The Touch Ch. 11byGreenFingers2015©
WARNING TO READERS - This is a long, rambling, multi-part story and VERY British. The individual chapters will make more sense if read in sequence.
Chapter 11: Wet and Dry With Debbie
As I drove to work Monday morning I thought about what was happening. Since that first night in September my entire world seemed to be centred on the seduction of women and the pursuit of sex. I know that it is perfectly normal for teenage lads to be strongly focused on getting their end away, but this was something much more and completely different.
From the very first, I had been convinced that something had happened that evening with Alice, and whatever it was had somehow, left me abnormally irresistible to women. I hadn't asked for it or even worked at developing it, it was just there and part of me and I could not do anything about it. Sometimes I had to think about it and at other times it just seemed to happen without any special effort, but it generally seemed to be linked to touch; my touch on a girl's bare skin appeared to be all that was needed to open the fast track to her carnal desires, and from that point onwards what developed was out of my hands. Certainly 'The Touch' seemed to have more effect on a woman with whom I already had some level of emotional relationship, but I had also felt a strong connection with Georgia Craven when we had touched hands and I hardly knew her and was sure that she disliked me.
I arrived at the garden centre well before eight o'clock, parked the van and walked over to the office and made a pot of coffee. A few minutes later Maggie came in and we sat drinking coffee and discussing the plans for the day, most of the morning would be taken up with interviewing potential members of staff, I had work to get on with in greenhouses and Maggie had an appointment in London in the afternoon, it was Joanna's day off and so Emma would be looking after the shop.
My desk is facing the window and I looked out and saw Jack talking to a man that I had not seen before. Jack saw me at the window, waved and started to trot over to the office building leaving the stranger standing in the middle of the yard.
He came into the office, his face wreathed in smiles. "Mornin' all, "he chimed.
"Who is that?" I asked. It was unusual for Jack to let anybody into the yard until opening time, and this character definitely was not one of the builder's crew. He was dressed in a long brown stockman's coat, a brown leather bush hat and green rubber Wellington boots.
"That, my old son," Jack announced smugly, "Is the man that you two should be busting a gut to put on the payroll!" He paused for dramatic effect, "That, is Colin Llewellyn, and he is here looking for a job."
I had heard much about Colin Llewellyn during the past three years, he had been Jack's apprentice about fifteen years ago before Jack came to work for Maggie, if he was as good as Jack reckoned he was then we would definitely want him on the team.
Maggie glanced at me and I shook my head in answer to her unspoken question. "I don't think that he has sent in an application...?" She started to say.
"No, I don't reckon he would." Jack interrupted. "Not his way, but he was waiting at the gate when I got in a seven-thirty, and he comes with my recommendation, if you want references, and you would be total idiots not to see him."
"Is he that good?" Maggie asked.
"Yes, I reckon he is!" Jack responded. "He is a good all round gardener and nurseryman, natural green fingers...I trained him myself. If he had a bit more flair and imagination then he would probably be almost as good as this 'un." He pointed his finger at me.
"Thanks, Jack." I mumbled, grinning broadly. If Jack really thought that I was that good then that was the greatest compliment that I could have been paid as a gardener; to me that was worth more than all my certificates and qualifications.
"Right, well you had better wheel him in," Maggie said, "There's coffee up here but if he wants a cup of tea then he can bring one up from the staff room?" I never drank tea and Maggie only occasionally did so we just kept a pot of coffee in our office.
Colin Llewellyn was about thirty-five, slim built, about 5' 11" tall with longish dark hair, a stubble beard and the weather beaten complexion of a man who lived out of doors. Beneath the stockman's coat, which was worn but good quality, he was dressed in an ancient fisherman's sweater which was full of holes, over a plaid shirt and brown corduroy trousers with leather knee patches.
He was typical 'Black Welsh' with a broad South Wales Valley's accent and the dry Welsh sense of humour; he was relaxed and full of confidence. Both Maggie and I liked him immediately and we chatted for about half and hour, whilst Maggie made some notes. His experience and knowledge seemed to be everything that Jack had led us to believe. It turned out that he had been working for several years as gardener for a stately home in Hampshire but had recently moved back to Salisbury with his wife, a local girl, and their five children, as grounds man and gardener for the golf club. He now wanted to get back into real gardening, had seen our advert and decided to come in.
After about thirty minutes he pulled an old fashioned 'turnip' fob watch from his inside pocket, "I need to be getting off to work now," he stated simply in his lyrical Welsh sing song accent, "I have enjoyed our talk, see," he added, "and I think you will do me very well.....if it suits you I will start on the first of next month?" With that he shrugged on his coat and wished us good day, shook hands and left.
"Well," I said, "Did we interview him, or did he interview us? Maggie and I both laughed.
"The main thing is he appears to have accepted our offer and wants to take the job." Maggie replied. We were still laughing when Emma came in.
"Who was that?" she asked, "He looked like Crocodile Dundee!"
Taking on Colin was a serious bonus for our plans, he was just the man that we needed to get the work started at Craven Lodge, he had the knowledge and experience of working with that kind of country estate and would need very little supervision.
There were three more interviews scheduled for that morning which I tried to duck out of, but Maggie insisted that I sat in on them.
"It's good management experience," she insisted," besides, you will be working with any new staff as much if not more than me, so your opinions and choices are important."
The first two applicants were for the sales and cashiers job in the new and larger shop. We needed to cover an extended opening time of up to fourteen hours at peak time during the summer and so were looking for two people to work overlapping shifts.
The first applicant was one of those who had sent in a good looking application and turned out to be a very smartly dressed, attractive girl of 17 who had been working in a city shop since leaving school. She was a disappointment. She almost pointedly ignored Maggie and bombarded me with strong body language, leaning forward to expose her impressive cleavage, crossing and uncrossing her long legs and constantly tugging at the hem of her mini skirt. After she left Maggie and I both collapsed laughing, and agreed to cross her off the list.
The next interviewee was much better; she was a middle aged woman, called Eileen Potter, who Maggie knew vaguely as she only lived a few hundred yards down the road and brought her children to the annual Guy Fawkes party. Eileen had many years experience working in shops and was currently employed at a local supermarket as a cashier. She seemed to be a cheerful, sensible type of woman, with the right experience and was overjoyed when Maggie and I offered her one of the jobs straight away, and agreed to start the next Monday to replace Joanna. We both agreed that she would fit in well and living so close to the business was an added reliability factor.
We took a break then called Jack up to the office for the next interview as this one was for a trainee nurseryman who would be under Jack's supervision. The young guy who was applying for the job turned out to be a lad that I recognised from the college canteen although he was doing a different course to me. His name was David Woodman; he was seventeen and doing a botany course part time whilst working as a labourer at one of the competitor garden centres over near Amesbury. He seemed a nice lad and keen to learn the business.
Jack just sat at the back of the room and listened then after the interview simply said, "He'll do! I'd rather have somebody who knows nothing and is prepared to admit it, but is willing to learn." We called David back into the office and told him then that he could start work on the first Monday of February.
I spent the afternoon with Jack and Debbie in one of the big green houses; it was another mild day and an ideal time to start the pre-spring cleaning and re-furbishing. Jack had already moved the tender plants into one of the other glass houses and so we put all the remaining specimens onto flat barrows and wheeled them outside where they would be perfectly safe for a few hours. The garden centre had three of these big hot houses, each about 140' long, two were only about five years old and had steel and aluminium frames but this one had been erected when Maggie started the business and was wood framed and so needed the most attention and was always the first building that we dealt with each year. We spend the afternoon with hoses and long handled sponges scrubbing the inside of the glass with Jeyes Fluid, a strong horticultural disinfectant, and by the time that the light was going had finished about a third of the building and were all thoroughly soaked despite wearing hooded plastic macs and boots. We wheeled he plants back into the greenhouse and reconnected the electrics and switched on the heating system then walked back to the office block.
Emma had locked up the shop and office and was standing outside with her push bike waiting to hand me the keys. I let her and Jack out of the main gate and then Debbie and I went back to the staff room to dry off and change. Working at the garden centre it was always sensible to keep a change of clothes and some towels in your locker and so I got a couple of large towels out, threw one to Debbie then stripped off my shirt and started to rub myself dry. My back was to her but there was no point in being modest around Debbie now, there wasn't any part of each other's bodies we had not seen or touched.
"Jamie..... Will you dry my hair for me?" Debbie called. I turned around and she was standing a couple of feet away, stark naked except for the rolled up towel around her neck, and her thick woollen boot socks. Strangely those socks made her look cute and sexy. "In fact," she added seductively, "Why don't you just dry me all over ..... I need a good rubbing down ..... And it's you I want to be rubbed with!"
I reached out and grabbed the ends of the towel and pulled her towards me so that her fabulous, large tits bounced against my chest. "Which parts of you are wet?" I asked with a grin.
"You'll just have to explore and find out," she chuckled. She reached up and pulled my face down to hers; her lips found mine and our mouths merged into a deep soft kiss our tongues wrestling and lapping at each other. I drew my hands down her back to pull her firmly against my hardening prick, imprisoned in my heavy working trousers. Her hand came down and rubbed up and down that trapped length.
"We need to get this monster out of there," She said, laughing, "It's probably wet and may need drying; we wouldn't want it to shrink, would we?" She started to tug ineffectively at the waistband of my trousers.
"Wait!" I panted, "Let me do it." I flipped the metal button and jerked down the zipper then released her for a moment whilst I kicked off trousers and shorts. We were now both naked except for our socks. I pulled her back against me, her breasts crushed again my chest and my erection trapped between our bodies. For a long time we stood in the middle of the staff room, our mouths fastened together and our hands exploring each others bodies sweeping, caressing and squeezing.
"Oh, fuck, Jamie!" she murmured hoarsely in my ear, "I was beginning to think that we were not going to get a bloody shag before I go back to Cardiff." She reached down between us and grasped my prick firmly and rubbed it back and forth across her stomach, leaving a faint, damp trail of pre-cum; I groaned out loud as the friction heightened the sensation and plunged my face into the hollow of her throat kissing and licking. "For God's sake, put this thing where it belongs!" she moaned, "When a girl needs a fuck, you shouldn't keep her waiting, you know!"
She raised herself up on tip toes and pulled down on my tool until the tip was pushing against the lips of her pussy, they were warm and moist.
"Hey," I joked, "I think I've just found one of those wet places that needs drying."
"I think this monstrous beast will just make it even wetter!" she giggled, she was panting fast against my throat, her hot breath adding to my arousal, and then started to lower herself slowly over my rigid length. I thrust upward and felt my prick slide effortlessly into her vaginal cavern, the tip probing for that hot, tight spot at the very furthest point in. She was now up on her toes as high as she could reach, her arms were around my neck and although she was small her weight was starting to overbalance us. I clutched her ample arse and physically lifted her up off the floor, then with my erection still impaling her up to the root I stumbled the two short steps to the old kitchen table where the staff sat for lunch and lowered her until her buttocks rested on the table edge.
Without having to support her weight my hands were free to roam her body and find those fabulous breasts, my fingers seeking out her nipples and tweaking and rolling them until they were rigid little thimbles of dark pink heat. Debbie was moaning deep in her throat and her thighs were clamped hard around my hips; her heels were beating against the back of my knees. I clasped the back of her thighs and slowly tipped her backwards so that she was lying on the table top.
The movement caused my prick to start to ease slowly out of her pussy. "No! No!" she cried out, "Put it back in.... I want it inside me .... all the way!"
I used my arms to lever myself over her on the table top, and pushed into her again, her legs coming up to lock tight around mine, tugging and pulling me in deeper as we smashed together, both crying out as the pleasure intensified and I felt that my glans was about to explode as it pummelled into the wet heat of her most secret part.
"Oh, yes! " Debbie screamed loudly, "Oh, God, yes! Fuck me! Fuck me, harder!" Then I felt the walls of her pussy contracting and squeezing, "Aaaaaaah! I'm cumming, I'm cumming!" she yelled thrashing her arms furiously and I heard the tin ashtray clatter off of the table and onto the floor.
Her love tunnel was so hot and wet that I felt as though my prick was being boiled in a tube of molten honey and I could hold back no longer and I exploded, pumping load after load deep inside her and then collapsed on top of her, both of us laughing and hugging each other with the sheer joy of release.
Our energetic shagging had been too much to the ancient table and with a loud crack one of the legs parted company with the table top and we were pitched onto the floor still wrapped around each other and skidded across the tiles until we were brought up short by the bottom of the kitchen unit. We lay there for a minute howling with laughter; whatever else Debbie was she was always fun to be with and shagging her was always full of surprises.
"Are you hurt?" I asked. I was OK but suspected I would have a bruise on my hip in the morning.
"I'm fine," she replied, "But it is bloody cold on this floor"
"Yeah," I agreed, "We had better get dressed." I scrambled up and helped Debbie to her feet. Her breasts lightly brushed against my stomach and chest as I pulled her up and I couldn't stop myself pulling her in to me and brought my mouth down to hers, gently using my lips to nibble and pluck at first her bottom lip and then the top one, and then used the tip of my tongue to trace around the shape of her mouth.
Debbie wriggled her soft body against mine and I could feel the warm, moist lips of her pussy rubbing against my prick, which was already starting to swell again. She pushed her groin against mine and it was almost as though her pussy was trying to nibble at my dick, an incredible and sensual sensation. Then we were kissing again for real, sucking and lapping at each others mouths until we were totally breathless and panting for air.
Debbie had her back to the cupboard unit and I was pressed hard against her, my prick was now fully erect again and the tip was burrowing hard against her navel and I could feel her fingers clawing at my back, hard but not breaking or scratching the skin. Our first impulsive shag had been great but had been over too soon and I needed to cum again.
"God, Debs," I breathed, "I want you again!"
"Come on...." She said and grabbed my hand and picking up the towels, drew me out of the staff room into the stairwell, still both naked except for those thick socks. I followed her up the stairs; she looked into the office and shook her head and then we went into the stockroom opposite. The lights were off but there was sufficient glow from the window to see a big pile of discarded bubble wrap in one corner left over from packing up the Christmas decorations. She threw the towels down on top of the pile.
She knelt down on the makeshift bed to smooth the towels and some of the bubble wrap started to pop under the pressure of her knees. "This could lend a whole new meaning to 'Popping the Weasel' she laughed.
Debbie was kneeling there, her soft round bum up in the air her buttocks wobbling slightly and her pussy peeping from between her legs; I could see her large tits dangling beneath her; even at that angle they were still firm and gorgeous. The sight was tantalising and irresistible, and I dropped to my knees behind her. I eased my erection down until it was pointed straight at her slit and then entered her with a single swift thrust. She gave a small gasp of surprise and then moaned as she pushed back against me forcing me deeper into her. The cheeks of her soft arse were pressed tightly against my belly and I grasped her hips pulling her even harder onto my rigid length and we began to rock backwards and forwards on our knees, both of us moaning quietly with each thrust. Beneath us, the bubble wrap was popping furiously like the sound of distant fireworks.
"Oh, fuck," she whimpered breathlessly, "this is so good, Jamie .... Just don't stop!"
I had no intention of stopping; we stayed like that just languidly fucking for a long time, my prick felt as if it was encased in a sheath of moist velvet, and pleasure was continuous and lasting and I felt that I could have gone on shagging Debbie like that for ever. Fucking from behind was a completely altered experience, the angle of entry was changed and even the feeling of the inside of her vaginal tube was different and she seemed to be able to exert a firmer pressure against the upward thrust of my erection.
I leaned forward over her back so that I could kiss her on the shoulder blades and draw my tongue down her spine leaving a warm moist trail and felt her shudder slightly beneath me then reached down beneath her to cup her breasts in my hands, and was surprised at the weight of them when held at that angle, they felt like firm ripe melons. The nipples were hard and engorged and sensitive, causing Debbie to give a tiny gasp with each gentle tweak that I gave them. I ran my finger tips down her belly and found the neatly trimmed 'flight path' of pubic hair leading to her pussy. By reaching round her waist I could just insert the tip of my finger into her pussy lips and located her little butterball. Her clit felt firm and swollen and warm, a little round ball floating in a pool of our combined juices, I gently rubbed it with the tip of my finger and then inserted my thumb so that I could squeeze it. Debbie went off like a rocket, thrusting back to impale herself even harder onto my prick and at the same time rotating her hips pushing her clitoris against my fingers.