The Encroaching Rose

"Do you have a girlfriend?" she asked.

"Yes, she is living in Norsborg."

Well, that solves that one. "How often do you see her?"

"I stayed at her home for two weeks in July of this summer."

At least two months ago. What does he do between visits? He must be frustrated. Mind you, I can't talk. It's been over a year since me and Stephen split up, and whatever we had together could hardly be described as sex. And Rupert, well he's been so taken up with this production I only get to see him at board meetings these days.

"I expect you miss her."

He didn't answer, just moved his hands to the top of her spine. "And you," he said. "You are married?"

"Oh no, he left a long time ago. You are the first man I have allowed to touch me in over..." Christ! What am I saying? He's a masseur not a bloody gigolo.

Jöran moved his hands away. "It is warm here" he said. "You will mind if I work in smalls?"

Jesus! You've blown it now Lucy. Why do you always have to push it too far? He's going to pack up and say he'll finish off another time. You'll never see this guy again.

She tried to hide her disappointment and started to climb down from the bench.

"Oh no, Mrs Sutton." He touched her shoulder. "Please stay how you are. I have not finished your back."

Confused, Lucy rested her elbows on the bench and watched the man untie his boots and remove them along with his socks. To her amazement he flipped open the front of his jeans and pulled them down to expose his muscular thighs. She gave a quick glance towards the garden wall just in time to see Rose's head bob down.

Jöran, dressed in a pair of grey body-hugging cotton boxer shorts, returned to his position alongside the bench. "I will continue now, yes?"

Work in smalls? Of course, he meant his shorts. Was this her lucky day or what!

She sank back to the wooden slats and rested her head in the crook of her arm as his fingers resumed their sensuous movements along her back and the sides of her rib-cage. Through half-closed eyes she followed the contours of the shape confined inside the pouch at the front of his pants – was her mind playing tricks? It must be the wine. Could that really be a penis? Now what? Was she expected to make the next move? Did he remove his trousers to encourage her to take the next step? Big it may have been, but it was clear the man wasn't aroused. What if he took offence? Lucy had to fight the compulsion to reach out and touch him. In desperation, she willed it to come alive. She searched for a stirring, a sign, but it was no use, Jöran remained cool and unmoved.

The heat between her legs was unbearable, she pushed her hips into the hard surface of the table. Why did he not feel the same? She felt a surge of pleasure as his fingers pressed into the small of her back.

"Do you ever get turned on by your clients when you do this work?" God! Think before you speak, Lucy.

"Sometimes. Yes, this can happen." He ran his thumbs along her spine. "When it is with an attractive woman."

What's the man implying? That I'm not? All the evidence seems to point to it.

"But then," he continued. "Most of the time, I will think only of the work I am to do. It is not good to confuse the two. Sometimes it can be... a misunderstanding. Yes. It can be a misunderstanding."

Lucy was determined to pursue this. "Okay, but surely you get some women who want something more?" Well done, Lucy – very subtle. At least you didn't say 'gagging for it'.

"It would depend on many things," he continued. "If she was attractive. If she was a generous person, someone who I could be with more. Then, yes, it is possible."

He moved his hands around her waist and pressed his fingers into the dip of her pelvis. The sensation sent a spasm through her body.

"Ooh, that's nice," she whispered. She had the urge to throw her legs apart.

"Do you mind if I take my pants off?" Steady girl. We don't want any misunderstandings here, do we? "Just so you don't get them covered in oil." she added.

"Of course. You can cover with the towel, if you want."

No sign of emotion in his voice. Doesn't he want to see me naked?

Lucy spread the towel over her bottom. She pulled her briefs down to her knees and kicked them off; the waistband catching the edge of the bench where they hung like a limp flag for the remainder of the afternoon.

"Do you think I'm attractive?" Lucy pursued – Oh, yes. Very subtle!

"Yes, you are a very attractive woman."

Lucy let her legs fall apart and raised her bottom slightly. No sooner had she done this, Jöran started to hammer along the backs of her legs with the hard edge of his hands.

"What the hell are you doing!" She tried to leap down from the table but couldn't move. She was paralysed. Any attempt at escape was restrained by the relentless pounding on the back of her thighs.

"You must stay still," he demanded. "You are very tense. This is to relax you. Now please, lay back down and make loose your muscles."

She gave in; allowed him to continue until the treatment was complete.

"You can turn over now," he said. "I will do your front."

Lucy held the towel at her waist, turned around and sat up. In doing so, her bra strap slipped from her shoulder and her breasts, (her best asset according to Rupert), fell free. As her careful choice of underwear seemed to have no affect, she threw the bra aside. Dejected, she lay with her back to the boards and stared up into the sky. She tried to imagine what it would take to get Jöran turned on. What was it he said? That his client would need to be attractive – but hadn't he just admitted she was a very attractive woman? Yes, but only because she pushed him – the guy probably didn't want to hurt her feelings.

His fingertips started to work their way along her lower leg from her ankle to her knee.

What else? Oh yes. That was it – she had to be generous. Was he short of money? Maybe he was hoping for a tip but was too proud to ask.

"You are very good at this. I really think you should charge a higher fee," she suggested.

"No, this is fine for me. I have no need of more."

So, that's not it. Lucy tried to think. She looked over to the cabin at the bottom of the garden. She'd moved her paints easels and canvases from there last month and turned the spare bedroom into her studio for the winter.

"Do you think my summerhouse would make a good office for your work?"

Without answering, Jöran looked across to the end of the garden. He then slid his hands along the back of her thighs as far as her bottom.

"Oh, my God!" she gasped.

"Yes, of course. I think it would be very good." He said, beginning to massage the soft flesh only inches from her vagina.

She parted her knees and raised her bottom from the table, unaware that the towel had slipped to the bench. She was breathing hard. "Would you... like to work in there?"

Jöran took the bottle and shook some oil onto her tummy. "Well, yes," he said. "Providing there is space for my equipment." He started to rub the oil into her breasts.

"God, that's nice," she gasped.

He stopped. "You are saying that I could work here?"

Lucy pushed herself against his motionless hand. "Yes," she panted. "In the summerhouse."

"And you don't mind me to use as an office?" His hands remained still.

"Yes, yes. Of course I don't. Now, please don't stop what you were doing."

Jöran began to enter her with his fingers. First one, then two.

Lucy arched her back to meet them.

At last, all his fingers were in her vagina. His thumb teased the little protrusion buried under the mound of neatly trimmed hair.

Lucy's hands were at her breasts, she began to gyrate her hips against the mounting pressure of his hands.

The sound of a ladder crashed through ivy and climbers.

Jöran gave a concerned glance towards the wall.

A moment of silence was followed by a stream of obscenities from the neighbours garden.

He looked back at Lucy who turned to meet his steely blue eyes.

"Make me come," she gasped, her voice was barely a whisper. "Make me come... please."

With a steady rhythm Jöran moved his hand to answer the insistent throb from the wall of warm flesh enclosed around his fingers.

A deep guttural sound came from Lucy's throat as she arched her body from the table.

Half an hour later all was at peace in Lucy's garden. Rose waited by the rusted gate at the bottom of her own property until her neighbour had driven off to collect her children from school. Once she was sure Lucy had gone, she scrambled through the overgrown path and, in less than thirty seconds was standing inside her neighbour's summerhouse with her back against the closed door.

"So, did she go for it then?" she said.

Jöran, dressed in his grey cotton shorts and working boots, was measuring the distance from one wall to the other. With arms outstretched and the pose of a tightrope walker, he paced the bare floorboards heel to toe.

"Yes," he said, without looking up. "Not only to work as her gardener. She said I can use this for my office."

Rose pushed herself away from the door and took two steps toward him. "How clever of you, darling." She moved her mouth up to his and cupped her hand inside the expanding pouch of his pants. "Now I can see you whenever I like."

She pulled him over to the window.

Jöran gave a cursory glance towards the house.

"Don't worry, she won't be back for at least half an hour." Rose placed her outstretched hand on the dusty window ledge and looked over her shoulder. "I was watching over the wall, you know."

"Yes I did hear you. I think that you fell. I hope you did not hurt."

With one elbow supported on the windowsill and both feet spaced apart, Rose slid her hand down her dress and stroked the back of her leg. With her eyes fixed on his face, she pulled the hem of her dress up exposing her body as far as her shoulder. "Look what happened to me."

Jöran's eyes were on her naked back. Rose braced herself as he pressed against her bottom, winced as he ran the tip of his index finger along the fresh graze down the side of her ribs. She dropped her hands to the floor, pushed the back of her head through the cobwebs until it rested against the wall. From here she could see every detail; from the moment he entered her until the last drop of his cum trickled down the inside of her thighs.

Copyright © James Sillwood 2014