If you read my last tale, Dressed to Thrill, you will know the about the rather special relationship I enjoy with my gardener. (If you didn't let's just say we've cultivated more than sweet peas.) As you can probably imagine I always keenly anticipate his visits and wonder what devilment he has engineered for our mutual pleasure each week. It was therefore very disappointing when he telephoned on Wednesday to suggest that as the grass wouldn't need mowing tomorrow we could visit the local garden centre together and review the planting list that I'd been pestering him for. (You see he does actually garden for me as well!) No, he couldn't stay afterwards as he was in the middle of a big landscaping job. Well, I was a little put out at the prospect of having to pleasure myself until next week, but had to admit the garden did need some work.
On Thursday afternoon I was delighted to see his van pull up outside a good twenty minutes early and my pussy started glowing with the prospect of a quickie before we left. His sartorial elegance surprised me though; I'd seen Chris in gardening gear, and I'd seen him out of gardening gear, but I'd never seen him in anything else. Today his smart clean Chinos and crisp designer sports shirt made him look even more dishy than usual. My tingling ears told me I was starting to warm up for him and my fingers crept to my T-shirt buttons as we met in the kitchen, but it appeared rampant sex wasn't first on his agenda.
"I might have known Mrs Culver" he greeted me sadly; "you're not ready".
He brushed me aside with a wagging finger and ushered me into the hall.
His use of my surname told me he was winding me up for something, but what?
"Jeans and T-shirt are fine, we're only going to the garden centre for…" He stopped me with a sweep of his arm.
"We are going to display a little more style than usual, be a little…" he smiled that thoughtful wicked smile of his, "a little more elegant, a little more…original". In the bedroom he was quite adamant about what he considered elegant. Stockings and suspenders of course, along with matching bra and panties, all in deep damask, except the stockings, which were black and seamed. It all looked like big overkill for a trip to the garden centre, but he watched keenly as I threw some make up on and then rummaged for a skirt. He reached out and stopped me.
"Now I've brought something for you to wear" he announced, as he produced
a coil of the same white cord he had used to tie me up last week.
In a twinkling my arms were folded behind my back. Knowing that to
struggle would be to have expensive stockings laddered, I allowed him to
tie my arms firmly in that position and I didn't object as his fingers
gently played across my stiffening nipples. I stood there with breasts
"Well I can hardly go to Greendale like this, can I?" I demanded. "You said…"
"Shoes please" he ordered, nodding at the high heeled matt red leather court shoes that he had persuaded me were going to be suitable for the afternoon. Their four-inch heels brought me a nearer to his towering six feet and I swayed over to him, an irresistible package surely. He smiled, but turned away.
"Come on then." Standing protectively in front of me, as I cautiously
felt my way downstairs he steadfastly refused to rise to my questioning.
Instead in the hall he pulled my favourite cloak from the cupboard and
fastened it around me, before opening the front door with a flourish.
"Oh no! No! No! No! I am not going out like this. I can't. I don't care what you say." He closed the front door and gently propelled me to the full-length mirror.
"You look great. You look absolutely normal. Look for yourself; you're very normal, but very sexy. The cloak looks just like it always does and no one can possible see what's underneath." He threw his arm around my shoulders, pecked me on the cheek and than stood back as I walked up and down the hall. We argued about it for a while and in the end I capitulated and marched up to the door.
"OK. You win. Let's go." I stood there, quite unable to
open the door of course, in fact realising how helpless I was almost made
me change my mind. Instead of letting me out he had vanished upstairs,
only to reappear with the vibrator he had commented on in the bedroom.
"Is this the one I left you last week?" he asked with a smile. I coloured a little, remembering that when he left last week this little monster had been turning my pussy into a flooding torrent. It glistened in the light; he must have just oiled it. I stepped back, aware again of my tightly pinioned arms.
"Hey! Be careful. I don't…" His hands swept my cloak aside and with a swift dive he teased my panties aside as well and the beast was running up and down my nether lips. The dressing and bondage had done their work and I was wet enough for it to be no more than a few seconds before it was slotted home, albeit switched off I noticed. Chris fiddled some more under the cloak and then snuggled my panties firmly home again.
"What the bloody hell are you doing?" I laughed. "First we're
going to Greendale, then you have me stripped and trussed. Then its
coats on, now its this. Am I coming or going?" He straightened up.
"Oh we are going. And you will definitely be coming" he added meaningfully. My further protestations about going abroad with a 7inch plastic prick stuck up me were ignored and I was marched to the van and hustled inside. If it had felt peculiar walking down the path it felt decidedly more forceful when sitting down and I wasn’t sure if it was the vibrator or the knowing smile that brought colour to my cheeks. The journey was short and just allowed Chris time to reassure me that I looked normal, and me to affirm to him that he was the most perverted man I'd ever had the pleasure to know, before we arrived at Greendale.
People did not stare at us, and after some initial trepidation I began to relax a little. Being unable to use my arms took a little getting used to, but it did have the benefit of being treated like a lady and having all the doors and gates opened for me. The first anxious moment came when Chris disappeared with one of the staff to investigate their stock of some plant or other. Wandering around alone left me feeling a little vulnerable and I was pleased to be in a fairly quiet corner so there was little chance of meeting anyone.
Suddenly my pussy exploded. I won’t say that I had forgotten about
the vibrator, but at least I’d managed to stop wanting to squirm and wriggle
with every other step. Now the motor had silently sprung into life
and my gasp of surprise was only half stifled. I looked around in
a panic, fearing someone had misinterpreted my spasms as a heart attack
or fit and had summoned aid and assistance. But no one was in sight, least
of all Chris. I stood trying to master my composure and control the inevitable
facial expressions that approaching orgasm brings by staring at some rather
bland looking shrubs, silently cursing his devilry and very much aware
of my semi-nakedness and tight helpless bondage in this very public place.
His unexpected touch on my shoulder nearly sent me into the shrubs with
fright as I was endeavouring to keep my sexual turmoil private.
“You bastard!” I hissed. “How did you do that, you swine? Wait ‘till I get my hands on you.”
“You aren’t getting your hands on anything until I say so.” He smiled gently and patted my bottom in that avuncular and proprietary fashion that would have normally had me righteously smacking his hands away. Instead I squirmed helplessly as my fingers twisted futilely under my cloak and I watched him toy playfully with his car keys as he took a few paces back and, raising the key fob at me, snapped his hand in that familiar zapping movement. Instantly the plastic mole burst into life again, just as a middle-aged couple paused behind us to debate their choice of Cononeaster horizontalis. My face reddened, I couldn’t stay in front of that pair. I started to walk unsteadily away, wishing evil revenge on Chris, trying to ignore the waves of pleasure trying to take over my body and cursing the way I’d agreed to wear such stupidly high heels for negotiating a garden centre. He didn’t follow, nor did he respond to my meaningful shakes of the head and I did not dare trust myself to call out to him. Instead I was forced to maintain a straight face as I inched past the couple and returned to Chris.
“Please…” I whispered between gritted teeth, “please turn this bloody
thing off.” He raised his eyebrows quizzically.
“What? Turn what off?” he queried gently. I gritted my teeth and stamped my feet.
“Please turn it off. Quickly, now.”
“Turn what off?” he persisted gently.
I sighed. “Please…turn…off…the…vibrator…in…my…pussy”.
He gave surprised smile, "Aha; Oh yes, that."
I quivered as at last the tingling ceased; only the presence of other people saving his shins from a stiletto heel attack.
"It's all done by wires and radio,” Chris announced proudly as he fingered my cloak collar. "I threaded this little thing that looks like a black button through the buttonhole at the back of your collar and a wire runs down your back inside the cloak to the, erm, you know what." He looked quickly around. "The little button picks up the signal from this old remote, and bingo. On; Off; On; Off."
"Alright, Alright" I urged. My hands twitched helplessly, denied the
ability to signal stop. "I know it works, thank you". I stopped squeezing
my thighs together in frustration and wished I could retreat to the ladies
to see if it really was love juice running down my thigh, or just overheated
imagination. We walked on in relative peace, Chris actually making notes
and asking me which plants I liked, but my predicament denied me concentration.
At the display of garden sheds we paused, partly because Chris was eyeing a mini-skirted blonde who made even my well above the knee cloak look positively modest. However he did appear very enthusiastic about a small windowless hut, and emerged with an eager wave for me to join him. He ushered me in and I foolishly fell for his ploy. The door closed behind him as he leaned forward and ran his hands quickly up my thighs.
"Not here!" I whispered urgently, "Someone might come". There was no
space to twist away and my bound hands and the close confines of the hut
rendered effective resistance impossible. His fingers urgently probed between
my thighs and he traced the outline of my lips through the sodden crotch
of my panties.
"Please. Someone might…"
"You're absolutely soaking wet" he declared with relish, passing his fingers gently across his nose before offering them for my examination.
"What do you expect?" I hissed, "a bloody desert. It's hardly surprising after what you've been doing to me all afternoon, I've come God knows how many times. But how the hell am I going to go to the ladies? Tell me that clever dick".
Frustration swept me again as I longed to caress those discreet pale Chinos, but my bodily advance was evaded as we shuffled back into public view.
"Teasing bastard" I moaned.
He smiled and led me silently to the rear of the glasshouses where the
centre kept its growing stock and where the public did not normally venture.
"There you are, all the privacy you need for a quick pee. Just squat down, and there you are." He looked at my horrified gaze. "Well your panties are soaking anyway so it won't make much difference, will it?"
My kick just missed him and he stepped back with a big grin and zapped me with the remote again. The vibrator only made my desire to pee more urgent.
"OK. OK. Stop it" I pleaded with wide eyes, but he shook his head firmly.
"It's quite waterproof. I'll stop it when you're finished". He sat down on a low wall and tossed the key fob idly in the air. By now I was desperate and after a brief panic, and realising I would soak my stockings and shoes if I remained standing, I squatted down in front of my tormentor and let him keep my cloak out of the mud as he watched me. The damask of my panties darkened as a trickle turned into a flood and a small puddle grew between my heels. At last I stood up and the delicious torment of plastic stopped. Chris solicitously dabbed my damp panties with a tissue and led me to the café.
“Would you like a coffee? I think you’ve earned it,” he offered.
“And how am I going to drink it, with a straw?” The hint of sarcasm wasn’t entirely lost on him, as he nodded.
“Hmm. Yes, I suppose that is a nuisance. Well it will have to be a milk shake then, they come with a straw.” He sauntered off to the counter leaving me sitting uneasily at an empty table, anxiously eyeing the rising hem of my cloak, which I was quite unable to pull down, and in fear of being asked by somebody to pass a menu or ashtray. Beneath me the damp panty gusset clung wetly to my swollen lips and stuck uncomfortably to the plastic garden chair, whilst the vibrator again made its presence firmly felt. I feigned a doze until my captor returned and then drank thirstily at the banana concoction, squirming damply under his avaricious gaze. He leaned forward with that soft smile of his as we rose to leave.
“When I get you home I really would like to screw you into the middle
of next week,” he whispered gently. I sighed in delicious anticipation.
“Instead” he continued, “I’m going to let you stew for a while.” He opened
the van door and took an opportunistic feel of my boobs as he helped me
in, carefully arranging my hem to reveal my almost all my stocking clad
legs. “In fact you’ll be stewing in your own juices” he joked as we moved
Sure enough, at home he saw me into the hall and carefully removed my cloak and the wiring before turning on the vibrator again.
“I have to see how the landscaping is going”, he explained as he pushed me firmly back from the door.
“Don’t you dare leave me…”
“I’ll only be an hour or so, just time for you to get juiced up for me later”.
The door closed and I stood there in the hall, clad in only lingerie
and stockings, complete with sodden panties, debating if I could manage
to force the thrumming vibrator out past the tight crotch, or if in fact
I wanted it there. Well it did come out eventually, but by then I was a
drained and still bound heap on the bed, where Chris found me later and
fulfilled his promise.