SURROGATES
K D Grace

Table of Contents

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

More from Mischief

About Mischief

Copyright

About the Publisher

Chapter One

‘Francie? Francie, are you there?’

Dan made his way around behind the jungle of runner beans, getting a shoeful of soil when he stepped off the path. As the warm, moist earth infiltrated his dress socks, he would have cursed his clumsiness, but then he saw her on hands and knees, the swell of her hips slightly raised in her efforts to pull stubborn weeds. She didn’t have to do that. She was the head kitchen gardener, a goddess in her domain. He hired underlings to do the weeding, but fuck, he was glad she took the hands-on approach, especially at times like this. She had kicked off the silly blue plastic gardening clogs she always wore, and her bare toes curled into the soft earth as though the very touch of it was an irresistible pleasure. How could soil between toes be so goddamned sexy?

The thin summer skirt she wore barely covered the heart-shaped roundness of her bottom, hugging her and clinging in the heavy summer heat to the delicious juncture where her thighs met. There were clearly no panty lines. She gardened in skirts, like she wanted to expose herself, like the acts of planting and digging and cultivating made her a naughty bitch who couldn’t get enough. But then that was the way he saw her in his fantasies, and oh shit, did he have fantasies about her! His cock jerked with an insistence that nearly took his breath away. ‘There you are,’ he breathed, fingers already fumbling at his fly.

‘Go away. I’m busy,’ she said, giving some unfortunate weed an angry tug, an act that made the thin skirt quiver, made the firm muscles of her buttocks beneath clench and release. And his balls surged, sending a testosterone buzz clear to the crown of his head.

He ignored the anger in her voice. Well, he didn’t actually ignore it. Her saucy temper made his cock even harder. ‘It’s all right, darling, you keep on working. Just lift your skirt for me.’ He grunted softly as he released his cock into his hand.

‘Lift it yourself. I said I’m busy.’

‘You know I can’t do that, sweetheart.’

She growled something particularly feral under her breath. He figured it wasn’t fit for polite company, which made him wish all the more that he’d heard it.

‘I’ve got such a load for you. I’ll come all over it if you don’t lift it for me,’ he said.

‘I have other skirts, Daniel.’ She only called him Daniel when she was really angry. ‘Why do I care where you come?’

‘Because you know where I really want to come, darling, and you have to know how badly I want it.’ He moved slightly to one side, not so far that her magnificent bottom wasn’t the centre of his attention, but far enough that, in her peripheral vision, she might catch a glimpse of him stroking his cock. Even if she couldn’t, she knew what he was doing, and he had no intention of being quiet about it. He lifted his balls free from his boxers and groaned at the feel of himself, so full, so heavy for her.

She gave another angry yank at the offending weeds, and the resulting squeeze of her buttocks nearly sent him over the edge.

He spat on his hand noisily, rubbed his saliva over the length of his cock and groaned again, squinting at her exquisite backside as though if he just stared at it hard enough he could slide the skirt up over her hips with sheer desire. And the view would be magnificent. The way her knees were open, the way she braced herself on the garden mat, would showcase the tight dark bud of her anus nestled just above the splayed pout of her pussy. And her pussy, he had no doubt, would be slickened from knowing what he was doing, from knowing what he’d come for, what he so desperately wanted … needed.

‘You were with her, weren’t you? You were with your wife,’ she said, reaching a gloved hand to deposit a handful of weeds in the trug next to her, an act that made the skirt ride up even further, leaving him breathless.

‘What? No! I wasn’t. I promise. I had a meeting with my accountant that overran. I swear it, Francie darling. I haven’t seen Bel since I got home. Besides she’s staying over at her sister’s this evening. They’re having a girls’ night out. Sweetheart, you know if I were with her, I’d tell you. Haven’t I always been above board about what goes on between Bel and me?’

She knew he had. Not that there was much to tell, but on the odd occasion when Bel had had too much wine with dinner and demanded he do his husbandly duty, or when she was feeling morose about her advancing years, all thirty-four of them, and needed to be shown she was still sexy, he never lied about it. It didn’t matter what sex acts he’d had to perform to please his wife; when Francie asked for details, he gave them. A part of him hated that she always asked. Surely she knew it would be easier if she didn’t know, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. And he didn’t hold back anything, even though he was always careful to remind her that, when he did his duty where Bel was concerned, it was thinking about her, Francie, that made him come.

And all the while he told Francie what he’d done to Bel, told her details that made him blush, details that made his cock stretch and arch towards her, she listened while her cunt got slick and fat. Even as those details made her angry and unhappy, she asked for them. And while he told her, she played with herself, fingers darting furiously in and out between her heavy slippery folds, hips shifting and grinding as she asked him in clipped, breathless words for more details. What did Bel’s pussy look like? How did she smell? Could he taste the wine she’d drunk or the spices from Cook’s curry when he ate her out? How hard did her nipples get? Did she talk dirty when he pushed into her? Jesus, having sex with Bel, even though he knew it hurt Francie, was almost worth it to watch the way Francie took the pain, twisted it, turned it, reshaped it and came on it, came in lovely gushing female squirts at what she had made of it in her filthy little head.

Of course she didn’t like it that someone else got his cock while she only got to watch him wank. He didn’t like it either, but there was nothing for it at the moment. As much as he wanted Francie, as much as he dreamed of riding her raw, he was still married to Bel, and he would stay faithful until he got the balls to ask for a divorce. No matter how badly he wanted Francie, he could never behave towards Bel the way his father had towards his mother.

So why was he such a coward? People got divorced every day. Lots of people. Hell, he knew people who had already been married and divorced multiple times. It was a simple thing to ask for a divorce these days. And yet here he was like a damned adolescent begging for a peek under a girl’s skirt. ‘Please, darling,’ he said. ‘I don’t have a lot of time, and I want to spend what I do have with you.’

He saw the sigh shiver up through her body, and he knew he’d been forgiven. She knelt up enough to take off her gloves, then with one hand she eased the skirt up over her hips and wriggled slightly to open her legs a little wider on the mat.

He pressed his thumb to the head of his cock. The urge to come at the sight of her all engorged and open was nearly overwhelming. The pearlescent sheen on the inside of her pouting labia told him he wasn’t the only one who needed to come. As she arched her back downward and forced her bottom even higher, her clit came into view looking like a heavy swollen marble at the apex of her pussy. ‘Oh, Francie,’ he breathed, ‘touch it for me.’

She dipped her index and middle fingers in between her slick folds then drew them upward tightly against either side of her clit until it bulged still further, like soft, ripe fruit waiting to be nibbled. And, fuck, how he wished he could!

‘Do you like that?’ she murmured, glancing over her shoulder.

‘Oh God, yes,’ he grunted.

‘I thought you weren’t going to show. I was angry,’ she said. ‘Oh, I definitely had plans for the vegetables I was sending Cook for your dinner tonight.’ She nodded at the basket of mixed phallic veg sitting on the ground next to her.

His cock jerked. ‘Show me,’ he whispered. ‘Show me what you were going to do to my veg.’

She took a heavy courgette slightly thicker than his cock, crooked and arched nearly in the shape of a banana. She gave it a leisurely deep-throating that had him thumbing the underside of his cock again, that had him imagining how it would feel if it were him getting the benefit of her delicious tongue. Her cheek muscles tugged and pulled on the courgette like it was a rod of steel.

When she was absolutely certain she had his full attention, she repositioned herself to face him. She wriggled her bare arse down on to the mat with her legs splayed. With one hand she scrunched her skirt into a wad just below her navel, raking her long slender hand over tightly trimmed pubic curls, then she slid two fingers into her milky cunt and opened herself. With a little lifting of her buttocks and shifting of her hips she was ready. She snugged the hard jut of the courgette up tight against her reluctant pout.

Suddenly it was as though he weren’t even there, and that made it all the harder for him to hold his wad. She spat on her fingers and rubbed saliva around the place where the courgette met the tight press of her cunt hole. As though the task at hand demanded all the focus in the world, she alternately lubricated and pushed, lubricated and pushed, all the while making tight little grunting sounds low in her belly. He couldn’t take his eyes off the slow but relentless yielding of her grudging pussy to the press of the veg. With each push, with each shift, her clit marbled and beaded harder and harder just above the nudging of the courgette. She continued to push and stroke, push and stroke until at last her pussy hole yielded, her eyes fluttered and she caught her breath in a little gasp as the veg slid cock-deep into her gash.

‘Ah!’ she breathed. ‘That’s better. That’s just what I needed. Such a tight fit, but oh so yummy.’ Then she raised her eyes to meet his and offered him a smile that was almost shy. ‘Now I’m ready to come.’ Fingers still wet from her efforts with the veg, she undid the buttons of her sundress, releasing high firm breasts topped with heavy raspberry nipples into the pinching, kneading caress of one hand.

‘I don’t know about you –’ she grunted as she began to thrust and gyrate against the veg ‘– but I won’t be able to hold back long with all this heft up in my tight little fanny. And when I’m done coming, I’ll let you take the veg to the house for Cook. That way if you want to sneak a taste of my cunt, who’ll know?’ With each breathless thrust she lifted her arse off the gardening mat, giving him teasing glimpses of her gripping anus, and she knew exactly what he was looking at. She offered a throaty chuckle. ‘Maybe next time I’ll let you watch me shove a nice plump carrot back there. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

He only nodded. This was the point in their wank sessions where he always fell silent, too taken in by the heat of her, by the want of her, by the knowing that this was as much as he could allow himself of her, no matter how willing she was. He yanked at his cock like it was a wild thing he had to tame. He yanked until it hurt, and he kneaded his balls, feeling the surge at the base all ready to spill out on to the warm earth in front of Francie. It was the best he had to offer her right now, his humiliation, his need, his lust once removed.

She fell back on to the ground with a little cry, legs apart, offering him an exquisite view of the tremors of her orgasm tightly stretched around the courgette. The view, combined with the ripe scent of her, was more than he could endure, and he unloaded in heavy spurts on to the ground scant centimetres from her bare thigh. He unloaded till he thought he’d turn himself inside out, convulsing and grunting until he was spent, bent forward on his knees in the veg bed next to her, gasping and gulping for breath.

It was almost enough to give him the courage to ask Isabel for a divorce. He was sure he could almost do it after such erotic bliss, and what a lovely surprise it would be for Francie. But before he could verbalise that bliss, Bel’s voice rang out over the garden wall.

‘Dan? Dan, are you there?’ Fortunately they heard her before she found them.

Francie cursed under her breath, grabbed the basket and fled into the greenhouse.

With a painful effort, Dan shoved his cock into his trousers and kicked at the earth to bury the evidence. ‘Coming, Bel.’ He fought hard not to sound breathless as his wife, dressed in tight jeans and a vest that showed plenty of her ample cleavage, stepped through the gate. He forced a smile. ‘I thought you were at your sister’s for the night, sweetheart.’

‘We had to cancel. She’s down with some sort of stomach virus.’ She grimaced. ‘God knows, I don’t need that.’ She took his arm. ‘I’ll be keeping you company this evening, darling. I thought maybe we’d make our own entertainment a little later. My massage therapist says sex is great for keeping the skin looking young. She says you’d be surprised at all the health benefits of an active sex life.’

Dan gave a quick glance over his shoulder, hoping desperately that Francie hadn’t overheard, but she had disappeared.

Bel continued. ‘Cook told me you were out here, so I thought I’d come down and have Francie send up a few more veg for dinner. During my massage today, Ellen also told me that we’d both benefit from eating more veg. She says a diet full of veg is the next best thing to the fountain of youth.’ She gestured exuberantly. ‘She says veg and sex are the keys to health and vitality. She says Francie probably grows most of the veggie superfoods right here in her garden.’ She looked around. ‘Where is Francie anyway? You haven’t seen her, have you?

Chapter Two

‘I must be out of my fucking mind.’ Francie shoved the basket of vegetables that would enhance Dan and Bel’s dinner tonight on to the big staging table in the greenhouse and wiped frantically at her eyes with the backs of her hands. She wasn’t about to cry. She wouldn’t give the bastard the satisfaction.

They were going to feast on her vegetables. Her vegetables would give them the strength and stamina to make their own entertainment. Wasn’t that what Bel said? Make their own fucking entertainment, and why not? The woman was his wife. And Francie was nothing more than the hired help. The stupid hired help, who didn’t have enough brains to stay away from her gorgeous boss! Make that her arsehole boss, she mentally corrected herself. She bit back a sob and grabbed a tray of basil seedlings from the incubator. Cook wanted a couple of new basil plants for the kitchen. Bel had it in her head that basil was the herb of eternal youth and had practically been grazing on the stuff recently.

‘Excuse me, have you seen Dan?’

Francie spun around and nearly jumped out of her skin at the sight of the unexpected man standing so close behind her. She dropped the tray, and seedlings and compost exploded on to the floor.

That was it. That was the straw that broke the gardener’s back. She’d babied those seedlings along for weeks now, keeping them safe and warm and trauma-free, then this happens. She burst into tears.

‘Oh God! Oh God! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. Please don’t cry. Here, let me help you.’

But it was suddenly like the dam had burst. She had endured all these weeks of wanting Dan so badly, all these weeks of knowing that no matter what he said, no matter how hot their wank sessions were, at the end of the day it wasn’t her bed he shared. Then there were all the weeks of feeling guilty because while he stayed faithful to Bel, she didn’t care. She would have fucked him in a New York minute. And she liked Bel. That was a part of the problem. Bel was OK. Bel was wonderful. Still, she would have fucked him if he’d asked. But he didn’t. And it all bubbled over in one upturned tray of basil seedlings.

‘Here, sit down. Please don’t cry. I’ll take care of it,’ the man was saying, guiding her away from the mess on the floor. ‘There, there. It’ll be OK. Basil seedlings are tough. They’ll be OK, just please stop crying. Can I get you some water? Aspirin, maybe? Anything?’ He didn’t wait for her to answer. Instead he guided her to the stool near the staging table and settled her gently on to it. Then he knelt, scooped the spilled compost into the tray and began to replant the seedlings one by one. ‘There, you see? It’ll be OK. You see, no damage, just a little spill. Not even one broken stem. Don’t worry, these will be just fine.’

Even through the tears she recognised the untidy nails of a fellow gardener. It wouldn’t have mattered if his hands had been meticulously scrubbed and manicured, she would have known by the careful way he rescued the little basil plants, taking them gently by their stems and placing them back in the compost.

‘There, you see? Good as new.’ He placed the tray on the table next to the basket of veg. ‘Lovely veg, by the way,’ he added. ‘The courgettes are exquisite. Did you grow them?’ He picked up the one that had been shoved up her cunt only minutes before and she burst into tears again. A courgette! She had actually been reduced to fucking a courgette.

‘Oh dear. Oh God. I’m so sorry.’

She scrabbled off the stool to make a run for it, anywhere but here, someplace where she could hide her humiliation. ‘Wait! Don’t run off like that.’ He slipped an arm around her and caught her before she could flee. ‘I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry. Please at least give me a chance to apologise.’

‘No, no. It’s not you,’ she sobbed against his shoulder. ‘You have nothing to apologise for. You’re doing great, wonderful, actually. It’s me. I’m so stupid. So absolutely stupid.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. I know stupid when I see it, and you’re not it.’ He tightened his arms around her and she felt good solid muscle in the embrace. God, how long had it been since she felt good solid male muscle? She slipped her arms around his neck. He was tall and, as he tightened his embrace, he practically lifted her off her feet. Tall and strong, she thought, as the muscles low in her belly gave a little quiver.

One large hand began to stroke her mussed hair. She hadn’t worn it back today because Dan liked it loose, but Dan never touched it. This bloke was touching it, gently, tenderly, the same way he’d touched her seedlings. Her nipples beaded to a tight, nearly painful press against the rise and fall of his chest. She could feel the heat of his breath against the top of her ear, breath which seemed to have accelerated a bit. He continued, ‘In fact, if that veg garden I walked past is your doing, then I’d say you’re anything but stupid. You’re an artist. I’m in awe.’

Then she did the unthinkable. She curled her fingers in his thick brown hair and pulled his face down to hers. A little sigh of surprise escaped his throat, but he didn’t resist. Still standing on tiptoe, she brushed her lips across his. Not only did he not resist, but he returned the favour, cupping her cheek in his large hand and lifting her off her feet with the arm that now encircled her waist. The brush of lips became a full-fledged assault, tongues sparring, lips crushing, breath coming in harsh little gasps. And it wasn’t just the mouth. It was the overall effect of a real body, a real live male body barely able to contain the erection she could now clearly feel through his jeans. And just from the rub up, it made the courgette seem rather inadequate.

‘I don’t know you nearly well enough for this,’ he said when he finally came up for air. But before she could apologise for her unacceptable behaviour, his mouth was up for round two. This time, he lifted her bodily on to the staging table, her legs falling open on either side of him, her dress scrunching until rough denim raked the moist satin gusset of her knickers.

‘You’ve rescued my seedlings and fondled my courgette. That’s good enough for me,’ she breathed against his mouth.

She was just getting ready to open his fly and free Simba when Cook called from the garden path.

‘Francie? Francie, are you there?’

They barely managed to straighten themselves and look like they were engaged with the seedlings when a heavy-set woman in a pink track suit huffed through the greenhouse door all aflutter and already in full conversation mode. ‘There you are, Francie. Ms Bel says I’m not cooking enough vegetables. That silly massage therapist of hers says she should eat more, can you believe it? If the woman eats any more vegetables, she’ll be taking up residence in the toilet. Last I heard diarrhoea wasn’t an anti-ageing treatment, but what do I know? I’m just the cook. Oh, hello.’ She addressed the man next to Francie with a smile of approval, and smoothed her always frizzy hair with a flutter of her hand. ‘And who might you be?’

‘I might be Simon, Simon Paris. I’m here to see Dan … er … Mr Alexander, about the Renaissance garden he’s planning.’

‘He and Ms Bel just got home a few minutes ago.’ Cook nodded towards the big house rising above the shrubbery and trees. ‘You can walk back with me if you’d like.’

‘If you give me a second, I’ll pot up a couple of basil plants for you to take back with you,’ Francie said, when she’d caught her breath.

‘Oh, lovely, lovely,’ the woman said. ‘I’ll just have a wander around, see what’s ready, and get some ideas for next week’s menus.’ She turned on her heels and disappeared into the veg patch.

Before Francie knew what was happening, Simon found the dibber and the nesting terracotta pots she had planned to use for the basil then brought them to where the rescued plants perched on the table looking no worse for their tumble. ‘You OK?’ He asked, as she busied herself transplanting the seedlings, trying to salvage what little dignity remained to her.

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Fine. Sorry about that. Just not a good day and, well, I’m a bit sensitive about my seedlings.’

‘I can understand that,’ he said, filling the pots with the mix of compost and grit she’d made up for the seedlings earlier. His hands were large and rough and clearly used to hard work. It was only then, only after she’d managed to regain some composure that she had time to properly take in the rest of the package. His faded but clean T-shirt bore the words ‘Renaissance Gardens’ in flowing italic script stretched just tightly enough over one mounded pec to convince Francie that what was underneath would be as much a pleasure to look at as it was to be pressed up against. She glanced up into startling grey eyes which offset a spattering of sun-browned freckles, all balanced by a broad smile that might well have been the warmest thing she’d felt all day. All in all he was a lovely specimen of maleness that, when combined with the adept way he dealt with her seedlings and her physical attack on his person, made her feel a whole lot better.

‘I’m very sensitive about anything I’ve nurtured and tended to,’ he was saying by the time she got her eyes up past the nice chest to the equally nice face. ‘And these are lovely seedlings, sturdy, healthy, not leggy.’

‘Then you’re a gardener,’ she said.

‘I own a landscaping business.’ He nodded to the logo on his shirt. ‘Sadly I don’t have as much time to devote to my little veg plot as I’d like, but I manage a tomato or two and a few runner beans, you know. That sort of thing.’

‘Don’t suppose you’d be hiring, would you?’

He looked up at her. ‘Are you serious? You’d leave this?’ He gestured around him.

She swallowed hard, afraid she would cry again. ‘I have my reasons. I can do more than kitchen gardening. I’ve done a bit of landscaping myself, though I have to say the veggies are my first love.’

‘But you want to leave all this and work somewhere else?’

Just then Cook stepped back in. ‘Tomatoes and coriander look just perfect for a nice dhal, and we’ve not had a good curry in a while. Oh, and the aubergines are lovely. I’ll send you a list.’ She nestled two of the newly transplanted basil plants into the end of the basket and motioned to Simon. ‘I’ll take you up to the house now.’

He turned to Francie, brushed a fingertip over the back of her hand, just out of Cook’s view, and held her in his steamy grey gaze. ‘Lovely to meet you, Francie. I hope we can talk gardening again sometime soon.’ Then he turned and followed Cook out of the greenhouse, leaving Francie to admire the exquisite way his arse filled out the seat of his jeans and contemplate what had just happened.

Chapter Three

There was plenty of wine to wash down what Dan was sure must be far too many vegetables, though he did find the courgettes particularly tasty. Extra wine would help ease him into the night’s entertainment, as Bel had called it. She was already next to him on the sofa in the lounge, leaning over his lap stroking his cock through his trousers. It was responding nicely, with the help of a few thoughts of Francie’s lovely round bottom.

‘You like that, don’t you?’ Bel whispered against his ear, her voice gone all throaty and porn-starry. ‘You like it when I play with your cock, don’t you, darling?’

He wondered if she expected the porn-star response: ‘Fuck yeah, baby, play with my cock!’ Instead he just moaned something like ‘mmmmrrrhp’ as she undid his trousers and extricated his penis with scary long nails that always made him a bit nervous. Then she went to work on him with her mouth.

Even in his surly mood, there was no denying Bel was good with her mouth. It wasn’t long before she had him rocking and grinding against the sofa, his fingers curled in her honey-brown hair. Wasn’t it platinum blonde just last week? Who could remember from one day to the next?

She had just pulled back to lift her top over her head, when he stopped her. ‘Not here, Bel. The servants might see.’

‘Who cares?’ she said.

But as she made a second effort, he grabbed her wrist and stood, pulling her to her feet. ‘I care. Come on. Up to the bedroom with you.’ She cursed under her breath as he herded her towards the stairs, struggling to stash his erection.

Upstairs in the bedroom, he tried to pull her to him, but she shrugged him off. ‘I have to go change.’ As she trotted off to the bathroom, even he had to admit she was lovely when she was pouting. While she rattled about at her ablutions, he stripped off his clothes. He started to get into his pajamas, thought better of it, and crawled into bed in only his boxers. He stroked his cock absently as he listened to water running, and wondered why Bel could never be spontaneous like Francie was. Thinking about her, skirt up, legs open, cunt swollen and exposed, made his balls feel full and heavy, even though he’d only been with her and had a good emptying just a few hours ago. But oh God, even the thought of her with that big-arsed courgette up her hole made him hot.

Bel interrupted his thoughts as she came out of the bathroom in a very tiny, very sheer lace bra with matching stockings and suspenders. And a fucking towel! Which she spread on her side of the bed. ‘Sally just changed the sheets,’ she said. ‘We don’t want to get them messy, do we?’

‘Of course not. We wouldn’t want that, would we?’ He forced a smile and patted the bed, on top of the spread towel.

She lay back next to him, careful to smooth her hair across the pillow. Then she gave him a heavy-lidded look and began stroking a nipple to a stiff peak beneath the thin lace.

He thought of Francie’s lovely breasts, and his mouth watered. He pushed aside the strap of her bra, lifted a tit free and began to suck and tongue the nipple and areola.

‘Mmmm,’ she moaned. ‘You like my tits?’

She knew he did. When they were first married it was all about her tits, her luscious, heavy, large-nippled tits. Back then, he couldn’t keep his hands off them. He still couldn’t, he supposed, at least not when she presented them to him so brazenly. He shoved the bra down until he could cup both her breasts, then he buried his face between them. He could suffocate in their deep soft cleavage, and in the past he had done his best to do just that. He had licked them, sucked them, spanked them, pinched them and fucked the valley between them until he had exploded in heavy spurts into Bel’s mouth. And she had sucked him dry like she was a baby at nursing time.

Now, all he could think of was doing the same thing to Francie, though her breasts were smaller, the squeeze would be tighter, but he’d be slick from the licking she would give him beforehand. His balls clenched at the thought.

Bel guided his hand down between her legs, sliding his fingers into the familiar pouting folds of her pussy. ‘I’m so wet for you,’ she breathed against the top of his head. She was creamy and heavy, and her clit strained against his thumb as he probed her. Her eyelids fluttered and her breath hitched, and he couldn’t wait any longer, thinking of Francie as he was. He freed his cock over the top of his boxers, crawled in between her legs and pushed home. She uttered a little cry as he began to thrust, concentrating hard on the vision of Francie’s lovely cunt full to the hilt with the courgette, imagining it was his cock pushing into her instead.

* * *

Damn it! Bel was so tired of Dan climbing on to her silently and going at it. Oh, he always made her come, or rather she made herself come, but it was getting harder and harder not to just fake it and be done with it. She should have known better than to ask for sex tonight. She could have slept in her bedroom, like she usually did these days, and had a good go with her vibe. It would have been easier.

She wrapped her legs around his waist to at least get a little stimulation against her clit where she needed it.

‘Shall I play with your clit?’ he asked between gritted teeth.

‘No,’ she grunted. ‘No, I’m all right.’ He was getting close, she could tell. He might have to finish her off with his fingers if he came first, and she hated that. She hated trying to come with him nodding off, with his mind who knew where, but wherever it was, it definitely wasn’t on what he was doing to her. She shifted again to get more friction and gripped his cock tighter, straining from the effort of pressing up to meet him,

The thought came uninvited into her head, but suddenly it was there: Ellen with the little droplets of sweat glistening against the lovely pert tops of her breasts, Ellen with her nipples pressing against the pink French-cut T-shirt that did little to disguise her lack of a bra. Ellen missing Bel’s cheek with her goodbye kiss, after her massage, and settling it firmly, not fleetingly but firmly, on Bel’s lips. Then there was that lovely opportunistic tongue darting in to take advantage of Bel’s surprised gasp. And suddenly they were tongue-dancing, mouth to mouth, breast to breast, body to body, and Bel damn near came in her panties from the sheer pleasure of it.

Her pussy gushed at the thought and clamped down tight on Dan’s cock. He gave a hard grunt in response, and she thrust up to meet him with renewed energy.

She’d hurried away from her massage session all flustered and confused. Oh, Ellen had offered an embarrassed apology, but in the car on the drive home Bel had come, with her fingers raking at the crotch of her knickers, while sitting there in traffic, thinking about Ellen’s luscious mouth, thinking about the feel of Ellen’s titties against hers. And oh, how she had come! It had been so easy. And now, with Dan tensing at the approach of his orgasm, she thought about what would have happened if she had slid Ellen’s hand up under her skirt. Would the woman have fingered her wet pussy? Would she have guided Bel’s hand to return the favour? And what would it feel like to diddle another woman’s cunt? God, she suddenly wanted to know.

‘I’m coming,’ Dan gasped, with a thrust that felt like it would go clear through her.

Thinking hard of how it felt to come on her own fingers, knowing just how soft and warm and wet a woman’s vulva is when she’s aroused, thinking about Ellen’s sweet lips, she gripped his cock with her cunt, bore down hard and tumbled over the edge with him.

* * *

Francie would have laughed at the irony of the situation if the joke hadn’t been on her. Her bedroom window faced Dan’s bedroom window. She knew that because he told her. He told Francie that there were nights when Bel was asleep that he would stand in front of the window and masturbate thinking of her. There had even been nights when they’d seen each other, and she had stood naked, wanting to show herself to him. Oh, she knew he could barely see her at that distance. But while he masturbated, he would know that she was naked with her fingers dancing over her clit and dipping between her labia while she thought of him. And she wanted him to know that.

But he wasn’t at the window tonight. He was fucking his wife. She felt that knowledge with an ache that was almost physical. She felt it down low between her hipbones. And she was horny. It really pissed her off that, for some stupid-arsed reason, knowing the two of them were humping and grinding and grunting made her outrageously horny, even as it ripped her heart out.

She untied the knot that held her robe closed around her waist and let it slide off her shoulders. Her breasts felt heavy and full, and the cool breeze blowing in the window made her nipples pucker and stretch. She could smell her pussy, like a warm brimming tide pool. She slipped two fingers in between her folds and felt her silky slip and slide yield to the touch. She wondered if Simon had smelled her when he found her in the greenhouse, all wet and slippery from just coming. Surely he had. How could he not?

Oh God, Simon. He had made the rest of her day bearable. If Cook hadn’t interrupted, would he have fucked her right there on the staging table in the greenhouse? She wouldn’t have needed a courgette. She smiled as she thought of the size of his cock pressing so anxiously against the thin fabric of her panties. Would he have actually fucked her, though? Or would he have been a gentleman and perhaps asked her out for drinks first?

And what about her? Would she have let him take her, knowing why he was in the position in the first place, knowing that her tears and her distress had motivated him, that she had thrown herself at him like some brazen slut. And yet he certainly wasn’t put off by her advances. He seemed happy to take it to the next level. And he was a gardener. Good with his hands. She could tell that by the way he handled her seedlings. She wondered what else he could do with those lovely hard hands. Her pussy gripped and pouted, gripped and pouted against the scissoring of her fingers, and her clit felt like it would burst with its fullness.

She looked out at the darkened window of Dan’s room. Then, thinking of Simon rubbing against her crotch with his heavy erection, she leaned her back against the window frame and perched on the sill, carefully moving aside the hefty forest cactus cascading in the moonlight. Once she was settled, she lifted one leg on to the sill and opened herself lewdly, imagining what might have happened if she’d had time to undo Simon’s trousers, release his hard-on and shove aside the insubstantial crotch of her already wet panties. He was right there, so close, so ready. And she was slick and swollen. He would have barely had to do anything but shift his hips slightly. She would have guided him in, in deep and hard and tight. Then she would have laid back on the table, wrapped her legs around him and watched him through the shafts of sunlight flooding the greenhouse. She would have watched him thrust and shove and grunt until he came, until they both came, and that empty spot for Dan would somehow not be quite so empty any more. In her mind’s eye, she imagined what Simon’s lovely face would look like when his body tightened in the throes of an ejaculation. And with a gush of wetness and a shudder that nearly knocked the plant off the sill and shook her to the core, she came on her fingers, imagining that she’d been riding Simon Paris’s cock, while Dan looked on longingly from just outside the greenhouse door.

Chapter Four

Ellen Martin went to the homes of her more exclusive clients. They paid her a lot for the privilege. She was that good. But Bel enjoyed going for her massage at the health club surrounded by the sweaty metal-and-leather atmosphere of the gym. OK, it was an exclusive club, and it never really smelled like sweat, but the atmosphere was still there. Today the workout had been particularly hard. The shower afterwards was cool and bracing, but it hadn’t been enough to take Bel’s mind off Ellen’s kiss or the fact that it had been thoughts of Ellen that had sent her over the edge last night when she had sex with Dan.

She hadn’t been able to sleep afterwards, and when she finally did, long towards morning, she dreamed of Ellen. The dreams were super-heated, with visions of Bel nursing at Ellen’s lovely breasts while Ellen stroked and caressed between her swollen labia; of Ellen’s lovely mouth lapping and nipping and sucking its way down over Bel’s breasts and belly and right on into her pussy. In the morning, the need was so great that Bel had had to bring herself off while she was sitting on the toilet.

There had been no planned massage for the day, and she seldom came to the gym two days in a row, but she couldn’t resist. A little extra exercise was always a good thing, Bel convinced herself, and luckily Ellen had a light day and could fit her in.

Surely Ellen could figure out that it wasn’t a massage she really wanted. The problem was, Bel wasn’t actually sure what she did want. She didn’t want to cheat on her husband, and God knows there had been plenty of opportunities. She wasn’t unaware of the looks and the come-ons of other men. She knew she was an attractive woman, but she was also a faithful woman. Bored, but faithful. She figured if Dan could endure the boredom, so could she. And in truth she had never been tempted before Ellen’s kiss.

But somewhere last night in the tossing and turning and listening to Dan snore, before she tiptoed off to her own bedroom, the thought had come to her as clear as daylight: how could it actually be cheating if she were with another woman? There’d be no penetration, no testosterone, nothing for Dan to be jealous of really. In fact Dan, being a typical bloke, would probably really get off on the idea of two women going at it. And it wasn’t like she would actually fall in love with Ellen or anything like that. It was just sex. It wasn’t even real sex, right? It was two girls fooling around. It meant nothing really. Other than the fact that she might actually get some satisfaction that didn’t involve the same old, same old she endured with Dan a few times a month.

She would never look at another man. She took her marriage vows very seriously. It was just, well, their sex life was such a bore, and she was a sexual woman. She had needs, needs she had been perfectly happy to take care of with her growing collection of sex toys, but then Ellen had kissed her. OK, she had to admit she’d harboured secret thoughts about Ellen even before the kiss. She had thoughts of Ellen’s tight nipples popping out of the top of her vest, thoughts of Ellen’s lovely massaging hands moving right on down over her belly and in between her legs. She’d made herself come to those very thoughts more than once. But they were just fantasies. Everyone had fantasies. On the other hand, who would know better how a woman likes her breasts touched and her nipples fondled than another woman? Who would know better how a woman likes her clitoris stroked and the creamy valley deep between her labia fingered and probed than another woman? And who could possibly know what to do with her hands better than a massage therapist? Once the thought had planted itself in Bel’s brain, and between her legs, she couldn’t get rid of it.

So here she was shaking like a leaf, drying herself from the shower, but knowing even the thick Egyptian cotton of the towel wasn’t going to take care of the wet condition of her pussy. Ellen was waiting in the next room. Ellen would know what she wanted. Ellen would see it in her eyes. Ellen would smell her heat, and no amount of lingering in the shower could wash the smell of her lust away, not when she could barely stand up from the weight of her arousal.

With hands that were trembling, she tied the sash of the thin linen robe around her waist, checked her hair and took a deep breath.

She barely managed a soft rap on the door before Ellen opened it. ‘Isabel, sweetheart, are you all right?’ This time there was the proper distance and the kiss on each cheek. The massage table was spread with fresh linen, and everything seemed strangely normal, which made a cold knot tighten below Bel’s breastbone. Had their kiss meant nothing to Ellen? Had she been just a stupid, needy woman fantasising about what Ellen had already forgotten, making something out of nothing?

‘Goodness, you’re tense,’ Ellen said caressing Bell’s shoulder and offering her a concerned smile. ‘I wouldn’t have thought it possible after I gave you such a thorough going over yesterday.’

Such a thorough going over, indeed, Bel thought.

‘Bel, darling, is everything all right?’ she asked again.

Bel nodded dumbly and, for an uncomfortable second her chin quivered, and she thought she might cry.

Ellen lifted Bel’s chin and held her in a knowing gaze. ‘Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll take care of it. I’ll make you feel better.’ She nodded to the table, and offered a smile that was a whole lot more than just sympathetic.

Shaking like she’d come apart, Bel brazenly opened her sash and let the robe puddle on the floor around her feet, her gaze locked on Ellen’s lovely hazel eyes.

‘If you’re this tight all over, darling, perhaps we need to try a different approach today. Lie down on your back for me, if you would.’

Feeling every bit as naked as she was, Bel did as she was told.

Ellen slipped out of the white uniform jacket she wore, revealing the spaghetti-strapped pink vest that beautifully displayed her workout-sculpted arms and her usual lack of a bra. Then she did something that, in all the time Bel had been coming to her, she had never done before. She locked the door. Her fingers lingered on the lock for a second, then she turned and walked to the table. ‘Bel, you’re not actually here for a massage, are you?’

Before Bel could make up some lame excuse, Ellen lifted her vest over her head in one smooth, nearly elegant move that took Bel’s breath away. Actually, it was the sight of Ellen’s exquisite breasts, nipples pressing hard at the forefront, that took Bel’s breath away, made her for a split second unable to focus on what Ellen was saying. Something about it being OK.

‘I’ve wanted you for a long time, Bel,’ she was saying. ‘And I thought you wanted me too, but I wasn’t sure until I threw caution to the wind yesterday.’ She cupped her breasts and stroked her nipples. Bel’s nipples tensed in empathy, a response Ellen didn’t miss.

‘There are other ways I can make you feel good, Bel.’ She slid her yoga trousers and thong down over her thighs and stepped out of them. ‘There are ways that are even better than massage.’ She stood so close to the table that Bel could have reached out and touched her tightly trimmed pubic curls. It was all she could do to lie still on the table under the woman’s hungry gaze.

‘You need some relief, don’t you, darling? I can tell by the way you hold the tension in your body, all of it right down here.’ She laid a warm hand on Bell’s abdomen just millimetres above her pubis then pressed softly. Bel couldn’t help it; she shifted her hips to raise her mound closer, and Ellen smiled knowingly. ‘Oh, sweetheart, you’re so needy. We women tend to hold so much energy down here, down where our creative centre is.’ She slid a hand down to cup the smooth flesh of Bel’s mound and Bel nearly came off the table.

‘Ssh! Ssh. There, there, darling. I know what you need. Just let me make you feel better.’ For what seemed like a maddening eternity, Ellen pressed and stroked and massaged all the area below Bel’s navel. And Bel, well, she didn’t handle the situation with as much dignity and aplomb as she would have liked. She couldn’t seem to control the little whimpers and gasps that gathered deep in her chest right below her breasts then rose in little waves of longing up through her throat, while her hips tightened and shifted against the heel of Ellen’s palm, still just above her pubic bone.

‘There, there, darling,’ Ellen crooned. ‘Just relax and let it happen. It’s all right if you touch your breasts if you need to. It’s all right. That’s it, sweetheart, cup them, stroke your lovely nipples. Ah, such exquisite breasts, and so responsive, aren’t they? I bet your husband likes to fuck them, doesn’t he?’

Bel groaned and nodded dumbly.

‘If I had a cock, that’s what I’d want to do, while your little pink tongue darted in and out over the head of my penis every time I thrust.’

Even in her fevered state, Bel noticed Ellen’s left hand had migrated down between her own legs. Bel couldn’t see what she was doing, but the tight rhythmic knotting and shifting of the muscles in her forearm and the quiver and dance of her breasts told her everything she needed to know.

‘Of course if I had a cock, there are other places I’d want to put it first before I fucked your lovely breasts.’ With that the hand that had been massaging her abdomen moved down over Bel’s mound and the slender middle finger gave her clit a tweak that nearly sent Bel into orbit.

‘Open your legs for me, sweetheart,’ Ellen whispered. ‘That’s it, darling. Let me massage you where you really need it, where you’ve needed it for ages.’

Bel opened her legs and shifted ever so slightly towards Ellen to give her better access. With her thumb working Bel’s clit to a raw nub of heat, the woman slipped her middle and index finger down between Bell’s labia and gasped. ‘My goodness, Isabel, is all of this creamy slippery lushness for me?’

Bell whimpered and nodded and shifted closer to the delicious fingers.

Ellen offered a throaty chuckle, then gave an inward and upward thrust and a hard rub right against Bel’s G-spot, and Bel drenched the table in a flood of heat that would have embarrassed her if she’d been in bed with Dan. But Ellen shoved her legs wide apart and pushed her face in so close that Bel could feel her breath coming fast and hard against her pout. ‘Oh my God, Bel, you’re exquisite,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve never seen another woman really wet herself with her girly juices. Please, let me look. I need to see you.’ And as she spoke, she applied more pressure to Bel’s G-spot and Bel gushed again and nearly came off the table with an orgasm that had her writhing and twisting, thighs clasping involuntarily around Ellen’s face.

Ellen made no effort to push Bel’s legs open; instead she settled there in the vice-grip of Bel’s thighs, sniffing and inhaling. Her hands had moved to knead and release, knead and release Bel’s arse cheeks. ‘Mmmm, you smell heavenly, darling. I smell you every time I massage you. Afterwards I always have to leave time between you and the next client so I can take care of my own pussy, and I always come thinking about tasting your juicy fanny that smells so delicious.’ She nipped the inside of Bel’s thigh. Bel opened her legs with a little gasp, and Ellen cupped her buttocks and pulled her right up close to her mouth. And the mouth that had kissed Bel’s lips so deliciously yesterday now kissed and licked her girly lips equally deliciously.

Bel curled her fingers in Ellen’s soft copper hair and bore down until she was amazed that the woman could even breathe. And that wonderful tongue felt like it had somehow licked and stroked and danced right up inside her, while her mouth tugged and suckled at Bel’s labia and her clit with little nips that made her wet herself anew from the sheer pleasure of it. Surely there would have been a lake beneath her undulating bottom had not Ellen’s greedy mouth lapped and sucked and slurped her wetness like she was some piece of juicy, ripe fruit, split in two, dripping and swollen and begging to be eaten.

It was a good thing the table was sturdy because the orgasms had graduated from tremors to convulsions and, in what might have been an effort to keep her client safely on the table, Ellen crawled her way up Bel’s body, kissing and nipping as she went, until she was well and truly on top of her, breast to breast, pubis to pubis and mouth to mouth.

‘Taste how yummy you are,’ Ellen breathed, coming up from a deep tongue kiss. ‘I’ve never tasted anything so sumptuous.’

Bel had tasted herself before, but only tentatively on the tips of her fingers after masturbating, nothing like the wet, fecund taste of her on another woman’s face, on another woman’s mouth.

‘And now, let’s come together,’ Ellen sighed. She shifted until her thigh was in between Bel’s legs, pressing up tight against her client’s sopping pussy, then she wriggled and manoeuvred until Bel’s thigh was equally pressed between her legs, up tight against the heat of her, the split of her, the unbelievably soft wet of her. Then she began to undulate and writhe. Bel mirrored her motions, shifting her hips, pressing her thigh, tightening her legs against the leg that rubbed her cunt, as Ellen did the same. Undulation became hard shifting. Hard shifting gave way to flat-out thrusting and pumping accompanied by animal grunts and growls, and the table shook beneath them. Muscles tensed and stretched tight. All breathing stopped, and the room was sucked dry of everything but raw, super-heated need. And when Bel was sure she would die in the agony of pleasure, in the bruising vice-grip of Ellen’s thighs, everything shattered and broke apart in a kaleidoscope of colours. Heatwaves and shudders rose up from the centre of both women in the explosion of their release. Each smothered the other in wet kisses and humid giggles before falling limp and breathless in a tangle of arms and legs.

Chapter Five

Simon’s last appointment had cancelled, so he was at Dan’s almost two hours earlier than they were scheduled to meet. But it was all right. Dan had given him the gate code and told him to feel free to wander about and get to know the place. He wanted a proper Renaissance garden, and it was going to be a big one. Typical of Dan Alexander. He never did things by halves. He hadn’t when he and Simon had been at uni together, and apparently he still didn’t. Simon didn’t mind, though. Getting to know this space would be a pleasure. It was a good thing, because he’d be spending a lot of time in it for a while.

It was a lovely space, very hilly and scrubby in places, with lots of havens for birds and wildlife, which he intended not only to leave but to enhance. It was a challenge he was looking forward to. In his mind, he could already see where the topiary maze would be and where he would place the big fountain, the centrepiece of the garden. It was like seeing a landscape appearing through the rising mist. It was always like that when he had the opportunity to create an outdoor space that was both beautiful and useful.

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