Thank you to the fellow author who gave me some of the inspiration for this story and whose advice was invaluable.
*******
"Damn!" Alison muttered, rifling through her purse. She patted the pockets in her padded bodywarmer and thrust her hand into each one looking for the missing front door key. It was nowhere to be found and now she was locked out. She went back to her van and checked the footwell and then opened up the rear doors and searched all through the dead leaves and bits of twig that littered the floor. She eyed the big bag of hedge trimmings and with a sigh plunged her hands deep inside and rummaged through, right to the bottom. Still no trace of the key.
I must have dropped it this afternoon she thought. Night was drawing in and it would soon be too dark to look, so Alison jumped into the drivers seat and pulled on the little blue cap she always wore when working, and drove straight to the little house at the other end of the village where she'd been working that day.
Alison loved plants and the outdoors so being a gardener was her dream job. She'd worked for several years in an architect's office in the city but when she reached 35 she decided she needed a complete change in her life and moved out into the countryside. Finding work as a gardener had been easy enough since she was willing to charge less while starting out. The pay was still low even now, but at least she was happy and doing work that she adored. She checked herself in the mirror as she drove: a 40 year old face looked back at her, weathered, freckled and crinkling around the eyes. Her ginger hair, pulled back from her face into two long braids, provided no cover for the aging process. Still pretty, she thought, but no-one to appreciate it except herself.
It was twilight when she pulled up outside the house with the neatly trimmed hedge that she'd had worked on for most of the day. She leaped out of the van and found her torch then walked the length of the hedge looking for the glint of a key in the torchlight. Finding nothing she approached the front gate. The house was dark and no-one appeared to be home. Mrs Wilson won't mind if I check the back garden too, she persuaded herself. After all she'd only been there a couple of hours before and Mrs Wilson was always so sweet and friendly, making tea that they enjoyed together outside when it was sunny.
Alison passed through the front gate and headed around the side of the house. The garden at the rear was small but full of flower beds with mature shrubs and, during spring and summer, an abundance of fragrant flowers. She headed straight to the huge buddleia that she'd been pruning at lunchtime and there, in the dirt, sat her front door key. She grabbed it triumphantly but when she turned to leave she realised that the house wasn't as empty as she had first thought.
The living room of the house looked out onto the back garden via a pair of french doors. Through the doors Alison could see that the room was dimly lit by a lamp on a side table beside a long sofa. On the sofa sat two figures, one of whom appeared to be looking straight at her. Instinctively Alison stepped back into the shadow of the vast buddleia bush and held her breath.
The scene before her was not at all what she was expecting. Mrs Wilson sat at one end of the sofa but she had unfastened her blouse and both her breasts were exposed. The other figure appeared to be another woman and she was leaning against Mrs Wilson, looking up at her while fondling one of her wonderful boobs. They appeared to be speak a few words and then the second woman moved her head and began to kiss Miss Wilson's nipple.
Oh my! Who would have thought Mrs Wilson, a middle aged widow, would have a female lover. Alison felt herself becoming moist at the thought. She'd often wondered what it would be like to be with a woman, but since moving to the country she'd had no opportunity to meet a partner, either male or female. She hadn't had sex at all for nearly five years. Instead she contented herself with a nice erotic story and her fingers, something that had become a bit of a nightly ritual in recent months.
She desperately wanted to touch herself now while she watched Mrs Wilson but fear of discovery prevented her. Instead she crept further into the garden and around the shrubbery to reach the side of the house without being seen. As she left she sneaked one more peek at the couple and was excited to see that Mrs Wilson had pulled her skirt up high to reveal her dark stockings, suspenders and knickers to the other woman. Feeling a flush flow across her face Alison almost ran back to her van. In the relative safety of the drivers seat she checked her crotch, almost certain that her juices had leaked through her tough work jeans. Luckily they hadn't but she kept her hand there for a few minutes, pressing it against herself as she recalled the sight of Mrs Wilson's breasts.
Ten minutes later she was standing inside her front door struggling to unfasten her jeans. She ripped them off and thrust her fingers into her knickers, enjoying the feel of her slick crotch. She hadn't felt this needy for a long time.
She headed for what she jokingly called her "diddling chair": a comfy armchair with soft broad arms that she always used when she masturbated. She liked it because it let her raise one leg up on an arm while she played with herself. She only sat in it when she felt horny and it always amused her when she had visitors that chose to sit there since it made her fantasise about them pleasuring themselves too.
Alison threw herself down and began to stroke herself inside her knickers, one leg flung wide over the arm of the chair, her head pushed back so she was almost lying horizontal. She thought back the secret scene she'd witnessed and imagined herself in the second woman's place, touching Mrs Wilson. Then, in her mind, she was pulling up Mrs Wilson's skirt to reveal sheer stockings when suddenly and unexpectedly she orgasmed, sending shockwaves through her tummy and down her thighs.
She lay there for a while to recover her breath, stroking herself gently, thinking about Mrs Wilson. I wonder how long it's been going on, she thought. Was this something her husband knew about or did it start after he'd died? Also, who was the other woman?
She felt herself get aroused again as she thought more about the mystery second woman, but resisted the urge to masturbate straight away. Dinner, then some wine and then I can settle in for a nice session later on, she told herself. With some effort she forced herself to pull on her jeans and make a start on cooking dinner.
Later that evening, with her second glass of wine in hand, Alison returned to her special chair. She reached into the side pocket and pulled out her little tablet computer that she used to read erotica. She slipped out of her trousers again and felt between her legs finding herself still wet from earlier that evening. She played idly with her pubic hair while scrolling through stories with the thumb of her other hand.
One of the authors she followed had recently published a new story with the intriguing title of "Little Annies Green Fingers". Chuckling to herself at the thought this might be a reference to gardening she began to read.
Sure enough it told the story of a young gardener being seduced by Clara, an older woman. It started innocently enough with the older woman inviting the younger into her kitchen for a refreshing drink on a hot day. Soon though the young gardener was touching the older woman's breasts and underwear before they both started showing each other their naked bodies. The older woman seemed very much in control which caused Alison to slide her fingers deeper inside her vagina, rubbing herself with her thumb.
Then she read a sentence that stopped her in her tracks: "As Annie's fingers sunk deep into Clara's cunt she let out a cry of ecstasy and took hold of the younger woman's ginger braids to pull her head into her hairy crotch."
A ginger braided gardener? What were the chances of that? She flicked the page up to find the authors name: ClaraWil. Clara Wilson? It couldn't be Mrs Wilson could it?
Sitting bolt upright Alison skim read the rest of the story, finding out that Clara and Annie became full time lovers with several steamy encounters. She checked out another story by ClaraWil, a tale of a vicar's wife making her husband wear her underwear, featuring Clara and another woman, all of whom were sexually involved with one another.
Alison brought her hand to her mouth in astonishment. That sounds like Reverend Stevens and his wife and could that other woman be Marian from the village shop? She checked more stories and in each one she could match a name to a person from the village. Clara featured in all of them, usually seducing the other characters.
She was writing about them all! Not only that but, based on what Alison had seen tonight, at least some of these stories were true, or at least partially true!
Should she be outraged or flattered that Mrs Wilson was writing about her in such a lewd way? The story was sensual and erotic and if Alison hadn't recognised herself then she'd certainly have masturbated more than once to it. The thought of being seduced by an older woman made her all squishy.
Oh my god, she thought suddenly, that means Mrs Wilson is fantasising about seducing me! She tossed the tablet to one side and hiked her leg over the arm of the chair, plunging her hand into her pussy. She rubbed herself to several orgasms as she replayed each scenario from ClaraJ's story until, exhausted, she fell asleep in the chair. She woke in the early hours, shivering from the cold and dragged herself up to bed where she dreamed that Mrs Wilson was in bed with her, cuddling her from behind.
The next morning all she could think about over breakfast was confronting Mrs Wilson with the stories and getting her to admit it. Except that wasn't really what she wanted. Deep down she wanted to be seduced, she wanted Mrs Wilson to seduce and make love to her. She needed to make that happen.
Luckily she had the manual: Little Annies Green Fingers described everything she needed to do and step one was to get invited inside. She was due to finish up her work on the hedge that morning and with a bit of luck Mrs Wilson would be at home. She felt a familiar tingle between her legs as she readied herself for the day and at the same time butterflies were dancing in her stomach. She retied her braids and pulled on her work cap and bodywarmer and stepped out determined to make her fantasy a reality.
Mrs Wilson was home and greeted her cheerily at the front door when Alison arrived.
"Good morning Alison, it's going to be a beautiful day today."
"Good morning Mrs Wilson, couldn't be better. The sun is out and it's a brilliant blue sky up there."
"Just wonderful, I do like these warm days before winter sets in."
"Me too. I try and make the most of them. It's not much fun pruning in the rain," Alison laughed.
Mrs Wilson smiled broadly. "Well, I'll leave you to your work. Please let me know if you need anything at all."
"I will. I should be finished by lunchtime."
