The very first thing she did when we moved in was to run into the garden, hands in the air, as if she’d just scored the winning goal in a cup final and shouted, “I just love this garden!”
She turned to me with the broadest of smiles and said, “It’s ours. It’s actually ours.”
She said that pretty much where I’m sitting now—just outside the patio doors, which lead to the kitchen.
She was always more interested in the garden than the house. She kept saying that it had so much potential. I could see her planning borders and vistas in her mind as we were shown around. She hardly looked at the rooms.
And as she flung her arms around me all those years ago, kissing me excitedly, ignoring the celebratory champagne that I was holding out for her, she whispered, “This is a garden to fuck in.”
Eventually she took the glass and raised it towards me. “We are going to have such fun out here.”
And she was so fucking right. We had a ball.
The first thing she wanted to do in the garden after we’d moved in was to create a wild flower area. She always liked meadows with the red of the poppies clashing with the bright blue of the cornflowers, held together with the frothy blooms of cow parsley and wild carrot.
Nothing could sum her up better than that meadow she created in the area on the brow of the small hill. Colourful. Wild. Natural. Like those wildflowers, she grabbed any opportunity to grow and flourish.
Not that the rest of the garden was wild. It had several different areas, each reflecting parts of her character.
Looking back, my personal favourite was the cottage border near the patio. It was more formal that the meadow, packed with perennials. Delphiniums, irises, geraniums, lady’s mantle. All neatly layered in clumps.
But, to be honest, it wasn’t really the flowers that did it for me. It was one particular memory of what we did there, which was anything but formal.
It was a warm June morning and she’d rushed out of the house upon waking and spent the first few hours pulling out a few weeds and sharing cups of tea with the birds, listening to their calls and being part of nature. She slept nude and she’d not bothered to dress. She didn’t need to, given the temperature. And she loved being naked outside.
I caught her walking back to the kitchen to make another brew. She looked so hot—magnificent boobs, curvy arse. She scolded me for missing the best part of the day as she filled the kettle.
“Join me on the patio,” she said. I was about to throw on some clothes first, but she made it very clear that we should be out in nature, as nature intended.
So, I took a tray with teapot, mugs and a jug of milk, and put it on the table by the wall.
We hadn’t been at the house long, and it was one of the first times I had sat there. I noticed from my chair that I could almost be seen from next door’s bedroom. She was totally in view.
Well, of course she was.
A few months earlier, I might have suggested she pulled her chair closer to mine, but by now, I knew it best to leave her be.
And then she waved. The guy next door was opening the curtains. I’ll never know who saw each other first, but my hunch is that she saw him and instinctively snatched the moment.
“You must come round and have a cuppa with us,” she shouted. “It’ll be your last chance to see the peonies, they’ll be over in a day or two.”
She loved peonies. They bloomed for a brilliant, blousy, eye-grabbing few weeks. And then they were gone until next year. She’d planted a row of a delicate cream variety, which had a subtle, lingering scent when they opened.
Astonishingly, our neighbour came around. To this day I am amazed that he appeared. Was it her exuberance, the peonies, or her nakedness that lured him through our unlocked side gate?
I was about to get up to grab some boxers, but she placed a firm hand on my thigh. I was to stay exactly where I was. When it came to sex, she was the boss.
Her brazen approach to all things sexual had been what attracted me to her. I was intrigued by her naughtiness as she described it. She did what I’d like to do, but never had the nerve.
She often did outrageous things and I was learning, slowly, to go with the flow and fight my natural reaction to hold off, consider the risks and be more measured. “You’ve got to go for it,” she used to say, “you never know how long you’ve got.”
Our neighbour was a good-looking chap, a few years younger than me. He was in his usual smart attire—branded polo shirt and shorts.
“You’re over-dressed,” she teased, adding, “I hope you’re OK with us like this…”
She pulled up a chair and asked if I would go and get a mug. I felt awkward being naked in front of him and didn’t want to move, happy to be shielded by the table.
But she gave me a shove. I had to get up. I gave an embarrassed smile and tried to avoid eye contact, but noticed that he was taking a peek at her breasts.
When I returned, he was seated at the table, taking his top off. “I said he should take it off, just to even things up,” she laughed. “And the bottom half,” she added cheekily. “It’s so much more fun.” He paused, so she gave him a similar shove to mine, only less forceful.
He shrugged, gave half a laugh, stood up and pulled his shorts and boxers off, folding them neatly on top of his shirt.
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And so we were sitting there, naked, having a cup of tea in bone china mugs and talking about her cottage border, in which her peonies were currently the star of the show.
As she started talking about the heleniums and astrantias, which would provide late summer colour, I felt a finger on my thigh. It started to crawl upwards towards my cock, pausing to trace small circles, like a vine tendril searching for a grip.
By the time she reached my balls, I was hard. Fucking hard. And then she started to run a fingernail up and down the opening in my helmet, teasing out my ‘nectar’ as she called it, before smoothing it over the rest of my nib. I flowed and could feel my wetness make its way down my shaft.
She made cheeky eye contact with me, and I knew she was working up to something sensational. She raised an eyebrow towards me as if to say, hold on, trust me, jump with me.
This amazing nervous energy pulsed through my body and into my limbs. My head felt dizzy. I was trembling. My foot was tapping. My breathing was short. I was tingling all over. And my thighs were soaked with nectar.
I had no idea what she was going to do next, where she was going to take me. Her. The three of us. But I just knew whatever happened next, whatever magic she was going to conjure up, it was going to be fucking hot and fucking naughty.
And then she stopped, and I can remember this next bit so clearly. She took her hand away and left my prick alone.
My erection remained solid as I was wondering what she was up to, before realising that she working on our neighbour’s prick. While she held a mug of tea on one hand, elbow on the table, I could see her other arm move rhythmically. She was wanking him. And that was such a turn on. Countless fantasies about what the three of us might do were forming in my mind.
I needed to be fucked so much. The tease had gone on as far as it could. I needed to be sated.
Suddenly she cried out, “How rude of me! Biscuits! I made some shortbread yesterday. Who is going to be a darling?” She eyed us both, clearly expecting one of us to go and fetch them.
Instinctively, we both stood up. Our two erections pointing at each other across the table, nodding in anticipation.
She took a cock in each hand and said in that mischievous tone of hers, “Fuck shortbread, I prefer cock. And now I have two to enjoy.”
And she took our neighbour’s cock into her mouth. She sucked him for a bit, then turned to me and took me into her warm, wet mouth. I kept thinking that he had only just occupied the spot.
Looking up, she pulled away and asked, “Would it be OK if I took you together?”
Our neighbour, picking up her comment about the biscuits, said that it would be rude if she didn’t.
So she pulled our two cocks to her mouth and I closed my eyes, lost in elicit bliss.
I could feel her tongue flicking away at my frenulum, but then I was aware of the warm bulb of flesh next to my helmet. It was the first time my cock had touched another. And because this other cock was in her mouth, and because she was the one who was connecting us, it felt all right.
You know if felt more than all right. It felt unbelievably fucking horny.
I was periodically aware of her tongue but increasingly of the soft, damp warmth of the other crown pushing against mine. Her mouth felt drenched. I guessed our pre-cum was mixing together as her tongue continued to tease us.
We’d had threesomes before, often with another guy, but I had never been this close to another cock before, and the more I thought about what we were doing, the more I wanted to come. I desperately wanted to explode over his bellend and in her mouth.
But it was our neighbour who came first. I heard him groan. I felt him jerk against my cock. She seemed to urge him on with a moan. And then a delicious warm cascade burst over my cock.
I was visualising his sticky come mixing with her saliva as she milked his every drop.
And the knowledge that my cock was right there in her mouth while all this was going on was enough to push me over the edge. I think I muttered that I was coming, and I felt her hand pumping me. I exploded.
As I did so, I opened my eyes and saw come dribbling from her lips. Streams of it were running down her chin, clinging to her neck and breasts. A pool collected on a nipple before dropping onto the table next to the teapot.
I gazed at my neighbour’s drooping cock. Semi firm, tip pointing down, trickles of come sparkling in the low morning sun were dangling from it.
Fuck, that was such a moment. And in case you were wondering, yes, we did have the shortbread afterwards with a cup of tea—loose leaf, orange pekoe.
While that was one of the best moments in the garden, there were others, such as when she decided to have an alfresco dinner party. She wanted as much of the meal to be home-grown as possible.
We had asparagus for starters, followed by an amazing salad with rocket, basil, watercress and kale.
I knew what was for dessert—red currants, black currants, strawberries and raspberries. I had helped her pick them. She had made a rich syrup. She’d told me it was going to be summer pudding, of sorts. But with a twist.
After the main course she disappeared into the kitchen. I’d no idea what she was up to, she kept it totally secret. She liked to surprise me. “It’s all part of the fun,” is what she’d say.
She called me inside, and I found her draped over a serving trolley, totally naked. She insisted I pour the desert over her. I got so hard ladling it on to her belly and watching it flow toward her pussy. She squeezed her thighs together to prevent leaks, and got me to coat her breasts with cream.
There were two piles of dessert spoons, which she asked me to fetch and, taking them in each hand, I wheeled her outside as she shouted, “Dessert is served.”
You should have seen our guests’ faces. And yes, we did have sex afterwards. All of us. She had her first DP that night. And her second. I have to admit that I was in both, and it was utter heaven.
But right now, the moment that I’m thinking about as I stroke my hard cock gently is a far simpler affair. It was just the two of us, and it was one of the last times we made love.
And it was exactly that—making intimate love. Not the hedonistic erotic excesses that we’d enjoyed in the garden in those early years here. This was profound love, expressed in the most intimate of ways.
She’d been resting on the bed in a shepherd’s hut that I’d bought her as a birthday present. It seemed appropriate in the circumstances. A bed right in the middle of the garden.
It was one of her good days. It was high summer, and the Mediterranean garden she’d designed looked, smelled and sounded fabulous. The rosemary and lavender were in bloom and had attracted dozens of bees.
Her washed denim dress—a favourite of mine—picked up the colours of both herbs—the silver of the rosemary and the blue of the lavender.
With a Panama hat on her head and a wicker basket in hand, she looked quite the gardener. She cut some lavender stems and brought them inside. Their aroma filled the hut.
I have to be honest, I was being a bit lazy and was lying on the bed and then I saw that look in her eye. It was the same look as when she’d invited our neighbour round all those years ago.
She tossed her Panama on the floor and slowly crawled on top of me, her breasts grazing my legs as she moved. She started to kiss me and the thought of sex with her after quite a drought brought my member to life.
Like a thirsty plant after a shower, he began to perk up and started to make his presence known through my chinos. She smiled in appreciation and slowly unzipped me and eased him out. He was growing wonderfully and under her breath she muttered, “Beautiful.”
She pulled my shorts off and continued to kiss me. Gentle kisses. Her tongue pushed apart my lips to seek out mine. The touch seemed to connect a sexual circuit between us.
Instinctively I unbuttoned my shirt. And in turn, she started to stroke my cock. Tender strokes to match her gentle kisses. We both knew exactly what we needed to do to turn the other on. And this time we didn’t need others to heighten the pleasure. The garden, the moment and each other were all that was required.
As she kissed my chest, she began to work harder on my prick. The strokes turned to pumps. She’d watched me pleasure myself so many times, she needed no directions.
She held my head in her arms as she gripped my cock. And then, the act of a sexual genius, she eased behind me and with her legs astride me, slid her arms under mine and upped the tempo.
It was as if her hands were my hands. It was the most fabulous hand job and I can almost feel her fingers working me right now. Within a few moments, I reached my climax, and bursts of spunk splattered my belly.
She mopped me up, and tossed the sodden tissues on the floor. It was her time and I was determined to make it as satisfying as possible. She’d not come for weeks. Not surprising, of course, given the circumstances.
She pulled her favourite vibrator from under the covers where she’d secreted it earlier. It was only then that I realised that all this had been planned.
The tissues.
The toy.
The dress.
And the panties.
I bought them for her on Valentine’s Day a few years back. They were embroidered with flowers.
We swapped positions so I was sitting behind, legs around her just as she had been with me. I slipped my hand under her floral knickers and held the vibrator against her lips, just as she liked it.
She relaxed into me and I just tried to keep that vibrator next to, but not quite on, her clitoris. Indirect contact was what always worked for her.
As she got closer, she pulled her knickers to one side, giving me full access to all of her smooth pussy. And with that she came. How good that felt. It was as if her orgasm was partly mine, too.
But, I knew she wanted more and so I undid her dress. I was never very good at buttons and bras, so she helped and eased out her astonishing breasts.
Her nipples were quite amazing. The image of them covered in cream flashed back into my mind from that supper party. Perhaps the same thought came to her too, who knows, but she came again, only this time it was harder and more intense.
We had burst into flower together that glorious summer’s evening.
And the memory of that magnificent last time we had sex starts to push me over the edge. I leave the shepherd’s hut and hurry to the right place to deposit my load. Her peonies. I moan as my come sprays over the leaves.
She’s still here in the garden. I sense her on my daily walks around the borders she created. I hear her in the birdsong. I see her in the wildflower meadow.
Her ashes, even now, are nourishing those glorious peonies of hers.
What could be more appropriate—her remains scattered in the soil beneath her favourite plant, providing the essential nutrients for next year’s blooms.
A down to earth ending for a woman who was anything but, and who I’ll love until my dying day.
The End
Read all about the wonderful author: PJA Woode
Wow – this is an amazing erotica. My partner and I read these together and it definitely lead to an incredible night