“I didn’t answer your question before.”

He takes the jug of lemonade from you and places it back on the table. You follow his lead and pop the glasses down.

“I’m glad my uncle asked me to help out because it isn’t often that I get to work on beautiful grounds with an equally beautiful owner.”

Caught off guard, you gulp to swallow words that you don’t have and blush. His hand presses more firmly against your lower back. When he doesn’t feel any resistance from you, he brings you in closer. Leaning forward his lips meet yours. You part yours invitingly and he responds in kind, his kiss becoming more passionate.

‘Fuck, what’s going on here’ you think to yourself as he breaks the kiss. He looks at you with a grin. There is silence between you as he begins to unbutton your blouse. You are nervous, if he is, he doesn’t show it. There is a calm and confidence in his demeanor. He comes to the last button, and your blouse falls open. He looks down over your cleavage, taking in your breasts, then back up to you. Now you lean in and kiss him.

His hands slide under your open shirt. You note that they are mostly smooth with some rough areas but still glide gently across your skin. His right hand comes around to your back and traces a line up your spine. Expertly and with a flick of his fingers he has unclasped your bra. It is strapless and simply falls away. You bring your hands to his shoulders and slide his shirt down over them, pulling it down his arms and letting it drop to the floor.

You press yourself up against his chest as he moves his kisses to your earlobe and down your neck. Your nipples are hard as they find his body, you can feel his sweat against your skin. His lips continue their downwards movement, down your neck, over your collarbone, then the top of your chest and finally to your breasts.

His lips make small, gentle caressing kisses over the top of your breasts. His hands make their way upwards to join his mouth and take hold of your tits. Cupping your right breast gently, he lifts it to his lips. Your nipple feels the sudden warmth of his mouth and then the strong swirl of his tongue around it. His free hand begins to caress your other breast, taking hold of it firmly.

You step back against the table; he follows your movements barely breaking stride. His mouth hungrily moving from breast to breast, his tongue feverishly licking at your nipples. He grabs you by the back of the upper thighs and lifts you up onto the table with strong arms. Gently he lays you down, your legs dangling over the edge. He takes one last chance to lick, suck and kiss your breasts. He toys effortlessly with your nipples, now erect to the point of hurting you are so aroused.

Then he begins to work his way down your body. Running his tongue in a long stroke from chest to belly button before returning to kisses as he makes his way lower. Reaching your jean shorts, he kisses along your hips, from one side to the other, moving slowly and using the time to unbutton the waistline of your shorts. Sliding down the zip, he takes both sides in his hands and with the help of you arching slightly to lift your ass off the table, he yanks the shorts along with your underwear in one move down and over your legs, casting them to the side.

He parts your legs as he kisses his way back up along them. His mouth works Anadolu Yakası Escort its way up one thigh, his hot breath present across your skin complimented with his wet tongue. Teasingly he skips over your wanting vagina, you can literally feel his lips they pass so close, the air from his mouth the only contact, before he begins to make his way down the other thigh.

Without even looking you know that your labia have parted, opened like one of the blossoming flowers he has tended to so delicately. You wonder if he will be so delicate with you, part of you hopes that he is, another that he is not.

You can almost feel the blood rush to your clit in your arousal. And he can see just how turned on you are in this moment. He draws back closer to your vagina now. He is so close but still you don’t get the satisfaction that you are after. His mouth kisses along the creases of your thighs, his tongue strokes ever so carefully on the outer side of your shaven pussy lips. He kisses along the short mound of pubic hair you have left in a strip. He runs his tongue over the hairs, along the tips as they almost stand on end. And then runs his mouth down along the other side of your pussy lips.

You hadn’t imagined when you woke in the morning that you would be stretched out on the patio table with the gardener between your legs, begging in your mind for your pussy to be eaten. And finally, he begins to do just that. First soft, long strokes. Tongue lifting off and returning to the beginning after each pass. The strokes become firmer, the tongue stops lifting away, his lips become more present as he begins to savour how you taste, how you smell, how you feel on his tongue.

Then he begins to probe inside of you, explore your pussy. You raise your legs up, bending at the knees, feet placed firmly on the table. You flick his hat away and your red painted nails dig into his closely shaven head. Your back arches, so that you push your pussy up onto his mouth and you squeeze your thighs against his head in pleasure.

His mouth expertly devours you, your hands on his head willing his tongue deeper. He breaks off, reverting back to long strokes over your pussy before landing on your clit. The tip of his tongue begins to circle around it as he alternates in tempo and pressure. Occasionally he flicks at its centre, with each contact your legs jerk slightly. You raise yourself up onto your elbows to get a better view. You want to take it in. Then you raise yourself up higher, your blouse falls open to either side of your breasts as a breeze catches the nipples.

He looks up, his eyes on yours. Without breaking contact, you reach for a glass of lemonade and begin to tip it slowly over your chest. A slow, trickling stream of sweet, sugary lemonade cascades down between your breasts, past your naval, on towards your pussy and his waiting mouth. On cue he starts back at the bottom of your pussy, almost beneath it and tongue extended takes a long lick from the smooth skin below all the way up to your clit. Then continues to lick, suck and kiss his way up along your belly, pausing to suck at your naval and then cleaning you up all the way back your tits. He grabs the ice from the empty glass and looking at your breasts, starts to play with your nipples. The ice melts as your nipples stiffen once more.

The physical sensations grow within your body. You gasp and let out an audible moan as he reaches between your legs and slides a finger deep inside of you. Leaving your breasts, he smothers the next moan with a deep kiss. You reciprocate, with a passionate, longing kiss of your own. You wriggle your way down the table and come to standing. Locked in an embrace and feverishly kissing, you both manage to spin so that he is now leaning back on the table.

You reach for his jeans, fumble in your desire to tear them off, but you eventually loosen them. He helps you pull them down and off, as they come down with his underwear, you watch his hard cock stand upright. You push him back onto the table, so that he is lying flat, and you climb up after him. You grasp at his cock, feeling the firm muscle in your hands. You give it a few quick pumps, then a couple of slower ones, squeezing the pre-cum out. You know it isn’t need, you are so wet yourself but enjoy the visual. Straddling him you guide his cock towards your pussy, and still holding the base, slide down onto him.

You suddenly become consciously aware of being up on the table, outside, on your patio in the open air. Until this moment, you have allowed yourself to be swept up in the moment. Thoughts rush to your mind. Will the table take you both. You realise that you don’t care. Could someone just come by the house at any moment and find you riding the gardener. Again, you don’t care. The thoughts are fleeting, in that moment all you care about is having his cock deep inside of you.

You lean forward, bringing your tits to his mouth. He nuzzles into your breasts, licking at your nipples, teeth grazing the tips. His hands reach around and grasp at your ass cheeks, he squeezes the flesh but you control the movement. Your knuckles begin to turn white as you lean forward further and grip at the edge of the table. His cock inside of you, you find the angle to rub your clit against him. The urge inside of you builds, your pace quickens, and then finally, release.

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