It is the perfect day for wearing well, not much at all actually. The sun is shining, freshly risen over the horizon, and the morning dew clings to the window.
I roll around and stretch lazily in bed, my feet absorbing the warm ray of sunshine that starts to pour through my window.
It’s not everyday I’m awake early, so I decided to enjoy the morning in the greenhouse, the perfect place to catch some more rays without getting burned.
I slip out from under the warm covers and slip into a convenient pair of shorts from the laundry basket at the foot of the bed. I decide on no real shirt at all but rather a sheer over cover with a delicate flower print over a blue bralette with a nice lace trim, also conveniently in the basket.
Nobody should be out there, it’s Sunday the gardener’s day off. Should be safe enough for a little nap before getting the day started. Tossing my loose curls into a ponytail rather than trying to tame them with a brush, I grab a sunhat and head out the back door towards the green house.
I find the door unlocked as usual, the higher humidity in there rushing out to greet me, a few degrees cooler than the air outside this early in the day, it sends a chill through my spine.
I venture in anyway, bound for the antique beach lounger under the lucious jasmine plant. Many other colorful flowers adorn the room; perfuming the air, all of them dottted with dew.
Its picturesque, serene, I could stay in here forever.
I dust some fallen jasmine buds off the lounger, heavy in it’s design, curvy wrought iron and soft canvas straps rather than the sticky plastic of a modern chair, and much more comfortable. I adjust the back a little higher and settle in.
Lowering my hat over my eyes as I close them, I find that drifting back to sleep comes easily to me, having not done much of anything yet this morning.
The green house is old, the glass walls handblown; greenish and full of bubbles. Rays of sunshine filter in, like looking up at the sun through seawater. I find myself dreaming of the beach, slowly drifting back into unconsciousness. My soft snores the only sound.
Suddenly, there’s a strong hand on my bare foot, warm and rugged. I recoil, pulling in my knees and closing my over shirt.
“Shhhh” says a male voice from behind the hand before I could move the sun hat from my face to see my attacker. He starts to massage my foot.
So many thoughts run through my head.
Who are you?
What are you doing?
How did you get in here?
What do I do?
As if on command the voice gently responds.
“Relax.” He grabs the other foot, gently lowering my legs back down as he massages them both.
My heart is racing, my hands softly trembling as they clutch my overshirt closed. Not that it offered much modesty in the first place. He continues, moving up to my ankles and then to my calves. I start to shake as he goes above my knee, caressing my thighs.
Who are you? Over and over in my head, all I would have to do is look, move the hat and be done with it. But I can’t. His hands on me, something about it is soothing my fears, they are warm hands, calloused hands. He could have hurt me but he didn’t, should I trust that he won’t?
He stands, and I can hear his footsteps as he walks behind the lounger. I flinch as he starts to rub my shoulders which have become tense after clutching my blouse, if you could call it that. His thumbs on the back of my neck send shivers down my body as he works the tight muscle underneath.
I think it’s the gardener, who had never expressed more than pleasantries with me but whom I’ve often caught glancing at me in the greenhouse. He’s not supposed to be here…
His strong hands work their way down my arms. I press my eyes together as he encircles my wrists, enticing my hands away from their vice like grip on my modesty.
I don’t know what possessed me to do so, but I surrender my grip. The blouse falls open not that it reveals much, and the sun hat falls to the floor, a forgotten relic.
My hands are taken upwards and held against the iron frame above my head with a firm grip, his free hand now daring to caress lower.
Down the underside of my arm to my rib, the palm of his hand cupping the side of my breast, his thumb nearly glancing my nipple. My eyes firmly closed, I shiver in his affectionate yet demanding grip.
His hand strays lower still, down the front of my belly dipping briefly into the hem of my denim shorts. My muscles under his hand twiching gently as he rubs.
Lower still, away from me and down to pull the hem of my overshirt out from under me. He pulls it up behind me and somehow uses it to tie my wrists around the frame.
I start to breathe frantically now.
Surely he would have hurt me if he wanted to.
Surely I could call for help and someone would hear.
Surely I could simply open my eyes and do something for myself.
But I won’t. Something in me just…won’t. I want to submit to this. To him. It’s inexplicable.
Both of his hands run up and down my rib cage, his thumbs massaging my breasts on every pass. He’s claiming my body with his hands.
He pulls up my bralette to reveal my small breasts, nipples almost painfully erect in the excitement. He pinches them, coaxing a small wimpering moan from my lips.
Suddenly his hands leave me and he takes three steps to the side; perpendicular to his prey, admiring his work perhaps. The thought excited me. Prey.
The unmistakable sound of a belt slipping through belt loops broke the silence, followed by a lazy clinking as it hit the gravel on the floor. Next came the sound of a zipper, sending my heartbeat into overdrive.
He steps forward and puts a gentle but firm hand on my cheek, running it over and behind my ear to grab hold of my pony tail. There’s only one thing he could want right now.
I can feel him, the warmth radiating from his body. I can smell him, woodsy and fresh with a very masculine musk. He’s so close to me I’m positivity vibrating with excitement.
Something in me took over, I wanted to be a good girl. I wanted him to use me. He pulled me forward by his handful of my hair and it wasn’t long before I felt him on my lips, gently insisting on access.
I opened my mouth to him. He was warm and slick, salty. He slides forward slowly, as if gauging how far he could go without chocking me too much. He starts like this slowly, lubricating his hard cock with my mouth.
He’s taking up a considerable amount of space in my mouth, the angle is wrong. I tuck my knees in and turn my hips to the side adjusting my body so that he may use my mouth more completely. Determined to be a good girl for him.
That’s better. Deeper into my wet mouth. My lips wrapped tightly around the girth of him. He thrusts faster now, making me drool down his cock and the side of my arm, using his free hand to reach down and pinch my nipple.
Im beginning to find that my mouth isn’t the only thing wet. A desperate need is growing inside me. Hands tangled up in my shirt and unable to reach down to alleviate this, I rub my thighs together in the hopes of some sort of stimulation.
I can’t squirm for long however: he’s fucking my face faster now and starts to breathe heavily above me, grunting softly. It won’t be long now, I can feel it. I feel it deep inside me as if I might cum with him, just from this.
His grip tightens on my hair and his cock twitches in my mouth, flooding it with his cum. Its salty and slightly bitter, there’s so much….but I want to be a good girl. So I swallow it, almost greedily.
He steps away, his cock making a soft plop as he pulls it from my mouth. I can feel the satisfied grin on his face and I blush. For a moment I think he’s done with me, that he’ll untie me and that this dirty dream will be over. But he steps lower down the lounger, twisting my body flat, the way he had me in the beginning. He makes quick work of my shorts, sliding them down my long legs.
Now I could hear his satisfied grin as he sees the evidence of my arousal on the inside of my shorts. Suddenly shy, I try to bring my knees back upbut his strong hands are quick on my ankles.
“Shhh….relax.” he chides me as he pulls my legs back down. He runs his hands all the way up my naked body, seemingly claiming every inch. His hands linger on my breasts, squeezing them gently; then again over my hips perhaps admiring their width. Finally down to the underside of my knees where he can pull my legs apart.
I can feel his weight settle between my legs on the lounger beneath us. I can feel his hands restlessly roaming up and down my legs, across my hips, I can feel his thumb on my clit; he slides it over my sensitive bud, already so close I’m shaking.
His cock encountered little resistance as he pressed it against my opening; ready and willing to accept him, to be used by him like he used my mouth.
I had no time to think. Swiftly and with little ceremony he thrust deeply into my pussy, soaking wet from being used by him. A deep, primal moan escaped my lips as I felt the width of him stretching me, the length of him bottoming out inside me.
He continued in long, slow, deep thrusts, filling me completely before retreating back out. It wasn’t long before the pressure built to be too much. I could feel my heart quickening, I could feel my legs shaking, the world started to fade away as I started to cum.
Like fireworks. Each thrust another busrt of light behind my closed eyes. Faster and harder he pounds into me as he feels my orgasm building, my pussy getting tighter and wetter, milking his hard cock.
I don’t recognize the moaning voice begging him, “cum inside me.. please… oh god I’m cumming” wanting again to be filled with his hot cum. To be claimed by him. I can feel his second orgasm building, intensifying my own. I’m gasping for breath around my moans when I feel him flood me.
So warm and sticky, so wrong and so right. I feel so full. My hips buck against him slightly as I come down from my orgasm, the thought of being used like a dirty slut making that very difficult.
And just like that, he slides out of my soaking pussy, gently slapping the top of my clit with his cock, iliciting a jolting twitch every time. I feel his weight leave the lounger as he gets up.
As I lay there and catch my breath I hear him shuffling, probably getting his clothes back on. I patiently wait to be released, still wanting to be good for him. A good slut I smirk to myself.
For a while I hear nothing, collecting my thoughts and my breath. The only sound I hear was the unmistakable thump of the greenhouse door closing. I snap my eyes open to find myself alone, mysterious master gone. My wrists tied to the lounger frame by a simple knot, had I struggled at all I would have been freed.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/gvkokl/the_gardeners_day_off_mf_strangers_massage_oral
Very hot