Green Fingered

ADVISORY NOTE: Content for ADULTS ONLY. Contains explicit references to sexual activity.

His name was Burt. He worked at the local garden centre. I first saw him when I went to buy some weed killer. It’s rare to see such a fine specimen of the male of the species. His skin was bronze due to working outdoors and he had the firm arms of a man who has engaged in manual labour since he left school. I asked Burt for some advice on which product would be most suitable to treat the weeds on the driveway. As he came close to me I breathed in the heady scent of a man, a splash of musty cologne merging with sweat and testosterone.

Burt worked Monday, Thursday and Friday at the garden centre. I would visit only on the days when I knew Burt would be there. I always wore a dress, as I was sure Burt would appreciate it. He seemed like one of those classic gentlemen who like a woman to ooze with femininity. After wandering around, looking at ceramic pots, bags of compost and bedding plants, I would finally find Burt.

I always had a question for him. I asked him for recommendations and advice on all sorts of gardening topics. Burt was a walking encyclopedia on plants of all kinds. He seemed to be gratified by my ardent attention as answered my questions and showed me plants that he thought would be perfect for the type of soil he suspected I had in my garden.

After he spent time delivering a high standard of customer service, he would return to work. I would sit nearby him, watching his toned body flex as he carried out maintenance tasks around the garden centre. Burt knew that I was watching him. I knew that he would occasionally glance over at me. To entice him I would pose provocatively on the bench, adjusting my dress so that he could see more of my cleavage and my long slender legs. I would tease him by parting my legs so that it was obvious to him that I had neglected to put on any panties.

The attraction between Burt and I smoldered as the weeks went by. Finally Burt introduced me to the tool shed where he would had his tea-breaks and lunch. Inside, he had a Thermos flask with sugary tea and his cheese and pickle sandwiches. Gentleman that he was, Burt decided to offer me some tea and one of the soft white triangles packed with filling. I nibbled at the corner of the sandwich he had given me and then brought my mouth close to Burt’s inviting him to take the morsel I was gripping with my teeth.

I was hungry, but not for Burt’s lunch, I wanted him. The refreshments were soon forgotten as I pressed my lips against Burt’s. His eyes lit up as he realized he had not been imagining my flirtatious behavior. He was sat on old wooden chair. I sat on his lap and draped my arms around his shoulders, running my fingers through his hair and kissing the side of his face. Burt’s eyes were on my bosom. I reached my arms back to unzip my dress and pulled the fabric down so that Burt was now able to view me just wearing a pretty balconette bra. As I held onto Burt, his mouth took as much of my bra cup into his mouth as he could manage. I teased him that it would be nice if he could do that to my bare breasts. Burt did not need to be asked twice. Soon my nipple and areola were enveloped inside Burt’s warm mouth.

I moved myself so that I was straddling Burt. He now had my bosom right in front of his face, and he lavished my breasts and nipples with the same attention as he devoted to the herbaceous borders around the garden centre. I was delighted with him. I had always suspected by his manner around me that he would be a splendid paramour. Burt surprised me by wandering down to my labia. The calloused skin on his thick fingers felt rough against my smooth moist flesh. Soon Burt was using those same green fingers that worked miracles on the perennials to slide in and out of my vagina. Faster and faster he probed me until an ecstatic gush began to trickle down around Burt’s fingers. I was even more aroused as he withdrew his fingers and licked up my juices.

Every Monday, Thursday and Friday, I made sure I timed my visits to the garden centre so that Burt and I could spend his lunchtime together. But it was not enough for me. I was full of lust for Burt, and that tiny little shed was not the most comfortable location for our liaisons.

So I came up with a plan. Every Tuesday, I could pay Burt to come and work on my little garden. He would mow the lawn, weed the flower beds and then water them. After tidying up the garden, he come into the house for a cup of tea…

…and me.