The Potting Shed - an erotic, short story

The Mistress walks down the path towards me. I continue to rake the leaves while watching her hips swaying from side to side as she approaches. She is a shapely woman, that’s for sure. I hope that hopeless husband of hers knows what he has in his bed each night. If she were mine she would get no sleep, for I would seek out her sweet little quim and plant my rod deep inside her all night. She’s close now.

“Henry, how are you? Is it really autumn again? I can’t believe how quickly the summer went.”

“Yes, Ma’am, the leaves are shedding fast. But if we’re lucky we’ll have a few more warm days yet.”

She stops two feet in front of me, putting one hand on her hip and looking up at me from those deep lidded blue eyes of hers. She’s wearing a tight-fitting blue gown, with a scooped neck low enough to show the soft, succulent melons that are peeping over the top, fit to torment any man who sees them. My cock stirs within my breeches, as it often does when she’s around. After she’s gone I’ll go into the potting shed and give it some rough jerks and shoot my seed on to the pile of compost.

She doesn’t seem anxious to move off. I’m not sure what’s best to do. Should I carry on sweeping the leaves, or will that seem impolite? If I stand still and have those luscious melons thrust in my face I might disgrace myself by showing her the effect she has on me.

She smiles. “Where do you put the leaves, Henry? Do you burn them?”

“Oh no, Ma’am. They make good mulch for the flowerbeds in the spring. I put them into a heap behind the potting shed.”

“You must show me, Henry. I do enjoy learning all the secrets of the garden.”

Her breasts move up and down a little more as her breathing rate increases. What does she mean about the secrets of the garden? Is that a hidden message? I must tread carefully here if I want to keep my job.

“Any time, Ma’am. I’m always at your disposal.”

“Well there’s no time like the present. The Master is gone for the day and won’t be back until the evening. I must find my own entertainment while he’s away.”

She takes the lead and walks ahead of me towards the potting shed—as I follow, feasting on her firm, round buttocks undulating beneath the gown. How I long to grab a handful of that flesh to squeeze and fondle. I picture her bent over and her buttocks bare, which sends my cock into a state of frenzy. I’m thankful she’s facing away from me, unable to witness my undoing.

When we reach behind the potting shed I satisfy her curiosity about the heap of leaves to be composted. She turns and gives me a sweet smile, her cheeks a little pink.

“And now you must show me your potting shed. No doubt this is where you get up to your mischief.”

I start. Surely she isn’t referring to my rough handling of my cock when erotic thoughts take me over? Have I been seen?

“Of course, Ma’am. I would be pleased to show it to you.”

I open the door and invite my mistress to precede me. I’m not sure what the etiquette is under such circumstances. I follow her inside, leaving the door a little ajar to provide more light, there being just one small window in dire need of cleaning.

I point out the stacks of pots to be planted in the months to come, and a few already filled with compost into which I’d planted some spring bulbs. I hope she won’t ask me what goes into the compost, for I might have difficulty keeping a straight face for thinking of some of my activity in the darkness.

“Come here, Henry.”

She startles me with her request, which she repeats.

“Henry, move a little closer. I want to feel those strong muscles of yours.”

I step closer, standing just a foot away from her. My breaths become a little heavier and I feel a tremble run through my body. She places her hands on my arms, running the palms down each side to feel the muscles beneath my shirt.

“My, Henry, you have some fine muscles under this shirt.”

Her hands wander on to my chest, stroking them over my coarse labourer’s shirt, causing me to catch my breath. I’m of mixed mind. If she were one of the village girls I would have no hesitation in bending her over the potting table and taking her hard from behind. But this is no village girl. This is my mistress—a gentlewoman of fine breeding. What does she expect of me?

I soon find out her intentions when her hand drops to my groin and fondles my cock through my breeches.

“My, you have a nice, hard cock here, Henry.”

I’m shocked to hear such coarse words come from Milady, but it is the very coarseness that excites me. My voice turns a little hoarse.

“I’ve had no complaints, Ma’am.”

“May I unfasten your breeches, Henry?”

I swallow, fearing to choke my reply.

“Of course, Ma’am. You must do as you wish.”

My heart is pounding as she unfastens the buttons on my breeches, slipping her hand inside. Her smooth, warm hand touches my cock and I have difficulty in holding back from shedding my seed.

“You have a good, stiff rod, Henry. I haven’t felt one as large and firm as yours before. What do you do to relieve yourself when amorous thoughts overtake you?”

I decide to be bold, for I sense that is what my mistress wants from me.

“I go with a woman from the village sometimes. I often fuck her from behind. I bend her over, like this…” I turn my mistress away from me and bend her over the potting table. “Then I lift her skirts like this.” I pull up the back of her blue gown, trying not to be too rough and tearing it in my eagerness.

I drape the hem of the dress and underskirts up over her back. She’s wearing no undergarment and her firm, pink arse lies before me, waiting for me to plunder the secret place between her thighs.

“Yes, Henry, yes…oh yes.”

My mistress is breathing heavily. I push my fingers between her legs and through the soft down of hair covering that secret place, and felt the stickiness already present. Her quim is certainly ready for me. I slip two fingers inside her and she groans.

“Fuck me, Henry. I want you to fuck me.”

I’ve never heard a lady use such a word. But instead of shocking me, I find it excites me more than ever. I grasp my rod in one hand and steady it near her entrance, before plunging it into her. She moans as I thrust back and forth, rutting hard with her as though I was fornicating with a common doxy. Milady has shown me what she wants and I’m going to give it to her until she begs me to stop.

I slow a little, pulling almost out of her, until she catches her breath in fear of me leaving her. Then, at the furthest point, I stop and thrust hard back into her. She gasps.

“Henry, you don’t know how long it is since I was seen-to in such a fashion. Your cock is a miracle. It fits in me perfectly. Please don’t stop.”

In response I thrust into her as hard as I’m able. Reaching round to her front I feel for those delicious melons seen earlier. I pull down the front of her gown until they’re free from their restraint, and squeeze them with my rough, work-hardened hands. If I hurt her she doesn’t complain.

My mistress’ obvious pleasure makes me bold.

“Do you like me in your cunny, Ma’am? Am I big enough for you?”

She responds between deep breaths and groans, barely able to speak it seems.

“Yes, Henry…yes, your cock is very satisfactory for me…It feels so…” She stops speaking and gives a strange cry. I know from the tremble in her body she’s achieved her conclusion. I thrust once more and release myself into her with a groan.

Stepping away from my Mistress, I’m uncertain of what to say or do. Will she come to her senses and chastise me for leading her astray, even though our coupling was definitely of her making. I need not have worried. She raises herself from the potting table and adjusts her gown, before turning to me with a smile.

“That was a very interesting lesson in potting, Henry. I must come again soon so you can show me what other skills you possess.”

With that she turns and leaves the potting shed, leaving me to tuck little Henry away and contemplate what has just taken place. My job has become a lot more interesting.