Soaed to the Sin

The sun beamed down upon an idyllic English summer afternoon. A light breeze prevented thoughts that it might be too hot to do anything much. Along a country lane came a girl on a bicycle. A pretty, yellow and white striped dress showing off her shapely legs as they went up and down moving the pedals in a steady rhythm. Down the lane she came under a canopy of trees, their overhanging branches shading her, without fully blocking out the sunshine; a stoat hurried across the road in front of her causing her to brake a little - not, though, with any risk of her coming off again. Hannah had not liked her earlier tumble on the drive of Mumble Hall one little bit.

A few hundred yards more and Hannah turned out of the lane onto the gravelled drive and through the gates of the hall, the sturdy brick pillars standing guard. Beside the entrance was Bradshaw, the gardener's cottage. It was Hannah's intention to go and see the old gardener and thank him for what he had done for her. She had not espied him the day after when she had visited Sir Hugh and - Hannah smiled a little self-consciously at the memory - had been well stoppered by Sir Hugh and had then had the bung removed by Lady Lyanthe.

Bradshaw was not in his cottage and Hannah went to seek him out. Hannah did wonder when she espied him quite what one of the ladies of the village might have thought had she come, perhaps seeking fruit to make jam or perhaps seeking a donation for a worthy cause - a flag day, mayhap. Of course, it might be that some of the ladies might visit with an even more deliberate purpose; might be, rather than shocked, delighted to see the old gardener both hirsute and naked at work in his greenhouse; more than pleased to see him with his 'dibber' and hope he might, indeed, make a donation - a plentiful one where it counted and not the sort they, unfortunately, received at home. She might dally to see if his plums were ripe for making jam - the enthusiastic jam maker keen to feel her jampot filled.

Hannah opened the greenhouse door. It was hot inside even with the vents open and the whitewash liberally splashed upon the glass. Bradshaw turned to her and his face broke into a smile, "Ah, Miss Hannah, yer looking most fine today. How's that knee of yers 'n yer bum?"

The man was naked, completely naked. The hairiness of his beard and head rather carried on below. The penis that Hannah had felt insider her hung there, lolling in the heat, his slack scrotum allowing his balls to hang low. They reminded her of a bull's testes out in the field, low swinging and large.

"I hopes you doon't mind me noodity. It's bloomin' hot in glasshouse."

Hannah did not mind and said so. She said her knee was getting better and as for her thigh and bottom, she raised her dress and showed him the bruise now going rather dramatic colours. Very likely, Bradshaw could have found flowers to match, a bouquet even. Perhaps that would have made a rather prettier sight. The old gardener tutted in sympathy. "I'll put me Yarrow salve on't. Tis good for bruising. You come to me on way home."

"Thank you, Mr Bradshaw, I'll be sure to do that. Um, I was thinking the other day about the wonderful fruit and vegetables you grow, and I was thinking about cucumbers."

"Young girls think a lot on't cucumbers. They likes 'em in salads and sandwiches. Cool as a cucumber, eh?"

"Why are they called 'ridge cucumbers' sometimes? Do they have a pronounced ridge?"

"Ah, you come with me, young lass." Hannah followed the gardener, shaking her head at what she was doing. Following a naked man down the damp, hose watered flags along the middle of the greenhouse, following his naked and hairy bottom. She had thought he might have left his boots on but perhaps they were too hot on a day like that or just too much bother to put on again after taking trousers off. She felt rather overdressed, not that her thin cotton dress was exactly a fur coat.

In a shed Bradshaw had her sit down. There was of course method in that. It was not simply a gentlemanly insistence that a lady, even a young lady, should rest her legs.

Bradshaw reached above her to a shelf. "I've got packet o' seeds in this tin which 'll tell all."

Seated and with the man reaching above her, his cock was thrust almost in her face. The action was clearly deliberate, the old boy knew what he was about. Was very aware of just what he was doing because it began to grow right in front of her as he fumbled on the shelf above. Fascinating to young Hannah, interesting enough in its flaccid state but now expanding and moving... It was like one of those time lapse films of bulbs or seeds growing, waving about in front of the camera as they expand and rise up towards the light.

"Here it is. Me packet of seeds. Let's see what it says," the man was still in front of her, his penis still in her face. Bradshaw read from the seed packet, "Ridge cucumbers are best peeled before serving."

The old gardener's foreskin was so there in front of her, not yet uncovering the full bulb, but she could see the shape of his prominent coronal ridge through the thin skin. Hannah did not miss the allusion. Could see why Bradshaw had chosen to read the packet to her. Her hand almost reached straightway to peel the foreskin back before taking a 'full serving' of cock in her mouth. It would come with a dressing - a creamy dressing.

Bradshaw read on, "They typically have a firmer texture than a standard cucumber with fewer seeds and a fuller flavour." Again, Hannah could not but admire the firmness of the old gardener's cock. She could not now resist touching. She reached and very much admired the texture of his penile skin. It was smooth like the skin of her breasts but there was a rubbery cragginess about it.

"A high yielding variety displaying a long, smooth-skinned, dark ribbed fruit." It was certainly long. Hannah peeled back the foreskin and admired Bradshaw's 'fruit.'

"A sweet flavour, not at all bitter, juicy in the mouth." It was right before her. Hannah knew what was about to happen.

"Ridge cucumbers are so called because, historically, they were grown on ridges of soil to capture more sunshine and provide good drainage." The gardener smiled down at her, 'I still do that, best way, out o' doors." He put down the seed packet and stroked her hair. "Nowt to do with shape, missy, rib or ridge, but where you grow 'em. They're an outdoor variety but I grows 'Bradshaw's Champion' in here! Does you want t' try?"

Hannah nodded and was just in time to make her mouth all round as Bradshaw thrust forward. The firm, shiny, peeled end that had almost been making her cross-eyed, thrust into her mouth, pushing her head back against the seat. The head was indeed cool in her mouth like a cucumber. The old gardener was really thrusting away. Very much fucking her mouth. Hannah reached to control his enthusiasm, her hand closing around his swinging testes, low hanging and full. It was obvious he intended her to taste the juice of 'Bradshaw's Champion.'

In, out, in, out, her mouth very much a vagina substitute for 'Bradshaw's Champion." It was very much going to be 'juicy in her mouth;' but would it be sweet and not at all bitter?

What might someone have thought looking through the shed's window. The old gardener, without a stitch on, thrusting his rather large cock in and out of a young girl's mouth as she sat there in her pretty yellow dress, eyes wide and lips stretched around it. Perhaps, if a man, he might have whipped out his own cock and joined in the stroking albeit in his own hand rather than in a soft, hot, wet mouth; if a woman might she have looked cross and indignant at what the old boy was doing or shrugged her shoulders and accepted she needed to come back another time to see if Bradshaw was free to service her?

Like the ridge cucumbers 'Bradshaw's Champion' was indeed a 'high yielding variety.' The produce more savoury than sweet, and most certainly not cool - unlike the cucumber. Hannah swallowed in a succession of gulps; she even said, 'thank you' for explaining about the cucumbers "and, um, for that, um, yes."

"Thars alright, missy. I's feel better too. Plenty more another time. I be quite free with me fruit and vegetables. I give a lot away. Sir Hugh, he don't mind."

Hannah picked up her bicycle and rode on towards the hall, her knickers still pristine and her vagina empty. She was not sure how Sir Hugh might take to finding her already filled by Bradshaw or her knickers awash with another man's semen. What if Bradshaw had fucked her and then bunged her up with a carrot or something. Perhaps Lady Lyanthe might like removing the bung, but did she only drink Sir Hugh's stuff or did she perhaps not only enjoy the basket of fruit and vegetables which he brought up to the house, but the gardener himself? Might she ask if 'Bradshaw's Champion' was in season?

Hannah shifted on the bike's saddle. It was firm all along her sex. For boys it was not the same, she thought, but for a woman it pressed against them; for boys it merely pressed against the empty area between scrotum and bottom - for girls it was a very different matter. It was no different when riding a horse and bouncing upon the hard leather saddle - for men their penises were out of the way, they did not keep bouncing down on them, nor of course on their balls - how uncomfortable that would be. Hannah smiled as her feet went round and round on the pedals; how funny men were with their so delicate organs hanging in pairs unprotected. She looked forward to handling Sir Hugh's - as was most likely would happen that afternoon. Bradshaw had got her worked up and her mind was pleasantly full of sex - rather as her mouth had been minutes before!

The saddle rubbed a little against her. It occurred to Hannah that had a little button, a little bump been incorporated in the design, a little raised protrusion towards the narrowing front then a lady rider could very easily have rubbed her own little button rather nicely as she rode. A lady's saddle rather than a gentleman's perhaps! Her own bicycle was, of course, a lady's bike, designed without the cross bar. She had ridden it since a teenager. She drew it to a halt and stepped modestly from it. Who knew who might be looking and see a flash of her knickers, if she cocked her leg over like a boy would do? Had Sir Hugh been there she might have done just that to be naughty. She rang the bell to the front door.

Lady Lyanthe seemed delighted to see her; a kiss to the cheek - Hannah had rather expected something less formal - and then a nice little chat before Lady Lyanthe sent her off in search of Sir Hugh. "He's down at the stables."

He was indeed. Sir Hugh had been out riding and was rubbing down his horse. He said another day Hannah really must bring her riding things and riding helmet.

"It's funny, Sir Hugh, I was thinking about riding and saddles on the way here. Bike saddles but also horse-riding saddles as well. Sir Hugh's saddle was already off the horse. He carried it to the tack room and Hannah followed.

"Is your bike's saddle comfortable. Does it know how lucky it is to be so close to your lovely little...?" Sir Hugh was very much looking at Hannah's hips. It was quite clear where his interest lay.

"Yes, I was thinking about... is this a side saddle? How odd."

It was indeed and Sir Hugh was quick to expound on the subject. It seemed Lady Lyanthe rode side saddle quite often. Had done since young and had been an accomplished rider side saddle. "She took jumps side saddle."

"No! Not really? Why did she? Isn't it difficult? Why bother. Isn't it all about some old fashioned idea of modesty?"

"Nothing old fashioned about modesty, Hannah. Good manners really."

Hannah rather did what might be called a 'double take,' Sir Hugh with his Freikörperkultur and delight in putting his hand up her dress talking about modesty of all things. And she very much said that.

"Not exactly modest in that railwayman's hut!"

"Modest but practical, Hannah. It was sensible to get warm and dry."

Hannah could remember she had been conflicted between a desire for modesty and a desire to get to her interview and secure the internship. She could remember thinking what was more important - her modesty or the internship?

"Side saddle," went on Sir Hugh, "is neither difficulty nor inferior to riding astride. It is simply different and undoubtedly elegant. Certainly, it was largely thought, and that is right back to the middle-ages, appropriate for women to ride side saddle. Vulgar, immodest if you like, to ride astride and, well, likely to preserve a girl's physical and verifiable virginity; practical too as with long skirts not easy to ride astride. The evolution of the modern side saddle took time."

Hannah looked closely at the carefully built leather saddle.

"The side saddle, as you can see has a second pommel. Your right leg goes around the upper pommel, rather than in a stirrup the other side of the horse, and hangs down. Your left goes in a stirrup in the usual position on the horse's left. The second pommel, the leaping head, goes over your left thigh but not actually touching. Your right leg stays relaxed unless there is need when you can grip quite tightly against both upper and lower pommel. You sit upright and face very much to the front. Sit tall, straight and elegant."

Hannah giggled, "It does look a bit like... the pommels do look a bit like curving erect cocks going in different directions."

"You're not taking this seriously enough. You get on and try."

Hannah had been listening carefully and had understood how to sit. Whilst the idea of preserving modesty by sitting side saddle rather than astride was all well and good with long skirts, it simply did not apply with Hannah's comparatively short dress. Her rather matching yellow and white polka dot knickers were very much on display to Sir Hugh. Beneath his jodhpurs his penis took on the shape of a third pommel.

"I would like to try."

"There is no need to wear a long skirt or the proper habit. It does though look so fine - elegance personified. A separate jacket and with the skirt long but actually rather backless - you still will need trousers - so you can properly fit the saddle." Sir Hugh chuckled, "A backless skirt has a certain appeal to the gentlemen! Jodhpurs or jeans will be fine. I shall speak to Lyanthe. She will be delighted to teach you."

Sir Hugh seemed to be addressing Hannah's knickers half the time. It amused her. She could see the long shape pressing against his jodhpurs. She liked that. It was funny how tight thin trousers on men, rather revealing their manly attributes, could be such a turn on. In a way rather more exciting than the full nudity espoused by Sir Hugh. Her mind jumped back to thoughts of those young men in their thin cotton running shorts, engorged knobs poking and pushing at the material, so clearly outlining their plum shapes. Men did like seeing girls caught in the rain, breasts and hard nipples pushing at material made very clingy and perhaps transparent. She rather thought the lads with their thin shorts would look so perfect caught in the rain. The wet cotton clinging to their 'equipment,' the material almost transparent and showing pretty much everything. Perhaps the best of both worlds. Clothed and unclothed all in one. She watched Sir Hugh undressing. He seemed to have decided it was an opportune moment. He was a fine figure of an older man, but how lovely those lads would have looked in their rain soaked shorts. Not quite the normal thing for a girl to say to a boy, 'You're all wet!" How nice to fondle through the wet material, how good to draw the wet shorts downwards and let their manhood spring upwards. Mmmm - for sucking and fucking.

Sir Hugh's penis sprang into view. Clearly, he did not think any sort of modesty needed with Hannah. Could he perhaps see the wet spot she rather thought was forming upon her knickers right between her legs? Hannah was not at all averse to the idea of imminent sexual contact between her wet spot and Sir Hugh's fine and standing cock. It was more than a little encouragement, but she felt he would appreciate it if she pretended to masturbate the two pommels. What would it be like to have two of them for real, one for each hand and another right in front of her?

Rather good to have her wet spot touched. A finger reaching towards her and then touching. A gentle up and down stroking as she stared at Sir Hugh's erection. A natural reaction sometimes for a woman to wish to close her thighs to prevent the man touching too soon or when the stimulation became too great; perhaps post orgasmic when it was all so sensitive, and she could not take any more. Yet the two curving pommels prevented that; two rigid phallic leather pommels curving towards and around each thigh prevented closure. There was an excitement in that. Between them Sir Hugh's hand touched, stroking and tickling her, a relentless but delicate assault on increasingly wet cotton. Hannah found her thighs trying to close but, mounted upon the saddle, she was unable to close unless she dismounted. What would it be like to be held by a number of stable boys upon the saddle, their hands stimulating her - everywhere - unable to close her thighs, unable to prevent firm fingers entering her, massaging her hard clitoris, pulling at her nipples? And then hard penises penetrating her.

"That's nice, Sir Hugh - that's even better!" He had slipped his fingers under the cotton and they were now in her sex. She wanted to close her thighs hard around them but was restrained by the curving pommels, as if two other men with incredibly firm erections curved under each thigh were holding her back. She moaned out loud as Sir Hugh's fingers pushed into her tunnel, making the motion she was sure his cock would be making very soon in there.

"Can I get down, Sir Hugh."

"Not until you've come."

With his free hand he was undoing her dress, lifting a breast from her brassiere, and doing what she so liked - he was sucking her nipple. It was lovely. But she now really would like to be fucked, yet she was trapped upon the saddle and could not dismount - was not being permitted to dismount - until she came. Forced into an orgasm she really wanting to come from penile stimulation. And then what? Sir Hugh's blood was up - she could see his straining erection. He would want to come too - that visible accompaniment to the male orgasm. She could fake it if she chose. Sir Hugh could not. Men had to release their cum.

Sir Hugh withdrew his hand from her vagina, his fingers so wet. He sucked on them before replacing them for more thrusting.

"Do you, Hannah, suck your own fingers when masturbating?"

Her voice came out not so much as a croak as a bit of a whisper, and a guilty sounding one at that, "Yes."

Why guilty? There was nothing wrong with that. Still better when it was Sir Hugh's wet fingers that came to her mouth. She sucked upon them as if it were a cock: his cock - or maybe another man's. Firm and rigid and tasting of herself. No risk that her mouth might suddenly be filled with the very male taste of semen. Pity! She would not mind sucking on one of those stable lads - or two!

What would someone coming into the stables think? If it were Lady Lyanthe she might take over - perhaps, or she might simply watch; if Bradshaw, would he stand there all respectful waiting to ask Sir Hugh a question and making no comment about the baronet's nudity or standing erection. Might Sir Hugh ask him to take over with his big, strong working hands? And if a stable boy or girl - or a pair of them? Might Sir Hugh say he was 'rubbing down' Hannah and set them to work on the horses or might he tell them to rub her down instead. The thought of the lad and stable girl - perhaps - coming over to rub her like Sir Hugh very much pleased her. Or might they lift her from the saddle and prepare her to be mated with Sir Hugh. That would be exciting.