The constant gardener - Sex Stories

The constant gardener

... can assure you she is. To her you were something that she had to leave behind, to create herself anew. Wherever she is, I'm sure it is somewhere way beyond living in your boss' guest closet. Now, again, will you do what I ask you to do, or do you want to make a scene? And no touching."

She added the last thing, not looking at me, knowing that I was going to do it. And just to make her shut up I went down on my hands and knees again. It wasn't so bad, knowing I had done it before. And her muscles clenched and stretched under my tongue, meanwhile producing even more sweat falling between my kissing lips, like I was a desperate dog. Something extra salty fell on my tongue. I realized I was crying.

Licking her across the shins and calves I didn't miss a spot this time. At the same time, she never told me to stop. So, I moved upward, to her thighs, and licked them too. Sweat had penetrated the expensive synthetic material from underneath, along with the smell of her. It was rich with flavor, but like she was something perfect and half plastic herself.

Brazing herself, she waited for my tongue to move up her inner thighs to where her legs met, up the sculptured crack of her ass. Without warning she lowered herself on to my upturned face, and stayed for a moment in a half-way position before the combined weight of her and the machine forced me to the floor, with a taste on my tongue that I recognized as her excitement. Underneath the tight, black material her pussy was ...

... gushing.

Stepping away from me, she dried her face with a towel, checking her pulse. "Where's my glass of water?" she said.

This time, knowing where everything was, it didn't take so long, but I still felt uncomfortable in the kitchen. Her two daughters walked through once, each taking a peach. They stopped talking about their holiday plans and looked at me. I felt like a bug under their feet, especially with the taste of their mother in my mouth. We all knew I wasn't supposed to be in there.

Not spilling one drop I walked back to the gym. What I saw almost made me spill it all over again.

She lay naked on a thick leather bench, stretching her body. It glistened better than plastic, more like shiny latex covered in oil. Once again, she had her back to me, and her ass made me stutter. It was perfect, a Kim Kardashian masterpiece. She saved me by pointing at a small table. It seemed to be made exclusively to hold her glass so she could drink through a straw while lying down.

"You should get back to work", she said, looking at me with a naked look of distain, like it was me being exposed in front of her. I noticed my hardon and felt ashamed.

Backing away, I was glad to get out of there.

"But before you do", she said, "you can finish what you started."

She said it with me looking at her bare back, the lines of her shining muscles, down to her ass and twirling legs. She separated them slightly, and I saw her pink asshole and her even pinker and juicier pussy ...