Gardening

Hi, my name is Chrissie. I'm 39 and married. My kids have already flown the nest and I'm soon to be a grandmother. That really is scary.

I'm married to Pat, a very successful man who helps my dad run our family business. Unfortunately, he isn't much good at the wonderful art of bedroom fun.

His idea of having a good time is to get me to suck him for about five minutes, then a quick fumble around my bits, his cock sticking up me and after a few grunting thrusts shoots his come inside.

What next, you ask? Well, within five minutes he's snoring so loud he keeps me awake. But despite his obvious short-comings I love him to bits.

In every other way he is a model husband. He treats me like a princess, he spoils me, and nothing is too much trouble. Can you really imagine a man who clears the table and puts the crocks into the dishwasher every time we dine at home, even when we have company?

He takes me shopping, even chooses the underwear I love to wear for him, and sits outside the changing room while I try on all sorts of new things. And he never complains about how long I take choosing my new items. He'll even go back to the first shop where I saw that dress, but wasn't sure if it was really me, and let me try it on yet again.

All this makes the story I'm about to tell you more incredible, more unfaithful, more shameful.

We have a large garden—about three quarters of an acre. I love working in the garden, and most of it is in accordance with my planning and design. I took landscape gardening as one of my courses in school.

After a recent illness when I was unable to do much, it got a bit out of hand. Pat suggested we get a gardener to come help me fix it. At first I wasn't keen; it was, after all, my baby. But the following weeks of graft wore me down, I finally agreed to his suggestion.

I put an advert in the local shop window thinking a local pensioner might like to earn a bit of extra cash. We had so many replies I had difficulty deciding whom to take on. Being a bit of a coward, I asked Pat to interview them.

He spent most of Saturday talking to prospective candidates, choosing Bill, a seventy-three-year-old retired farm worker with the cheekiest grin imaginable.

Bill turned up the first morning, his belly hanging over his trousers, the scruffiest old man I think I have ever seen. To his credit, though, as soon as I told him what needed doing, he went to work like a man half his age.

The roses were hanging all over the place. He pruned them with expertise; honestly, I could learn something from this old man. The following day it was so wet I thought it best not to work outside.

I showed Bill around the green house and potting shed. He suggested all sorts of improvements, several of which I took on board. Before long, we had become good friends.

His sense of humour stopped me in my tracks several times. It bordered on rude. Well, not rude exactly, more like extremely suggestive. I often caught him looking at me in a way I never expected a man in his seventies would. He was perving me without a doubt.

By the time spring came round, my favourite time to be working outside, the garden was looking good. To be honest, I didn't really need Bill any longer, but he had become part of my life since we spent two days a week in each other's company.

I talked to Pat, asking him if we should dispense with Bill's services now that the garden was back in good order. He said, "No, you need more time for yourself. He can cut the grass and do the jobs you find hard." So Bill stayed on, becoming a permanent member of our household.

All this time, my working attire had been trousers or jeans with a baggy jumper or windcheater depending on the weather (a bit scruffy when I think about it).

However, as the weather warmed up, I wore shorts and a tee shirt in the garden, showing a lot more of my figure. I suppose you will need to know what I looked like; it sort of makes the story a bit more real.

I'm five feet five, brunette, and beautiful. Well, that's the description Pat always uses, but the truth is I'm a size 14. My measurements are 36E 26 36, a lot too curvy to be classed as beautiful, but I must admit I do like my shape, and work hard to keep it in good condition.

Keeping fit is not difficult for me, as we have a gym in the attic and an indoor heated swimming pool at the bottom of the garden, so I am able to swim all year round.

Bill was getting braver with his looks and comments about my body, saying things like, "You shouldn't be exposing all that flesh to an old man; you might give him a heart attack!"

I took it all in good grace, thinking it was just an old man thinking of his younger days, but I must admit to liking some of his banter. I am, after all, a woman; we all like compliments even if they are a little too suggestive.

Then the day came when I had been swimming and walked back to the house to get showered and changed for some gardening. Bill had made an early start, and when he saw me in my bikini, his eyes nearly popped out of his head.

It was very brief, only covering the smallest parts of my body (another gift from my devoted husband). It was white and very thin, when wet it hid nothing at all; thank goodness it had dried enough to regain some of its density. I walked into the house. He had caused me to wonder if he was really just teasing me. With his banter, could he actually fancy me? Could he do anything about it at his age?

The thought of his eyes watching my every step as I came back from the pool stayed with me as I showered. My pussy felt sort of alive. In fact, I touched myself and finished up lying on my bed fingering my clitty till I climaxed, thinking about old Bill.

I put on a very small pair of shorts that only my Pat had seen me in before. No panties. I topped it off with a bikini top that only just covered my ample bust. What was I thinking?

Bill was cutting the grass, so I started on the flower beds that run round the lawn, kneeling on the ground to reach the weeds, knowing my bum would be sticking up for Bill's benefit, the tight shorts cutting into me as I reached as far as I could to weed the borders.

Yes, I was prick-teasing this old man, whatever had come over me? I don't behave this way normally; I'm quite reserved most of the time. But it was making me so hot—so much so I could feel the moistness between my legs.

The shorts were white, so if I was getting wet it would soon show through the thin material. Bill stopped the lawn mower right behind me. Cutting the engine, he said, "If you don't cover yourself up quickly, I will not be responsible for my actions." I pretended not to know what he was talking about, so he enlightened me. "I can see everything you have to offer a man, and you look as if you are about ready for some cock. The sight of your almost naked ass is too much. Now go and put something on to cover yourself or I'm going to do something that will get me the sack."

"Why would I want to sack you, Bill? You have helped me transform the garden, and I enjoy you coming here to help me," I said. He climbed off the mower and walked to my side. He touched my overheated pussy with the tips of his dirty fingers, pushing the material deeper into my cleft.

I just held my pose, not wanting to lose this moment of bliss, but knowing it was wrong to let this dirty old man finger me outside in the garden. He took my arm, helping me to my feet, and led me to the potting shed.

He pushed the door shut and turned to me, saying, "Get those things off, now." I simply obeyed him without any conscious thought as I stripped in front of a man almost old enough to be my grandfather.

Perhaps I ought to tell you, I have a very submissive nature, probably due to my dad being very dominant in my early life. My husband has not explored this part of my makeup, unfortunately.

This was so exciting, being told to strip, like I was just his servant, his slave! It turned me on with a vengeance. By the time I had removed my bare minimum of clothing, he had dropped his trousers, letting his cock stick out.

Any ideas I had about him being too old fled from my head. This was a big rampant old cock that was going to fuck me. Oh, I just hoped he was as good as he looked at this moment.

He picked me up by my waist and sat me on the bench, pushing me back so I was leaning against the side of the shed. My legs opened entirely without my bidding, thinking he was going to stick his cock into me, but no. He leaned forward till his face was almost in my crotch.

I could feel his hot breath on my neatly shaved pussy. Then he did something I had not experienced before. His tongue snaked out, flicking the tip of my clitty, sending shivers down my spine. What the hell was he going to do to me?

He pushed his tongue deeper into my sex, making me gasp for breath. Then, as he played with my clitty, I suddenly climaxed like never before. Only my fingers had ever done this to me, and not as often as they should.

It always felt somehow wrong to make myself come. Perhaps it's the Catholic school I attended as a girl teaching me the idea that sex for pleasure was a sin. But how could this be a sin? My body was shaking with pure unadulterated lust as this old man tongued my pussy, making me writhe in ecstasy.

He didn't stop when I climaxed as I thought he would; oh no, he just drove me higher and higher till I actually lost consciousness—another first for me. Never did I think a climax could be so big it would cause me to faint.

Yet, I did faint, and not just the once. His head buried in my crotch, his tongue working its magic on my pussy, I lapsed into a sort or suspended animation, if that's the right word for it.

I don't know how long he kept me in this wonderful state of sexual suspension, but it seemed like I had never been anywhere else. It was so good and so perfectly natural.

Eventually, he came up for air. He looked into my eyes and said, "You enjoyed that, didn't you?"

I replied with a breathy, "Yes, it was wonderful." He then told me to get down off the bench. I did as I was instructed. His cock stood out oh-so-much bigger than my Pat. It was thick and very red, inflamed looking, not very pretty.

Pat's cock is smooth and clean-looking with just a few veins standing out on the shaft, with his foreskin covering the knob. Bill's was nothing like that at all. It looked all knobbly and he had no foreskin, the bulbous end looking almost threatening, and twice as big.

Bill turned me to face the bench, bending me over like he was going to give me the slipper. It reminded me of the once I got caught trying to scale the school walls and the head mistress bent me over her desk and gave me six very hard stokes of her slipper.

Was Bill going to punish me? No, punishment was the last thing on his mind. He rubbed his big old cock up and down on my very wet and sensitive pussy, then, finding just the right angle, he pushed it up me in one huge thrust.

I know I screamed as it tore into me, spreading my sex wider than anything before, but it was the depth of the penetration that took my breath away. His hand found my mouth, holding it so I wouldn't alert the neighbours as he drove his huge cock into me time and time again.

If I thought the climaxes he had given me with his tongue were good, this was in another league. It seemed to start in my toes and rush through my body, sending waves of unbelievable pleasure through me till I again lost consciousness.

His big dirty hands gripped my hips as he powered that thing into me with so much energy, so much passion. He was like a machine, just plunging his cock into me over and over again.

After what felt like hours for me pinned to the bench, unable to move, he said, "Do you want it up you?"

Thinking he meant his cock, I said, "Oh, yes.."

He was talking about his sperm. It flooded me with several big spurts, then lots of much smaller ones, until he slipped out of me, leaving me hanging onto the bench to support myself.

My legs felt like rubber and were not able to hold my weight. It took me quite some time before I could push myself upright. Bill was standing there, his clothes back in some sort of order, as if he had just watched this, as if he hadn't been the randy old man who had just given me the fuck of my entire life.

I cleaned myself up as best I could and went indoors, straight to the shower. I stood under the running water wondering what the hell had happened. Was that sex? If so, I had been missing out. That was nothing like what I had been getting all my married life.

I know in books I read about sex being mind-blowing and so intense it made the girl swoon, but in reality it was just a quick fumble in bed, mostly leaving me frustrated, and sometimes going to the bathroom to finish myself off.

I touched my pussy; it was so sensitive, and so hot like a fire had burned inside me. I touched my clitty, but it was so tender I couldn't do anything other than hold it gently, never had I felt so alive, so damn sexy.

I simply couldn't face Bill again today, knowing I had caused what had happened today by my blatant exhibitionist behaviour, dressing to tease him the way I had. That made it all my fault.

I could hear the lawn mower going up and down the lawns till about three thirty, when he normally knocked off. I went out to make sure he had gone. I was a very mixed up lady, wanting him to still be there but not daring to face him.

He had gone home. The garden looked so neat. He had still done a good day's work even with the distraction I had caused. What about Thursday, when he would return? What was I going to say to him?

Pat came home as usual. Should I tell him of my infidelity? How would he take it? It might turn him on knowing his wife had been ravished by the old gardener, but it might end our marriage. So I decided to keep quiet.

I tried so hard to act natural all evening. He asked a couple of times if I was alright. He knew something was not normal, but he couldn't know his wife was a sexual wreck because she had teased the gardener and got just what she deserved.

We at last got to bed. He put his arm around me. Oh no, what if he wanted to make love? He would know his wife had been unfaithful! There is no way I could respond in the normal way with my pussy still on fire from old Bill's massive cock!

But he just kissed me and went to sleep, leaving me wondering what the hell I had done. Risking my marriage for a fling with an old man, a dirty old man to boot, what sort of fool was I?

Wednesday came as it always did, despite my fear of Thursday, knowing it was one day closer. How was I going to face my gardener when he had given me the biggest thrill of my life, even though it was illicit and forbidden since I am a married woman?

I worked in the garden for a few hours before going off to meet a friend for lunch. As we sat talking about our normally mundane lives, she asked if I had ever had an affair. I said no, my face colouring as I lied. She said she was thinking of letting someone else have sex with her because her husband wasn't interested any more and she needed to be loved.

We talked for hours till we both decided to be honest with one another. She admitted she had taken a sales man to bed, just a man who called at the door trying to sell something, and she wasn't fully dressed, as she was about to get in the shower. He eyed her up as her robe flapped slightly showing a lot of her very trim legs.

His comments and looks made her horny so she asked him in for a coffee, that being the oldest excuse in the world, and they finished up on the lounge carpet, having rather wild sex, complete with carpet burns on her knees and elbows.

When I asked her if she told her husband, she said, "Good God, no! He would go mad. That's something you need to keep to yourself." I told her about my fling with an old man but not who it was. I quite honestly was ashamed of myself for allowing this dirty old man to do what he had to my body, but knew I wanted it to happen again.

She, on the other hand, was fascinated. She wanted all the details. I told her enough but kept the really bad bits to myself. I pretended not to have encouraged him the way I had, and made it sound as if he did all the chasing.

Most of all, she wanted to know how big he was. I had said he was huge, but she wanted details. I indicated with my hands how long it was and she couldn't believe it. "No man is that big," she told me. She made me promise if it happened again I would find out just how big it was.

As I made that promise, I knew it would be tomorrow when I saw that monster again. However much guilt I felt at deceiving my husband, I needed the sensations he gave me at least once more, knowing how it had transported me to another plane. It was something I wanted to feel again.

It was another quiet evening at home with Pat. He was still aware of something not quite right and asked me several times if I was troubled about anything.

He had a stock of porn films that he liked to watch when I wasn't around. He thought I disapproved, but I'd watched every one several times because it got me hot and helped me to bring myself off, especially after a disastrous sex session in bed the night before.

I suggested he get out some of his films to watch, thinking it might take his mind off my strange mood. He said, "But you don't like me watching them when you are around."

"Well, perhaps it's time I broadened my mind," I replied.

He needed no further encouragement, and soon we sat watching the typical porn flick, a young nubile wife goes to a pub with her partner, an old man in the pub looks at her with lust, she gets hot and he suggests that they have sex. This one was a little different because the older man took her over the luggage boot of their car with hubby watching.

Pat was really getting off watching this film. "How would you like to be that girl?" he asked.

My very guarded reply was, "Why? Do you want me to have other men?"

He just smiled and said, "Yes, it would turn me on like hell to see you being screwed by an old man."

I acted just the way he expected me to, shocked and very indignant. "Why would you want me to be taken like a whore by some stranger?"

"I don't really know why, it's just that every time I watch one of these films, I imagine you being the woman." Then he shocked me. He continued, "I know I don't satisfy you because you have to go to the bathroom to give yourself a climax as soon as you think I'm asleep." He told me he had listened at the bathroom door as I panted into an orgasm, and then crept quietly back to bed and pretended to be asleep again.

It was still quite early, so I asked if he had another film on the same theme. He jumped up to get another film, leaving me sitting there with very muddled thoughts running through my mind.

The second film was a better plot, the young woman being the instigator and the husband just a voyeur, secretly hiding in the wardrobe. This was a little bit like my adventure. He was a big boy and made her cry out as he forced his huge cock up her.

She was kneeling on the bed while he stood behind her, his hands gripping her hips, very much like Bill had done. They were obviously positioned for the camera angle, and he finished by shooting his stuff all over her back.

Pat was looking excited as he watched the scene unfold; despite the fact that I knew he had this film for over a year, it still made him horny. I suggested we make love while watching it again. He looked shocked. I never ask for it—I usually leave it up to him to make the first move.

"Shall we go to bed then?" he asked.

"No," I replied, "Let's do it right here, in the living room."

He seemed very uncertain. He is very much an in-bed-with-the-lights-off type of man.