Playing in the Mud by Jude Mason

Opening the door, Alan’s scowl turned into a smile. “Hey, it’s great to see you.”

“Hi, Alan, I hear you needed a hand.” She eyed him up and down, giving him the impression she had more in mind than the plants. A new neighbor, Beth had been flirting with him for months.

At thirty-six, she was ten years his junior. Nearly as tall as him, she was slender with the most mouth-watering little tits he’d ever seen. A plain Jane, the baggy jeans and tank top just didn’t do much for her appearance, but her smile made him tingle. The wind chose that moment to take a wisp of her long, light brown hair and flip a softly curled end across her cheek. It was just long enough to brush her lips, and that’s where his eyes stopped. Lush, moist, a dusty rose color; he found himself wanting to reach out and brush the hair back.

“Yeah,” He forced his gaze up to her eyes. Brown eyes, a sudden pang of loss hit. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He hated being alone. Damn.

“The orchids, the hybrids I just got, I need a hand to replant them.” Alan stepped out. Pulling the door closed, he eased past her. “Come on to the greenhouse, we’ll talk.” Side by side, they walked around the small, stucco house to where his pride and passion waited. The greenhouse was nearly as big as the house.

They reached the door to his sanctuary. Taking her by the arm, he guided her ahead of himself and said, “Well, Beth, what do you think?”

He felt it—her shiver, a stumble, when she stepped inside. Orchids, rows of them. Baskets and boxes, filled to overflowing with the luscious plants he nurtured and urged to grow and blossom, their heady fragrance enfolded them both. He kept his hand on her arm, just in case he told himself, but he knew that was a lie.

“Oh my!” she exhaled. She simply peered around, blinking, shaking her head, taking it all in.

“Gorgeous, aren’t they?” Alan broke the silence.

Beth chuckled. “Yes, gorgeous, amazing.” She faced him, her cheeks flushed, her eyes held a sparkle he hadn’t noticed when he’d looked into them before. Even her lips seemed more kissable.

Kissable? A sudden twitch in his shorts made him shiver, even in the sweltering heat. Yes, kissable. “Most of these new ones are from Thailand. They need repotting.”

“And then you’ll show them?” She walked down the aisle, bending to smell a bloom, or carefully touch a waxy petal.

He followed her, each step adding to the excitement growing inside him. “Yes, I show them this weekend, and that’s why I need help. There are too many orchids and not enough me to tend them all.”

She smiled back at him, and winked. “There’s enough of you, I’d say. I’ve thought so for a long time now.”

It was his turn to gape. A bead of sweat trickled down his back, another down his ribs. His shirt clung to him. His shorts were suddenly too tight. He took a couple of steps forward, closer to her. The earthy smell of loam, fertilizer, and woman, rose to meet him. The palms of his hands itched. “You think so, do you?”

She straightened, faced him, and lowered her eyes slowly, stopping for a moment at his middle, then raising them to look into his. “Yes, just enough.”

His hands rose, unbidden, and came to rest on her hips. “You always liked to work with your hands.”

Eyes smoldering, lips trembling, she whispered, “Yes.”

“Turn around and fill that pot.” He spun her, and with the flat of his hand on the small of her back, he pressed her forward. His hard-on nudged her ass. On the bench in front of her was a pot, beside it a bag of potting soil. “Do it.”

She took a handful of moist, rich soil from the bag. But instead of putting it into the pot, she reached beneath herself, back between her spread thighs.

His surprise became a gasp of pleasure when her hand found his crotch. Not only found, but lavished it with such a luxurious caress, it took his breath. His heart hammered against his ribs, threatening to burst from his chest.

She fumbled with his zipper, jerking it, finally gaining entrance and access to his recalcitrant prick. His cock fairly leaped into her mud-caked hand, hard and eager for whatever she had in mind.

Pots and plants forgotten, he leaned forward and dipped a hand into the bag of soil. With a palm full, he slid it down her stomach and into her jeans. Dexterously, he eased it deeper, smoothing the soil over her hot, damp flesh, until he reached her sodden pussy. Her clit rose hard against his fingers, as his cock pulsed in her hand. His hips churned, his buttocks clenched. A thumb, coated in muck, dragged across his glans. Pre-come mixed with soil, creating a fertile, slick lube. His knees trembled, weakened, then tensed.

The sudden onslaught of pleasure sent his mind reeling. His senses were overwhelmed. Sweet pungent smelling orchids mixed with the earthy scent of Beth’s excitement. Her swampy juices coated his fingers. His mouth watered for her taste. Pushing a loam-slick finger into her, he marveled at her slick perfection. Their hips rotated, harmoniously churned in the sweet dank air.

An arm around her middle, he pulled her tight. His heart beat wildly. “Come for me,” he breathed desperately into her hair. “Come with me.” His groan echoed the spasm tearing through him. His come spattered against the pot. Hers filled his hand, mixing with the loam. Her hips gyrated, spastic trembling overtook her for heartbeats longer.

“Shall we get busy?” she whispered her voice a guttural rasp. Her hand cupped his tightened sac, anointing the puckered flesh with sperm-slick soil.

Still breathless, Alan kissed her sweat-slick hair. She’s perfect, he thought.

About the author: Multi-published Canadian author, Jude Mason, writes in a variety of genre, stretching the boundaries at every opportunity. She has work in print with Cleis Press, Phaze and Total E-Bound to name a few. Jude also has dozens of e-books available and a few short stories in audio. http://www.my-haven2001.com

Comments

  1. You are definitely a down to earth story teller. I loved the story.

  2. HMMMMMMM GREAT, I LOVE IT!

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