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.