The Lady and her Gardener

I wrote this as part of a new Sophie and Tom story. It turned out to be a little story in itself. Someone suggested that I publish it as a stand-alone -- so 'ere 'tis. I still intend to use it in the Sophie and Tom story, which will appear sometime...

Diana had ovarian cancer. She had surgery, but it returned, and it reached a point where she didn't want to face more chemotherapy simply to prolong a life that had become so much of a painful struggle. She told me, and she told our children. We hated to think of life without her, but all of us accepted her right to choose.

Towards the end she was totally bedridden. I dealt with the consequences for as long as I could, but when she was unable to help turn herself it became a two-person job to keep her comfortable, and I sought professional help. Maybe we are fortunate in our part of the country, but the help I got was almost faultless.

We were in a very rural area, but close to a small town with a good selection of shops and services. One of our neighbours, Joan Coulsden, had been widowed a couple of years earlier, and she was happy to come and sit with Diana while I went into the town to shop or do other business. My need for this wasn't frequent as most of our needs were met by internet shopping.

In return I sometimes went to Joan's to do bits of gardening that she wasn't able to do. I never asked how old she was, but she was certainly a bit older than me. At five foot and not-very-much she was not well equipped for some aspects of care for a very mature garden, full of fine shrubs and small trees. She was grateful for my reasonably knowledgeable input. I usually went when there was a nurse or carer visiting Diana, and if they left before I came back Diana had a one-button call on her mobile, and I was just next door.

I'd been on one of these visits on a sunny June afternoon, and was on the point of departing when Joan found me and watched while I finished a bit of summer pruning.

"It's been really helpful what you have been able to do, and good that I can partly repay your time by sitting with Diana." Joan smiled as she spoke.

"Symbiosis," I said.

"Yes, that's a good way of describing it. There is one other thing I wanted to ask you, though."

"Go ahead," I said, "We've always had an easy relationship, haven't we?"

"That's exactly it. I'm a forthright person, as you know, so I won't beat about the bush: I wondered if you would consider being my 'bit of rough'? I don't want a complicated relationship, but the occasional fuck would be such a bonus to my life, particularly outdoors and in a gardener-and-lady relationship. I know that you are a talented actor, and I have a Lady Chatterley fantasy waiting to be fulfilled."

I was taken aback. Understatement. It wasn't that I found her unattractive -- on the contrary. It's just not quite the proposition anyone could expect! I played for time.

"This probably sounds weird but I want to talk to Diana first. At this time of her life I just couldn't bear to have secrets from her. But I'm flattered, and also quite excited at the prospect of having an aristocratic fuck-buddy. And seeing parts of you I never dreamt of seeing!"

She roared with laughter. "That's great, and the feelings are mutual. I quite understand about talking to Diana. She has the veto. I wouldn't have liked to keep a secret from her myself. If you become my fucking gardener Diana and I can exchange views about you behind your back. Ooh, it does sound thrilling that I might be getting a fuck-buddy!"

I went back and found that Diana was not in a fit state to discuss anything. She had been in a lot of pain, and I had left her with the nurse who was about to administer Oramorph, the effects of which were now obvious. The nurse left after giving me further instructions.

The next day was much better, and by mid-morning Diana seemed in as good a state as was likely for our discussion.

"How was your visit to Joan's?" Diana asked.

"Pretty good. She seems grateful, and it's good to have a means of repaying her for her help." I said.

"Does she want anything else doing?"

There was something about the way the question had been put that made me slightly wary.

"No, she seemed quite content." I was teasing.

"Not what she told me. She was talking about things that she had been missing since Geoff died, and what she could do about it. I made some suggestions."

"Pimping for me were you?" I laughed and took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "So you rather expected her to ask me to be her Mellors?"

"Well, not exactly; she put her own fantasy details on the suggestion. It's strange, but I've become quite prurient lying here, and thinking about the two of you enjoying a bit of rumpy-pumpy over the wall in the next door garden would have quite turned me on if I had anything left worth turning on. In fact I don't think I would mind you doing it with her right here in the room while I watched."

"Not on the menu I'm afraid," I said, wary of how this conversation would end.

"Hmm, pity."

"So you don't really mind me accepting Joan's tentative request to be her bit of rough?"

"I think it's a lovely idea for you both. You are seriously good people, both of you, and experienced enough not to let it go beyond a bit of mutual enjoyment. I will try to keep any hint of it from the children. Bless you."

"Why do you say that?" I asked.

"I've known Joan for many years, and we have shared a lot; she was a fantastic support during the time that I thought I might lose you. And she said I was a great help when she fell for someone that Geoff hated, and Geoff was going to walk out on her. So I love the idea that you and she will share some well-deserved fun -- 'cos that's what it should be: fun!"

***

It was another ten days before I found myself in Joan's garden again. I'd sent her a text 'seems you've already discussed matters in your coven let me know when services required.' I got a reply indicating that the removal of some suckers around a lime tree would be a great help and suggesting a date.

I had been working for an hour when Madam appeared. I noticed that she was wearing a dress which stopped above the knee, and not the usual denim jeans.

"Good afternoon Carpenter. Nice to see you, and thanks for tackling those suckers. It looks like a good job."

"Thank you Ma'am. They'm a roight noosance, them suckers. They'm fuckers, them suckers." I did a dirty laugh.

"Really Carpenter, do mind your language."

"Sorry Ma'am. But 'tis only referring to what birds and bees get up to, arter'all. I 'spec you done it a few times 'nall." More dirty laughter.

"Carpenter, I have an itch at the bottom of my back; can you rub it for me?"

Rather than continue with this awful yokel language I simply walked up to her and started to rub her back just above the buttocks.

"I think it would be better if you gave me a good scratch on the skin. You'll need to lift my dress and get in underneath."

I slid the thin fabric up and over her bottom. I just controlled my instinct to gasp at the beauty of what I saw. It may have been a sixty plus bottom, but I'd seldom seen a better one. Not that I had seen that many. It was smooth and creamy, and rounded in all the right ways. I started scratching where I had been rubbing.

"That's really good Carpenter, but the itch seems to have moved a bit lower down. In fact the whole of my bottom is really in need of a good massage...

Now can you pay some attention to the cleft in the middle... That's good, that's very good Carpenter. I can feel that you know what you're doing."

"Lots of experience Ma'am. Always 'appy to 'elp." I knew what I wanted to do next, but I decided to await instruction.

"Oh dear Carpenter: it seems as if the problem with this itch might actually be inside me. Do you think you could help?"

"Oh yes Ma'am. Oi 'ave jist the tool fer that job."

"Perhaps you'd get to work then Carpenter. But take your time, there's no rush."

"Need to grease me tools first Ma'am. Can't do a proper job without lubricatin' the tools. You want a proper job, don't yer Ma'am? An 'andsome rump like your'n deserves a proper job."

So saying I dropped a hand between her legs and found the deliciously 'greased' folds and the little guardian at the top, which I gave a swirling 'good-day' to, before dropping a bit and pushing in to take my covering of 'grease'.

"You'm got lovely greasing-up down there. I'll just get myself a bit to grease up the tool, then I'll pop 'im in. He's lookin' pretty sharp, and oi 'spec he'll find where the problem is. Probly roight up the top of the passage d'you think Ma'am?"

"Oh yes, Carpenter, right up near the top. Just put the tool in quickly and let it have a good rummage around to see where the problem is."

On the way to obeying instructions I paused to allow my cock to explore the entrance and its guardian. Before she could issue further instructions I said "'tis offen the case that these itches need more'n one loin of 'tack. Oi'll pop something up yer other 'ole, ter see if that's an 'elp."

"I'm sure it will be Carpenter. It's really an extremely good idea. Can you do it. NOW?"

I obliged, by gently pushing a finger, lubricated by ostentatiously spitting on it, through the anal sphincter. We now seemed to be all 'tooled up' and ready to go.

It was a good ride, and quite a long one. I'd manoeuvred her to a tree to give support while I banged away, and I had lots of scope to penetrate from multiple directions. Instinct told me at one point that I had hit the G-spot, and I tried to memorise it so that I could keep returning to it. Madam was keeping up the role play by restraining her utterances. But at one point she did murmur: "I say Carpenter, you are really rather good at this. Can your tools work their magic whenever I get an itch?"

"Well Ma'am oi can't promise every time. But oi'll do moi best. You's got a foin cunt and butt and they wants proper lookin' after."

I continued fucking while this 'conversation' went on.

"Oi thinks oi'll 'ave to finish soon Ma'am. OI've got t'end of the tunnel and oi'll soon get the tool ter squirt some WO60 up yer. That should sort it."

I quickened the pace and increased the penetration so she would know it was about to happen. When it did we both shouted out loud enough to be heard in the next door garden. I hoped that the role play would end there.

It did. I pulled out and she dropped her skirt, grabbing the bottom to pull it up between her legs to catch the drips. I pulled out a handkerchief and wiped my cock. We sat down on the ground under the apple tree.

We looked at each other. "Marvellous. Bloody, fucking marvellous. Fantasy satisfied, cunt satisfied, Joan satisfied. Well done Carpenter!" I grinned back at her.

"Sorry about the ham brogue," I said. "It was not exactly authentic."

"Didn't matter a bit. It meant you could say things I think you might have struggled to say in your own voice! I was really pleased to hear that I've '...got a foin cunt and butt and they wants proper lookin' after.' That sounds very promising to me."

"Forgive me for saying this Diana, but though it was a really great fuck I think that doing it too regularly or frequently would spoil it. No doubt Diana will want a full account, and I don't want to be doing that three times a week if you see what I mean." I hoped I wasn't being too much of a damp blanket or a wet squib, neither of which sound at all nice.

"I quite understand and I agree. But I really want to think that we can do it again sometime. We can stay outside, but perhaps we can engineer some way of seeing a bit more of our respective bodies. I'll think about how to arrange it."

We gathered ourselves together, exchanged our first ever sexy kiss, and I left.

Yes, we did do it again a few more times, and yes, it was fun. But then events closed in on us. Diana died. I was devastated, but it would be a brave man to claim that Joan suffered much less.

After the death Joan and I got closer in one way, but the sex totally lost its appeal. Instead we used to sit in each other's armchairs and drink a glass of whisky, and have conversations about our lives and loves, our prejudices and addictions and other 'stuff'. Other times we would walk together, frequently in the companionable silence that walking makes possible.

I still consider Joan my dearest friend.