My Wife and the Neighborhood Gardener (Repost)

page views:1 Publication date:2023-08-27已绿多

It's another weekend. I slept in until I naturally woke up. My wife had already prepared a delicious breakfast. I sipped my millet porridge while watching her busy in the kitchen. My wife is of medium height, with a small face and a large bottom. She wears glasses and looks a bit like the news anchor on Channel 13 afternoon. After giving birth, she temporarily quit her job at the firm and stayed home for almost a year. Last month, her parents missed their child and, feeling sorry for their daughter, came to take the baby to care for her for a while. The house became much quieter. My wife had just finished breastfeeding, and her skin was fair and smooth, with a large, round bottom. During breastfeeding, my wife's mind was entirely focused on the baby, and she became much less interested in sex. Now that she has some free time, her desire is like a compressed spring that suddenly bursts forth. For the past two weeks, we've been having sex frequently. The first few days, my libido was high, and we were evenly matched. But later, I gradually couldn't keep up and started to back down. Last night, my wife simply sat on my face, and unable to resist the temptation, we had another round of sex. My son's back is still a little sore.

We live on the ground floor of a duplex apartment with a south-facing courtyard. Before we moved in, the previous owner had planted many flowers and plants. My wife and I were busy with our respective careers and too lazy to take care of them on weekends, so we hired the community gardener to look after them and paid him a small fee. He also helped us move old books, newspapers, and other odds and ends around the house, and he was used to coming and going frequently. My wife told me the other night that before she had a break, she never paid attention to such small things as flowers and plants, and she paid even less attention after having a child. Since the child was taken away from home, she has been idle at home every day and only occasionally glances at them. In the warm spring of March, the azaleas are blooming beautifully, and the weeds are growing rapidly. Since someone is often home, the gardener comes into the yard to tend to them whenever he has free time. The gardener is from the countryside of Quzhou, and he looks to be in his early forties. He has a son who is seventeen or eighteen years old and works as a traffic assistant waving a small flag. The father and son live in an empty room in the underground garage of the community, and he watches over the garage at night. The community doesn't charge rent for the room. The gardener's wife comes three or four times a year; we've met her. She has small eyes, a large chest, and a broad, sturdy build—a very nice wife. Every time she comes, she helps the gardener with chores. Apparently, she has elderly parents to care for back home and can't often come to the city to reunite with her father and son. The gardener takes care of the landscaping in several neighborhoods and is quite efficient at his work. I asked my wife, "You've always looked down on these kinds of family matters, but now you know quite a bit." My wife replied, "No, the week before last, the gardener was tired from working in the yard and asked me for a drink of water. My wife is always kind-hearted, so she invited him inside. She poured him a glass of orange juice, which he downed in one gulp. Then she poured him a glass of milk, which he also downed in one gulp. My wife then told him to sit down and wait a while, and she boiled water to make him tea, chatting with him while washing vegetables." Because he comes often, the gardener isn't shy about it. My wife took the opportunity to look him over. His face is ordinary, but angular; he has a strong, muscular build—the result of years of hard work—a healthy, ruddy complexion. Having lived in the city for many years, his clothes were quite neat and tidy. His wife hadn't really thought much of it, just casually going through the motions. Seeing that his wife wasn't bothered by him, the gardener sat patiently waiting for her to serve him tea. As his wife went to make him tea, she smelled a masculine scent, the smell of sweat from a man's labor, but pretended not to notice and went back to the stove to continue her work. She thought to herself, "I never realized the gardener had such a good physique, and his scent is so masculine." Lost in thought, she knocked the cutting board to the ground. She quickly bent down to pick it up. It was a bit hot those days, and his wife was only wearing a short-sleeved shirt and pajama bottoms. When she squatted down, a section of her waist and half of her buttocks were exposed. His wife said she unintentionally glanced to the side and saw a large bulge in the gardener's crotch. She couldn't see the gardener's face across the table, but guessed he was eyeing her backside, and instinctively felt that his... well, it was quite large. His wife smiled to herself. "Men will be men," she thought, "and with his wife not around, it's inevitable." The gardener was honest; unlike some movies where he'd deliberately come over under the pretense of helping, only for the housewife to half-heartedly agree to something, etc., nothing like that happened. After finishing his tea, the gardener left. As he left, my wife glanced at him again and noticed that not only was his chest large, but his buttocks were also firm. She jokingly remarked, "His butt is much more muscular than yours." I replied, "I bet his chest is much bigger than your husband's too." My wife then called me lewd. I reached into my wife's pants; it was hot and wet. She hugged me, and we made love right there in the kitchen. As I moved from behind, I asked her if she wanted me to do it. She didn't answer at first, but when pressed, she said, "If you really want to, then do it, cough, cough..." The pleasure at that moment was indescribable.

Afterwards, I secretly rejoiced. I'd previously indulged in wild fantasies while lying in bed—everyone says that people who do manual labor without thinking are strong, so finding a laborer or farmer to do it with my wife would be wonderful. Frustrated at not knowing where to begin, this was a perfect candidate. For the next two nights, I encouraged my wife to try it, to satisfy my voyeuristic desires. My wife couldn't resist my nagging and finally agreed to give it a try. I guess she was also itching to try it, plus she was constantly asking me for it, practically draining me dry, and her stamina was declining. A few times she was just getting into it when I stopped, which annoyed her, so she decided to try the taste of a stronger man, since it was at her husband's request anyway.

After planning it out, we immediately put it into action.
Once a woman decides to seduce someone, it's hard to resist. And women are naturally gifted performers, with their husbands encouraging them, they can do it naturally and flawlessly. Of course, we carefully assessed the gardener's character and safety, and only decided to try the thrill after feeling there wouldn't be any problems. I had some thoughts I hadn't told my wife. That gardener's wife has a very alluring body; who knows, maybe I'll get to taste the wild country flower someday.

The gardener usually comes on Tuesdays. I didn't go out, but crouched on the second floor of the house, waiting for an opportunity to peek at what might happen.
The weather was lovely. Around nine o'clock, the gardener arrived. My wife was wearing pajamas; intending to seduce him, she had chosen a light pink cotton set. She deliberately squatted in the yard to help water the flowers, her backside facing the gardener. I hid behind the curtains upstairs, watching the whole scene unfold. The gardener, as usual, didn't notice anything amiss, assuming only my wife was home. After a while, I noticed him glancing at my wife's back every now and then. My wife seemed to sense it, deliberately sticking her back out even more; she wasn't in a hurry, wanting to seduce him slowly. The gardener, thinking my wife was unaware, lingered on her body for a longer time. He had never seen his wife like this before; what was wrong with her today? Before he knew it, he was aroused, quickly pulling at his clothes to cover himself. It seemed the gardener was aroused. But if my wife didn't continue, he wouldn't dare touch her. After a while, my wife suddenly exclaimed, "Oh dear!" and beckoned the gardener over, whispering that there was a small snake over there. I knew my wife was about to have her period, so I made an excuse to get the gardener closer—it was just a gecko, really. The gardener, seeing his wife's unusual behavior, was probably a little surprised. But when his mistress called, he was happy to get close to the woman. It's really hard to explain the relationship between men and women; regardless of status, once they get close, there's a strange atmosphere in the air. Even though the gardener was a rough man, he could smell it. And having not been with a woman in a long time, he was particularly sensitive and eager to smell her body. He opened his mouth and breathed slightly, but he wasn't sure what it was. The gardener usually didn't dare to think that way, and even if he did, he wouldn't dare to offend her. But his wife's actions were clearly different from usual, carrying a certain meaning, at least a harmless physical posture and sound. The gardener walked over, slightly bowing, trying to cover the abnormality in his lower body. He quickly squatted down beside his wife, searching. His wife frantically pointed and gestured, while pulling on the gardener's arm. The two were so close that the gardener could clearly smell the lingering scent of milk on his wife's body. Below her collar, a patch of white skin revealed her still-present breasts, which swayed gently, and her round buttocks were almost within reach. His physical reaction intensified. I saw my wife sniff; she once again caught the familiar, slightly sweaty scent of a man. My wife felt a surge of heat; her face flushed and became more vibrant, her ears and neck turning red—this was how she acted when aroused. Once she found the gecko, my wife released her grip, and the gardener seemed to have enjoyed the moment. I guessed he was now certain that something was amiss with my wife. He was perhaps waiting for further hints from his mistress, but he dared not act rashly. Just as my wife was about to stand up, she suddenly twisted her ankle and squatted down, then sat down on the ground. I understood this was my wife's next move. Though somewhat cliché, I couldn't worry about that now. Thinking it over carefully, this was the quickest way to proceed. My wife said, "Master, help me up," as she twisted her ankle, and placed her hand on the gardener's arm again. The gardener bent his wife's arm over her neck and placed it on his other shoulder, carefully supporting her waist as they entered the living room.
As they climbed the steps, his wife deliberately stumbled, leaning heavily against him, her left breast pressed against his chest. Looking down, the gardener's lower body was erect. His face flushed red, and he was breathing heavily. His desire was now fully aroused. He took the opportunity to touch his wife's buttocks with the hand supporting her waist, as a test. His wife didn't push his hand away, leading him to conclude that she had probably already been touched. He boldly bent down, lifted his wife, and carried her up the steps. His wife turned her face towards the gardener's armpit, drawn by the strong scent there.

Unable to see what was happening inside, I hurriedly left the room and went to the shared space to find a better angle to conceal myself, not wanting to miss any details of the process.

The gardener, having picked up his wife, no longer intended to hide; he didn't care about anything else, his urges making his lower body feel like it was about to burst. He walked while thrusting his lower body against his wife's buttocks. His wife said, "Help me to the wine cabinet." Even though she was being carried, she insisted on being helped—ha, women, even at this moment, still trying to pretend. At the counter next to the wine cabinet, his wife said, "Let go." The gardener put his wife down, somewhat at a loss; he was confused and didn't know what to do next. His wife then said to him, "I'll pour you some water. Go close the door; it's hot." His wife was worried about the neighbors hearing something. This one sentence was undoubtedly a pass to the depths of his wife's body; even the most clueless person would understand. The gardener rushed forward and bumped into the door, making the living room much darker. He turned back behind his wife, pressing close to her. His wife was picking up a teacup to pour water when the gardener suddenly leaned in, one hand reaching under her waist to touch her lower abdomen, the other under her back to touch her buttocks. His wife feigned surprise, turning around and whispering a scolding, "What are you doing? How dare you!" The gardener pleaded softly, "Sister, let me touch you, I can't take it anymore." His hands didn't stop, continuing to grope deeper into his wife's crotch. His wife whispered a scolding, but her lower body, attacked from both ends, involuntarily pressed her buttocks even closer to the gardener. Taking advantage of the situation, the gardener ripped off his wife's pajama bottoms, underwear and all, and then gently pressed her lower back. His wife understood and bent over, climbing onto the platform, her buttocks raised towards the gardener. This action was clearly encouragement, not reproach. The gardener acted brazenly. My wife knew the gardener wanted to work on her rear end first. She'd looked at herself for a long time and was very confident in her body, especially her breasts and backside, where her husband was always obsessed. The gardener eagerly pulled down her pajama bottoms, which included her underwear, and plunged into her anus, sucking and probing. At that moment, there was no distinction of rank or status; it was simply a man and woman having intercourse. My blood rushed to my head, and my penis instantly swelled. It was so stimulating! The scene I'd imagined was unfolding. I didn't have time to reflect; I just wanted to enjoy this rare feast.
The gardener pleasuring my wife's rear end for a while, as a prelude, before impatiently pulling out his penis and inserting it into her. It was indeed large, so large that my wife arched her back, contracting and relaxing, her eyes closed, lips pursed, forgetting to take off her glasses, looking very satisfied. I knew, my wife, that once something large and hard entered, it was easy to get wet. Sure enough, before the two had moved much, only two or three minutes had passed, and the wife, presumably already craving more, suddenly grabbed the gardener's genitals, trying to delay his ejaculation. But it was too late. The gardener cried out in a low voice, "Sister, I can't hold it in any longer!" It seemed he'd been holding back for months; his penis throbbed inside her the moment he entered, and his face was contorted with urgency. The wife, with her eyes closed, replied, "If you can't hold it in, just shoot." She released his grip and forcefully pressed her buttocks against the gardener's base. The gardener let out a muffled roar and collapsed onto his wife. From upstairs, all they could see was the man's buttocks twitching and trembling violently for a while; the gardener had likely ejaculated a large amount of semen deep inside his wife. Later, the wife said that the ejaculation was powerful, plentiful, and hot. The moment the wave subsided, the gardener didn't pull out his penis. A little apologetically, he straightened his wife, saying, "Don't take it out, it'll get hard again in a bit." He then picked her up, and she gestured for him to walk to the sofa. The gardener sat down and lay back, letting his wife lie on top of him, their bodies still connected. His wife let him do as he pleased, saying nothing. Only then did she take off her glasses and toss them onto the sofa, then casually grasped his penis, helping it to return to its normal state. This action undoubtedly greatly encouraged the gardener. Because they were pressed tightly together face to face, he suddenly raised his head and kissed his wife's lips. His wife only slightly flinched before closing her eyes and letting him kiss her. I knew my wife was just getting aroused and far from satisfied, so I didn't strongly resist the gardener's exploration of her mouth. It turns out that men in rural western Zhejiang also enjoy oral sex, and he was eager to taste the saliva of a young city woman. His wife let him kiss her, and after a while, she even stuck out her tongue for him to suck on, helping her to get aroused again. The gardener kissed her greedily, making smacking sounds. He also occasionally rubbed and sucked on his wife's breasts. Afterwards, my wife told me that due to the intense stimulation and vigorous suckling, her breasts, which had mostly stopped breastfeeding, secreted a little milk again, all of which the gardener drank. I speculated that the sudden ejaculation of this rural man's semen into her body excited her, causing her blood to circulate faster, and a different kind of androgen probably quickly entered her bloodstream, accelerating her endocrine system. My wife added that the gardener's mouth didn't taste bad, and she quite enjoyed being kissed by him. A thought suddenly flashed through my mind: I wondered what the gardener's wife's tongue tasted like, and another desire secretly grew in my lower abdomen.
The gardener continued to fondle his wife's body for about twenty minutes before starting again.

This time it lasted longer. He didn't use many positions, but the quality was high, lasting for over an hour. During this time, my wife arched her back and hips several times, looking up for her lips, and then trembled violently, probably having orgasmed several times. Before his wife reached her climax, she would always hold his lips and reach the peak before letting go. Once she entered this state, she didn't care who was on top of her; she only wanted to embrace and enjoy the ultimate pleasure of this moment. The gardener had been controlling himself from ejaculating a second time. After such intense physical intercourse, he was quite relaxed and confident. The young woman beneath him was so excited and satisfied that he knew he could do whatever he wanted with her now. Since entering the house, hadn't she let him do as he pleased without showing any impatience? He seemed to vaguely know that if he ejaculated again, there would be no reason to continue caressing her.

After his wife calmed down a little, the gardener lay flat on top of her, bringing her legs together to clamp his penis. He spread his legs on either side of hers, bent his arms, and wrapped his wife within his limbs. He used his large penis to grind around her, while also sucking on her breasts, repeatedly sniffing and licking her vulva, enjoying his usual exclusive territory. His wife's arms were pulled back and raised by him, her sparse armpit hair damp with sweat and saliva, as she let the gardener do as he pleased, occasionally responding to his pressed lips. She was fully satisfied, her body limp, accepting the gardener's advances. Only then did she glance upstairs, waiting for his next release while enjoying his grinding and intermittent thrusts. This position was something she had never experienced before. She guessed the gardener and his country wife often did this; men usually operate in their own fixed patterns, while women are not picky about positions, letting men do whatever they want. We had underestimated the gardener couple. Don't think country folk don't understand romance; the gardener's methods truly broadened my horizons.

His wife, unable to withstand such friction, seeing the gardener still holding back, tilted her head slightly and took his chest muscles into her mouth, while her other hand explored their genitals. The gardener understood she was signaling him to thrust, so he braced himself with both hands, maintaining his position and forcefully pounding and pounding. This time, the gardener had his wife's mouth in his mouth; he wanted to seize the opportunity to ejaculate with her from both ends. His wife moved up and down in response, her hands tightly gripping the gardener's buttocks and pressing him down, her lower body rising with the gardener's intensity. It seemed she was gripping and sucking inside him. He finally couldn't hold back any longer, pressing his entire body against his wife and releasing his second wave of semen with great pleasure.

The scene downstairs excited me, but there was one thing I never saw. The gardener was only interested in his wife's anus, but he didn't suck her from the front. Was it because he didn't have time, or was it because he was a country bumpkin, or did he ejaculate inside her right away and then it would be inconvenient later, or something else? I couldn't figure it out. What was it like between the gardener and his wife? I had no answer for now. If you have the chance later, you can ask the gardener's wife yourself.

Afterwards, the wife stuffed a bunch of tissues down there and wiped the gardener clean. Their bodies separated, and the distance between them widened again. The gardener repeatedly apologized, saying, "I'm so sorry, so sorry, it's all my fault, I just couldn't resist, that's why..." The wife said, "Only this once, you can't do it again," paused, and added, "Unless I call you, you understand?" The wife's words seemed contradictory and incoherent, but she had already set the rules while leaving a sliver of room for maneuver. "I understand, I understand, don't worry, I won't do anything reckless, don't worry, don't worry," the gardener repeatedly and obsequiously agreed, then said, "I have something to do, I have to go." The wife gestured for him to leave. I checked the time; it was almost noon. I rushed downstairs to my wife to check on her body, which remained unchanged.

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My Wife and the Neighborhood Gardener (Repost)

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