The Garden of Secret Delights

They warned her, the servants that is, to stay out of the garden, especially after midnight. All three of them the cook, the maid, and the butler said the same thing. Things grow unnaturally large and hungry in that garden, but besides this she was young, pretty, sweet and innocent-- all things the garden craved in its eternal lust for human life . . . and flesh.

The garden, surrounded on all sides by a six and half foot wall with a locked gate, seemed innocent enough. It stood a good distance from the mansion and she could just make it out from her bedroom window on the third floor. It seemed full of lush colors-- vibrant purples, livingly greens, blossoming oranges, but most especially deep dark reds that must have been roses.

One got there by following a winding cobbled path past the pool and lawn out back. Christy was curious to get a closer look so one day she dragged a crate out and stood on it to see over the walls.

She was right. The garden was most assuredly full of the most beautiful red roses she had ever beheld in her 20 years. She simply adored roses. Her many suitors often gave them to her-- doubtless in hopes of trying to get into her pretty pink panties she was so fond of wearing.

They all failed. Christy was a good girl. Both young and beautiful. She had a supple, curvaceous figure with a youthful complexion that was flawless and glowing. Her lips were lush and full of the bountiful smiles only the young and pure of heart seem to possess. Her pretty face is framed by a long mane of rich blond hair with brown highlights running through it.

A chaste virgin she was, saving herself for the right man. Hopefully, the right man would be her fairy tale wish of a true knight in shining armor. All this sweet pure innocence only made her quite irresistible to the wicked garden.

That day she stood on her tippy toes peering over the wall standing on the crate would prove to be her undoing for it was then that the garden first caught sight of her and decided they must have her.

If she had looked close enough she would have seen the red roses quivering in anticipation while the green stems twirled along the black earth . . . just waiting to pounce. But what she did not see was of little consequence because she most assuredly felt something that day as she peered over the wall.

A breeze had wafted up, seemingly out of nowhere on this warm July afternoon, and brought the smell of the roses to her nostrils. She had never smelled such beauty and power. It nearly knocked her off the crate such was its intoxicating aroma.

A mere week later her fate was sealed. She was home alone, save the servants, as her parents had just left on an overnight trip. It was around 11 pm when, just after getting out of her nightly bath, there came a soft knock on her bedroom door.

It was Betty, the maid. "Sorry to bother you Missus, but there was a strange knock on the door and when I went to answer no one was there. But these were left . . . for you."

She hands her a bouquet of beautiful dark red roses. There was a small white card stuck in the middle with her name scrawled on one side.

"Who--"

"I am not sure Missus, but listen I have a problem. My sister has taken terribly ill in the next town over. I must go at once to visit. Sir Jack is going to drive me and Helga is coming along as she is a dear friend of my sister. You shall be here all alone I am afraid. I beg of your permission for this."

"Oh by all means go. I shall be fine. I just wish I know who left the roses."

"Hmm . . . a secret admirer I suspect. I just found them by the front door. Maybe the card, I didn't open it, shall say."

"Yes, maybe," Christy answers distractedly. The roses, so perfectly flawless and beautiful, remind her of what she seen in the garden that day.

"All right then. We shall be off. You sure you shall be OK?"

"Fine, fine. I was just about ready to retire for the evening anyways. Wish your sister well for me."

"Thank you, Missus."

And then she was alone. Her fate, as stated earlier was truly sealed for the garden knew the poor girl would not be able to resist its calling to her.

As soon as she was alone Christy slowly turns the card over.

Your garden of delights await. Midnight cum to us . . . you will find many earthly delights await you. Oh and my dear . . . please, please dress nicely for the occasion. Something new, pretty, colorful, maybe full of delicate lace and frills.

R.

Christy now proves her naive innocence as her first thought after reading the short note is-- stupid they spelled come wrong. But after a minute's thought and re-reading it a second time she titters slightly as it comes to her maybe they did not. Maybe it was a thinly veiled sexual reference.

The thought of this fills the young girl's heart with much curiosity, but being the good girl she is, she fully intends on ignoring the invite. Instead, she goes to bed.

It is a warm evening. The windows are open in her bedroom. She tries to sleep, but the scent of the roses, resting on her nightstand next to the bed, fills the room with such an amorous odor that sleep does not come easy.

At some point, just as she was drifting off to sleep, she hears a faint calling that seemed to be drifting up -- from the garden below.

Christy . . . Christy . . . Christy . . . come play with us. Please . . .pleaseeeee . . .

She sits up in bed coming fully awake. A breeze billows the curtains of her open window bring with it a sparkling white piece of stationery that seems to almost glow in the dark bedroom. It lands perfectly on her bed nearly in her lap.

With nervous fingers Christy opens the perfectly folded stationery.

To have a lonely heart mended by the sweet aroma of love one must only close thy eyes and breathe deep the scents of passionate ardor.

To have desperate visions replaced by the rosy spectacle of love; open thy eyes to the path burning brightly for thee.

To be showered in love follow the lighted path to the end; and once there-- hold a dark rose close to your heart allowing it to fill with many amorous delights.

Finally, as an ultimate act of surrender, strike quiet repose in a soft bed of roses only to awaken in the fires of forbidden bliss that burn bright within your soul.

She senses the words have a greater meaning so she climbs out of bed slipping a robe over her the boring oversized tee shirt she wore to bed. She can still hear the faint calling of her name from somewhere outside. Crossing the room, after plucking the bouquet of roses off her nightstand, she goes to her open bedroom window that overlooks the garden.

The night is dark. The full moon is hidden by a heavy cloud bank. She knows where the garden is yet cannot quite make it out in the darkness. Again that faint calling comes to her ears. Her name spoken over and over again and this time-- no doubt of it-- it's coming from the vicinity of the garden.

She carefully starts to read the letter once again. Somehow she senses there is a bit of mystery locked in the words of this beautiful written bit of prose. She silently reads the first few lines again and this time the words seem to speak to her more directly.

To have a lonely heart mended by the sweet aroma of love one must only close thy eyes and breathe deep the scents of passionate ardor.

She does have a lonely heart that needs mending . . . so, yes, follow the instructions.

She closes her eyes and brings the bouquet of roses to her nose breathing deep of its aroma. A wave of something indescribable washes over her. She has to clutch the window sill lest she fall down.

Opening her eyes, Christy now beholds an awesome sight. There is a dual line of flickering lights that form a path leading from the back porch to the . . . garden?

She can't make it where the path ends as it disappears behind some shrubbery just past the fenced in pool area. She looks at her letter again.

To have desperate visions replaced by the rosy spectacle of love; open thy eyes to the path burning brightly for thee.

I do have visions of my knight someday sweeping me off my feet, but since he has yet to show himself the visions I guess called be described as -- desperate.

She starts to speak quietly, "I will open my eyes to the path burning brightly for . . . me. I promise."

With the spoken words the roses begin to quiver in her hands. She looks down at them and indeed her heart overflows with --- the rosy spectacle of love.

To be showered in love follow the lighted path to the end;

Christy sets any lingering fears aside and announces, "I shall do so. I shall follow this path."

She heads toward her bedroom door when a stiff breeze rattles the curtains loudly. She sees something small and white blowing across the bedroom toward her and land at her feet.

It is the invitation card she had left on her dresser across the bedroom. The breeze picked it up and sent it to her, but why. She reads it again and it hits her.

"Dress nicely for the occasion. Something new, pretty, colorful, maybe full of delicate lace." Christy whispers aloud. "Of course, my stupid dark blue shirt is comfortable, but it is not nice or new!!"

She heads off to her closet to look for something new to wear. Once inside she looks around in despair. Her mother suggests Christy dress conservative and simple. It is advice she rarely ignores.

She has nothing new . . . except for . . . wait two things. Just the other day she went shopping with her best friend Denise who talked her into buying something a bit daring—a lavish matching blue bra and panty set. The bra has a pretty decorative knotted tie in the front, and runs a bit tight on Christy barely containing her nice sized 30 DD tits.

She heads off to the bathroom to touch up her hair and makeup wanting to impress, if necessary whomever, or maybe whatever, extended her the invite to the garden.

Looking at herself in the bathroom mirror she lets out a sigh. She is pretty and knows it. She had just opened the bedroom door when a sudden bout of consciousness hits her. Good girl consciousness. She hurries across the bedroom to her closet and quickly pulls a thick fuzzy white robe off a hanger and wraps it around her sexy new bra and panty set.

She makes her way down the winding stairwell to the first floor and then over to the double doors of the patio that led outside. Just before she unlocks the patio door the old grandfather clock in the study starts to chime announcing the arrival of midnight.

It brings back the warnings from the faithful servants—never enter the garden, most especially after midnight. She steels her nerves and twists the patio door open deciding she must ignore the warning if she is to follow her destiny.

As soon as she steps outside she pulls the thick robe tighter around her body as suddenly the warm summer evening seems much cooler.

At the far edge of the patio she spots the glowing path. The lighted path is formed by a twin parallel set of tea lights each burning brightly.

She barely advances down the path, just a few feet when around the first bend awaits a surprise: a gleaming white shoe box with a large pink ribbon wrapped around it. Tucked under the ribbon is a simple white card with her name scrawled on it.

She picks the shoe box up and hurriedly tears off the ribbon, before opening it. Inside is a pair of light blue five inch micro stiletto heels. They perfectly match her bra and panties and are exactly the type of shoes her mother would wholly disapprove of. She pulls off her plain old slippers and hurriedly puts the new heels on feeling a sense of power in doing exactly the opposite as her mother would expect. It must be her destiny as the shoes fit perfectly.

After tucking her slippers away in one of the robes deep pockets, she follows the pathway, walking gingerly, trying to get use to the heels. The flickering candles lead her past the pool, before winding around the large expanse of green grass that serves as the back lawn, and then directly to the walled garden.

Her high heels click seductively on the cobbled tiles of the path. Christy notices with some trepidation how the flickering lights are all blinking out behind her as she passes them.

But there is more that makes going back seem to be almost impossible. The soft light from the candles behind her is being replaced by a thick swirling darkness that seems to be unnaturally opaque. In fact, she can now barely make out the mansion behind her such is the murky darkness that is creeping along behind her.

There is one nagging thought in the back of her mind though as her path of lights lead her to the secret garden. The thick iron gate barring entry to the garden has, without fail, always been locked. While the padlock looks to be ancient as it is brown with rust, but the one time she yanked on it, thinking there might be some give, it yielded none.

How is she going to get inside the garden? But as she reaches the entrance, she sees her fears are unfounded. Someone . . . or something has taken the liberty to kindly unlock the old rusted padlock for her. The padlock hangs there open, limp and helpless.

She pushes on the gate and it squeaks open with a noticeable groan. The parallel lines of candles has ended at the entrance to the garden. Inside, beyond the walls, the garden is dark and forbidding.

She enters hoping the cobble stone path does not also end as walking in the soft soil with her five inch heels would be quite difficult she imagines. She stands there for a moment trying to adjust her eyes to the intense darkness of the garden. She wishes the moon would make an appearance as it's supposed to be full tonight, but there is no sign of it thanks to the sky being filled with heavy dark clouds.

She steps inside. Thankfully the cobblestone path is still intact. Hearing the metal clanking of the gate shutting behind her Christy suddenly gets scared.

You should not be out here . . . all alone . . . most especially after midnight." It's her mother's voice ringing softly in her head. She thinks for a moment before agreeing and turns to make her escape meaning to flee back to the warmth and safety of the house, but the gate has already swung shut.

She tries to wrench it open, but the damn thing won't budge. Then she spots the padlock. It's back in place and securely locked! She is trapped.

Christy turns back away from the gate trying to determine her best course of action. The dark cobbled path, she can barely make it out in the murky darkness leads deeper into the garden. With a heavy sigh she screws up her courage and decides to continue down the path, but first, just in case, she needs to flee from someone or something, she reaches down meaning to remove the awkward heels she has on.

The ankle straps are tight and immovable. No matter how she fusses with it the strap it refuses to come on down, and when she tries instead to simply wriggle her feet out of the heels that too fails. Her feet seems to be almost glued to the shoes. They are not coming off.

Sighing, feeling more and more like she is the mouse to someone's cat, she starts down the path. The path she notices is lined on both sides by overly large bushes leaving no chance to veer off course.

She doesn't get more than ten feet when all of a sudden she hears a loud flapping of . . . wings maybe overhead. She looks up in time to see a large winged creature—a bat maybe, but God she hopes not—swooping down toward her.

She tries to run, but in her new five inch heels she doesn't advance very far or very fast before the winged creature tangles itself in her long pretty hair. Christy lets out a shriek as she flails at her attacker. It backs off for a quick second or two before diving back down for yet another attack.

This time the creature smacks her heavy on the shoulder. Christy, her arms still waving wildly in the arm is thrown off balance by the heavy blow. She did not really have good balance anyways walking on these damnable five inch heels.

She staggers to her left and butts up against large bushes on one side of the path. Another swooping attack and she goes plunging into the bush falling sideways.

Lucky for her she is wearing her thickest robe for the bush is resplendent with large sharp thorns. As Christy struggles to get to her feet she spies the winged creature circling above her.

She fears another attack is imminent as her struggles to free herself from the clutching bushes become desperate. Christy soon comes to realize the bush has her trapped and is not letting go.

She does the only thing possible which is to slip out of her robe. She glances warily up at the sky and relaxes just a bit as her winged attacker seems to have disappeared.

She turns back to the bushes wanting her robe back, but it is held fast in several places by thick thorns embedded in the robes thick cotton material. Christy patiently takes her time to free the robe always keeping one eye warily on the sky before ultimately managing to wrangle the robe from the thorny grasp of the bush. With a heavy sigh of relief she holds the robe up while examining it closely, wanting to make sure there is no sharp thorns still imbedded in it before she slips it back on.

There is a rush of flapping wings as the robe is violently ripped out of her hands. In despair, she watches her antagonist fly off into the dark night sky firmly grasping her robe in its large talons.

It turns once, cawing down to her in triumph, before wheeling away and disappearing. Without her thick fuzzy robe as protection, the nearly naked Christy feels acutely vulnerable as she is on the verge of tears.

But then, a small glimmer of hope, as further down the path, leading deeper into the garden a row of flickering tea light candles, just like earlier, spring to life. Once more she has a lighted path to follow.

She hurries as best she can following the twin lines of candles hoping for the best. The winding path takes her further away from the gate and deeper into the garden while once again the lights wink out one by one behind her. Before long she is hopelessly lost after several twists and turns.

Finally, the path ends in what appears to be a large clearing of sorts. In the center of the clearing, maybe ten or fifteen yards away, she sees a dark shape of something surrounded by more dark shapes that are defiantly large bushes.

The wind is starting to pick up making the bushes wave while the other, as of yet, unidentifiable object remains still. She stands there for a moment trying to figure out what to do when all of a sudden there is a break in the overhead cloud cover. The brilliant full moon shines down on the clearing casting it in an ethereal glow.

She can make out what the large dark shape is now. It's a bed of all things. The gleaming gold rails at both the head and foot of the bed shine in the moonlight. Three quarters of the bed is completely surrounded by the large bushes. She stands there shivering, dumbfounded as what to do next.

Christy . . . Christy . . . come join us . . . come to bed please . . . don't be afraid . . . come now . . . lie down . . . relax . . . the bed is soft and warm . . .

Those soft whispers again. Just as before when they floated to her inside her bedroom, but this time she can see where they are coming from--the swaying bushes are speaking to her!

She advances slowly. The whole scene is surreal as the bed seems to be absolutely glowing with the most dazzling of moonbeams shining down on it . . . and only it. The rest of the clearing is still dark.

Within a few feet, she spies the bushes surrounding the bed are filled with a virtual plethora of splendiferous pink and red roses. In the middle of the large bed sets a silver tray with a tall flute on it.