The Village Gardener

Thank you to the fellow author who gave me some of the inspiration for this story and whose advice was invaluable.

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"Damn!" Alison muttered, rifling through her purse. She patted the pockets in her padded bodywarmer and thrust her hand into each one looking for the missing front door key. It was nowhere to be found and now she was locked out. She went back to her van and checked the footwell and then opened up the rear doors and searched all through the dead leaves and bits of twig that littered the floor. She eyed the big bag of hedge trimmings and with a sigh plunged her hands deep inside and rummaged through, right to the bottom. Still no trace of the key.

I must have dropped it this afternoon she thought. Night was drawing in and it would soon be too dark to look, so Alison jumped into the drivers seat and pulled on the little blue cap she always wore when working, and drove straight to the little house at the other end of the village where she'd been working that day.

Alison loved plants and the outdoors so being a gardener was her dream job. She'd worked for several years in an architect's office in the city but when she reached 35 she decided she needed a complete change in her life and moved out into the countryside. Finding work as a gardener had been easy enough since she was willing to charge less while starting out. The pay was still low even now, but at least she was happy and doing work that she adored. She checked herself in the mirror as she drove: a 40 year old face looked back at her, weathered, freckled and crinkling around the eyes. Her ginger hair, pulled back from her face into two long braids, provided no cover for the aging process. Still pretty, she thought, but no-one to appreciate it except herself.

It was twilight when she pulled up outside the house with the neatly trimmed hedge that she'd had worked on for most of the day. She leaped out of the van and found her torch then walked the length of the hedge looking for the glint of a key in the torchlight. Finding nothing she approached the front gate. The house was dark and no-one appeared to be home. Mrs Wilson won't mind if I check the back garden too, she persuaded herself. After all she'd only been there a couple of hours before and Mrs Wilson was always so sweet and friendly, making tea that they enjoyed together outside when it was sunny.

Alison passed through the front gate and headed around the side of the house. The garden at the rear was small but full of flower beds with mature shrubs and, during spring and summer, an abundance of fragrant flowers. She headed straight to the huge buddleia that she'd been pruning at lunchtime and there, in the dirt, sat her front door key. She grabbed it triumphantly but when she turned to leave she realised that the house wasn't as empty as she had first thought.

The living room of the house looked out onto the back garden via a pair of french doors. Through the doors Alison could see that the room was dimly lit by a lamp on a side table beside a long sofa. On the sofa sat two figures, one of whom appeared to be looking straight at her. Instinctively Alison stepped back into the shadow of the vast buddleia bush and held her breath.

The scene before her was not at all what she was expecting. Mrs Wilson sat at one end of the sofa but she had unfastened her blouse and both her breasts were exposed. The other figure appeared to be another woman and she was leaning against Mrs Wilson, looking up at her while fondling one of her wonderful boobs. They appeared to be speak a few words and then the second woman moved her head and began to kiss Miss Wilson's nipple.

Oh my! Who would have thought Mrs Wilson, a middle aged widow, would have a female lover. Alison felt herself becoming moist at the thought. She'd often wondered what it would be like to be with a woman, but since moving to the country she'd had no opportunity to meet a partner, either male or female. She hadn't had sex at all for nearly five years. Instead she contented herself with a nice erotic story and her fingers, something that had become a bit of a nightly ritual in recent months.

She desperately wanted to touch herself now while she watched Mrs Wilson but fear of discovery prevented her. Instead she crept further into the garden and around the shrubbery to reach the side of the house without being seen. As she left she sneaked one more peek at the couple and was excited to see that Mrs Wilson had pulled her skirt up high to reveal her dark stockings, suspenders and knickers to the other woman. Feeling a flush flow across her face Alison almost ran back to her van. In the relative safety of the drivers seat she checked her crotch, almost certain that her juices had leaked through her tough work jeans. Luckily they hadn't but she kept her hand there for a few minutes, pressing it against herself as she recalled the sight of Mrs Wilson's breasts.

Ten minutes later she was standing inside her front door struggling to unfasten her jeans. She ripped them off and thrust her fingers into her knickers, enjoying the feel of her slick crotch. She hadn't felt this needy for a long time.

She headed for what she jokingly called her "diddling chair": a comfy armchair with soft broad arms that she always used when she masturbated. She liked it because it let her raise one leg up on an arm while she played with herself. She only sat in it when she felt horny and it always amused her when she had visitors that chose to sit there since it made her fantasise about them pleasuring themselves too.

Alison threw herself down and began to stroke herself inside her knickers, one leg flung wide over the arm of the chair, her head pushed back so she was almost lying horizontal. She thought back the secret scene she'd witnessed and imagined herself in the second woman's place, touching Mrs Wilson. Then, in her mind, she was pulling up Mrs Wilson's skirt to reveal sheer stockings when suddenly and unexpectedly she orgasmed, sending shockwaves through her tummy and down her thighs.

She lay there for a while to recover her breath, stroking herself gently, thinking about Mrs Wilson. I wonder how long it's been going on, she thought. Was this something her husband knew about or did it start after he'd died? Also, who was the other woman?

She felt herself get aroused again as she thought more about the mystery second woman, but resisted the urge to masturbate straight away. Dinner, then some wine and then I can settle in for a nice session later on, she told herself. With some effort she forced herself to pull on her jeans and make a start on cooking dinner.

Later that evening, with her second glass of wine in hand, Alison returned to her special chair. She reached into the side pocket and pulled out her little tablet computer that she used to read erotica. She slipped out of her trousers again and felt between her legs finding herself still wet from earlier that evening. She played idly with her pubic hair while scrolling through stories with the thumb of her other hand.

One of the authors she followed had recently published a new story with the intriguing title of "Little Annies Green Fingers". Chuckling to herself at the thought this might be a reference to gardening she began to read.

Sure enough it told the story of a young gardener being seduced by Clara, an older woman. It started innocently enough with the older woman inviting the younger into her kitchen for a refreshing drink on a hot day. Soon though the young gardener was touching the older woman's breasts and underwear before they both started showing each other their naked bodies. The older woman seemed very much in control which caused Alison to slide her fingers deeper inside her vagina, rubbing herself with her thumb.

Then she read a sentence that stopped her in her tracks: "As Annie's fingers sunk deep into Clara's cunt she let out a cry of ecstasy and took hold of the younger woman's ginger braids to pull her head into her hairy crotch."

A ginger braided gardener? What were the chances of that? She flicked the page up to find the authors name: ClaraWil. Clara Wilson? It couldn't be Mrs Wilson could it?

Sitting bolt upright Alison skim read the rest of the story, finding out that Clara and Annie became full time lovers with several steamy encounters. She checked out another story by ClaraWil, a tale of a vicar's wife making her husband wear her underwear, featuring Clara and another woman, all of whom were sexually involved with one another.

Alison brought her hand to her mouth in astonishment. That sounds like Reverend Stevens and his wife and could that other woman be Marian from the village shop? She checked more stories and in each one she could match a name to a person from the village. Clara featured in all of them, usually seducing the other characters.

She was writing about them all! Not only that but, based on what Alison had seen tonight, at least some of these stories were true, or at least partially true!

Should she be outraged or flattered that Mrs Wilson was writing about her in such a lewd way? The story was sensual and erotic and if Alison hadn't recognised herself then she'd certainly have masturbated more than once to it. The thought of being seduced by an older woman made her all squishy.

Oh my god, she thought suddenly, that means Mrs Wilson is fantasising about seducing me! She tossed the tablet to one side and hiked her leg over the arm of the chair, plunging her hand into her pussy. She rubbed herself to several orgasms as she replayed each scenario from ClaraJ's story until, exhausted, she fell asleep in the chair. She woke in the early hours, shivering from the cold and dragged herself up to bed where she dreamed that Mrs Wilson was in bed with her, cuddling her from behind.

The next morning all she could think about over breakfast was confronting Mrs Wilson with the stories and getting her to admit it. Except that wasn't really what she wanted. Deep down she wanted to be seduced, she wanted Mrs Wilson to seduce and make love to her. She needed to make that happen.

Luckily she had the manual: Little Annies Green Fingers described everything she needed to do and step one was to get invited inside. She was due to finish up her work on the hedge that morning and with a bit of luck Mrs Wilson would be at home. She felt a familiar tingle between her legs as she readied herself for the day and at the same time butterflies were dancing in her stomach. She retied her braids and pulled on her work cap and bodywarmer and stepped out determined to make her fantasy a reality.

Mrs Wilson was home and greeted her cheerily at the front door when Alison arrived.

"Good morning Alison, it's going to be a beautiful day today."

"Good morning Mrs Wilson, couldn't be better. The sun is out and it's a brilliant blue sky up there."

"Just wonderful, I do like these warm days before winter sets in."

"Me too. I try and make the most of them. It's not much fun pruning in the rain," Alison laughed.

Mrs Wilson smiled broadly. "Well, I'll leave you to your work. Please let me know if you need anything at all."

"I will. I should be finished by lunchtime."

Mrs Wilson returned indoors and Alison set about trimming the rest of the hedge, trying to work up a sweat just like the story. She worked all morning and, just to be sure she looked extra hot, did some running on the spot round the side of the house before knocking on the back door.

Mrs Wilson opened the door. "Are you all finished then?"

"Yes Mrs Wilson, would you like to take a look."

"No thank you, I had a peek from the front window. It looks very neat and tidy now."

Alison took off her hat and wiped her brow with the back of her hand. "Phew," she said. "That was hot work but I wanted to get it finished for you."

"Oh, are you very hot dear? Would you like to come inside for a glass of something?"

Alison's heart missed a beat. "That's very kind of you to offer Mrs Wilson. Yes I would love a cool drink."

She stepped into the house and noticed that Mrs Wilson didn't quite give her enough room to pass so she had to brush past the older lady's body as she entered.

"Take off your shoes and take a seat in the living room. Would you prefer a glass of lemonade or something stronger like wine?"

"You're my only customer today so it would be nice to have some wine if you are having it."

"Excellent choice. Please make yourself comfortable."

Alison took off her work shoes and hung the bodywarmer and hat on a nearby peg. She then entered the living room where, last night, she'd seen Mrs Wilson semi naked with another woman. She stared at the sofa and chose to sit on it at the opposite end to the one Mrs Wilson had occupied. She could feel a dampness between her thighs but she was unsure if it was from the exercise or whether her crotch was causing it.

There was nothing in the room to indicate that Mrs Wilson was leading a double life as a lesbian erotic fiction writer. Various ornaments and knick knacks dotted the mantlepiece and cabinets, typical mementos from years of happy holidays with family and friends. A photo of Mrs Wilson with a happy looking older man stood beside the television, almost certainly her deceased husband.

Mrs Wilson returned with two large glasses of white wine, condensation already clouding the chilled glass. She handed one to Alison and took a seat at the other end of the sofa, her body and knees twisted to face Alison.

"Good health," she said, raising her glass.

"Cheers," replied Alison and took a sip. It was delicious and cool, exactly what she needed. She noticed that Mrs Wilson wore dark stockings, or perhaps tights, and that her skirt only reached to her knees. She was fairly sure that the skirt had been longer when she was standing. Had she pulled it up to show her legs?

"How long have you lived in the village now Alison?" Mrs Wilson asked, looking intently at her.

"Almost five years now."

"And how are you finding village life? It must be very dull compared to the city."

"No, I find it quite refreshing. I enjoy the countryside and all the people are so lovely."

Alison saw that Mrs Wilson had opened her legs slightly giving a view up her skirt all the way to the top of her stockings. Suddenly Alison felt very hot. This was going faster than she expected.

"Yes I agree, the people are what make village life so interesting. I have so many good friends here."

"I've been too busy setting up my business to make as many friends as I would like. Also, it's a bit awkward when you're working for them as well."

"Well, I don't find it awkward at all. It's lovely having you here to talk to."

Somehow, without Alison noticing, Mrs Wilson had slid her skirt up even higher so now Alison could see the dark shadow of her knickers against her crotch. They looked like red french knickers. There was a delicious expanse of creamy thigh between the knickers and the top of the stockings.

"Do you like them?" asked Mrs Wilson.

"Sorry?"

"My knickers. Do you like them?"

"I er.. I..." stuttered Alison, going red from embarrassment

"I saw you looking at my knickers and I wondered if you liked them."

"Er... yes they are really nice. I like the lace on them."

"Would you like a better look?"

"No, I just happened to notice them, I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Here, take a look."

Mrs Wilson stood up and lifted her skirt to her waist revealing a beautiful pair of red silk knickers trimmed with lace. Black suspender straps hung across them holding up the sheer silk stockings that sheathed her legs. Mrs Wilson rotated her hips to show off the knickers.

"They're so lovely," said Alison in astonishment.

"Have a feel."

"I couldn't."

"Come here," Mrs Wilson took hold of Alison's hand and placed it flat against her crotch. A fierce heat enveloped her hand and tingles ran down her spine.

"So smooth."

"Yes. I love the feel of silk against my skin."

"Mmmm. They must be so cool," replied Alison aware that her hand was still held against Mrs Wilson crotch. She could feel pubic hair beneath the silk and the spongy swelling of her sex.

"Show me yours now."

"My knickers?"

"Yes, I'd like to compare."

Alison pulled her hand away and placed it against her tummy protectively. Mrs Wilson kept her skirt gathered at her waist, an amused look on her face.

"I'm not wearing my nice pair. I just have my work knickers on."

"I'd still like to see them. You've had a good look at mine."

"I don't know..."

"I think it's only fair that you show me. I'd like to see them."

What the hell, thought Alison, this is what you came here for wasn't it? She quickly unfastened her jeans and dropped them to the ground, stepping out of them. Her knickers were high waisted plain whites, practical and comfortable.

Mrs Wilson took one brief look at Alison's knickers then placed her hand firmly against the crotch, cupping her vulva. She left it there for a second and then, without breaking eye contact, pulled away and held her hand out between them. Alison glanced down and saw to her further embarrassment that Mrs Wilson's fingers were glistening.

"I... I..." she had no words.

"Wait there," said Mrs Wilson and, without waiting for a reply, left the room. Alison heard her climb the stairs and quickly looked down at her crotch. The entire gusset of her knickers contained a dark stain of pussy juice. As she moved her legs she could feel how wet she was. Before she could do anything Mrs Wilson was back holding another pair of black french knickers, black stockings and matching suspenders. The knickers were much lacier than the ones worn by Mrs Wilson.

"Here, these will look lovely on you."

"I couldn't Mrs Wilson. Really."

"Of course you can. Take those ones off."

"I'm worried I'll make them dirty..."

"Yes you will but they will still look beautiful on you."

Alison surrendered and peeled down her plain white knickers.

Mrs Wilson looked on approvingly. "Such a beautiful colour," she said as Alison revealed her untidy bush of ginger public hair. "I always wondered."

Alison slid the lacy french knickers on. They were slightly tight for her but they still made her feel sexy. The lacework revealed a lot of her hips and buttocks. She then strapped on the suspenders and carefully rolled the silk stockings up her muscled legs. They fit snugly against her thighs and clipping them on gave her a little rush in her crotch area.

"Yes," said Mrs Wilson when Alison stood back up. "Those are much better."

At some point Mrs Wilson had removed her skirt and blouse and now stood in her underwear. Her large breasts were barely contained by her lacy red bra, their shape almost cried out to be held and nuzzled.

"They make me feel so good," breathed Alison. She slid her hands down her thighs, enjoying the sensation of the silk under her fingers.

"Now take your top and bra off. Unfortunately your little titties would be lost in one of my bras but I think I'd prefer to see them uncovered anyway."

Alison complied and pulled off her sweater and unhooked her plain bra, letting it fall to the ground. Her boobs were small but nicely rounded with stiff pink nipples. Mrs Wilson cupped one in her hand, squeezed it gently and then leaned forward to kiss the nipple.

"Just as I'd imagined," she sighed. "Now join me on the sofa."

She took a seat at the end of the sofa and indicated for Alison to sit next to her. When they were both seated she pulled Alison's head onto her chest and began to stroke along the side of her body.

"Would you like to touch my breasts?" she asked.

Alison nodded. It felt warm and comforting laying against this woman's. She reached up and placed her hand against Mrs Wilson's left breast. It was large and heavy with a big nipple that pressed against the lace of the bra. Alison stroked along the breast and circled the nipple with her fingers. She was in heaven. Her fantasy had come true with almost no effort and now she was in the embrace of a beautiful older woman, possibly about to have her first sexual experience with a female.