Gardening at Mrs Chesters ch 2 - Sex Stories

Gardening at Mrs Chesters ch 2

... to use the toilet, please don’t, but instead come out here and I will explain what I would like you to do, Jonathan.” She went outside. Jonathan emerged from the house in the same long sleeved shirt and shorts. “I will show you where I would like you to pee whilst you are working here, if you don’t mind, now I know the secret to good composting from my friend and it seems you can supply an essential ingredient,” she added, smiling. “I don’t want a drop of your wonderful mixture wasted by flushing it down the toilet, I want it on here instead.” And with that she led him to the bottom of the garden and to a large un-rotted pile of leaves and grass cuttings. “I would direct you personally but hardly think that’s appropriate,” she said, smiling broadly. But then, having just said those words, she was already having difficulty not imagining her hand reaching inside and down the front of those shorts he was wearing. In her minds eye it was then with some difficulty, because she could see the shorts were a snug fit on him. Easing out a modest sized penis so that his urine could be most effectively directed in the garden would not be easy, but someone would have to do it. In his head he had similar thoughts, except that the penis was larger. He also imagined that whilst handling him, she was gently easing the skin back from his head as he hardened. Neither of their thoughts was spoken of course. Instead, Jonathan merely nodded and grunted, seemingly reluctantly in reply to Dorothy, ...

... in his teenage way. “Okay,” he added. “Now I need you to tackle these small trees today they need a prune. They are Betula pubscens or downy birch,” she explained to Jonathan turning to one side of the heap. “And how fitting for this recently post pubescent lad to be dealing with,” she thought to herself. She already had an idea for re-use of the cuttings. “The little whips would be most handy,” she thought, but said, “Anyway I will leave you to it.” Jonathan picked up the cutters and set to. Sarah, Dorothy’s neighbour called around. “I see you have a new helper in he garden, whereever did you find him?” “Oh, he's from my golf club.” They were both in the kitchen now, gazing out at the toiling boy as he bent to his task. Dorothy was again thinking of the birch whips he was pruning out, each around four to five feet long. She could hear the gentle slow swish of the tree cutting through the air and the resounding and satisfying smack as it contacted the thighs and perhaps the shorts around his bottom. “Well when you’ve finished with him, perhaps you can pass him on? I could do with some work on my front garden...” Dorothy sniggered at the double meaning. “So could she,” she thought, a tangled mass of dark bristly hairs between her thighs. She wondered how she could enlist Jonathans help in such a task, and in so doing, also wondered at what really lay between his firm thighs. She glanced out again, and almost by way of answer, she caught sight of the front of his borrowed shorts ...