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Beatrice was bored. She had no right to be: money was no real object; possessions were all around her; she had servants to wait on her and a husband who adored her. But she also had nothing really to do; the servants did anything that needed to be done and her husband, though she had no doubts of his fidelity, was busy with business and often away for far too long. She wasn’t even too sure exactly what it was he did. Something in the city – whatever that might mean. He never talked to her about work – that would not be woman’s business and he had his club if he needed the conversation and the company of men who understood such matters.
Away in the country, Beatrice felt isolated. The house was pretty and attractive. Well, no, it wasn’t, not really! The mansion was large and impressive with far too many rooms. It was Beatrice who was pretty and attractive. She was kept as the beautiful wife in the country estate that befitted her husband’s position. He loved her well. He loved all of his estate.
When it was sunny, she liked to walk in the grounds. The gardens were well kept and pretty, but often she found the orderliness of them reminded her too much of how her life had become ordered so neatly. When those feelings came upon her, she preferred to walk further and stroll through the woods where she found a wildness of nature that was more to her taste.
It was in the woods she came upon the hut, a crude building, ramshackle and weathered. Entirely of wood, it appeared to have grown from the ground rather than being constructed. When she looked closer, driven by her own curiosity, she found that in part, indeed, it had grown since two living trees seemed, to Beatrice’s inexpert eye, to form part of its structure. Although clearly in use, when she had first come upon it, there had been no one inside. Logic said, if it was on her husband’s property, that this also belonged to him, but entering, uninvited, a stranger’s home like this seemed excitingly wicked.
After that first time, her walks in those woods often led her to that little wooden hut. Each time, she would peek in, noticing how things had moved around and imagining the person who lived there. It was a man; she never imagined anyone else. He had few possessions: a bed, nothing that could be described as bed linen, mainly sacking, but a large quilt. The quilt was a puzzle, until she remembered that it had been thrown out from the big house two years back. Beatrice had never really thought about where the things that she wanted no more actually went to, but here, now, one of them was. There were few, if any, personal possessions, which she found odd. Beatrice had a life full of possessions.
There was a wooden table and a chair. In one corner was a crude wardrobe. Looking inside, the clothes she found were unfamiliar to her and she became aware of how little notice she paid to the people in her husband’s employ. She became to notice more the lives of the servants around her. It was clear to her that the shack was nothing to do with the house staff. It did not take her long, just a few days, to discover that the gardener wore those clothes.
Intruding (invisibly, she believed) into the life of another became a secret pleasure to her. Her life developed a new dimension through this and, it seemed to her, something hitherto missing was now not missing quite so much. And now that her lonely days had developed a little more interest for her young and fertile imagination, so had her lonely nights.
She imagined of how this man might be, painting him in such a way to fill the gaps of her life and the void of her emotion. It was easy to do, there was very little to prove that he might be otherwise. On one visit, she found a bible, well leafed by the bed. It was, she felt, a sure sign of an honest god fearing man. It was a shame he lived such a poor and lonely life. Her heart went out to him, sensing a kindred spirit.
As time passed and as her imagination helped to know this man better, her feelings for him developed, though they were somehow secret from her. Her position, her awareness of her role in the household made her blind to the truth of how she really felt or, when she thought of arms around her in bed holding her tight, who she was imagining those arms belonging to. Not knowing enough of those feelings deep within her to deny or confront them, they grew and flourished.
* * * *
The gardener, of course, was not quite the man Beatrice believed him to be. She had also romanticised the hut. Reuben the gardener did not live in the hut, which would have been far too cold for winter, he had warm comfortable lodgings in town. The hut, indeed, was his and used for other nefarious purposes: a place to shelter when weather was inclement; a place to rest when tired; a place to hold a change of clothes; a place to meet and take his pleasure of one of the maids at the big house.
Reuben had been aware of his ladyship’s interest in his little hideyhole almost since she had first güvenilir bahis stumbled upon it. Initially, it had annoyed him having her poking around, but slowly her interest had aroused his and he became aware that, just as she was probing something of his private life, so was he a witness to a private pleasure of her own.
So, over time he watched and made his own observations. Sometimes he would place things for her to discover: a small wood carving; fresh flowers; apples from the orchard; a well-leafed bible, which was not his, but which he thought would show himself in a most favourable light to the young woman. He was unsure why he was doing this – perhaps he was trying to regain control of this part of his life which she had invaded – perhaps, in some way, he was trying to gain control of her, the invader.
He did not think of her unkindly. He could see her loneliness, her boredom and feel the need she had for something more to fulfil her. This growing empathy pulled him closer to her in his thoughts and it was not long before he began to think that the interest that she so evidently had in him might have another, hitherto unhidden, more sensual component. The more he considered that, the likelier it seemed. He wondered how aware she might be of her true desires. He was most aware of how his desires were growing and the young wife of his master, although a married woman, seemed to embody such a girlish virginal innocence that was hard for such a man as himself to resist.
It is important to realise that Reuben did not think of his young mistress as a married woman, nor the wife of his lord and master. Reuben considered very much that the world of the gentry was entirely separate from that which he inhabited and that what happened in one was entirely unconnected from the other. If he had cared, Reuben may not have been surprised that, curiously, these beliefs were not that dissimilar to those of Beatrice’s husband, who would not have considered her dalliance with a mere gardener a matter of great concern. On the level that was any real concern to Reuben, a woman was a woman and to be understood on that basis.
So, what started with harmless fantasy, developed through human desire into the most covetous lust. As the spring developed into summer, it seemed natural that his feelings should promote actions to satisfy them. As the feelings became stronger, action became more inevitable.
And so it was that one fine sunny summer evening in June, he walked in on her as she was going through his things as if to rob him.
Beatrice was flustered. Being caught, or rather the threat of being caught, had always been part of the excitement, but somehow never quite expected. He arrived quietly, his figure blocking the light from the doorway, which was her first awareness that he was there. She looked up to see him framed between the wooden doorposts, the early evening light behind him. She did not know what to say, what to do, so she said nothing and stayed there frozen in the position in which she first saw him, like a frightened fawn.
Reuben was amused. The fine lady of the house had been discovered in a most unflattering and incriminating situation. He had no doubts of her innocence, but her embarrassment was so plain to see. Like many, Reuben liked to see those so often in positions of power and influence placed in positions in which they were helpless.
Reuben was also aware, however, that the power and influence Beatrice actually enjoyed was very little and that, she, was more a prisoner of her situation than he was or would ever allow himself to be. Somehow this knowledge of her brought his feelings towards her closer to those that, as a man, he was more familiar with and, in his sympathy with her, it aided his desire and fuelled his actions.
‘So what have we here?’ he said, stepping further into the hut.
Beatrice moved, but very little. The position she was caught in seemed most incriminating, but surely no-one could believe that she, who had so much, would be stealing from a poor gardener who had nothing.
‘And what are you doing with my things?’ he said, taking her by the arm and drawing her upright.
The shock of actually being touched, handled, like that brought Beatrice to her senses. The man was, after all, merely an employee of her husband and had no right to talk to her, to treat her, with anything other than respect. It was time for Beatrice to assert herself and her position.
‘My husband will get to hear of this.’
‘Perhaps he will, perhaps he won’t. I won’t tell him. Perhaps you might. I am not responsible for your choices.’
‘But, what … ‘ he added, ‘… what is there for him to hear about?’
He felt strong before her. She had attempted to assert herself, her position. It was his turn to assert himself. He felt as if she was almost willing him to do so. It seemed to him that she, body and soul was crying out to him, pleading with him to have the courage to take her.
She was pleading, türkçe bahis but silently to herself, pleading for him to let her go; let her disappear away from these woods where she no longer felt safe; from where she felt so helpless. But she wanted him to let her go – she wasn’t going to run.
He unbuttoned his shirt. Beatrice was unnerved by the fact that, in no way, did her presence seem to disturb him. Her position implied that she had a perfect right to be wherever she wished to be. She would normally draw the line at her servants private quarters, but it was unclear whether this old hut would count. She wondered if it had any right to be here at all – she, it seemed, had every right.
‘You are a fine woman, with a fine body, I think.’
‘And you, Sir, are impertinent.’ The compliment made her blush, her embarrassment causing her error of address – a mere gardener should not be addressed as ‘Sir’. It pleased her, though.
She felt she should go. She stayed. She told herself that she had a right to be there. She did not admit to herself that she really wanted to be nowhere else.
‘I am a simple man. One of my pleasures is appreciating a beautiful woman and you were made to be appreciated.’ The statement was made in a matter of fact way. The gardener had taken off his shirt, dirty from the day’s labour. This may well have been what he did every day, Beatrice could not know, but he did not stop there.
Beatrice was frozen to the spot. Before her eyes, her gardener was taking off his trousers. The act was brazen with no attempt to cover or conceal. This was not the kind of situation that Beatrice had ever imagined herself in, nor had this been covered in any instruction of the type given to young ladies. She remembered, as one of a class of girls, being told to ‘avert your eyes’ once when in severe danger of being exposed to an art not designed for delicate young women.
But Beatrice had to look.
The gardener was built a fine figure of a man. Hard work in the open air had developed muscle; the weather of the four seasons had toned his body. Beneath his trousers he wore nothing. His manhood hung down from a nest of dark curls looking thick and heavy; behind were the dark shadows of his balls. His cock looked as if it had been erect, or soon would be. Beatrice wondered if she was anything to do with that. She had thrilled at the sight of her husband’s full erection on her first night and remembered the dread, the pain and the pleasure of that first penetration. Some of those feelings reawakened now.
‘It’s good to take my working clothes off.’ He said, apparently oblivious to his nakedness in front of her.
Beatrice stared at him wide-eyed, though her eyes were really fastened on his cock. It seemed to be stiffening before her eyes. Feeling weak at the knees, she sat down upon the solitary chair. Aware of her focus, his hand moved down and lightly stroked the object of her interest. It grew rapidly, as if by magic, until it stood firmly, curving upward to a thick purple crown swollen and quivering in the evening light. It seemed massive, bold and brazen. She felt some pride and some embarrassment that she had brought it to this rude ripeness.
‘Oh, My!’ she said, unable to say more.
‘I think you like this too.’ He was bold and unafraid.
Beatrice knew her position, knew he would do nothing if she stopped him, but was more interested in what he would dare do, if she did not.
‘If you stay, I will fuck you.’
She looked at him, his cock stiff and hovering in the air before her face. The secret delight she felt at being spoken to this way communicated with her moistly between her thighs.
‘You are a rude coarse man.’
‘I am a simple gardener. I plant trees, trim bushes, grow flowers. I am a man and when I can, I fuck women. I am a coarse and vulgar man, but you are in my home. You entered my home without my permission; if you stay, I shall take my pleasure from your cunt. You may go if you wish, but if not, I would like to see you without those fine clothes, slide my cock up inside you and bury my hot seed within your womanly body.’
It was a long speech for Reuben, but he could see the flush it brought to the young woman’s cheek. She was not running from his crudeness, she wanted his rough gardener hands upon her soft pink flesh. Reuben loved knowing that she knew that she was his. And he loved the effect his boldness was obviously having upon the inexperienced girl.
‘You would not dare!’ she said, knowing and hoping that he would, amazed and excited by his vulgarity.
He slipped his hand behind her head, his fingers burying themselves in her hair and gripping her tightly. It hurt, but as he pulled her mouth to his, kissing her roughly, forcing his tongue into her mouth, she forgot that pain and returned his kiss while pretending with her body that this was not her wish. It was an accident that her right hand, in trying to fight off his advances, found his cock and closed around güvenilir bahis siteleri its satisfying thickness and that her left hand, trying to push his body away, found itself on his firm right buttock pulling him closer to her.
Encouraging him, discouraging him; accepting, but rejecting; maintaining her position, but letting him usurp it. Her balance of duty and desire, emotion and decorum, was difficult to maintain. She did not know what she should do, although she knew what she would like to be done; and it was her duty to resist that; but not too much, not too hard.
She felt his other hand upon her, moving around, trying to feel her body beneath her clothing. Her dresses were too voluminous and she felt the need for him to feel her nakedness as she felt his. She felt uncomfortably warm, flushed, her skin a reddening pink before his lust. She pulled away, breathless, her breast heaving as she found herself breathing with an emotional heartbeat she had not felt before.
He did not move, naked in front of her, he seemed in control in ways she did not understand. His lustful presence daring her to stay, daring her to go. She needed to stay.
‘Must you fuck me?’
Asking the question made her feel delirious and gave it’s own satisfaction. The answer did not matter; asking the question meant she was giving herself to his will. She felt herself being dragged into a coarse animal world where the sole purpose of her existence, as a woman, was to allow this man to take her naked body and welcome his thrusting between her soft thighs. At the moment that was very much the only existence she craved.
‘If you stay, I must. I think that is what you want.’
He moved towards her, his thick cock stiffly moving in front: she felt a tiny spasm in that place where her husband found his enjoyment and she became aware of enjoyment there for her also. She did not know if he was in some way reading her mind or just telling her what to think, but the words seemed to be a path leading to her own deep satisfaction. She thought of her legs spread open for him, that fine cock entering her body so deeply and she realised she wanted it so badly that nothing else mattered.
‘Let me help you.’ The words were not hers and neither were her actions, but he would never figure out how to free her from her elaborate clothes without assistance.
Her hands moved to unclip and unbutton where his hands could not find the secret fastenings of her fine garments, so that when he took her again in his arms, he found her clothes looser. He slipped her dress from her shoulders and kissed the exposed flesh. It was warm and pink from her excitement. Having now undone her clothes she was neither helping nor hindering him. She needed to be taken and savoured the touch of his lips upon her newly exposed flesh.
‘If you must … ‘ she said, knowing that he must; and she must let him.
‘I do not know how you dare do this.’ She said, as she felt him half lift and half drag her to the rustic wooden bed. She felt her clothes falling away from her. She wondered what had become of her modesty and how she could let this happen, but she was so pleased that she could.
Lying back upon the bed, her upper body was now mostly bare, the simple shift she wore closest to her skin unbuttoned and open to the valley and mounds of her breasts. She felt his lips brush the thin cotton fabric aside to encircle her left nipple.
‘Uhhhh!’ she moaned.
‘Do what you have to!’ she said theatrically and sighed, as if this was none of her doing and she had no power to resist. She loved the feeling of submission to a force that she could not hope to control and contain. She also loved the wetness appearing that seemed beyond decency.
His hands were coarse upon her pampered gentrified flesh. She felt his rough gardener’s fingers moulding the soft fullness of her breasts, coarsely brushing her hard sensitive nipples and then felt those hands moving down over her stomach, pushing her clothes from her body. Her whole body seemed to be blushing from this delicious abandonment.
Lying on the old bedspread looking upwards at the roof, she felt her last clothing removed. She had never been this naked before a man before. Even her husband, taking his pleasure from her body, his playground declared and claimed before God, had taken her in her nightclothes, his cock entering her beneath the cover of her nightdress, his hands caressing her breast through an unbuttoned opening. She felt coarse callused hands opening her legs wide and allowed them to do so, completely exposing herself. Most exposed and open was her most intimate place, that place which no one till now had given her a proper name for. Her cunt.
‘Mmmm. That’s what I like, a sweet cunt, wet and open!’ his voice came from between her legs, she felt his breath inside her and could not hold her juices.
And then she felt his tongue. It was a shock, she had not expected him to lick her, not down there. Her husband had only ever used his fingers to open and explore her folds and his cock to penetrate her. This man was wriggling his tongue deep inside her. It was wet and warm and so tactile. She thought of her open wetness exposed against his face.
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