The Gardeners Touch

14 October 2007

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Sexy stories Sal the gardener... The sound of the spade striking the ground rang through the open upstairs window. Sal was just getting out of the shower and decided to go to the window and look out through the blinds. He was there, as he had been every morning for the past week, digging his way through a bed of rock, with nothing but a pick, a shovel and a bucket. Wearing only a pair of shorts and boots, his tanned sweaty body moved rhythmically with each swing of the spade. The sweat ran in little rivers down his back. It was early morning but already he had worked up quite a sweat, and as she stayed there watching him, she began to feel that bit warmer too.

Sal knew his real name but had taken to calling him 'the gardener'. For the last week, he had been digging into, and clearing, a huge rockbed in her back garden. Many times over the past week, she had watched him through the upstairs window, her thoughts growing ever more lustful as the days went on. She loved the graceful movement of his body as he worked. His body was toned rather than the rippling musculature so common in male porn films, and she loved it all the more because of it. She could see very slight love handles at his sides but he was far from being overweight. Indeed, he was quite fit. It was these slight imperfections that did it for her. He was happy and confident in himself, and for her, that was what mattered.

Out in the garden, he thought he got a glimpse of a shadow through the half-closed upstairs blind. He knew it could only be her. His mind wandered back to 2 days previous, when he had gone in to use the downstairs bathroom. As he emerged from the bathroom, he thought he heard a soft cry upstairs. He stopped and listened for a second, hoping she was alright. He heard it again, a very low moan followed by a sigh. Recognising it as a moan of pleasure, his curiosity got the better of him and he slowly crept up the stairs. He could see into her room through the half open door.

She was lying on the bed, wearing only the stringed top of her pink pyjamas. She had it pulled up and both her hands were caressing her breasts. Even from outside the room, he could see her nipples responding to her touch. From where he was, he figured she couldn’t see him through the door. Unknown to him though, there was a mirror on the far wall. She had heard the bottom stair creak as he snuck up and she could see a shadow between the stair rails, through the reflection of the half-open door. She suddenly felt her arousal build, knowing she was being watched. For many years she had harboured fantasies of being watched, of being unwittingly caught or watched by a stranger, who would himself be turned on at what he was seeing. Now she decided to realise her fantasy.