0 comments/ 28707 views/ 1 favorites The Garden By: SimonMDrew It was a hot summer's day and as few clothes as possible were the order of the day. Simon had resurrected an old habit of wearing cut-off jeans as shorts, remembering Julie's reaction when she first new him and had commented very positively on his tight fitting shorts. He'd done the same again, cutting the legs high and removing the pocket linings and, what with the fraying edges and rips over the buttocks, didn't leave much to the imagination - his bulge being very obvious. Julie had put on her new bikini; it was yellow and consisted of a high-cut thong and a string tied, triangle top. She'd never normally wear this style, but Simon had badgered her into getting one. She was actually quite pleased with the way it fitted, covering each breast but allowing their shape to be very natural. And as always, she new that Simon would be pleased at being able to see as much of them as possible! Simon had made a large jug of Pimms and taken it out into the garden, where he had set up the sun-loungers and table. He set the drink down with two tall glasses and was just settling into one of the loungers when Julie appeared carrying the sun lotion. He looked at her longingly; very impressed with the way she filled out the bikini, so much so that he gave a complimentary wolf whistle. She sat down and Simon offered her a drink, which she took gladly and had several large gulps of the cool liquid. Then she angled the seat back and started to soak up the sun's rays. After a little while she realised that she hadn't put any sun lotion on, so she asked, "Honey, could you do me a favour and pass the lotion?" "I'll do better than that; I'll even put it on you!" He stood up and pulled up his flies, which he'd earlier lowered, but left the button tantalisingly undone. Taking the bottle in his hand, he stepped across to Julie and knelt down. He poured a generous amount of the white, creamy liquid into the palm of his hand and spread it over the lower part of her left leg. Then, starting with her feet, he began working it in, slowly moving up the leg to the knee and then repeating the action on the other. He poured more lotion into one hand and spread it over his other, before running both up Julie's thighs with his fingers spread open. He moved up the outside until he reached the narrow ties of the thong, then rolled onto the tops and smoothed his hands back down to her knees. Then, after exerting a small amount of pressure to ease her legs slightly open, slid his fingers to her inner thighs and ran his hands up towards the tiny triangle of material covering her. He teasingly ran his fingers up either side, giving a gentle push on the side of her lips with his thumbs, and Julie gave a responsive moan. Once he was satisfied that her legs were glistening all over, he turned his attention to her arms, taking each hand in turn and smoothing the lotion upwards and onto her shoulders. As he reached her neck, he reached around behind and pulled the simple knot to release the upper string of the bikini top. The triangles remained in place, just, and he lotioned her neck, shoulders and upper chest. "Let me get this out of the way" said Julie as she sat forward, reached behind her, and unfastened the remaining tie to her top. She dropped it to one side and laid back into the lounger. Simon took more lotion and started to massage it into both breasts in a circular motion, starting from the outside and working in to the hard nubs appearing in the middle. He tweaked each nipple and rubbed lotion into them with his thumb and forefingers, then cupped them both and circled around them with his thumbs. Julie's eyes were shut but her hands had moved onto the small yellow triangle covering her sex. The material itself was beginning to fold in between her swelling lips, leaving almost nothing to the imagination and her fingers were rubbing up and down that fold. Simon continued to massage and kneed those luscious globes, but his eyes were transfixed on Julie's fingers as they worked their way under the pants, forcing them to one side, and into her cleft. A middle finger was now circling round and over her clitoris, which stood hard and proud. He removed one hand from a breast and gently placed it over Julie's, with a finger next to hers, so that he was following her circling motion. As this continued, Julie raised her knees, placing her feet flat on the lounger and spreading her legs wide open. Simon could see every detail of her sex - the swollen, pink lips that were wide open as if offering a kiss, the hard clitoris that was receiving all the attention, and the intriguing deep hole that always fitted around Simon's cock as if it was a glove. Keeping his hand with Julie's, he moved around to the front of the lounger and knelt down. Then he leaned forward, gently pulling Julie's hand away, but immediately replacing it with his tongue. He licked up and down the inside of those lips and around the focus of Julie's attention, then he sucked it into his mouth and, very gently, nibbled on it. Julie was writhing on the lounger and her hands clasped his head, holding his mouth over her, forcing him to continue - which he willingly did! He sucked and licked and nibbled, while Julie bucked beneath him, pushing herself as a far into his mouth as possible. She could feel her orgasm building with every touch of his tongue on her clitoris, and she wanted it, oh, how she wanted it! And then... Agghhhh!! She convulsed, pushing even harder against Simon's mouth - her orgasm making nearly every muscle in her body tense up. Then she was still, motionless, holding his head between her legs as he very gently licked some of the juice that had flowed from within her. After awhile she released the pressure on Simon's head allowing him to lean back but, as he was starting to stand up, she grabbed at his shorts. "We're not finished yet, sexy!" she exclaimed, pulling herself up by his pockets and, in doing so, causing his flies to come open. She spun him around and pushed him backwards onto the lounger, at the same time pulling his shorts down to his ankles and off. His shaft was rock-hard and glistening from the pre-cum that had oozed from the tip. She smiled and said, "Let's put that somewhere out of the sun, don't want it getting sunburn!" She turned her bottom towards him and settled backwards towards his lap. Reaching between her legs, she took hold of his pole, lined it up with her hole, and then sat down impaling herself on it. By placing a hand on each of the arms of the lounger, she could raise herself up, and she started to slide up and down his delicious, fat cock - she loved the way he filled her. She could feel the tip starting to jerk and she new he would soon loose control. She moved harder and faster, delighting in the feeling of power, but also in the fact that she was giving him so much pleasure. He began to spurt his load into her but, when he was on his second explosion, she lifted off him, allowing a jet of semen to spray over the outside of her sex and over her legs. She reached down with a hand, ran a finger through the sticky fluid, and brought it up to her mouth. She sucked it off, giving a satisfied moan and saying, "My kind of sun lotion!" The Garden Dearest, I am sitting here looking out the window at the garden you planted last spring. I am sure you remember it well. You begged and pleaded for a small plot to practice your green thumb abilities on. Eventually, I caved in and rented a soil tiller at the local lawn and garden shop. One lovely Saturday, the sun bright and not too hot, we measured off a 6' x 6' plot and I tore up the soil. Your giggles of delight as the fresh dark dirt was exposed lit up my soul and I could not help but smile at your pleasure. We worked most of the day on it. Once the tilling had been completed, we brought out the rakes I had purchased and smoothed the soil out. While I returned the tiller, you pulled the stones out and set them neatly around the edge, forming a short but charming stone wall. In the afternoon, we began to plant the heartier items. Some things would be transplanted and you were planning on handling that yourself Monday while I was off at work. In the evening, you made a light supper of pasta and salad which we ate upon the terrace under candlelight as we admired the garden. We were so enamored with it and each other at the time that the silence was even pleasurable. We had a bottle of wine and perhaps that made us more open because soon I had dragged you over to the garden to dance. We took off our shoes and danced in the dirt. I could feel it squishing up between my toes and I was sure you could feel the same. I had a buzz from the wine and from your nearness and so, of course, I paused in the dance every few moments to give you a long, lingering kiss. It was a full moon and there was not a cloud in the sky. The stars twinkled above like a million diamonds. And the soft light sprinkled off your hair as well, making it sparkle, as your eyes glowed with happiness. You always said my hands were quick and it did not take long for me to disrobe you. I slid off your dirt-stained pants and your sweet smelling panties. Then I pulled your beige t-shirt and bra over your head. When you stood naked before me, giggling like a garden sprite, I stripped myself, all smiles. I led you down into the dirt upon your back. You spread your legs immediately, welcoming me between them. I could smell the soil and you and the combination was heady. I was immediately hard and ready and plunged into you like I had plunged into this project...without hesitation and with delight. Your legs crept up to circle my waist, pulling me into you and into the Earth, as you began to whimper in pleasure. Your eyes were wide and animalistic as we writhed and enjoyed each other's bodies out in nature. My hands slid over your flesh, feeling its earthiness as I filled you with my cock. My fingers dug into you as if you were dirt, trying to turn it over. My mouth found the hard tips of your breasts and began to feast on them as if they were fruits of the soil. You were softly crying with pleasure as I thrust in and out of your warm wetness, possessing you so completely. Your ass was being pressed repeatedly into the turned soil as I pushed into you. Then as I pushed, you would lift yourself against me with your own thrusts. I began to moan with the joy of it, the joy of you. Making love to you out here in the garden was a delight but it was also edgy and new. It was erotic because in some ways it was forbidden. There was no concern on my part that the neighbors might see or hear. If they did, I did not care. At the moment, I was focused on our pleasure. Your fingers clung to my shoulders as you slammed your body against mine, eager to reach the peak of your passion. I laid kisses across your face as your eyes opened to gaze into mine. My thrusts into you were timed with your up thrusts to me as we were then so perfectly in time with each other. I could feel my release rising from deep inside my balls, trembling to the surface with the speed and power of a freight train. I knew your own climax was near as I could feel your body shivering beneath me and I knew it was not from cold. Then you reached orgasm and I felt your cunt clenching around me, sucking me in, as my own release quickly followed as stream after glorious stream of my seed jetted into your womb, into your fertile field, as we lay upon the turned soil of our new garden. It was a delicious way to christen it and I suppose in our own way, we were fertilizing the soil. When our senses returned to Earth, we both began to chuckle at our need to fuck in the garden. But it did not stop it. Life was meant to be enjoyed and we were both such free spirits that night, one with the Earth, one with the Moon, one with the stars. I think it was probably one of the best nights of my life. The garden proved fruitful and we harvested a great many vegetables from it over the summer. I can still remember how juicy the tomatoes were and how you swore they were the best you ever ate. I remember the hours we spent snapping the beans, talking about how people had to do this in the old days before you could simply buy a can of beans at the grocery. It was a good summer, a fruitful one. Now I look out the window at the garden. It is covered in over a foot of snow. Nothing is growing in it now. And I sit here writing you in the chill of my house, wearing that old cardigan you so despised. But you are not here to chastise me. The garden was our greatest triumph but not enough to keep us together. So you are gone. And I am alone in our garden. Missing you. The Garden Authors note: I understand that this story may conflict in ways with religious texts, and I apologize to those who may take offense. As he woke up that morning, he noticed a dull pain in his side. He grimaced and rubbed at it, looking down at his side. There wasn't any mark, so he wasn't too worried. He probably had slept funny and elbowed himself in the ribs, he reasoned. Since the pain was fading already, he shrugged and got up from under the tree he'd been sleeping under. He wasn't really sure how he got here, or when, or even why he was here. All he remembered was waking up in the middle of this forest many days ago. But he wasn't complaining. The place was very pleasant to live in. None of the creatures that lived here were hostile, there were many trees that constantly grew sweet fruit to eat, and there were streams and ponds with fresh clean water to drink. There were two trees in the middle, that for some reason he knew he wasn't supposed to go near. They seemed like perfectly normal trees, but every time he even contemplated going to eat from them, something, he wasn't sure what, stopped him. It didn't matter though, they were only two out of many, so it wasn't a hassle. The only thing that he didn't like was that it was rather lonely. Yes, there were many creatures in the forest, but none of them really even resembled him. Very few of them walked on only two legs, and almost all of them had thick fur, feathers, or hard scales covering their skin. In comparison, the only hair that he had on his body was a thin downy covering on his torso, legs, and arms, and there was thicker hair on his head, in his armpits, and around his groin. And the other creatures all acted in ways that were so different than he did. He remembered the previous day thinking about how nice it would be if there was someone else just like him, so that he would have some company. As he stretched out, he decided that he was hungry. The peaches on the tree by the lake had looked ripe yesterday, and he decided that those would be perfect for right now. He walked for while, stopping at a stream to get a drink from the cool flowing water. After another short walk, he reached the edge of the clearing by the lake. Just as he was about to enter the clearing, he stopped. Under the peach tree, there was a creature he'd never seen before. It was slightly shorter than him, in fact short enough that it could only just reach the branches of the peach tree even when standing on it's toes. It finally got a grip and started to climb up to the lowest branch. He saw that it had long flowing brown hair on its head, down to its waist. It actually resembled himself, but there was something different about it. He decided to come closer for a better look. He made it to about ten footsteps from the tree without being noticed, when he stepped on a small fallen branch, causing a loud snapping sound. The creature let out a small gasp at the sound, and lost its grip. Not knowing what he was doing, he leapt forward, catching the thing before it hit the ground. For a moment, their faces were inches from each other. He saw wide blue eyes similar to the ones he knew he possessed from seeing his reflection in the water of the lake. The face was similar to his as well, though it was smaller, more delicate. He gently put the creature down on its feet, stepped back, and then noticed a few things. From its backside, it had seemed the same as he was. The hips were slightly wider in proportion, and the frame of the body was a little thinner, but aside from that, it was almost identical. Its skin was slightly paler than his, leading him to wonder if it had spent more time in the shade than he did, since it was more of a pinkish color than his light tan. The hair on most of its body was also a lot thinner than his, more like the fuzz on a peach, almost transparent in the light. But from the front, there were startling differences. On it's chest, two fleshy mounds grew out of the flesh, about the size of an apple each, and they were capped by pink nipples, which were twice as large as the ones on his own chest. They reminded him of the shape of the pears that grew on some of the trees around the forest. While unusual, the way they flowed with the contours of its body gave a certain beauty to the creature. While he was examining the creature, it had been doing the same to him, showing a curious manner, and then it finally took a step towards him, putting itself within arms reach. It reached out tentatively with a small hand, touching his muscled chest and then looked down at its own with a puzzled expression. He reached out slowly and gently cupped one of the breasts, amazed at the softness of the skin. He weighed it lightly in his hand, noticing that there was no firmness of a muscle in it, which was a little unusual. While doing this, the creature had been running it's hands over his chest, and he realized that he liked the feeling. He slowly started exploring the creatures chest with his hands, seeing that the other breast was just as soft as the first, and as the creature smiled, he decided that it must like the feelings too. He moved his hand down its side and to it's hip, and then noticed something very odd. He Looked down at himself, and observed his dangling penis and the sack beneath it, and then looked at the groin of the creature, and observed nothing but a triangle of brown curly hair. That was odd, he thought to himself. How was it able to relieve itself of unneeded water? Thinking of this, he suddenly realized that he had to relieve himself. He put his hand on its shoulder and pressed slightly in a gesture that said, "stay here" and quickly moved to the edge of the clearing and found a suitable tree. The creature however did not stay, it followed him, and watched as he stood and urinated against the trunk of the tree. It looked at his arcing stream with a puzzled look, then shrugged and moved slightly off to the side. He watched in amazement as it squatted down and a yellow stream spurted from the triangle of curly hair. Perhaps there was more than he had suspected? He decided he would find out. As soon as it had finished and stood up, he grabbed it by the hand and led it over to a small incline by the edge of the lake, and sat down. It followed his lead, and he positioned himself between its legs, parting them with his hands. It didn't resist, but looked at him again with a curious expression. He took a closer look at the nest of curls, and realized upon closer inspection that there was a pair of lips, thought they opened vertically rather than across in the way the ones on their faces did. He reached out and gently parted them with his fingers. He saw pink folds of flesh that reminded him somewhat of a flower, though he had never seen anything like this. At the top, where the lips met, there was a small nub of flesh, poking out of a small sheath. He realized that his fingers were slightly wet, although not from the urine that was still clinging in small gold droplets to the brown curls. He brought his fingers to his nose and inhaled a deep heady scent, unlike anything else he'd ever smelled before. He suddenly realized something odd. His penis, which had been flaccid this whole time, had suddenly begun to stiffen, the skin at the tip pulling back and exposing the large head. There had been a few times that he had woken up in the morning like this, but it had always subsided after a few minutes. Never before had this happened during the day. He decided that it would probably go away after a while like it always did, and returned to his examination of this wonderful creature. He reached out and ran his fingers gently through the folds of the inner lips, noticing now that beneath the nub of flesh, there were two other orifices. The first was small, about the size of the one at the end of his penis, so he reasoned that this must be where the creature had relieved itself from. The one beneath that however, was larger, about the same diameter of his finger. This was a mystery to him. At first he thought that this might be where she relieved herself of solid waste, but then he noticed the small puckered hole between the cheeks of its bottom, so he decided that couldn't be it. As he was running his fingers over the creatures flesh, he brushed against the hard little nub with his thumb, and it gasped. He withdrew his hand, afraid that he'd hurt it, but it reached out quickly and grabbed his hand, replacing it to where it had been. He looked at the creature for a moment, and seeing the pleading look in its eyes, began to gently rub the small pearl of flesh with his thumb. The creature started breathing deeply and laid its head back, and soon was whimpering and moaning as he continued to make small motions with his thumb. He was confused now. His erect member had not subsided by now as it normally had, if anything it had gotten harder, the head now fully exposed and taking on a deep redish color. He looked at it, and then looked at the strange orifice on the creature, and then suddenly, he understood. He had seen birds nesting in pairs, the more brilliant male protecting the nest while the dull colored female sat, guarding and warming the eggs. He realized now that this was not a different creature than he, but actually a female human. She was his mate. He slowly moved up so that his face was level with hers, and she embraced him, running her fingers through his hair. He didn't know why, but he had a sudden urge to press his lips against hers, and he did so. She didn't resist at all, and he could taste peach juice in her mouth. Apparently she had a liking to those. He realized that his penis was resting at the entrance of her womanhood, and slowly pushed it inside. She moaned slightly as he slid inside, and then he felt a resistance. Looking down, he saw that he was only about halfway in. He was confused for a moment, but then he felt her hands on his waist, pushing him towards her. He pushed harder at her insistence and felt something give way. She gasped and a tear rolled down her cheek. He looked down and a feeling of sadness came over him when he saw blood on his shaft. He had hurt her. This wasn't supposed to happen. But he then felt her reach out to his waist again, once again pulling him in, telling him it was okay. He slid back into her again without any resistance this time, and she moaned and began undulating her hips under his. He gasped as he felt waves of pleasure, greater than anything he'd ever felt before. Soon he was thrusting and grinding in time with her, both of them panting and moaning as one. He felt something building up inside of him, and he realized that her moans and gasps were getting higher pitched, as she built up to her climax. At last together they came at once, her body shuddering with pleasure as he felt something spurt out from inside of him and into her. As he withdrew his now flaccid penis from her, he saw a sticky white fluid leaking out from between her nether lips. She turned, still clinging to him and rested her head on his chest. He turned and saw those beautiful blue eyes gazing up into his, and he smiled. He took her hand in his and pressed it against his chest where his heart was, and said, "Adam." He didn't know how he knew that's what his name was, he just did. She smiled back at him and took his hand, placing it slightly over her left breast. He could feel a heartbeat just like his racing beneath. She replied in a small voice "Eve." The rest of course, we know. The Garden "When young I was not as others,I loved the mountains, hills and misted rivers. But Oh I was dazzled by visions of powerAnd've only returned in this, my final hour." - Tao Yuan-ming, 365-427 Perfect stillness cloaks the garden. Snow lies white and deep. Snow clings to the rocks on the little island in the pond, snow clings to the railing of the arching footbridge, snow clings to the curved roof of the pavilion. Ice glints and gleams where the black waterfall pours down the rocks. Ice gleams on the neatly cleared pond. Snow clings to the three rough limestone boulders, making them look all the more like distant mountains. Snow clings to the dark green bushes, hollies, boxwoods, rhododendrons, and azaleas. Clumps of it cling to the leaves of the bamboo that lines the pond, causing the stalks to bend. If there was the slightest shiver of air, that bamboo would shrug off its snowy melancholy and spring straight again. Snow blankets the curved roof of the building that surrounds the garden, whose courtyard it is. The garden reflects off the building's large windows, every room of consequence must have a view of the garden, the best rooms must have a view of the pond, the island and the small pavilion. Everywhere is the supersaturated white of cold sun on snow, the gleam of sun on ice, the reflection of sun on glass. For color there's the shadowy glimpses of fish beneath the ice, the dark greens of azalea and rhododendron and bamboo, peeking out through the snow, and the light red of the sash about the girl's stomach, just below her breasts, tied with a bow behind her back. She kneels in the pavilion. Its glass walls are so clear she might be kneeling on a rice mat outside, frozen in the icy air. Her skin is the palest white, paler even than the rice matting. Her hair is brown with glints of red, the same shade as the varnish of the wood that frames the wide windows. The little pavilion is almost all window, its windowsills are just inches above the floor. Her hands are on her knees, her breasts rise and fall as she breaths, her only motion. Just before her is a low table of dark wood, its surface waxed and shining. Beneath its top is a shelf on which china cups are arrayed, white as the snow, painted with delicate floral patterns. On the table is a single delicate china tea pot and a decanter of some pale golden liquid. The sun throws her shadow across the soft mat. The shadow of her head falls on the long cushions that border the sides of the space. The shadow of her legs where the shade touches her skin creates an edge, a fold, joining the shadow with the real. Her shadow seems so hot it would be sure to ignite the dry mat were it not doused by the icy brilliance of the sun. The red sash is her only clothing. Two men leave the house, sliding shut a glass door behind themselves. They are dressed more or less similarly in slacks and knit shirts. One is Chinese, the other western, both are gray haired and middle aged. They wear socks and slippers on their feet. They walk along the path. Their breath condenses in the cold air. The path leads them over the arched wooden bridge, onto the island, to the pavilion. As they step onto the bridge, the snow slips from one of the bamboo clumps by the path. Leaving grief behind, the stalks leap straight, showering the men with fine white powder. They pause at the apex of the bridge and brush themselves off, their brief laughter further breaks the stillness. The Chinese man slides pavilion's the glass door. Cold air wafts over the girl, she does not stir. The men step out of their slippers, leaving them on the cold flagstones outside and enter the pavilion. The glass door is slid shut. Tom shivers involuntarily as he is enveloped by the warm air within. There's a faint sigh and a clicking as hot water circulates under the floor. Tom glances at the girl and then away. The two men sink onto the thin cushion that runs along the floor next to the windows. Tom's knee touches the shadow of her hair. He shifts as might a boy, concealing the sting of a match. "Tea or scotch?" his friend asks. "Tea please, Gongren," Tom answers "Fine. Two teas." The men watch the girl. She picks up a blue enamel pot and stands. Tom is enthralled by the way the muscles in her calves tense, the tendons along her thighs stand out, the way her bottom shifts, the way her shoulders and arms all move as she rises. Folds that had creased her stomach as she knelt vanish into smooth porcelain. She steps to the sliding door and opens it just enough to slip through. Cold air washes over them. She steps out, sliding the door shut behind her. She goes to the waterfall and kneels on the glistening wet rock, the air from her breath rises in a fog about her face. She bends forward and holds the enamel pot under the waterfall. Water flows over her hands, its flow so smooth it looks like clear hard plastic. When she returns her fingers are red with cold. She kneels again and lifts a square panel from the floor, revealing a gas burner. She sets the pot down on the burner and the gas lights with a quick electronic click click click. Blue flames circle the base of the pot and hiss. She presses her cold hands to her thighs and it's as if her whole body shivers once and banishes the cold. Tom arrived that morning at close to 3:30 local time. His memories are scattered: of climbing out of the limousine that'd brought him from the airport, of a low white building in a large expanse of snow, of snow falling heavily in the dark, of the building stretching a considerable distance on either side of him, vanishing in the dark and snow. He has a memory of a front hall, of being greeted by a young Chinese girl in jeans and white blouse, of apologizing for the hour unsure how much English she understood, of giving up his coat, his shoes, being handed soft slippers, of being led through what seemed like endless corridors, finally arriving at a simple elegant room. There is a low platform bed, its mattress very thin. There are rice mats on the floor and cushions along the window. One whole wall of the bedroom is taken by the window's glass. All he can see through it is a hint of white and black, mostly he can see his own reflection, tired and haggard, he looks a tired lost old man, someone he doesn't recognize. Behind his reflection he sees that of the fresh young woman, his guide, and the reflection of the bed. He feels a vague rise of interest, desire quickly suppressed. The girl points to a phone which sits on a shelf behind the bed. She mimes speaking into the handset, "Sleep as long as you like," she says in perfect English. "Call and someone will guide you to breakfast." Then she's gone. Tom turns out the lamp and stretches on the bed. He is too tired to deal with his suitcase or clothes. The bed feels more comfortable than it looks. He closes his eyes. He lies for a time, but it's useless. He's too strung out with planes and airports and waiting and planes and cars and snow and wind and travel to relax. He stands and goes to the window and looks out. He can see more of the garden now. The sky's growing light. The storm has broken. There's the piled line of its clouds towards the horizon. Overhead it's brilliant blue. The garden slopes gently down from the level of the house so he has quite a good view of its still shadowy expanse. The several winding paths, the low shapely dark evergreens, the little black pond surrounded by willows, the island, the arching bridge, the pile of black rocks with water cascading down, the graceful pavilion with its thin columns supporting a dark sharply curved roof. As he watches, a woman's form stands in the pavilion. In the dim half light she is dark, shrunk to child's cut-out size by the 20 or so yards of distance and hard to make out against the black of the water beyond. It is strange how little detail is needed to identify sex. He sees her stretch. He sees her step to the side of the pavilion and slide a panel. It is then he realizes that the structure is glass encased. He watches as she steps onto the snow covered walk. She jumps up and down as she slides the glass door shut then runs to the bridge. He sees her slip and fall to her knees, the wood being slick under the snow. He sees her trot along the path, at her closest approach to him she is perhaps 20 feet distant. From the silhouette of her breasts and the line of her running form against the snow he realizes she is naked, snow rises from where her feet strike the ground. The snow is as deep as her calves in places. She passes to the side, beyond where he can see and is gone. The garden is still again. Light seems to flow in imperceptibly. Now he can see several benches, the details of the shapes of bushes, some evergreen, some deciduous with dense barren branches. He can see the reflection of the garden on the windows of the other side of the building, a considerable distance away. There's the illusion of great space. His eyes grow heavy and he thinks of lying down. There's a gap in the building to his left with a wrought iron structure across it. The black metal is cast to look like leaves and branches. In its center is an empty circular opening, considerable in diameter, its rim maybe waist high at its lowest point. He looks at it dumbly for a moment, trying to guess its purpose. Three men appear in the garden from the left, from where the girl disappeared. They are dressed in bulky padded coats with thick gloves and hats. They bounce a bit and he can see their breath clouding about their faces. They carry snow shovels (screaming gasoline snow blowers would be so unthinkable!) and begin to clear the paths, filling large plastic garbage cans which when full, they wheel out of sight. It seems an hour before the girl reappears. The sun is now hard on the roof of the house. She walks quickly. Her skin is paler than the snow. He has just a fleeting glimpse of her lovely flushed face. He watches the sway of her bottom, the rocking of her shoulders. Her arms hug her breasts. At this point the workers have finished with the walks and are carefully brushing the snow from the ice on the pond with long-handled garden brooms. They're careful to only stand on the cleared paths, never to mar the pristine snow elsewhere. Already he can see the reflection of the pavilion in the ice's smooth surface. The workers pause to watch her pass over the bridge. Another girl walks the path in front of his room. She is Chinese, not more than 12. She wears a heavy down coat and stocking cap. She carries a tray on which there's a bowl of what looks like rice, a glass of milk and a glass of orange juice. He watches as she crosses the bridge and approaches the pavilion. The woman opens the glass door for her and takes the tray and sets it on the low table. The oriental girl sheds her coat and from a pocket takes something. As he watches, the oriental girl sits cross legged and bends, he guesses she is reading. The woman sits herself and takes the bowl. The sun now shines on her, they are perfect miniatures. From where he stands they look like two dolls. Now and then, the young woman stops eating and says something to the girl. The girl then looks up from the book for a moment, leaning forward. After a time, once the woman is finished with her breakfast, the girl sets the book to one side and the two talk. He sees them laugh hard about something. Once the girl has left and passed back in front of him, carrying the tray with its empty bowl and glasses, the garden sinks into stillness. The three workers have vanished without his noticing. He watches the woman for a bit, sometimes she kneels, sometimes she shifts and sits crosslegged, sometimes she stands and floats about the interior of the pavilion. It's pleasant when she faces him, he wishes that his eyes'd come with a zoom feature. The garden is now fully sunlit. The evergreens glisten with their snow. As he watches a load of snow shifts off the pavilion roof and hits the path. His eyes are heavy. He sinks down onto the cushions. He jerks awake, finding himself slumped awkwardly. He sits straight and is rewarded with the sight of the young woman just vanishing to his left. This time she's only gone a scant couple minutes. He has an excellent daylight view of her breasts crushed by her arms against the cold. Her hair moves in carefully crafted strands about her ears and cheeks, its red-brown rich in the sun. Cold mist rises from her mouth. She steps on the balls of her feet like she's wearing invisible high heels, undoubtedly thanks to the iron cold of the gravel. Again he admires the way her form moves as she crosses the bridge. When she again settles in the pavilion, he sighs. From his briefcase he takes a photo of a girl in a pale prom dress standing in front of the Grecian columns of a country-club. "Shit," he says. Then after a pause, "shit" again. He's snapped to the present by the girl pouring the now steaming water into the china teapot. He has a vague memory of watching her spoon tea into an infuser while his wits were scattered. He watches as her lips move and he's amused to see her mouth "one one thousand, two one thousand, ..." He loses track at around 40. As he watches her he feels a combination of desire and desperate sadness. She removes the infuser, sets it in a bowl. She pours the tea into the two china cups. She stands, then bends, picking up one of the cups and carries it to them and hands it to him. Her nipples are not more than a foot from his face. Her eyes catch his and he can see amusement in them. She bows, then brings his friend his cup. Rather than kneel again, she steps to the far window and looks at the pond. He sips his tea cautiously. He's not that fond of tea, especially without a ton of sugar. This tea has a delicate almost smoky flavor. He sips again. He can tell that it's expensive and fine, but still doesn't like it much. He glances from the girl's narrow waist to the decanter on the table, pale yellow on black. "And two shots of scotch," says Gongren, breaking the silence. The girl turns back to them, drops to her knees, pours the amber liquor into two more china cups and delivers it. All in a series of moves that leave his heart on fire. She again turns her back to them. A chickadee, black and white, flickers through a bush, through her reflection in the window. "I see you've kept up your interest in gardening," Tom says. His old friend laughs, "I have actually. I spend as much time here as I can." Tom nods and grins, "You're lucky." "And you, do you still play in your band?" Tom sighs and sips his whiskey. He can feel it in his stomach and head. "Not so much. Four years out of business school I was an energy trader. I fell asleep at my desk, my head on my keyboard, snoring not so gently, my band'd played till two in a roadhouse. A joker got it on video. Even though I was doing far and away more business than anyone else, that's what I was always known for at that place. I almost lost my job. I gave music up cold turkey. I've only touched a guitar maybe twice in the last 15 years." "That sucks," his friend says, "You were very good." They're quiet again, Tom's eyes slide down the girl's back, admiring the red of sash. Its bow's tied just at the small of her back, one of its ends brushes a curving cheek. "How long's it been since we last saw each other?" his friend asks. "20 years at least." "I'm sorry to hear of your troubles." "They're happy enough with the profits. Perhaps it'll blow over." "And the grand jury next month?" Tom shrugged. "I'll lie. When the shit comes out, they'll have someone to take the blame. The company's ass will be saved." "Will this affect our negotiations?" "Shouldn't think so. This is about building a plastics plant, not fake reconstruction in Iraq." "Would you like her to come to your room tonight?" Tom looks at his friend. His friend goes on, "We have a busy day ahead of us. There is an afternoon of meetings with agreements to be reached. A large dinner with local and provincial party officials and with our developers. There will be entertainment. None of it agreeable. A little relaxation afterwards will get you ready for tomorrow and more of the same." Tom is quiet a moment, wondering what to say, he settles for "No thanks." "Where is the Tom of old? No? Well, we should get to business." "Please," Tom sighs, "I'm happy to discuss it. But Gongren, so you'll know, I won't commit to anything today. I am very very tired." "Well, that's wise, I will make it clear to the others. They are very eager though. I'll also see if we can manage to fit in time for a nap before evening." They discuss business and watch the girl as she moves lazily about, once coming over and refilling their glasses. Often Tom cannot follow the conversation and finds himself trying to fathom what she finds of interest out in the snow. After some time his friend looks at his watch, "Our first meeting is now but half an hour away. We'd best be getting in." ------------------------------------ Later than he likes that night he sags into his room. He is about to just collapse into bed when he has a vague sense of how smoky he is. His hair, his skin, his clothes, all are permeated with cigar and cigarette smoke. He manages to take a shower and then does collapse. The bed's much lower than he's used to, mere inches above the floor. The sheets and covers are rich and warm. His mind, he finds, is still stupidly awhirl with food and wine and agonizing conversations through interpreters and appalling music and phone calls to the office in Houston. He thinks of the girl and how he'd seen her, miniaturized by the distance, the sun pouring over her, sitting in the pavilion with the black and white and dark green garden about her. He's just losing the details of the image when there is the faint sound of a sliding door. He feels a puff of cold cleansing air and when he opens his eyes he sees the young woman leaning down over him. There is light enough from what must be moonlight on the white snow to see her form. The palest of whites in a room of black and gray. She pulls the bed clothes back and kneels over him. He opens his mouth to speak, but she lays a cool finger on his lips. "Don't touch me," she murmurs, "I'm quite cold." He feels her fingers shifting through his pajama bottoms. They are indeed icy on his cock. It starts with gathering excitement and shock. With a chuckle, she uses the silk of the sheets to insulate her fingers and moves him so he is straight up. Pointing to the darkest part of her dark form. Her sex when she lowers it against him is cool and supple and dry. She adjusts his placement slightly, then lowers herself just an inch, her entrance is just slightly reluctant to let him pass. The contrast is nearly too much for him. He closes his eyes. The head of his cock is now so warm and she is so tight and the rest of his length is so dry and cool and exposed. That head, buried such a little way in her heat is their only point of contact. She has moved her hands. He opens his eyes and looks up. In the dimness he can see the outline of her arms, lifted above her head, balancing her as she shifts her hips in a tight circle. She is humming some tune he can't quite make out, humming so quietly that later he isn't sure if he didn't imagine it. Her hips move back and forth in time, careful to maintain their connection. Her breasts sway in a counterbalancing rhythm. She lowers herself down on him, seeming to use the muscles surrounding her passage to slow her fall, like a fireman descending his pole, though it's more as if it's fire itself that's rushing to douse his inferno. He feels her hips push down against his, she feels so amazing. He tries to control himself, he thinks of the snowy garden, the pond with the ice everywhere save where the waterfall cascades into it, of her walking along the path, her breath fogging about her, of her sticking her hands into the icy cascade to fill the jug. The Garden She rocks her hips about, squeezing her bottom. He feels her thighs tense and she lifts herself up, hands still above her head. As she comes down, he cannot help himself. He grips the wooden frame of the bed and raises his hips to meet her, his balls tighten, the pleasure is sharp and consuming. He pushes himself up against her a second time and it's over. She slips off him, bends and kisses his cheek then nestles into his arms. Her skin's still cool, she rests her head on his chest, her breath is hot on his breast. Her hair brushes his lips and nose. She pulls the blankets up and sighs, "It's covers I miss most, sleeping out there." His eyes droop and he is asleep. Cold air wakes him. He sees her pass outside his window. From the lightening sky he can see it's now dawn. He lies looking at the ceiling, sleep has fled leaving exhaustion behind. He feels lost and looks on the coming day without enthusiasm. ------------------------------------ In the afternoon, at the conclusion of the negotiations, he steps out into the garden and crosses by himself to the pavilion. She stands with her slim back to him. She doesn't turn when he slides the glass. Today she has just a black velvet collar around her delicate neck. Her hair is done up elaborately, the better to display that neck. The sun is low. Lower than the house in fact. It shines through the gap, through the iron trellis with the circle in the middle. "Twice a year the sun fits right in the circle," she says, "It's still somewhat south, to the left. It's nicer with the moon. When the moon shines through it, you can just stare away." Then she does turn, "Tea?" "No thanks" "Scotch?" "No, perhaps a glass of water." When he sees her take the blue enamel pot and step towards the sliding glass, he says quickly, "There's no need." She pays no attention and slips out. Her breath rises from her lips. He shivers as he watches her bend and fill the pot. The icy water flows over her hands, up her wrists. "Why don't you keep water in here?" he asks as she pours it into a fine china cup. "For tea it's like so important to start with the coldest water possible," she says as he sips, "I think it tastes better straight as well." It is indeed excellent, it seems to wash the taste of the afternoon from his mouth, it's fresh, icy and clean. "It's the oxygen," she says, "Water's gotta be like oxygenated, then you heat it just as fast as you can to keep as much air as you can." "You could keep a freezer under that table," he points out. She smiles, "I didn't design the place. Why don't you sit." "No thanks, I've been sitting all day." He looks at her. At her cunt, as smooth and hairless as her bottom. He remembers the feel of it. He's the one to blush. She watches him with a faint smile. "You're like friends from college?" she asks He looks away, at their long shadows cast across the snow. "Yep. I walked into my dorm room the first day of my freshman year and there he was on the bottom bunk." "What was he like?" "Well, he loved gardens, he was always off in the school's greenhouses and arboretum. He was very studious too and actually interested, in everything he took, not just botany. He seemed to like every class. He was always reading." "And you?" "Not so much." "I saw you once when I was a kid," she says, "It was at a Christmas party my parents threw. My Mom and Dad were still together. I sat on the top of the stairs and looked down. What I liked was that from where I sat, they looked like they were just the best of friends. Welcoming one and all. I dozed off. I woke up in bed, in the dark, and like all around me was JOY TO THE WORLD . It seemed to fill every nook and cranny, I could breath it, I could like feel it in my chest. I went to my window and looked out. You stood on the driveway. You must've been like so plastered. You had my older brother's guitar. The speaker stood like right next to you. I think the cord running into the garage was all that held your feet to the pavement. You just played. It sounded like nothing on this earth, nothing that I'd ever heard. You played and played. Every Christmas tune I knew and ones I'd never heard. Our neighbors, their house was like a couple hundred yards away, their lights came on and I could see them like come out and listen. I don't know what all you played. When I hear PURPLE HAZE or that version of the NATIONAL ANTHEM on the radio, in my head I hear JOY TO THE WORLD . When I hear the Grateful Dead, I hear you playing DIVERS AND LAZARUS . I had to buy like a hundred Christmas CDs before I found that one! It was like way obscure." "That was fifteen years ago." "I was sorry to hear you say yesterday you'd given it up." "That was about the last time. I'd dissolved the band, wasn't going to ever play again. Then I saw that guitar in your family room. I was plastered." "I was quite in love with you at that moment. It was like bitter-sweet. I thought I'd never again see anyone as happy as you that instant, or as sad." She smiled, "The next year as my parents fought and my mom drank I kept remembering you and imagining you'd appear and'd so like carry me away." The silence of the garden steals in through the glass. After a moment, she says, "My Dad asked you to find me?" "We needed someone to come and finalize the agreement. Your Dad knew we were college friends. He said that Gongren's daughter'd been your college roommate and that you were visiting here. He asked me to check on you." She was quiet, looking at him without expression. "Well," he admitted, "He said that you were living here as 'that old goat's concubine'." "Did you know who I was yesterday?" "Yes." She's quiet again. "Your dad gave me a picture of you at a party at his country club." There's a pause, then he asked, "Does it matter to you? That I knew?" "No, do your wife and kids in Houston like bother you?" He sighs and asks, "Are you alright? If there's a problem I can help. I have leverage." When she's quiet he says, "Are you free to leave?" She looked at him and says, "Ask Gongrin." There's a silence. Then she says, "So far I've liked every season. You should've seen it last spring, when I arrived. Pots of blooming flowers lined the walks, water lilies floated on water so clear it looked like the yellow and orange fish hovered in dark air right with the white clouds and tree branches. I would lie in the water, my hair spread on the mossy edge. The gardeners'd like toss rose and these big blossoms, peonies maybe, onto the surface every morning, they'd float like they were suspended in space and their scent was so near my nose." She looks at him with a slight smile, "We could like fuck on the cushions if you want." He looks at her and flushes again. "No, no thanks." She looks back out across the black and white expanse, the shadows of the trees are long and sharp. "Bai Gongren would sit on this fragile black painted chair on the grass beside me, his legs crossed, this stupid hat on his head against the sun, an open book in his lap. I'd like to say he was engrossed in me, but he'd always seem more interested in the fucking book. Often men, like old Chinese guys, would come with like folding chairs, and set them up and they'd discuss things. I'm sure it's a good thing I don't know Chinese." "When I first woke, that's the way I was. Water lapped about my knees, about my neck, and blossoms brushed my nipples." "When I first got to China, last spring, it was like so fucking hot. The air sucked. You could only walk maybe 20 feet and then you'd have to stop and choke for air. My eyes stung and my lungs burned. I kept coughing and showing the piece of paper with the address of his compound, this was in Shenyang. "There were these four guys, soldiers at the gate. With guns. I said that I wanted to see Provincial Party Secretary Bai Gongren. That I was his daughter Bai Ning's friend from America. They were like so not amused. They yelled at me in Chinese. "They put me in a small room and locked the door. I'm sure I looked pretty disgusting. I'd taken the train from Beijing. I hadn't slept or washed since leaving San Francisco two days before. My eyes were shot, my hair felt greasy. I must've stunk. Just breathing stung. "After I don't know how long the soldiers came back with this woman. She spoke some English and I explained again. There was more shouting. She searched me very thoroughly while they watched, she wore plastic gloves. She dipped her fingers in Vaseline which so didn't help. They took me to another room and x-rayed me. "Then two older guys in suits appeared. The shouting got even louder. What they said to the soldiers I don't know. I wrote a note to Gongren and they took me to a room and gave me something to drink. I guess he was like someplace else, maybe Beijing. "Then they took me to a larger room where there were a number of women. They laughed at the sight of me and talked a mile a minute among themselves. One of them said, "Clothes please" and I stripped again while they tittered. I was bathed and shampooed and then laid on a table and treated with wax. It hurt like hell and I tried to shout the house down. Now I'm like waxed every morning, but it's just a nuisance. That first time! "I was given a robe and led into a courtyard and into a white limousine. I tried to stay awake, but couldn't. When I woke I was lying in the pool, there was the scent of flowers all around." Movement catches their eye. Gongren and three others, an under secretary from Beijing, the president of the plastics firm Tom's company is to partner with, and the chairman of a construction company, emerge from the house and make their way to the pavilion. While tea is made, the men make small talk. All but one speak some English and he's probably the happiest, there's nothing to distract him from admiring the girl. Gongren sips then says with a small smile, "Perhaps you would care to see slides from my tour of American gardens last spring? None of you have seen them and I think a glimpse of spring would be a tonic against this winter?" The men nod, it's not really a question. The girl goes to the section of floor opposite them. She bends, shifts a cushion and then tilts up what proves to be a large flat screen. "I visited seven gardens, the Sun Yat Sen Chinese Garden, Vancouver, the Montreal Botanical Garden, the Seattle Chinese Garden, Portland Classical Chinese Garden, the Missouri Botanical Garden, the New York Chinese Scholar's Garden, Staten Island, and the private garden of a friend in Alexandria, Ohio. "They were all what are called Scholar's gardens. "To be considered authentic, a Scholar's garden must be built and planned around seventeen essential elements, it must be: 1) near or at the home; 2) small; 3) walled; 4) have small individual sections; 5) be asymmetrical; 6) have various types of spatial connections; 7) contain interesting architecture; have: 8) rocks; 9) water; 10) trees; 11) plants; 12) sculpture; 13) borrowed scenery; 14) chimes; 15) incense burners; 16) inscriptions; and 17) have used feng shui in choosing the site." "Here we see the 'Billowing Pine Court', the main entrance to the New York garden." Tom glances from the young woman kneeling by the tea pot to the screen. It shows a low white understatedly oriental building, a gravel courtyard, artfully arranged rocks, and a young woman. At first he doesn't recognize her. She wears white jeans, a white belt, sandals, a red v-necked top whose bottom idly touches her navel, an open leather jacket, her long hair flows about her shoulders and across her chest, one strand touches the bare skin of her neck where it drops to her cleavage. Her thin metal glasses make her look very young. He glances at the other men, he can't tell if they've recognized her. Probably not. If he hadn't seen the picture of her in civilian clothes, he likely wouldn't've connected the two creatures either. He pays no attention to his host's discussions of the pictures. She isn't in all of them. There she is kneeling, a hand under a golden rose. There she is leaning against an old tree, looking back calmly at the camera. There she is on an arching bridge, there standing encircled in a round gateway ( "A traditional circular entrance, or moon gate, creates the sense of entering a special place. The circle is a symbol of perfection, remember the saying, "Flowers are beautiful when the moon is full"). He looks at her calm expression and cannot guess what she's thinking. He wonders what the passers-by think. Probably that she's Gongren's daughter, that her mother was the one with the dominant genes. "Now," Gongren says, "We come to what I believe is perhaps the only true scholar's garden in the United States. The others we visited are public gardens. Faithful in form, not in spirit. This garden possesses I believe not one of the 17 tedious elements I've been talking about. "The man who owns this garden was a State Department official. He testified before Congress as his masters wished. Lies were exposed in his testimony and in the time honored fashion of power everywhere, he was hung out to dry. At 60 he returned to his family's small gentleman's farm in Ohio and has remained there since. He has turned it into a thing of beauty, though as you see, not on the Chinese model. There's too much grass, a boring plant, too few human artifacts, it looks too natural, too comfortable. Yet at its heart it is sad and contemplative, a place for an important man to find solace after his disgrace." It is indeed a beautiful place, an old frame farmhouse, white sided, a large gray/red barn along a dirt country road, huge trees, maples and oaks, a farm pond surrounded with willows with a raft tethered in the middle. It calls up the image of naked boys on a hot summer's day, the boys thankfully somewhere else. There's a kitchen garden with brightly blooming flowers and neat rows of peas and lettuces and tomatoes and peppers, with a gravel path leading through an ivied trellis down along a fenced field to the pond. On a patch of sweet grass and clover is a white wooden outdoor table surrounded by white painted wooden chairs, set with brunch, orange juice, waffles, bacon and coffee. There's a slide showing the girl standing by the table. She's looking at Gongren. Their host, a slight man with a gray white beard, wearing jeans and a plaid shirt, is pouring orange juice. Her eyes are wide and shocked, her lips are open, curiously eager, there's almost a smile about them. One of her hands touches the collar of her yellow sweater. In the next slide she's naked, standing by the table, one hand on the back of a chair, sipping a glass of orange juice, looking at Gongren with a smile. There's a gasp from the men about him as they connect the girls. There are slides of her bright in the sun, by beds of daffodils, by a trellis of wisteria so violet you could almost smell its scent, of her walking down a path in the shade of a large blue and white umbrella, of her swimming out to the raft in the pond, then she's back in blue jeans, sweater and leather jacket, standing in a misty rain, grinning at the camera, her hand thrust in the gaping jaws of a gleaming black stone dragon, its eyes bulging with hunger. The "Dr Sun Yat-Sen Classical Chinese Garden", says Gongren, then he nods to the girl. The girl steps to where the man on the far right sits, the under secretary from Beijing, she falls to her knees and bends toward his lap. The man laughs excitedly. Gongren goes on, "In this confined courtyard you see the three friends of winter: pine, bamboo and winter-flowering plum, they symbolize the human virtues of strength and eternity, resiliency amid diversity, and triumphal rebirth." Later, outside, before crossing the arching footbridge, Tom lays his hand on his friend's shoulder. As the others move on, he asks in a low voice, "She's of course free to go? Her father'd like her home." His friend looks at him and then turns and looks at the pond, the golden fish are clear where the waterfall keeps the surface ice free, elsewhere they're vague illusive blurs. Mist rises from his mouth as he laughs then says, "Look at the Koi in my pond. If one of them asked to go free, I'd surely agree. It's cold and the fucking banquet is soon, let's get in." ------------------------------------ He steps out into the garden. Snow falls again and there's a hint of wind and sleet in the air. His head feels dense and the noise of the banquet still rings in his head. It's at least one in the morning. Using light from the house windows and light reflected off the clouds from some nearby town he moves along the path, over the bridge and onto the island. He stands for a moment before the pavilion. Inside lies gloom and stillness. A shiver causes him to fumble for the slider and step in. Movement barely resolves her as she turns. She stands by a window. He steps to her and touches a shoulder. He bends and kisses her. His hands touch her bottom. He pulls her hard against his chest. She steps back, "You stink of smoke, wine and worse and your clothes, shit," she runs a finger from his neck down the line of his tie to his belt, "are damp and clammy." He kisses her again and he feels her fingers at his belt buckle. "Let's at least do something about your fucking clothes." As he struggles out of them, his dark adjusted eyes can now see her, black and white and dim. The line of the collar is pure black about her neck. His cock brushes her side and then her hand touches it and he pulls her to him again. His cock feels so excited, crushed between them. She pulls him to the cushions along one window and starts to push him down. He pulls her with him and she lands on his lap. He feels and sees her shift and feels her hands maneuvering his cock between her legs. Her face is hidden by her dark hair. He grips her under her shoulders and pulls her up and rolls her onto her back. She chuckles in the back of her throat as he shifts his bulk over her and between her thighs. Her knees bump his side, he feels her calves against his back. Her fingers touch his cock and as he presses down, she slips it home. He drives into her hard, then pulls partly back, and, ignoring the maddened eagerness that fluoresces along its length, he bends and kisses her, his mouth wide and his tongue stretching. He feels her hands slide up his back and shoulders and into his hair. When he lifts his head for breath, she whispers, her fingers now on his ears and cheeks, "The cold and wet are gone. The wine and bits of dinner and smoke are so still there." Supporting himself on one arm, he caresses a breast with his free hand then lets it slide up the flat bone to her neck. He feels along the black velvet collar, feeling her hot smooth throat. He begins sliding in and out. She shifts under him with another throaty chuckle. For a moment she just runs her hands about his back and ass. Then with a sudden gasped "Oh" begins bounce vigorously beneath him. He bites his lip to keep himself in control. He thinks of the ice outside the window, concentrates on the faint hiss of sleet on glass, the murmur of the heat under the floor. She moans again. In the dark he can just see her mouth gaping beneath his eyes as she works for more air. She lifts her head and looks down into the black where their loins meet. He imagines what it looks like to her, what her sensations must be like with him bulking dark above her, his motion pushing against her, shifting her thighs forward and to the side. Her arms reach back over her head and clutch at the end of the cushion, then find a grip on the low sill. She uses its purchase to push down against his thrusts. She looks like she's doing curious rowing exercises beneath him. Her sweat slick bottom hisses and slips and slaps on the silk covering. The Garden The flame in his cock, in his balls, down his thighs rises to consume him. He slams down hard against her. The first instant of pleasure is a hit, pure and overwhelming, to be followed immediately by mechanical aftershocks that leave him hot, wet and abandoned, longing for the moments that have just fled. She lifts her thighs and locks her heels above his ass and pulls hard up against him. Her dim face gritting beneath him looks strange, her cool beauty gone. She grinds her hips hard up against him. He feels sweaty and trapped. He wants her to stop. Then she cries out, a strange, angry gasp. She clutches him with her arms and presses his chest down against hers, her breasts are crushed against him. Her fingers dig into his shoulders then she sighs and relaxes. He feels suddenly lost and abandoned, betrayed. After a moment she slides from under him and stands. "I'm going to make coffee. You're so not gonna sleep tonight." He watches groggily as she stoops in the dimness and picks up the pewter jug. "Hey, you're not going out there." "I need water." He groans and sits up. She's at the slider. "Shit," he says, "I need to..." then he pauses. She laughs. "You'll wish you'd thought of that before. Your choices are like the gym where I work out and am taken care of first thing in the morning or this pot." From some other hidden compartment in the floor she produces a two handled white porcelain jug. "Remember to aim carefully, the gardeners aren't happy about yellow snow. And don't drop it. I think it's like an antique." So he stands outside, thankful for his socks, while sleet pelts him. He fills one pot while she fills the other. Inside, she slides the door and they embrace, slick and shivering. She prepares the coffee, patiently removing his hands from various bits of her body. While the blue flame glows beneath the coffee pot to boil the water, he pushes her to her knees and feels between her legs to her smooth lips, he parts them and slips his cock in. He feels up around her bottom, feels the bones of her hips then the narrowness of her waist. He runs his and along the bones of her spine, bends and kisses her neck, feeling the velvet of her collar, smelling the shampooed fragrance of her hair. She shifts under him to get her legs and arms in a sturdier position then pushes back against him. She looks back at him and in the light of the blue flame her face has a lovely shine and her eyes glitter. When the water boils, she says, "Be still." She lifts herself, he holds her waist to free her hands, and she reaches over, does something to turn off the burner, the ghostly blue vanishes, then she flips the little pot, letting boiling water filter through the grounds. Her movements nearly drive him to the brink. He pulls out, ignoring the complaining note she makes in her throat. He stands and pulls her to her feet. He puts her back against the window, bends his knees and re-enters, lifting her so that her bottom and back are pressed to the glass, her legs lift and lock behind his ass. She lifts a hand and brushes her hair from her face then clutches his back. There's a rubbing sound as her bottom and shoulders slide against the glass. Behind her he can see the so dim garden, vaguely lit by the low clouds. She says, "The maids won't be happy to find the glass all smudged. What are you doing?" He's lowered his knees so she's slid down against the glass, then slid her to the left then up and down then he steps away from the window, almost teetering with the sudden lack of support, he steps to the left then leans her back against the glass. "Fuck. You're writing something on the glass. What is it?" He doesn't answer and soon their antics are too much for her, she cries out, "Oh shit. Shit shit shit." Her fingers dig into the muscles of his back. He comes then, his head bangs on the glass and she tenses and bites his neck. After disentangling, she pours the coffee and they sip the hot liquid, extra black in the darkness, thigh to thigh, sitting on the cushion, silent. "You're not gonna tell me what you wrote?" When he's silent they make love again, slow and restrained. When done, it seemed to last hours, they lie side by side and she talks, her voice murmuring in his ear. ------------------------------------ The first garden I saw, it was like two in the morning, I was so drunk. I'd been at this frat party. I ached like down in my thighs and in my ass. I'd been fucking a couple guys, which wasn't unusual. What was unusual was leaving and going back to my dorm. Bai Ning and her boyfriend were hunched over her desk. She looked over at me with no fondness. We hadn't hit it off, not like you and Gongren by any means. I went over to them. She goes: "You aren't going to be sick." I go: "Hey, what're you looking at?" It was the most awesome scene on her computer. It was all like green with flowers everywhere and a still pool and these fish and this perfect ivory oriental girl with black hair stretched in the water, ankles crossed, rose petals floating about her, touching her nipples and caught in the wiry black hair between her legs. On the edge of the pool, on a lawn chair, his feet in the water, resting against her thigh, sat this gray haired guy. He was like reading this thick book. "That's my dad's garden," said Bai Ning. "Joe's hacked into our country home's security system." "Not much of a hack," the guy goes, he was always like awkward with me, that's one of the many reasons she couldn't stand me. "Her laptop's trusted on their home network and she has a login. Getting into the security system from there wasn't that big a deal." "You are going to be sick! Get the fuck out of here. Get into the hall at least. Shit." It dawned on me that she was right. I managed to get to the restroom down the hall. When I got back, the lights were out and Ning and her boyfriend were fucking quietly in her bed. The garden was gone. I lay in bed, not feeling too well. I figured if I lay absolutely still on my back I maybe wouldn't be sick again. I thought about drinking and what a shitty thing it was. I thought about my mom in the institution. I thought about you too. I thought about watching you play that night. How it'd sounded and how it'd felt. Then I thought about seeing you again. A few years before I'd like seen you on TV. You remember, before some House Committee. I never watched the news, you know, but I made a point of like watching that. The energy company you were an executive of had gone belly up and you were testifying about all their financial structures. They kept showing this 30ish woman sitting in the row just behind you. They kept saying how she was your wife, in tones that made it clear they liked to see the woman stand behind her man. It didn't take much to see you were guilty as hell. Hush. I'm talking. I remembered you perfectly and it made me feel like totally sad. I met Gongren at Homecoming. He likes college football. He and Ning's mother. I don't know if she's really like his wife, she's still around and shit but it's the kid he had with his current favorite I tutor in English. I don't remember much about meeting them. They were checking out our room, then she and her mom were gonna go shopping. My head felt like shit and I felt nauseous and I was trying to write some shit about PILGRIM'S PROGRESS , why do they teach that crap? The paper was like a week late and I felt like I oughta at least turn in something. Though my real attitude was that my Dad had gotten me into that school and he could probably keep me there too. I figure he'd managed to get Ning as my roommate. Hoping I'd make friends. It gave me some pleasure that that plan of his wasn't working out. Anyway, I didn't say much, just sat on my bed, feeling like shit. I kept glancing at Gongren. Nervous about him. And curious. It was like real awkward. Gongren and Ning's mother spoke in English, to like include me I guess. Ning spoke in Chinese. They talked about their plans and I heard Gongren say he was going to visit the arboretum and greenhouses. Ning said, "Oh Dad," in English because I guess the phrase is more effective that way. I go, "An arboretum's like a garden?" Ning rolled her eyes and he said, "Yes, that's what it is" "What's it like? Maybe I should check it out sometime." "It's got plants. They're the green things you see around sometimes when you're outside." He went: "I'm going to the arb now. You'd be welcome to accompany me." I saw Ning scowl so I go: "OK, sure." We just walked to the arb. It was just maybe 15 minutes. Somehow he'd managed to visit completely like a human being with no like guards or anything. Even my Dad the couple times he visited came in like this package with several guys and a limo. Gongren talked like real formally, saying so adult things, like "how is school," "I met your Dad once at a function in Houston," blah blah. I was so regretting coming. Even the fucking Pilgrim's Progress was looking good. At least I'd be lying on my bed to not work on it, not walking in the bright fucking fall sun with my stomach on edge and my head banging. When we got to the arb, why he was so like different. He just forgot about me. He was here there and everywhere, he poked at tree bark, put his fingers in the dirt under bushes and like tasted it, he just ran about. He was so fucking happy. I felt happy too. I forgot about him and threw stones into the little river, then I sat on the hill and let the sun shine on my face. The next time I heard from him was like seven months later. In May. School was about over and I was flunking. My Dad'd assured me however that they'd let me come back come fall. I'd like mostly moved in with this guy. We were drunk and stoned most of the time. I was like on my back with his friend under me with his cock up my ass. My boyfriend was on top of me. I'd been sandwiched like that for what seemed like hours and I was feeling down and drained. I wanted a drink and the kind of joint that doesn't get stuffed up your ass. My cell went off. "Don't answer it" goes my boyfriend, so I did and there was Gongren. I recognized his voice right off. He said he was in the U.S. for work. That's what he said. Like being a Chinese Communist Party official was like a day job and that he was gonna take a week and tour some gardens and would I like to join him. It was so like off the wall. I figured I knew what he wanted and though sex was like right down at the bottom of my list just then I felt like a bit of a thrill, he's like a powerful guy which is cool and I thought've what Bai Ning's face would look like when she heard and that gave me a bigger thrill, but still I was gonna say sorry no way when I heard my voice go "Sure." He said he'd arrange flights to get me to New York and hung up. I said "Fuck" and my boyfriend goes, "Dude, that's like what we're doing" and his friend giggled and I just relaxed and thought of sitting on the hill with the sun in my face. ------------------------------------ Her hand has strayed to his limp cock and now rests warm upon him, her fingers idle with his balls. She feels him stir. She sighs comfortably, throws her thigh across him and slips him home. She settles her head on his shoulder, her hair floats across his face. ------------------------------------ Mmm, that's better. I can't say that trip was like a success. It was so not what I'd imagined. I'd thought it'd be just him and me but shit there must've been like twenty guys with us, which was so not good. Those slides and videos are like a joke. There was this whole fucking entourage. The parks were like boring. My feet hurt. There wasn't a minute when I didn't think of just fucking it and getting on a plane. But then there was Gongren. At the parks he'd talk away with guys about light and plant diseases and soil and proportion and feng shui and how to make rocks look like mountains and the illusion of distance and all kinds of shit and whenever he could he talked to 'em in Chinese. I'd watch him and though I didn't know shit about what he was saying, I felt kinda at ease, like I was leaching some of his enthusiasm. And I was so wrong about the other shit. We had dinner, like in these expensive restaurants and we'd eat and he'd like talk to this chief of staff guy or talk in Chinese on the phone or read a book even. Occasionally he'd look at me and when our eyes met, he'd like keep looking long as he liked which felt good and then he'd just go back to whatever. It was like that in the gardens too. He'd suddenly like see me and sit me on a bench or stand me in front of some flowering bush and then go back to talking gardening with whomever. Mostly he let me just wander about and just looked at me from time to time. I realized I was like his own personal moving garden ornament, like a gnome, though he wouldn't be caught dead with such an ugly thing as a garden gnome. First it pissed me off. Then it made me feel like hot and I started to try to pick places he might like to see me. Like where the sun or shade or a wall or something made it interesting. And it wasn't like he was fucking me. That'd been like half the attraction, you know? He's a powerful guy. I bet he becomes Party Secretary when he gets to be 85 which would be so cool. I had these little day dreams of my dad like calling and asking me for some weird business favor and me saying no way, fuck off. I'm not yours any more. Then we got to that Ohio place. It was maybe the fifth or sixth day. We were flying to Vancouver next. He goes, "Will you undress?" and I was fucking floored. I teetered. I coulda said no way. I was sober and I felt kinda good and off they came, my clothes. It was like it was no big deal. I was just ornamental. They went back to talking and I ate the waffles and wandered about the garden. His friend got me an umbrella, like you saw, because the sun was hot and my skin is so white and I hadn't done any tanning. It was an old big one with a wooden handle and I swam out to the raft and we had lunch in the shade and they talked about daffodils and bulbs and shrubs and China's interests in Darfur and his friend fucked me while Gongren swam in the pond. We split up in Seattle. He to get back on the Chinese plane that'd ferried us around the country and go on back across the Pacific. Me to head home to Houston. I sat in a bar in the airport, eating Nachos and drinking a coke and there you were on the news. You were answering questions before some committee. They were asking you about my Dad's company and what you all had been doing with the reconstruction money. They were pretty angry but you were real calm and cool and there was your wife sitting behind you. I just felt like I was trapped. I flew to San Francisco and haunted the Chinese Consulate for like a week before getting a visa and then flew to Beijing. I didn't try to let Gongren know I was coming. I wanted to be able to like run for it. Even when I stood in that fucking heat, gritty with the sand in the air, hardly able to breath, looking at those soldiers at his front door, I thought I could just turn back. ------------------------------------ Enough light has gathered outside to see a gray dripping world. The snow is sodden, beyond any gardener's ability to neaten. Water drips slowly off the bent branches, off the wood of the bridge's railing. She hums something deep in her throat, he can't quite tell what it is. Her muscles surrounding his cock tighten in ways he's only felt when lying with expensive girls. He realizes she's humming a Christmas song, one his band'd worked up for playing in bars around Christmas. In his mind he hears: "As it fell out upon one day, rich Divers sickened and died There came two serpents of hell, his soul therein to guide 'Rise up, rise up, brother Divers, and come along with me For there's a place prepared in Hell, from which thou can not flee' "Then Divers looked up to heaven and saw the despised beggar blessed 'Give me one drop of water,' he cried, 'To quench my flaming thirst Had I as many years to live, as there are blades of grass Then I'd find some peace secure, and the devil would lose this repast.'" "I'm leaving at noon, you'll come with me?" he asks. "What did Gongren say?" "That it was up to you." "That's not quite right," she says, "I heard him. What he said was, 'Look at the Koi in my pond. If one of them like asked to be free, wouldn't I agree?' I mean, how likely is that? They're like fish and they're under the ice even." "Your father..." "Hush," she murmurs, she brushes her lips across his and kisses him calmly and leisurely. Her hair falls across his face. "Let's fuck, then I have to go and get cleaned up and give my first English lesson." She feels how limp he is within her. She chuckles again, slides off him and slips down and takes him in her mouth. He remembers the feel of her mouth the afternoon before and how excited he'd been as Gongren'd finished the slides of the Seattle gardens. Now there is nothing down there. "Oh well," she says and stands and stretches, just as he'd seen her the first morning. She slides the door open and he watches her bottom and back as she crosses the bridge, her arms first spread for balance on the slippery wood, then close about her from the cold. She follows the path and vanishes through a door into the building. Later he stands looking out a courtyard window. Gongren next to him, saying goodbye before seeing him to his limousine. He looks across the garden. In the misty drizzle, the moss covered limestone boulders look even more like distant mountains. He looks at the pavilion. In the leaden overcast light, its glass shows reflections of the pond, the bridge, the imaginary mountains. Her form is mixed in, almost like a cloud's. He thinks "shit" and it is all he can do not to weep. ------------------------------------ Shoppers outside a Wal-Mart's one December afternoon some years later pass a gray haired man sitting on a folding chair. He's a little shabby, with a guitar in his lap, a small amplifier at his side, his permit from the county carefully displayed. He plays, apparently lost to the noise and bustle of the parking lot. He's good, but perhaps not that good. The charitable attribute his errors and awkwardness to ambition beyond ability and perhaps age, the uncharitable to drink and drugs. Some hear a line of clarity, beauty and loss in the old tunes. Some lighten their pockets of some change before hurrying on through the automatic doors to look for some frantic last minute presents. The Garden I am thirty-six years old. I was dressed in my hunter green two-piece suit, with my skirt just above the knee and my newest, best green shoes with tiny gold buckles at the ankle. I made sure my hair and makeup were perfect in the car before getting out. Inside the 70-story glass building, I signed in at the front desk, and security gave me a new name badge in a plastic glove to pin to my jacket, even though they all knew me there by then. I breathed, pretended to look confident and together, and moved to the elevators. Inside, I was shaking. I emerged from the golden double doors with my shoulders straight, my chin up, with confident strides. I knew the room where we were meeting. I'd done my homework. I knew what I was there to do, and I knew that my numbers were correct and would benefit everyone involved. But still, my heart was fluttering. If this went well, it would mean a great deal for me and my boss, and my company for that matter. If this took a turn for the unexpected, it could hurt me. I needed this to work. I needed the win. When I entered the meeting room, I was greeted by two men in gray suits. They smiled to me; I knew them both well, I'd been working closely with them on this deal since the beginning. Bradley and Ramsey. Ramsey was handsome and refined, and spoke with a very East-coastern exactness. Bradley, on the other hand, was not an immediately handsome man. His waistline pudge and plump face might turn many women off, but he was an Idaho farm boy with smiling gray eyes and a preciously cute drawl which always made me fall in love with him a little. Both men wore gleaming gold bands on their left ring fingers, and I often quietly wondered about their wives, how pretty and smart they must be, though I'd never been brave enough to ask about them. "Hello Becca," Ramsey said as he saw me enter, standing near the door. I took his outstretched hand and squeezed with confident firmness, smiling to him. He always waited for me to relax first before letting go. I liked that. "Hi guys." I was happy to see them both in the same room again. Bradley took my hand after I released Ramsey's. He grinned as his hand closed around mine. His grip was tighter than Ramsey's, and his was more of an actual shake. I think his cock is bigger. "Becca, how was the drive?" Bradley asked, his casual tone easing my nerves. He always had a way of diffusing my stress with just a few smooth words, almost as if he could massage the tension right out of my body with nothing but his voice. "Nice and smooth," I replied, tucking my hair behind my ear. Nervous habit. "Hoping the rain will hold off until I'm out of the city. Rush hour I can handle, rush hour in the rain always makes me crazy." Ramsey chuckled, gesturing to my seat as he moved around to take his own. "Have you taken my advice yet?" he asked. "Not yet, no," I admitted bashfully, as I pulled my chair out and sank into the cushioned leather. "I keep forgetting to look when I'm online. I promise I will one of these days." Ramsey has told me many times about books on MP3 that you can download from Barnes & Noble, and how well they pass time when stuck in Atlanta traffic. I placed my bag on the table in front of me and pulled out my portfolio, selecting a few papers to have ready to retrieve. As soon as she arrived. My tone was semi-conspiratorial. I've been working with both of them for months now, I felt like I knew them pretty well. But I had yet to meet their boss. "What's her mood like?" I wanted to know. Bradley's eyes flashed as he smiled, understanding my question. "I think it'll be a good day." Ramsey though had something on his mind. "She talks like she knows you, or at least, knew you a while ago. Have you worked with her before?" I was puzzled. "Really?" I thought where I could have met her. I knew she was a few years older than me, even though her position with the company put her in a pay-grade well above my own. The way she was described here at the home office, I always imagined her surrounded by minions who clung to her every word and gesture, maybe with glittering flashbulbs surrounding her whenever she emerged from the back of some stretch Lexus for an evening out. Suffice it to say we moved in very different circles. Today she held my fate, and the fate of this multimillion-dollar contract, in her powerful hands, and although I've heard the guys mention her name many times, this was going to be my first audience with her. If I did not impress, the consequences would be grave for me. I had to be perfect, and my numbers had to be as well. "She thinks so. She's been acting kind of strange this morning in fact." "Strange how?" I was now acutely curious. Bradley looked at him with an amused smile, as though surprised Ramsey had brought it up. Ramsey went on, his voice low. "I don't know, she's been kind of buzzing about it." I was about to press him with another question when we heard the approach of clicking heels in the hallway. Then the door opened, and our heads turned. Senior Vice President of Operations Melina McKnight stepped into the room. I saw her, and our eyes locked. My God, I did know her, and my recollection was tinged with panic. I couldn't for the life of me remember where I knew her from. And her name, it had never occured to me that her name was one I'd seen before. I was sure I hadn't. I'm no Latitia Baldridge but I'm decent at remembering people's names. But the panic that filled me was not limited to my failed recall. An intense arousal surged in me, as our eyes fixed in each other's. Thank god I had sat down, or I very likely would have swooned. I felt my heart suddenly blaze and my cheeks flushed in confusion, and God help me, I didn't have a clue as to what this woman was doing to me, nor why. I forced myself to fight through my initial momentary discomposure and I rose to my feet, offering my hand to shake. The Garden The magnolia girl rose on unsteady legs. She too had cum, from the egg inside her, controlled by Brenda's device. She returned to her pillow and again knelt. One by one the girls came to me. Brenda called them by strange, ancient sounding words. "Seadhisthana." The orange lily. "Manipura." The daffodil. "Veshuddha." The forget-me-not. Each one came, kissed me, then delved between my legs to bring me pleasure. Each orgasm bringing me to the brink of sanity, heavenly euphoria flooding through me like none I'd ever known. I felt like I was becoming a slut, my body an instrument of pleasure for them, and the more I came, the more I wanted. Every girl's technique was different, and with each one, Brenda would softly stroke my hair and recite a few lines of poetry, and I found myself fixated, meditating, on the thoughts and feelings delivered in them as I was brought to each distinctive peak of blissful release. But none was so incredible as hers. "Anahata." The rose. Her eyes. She rose eagerly to join me when she was finally called. Her robe poured from her tan, womanly body and silently puddled around her feet. It felt like I'd been waiting all day at an airport gate for my lover to finally come bursting through the opening and into my arms. When she kissed me, all I felt was fire. Her lips claimed mine in impassioned moans, and I kissed her desperately back. The room disappeared, Brenda's beautiful lyrics and all the other moans and sighs faded. Only her. Her kisses. Her body. Her hands. Her hair. Her smell. Each kiss turned this way and that, our moans growing deeper. We locked eyes after our kiss broke, and I craved her with every fiber of me. She moved her perfect naked body between my outstretched legs and knelt. Her hands pressed over my quivering thighs and her tongue split me. I cried out. After all the pleasure I'd been lavished with, none of it compared to this. Knowing she had watched me come helplessly four times, and that now she was between my legs, was an exquisite joy. I felt a rising climax coming so fast now that I didn't want it to reach me, and I struggled to push it back down, to keep it from overtaking me. I wasn't ready for this to be over. I wanted to stay here with her all night long, her lover, her slut. Her orgasm would not and could not be refused. As soon as I felt the word 'slut' in my mind, I felt the dual cries of "no!" and "yes!" together, sounding a desperate harmony in unison in me, their irreconcilable struggle, explode like fireworks throughout my body. I screamed, and I heard her scream as Brenda's egg inside her was dialed to its most unrelenting, unyielding number. My back lifted high off the pedestal, my breasts thrust up, waves of savage ecstasy raking through me ferociously— I pulled a breath deep into my lungs and held it there. My mind was careening out of my body, my ears suddenly ringing in thunderous silence, like I was suddenly very small in a vast expanse of space. Rapture. I felt her arms around me—no, I felt her a part of me, inside me. Into me. My clit tingled. Pulsing. Stars twinkling in my vision. Only then did I feel her fingers curled inside me, auburn hair draped over my legs like velvet, her cheek pressed against my inner thigh. My breath returned in racking sobs, and I felt myself plunge back into the world again with her. I ached to hold her. To embrace her, to love her. I heard the cries of orgasming girls around me. I felt lathered in my own cum, and her warm saliva. I felt wetness streaking the sides of my face, and my vision was blurry with fresh tears. I didn't realize I'd been weeping, and I didn't understand why, or what had just happened to me, but it was so wonderful I didn't care. I lifted my eyes up to Brenda. She was staring down at me in awe. Finally my redhaired lover had to return to her pillow. Two more girls brought me to shattering orgasms, my eyes again locked with my lover's as long as I could hold them. Fingers probed me. Tongues fluttered and flicked. Lips pressed and caressed. The last girl to be with me had a pink dahlia. All of the girls climaxed when I did, brought to writhing, heavenly cacophanies of ecstasy on their knees by Brenda's dials. When the last of the seven had returned to her pillow, Brenda had them remove their eggs, and the little spongey tubes were collected and taken out of the room by a new girl, younger than the others, who appeared from the bath room. Probably one of the ones who bathed me, I guessed. The fragrance of our lusty sex was starting to overpower the sweet perfumes of Brenda and the seven girls. Brenda recited one last poem for us. "This is my fair girl-garden: sweet they grow, Rose, violet, asphodel and lily's snow, And which the sweetest is, I do not know, For rosy arms and starry eyes are there, Honey-sweet voices and cheeks passing fair. And these shall men, I ween, remember long; For these shall bloom for ever in my song." The new girl returned, and she presented Brenda with a little glass bottle with a crystal stopper. Brenda took it and kissed her forehead, and then nodded for her to leave. The young one left again. Brenda walked around me, smiling down at me, unstopping the bottle. She held it over my sex-smitten mound, upright. I waited, my legs trembling. "You've all performed beautifully tonight," she told them. "I think the patroness would be honored by each and every one of you. You are all ready to ascend one step." I watched as the girls take their vases and pass them to their right around the room, except for the one with the magnolia. She set her vase aside. For me. Brenda smiled to the last girl, who had passed her pink dahlia to the girl next to her, the only one left without a flower. "Sahasrara, you are now ready to meet the patroness." She beamed proudly at her graduate pupil. "You may come and anoint our new Muladhara." Rising, the girl came to me and took the bottle from Brenda's hand, and began dribbling its liquid over my pussy, my clit, up my belly, over my breasts and nipples, and over my throat. Then she carefully dabbed some to my forehead, and ran a line of it up over my crown, and rubbed some into the top of my head. It had a powerful, pungent scent blended with sweet vanilla. I realized suddenly what it was. Brenda knelt between my legs and pressed her lips into me, her tongue exploring me. She gave a soft moan, tasting not only my honey but the combined flavors of all seven girls. She closed her eyes and tongued me slowly and lovingly, not to bring me to orgasm—I don't think my body could have handled another—but to explore me, to learn me, to let her tongue examine all of my womanhood. Her touch was very different from the girls. I'd never had someone that much older than me so intimately touching and kissing me before, not even in my wildest fantasies. I sighed and relaxed, trusting, giving in to her explorations, and letting the pleasure of it soothe me. I felt all the eyes around me staring even more acutely now as this beautiful woman learned every fold, curve and texture of my vagina. She seemed to know how sensitive it was, and was careful not to overstimulate me. Even while exploring my clit, her tongue, creamy with the blended nectar of her girls, was comforting and tender, not taking, not exciting, only giving. As she continued, I felt her hand untying my restraints, freeing my ankles. Then she rose from me and moved around me to untie my wrists, taking my by the hand and letting me sit up. She sat next to me on the altar, took my face on her hand and brought her lips to mine, kissing me like a lover. I tasted them now, all of them, in her kiss, It was the strangest and yet the most wonderful thing I'd ever tasted. It was as if I could taste all of their love in Brenda's mouth, like they were all kissing me, together. I was now a part of them, their magnolia, their Muladhara. I returned to that place eleven more times over the course of that year, my first year in college. Brenda gave me books to read, as gifts from the patroness. The Kama Sutra and Koka Shastra, Lazzat Un Nisa, Tantra, Delta of Venus, the poetry of Sappho, and numerous erotic novels and anthologies. Anais Nin, the Marquis de Sade, A. N. Roquelaure, Vladimir Nabokov. I learned that the patroness was a very rich widow, who selected a protégée from among the graduates of the Garden every year to further train and develop her lovemaking skill, and would fully fund the chosen girl's higher education from that point on. It was a truly magnificent prize, and even though it would have been marvelous if I had won, the experiences in the Garden and everything I learned from my time with them was more than enough. I entered a mere seedling, and I left there fully blossomed. Although I never saw her again after my graduation, I was allowed to share several incredible nights with my redheaded lover. I craved her, we craved each other, and Brenda knew it. But one of the rules, inviolate, was that we never knew each other's names, and Brenda refused to break this rule for us. One night, after a toe-curling, heart-stopping lesson in soixante-neuf, my lover kissed me on the cheek and embraced me, and in that embrace whispered a single word only I could hear: "Lina." I went back to the club dozens of times to wait for her. I went to other clubs. I went to restaurants. To parties. For years after my time in the Garden I looked for her. I never saw her again. With a heavy heart I left that college town, but as the years passed I eventually married a kind man, started having children and building the family I always wanted. The Garden By Adam and Evie Lyn Zasse The authors of this story are real. The event described actually happened. It occurred on a warm autumn evening several months ago. The experience had a shocking effect on a new friend, and brought Adam and Evie even closer together. The authors welcome your comments. Chapter one, Preparation After her three mile run, Evie's body glistened with perspiration. Her small firm breasts rose and fell slightly with each deep breath as she cooled off. One or two teenage boys in the quiet suburban neighborhood where she lived looked at her and smiled during her run. Now back at home, she quickly undressed and stepped into the shower. The hot, stinging water felt good. She covered herself in foamy soap and washed herself lovingly. Her hands cupped her breasts and she gently squeezed the puffy nipples to get them hard. She lathered her almost flat stomach and allowed her hands to go lower. She parted the delicate folds of her vagina and washed the inner lips carefully. She wasn't surprised at all to find that her small clit was very sensitive. She rubbed it for a minute, sensing rather that feeling the sensation it always produced. Time for that later she thought. She finished washing, rinsed off and stepped out of the shower. While she dried herself, she thought about the events that had led up to today. Across town, Megan Kelly O'Hare was also stepping out of the shower. At five feet four, she was just an inch taller than Evie. But where Evie was trim and athletic, Meg was curvier. Her c-cup breasts were firm with large brown colored areolas and nipples. Her stomach had a womanly roundness. Thick, dark auburn, hair, still wet from the shower, hung down over her shoulders. Where Evie's skin was light tan, Meg's was paler. She was excited about the coming evening. Her nipples hardened in response to her thoughts. Almost two months ago, the women had met, quite by accident at the neighborhood gym. After finished her exercise routine, Evie entered the sauna and sat on one of the wooden benches. Meg was sitting on the adjoining bench, having gotten there earlier. "Hi, I'm Evie." Evie said being polite in the small room. "Megan." Meg replied extending her hand. "I've seen you here before, you must work out a lot." Meg stated. "A couple times a week, sometimes more." Evie said. "Sorry, but I don't remember seeing you, are you new?" "Oh, I just use the treadmill once in a while and sit here in the sauna." Meg answered. "I've watched you on the machines. You seem...nice." But I have to get going." Meg said nervously, and left. Something about the other women's words convinced Evie that they would meet again. Five days later they did meet again, in the same sauna. Evie was relaxing, letting the moist heat soak into her body, cleansing it and soothing the slightly achy muscles from her work out. When the sauna door opened, and Megan walked in, Evie sat up and smiled. Megan pointed to a spot next to Evie, as if asking if she could sit down. Evie nodded and patted the seat in invitation. "Hi again." Megan said, as she arranged her towel more comfortably around her. "Hi yourself." Evie said. Inwardly happy that Megan chose to sit next to her. "I've been wondering if I'd see you here again. "Why is that?" Meg asked. "I really don't know, but I am happy to see you." Evie said. "How have you been?" "Oh, I'm ok I guess." "Just have to get out of the house." Meg offered. For the next ten minutes, the two women chatted, exchanging short versions of their lives in small talk. Evie talked about Adam, leaving out the part about her husband also being her brother. Megan admitted to being recently divorced within the past six months and trying to get on with her life. Both women sensed that a friendship was developing. As Meg stood up to leave, she suddenly leaned forward and kissed Evie on the lips. Evie grabbed her hand and urged her to sit back down. "Why did you do that?" Evie asked, not at all bothered by the kiss. "I don't know." Meg said, almost ready to start crying in embarrassment. "It's just, It's just." "You seem so nice, and...." Megan blurted. . Evie looked around, they were the only two in the sauna, at least for the moment. Evie released Meg's hand. She reached out, cradling Meg's head with her hands, and gently returned the kiss. "It's ok.' Evie said in a soft soothing voice." At home, Evie told Adam about her sauna adventure. There were no secrets between them, ever. In the following weeks, Evie and Megan met several times and drew closer. They went shopping together, rode their bikes and spent more time at the gym. Megan found herself wanting to hold Evie's hand as they walked and talked. Evie did not object. Evie invited Meg to dinner one evening, where she met Adam and the three chatted into the night. When Evie walked Meg out to her car that night, she made it a point to kiss her goodnight. "Wait." Meg said as Evie stepped close. "Your husband might see." "He's not looking, and besides, he knows that I want to kiss you." Evie said, stepping closer. . "But." Meg stammered before Evie quieted her with a kiss. A kiss that hinted at more than friendship. When Evie stepped back, Meg started to turn towards her car. Evie took one of Meg's hands and guided it up to her breast. She saw Meg's mouth open in surprise, but when she let her hand go Meg kept it there. "I, Ah, Oh." Meg blurted. Evie felt her nipples stiffen and she knew that Meg felt it too. She felt a gentle pressure as Meg unconsciously tested the firmness of her breast. "We'll talk, I promise." Evie said, and she watched Meg, mouth still open in wonderment at what had just happened, get into her car and leave for her home. It was several days later that the two women met for lunch. "I don't know what to say." Megan said, as they ate at an outdoor café. "I've never, I mean, Oh hell," "Did you like touching me?" Evie asked. Megan blushed. "Yes," she said in a quiet, almost little girl voice. "Yes I did." "Would you like to touch me again?" Evie pressed. "Yes." Meg answered in the same small, whispered voice. "How long has it been?" Evie asked boldly. "I've never been with another women." Meg said, looking down shyly. "How about with a man?" Evie pressed. Megan confessed that it had been seven or eight months. Before she broke up with her husband. "Have you thought about it?" Evie asked. "Of course I have." Meg admitted. "Why?" "I have been thinking about Adam's birthday." Evie said. "Wondering what I could get for him." It took almost a full minute for Megan to realize what Evie was suggesting. "You're not serious"" Meg stammered. "You want me to be your husband's birthday gift?" "You're crazy." "Fooling around with you might be fun, but Adam?" Meg almost choked on the words. "Why not. Adam and I have 'swapped' partners before. I've watched him and he has watched me." "How much more loving could I be than to give my husband another women for his birthday." Evie said. "And besides." "Besides what?" Meg asked, blushing. "Besides" Evie paused. "I think you need a good fucking, and Adam is very good at that." The more Evie talked, the more Meg's attitude softened. She did get excited more easily since meeting Adam and Evie. And Adam was good looking and quite charming. Maybe it was time to move on and put her past behind her, try new things. She felt her body reacting to the thoughts she was having. A kind of tingling that she hadn't felt in a long time. It took more talking, more logical convincing. But the more they chatted, the more she thought about it, until finally she agreed. Chapter two, Fulfillment Megan carefully dried her thick hair and brushed it until it shined and curled seductively around her face. She took special care of the thick thatch of dark red pubic hair covering her vagina. She placed a drop or two of her favorite cologne below her belly button, and on each side of her ample breasts. A bit of makeup and she was almost ready. She packed a small bag, making sure to include the bathrobe that she and Evie had picked out. She dressed in sweatpants and a tee shirt. She didn't expect to be wearing them long. She slipped on a pair of sandals, got in her car, and headed for Evie's house. Like Megan, Evie brushed her hair and then applied cologne to her inner thighs, under her breasts and behind her ears. She put on loose fitting shorts and a baggy sweatshirt. She placed her robe, identical to Megan's, on her bed. She went downstairs, padding barefoot through the house to wait for Megan. She mentally went through her preparations, deciding that she hadn't forgotten anything. When Meg arrived, Evie took her hand and led her up to the bedroom. They giggled like schoolgirls as they talked and went over their plans. Megan felt alive for the first time in months. Her mouth was dry. She was nervous and excited, and just a little bit afraid. Evie was excited as well. It was Adam's birthday, and he was getting a surprise. When Adam and Evie Lyn had first moved into the modest, two-bedroom home that they shared, the backyard was just a backyard. As the last home on the quiet, tree lined, dead-end street, it was more secluded than most. They installed a tall, privacy fence along one side and the back. Beyond the back fence, was unimproved prairie. A few trees and wildflowers, and a small meandering stream. The side adjoining their neighbors, they planted with several decorative shrubs and a trellis that was now covered with clematis and small tea roses. Their neighbors, an older couple that they had only met once or twice, spent half the year in Florida. They had been gone for several weeks now and wouldn't be back until later in the year. Evie's 'green thumb' had transformed the once rather plain back yard into a small garden. Tonight, the garden would be the setting for Adam's birthday. The sweet scent from two flowerbeds perfumed the air and somewhere in the trees above, a bird sang. Evie and Megan brought out a large comforter and spread it on the fresh cut grass in front of a small bench. Then both returned to the bedroom. They undressed and for a moment, studied each other's bodies. It was the first time that they had seen each other without clothes, if you don't count the towels in the sauna. They promised each other that they would make time to explore that aspect of their relationship soon. When they heard Adam's car, they quickly put on their matching robes and ran downstairs. When Adam opened the front door, Evie and Megan were standing in front of the fireplace. The evening sun, shining through the window, highlighting their hair and casting playful shadows on the wall. The robe doing very little to hide Megan's wonderfully rounded figure. Adam stared at the two beautiful, but totally different women in surprise and wonder, his mouth hanging open. As one, both women slowly knelt on the soft rug, and Megan recited the words that she had practiced. "To Adam on his birthday, I give myself to you." She chanted. "May this night bring you pleasure and happiness. I am yours." Meg smiled demurely and Evie grinned happily. Adam, tripping over his words, looking down at the two kneeling women and simple said, "Please me then, you have already made me happy." Evie and Megan rose, each taking one of his hands, and led him out to the garden. Once he was seated on the bench, Evie and Meg knelt down on the comforter facing each other. They unfastened their robes and tossed them at Adam's feet. Adam watched, fascinated, as the two women came together and kissed. They had kissed before, but not like this. This kiss was deep and searching. Their tongues flicking out to tease, tasting each other. Evie raised her hands to cup Meg's larger, rounder breasts. She squeezed firm, plump flesh and felt their heaviness. She heard Meg's quick intake of breath as her soft touch sent a yearning through her body. Megan had never let another women play with her breasts, only her ex-husband had done that. His memory now almost forgotten. Evie moved her hands to rub Meg's nipples. They were already swollen with desire, the tip's rock hard, reveling in the new sensation. Evie could almost feel Meg's breasts growing as her arousal grew more intense. Evie's tongue became more demanding, her mouth pressing harder against Megan's. Meg moaned, her senses reeling. It wasn't just the kiss. It wasn't just having another women touch her breasts. It was also the knowledge that Adam was watching. Hesitantly, Meg reached out to caress Evie's smaller breasts. She felt the already hard nipples, the texture of her skin. Evie at last broke their kiss. She pushed Meg down on the soft comforter, The grass underneath providing a soft springy cushion. Evie straddled Meg's body. With her hands, Meg lifted her breasts, offering them. Evie accepted, greedily sucking on first one nipple and then the other. Meg's chest was covered with delicate perspiration and saliva from Evie's hungry mouth. As Evie started to move lower, Meg moaned again, in both pleasure and fear. This was new. Her ex husband had only kissed her pussy once or twice. He preferred regular sex. Evie's lips moving lower, touching the thick tangle of pubic hair. The musky scent was intoxicating. As she moved lower, she put her hands on Meg's thighs and gently pushed them apart. The sight and delicious odor of Meg's dripping pussy was too much for Evie. She buried her face in the damp thatch her tongue searching until she found Meg's swollen and engorged clitty. She clamped her mouth over the quivering bud and sucked, sending shivers of pleasure through Meg' body. Adam watched the two women kiss. Mesmerized by the sight. When Evie reached for Meg's tits, he reached for his cock. He massaged his straining dick through his pants. When he heard the first moan escape from Meg's throat, he stood and took off his pants and boxer shorts. His shirt followed and as he sat down again, naked in the evening air, he saw Evie pushing Meg down on the comforter. He followed every movement, lightly stroking his erection. When Evie felt Meg starting to pant, she lifted her head and looked into the adoring eyes of her husband and brother. She moved from between Meg's legs, silently inviting Adam to take her place. As Adam knelt down, Evie raised her mouth to his, kissing him passionately. Adam could taste Meg's juices on his sister's lips. He savored the moment. He looked down at Meg's pussy and smiled. He saw Evie's small hand reach out to grasp his cock just behind the head. She tugged, urging him closer. Using her hand, she rubbed Adam's cock up and down Meg's soaking wet pussy, covering the head with Meg's own special lubrication. Megan felt Adam's cock. She knew it was time. She wanted him inside of her. She wanted to feel him fill her. She wanted it, oh God how she wanted it. She spread her legs wider, opening herself to him, giving him her body. Evie tugged again and pressed the head of Adam's cock into Meg's waiting hole. She removed her hand, and Adam pushed his cock into the hot moist tunnel of pleasure. The sound that came from Meg's mouth was half scream and half grunt. Her eyes opened wide and her hands clutched the fabric of the comforter. Adam fell forward, catching himself on his outstretched arms. He pulled his throbbing cock out of Meg's vagina, her labia lips trying to hold him in. And slowly, again, entered her, pressing his entire nine inches as deep as he could go. Meg started to gasp as Adam started the in and out rhythm that caused both of them to feel the pleasure that only a man can bring to a women. He pressed down, knowing that he was massaging Meg's clit, rubbing it, teasing it. Megan sensed more than felt the old familiar stirring that signaled an approaching orgasm. An orgasm that she hadn't felt in a long, long time. She felt the waves building, rising. She lifted her arms to hug Adam's body to her. She lifted her hips to meet his thrusts. She was no longer aware of anything except the incredible, exquisite, pleasure. She was dimly aware that Adam was kissing her, covering her mouth with his. She felt the wave crest and wash over her, enveloping her. She rode the crest as Adam's orgasm peaked. His pulsating cock, pumping spurt after spurt of hot cum into Megan's vagina. When he was drained, he stopped moving, leaving his cock in place. As it became flaccid once more and slipped out, he saw Megan open her eyes. In an almost inaudible voice she said. "Happy Birthday Adam." Adam rolled to one side, finding a more comfortable position. He saw Evie settle next to Meg on the other side, sandwiching her in the middle. He traced his fingers along Megan's body, lightly touching her breasts, her tummy and her thighs. He ran his fingers through her damp, matted pubic hair. He saw Evie doing the same on the other side. He saw Evie delicately slip a finger into Meg's pussy. He watched as she brought the finger to her mouth and sucked both of their juices into her mouth. He raised up on one elbow and leaned over Meg towards Evie. Evie did the same. He whispered to Evie, knowing that Meg could hear him. "Thank you for a great birthday and this precious gift. You're an incredible sister." He said. They kissed, listening for Megan to say something. After a moment, their lips parted and they both turned to look at her. Megan's mouth was moving, but nothing was coming out. They both smiled and nodded. The evening breeze, still warm, caressed their bodies. Adam and Evie Lyn clasped hands and lowered them to rest on Megan's breasts. They each kissed her. They laid there, the three of them, in The Garden. The End...for now The Garden Part 1: The Garden The sun shines down on my naked body as I sit in the garden reading. My husband, Blake, has created a backyard paradise for me to relax in. We have a 10' tall fence and 12' tall trees planted all around the border, Koi pond with a waterfall, and glorious flower beds planted strategically all over the yard. I have always felt comfortable walking and lounging around the garden naked. We also have a lap pool and occasionally, I like to skinny dip. I love the way the water cascades over my body as I swim back and forth. Then, once I get out, I enjoy feeling the sun heating my skin and evaporating the water droplets off of my skin. Today, I lounge in the garden on a blanket, reading, naked. Of course, my novel of the day is highly erotic and has caused my cunt to begin leaking its juices. As I lay on my stomach, legs raised and kicking in the air, I grind my hips into the ground. I try my best to gain some kind of a semblance of relief. As I become more and more sexually frustrated, I put my book down and turn over onto my back. I know that my husband won't be home for several hours yet. I just need a little relief. He will never know. There is not a cloud in the sky. The birds are chirping, there is a slight breeze, and the air is fragrant with the new spring blossoms. I close my eyes to the sharp rays of the sun and part my legs. The cool breeze is a sharp contrast to the hot juices running from inside of me. "Ahhh" I say, as I trail my fingers down my torso. I cover my cunt with my palm, arching into it. My clit is puffy and swollen. It grates along my palm as I raise my hips up and down. I part my puffy lips and dip a finger into my entrance. I circle my entrance and draw my sweet pussy liquor up and around my clit. I imagine that my husband is here, his lips sucking my exposed pleasure center into his mouth. I make a V-shape with my finger and place my clit between them. I saw my fingers along my pleasure bud until I am panting in pleasure. I imagine that Blake is here and I shove my fingers into my snatch, crying out loudly. I call out loudly, "Blake!" I use one hand to pinch and pull my nipples while I plunge my middle and forefinger in and out of my cunt, faster and faster. The rhythmic squish of my juices continues to resound off of the fence in the garden. A cloud passes over the sun. Perhaps a spring shower is about to be released, but I don't care. I furiously continue toward my journey. I work my clit with my thumb as I plug my cunt with my other fingers. I hadn't planned on going this far, but I can't stop now. Right now, I need to release all of this pent up energy. I remove my fingers from my hole and furiously frig my clit until my body, strung tighter than violin strings, bursts. My muscles tense and release, over and over again. I bite my lip to keep from screaming out loud, lest the neighbors hear. I am panting uncontrollably. As I try to bring my breathing back into a normal rhythm, I feel the wetness smearing my thighs. The breeze has started to cool the juices that have flown over the lips of my greedy cunt. As I totally relax, I open my eyes. Instead of a sky full of clouds pregnant with rain, I am staring directly into the steamy brown eyes of my husband. ********************************************* Part 2: Out of the Garden I scramble up from the ground, facing Blake in all of my nakedness. His eyes are stormy, a mixture of anger and lust. "You're home early!" I start to say. "Don't! Do not even try. Just leave everything and go sit in the Living Room." he says. I lower my head and walk into the house. See, there is something you must understand about Blake and my relationship. On the surface, we are an everyday average couple. We share household duties and all major decisions. He works for an Ad agency and I work as a Marketing executive from home. However, sexually, I belong to him. I am to have no part of any sexual act without his express permission, and that includes masturbation. See the dilemma? Problem is I don't always listen like I am supposed to. So, now that I have defied him, again, by taking my own pleasure, I know he will punish me. I walk into the Living Room and curl into the corner of the couch. Blake walks in and dumps my book and blanket on the couch beside me. "Woman, I will forbid you to ever read Erotica again if you cannot control your sexual urges. You could have called me, you know?" he says as he sits on the corner of the end table. "All you had to do was ask for permission." "And you would have forbid me. You always do. And...." "AND NOTHING!" He booms. "You agreed that you would obey me sexually, this...this is part of that. Now stop talking and trying to give excuses. There is no excuse for you pleasuring yourself, AGAIN, without my permission. Now get up, kneel on the sofa, and grab the back of the seat." As I comply, I can hear Blake removing his belt. Just as I get into position, I feel the belt land its first stroke. It isn't hard, but he doesn't parry his blows either. He rains strokes down on my unclad body until; finally, I cry out and collapse onto the back of the chair. Tears have begun to stream down my face. My ass and the top of my thighs have gone from slightly burning to a raging inferno. Blake throws his belt aside and rushes toward me. He pulls me into his lap, trying to soothe me by rubbing slow circles over my back. He reaches over into the end table and produces a small vial of lotion. For the next 15 minutes, Blake lovingly rubs the lotion into my aching red ass. All the while, reminding me to be a good girl, and not to be offended. After a while, due to the exertion from the punishment and my earlier orgasm, I drift off to sleep. When I awaken, I am alone on the couch and covered with a light fleece throw. I can hear voices coming from the kitchen. One is my husband, but the other voice is unknown to me. "I don't know what else to do Nic. I have punished her for this so many times. She just has such a greedy cunt that she can't help herself." "Ok, well...you sought me out. What do you want to do about it?" "I want you to fuck her brains out. I want us to both fuck her to exhaustion. I want her so damn tired and satiated that she won't even think about touching her own cunt." I sit up on the couch, pain blooming in my ass. Did I just hear that correctly? My husband wants me to fuck another man? I get up from the couch, wrap the blanket around me, and pad into the kitchen. "You want another man to fuck me?" I ask sleepily. Both men turn to face me, guilt written all over my husband's face at being overheard. However, the man he called Nic looks at me with what can only be described as unbridled lust. This makes me uncomfortable, so I tighten the blanket around me. I realize now that I should have gotten dressed before walking into the lion's den. "Sweetheart..." My husband begins. "This is Nicolai. He is a trained Dom. I contacted him to help you control your urges." I glance back and forth between my husband and Nicolai. Blake continues to explain that since he works so much, he is apparently not able to satisfy my sexual needs. So, his solution is to make an agreement with Nicolai to become my Master. I cannot believe what I am hearing. Nor am I comfortable with the fact that Nicolai is looking at me as thought I am a rebel country needing to be conquered. I am confused and in utter disbelief. I turn on my heel and begin to walk away. "Stop!" Nicolai commands. His voice is like liquid velvet. However, his tone advises that if you disobey, there will be consequences. I freeze in the doorway, back still turned toward both men. Heavy footsteps fall across the kitchen tile, Nicolai's dress shoes clicking on the floor as he walks. He stops behind me and it feels as though he has supercharged the air around me by just stepping into my personal space. My breathing becomes shallow, nervousness coiling deep in my gut. "Don't move!" I hold still, feeling his hands move to settle on my hips. Nicolai begins to fist the blanket I hold around me, trying to pull it away, but I hold fast. "Let it go." He quietly commands, whispering in my ear. I shake where I stand. I am afraid that my husband is testing me, and I am sure to fail. I feel a soft hand on my shoulder and my husband leans down to whisper in my ear. "I love you. Remember that. But right now, you belong to him. Submit Anabel." He says this as he walks past me and out to sit on the couch. From his position, he has a view of everything, Nicolai and I in the doorway, and all of the Living Room. He leans back and props his feet on the coffee table, watching the situation unfold. As I look toward Blake, I can see the love in his eyes. But I also see his lust. Now I realize that he does truly want this, he wants to watch Nicolai dominate me. I let go of the blanket and Nicolai throws it to a far corner. "Nicolai..." I start to say, but he stops me with a hand covering my mouth. "You, little one, will refer to me as Master at all times. All questions that I ask will be met with a yes, Sir or no, Sir. Is that understood?" He asks. "Yes." I reply. I receive a quick open handed smack to my bare ass. I yelp in surprise. The new smack stirs the fire that my husband left a few hours ago. "Yes what?" Nicolai asks. "Yes, Sir." "Good. Now go and stand in front of the coffee table and face Blake." "Yes, Sir." As I stand in front of my husband, he looks at me as though he is enjoying every moment. He smiles one of his predatory smiles. "Relax Anabel, Nicolai will make you feel really good, I promise." As Blake settles further in to the couch, Nicolai walks up behind me. I can feel his jean covered erection prod into my ass cheek. He nuzzles my neck and fondles my breasts, reaching one hand down to rub my outer lips. I am enjoying the attention and I relax into his touch. "Mmmmm, so moist already, little one." He says, dragging two fingers through my channel. As he slowly penetrates me with those fingers, he simultaneously sucks on my neck. I moan my appreciation. "Come my sweet, suck your Master's cock." "Ha!" Blake scoffs from his position on the sofa. "She won't suck cock even if it would save your life. Trust me, I have begged over and over and over again." Nicolai steps away from me and says to Blake, "You and I, we are her Masters. And as her Master, you DO NOT BEG! WE command, and she complies. Otherwise, there will be punishment. Now, you mean to seriously tell me that this bitch has never sucked your cock? And her ass isn't redder than fresh lava from a volcano?" "She did once, it was rather half-hearted. Claimed she didn't like it." "Well, we're gonna remedy that today aren't we, bitch?" Nicolai asks, pulling back on my hair. As I hesitate to answer, I receive another smack to my ass. "Yes! Yes, Sir!" I reply, fearing another long spanking session. No matter how good Blake claimed Nicolai would make me feel, I know that he will also not hesitate to punish me. "Here is how it's gonna work." Nicolai begins. "Every day, you are under order not to cum. You will not be allowed to cum until after you have swallowed your master's cum. For Blake, that means every damn day, you will give him the best blow job he has ever had and he will cum down your throat. And if there is any suspicion that you have cum before giving his cock a good suck and swallowed his cum, you will be denied a cum for 2 weeks, and no cock whatsoever for a week. That should deter you from pleasuring your own cunt, won't it, bitch?" "Yes, Master. I will not cum unless I have made Blake cum with my mouth." "That's right! And we're starting today. And since both of your Masters are here..." Nicolai says, turning me to face him, he pushes down on my shoulder to push me to my knees. "You will make us both cum with your mouth." I frown at the thought and quickly try to school my facial features before Nicolai can see. But alas, he sees the look of disgust cross my face anyway. "It's ok if you don't like sucking cock." Nicolai says. I breathe a sigh of relief before realizing that my relief is short lived. "You will learn to love it by the time we are through with you." Spurred on by my earlier look of disgust, Nicolai pushes me violently to my knees. He pinches my nose, forcing me to open my mouth to breathe. I smack his hand away and his eyes fill with power. He rips his belt off and wraps it around my forearms, restricting my arms and hands behind my back. With a smirking smile, he lets his pants pool around his ankles and he grasps my nose again. With no other choice than to open my mouth and breathe, or pass out from lack of oxygen, I open my mouth. Nicolai uses this opportunity to shove his semi-hard cock into my mouth. I am barely able to breathe around his member. "If you please me, I will let you breathe. Now suck my cock, bitch." The erect cock stretches my cheeks, leaving my mouth feeling violated. I look up to my master, and he stares back at me. I have to obey, I don't want to be punished. I try to move my tongue around the cock in my mouth, as I lick the tip, master shoves it down my throat, and I choke. I regain my posture after gagging and swirl my tongue around the head of Master Nicolai's member. Master grinds into my throat again. This time, I allow his cock to slide down my throat, and I lick his shaft as he pulls out again. Nicolai grabs my hair, and starts to thrust his cock down my throat again, spit soaks his cock as I gag. Master moans softly. His cock twitches as I gently lick the shaft. I start to suck, like a baby drinking from a bottle. "Swallow me bitch, swallow it all." He says, using my hair as leverage to face fuck me. He forces my face right into his crotch, his cock lodges deep into my throat. I begin to struggle, my air supply cut off. Nicolai lessens the pressure and calmly says "Relax your throat. Calm yourself and breathe through your nose." I try to relax and obey. I find that once I am no longer in panic mode, I can breathe alright. "Now..." He says, releasing my hair and lightly grasping my chin. "Suck up, kiss and lick the shaft and head, now deep throat me again. Now, try to use your throat muscles and swallow me." Through all of Nicolai's commands, I diligently listen and obey, fearing another punishment. As it stands, my cunt is dripping and I cannot have any form of release until both Nicolai and Blake have cum. I have found that the rough treatment Nicolai has given me has turned me on so much that I am beginning to enjoy giving the blow job, even if only to focus on receiving my own pleasure. "Oh yessss. Mmmmmm. Keep going. Follow your instincts." He commands. Through all of Nicolai's commands, I diligently listen and obey, fearing another punishment. As it stands, my cunt is dripping and I cannot have any form of release until both Nicolai and Blake have cum. I have found that the rough treatment Nicolai has given me has turned me on so much that I am beginning to enjoy giving the blow job, even if only to focus on receiving my own pleasure. I continue with the pattern that he has guided me into. He is moaning and rumbling deep in his chest. I cut my eyes over to Blake and find his eyes fixated on us. He has his cock out and in his hand, trying to mimic my motions. Abruptly, Nicolai picks up pace, grasps my hair firmly in his hands, shoves his cock as far into my throat as it will go, and empties his balls down my throat. "Swallow!" He bellows. I can feel the cum drip down my throat, a warm salty mixture, delicious. I find that the taste is rather enjoyable. My cunt is dripping its honey and my thighs are slick with the smearing of it. I need some relief, but I know that means Blake needs to cum as well. After Nicolai releases me and relaxes back into a nearby chair, I keep eye contact with Blake as I crawl over to him. I position myself between his legs and place my hands upon his knees. "Master Husband...." I query, as I avert my eyes. He looks down upon me with fire dancing in his eyes. "Yes my slut Wife?" "May I suck your cock? It would please this slut to give her husband pleasure." "So now that Nicolai has denied your orgasms, NOW you want my cock down your throat, only because it serves your own end. You can't cum until I do." "Husband, I should have never denied you the pleasure of my mouth. I am so very sorry for that. I was an insolent slut and I apologize." I can see the delight in my husband's eyes at the change in my attitude. "Well then, please, do continue. Show me your skills." He says, leaning back against the couch. I kiss the top of his pulsing head, wrapping my lips around him to envelope the mushroom entirely. A hiss sounds from his mouth as he places his hand on the back of my head. I slide his shaft down into my throat, my mouth bottoming out on his pelvis. I hear him groan as he begins to guide my head up and down his cock. Suddenly, I feel naked flesh appear behind me. Hands begin to roam over my back and ass. I moan deep in my throat, the sound reverberating around Blake's cock. An arm snakes around my hips and pulls my legs out to support myself on my knees. "Hands on the floor, Slut." Nicolai demands. Once my hands are on the floor, I am supporting myself on all fours. From this position, I can't help but continually deep throat Blake. His head is thrown back against the back of the couch; eyes closed, and utter contentment all over his face. I feel two fingers penetrate my sloppy cunt. I moan loudly around Blake's member, humming my contentment. "You are so ready for this cock, aren't you slut?" Nicolai asks. "Yes. Yes Please, Master Nicolai." I beg from around the cock in my mouth. I feel his head at the entrance to my opening and with one hard thrust, he slams home. I scream at the sudden invasion of my body and arch off of Blake. He quickly shoves my mouth back onto him, stifling my screams and moans. Nicolai squeezes my hips in a vice grip and pounds into me, knocking against my cervix every time he bottoms out. He thrusts so violently that my knees are beginning to burn from the friction on the rug. I can feel the orgasm building in my depths. I have been trying to hold it back, but I can't last much longer. Blake looks at me and I think he knows that I am close. In a show of sympathy, he grasps my hair, shoves his cock far into my waiting mouth, and shoots his load. I swallow every drop and lick him clean. Nicolai slows his thrusts, pulls my ass cheeks open and watches my wetness coat his cock and drip down onto my thighs. I lay my head in Blake's lap, his hand stroking my hair and upper back. "I think she needs a cock in her ass Blake." Nicolai remarks. "Have you taken her anally?" "Oh yes." Blake croons. "This slut loves a good ass fucking. Don't you slut?" "Oh yes Master Nicolai. Please fill my ass with your glorious cock" "Oh I will, but I think your husband needs a feel of this glorious cunt". Nicolai retreats out of my tunnel with an audible 'POP'. Blake helps me climb onto his lap and I slowly sink onto him. The angle is pleasing to me as I throw my head back and moan. Blake grips my hips and sucks on my neck as I ride him slowly. I can feel Nicolai's hands roaming over my back and ass, occasionally rubbing my shoulders. I lightly push Blake away from me, grip the back of the couch and ride him with abandon, pistoning up and down on his cock, racing toward my long awaited orgasm. Blake's hands are free and they squeeze and pull at my tits and nipples, making me moan and squeal in ecstasy. Unexpectedly, I feel Nicolai's hand between my shoulder blades, pushing me toward Blake's chest. This stalls my movements and I whimper in protest. The Garden "Hold her Blake." I hear Nicolai say. "She is going to scream." I quickly lift my head to see what is happening but Blake holds me fast. "What is going on?" I ask. "Relax." Blake whispers in my ear. "Just relax and enjoy" I feel Nicolai spread my ass cheeks and a cold liquid is spread in and around my ass. "No...Please....not at the same time...please...no!" I babble incoherently at the thought of what these two men are about to do. Blake continues to tell me to relax when I feel Nicolai shove first one, and then two fingers inside my ass. I groan loudly, feeling fuller inside than I have ever felt. Nicolai curls his fingers to stroke Blake's cock from inside of me. We both groan at the same time, my pleasure beginning to mount. Nicolai removes his fingers and lines up his cock. "Ready for me?" He asks. But before I can answer, he shoves the mushroom of his cock inside me. I scream at the sudden intrusion and arch into Nicolai. This forces even more of his cock inside me and I scream again. Nicolai quickly reaches around to strum my clit. The cross of pleasure and pain is too much and I explode. I scream my release as Nicolai and Blake pump their cocks into me, using me as their fuck toy. I am limp and pliable between them. As Nicolai pulls out and shoots his load over the top of my ass, Blake plunges me down on his cock to release his seed into my cervix, just waiting to fertilize my eggs and create life. I collapse onto Blake's chest, panting, sticky with cunt honey, sweat, and cum. Breathlessly, Nicolai says to Blake, "That was just session one. Wait until she sees what's in store for her tomorrow." I can barely take knowing that any sessions may be more intense. I look up at Blake to say, "I love you", before sleep claims me.