A Gardener for Preeti

One day Pierre received an online message enquiring about his yard and landscape maintenance services. The enquiry came from Preeti, a lady in her late 40s of Indian origin who's main obsession was her very ornate and complicated garden. Pierre visited her at her home in a well to do suburb, and would then become her dedicated gardener for years to come. Typical tasks Pierre undertook were mowing the lawn, trimming the hedges, barrowing soil, or numerous other miscellaneous tasks Preeti would set for him.

Pierre was fit, mid 30s, and unusually intellectual for a landscaper. He read books and was the quiet sort. He rented, and wasn't at all wealthy. He had tried university and careers in his 20s, but that path didn't work out for him - he just didn't quite fit neatly into the world the way others do. He resigned himself to a life of low stress drudgery -- at least it kept him fit and didn't have to go to the gym. Throughout his 20s he felt professionally useless, not wanted by anybody, and now for the first time he felt his services were in demand. A few years in, he was now accustomed to the daily rhythm of the job and it had grown on him. Socially and romantically though, he remained unfulfilled. He enjoyed talking to people but was a bit of a loner otherwise. He had a very sexual mind and a high libido, but never had a girlfriend and his last sexual experience was over a decade ago and not a very satisfying one at that. He dreamed that all it would take is just one desirable woman to take away his frustrations and give him a boost of confidence.

Preeti had a quite sweet Indian accent, which wasn't too strong. She was of short stature and had a round, soft face as well as a rounded, inviting sort of body she kept mostly covered by long dresses or pants. She was at once western, while retaining much in the way of Indian culture. Preeti and her husband Raj were both technically minded people with high levels of educational attainment. Pierre's relationship with them was friendly but not particularly personal or deep. They didn't seem to be people who reflected on life much but instead lived in the moment. Pierre didn't know much about Hindu culture other than it was very colourful, cheery and dance oriented, and there being some belief that the reality we perceive is an illusion or some such. While Preeti was always flitting from one thought to the next (which typically involved food, kids, doggies or plants), her husband was a bit of a joker. He was also a good ten years older than she was, tubby and physically useless, and Pierre imagined his cock had stopped working long ago and his sex drive had probably evaporated too. He obtained his status from his career as a technical sales superhero and his bubbly personality, certainly not his physical form. Being short and round can make a woman desirable, but it has the opposite effect for a man. Pierre thought of himself as more complete because he worked on developing his body as well as his mind, which should logically make him more sought after among women. If the world worked logically, that is.

How absurd is life, Pierre would ruminate. This soft, jolly little man gets a lifetime of love, sex and cooking from a beautiful woman, while he spent his 20s trying to make himself as hard as he could, training martial arts and gym, reading intellectual books and pondering art films and the meaning of life, while online dating resulted in mostly rejections. Sometimes chats with prospective dates would last for weeks or months for nothing further to eventuate. Turns out all he had to do was be from a traditional culture and be sociable and career driven enough, and have a lot of extended family connections. Just be a normie in a sea of other normies basically. Pierre was certain that a young Preeti would have overlooked him if they'd met in their 20s. He just wasn't gregarious enough, or too 'different', or maybe just didn't have the vibe she would have been after. He didn't feel he had the vibe any woman was after, and didn't have the energy or hope for dating anymore.

After a few years of Pierre's service, the family was organising a big family get together to celebrate a Hindu festival. Pierre was heavily involved in making the place presentable, a process that went on for many months. One day Preeti's beautiful daughter Priya came over to help with decorating. She was in her early 20s and incredibly pretty with long dark hair and a petite body to match. She was wearing tight shorts that contoured perfectly around her thighs and behind, and she was on a step ladder hanging up ornaments. At that moment Pierre just wanted to bury his face between her legs and make sucking and smacking noises sending her into paroxysms of pleasure while his manhood swelled and throbbed. No returning the favour needed -- but if she did, he was sure he'd only last a minute. Pierre didn't even have an obsession with Indian chicks generally, but this girl was just.. ouf!

After the festival was over, a worn out Pierre felt he was due another wank and was just in the mood for some South Asian pussy. He remembered nude model Angela Devi being a real stunner from his younger days as a regular porn watcher. He sat at his laptop and scanned some of her photoshoots while stroking himself. He preferred natural bodies and wasn't a fan of her fake tits, so he clicked on one of her showing her coffee coloured ass to finish himself off to.

Some months later, Pierre experimented with long term abstention from porn watching, and only let himself ejaculate when he absolutely couldn't hold it any longer and could barely sleep out of frustration. Since embarking on this regimen he started developing erotic fantasies about the women he saw on a daily basis instead of some impossible glamour model halfway across the world you only see on screens or in magazines. He wanted someone hot, but also one he could be comfortable with and not intimidated by. As long as she was curvy and thick, he was into it. A bit older, a MILF, a yummy mummy, it was all good by him. He started thinking about Preeti. How couldn't he, them spending so much time together, week after week. He wondered whether she was getting serviced in a satisfactory way, if at all, about how much of her figure she kept, how round her behind would be, how hot she'd look giving head, and all that nasty stuff. He wondered if she also thought about him in the same way, trying to hear clues in her voice or maybe it was in how she looked at him, even though he knew on some level this was a bit silly and a result of his excessively horny brain. Ah, the games nature makes us play are beastly indeed!

Weeks went by and while she was friendly, she wasn't exactly a flirt either. Maybe she was trying to suppress it. He knew women can be very subtle, and his perceptive abilities were probably not in tune enough to pick up on every clue. So he remained agnostic. Of course he wasn't going to try his luck making the first move and flirting with her in a million years. No use risking it, and it had never gone well in the past whenever he'd tried. Especially not to an employer! And married at that. So better to remain his cool self. Maybe she had a hot relative she might set him up to go on a date with if he continued to prove his worth and show good character. But how would he drop hints that he was single and looking?

The conversations never seemed to go in that direction. Besides, being fully honest with himself, he wasn't really looking for the happily ever after, just a lover plain and simple. He didn't want to have to lie his way into a girl's pants. Word would come back to her and that would get him fired for sure. Well, maybe not as she needed his yard services too much. More to the point, its just crappy behaviour, and Pierre thought of himself as a bit of a gentleman and above all of that. On one or two occasions he toyed with the idea of finding an excuse to call her beautiful, or compliment her appearance somehow. Ah, how lame. That would just make him sound like one of her girlfriends, or just a chivalrous beta and not the man to tear her apart like he wanted to be. Better to just be mysterious and aloof and let nature do the rest. 'You don't choose them they choose you' as is often said on the subject of women and their wiles. So Pierre remained the loyal and cheerful gardener, but deep down there was an unresolved tension in him that bubbled below the surface.

One Friday afternoon Pierre was wrapping up his day's labours when a wild summer storm blew in unexpectedly. The road home was often subject to flash flooding, and it looked like it was going to be intense. While rushing to pick up and pack away all his gear, he got soaked.

'Pierre you're more than welcome to come inside and have a hot shower and I can put your clothes in the drier!', Preeti yelled over the roar of the rain on the deck roof. Pierre usually liked to be self sufficient in these matters, but the sky was turning black and thought he really didn't have a choice. Preeti was home by herself that week as her husband was away on an overseas business trip.

He started to get a little excited and nervous as he realised that he was in the house of the woman he desired, and there was no one else around. The wooden stairs creaked as they ascended together. He was greeted by a comforting, homely smell, while he brought in with him a light scent of sweat, rain and leaves. The storm was truly set in now and the thunder and lightning was getting nearer. He got in the bathroom, put his wet clothes in a hamper, and took a hot shower. As the steam enveloped him he had a few moments of quiet reflection. He didn't know what to do, or what to say to his host to start to build interest, as it was customary that they would just speak about the job at hand or the weather. He didn't believe in miracles. At that moment he just knew exactly what he wanted, and he wanted it with her. He calmed his mind and tried to fill himself with big dick energy to make her legs tremble. Was it working? He had no idea. The whole idea was just crazy. He got out of the shower, dried himself off, wrapped the towel around his waist and put on one of her husband's shirts she had left for him, which sort of fitted.

As he exited the bathroom he was hit by a spicy, cooking smell coming from down the hallway. 'I made a little dinner for you', his host said as he poked his head into the kitchen and dining area. 'The road out did get flooded by the way'. So... he thought, I'll be staying here a while then -- doesn't complicate matters one little bit! He saw that she had heated up some samosas and also made him a cup of tea. Pierre thanked her and took his seat at the dining room table and ate his meal slowly, savouring every mouthful. His mind seemed blank and full of thoughts at the same time as he eyed the homely interior, the various fridge magnets, family photos and collection of mementos on the mantlepiece. That seemed to calm him but he still had a slightly tense, anxious feeling in his stomach. The most likely scenario was that no magic would happen and the day would just end the way all other days end -- he'd just drive back home, open the laptop, watch a video, check the email, do the accounts, wash dishes, climb into bed alone and turn out the light, his thoughts all to himself. He looked down at his meal and then over toward his host, expectantly. 'I've had mine already Raj...' she grinned. 'your clothes should be dry soon I think...'

'What was that? You just called me Raj haha!', laughed Pierre.

'Well you're wearing his shirt!' she giggled back.

'So I am.' Pierre took his last bite then got up from his seat and walked slowly toward Preeti. 'Can I be Raj this evening? I know I'm not as handsome' he joked.

Preeti held a quizzical expression.

'What would you and Raj be doing around this time if he were here?' Pierre felt his words come out from a place he couldn't control.

'Maybe watch TV, but if there's nothing on, probably go to bed I guess...' She paused again. 'I'm not interested in any of the programs on tonight, and I'm sick of the news these days, frankly.'

'Yeah, same here', said Pierre, without pausing to reflect. 'So if it's bedtime and the weather hasn't cleared, and I'm Raj, that means it's time for us to go to bed.'

'OK, if you say so Mr' she replied with a cheeky smile, turning around and walking along the hallway and toward the master bedroom. Pierre took a few steps then froze. His host briefly turned to the side and gave him a partial glance before opening the bedroom door. Five more steps and he was in the door. She hadn't yet flicked the light switch on for some reason. 'Oh gosh sorry Preeti I I was just playing around, I'll leave you alone now, thanks for everything you've done for me today', Pierre stuttered as he backpedaled awkwardly.

'Excuse me, is that what my husband does, just leave me now?' Preeti stood in the doorway, a hand on her hip, accentuating her curves. 'Some man are you! You coming or what?'

Pierre did not need telling twice and walked toward her while she stood there defiantly. Their bodies almost touching, she grabbed his hands and pulled them behind her back, drawing his face close to hers. His heart pounding and throat dry, he met her lips with his. She squeezed his hands tightly. He felt at that moment like he was King of the World so he picked her up and into the bedroom they went. He wasn't used to picking up women and carrying them so it was a little awkward but she certainly appreciated the effort. Here they were in what felt like a sacred space, a welcome refuge from the world outside, where the masks we have to wear can finally come off.

'You lead, baby', she whispered, then kicked off her slippers and took off her dressing gown and got on the bed in a kneeling position. Pierre dropped his towel and chucked her husband's shirt off and across the room. He could barely see her silhouette in the unlit room, but his lips found hers again. She kissed back softly, and he quickly moved on to her neck. She undid her bra and as she felt his forward momentum, she lowered herself backwards onto her elbows.

As he started to caress and kiss her nipples she slid off her panties. His hands, toughened from laying pavers earlier in the day, explored her thighs then found the glistening wet warmth of her mound. He continued to explore her then started moving downward, kissing the tops of her thighs, then her inner thighs, further and further inward. Pierre had read a few instructional articles but was not experienced in the art of lickng vulva, so he began with moving his mouth into position and giving a big wet kiss right at the centre of it which her body reacted to immediately. He scribbled on it vigourously with his tongue, side to side, upwards and downwards, round and round, then in for another big smacking kiss.

Pausing briefly, he marveled at how far apart she was able to get her legs. This was one part about being a male without much access to intimacy with a female, one forgets small things like how much more flexible they are. He then grabbed her thighs just under the knees and lifted them upward, tongue still diligently working, hoping to give her that feeling of being his babygirl. He licked her labia then moved onto her clit, as rapidfire as his tongue would go, listening to her soft moans. His manhood was by this time aroused, pulsing and throbbing. He paused a moment. 'Haaah keep going', she pleaded softly. Pierre plunged two fingers inside her, breathing in her intoxicating mound. His unpracticed tongue was tired so he had to get creative, but by the sounds she was making it had the desired effect.

Confident she was satisfied, he rose to his feet, standing over her, hard. Pierre's erect penis was quite attractive. Straight and thick with a well defined, engorged head, which now had a thin film of precum around it. He wondered if she could see it given the lack of light. He grabbed hold of her hands and pulled her up to a seated position. 'Mmmmhm, what's next...' she whispered, even though there was no one around but him. He stood there aching for her to take it her mouth or just stroke it with her hands. Probably taboo in her culture, he thought to himself. Instead of boldly asking, he hinted by gently placing a hand at the side her head, but she seemed not to get the message, and just fell back on the bed, expectantly.

'Right', he thought. 'I know what to do'. Planting his hands near her shoulders he lowered himself into position over her, gauging her reaction. She started to brace herself, panting lightly. His shaft lightly brushed over her vulva as he started to make his move a little too enthusiastically. He adjusted his position, leaning back and grasping his manhood near the base, swelling it to as hard as it could go, and guided it between her legs, going by feel as there was no light. He then slid it in slowly, first the head, then inch by inch, then back out up to the head, slowly. Not particularly big but surely bigger than any she'd had before, he imagined to himself. Think positive, right?

He planted his hands by her sides again then proceeded to thrust rhythmically, starting slowly then speeding up, steadily and mechanically. She now had her legs wrapped around his waist, breathing and moaning with each thrust. She must have known men's arms have their triceps flexed when they are supporting themselves in this position because she soon guided her hands up to feel them. The day's stresses and strains now forgotten, he continued to plough her and her moans got louder. The urge to release inside of her was overwhelming so he adopted a slower tempo. He felt her hands go up and caress his chest, neck and back, her nails just long enough to give him a gentle scratch. He dropped to give her a quick kiss. Her breathing started to get more intense.

Pierre knew he was on the home stretch now, pumping hard and deep. One, two, three and with nerve endings on fire he started to release with spasmodic thrusts, his arms trembling. She felt his body relax and kept her legs held tightly around him for as long as she could. He lost count of the pulses, but he guessed at least seven. It had been more than a month since his last ejaculation, and Pierre always created a thick, healthy load. Somewhat lightheaded, he withdrew his member ever so slowly, which kept throbbing lightly. Her inner walls coated, a bit of excess oozed out of her almost immediately. He collapsed next to her. The bed was about as wet as you can imagine. She sighed contentedly and they lay there catching their breath.

He propped himself up and turned to her: 'Has it stopped raining?'

'Yeah... I think so. But you're staying right here with me. Mmm, I knew it would be worth it.'

They were both so overwhelmed they just rested in each other's presence for a few minutes. The night air was still and the only sound now was the hum of the fridge out in the kitchen and the occasional nocturnal animal on the roof or in the trees. The night was pitch black other than the stars and a few distant streetlights. Neither of them had any idea what time it was. All that mattered then was the moment. He usually busy mind wasn't in the mood for thinking and all he felt was that a big weight was lifted from him. His body fatigued but satisfied, he drifted off to sleep.

He slept deeply through the night, other than for a brief half remembered moment when he heard the shower running from the bathroom down the hall. He had a waking dream about what her naked body actually looked like, as he hadn't been able to really see her once they entered the bedroom. The encounter they had was undeniably erotic, but a little hasty and not very visual. Surely things would only get better from here...

He opened his eyes and could see around the bedroom for the first time, as the sun's rays were just beginning to creep through the blinds. He glanced over at his lover. She had a nightie on and appeared to be asleep. She rolled over to face him, opened her eyes and said 'mmm'. She shifted herself further toward him, then closed her eyes again. For a moment he thought he had nearly dozed off when all of a sudden she got up, lifted her nightie off and sat facing him, almost in a lotus pose. He eyes took in her naked body in silence. She wasn't a gym goer, but kept a pretty good figure. Her breasts were rounder and fuller than he had imagined. He noticed that her ladybits were now smooth and shaved, which she must have attended to after the shower. She grabbed some hair ties from her bedside table and held one in her mouth while tying back her hair with another. She kept her gaze fixed intently on him. He was in no doubt that his services would be called upon again -- words were unnecessary. She then looked down playfully and pulled the sheet away completely off him. As sure as night follows day, no matter how satisfied a man's love muscle is, a few hours after ejaculation it will start to tingle and swell again, especially in the presence of a woman who turns him on.