Gardening

Hello again, you will probably remember me from Gardening 1, a story about old Bill who came to help me keep our garden trim, but he finished up trimming me in a big way, his huge old cock taking over my life, making me his sex slave. I would do anything; yes, anything to feel his cock inside my wet and very willing pussy.

We also shared long and leisurely sessions in my bedroom—no, it's not my bedroom, it's our bedroom. I share it with my wonderful husband, Pat. He has wanted me to share my body with a strange man, even suggested we go dogging, but I feel so exposed and quite honestly frightened at the thought of all the men there wanting to touch my body or wanting to take Pat's place between my legs.

But he has no idea that he is already sharing with that old rogue he hired as a gardener. I've wondered once or twice if he has suspicions, but I think it was my guilty conscience making me pick up on little things he said and did around me. But he would come out and say something if he thought I was doing it behind his back.

I think you will easily remember the size of Bill's big old monster, but just in case you didn't read the first story, I will remind you. It is over two inches thick and about ten inches long; bigger than I ever imagined a man could be. It made me its captive. I wanted it so much—whenever he was absent, I longed for his wonderful sex.

When he arrived in the mornings, I waited with bated breath until he came to the kitchen door for his cup of coffee. Coffee wasn't what I was waiting for. As soon as he stepped in the door, I wanted him so much; his dirty old clothes, his rough unshaven face, even his big beer belly all seemed so attractive to me, but it wasn't any of those that I needed. It was that monster lurking in his trousers I wanted.

To compare him to my husband is like trying to pass King Kong off as Brad Pitt; every thing about them was so opposite. Pat was tall, trim, athletic, and always smart even when he was relaxing at home, and so god damn handsome. Bill was short, fat, and never seemed to wash; in fact, he smelt of stale beer most of the time, probably because he always had a bottle with him and drank two, sometimes three, with his lunch.

He would sometimes take me over the breakfast bar without taking his trousers off. He would just bend me over and unzip himself, knowing I would be wet and very willing. The thought of him had me on heat for hours before he came to work. He was just so sure of himself, and of me wanting him.

He never asked me if I wanted to make love, or fuck, as he called it. I had been so well conditioned to his cock that he didn't need to ask; he knew how much I wanted that huge chunk of meat. I had become addicted to his cock, and he was well aware of the fact.

Please don't think I'm complaining, because it was exactly what I wanted from him. Neither of us were "in love", we just both needed sex and this was the perfect arrangement—mutual satisfaction, twice a week, every week. I even dreaded going away on holiday because it would mean not getting old Bill's cock for however long we were gone.

Perhaps this all sounds a bit like a good marriage, but there was a big difference. I was married to a wonderful man and I was being seriously unfaithful to him, but couldn't help myself, didn't want to help myself, I wanted my cake and to eat it; a recipe for disaster, you might think.

I knew the risks I was taking. It was becoming easier to hide my infidelity from my husband. I was becoming quite a good liar, but to his credit, he continued to improve, and we made love in several new and quite exciting ways. The better he became at loving me, the worse I felt about my deceit.

One morning, Bill arrived. He was looking more respectable than I had seen him for some time. He had obviously washed and shaved and even had a new jacket. Well, not brand new, just not as terrible as his usual one. He came into the kitchen, taking off his Wellingtons, and leaving them at the door. He seemed a little strange, not the usual self-assured Bill I knew so well.

He sat at my breakfast bar toying with his coffee, not looking at me in his usual predatory way, as if he could devour me any second. I was wearing just a thin robe, slipped on as I got up to see my husband off to work. Even he had patted my bum as he left for a day's hard work, telling me how sexy I looked first thing in the morning, but Bill was deliberately not noticing my blatant state of near nudity.

Not able to stand it any longer, I asked him what was wrong. He looked at me and said, "We've been fucking each other for a year today, and I wanted to do something special to remember that first time. I want you to come down to the potting shed dressed just like you are."

Now, you might remember we have a large garden. It's fairly private, but the potting shed is right at the bottom, and it's overlooked by several neighbours. Dare I walk down my garden in this filmy little scrap of lace? Was he testing my devotion to his big old cock? Well, if he was, he must have been pretty sure of my willingness to do as he asked, because I stood up. "What are we waiting for?"

He walked behind me, telling me the rising sun was shining through the material, exposing my curves to him. I thought, Yes, and anybody else who might be looking. What would my neighbours think of me leading my old gardener down my back garden with nothing but a sheer wrap covering my naked body?

It was with some relief that I opened the shed door and slipped inside, away from the prying eyes of the people in the houses on either side.

"Take that thing off. I want to see you naked," Bill said. I simply did as he asked. Did he tell me to take it off? Yes, I'm sure he ordered me to strip in front of him in my own potting shed, just as I'm quite sure he knew I would do it without question.

He knew how much I needed his love making. He walked round me as I stood there completely naked in the cold air of this unheated shed. The cold made my nipples stand out and my skin sprouted goose pimples. With Bill so clean and odour free, I could smell the musky scent rising from my pussy. It was such a giveaway.

It was a heady mixture of woman on heat and potting compost, blended with the aroma of the various chemicals found in potting sheds, but it wasn't unpleasant. In fact, it was quite the reverse; it made me want him more than ever, but he was making me wait. He had played this game before, but if I waited it would be so much more exciting when it came. Or should that be when I came?

Not that I had any choice. He was, as always, in charge. He told me to bend over the rough old bench, and I thought he was going to take me as he did that first time. But he didn't. He found two short pieces of rope and tied my hands to the wall of the shed. I had never noticed those hooks screwed into the woodwork before! I started to object, but he said, "Do you want me to gag you as well?"

Knowing him well enough now, I kept quiet and let him continue to bind me hand and foot, my legs spread wide and fixed firmly to the legs of the bench. I felt fear for the first time since I had been having this affair with Bill. What was he going to do that needed me tied up? He knew he could do anything he wanted to my body and I would willingly comply, anything so long as he put that monster inside me and fucked me hard.

Because I was tied face towards the wall, I couldn't see anything, could only hear him moving around behind me adding to my apprehension. I tried to twist my neck round to see but it was impossible. The fear was escalating into real terror, but I could still feel and smell my wantonness, the heady aroma of a turned-on woman.

He wouldn't hurt me, would he? But it didn't matter what I thought. It was he who was in control of me. There was nothing I could do about it. I had allowed myself to be led into this old shed and had not struggled when he tied me up. It was my fault if he did something terrible to me; quite frankly, I had asked for it. He was still rummaging around behind me. He must be looking for something, but what? He had the thing I wanted right there in his pants. He only had to pull them down and that was all I needed. It went quiet behind me. It was worse than the sounds of his fumbling, but I knew that whatever it was he was searching for had been found.

My mouth had gone dry despite the coffee I had shared with Bill only a few minutes ago, but that was in the relative safety of my home. This was a completely different situation. I had some vestige of control in my kitchen, but none while tied to the work bench in my potting shed with this rather lecherous old man standing behind me.

My traitorous pussy was throbbing in anticipation of his cock and how it would make me feel. Despite the abject fear in my brain, my pussy still wanted him so badly; in fact, the uncertainty of this situation only added to the sexual tension of my body, and yes, even the real fear made me want him more.

Bill said in a very stern voice, "Chrissie, you have been a very bad girl. You have been fucking me now for a whole year and you haven't told your husband about it. That's really bad, and you must be punished." With that, I felt a stinging in my bum that took my breath away.

God, what was he doing to me? Before I could gather my senses, another stinging slap landed on my bare and so exposed bum. This time the pain was actually worse, because it landed on the same spot. This was agony. Why was he doing this to me? After all the wonderful sex we had enjoyed together, he was punishing me like I had never experienced before.

Remembering that caning I got at school was like comparing a pin prick to a major trauma. I tried to cry out, but my mouth was so dry I could only make a sort of groaning sound. Again, that wicked pain seared my bum cheeks, but this time I felt something else, a strange feeling deep inside me, not unlike when Bill's big old cock rams up too hard.

Again and again, that swishing sound followed by another agonising sting in my bum. That feeling inside me grew with each stroke of whatever he was using to beat me with. It got so intense I couldn't stop it, good God, I was climaxing by being thrashed by this old man who actually worked for me. Never in my wildest dreams could I imagine being made to come by pain. This wasn't something I had ever contemplated, but it was a fantastic orgasm.

It was wracking my body as it grew bigger and bigger, different to anything I had experienced before. I thought Bill had taught me all there is to know about coming, but was this perhaps another lesson in my awakening. As I eventually came down to Earth, I felt his cock nudging against my pussy. It was running with my juices and he didn't have any trouble pushing it right in with one almost violent thrust, which made me come again. He gripped my hips in his big strong hands and pounded his cock into me without the slightest consideration for me at all.

He was using me for his own pleasure, his big beer gut rubbing against my inflamed buttocks with every stroke. It was hurting me both internally and externally, but I knew it would do me no good to complain, and would perhaps get me another beating with his weapon.

But the excitement soon overcame the pain and it felt so good to have his cock in me again, I could feel my peak coming quickly as he pounded that oversized hunk of man into me like it was his last chance. But why did he think that? He knew I would come to him at his merest whim. He knew as well as I that I was addicted to his big old cock.

My climax was the most intense I have ever had. It shook me to my toes, making my whole body tremble with passion. Was it the situation, or being tied up? Was it the fact I had no control at all, or was it that beating he had given me, making me come thorough pain? I couldn't think straight, I was lapsing in and out of consciousness as he drove me higher and higher.

My confused mind couldn't stay on one thought for more than a few seconds as he kept me on the peak of orgasm for I don't know how long, but it was just as long as he wanted. I was just the receptacle for his lust and he knew it as well as I did. I was nothing more than an available pussy for his pleasure.

After what seemed like hours to me, tied and helpless, he grunted and filled me with his hot stuff. He kept himself buried to the hilt inside me, just making those little movements he knows will trigger more response from my pussy, making it grip him and milk his hard old cock, sucking the last few drops from it.

At last he pulled out, letting his come flow down my legs, pooling at my feet on the rough wooden floor. He untied me and said, "You best get back indoors, young lady, or I might be tempted to do all that again." I didn't need telling twice, and grabbing my gown, I slipped it on and ran for my home.

If my neighbours had been looking, they would have seen most of my naked body because I didn't wait to tie the belt. I just ran, the gown flapping around my body, showing far more than was decent. I slammed the door, almost locking it, but my need to get into the shower was so strong that I ran up the stairs and turned the water on full. Stripping that wrap off, I stepped into the soothing flow of the shower.

Our shower is all mirrored and even through the steam I could see the welts across my bum, standing out bright red and so inflamed. It suddenly hit me that there was no way I could hide those marks from my husband. Was that why Bill had treated me so badly, to show Pat what he had done to me, making it impossible for me to hide my infidelity any longer? Was this his way of showing my husband he was fucking me?

How on Earth could I hide this red and so sore bum from him? He would be sure to ask what had happened. I tried to think of something I could tell him that might seem plausible, but there was nothing. It was so plain to see that I had been beaten with what looked like one of my own garden canes; the marks were thin and clearly defined, like red stripes across my entire buttocks.

I dried myself on a big soft towel, trying not to make my bum hurt any more than it already did. I gently put some soothing cream on, hoping it would relieve the stinging, but just smoothing it on made me think of that climax I had while he was caning me. Why had that happened? I could think of no sensible reason for pain causing me to cum.

But then, when I think about it, there is so much I didn't know, things that Bill had taught me over the past twelve months. I had only ever made love on my back with Pat on top until Bill came into my life. He had opened up a new and exciting world of sex that I might have gone through life never knowing, so perhaps this was just another lesson in my education, but not one I wanted to repeat.

Pain is something I am not good at, even the dentist frightens me almost to death, and because I have never been really ill, I suppose I haven't built up a pain threshold, but that changed this morning. I knew pain now. It was still making it impossible for me to sit down. What had that terrible old man done to me, and why?

I could hear my lawn mower chugging up and down the lawn, reminding me that it was getting nearer to lunch lime. He would expect me to prepare him a sandwich and take it out to him, or he may come to the kitchen as he had been doing for the past few months. How could I face him? I seriously thought about locking the door and leaving him to his own devices, the horrible old man.

In fact, that is what I did. I put on a pair of loose light slacks, went downstairs, and locked the back door. I closed the curtains, shutting him and his cane out of my life as best I could, but he was with me—my bum attested to that. I tried to sit in an arm chair, a very soft one, but even that caused my bum to sting more. What was I going to do when my husband came home? How the hell was I going to explain this?

Opening a bottle of wine, I took a large swig, hoping it would take my mind off both my bum and my more important issue of what to tell Pat. I busied myself around the house, thinking, if I was unfaithful at least I could be a good wife in every other way. The second glass of wine seemed to help, and my mind made and rejected plans to hide my backside from my husband.

I thought about going to bed and telling him I had a bad headache, but I never had headaches. I'm not the kind of woman who can fake a pain to persuade her husband to leave her alone; it's just not me. But what was me? Who had I become this last year? To be honest, I didn't know this woman who was trying to find a way to prevent her man from finding out how she had been so unfaithful over the last few months. She was a stranger to me.

I could hear Bill knocking on the back door, wanting his cup of coffee. Well, he wasn't getting it from me, not today. He could go thirsty for all I cared; the thrashing he had given me was bad enough, but the worst thing was that it showed so plainly and I couldn't hide it from my man. I had to risk my marriage and possibly the love of my life, all because Bill had done this terrible thing to me.

What a thankless old man he was. I had given myself to him so freely and willingly, and this was the way he repaid me. I would never speak to him again except to give him his marching orders, if I still had a home and garden to care for after this. At that moment, I hated him with all my being.

As I was getting the evening meal prepared, the phone rang. It was Pat. He had been delayed at the office and had to go to a job several miles away, so he wouldn't be coming home tonight, but would see me tomorrow. I almost said, "Thank God for that." What a wicked thought for a wife to have. He was so apologetic, making me feel worse than I already did. Another day might just give me the chance to hide those welts from his eyes.

We talked for a while before he hung up. His voice sounded sort of strange, but he said nothing out of the way, so I supposed it was his disappointment of not coming home tonight. He hated hotels and avoided them as much as possible, but with the business growing, he spent two or three nights a month away from home. He was gradually taking over from Dad, who wasn't getting any younger.

I decided to take a long hot bath, hoping it would help my bum, which was still so sore and so hot. Lying in the hot water with the wonderful foam floating around my flesh is something I adore. The bursting bubbles tickled my nipples and my hand seemed to stray down to my pussy. How stupid can I get? Hadn't my pussy got me into enough trouble already? Did I really need to play with myself again, just making me want that big old cock?

I vowed I would never let him near me again. If Pat forgave me, I would be so faithful to him. I should never have allowed myself to be led off the path of honesty. If I lost Pat it would finish me. I think I might have considered ending my life, because it wouldn't just be Pat. My parents would disown me too, because Pat was the son they always hoped for. They loved him as much as they did me, their own daughter.

I went to bed early because at least I could lie on my side, easing the pressure on my bum. The phone rang about ten. It was Pat telling me he had finished his business and was going for a drink, and then to bed. I asked him to call again when he was back in his hotel and talk to me. We often talked dirty on the phone late at night when he had to stay away.

I lay there in our bed, wondering if I would ever sleep in this bed again. Would Pat throw me out? He had every reason to. I tossed and turned, wanting to tell him, but so afraid of the consequences, knowing I wasn't going to get any sleep this night, wishing Pat was here. At least I could tell him and get it over with. The agony of not knowing how this was going to end was worse than the pain in my bum. At last the phone rang again.