Return to Mr. Carruthers' Garden

Bryony pushed her hoe across the ground. "Phew," she said quietly to herself brushing her forehead with her hand - it certainly was hot. A rivulet of sweat ran down between her breasts. She stopped weeding, stood upright and looked across at the old red brick wall in front of her. A pair of courting butterflies landed for a moment on the tip of her left breast, perhaps attracted by the moisture. Bryony felt the tiny movement and brushed them away. She loved this garden, was so grateful to Mr. Carruthers for allowing her... no, not allowing her but employing her - she was paid to be here, to work in his garden two days a week. It was the most wonderful hidden garden behind its high old brick walls - and she was going to make it better still. Mr Carruthers had left it to her to decide on the new planting, to come up with ideas for improvement and to oversee the garden. Really she needed to work there for more days but she had other commitments. Much as she would like to, it was not a good idea for a self-employed person to put all her eggs in one basket and work for just one client. So Mr Carruthers had offered her an assistant. He was due to start today. Bryony wondered what he would be like.

With determination Bryony set to work again hoeing the weeds, tidying her garden. Her strong arms and dirty hands pushed at the smooth wood of the old dutch hoe, her sensible brown boots moved across the dry ground as she worked. Bryony was not what you would call pretty or beautiful. She was a little on the solid side from all the gardening but with her round face and laughing eyes under a cascade of black hair she was not at all unappealing. She seemed a vision of earthiness, strong, fertile and truly feminine. Being naked, because that was how it was in Mr. Carruthers Garden, she could be viewed in her entirety - wide hips with a dark thatch of untamed curls, a generous bottom, flat stomach hinting at muscle and firm but ample breasts topped with small buds in circles of brown.

She had been working solidly for two hours and in that heat a rest was called for. She left the ground and sat on an old wooden seat by the path. It had seen better days. The paint was long peeled away but the wood was still good and Bryony intended to do something about it when she had the time. She drank deeply from her litre plastic water bottle. It seemed a trifle out of place - a modern intrusion in this timeless garden. She felt an old stone cider flagon, earthenware really, would be the container to use and she was sure she had seen one at the back of the potting shed which she could clean out and find a stopper for. That would be more the thing.

Bryony leant back against the bars of the seat in the hot sunshine, leaning the old hoe by her side. The wood of the seat felt hot on her back and bottom cheeks. She wriggled, feeling aroused - the garden seemed to do that to her, particularly on hot days. She opened her thighs a little and felt the sun slip quickly between them to touch the closed clam with its sprinkling of curly black hairs. Her eyes closed as Bryony basked in the warm feeling around her sex. She settled a little more in the seat as the warmth caused moisture to appear as little beads between the dark curly hairs. It was a good feeling. Bryony sighed, opening her thighs a little wider to permit the invading sun greater access. The movement opened her revealing the delicate hidden pink folds of her sex. Moisture welled up coating the soft folds and pooling between them. Bryony opened her eyes thinking of Craig. How she would love to feel his heavy, hairy body pushing down on her, his cock embedded and taking advantage of the wetness. Her eyes, lazily drifting around the garden scene before her, fell on the smooth, worn handle of the hoe. Its round shaft firmly inserted into the metal blade of the hoe at its lower end but rising to a rounded and slightly bulbous head at the other. Her fingers tips reached out and stroked the smooth old ash, her fingers encircling the shaft and rubbing it up and down as if stimulating a penis. Idly she played for a few minutes before a thought came to her mind and she took up the hoe and pushed it across from her into the freshly dug ground. Its business end set firmly in the recently hoed soil and its smooth rounded end resting on the seat edge right between her thighs. Should she?

The heat had raised a palpable sheen of sweat on her skin. She took another deep draught of water. Her breathing was coming a little faster, she felt so sensual, so wanting to be taken and enjoyed but alas she knew today there was no one in the garden except perhaps Mr. Carruthers and he would be asleep in the shade of an old apple tree. It was frustrating. Her eyes looked around coming back to rest on the head of the hoe resting between her thighs. She shifted her bottom - the hoe was now within an inch of her sex. She bent forward and looked at the shiny, worn head polished perhaps by who knows how many gardeners' hands. Had any other thought to... probably not - but Bryony knew she was going to. She slipped down the seat a bit further so the head was almost touching her sex, was perfectly aligned to penetrate. Bryony looked at herself, her own little place that she knew so well, had roughly washed that very morning in the shower. There it was all moist and waiting. She slipped her bottom fractionally further down so the shiny ash knob touched at her folds seeking entrance. The touch was good and she played a little just letting it touch her and then she would pull away. The slight pressure from the ash head stimulated her. She bit her lip. She did so want to be penetrated. The teasing of herself became too much and Bryony's hips thrust down embedding a good inch and a half straight into her. The head of the hoe just slipped in and disappeared. Bryony's thighs opened wider and she pushed herself down impaling herself onto the handle until she could go no further.

She gasped at the total penetration, the feeling of being so suddenly filled. Bryony felt so wanton sprawled on the old wooden seat with the old hoe deeply embedded in her sex. She began to massage herself with the hoe head, pulling herself up the seat and down again. The hoe, firmly in the ground did not move as its shaft was stroked by the smooth lubricated vagina. It was unfeeling and the movement was wasted on it. It could not be excited, had no feeling, no knowledge of what was happening. It could not be aroused and brought to a spurting climax deep within Bryony.

As Bryony lay sprawled on the bench thrusting her hips rhythmically against the hoe Mr Carruthers came around the corner. He had indeed been taking a nap but had awoken and was now ambling around his garden. Slowly of course, for he was old, and leaning heavily on his stick but making a steady progress of inspection. It was a lovely morning and he was very much enjoying looking at everything in his garden. He caught sight of Bryony's brown body ahead of him and stopped to inspect the particularly attractive scene. He smiled at the novel use being made of the hoe and, as he had done for many, many years marvelled at the effect the peculiar orange blossom flowers of his garden had upon susceptible and young minds. He watched quietly anxious not to disturb his gardener and the pretty tableau. He had no intention of disturbing her and indeed his only movement was involuntary and a natural consequence of the scene on his mind. The scene was, of course, deeply erotic; the picture of the brown bodied dark haired girl thrusting against the ash handle of the hoe; almost primaeval in her need for sex. His penis rose in a regular series of jerks, fattening and lengthening with each movement until it reached its full extent pointing out from its grey haired nest in his brown and wrinkled body. It was probably this slight movement, though it may have been a subconscious sensing of being watched, which caused Bryony to turn and look at Mr. Carruthers. He smiled his usual warm, encouraging smile and waved the sprig of the orange flame blossom he was carrying. But Bryony was suddenly concerned as this was not her usual break time. Though she had felt so tired in the heat, resting on the bench for a few moments was one thing but to be pleasuring herself when she should be working was rather another. She tried getting to her feet but this was not possible to do quickly with such an implement inserted in her vagina. She wriggled her hips back up the seat, pulling herself up the embedded handle until it was released. But Mr. Carruthers motioned for her to remain seated and came towards her, penis bobbing, to sit next to her. Even so, Bryony felt she should really be working and not playing, slipped herself off the pole and lifted the hoe handle up and away from between her thighs. It still pointed towards Bryony with its foot in the ground but its other end revealed to be rather wet for several inches down the shaft as it glistened in the bright sunlight. Indeed it was a distinctly darker colour due to its immersion in Bryony.

"Good morning Bryony. Please do not let me disturb your little rest here. Why Bryony, my dear," he said looking at the old ash handle, "seven inches I would estimate. You have indeed taken it deep. Do not at all stop on my account."

Bryony reassured, relaxed. The old man stroked her hair and she let the ash handle drop down until it was once more resting on the seat and pointing at her sex.

"Push it in again my dear, you know you want to."

And as Mr Carruthers continued to stroke her hair she slipped her bottom down again and let the bulbous end of the handle push aside her folds and slip in. She looked at Mr. Carruthers' erect penis. He was old, very old, but somehow his penis did not really seem to take on this age. It was knarled with long use but the erection was strong, the head smooth and dome shaped just like a young man's, like Craig - though his was rather larger. Bryony smiled. She did so like Mr. Carruthers and knew how much he liked his penis sucked. Despite the embedded handle she lent towards him, opening her lips to receive his penis. Mr. Carruthers continued his gentle stroking as he leant back on the bench, closing his eyes to concentrate on the gentle lapping of Bryony's tongue around the head of his penis. The hum of the insects was the only sound to be heard, the heat of the morning comforting to his old body and the gentle insistent scent of the orange blossom flowers a pleasure to his nose, an ever present reminder of the delight of his garden.

It was not so easy for Bryony to move along the pole as she was now half across Mr. Carruthers sucking on him but the thought, and feeling, of penis, or penis shapes, in her mouth and vagina was sufficient to maintain and develop her excitement. She both wanted and needed to come but Mr. Carruthers came first. Perhaps lying back in contentment he was not quick enough to stop Bryony's lips and tongue bringing an early result but she suddenly tasted semen as he pumped, half filling her mouth with his hot ejaculate. Her tongue rolled around the sensitive head, wrapping itself in the still being expelled semen, seeking to add to the intensity of his climax.

Mr. Carruthers took in great gulps of air. The intensity of his climaxes had not lessened with age but he found them more and more exhausting. The effort of coming, the action of ejaculation becoming more and more tiring. It was a worry to him. It was not that he had difficulty reaching a conclusion, let alone achieving erection but it was getting so much of an effort. He lay back quietly as Bryony swallowed and let his shrinking cock drop from her mouth. He smiled weakly at her, "But you have not come, my dear, you must. I wish to see it!"

Bryony resumed her thrusting down on the ash handle. To Mr Carruthers the handle seemed to push up from the earth into her and out again inches at a time but this was an illusion. It was Bryony who moved, pulling herself up the shaft and then pushing down again taking the thicker end of the shaft deep into her. Sweat beaded on her shoulders, the hair on her head bouncing in rhythm with her movement as she built to her climax.

Mr Carruthers watched smiling fondly as Bryony shuddered repeatedly as the desired orgasm welled up from between her legs and cascaded through her body. Her thrusting hips slowed and she was still.

It was some minutes later that Bryony drew herself up and off the old ash handle. It had served gardeners for many a year and served them well as a hoe. It had now served Bryony handsomely. She smiled at Mr. Carruthers and he smiled back his strength starting to return, he glanced at the handle and his eyes twinkled, "perhaps I was wrong, perhaps nearer eight inches!"

Bryony helped Mr. Carruthers back up the garden, her strong arms supporting him as he slowly made his way up the path. She settled him under the apple tree and went to make coffee. He was fast asleep on her return with his cup. She smiled at him fondly and made her way back down the garden, her own mug in hand. It was a Wednesday and she did not usually work in the garden on Wednesdays but Mr. Carruthers had asked her to be there as this was the day the new assistant gardener was to start. That was not until the afternoon and she had a lot to do first. One of which would be to put her clothes on. As Mr. Carruthers had said, "You will, of course, need to have your clothes on, we can't have you frightening him can we?" Bryony had no intention of frightening him: she looked forward to inducting him into the ways of the garden, keeping it and making it more beautiful and, of course, making Mr. Carruthers happy.

The new lad proved to be a rather gangling youth, all height and no substance, though good looking enough despite the freckles, carroty hair and awkward smile. He towered over Bryony at their first meeting whilst Mr. Carruthers introduced him later that afternoon. Mr Carruthers, Bryony was pleased to note, displayed none of his earlier frailty walking around the garden, hardly needed his stick and was voluble in praise of the garden and Bryony.

Alder seemed a little in awe of Bryony after the introduction. He'd caught sight of her as his new employer had brought him down the garden. He had seen a dark haired solid girl working with considerable energy, her brown legs and knees (rather grubby) emerging from a denim skirt, a dark red (rather sweaty) shirt hanging free and her hair tied back in a (sort of) pony tail. She looked very much the tomboy but as she straightened up, fork in hand, there was no denying the prominence of her breasts and the roundness of her hips. There was an earthy sexuality there, which he only subconsciously recognised. But this, along with Mr. Carruthers' description of her ability, unnerved him. He said little.

Bryony was a little worried he would not have the strength or stamina for a day's hard gardening but his big, already calloused hands reassured her despite the evident thinness of his body in his narrow blue denims and tee shirt. She would try him out and see what he could do. As he walked off to continue his tour of the garden with Mr. Carruthers she admired the tight bottom in the narrow jeans. No hint of anything other than muscle there - she thought - very much a bottom to pat!

He was more talkative when Mr. Carruthers brought him back and Bryony set him to do some digging. They dug together and Bryony teased information out of him bit by bit. It was Alder's second week and Bryony was wondering how to tell Alder about the particular rules of the garden. It was not that clothes did not have to be worn. That was of course voluntary. It was just they were not worn. She could not imagine him actually being greatly taken aback at Mr. Carruthers wandering around naked but what would he think of Craig naked let alone Becky and Jessica, and, of course there was herself. She did not like to be encumbered. And then there was the easy attitude to sex. It would not do for Alder to come unexpectedly on Craig deep within Jessica, or Becky sipping the aftermath indeed!

She was opening the tool shed when Alder appeared looking slightly surprised and not quite himself.

"Morning Alder," she began, "has... is there anything the matter?"

"No Bryony, Oh, yes, good morning. What are we doing today?"

He still looked puzzled and Bryony looked quizzically at him. There was a pause.

"Um, Mr. Carruthers he..."

"Yes?"

"He hasn't any clothes on."

"No, he wouldn't."

Alder looked confused.

"You see Mr. Carruthers likes to go around naked. It's a thing he has. Naturism. Nothing to be alarmed at."

"Doesn't it, Bryony? Doesn' it, I mean, don't you mind?"

"No not a bit of it. It's his thing. It's his garden after all!" Bryony left it at that. A seed was sown.

It was later that morning when they were going up to the path by the house that Bryony deliberately stopped under some of the garden's peculiar flame orange blossom.

"Phew," she said, "the heat is quite something today." She pulled her shirt away from her skin. It was somehow erotic - the pulling of the material away from the skin underneath. Alder turned hurriedly away, mumbling agreement. Bryony smiled. The garden was having its effect.

That afternoon Bryony made her next move. She removed her bra and let her breasts move freely under her shirt. It was good to feel she was on her way back to being free and unencumbered in Mr. Carruthers' Garden. She would have liked to have taken her shirt off but she did not want to frighten Alder and so she moved in stages.

Alder certainly noticed the lack of a bra on his return and when Bryony, taking a swig from a bottle of water, managed to spill some water down herself resulting in her left nipple becoming almost visible through the wet material he went very red in the face. Moreover, as Bryony noticed and Alder hoped she would not, his jeans became tighter as his penis strained against the material. He was embarrassed and aroused, both at the same time. He went home that night thinking only of that wet shirt. He would have to be so careful the next day to avoid staring at those breasts if Bryony again went bra-less. Really he would rather she did not: though he did like the movement within her shirt a very great deal.

It was good muck. Well rotted and excellent for the roses. It was also slippery and Alder's fall into it couldn't have been more dramatic and comic if he had tried. He was covered. Bryony fell to the ground with laughter, her chest heaving, bra-less breasts bouncing under her shirt. Alder joined in the laughter. He appreciated the humour of the situation and no doubt his appearance.

"You're going to have to wash that lot off before you go home," laughed Bryony, "tell you what, get those things off, I'll take them up to the house and sort them out and you can wash under the hose."

Of course Alder protested but he could see the sense. Bryony left a naked Alder modestly hidden in the tool shed whilst she took shirt, shorts and the rest up to the house and the washing machine. She returned to find the hose had certainly been used but Alder was hiding back in the potting shed.

"Oh, don't be silly. Come out of there and dry in the sun. It's not as if I haven't seen naked men in this garden before. Haven't you seen Craig yet, Mr. Carruthers of course and his friends?"

Alder had not seen Craig or Mr. Carruthers' friends, and he was quite surprised to hear there would be more naked men wandering around the garden. It took some inducing to extract him from the tool shed. He was more than embarrassed but Bryony appeared to ignore him so he nipped past her to the furthest part of the vegetable bed and began digging. He dug hard concentrating on the task in time and ignoring Bryony. He even missed her going up to the house and bringing his clothes back and draping them over the toolshed to dry in the sunshine. She called out to him about what she had done and then he did look up and immediately noticed Bryony had taken her top off. There she was digging away, half turned away from him but stripped to the waist, breasts swinging gently as she worked. They were beautiful. Full and topped with dark brown nipples - he could do nothing but stare and as he stared he reacted as young men will. His penis began to grow as his subconscious jumped from simply looking to readying his body for more. At first he did not think of his erection - his eyes glued to Bryony's breasts but suddenly it came to him. He, or rather his cock, was not concealed by trousers but pointing out from him in the open air!