While Gardening

The following story has themes of non-consent sex, humiliation, abuse and other dark themes. If such content offends you, please do not read. This is an erotic FICTION story not meant as any sort of gender, political or societal protest. This is purely for entertainment and never meant to happen in reality. If you have issues with such kinks, please do not read.

"Melissa, it's fucking hot," I mutter to myself and wipe the sweat from my brow. Even with the sunhat I'm wearing, the sun still seems to not just get in my eyes, but burn every inch of exposed skin. If I didn't enjoy gardening, I wouldn't be out here, on my hands and knees weeding.

Deciding it's time to take a break, I rest on my knees while sitting on my butt. I reach over and get one of my bottles of water, drinking almost half of it in one go. Whenever I work outside in my garden, I always take at least a half-dozen bottles of water with me. It's so easy to get dehydrated when you work outside.

Looking around, I must say I am proud of my yard. It's hard work to make it look special as I have. It takes a lot of planning, discipline and creativity. For I have a wraparound garden, which goes all the way around the house, from front yard to the back yard. Well, sort of. Each garden bed is about six feet long, then there's two feet of space before it starts again so you can get though.

On purpose I have a color scheme with the plants. As you enter via the driveway, the color of the plants changes from red, to light red, to pink and so on. It goes on the entire length of the garden beds, like it is a huge rainbow.

It's really very beautiful, but it takes a lot of work. Tons of weeding. Tons of watering. Tons of checking and adding what you need to when the plants look sick.

For a moment I frown as I look out at the street in front of my house. One thing I dislike about my yard is that there are three large pine trees directly in front. They act sort of like the separator between my yard and the ditch/sidewalk. The problem is the branches stretch out, so you really can't see my gardens from the street or sidewalk. Well, you could, but you have to really be looking.

To my side, I hear my cell chime, meaning I got a text. Leaning over, I look down at the lit up screen. At the moment I have gloves on, so I can't pick up my phone, especially as dirt covers my gloves. So I look to see who just texted me.

It's my friend Alexis. Immediately at seeing this, I lean back and take another sip of my water. At the moment I don't want to read whatever she sent. I know it isn't an emergency as she would have called instead.

Alexis is a very good friend, but she can be very annoying. And in any case, I know why she's texting. I was supposed to go on a date last night, my first date in close to six months, but it fell through. The guy texted saying he couldn't make it for some generic reason, and that he'll reach out later to set something else up. That's code for, "Yeah, no longer interested." Alexis is reaching out because she knows how much I was looking forward to that date.

Shaking my head a little, I feel frustration, but aimed at myself. A couple of days ago Alexis and I were sharing a bottle of wine, when I admitted how I was really looking forward to the date, mainly because it's been ages since I've had sex. It's been about a year since I've had. Or maybe a year and a half. The last time I had sex was with that jackass-limp dick-cheating-fucker-loser-asshole or otherwise as most know him, my ex-husband. And even then, it wasn't really sex as he came after just a few seconds. One of the many reasons I divorced his cheating ass.

I should have never told Alexis that, even if it is true. Oh, how I would love to have sex. Good, old fashioned sex. The type that makes you feel content and in the clouds after.

But what did I expect? Dating at my age is sort of like playing poker and never getting any face cards. I'm a 42 year old woman after all. The men that want to date me tend to be the men I want to stay away from. The type that you can easily find their mugshot online.

Sure, if I went to a bar I bet I could find someone, but those aren't the type of men I want to have sex with. That wouldn't be sex, but work. And in the end, I know it wouldn't be fun, let alone make me feel content.

My date was to be with a guy that I could see myself physically with. He was in good shape, looked well-groomed and seemed, well, normal. Not a beer belly man that is drowning in his own poor self-esteem, wanting you to act like his mother so he can get off. Then starts crying right after.

And boy, are there a lot of guys like that out in the world. Needy, weird men that act as if they are entitled to whatever from you, just because you are a woman. Like being my age will make me just bow down and do whatever. I'll always remember the loser at the grocery store who started to hit on me, but then actually said, "If you could act more like my mom, I sure would like that." And that was after like only 4 sentences out of his mouth.

I'm not picky, I really am not. I just don't want another loser like I had for twenty years. Where you have to prop them up all the time, especially sexually. My ex would expect me to comment about how big his manhood each time we had sex, like if it mattered. If I didn't, he would whine about it for days after.

I want a guy that doesn't care about his dick size, because he knows what he has is more than enough. Where he could conquer me with his confidence. That sure, he may need a helping hand from time to time, but he wants a partner and not his mother.

And if I'm being completely honest, I think I deserve a better class of guy, just on how good I look. I work hard to keep my body looking good. Sure, I'm older, but I eat healthy, work out when I can and keep myself groomed. I put a lot of work into my body, and expect a lover to do the same for me. Where I don't have to beg them to take a shower.

When I was talking to Alexis the other day about wanting sex, she pointed out how whenever I go out, I do normally get hit on, but she doesn't seem to understand. I admit, I do get hit on, and it's not because I'm wearing something sexy, but because of my bust size. I've always been a bit top heavy, but ever since I hit 40, my tits decided they should be where my extra weight goes. I think I may be the first woman I know that has gone on a diet not to take pounds off her hips, but from her tits. Everything else looks nice and proportionate, except for those two orbs right in front.

Feeling a bit forlorn, I look beyond the trees in my yard to notice one of my neighbors. I watch as he moves his lawnmower towards the back of his house, having just mowed the front. A smile come son my face as I look at him, as he would be the perfect guy for me. The guy is a nice guy, a loving husband and a caring father. The sort of guy you would expect in this sort of neighborhood. Oh, how I would let him ravage me, if only he wasn't married.

I am a bit ashamed to admit it, but more than once I've had a fantasy where I would be gardening just as I am right now, and he would come over. Where he wouldn't say anything, but move behind me and take what he wanted. Maybe even shove my face in the dirt as he took me as hard as he could, making up for all the bad sex I've had.

Yeah, I know I need help. Or should I say, I need to get laid.

I have fantasies like that all the time these days. Sometimes it's not just one man, but multiple. Where they take turns taking what they want and are always rough. In one, I pictured them bending me over my own car hood, where one spanked me as he fucked me, and another made me perform oral. I got myself worked up so much on that one that I was scared I may start playing with myself where I was.

I stop watching my neighbor as one of my fears pops in my head, and that's to be the gross, old horny lady of the neighborhood. I think every neighborhood has one. It's normally a woman that drinks too much and tries hard to screw anything that dares to come too close married or not. If I don't watch it, I could become that for my own neighborhood, even if I'm nothing like that. All it takes is for people to see me staring at my neighbor across the street with an aroused expression for it to start.

Feeling somewhat bad for ignoring her, I lean back over, deciding I really should respond to Alexis. She's just being a good friend, knowing how down I would be at the cancelled date. That I would be carrying a case of female blue-balls.

"What the hell?!" I say out loud when I feel something out of place. My brain tells me what it is, but at the same time, my brain tells me it's impossible. Broadcasting that it must be mistaken, as I can't be feeling what I think I'm feeling. That it is impossible.

So for a moment, I stay kneeling as I am, rather confused at what I'm feeling. My eyes stare forward as I enter this confusion trance, both savoring the change that I feel, along with how strange it is.

Finally I look down at the location of where I'm feeling what can't be real. There my eyes confirm what I thought I felt. Even if it is impossible and inconceivable, it's true. My tits are out.

The well-used yellow sundress I always wear for gardening has been pulled down at the neck line. The neck line is taunt and stretches to under both of my breasts, in which both are fully exposed and in the sunlight.

Actually, now that I look, I see the neckline of my dress has been ripped/torn. The fabric is ripped bad too, to which I don't think it would contain my breasts if I pull the neckline up. The fabric would most likely lay limply to the sides, just letting most of my breasts be seen as I am not wearing a bra.

It's almost like someone reached out from behind me with two hands and yanked on my neckline. Yanked so hard they ripped it until they moved the neckline under my breasts, where they knew it would stay.

While staring at my exposed breasts, for a moment I seem to forget about well, everything. Instead, I think of how weird it feels to see the sun shining on my bare breasts. To see and feel how interesting and exciting it is for them to be exposed in my front yard, which is still pretty much out in public. That any of my neighbors could look out and see them in all their big boobed glory. And more than anything, I feel how hard my nipples have become.

In my mind, it feels like several long minutes have passed, but I really know it's been a second at most. Maybe two seconds. What brings me back to reality is the simple knowledge that I wasn't the one that pulled my tits out. I didn't reach over and yank down the neckline. So if I didn't pull my tits out...someone else did.

The moment I think this single thought, I feel someone grab my arms. From behind, some large person reaches around and grabs me on either side, right on my forearms. Since my hands are at my sides, I don't even get a look at these hands before they painfully yank my arms backward.

Strong hands yank my arms all the way to behind my back. As I am kneeling, the person holding me pushes down to make sure I can't move upward, so they are able to move my arms very easily. They manage to get both hands pinned behind my back in seconds as if I was a little kid or something.

"Hey!" I yell out as my upper body arches due to my arms being lifted behind my back, my hat going flying. The person who has grabbed me is forcing my arms upward, only behind my back. This is very painful and makes me bend, where I oddly only feel my exposed tits starting to dangle under me. I am very aware of how they swing and jiggle with each and every small movement.

In all that's happening, it makes me very concerned that I seem to be focusing more on how sexually aroused I am, instead of considering how my life is in danger. This is assault. I am in danger. Yet my body can't stop tingling at the feeling of my large tits swinging under me lewdly out in public. I can practically feel my body feigning for whomever this is to grope me where everyone can see.

"STOP IT!" I shout as I'm bent over even more. My confusion at what I'm feeling threatens to over power me as I've never been more sexually aroused or scared. It makes me feel very vulnerable and small, like I'm a bug that could be stepped on.

I get a feeling they mean to tie my hands together. That's why I struggle and pull, refusing to make it easy for them even if they are stronger than I am. All I need to do is get some separation, and then I can start running. Even a feet away would mean a lot as it would give me the chance to run.

"Oh," I gasp and for a moment I stop struggling, completely. My body goes completely still as if the "pause" button was just pressed.

Stunned, I find that their goal wasn't to tie my hands together at all. Instead, the back of my sundress is lifted damn near all the way to my shoulders. I feel the sun and breeze on my exposed back for just a moment before I feel my panties. They grabbed them...and yanked. Hard.

I've never have received a wedgie before, not even in school, so I've never known how it really feels. I always knew it would be painful, especially for guys, but didn't know how it would really feel. So when they yank my panties upward, it is a new experience, one filled with pain, humiliation and arousal.

The man yanks hard enough to rip my panties right off of me. The cotton fabric of them is like paper as he's able to tear them off of me. And when he does, I feel each and every bit of what happens. From the fabric bunching up right between my pussy lips, to the way my panties stretches as they are forced between my ass cheeks. And when the fabric breaks/rips, I swear it feels like a rubber band snapping, but all over my womanhood. Where it feels like someone reaches down and open handed slaps my sex.

My sundress is still pulled up damn near to my shoulders, to which my entire naked lower half can be seen now. My exposed body is on display, sending that weird humiliation arousal all over me, where I know I should be screaming in fear rather than glowing in warmth.

Instead of thinking of the perfect place to kick, or what words to scream out, I instead can only think of how my panties were ripped off me. That is a sentence I don't think I ever considered I would say. Nor feel. But that is exactly what has happened. Someone has grabbed my panties and ripped them off. Tore my underwear off as they are about to lay claim to my pussy.

Once again, I go into my strange trance where I focus on how this feels sexually instead of moving or fighting. Where I feel incredibly aroused by having the protection to my private area ripped off so easily. I mean, I feel so helpless down there. Like the entire world could have a go at me like this. That my shaved pussy no longer even belongs to me.

I come out of my sexual daze at the feeling of something being pressed against my face. Even then, not so much my face, but my mouth. My eyes flick down where I see the pink fabric of my panties being pressed against my lips...and a black gloved hand.

"No!" I yell as it occurs to me what he's trying to do. It's what they do in every kinky porno I've ever seen, which is to shove my own panties in my mouth. To use the protection to my womanhood as a gag to keep me quiet.

Before I can consider what a poor decision it was to yell, the panties are pushed into my mouth. The moment I opened my mouth, the gloved fingers shove my panties deep inside. It only takes him a second to forcefully shove all of my panties to the point his fingers reach the back of my mouth, making me gag.

When he removes his fingers from my mouth, I try to push my panties out, but the gloved hand closes over my mouth. It closes over my entire mouth while the thumb and first finger reach up and close my nostrils, leaving me unable to breathe. Both my nose and mouth are covered while my arms are helpless behind me.

As I taste the strange taste of cotton, it occurs to me that there are two of them. Two men are attacking me. I can feel it now. One is holding my arms place behind me, while the other stuffed my panties in my mouth and is now not letting me breathe.

Two men somehow snuck up behind me without me hearing or even noticing. How? Where would they have come from? If they came from behind, that would most likely mean they came from the backyard. Surely someone would have seen them hopping the fence if that was true. Even if they where walking along the street before, I never saw or heard them. It's like they appeared out of nowhere.

"Shut the fuck up and keep those in your mouth bitch," a growling, evil voice says directly into my ear. He says it very loud, but I know it's really just a whisper. Like it's a magical statement that only I hear as a threatening yell.

I remember once being robbed by a man with a knife, way back in college. I remember the cold fear that hit when I saw the knife. Where the dread kicked in and I was scared in a way I couldn't believe. Where it felt like the bright and sweet life I had was a lie, and this world was cold, bitter and stale. It was so opposingly intense.

That's why I'm so incredibly confused that I don't feel that fear right now. I should be terrified as I am in even more danger than when I was being robbed. Instead, I feel how wet I've become. How aroused. Or to put more crudely, how incredibly horny I am. My body feels hot enough that it could start a fire.

What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I reacting like this? This is me, after all. I'm a fighter. Hell, I ended up robbing that mugger as I punched him directly in the face to which he dropped his money running off. I should be struggling and kicking the shit out of these two assholes. At the very least I should have screamed for help.

Instead, I feel myself willing to do whatever the two men want. That I lose all of what I am and become some sort of sexual submissive, even if it is out in public. It's why when they overpower me and make me bend over even more, I only let out a small squeak.

Letting them do as they want, I'm pushed forward to where I'm still on my knees, but they hold my bent body in place by my arms that are stretched out behind me. This causes my large dangling breasts to swing with any and all movement they make me do. It's by far the most pornographic position I think I have ever been in, where I'm practically on my hands and knees, only my arms are pulled out behind me.

I honestly didn't even notice the gloved hand has let go of my mouth as I feel a hard cock starting to enter me. It's clearly a man's penis that is pushed against my womanhood, beginning to force it's way in. Like a foreign invader, it feels so out of place but I find myself parting my knees even more for it.

The cock forces its way inside my womanhood now. I feel the head of it push my pussy apart as it moves forward, making me gasp at the long forgotten feeling. It's been so long since I've had a cock in my pussy that I can't believe I've forgotten all the small things about it. I feel the warmth of it, the hardness yet softness of it, and the way it seems oddly flexible. How it seems to have a personality, even if it is just a body part.

Staring forward and into my neighbor's yard, I feel this man inserting his hard cock in me. I feel it moving, inch by inch, pushing my womanhood apart to make way. As wet as I am, he has no issue pushing his dick in, either. And I can't seem to do anything but stay in this held position, loving that a cock is entering me. There's no struggling or protesting, even if I'm technically being raped.

A humiliating moan comes out of me as the man inserts all of himself inside me. The moan is from feeling him pushing his hips forward while pulling my arms backward, making my body move towards him until our bodies touch. In Heaven, I keep moaning this moan, forgetting just how great cock feels.