Secret Garden

“Isn’t it beautiful?”

He looked at the metal sculpture and nodded absently. He was far more interested in the way she was put together. He looked down at her face, covered with a sheen of sweat from the midsummer heat, and his cock twitched. Her full, unpainted mouth was curled into a smile of guileless pleasure.

They’d started dating because of their similar interests – art, literature, beer and eventually…each other. They still had a standing date each week to do something that would enrich their soul, but frankly, he read enough books – he just wanted to spend the day making love to her.

“It’s pretty fantastic.” His voice sounded a bit more gruff that he’d intended. Her smile faltered.

“You’re not even looking at it.”

He wrapped his arm around her, put his hand underneath her breast and squeezed lightly. She gasped, then stood stock still as a group of people passed behind them. A warm breeze blew her white skirt around her legs, and she stepped out of his arms.

“I think I need a drink of water – there’s a water fountain here somewhere.”

She pulled him toward a less landscaped part of the sculpture garden. When they saw a heavy chain and a ‘passage interdit‘ sign hanging from it, she put her finger to her mouth and jumped over it.

“They don’t care enough to pay a guard on the weekends,” she whispered to him as she led them deeper into the private garden. The roses were overblown and the hedges were shapeless with neglect.

“How do you know?”

She gave him a smile that sent his senses reeling. “You don’t want to know.”

He felt a twinge of jealousy. Had she come here with others? She’d shared her checkered past with him openly and although he accepted it, he couldn’t help feeling a bit of insecure now and then. He stopped walking and tugged at her arm.

“I do want to know,” he said.

She pointed to a shadowy marble cove between two climbing rose plants. There was a long banquette underneath it. “Let’s go there, and I’ll tell you.” He sat down stiffly and waited for her explanation. He wondered whether it was some crazy story about a girl she slept with.

She straddled the banquette and pressed her breasts against his side.

“Your eyes are hazel…you’re jealous!” she said. She lifted one of her legs to put it over his lap. Her skirt rode up to her hips, and he saw a flash of pink panty as she wrapped her legs around his waist.

“No I’m not.” He squeezed the firm skin of her thigh. Her muscles tightened around his waist.

“Oh yes, you are – I’m sure you’re thinking that I came here with some mysterious lady and fucked her…right on this bench.

He didn’t know whether he loved or hated when she read his mind, but in the end, it had been one of the reasons why he’d fallen so deeply in love with her.

He grunted, and she wrapped her arms around him.

“It’s nothing like that, baby,” she said wistfully. She ground her hips against the side of his. She felt impossibly hot, and his mouth watered. She laid flat against the cool marble with her legs still wrapped around his waist. Her hard nipples poked through the fabric of the dress. His lips pursed unconsciously – poised to suck.

“I had an acquaintance who worked for the museum a couple of years ago, and my friends and I used to come here at night and smoke weed.” His back was suddenly rigid with disapproval. She giggled, and her long hair spilled off the bench and nearly touched the ground.

“This garden can be quite a scary place when it’s dark, and you’re high.” She started to move her hips against him. The breeze had blown her skirt over her belly, and he saw the rose vines tattooed on the wing of her hip. As she moved, her hip bone moved underneath the smooth flesh. The vine danced. “You’d be surprised how easily you can lose your way.”

Her voice disappeared when his finger slid underneath the side of her panties. He tugged it down until he saw the red rose blooming right beside her mound. He let go of her underwear and pressed his palm against her flat belly.

“Your hand is a crouched spider on my belly,” she said.

“Why is it you always speak poetry when you’re horny?” he asked as his thumb slid underneath the waist elastic of her panties.

“My painted rose is blooming,” she whispered as his thumb found her clit. Her muscles moved underneath her tattoo. As she arched, it looked as if the vines were growing over the wing of her hip and becoming a darker, richer green against her tan skin.

He pulled her panties off. The dusky rose of her cunt echoed the color of the flower on her hip. A drop of sweat glistened like dew on the petals of the rose, and he bowed his head to lick it. Her smell, a mix of musk and flowers, made the wings of his nostrils flare. He gave her clit a slow lick. Although her belly tightened, she seemed far away.  She looked lost in her own memories. Jealousy made his chest tight.

“I don’t remember these roses blooming so beautifully big and bright then.” She buried her hand in his hair.”This place wasn’t nearly as welcoming.”

He sat up and the hand that had been in his hair fell limp to her side, then slid off the bench.

“It was dark, so dark, and I’d been drinking…”

Why was she suddenly so fuckin’ nostalgic? She was here with him now, goddamnit!

“…and the night was warm.” She closed her eyes, and bit her lower lip. He slid two fingers inside her, but she didn’t react except to open her legs wider. She took a deep breath, and one of her breasts popped out of the top of her dress. She didn’t seem to notice.

“I swear I didn’t know at first, he was just the right height…”

That’s it, he thought, and unzipped his pants. His cock dripped precum. She wouldn’t remember whoever she was talking about when he was done with her. He licked her exposed breast, then sucked. She hiccupped, but her body was inert.

“…and his hands felt so familiar…” He pressed the head of his cock on her seam. She turned her face away and covered her eyes with her hand. “I think it was mistake to come here,” she said,  and her normally byzantine eyes were suddenly large and glassy with emotion. She tried to gently push him off, but as she moved, her pussy gripped him so sweetly that he grabbed her wrists and slid all the way into her. She shook her head and shut her eyes, but her thighs tightened around his hips as he fucked her. “Let’s just go home.” she whispered hoarsely, but he buried his face between her breasts and fucked her deep.

He was sick of feeling like he wasn’t worldly enough for her – she’s had boyfriends and girlfriends and lived far more than he had. How many more experienced and handsome men had made love to her? How many women? His life sometimes seemed boring in comparison. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he was stressed by what she had shared with him about her past.

He was so deep in his own thoughts he didn’t see the tears seeping from her closed eyes. She suddenly shivered and lifted her head.

“Look at me, please – I need to see your eyes,” she said, and that’s when he noticed the chalky black trails on her cheeks. He let go of her wrists, and her hands moved to his back.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he said, and licked the tears from around her lips. Her body was tense and sweaty underneath him. Her eyes looked as haunted as he felt.

“I want on top.” She pulled him into position with a strength he didn’t know she possessed. She licked herself off his cock, then sat between his legs and studied him closely. She traced every vein, then pulled his foreskin back and licked slowly around the head of his cock. She caressed his balls,  weighing them in her palm as she rubbed the underside of his cock with her other hand. Then, she sucked each into her mouth. Although his legs quivered with pleasure, there was a certain deliberation to her actions that made him study her face.

It’s as if she wanted to memorize the look, taste, and feel of him.

“You’re not like any other man I’ve ever been with,” she said as she bent to lick the little seam at the tip of his cock. She moved his foreskin back and forth over the crown as she licked. He laid his head back and groaned.

“In a good way, I hope.” Her tongue slid underneath his foreskin. Who the fuck had taught her that??

His toes curled in his sneakers. Her warm breath caressed the sensitized head of his cock as she stretched him with her tongue. He could already see the way he’d spurt into her open mouth, and the way his come would glisten on her lips before she licked it off.

“Do you want to know the reason I love you so much?” she said as she held the base of his cock firmly in one fist as she stroked him lightly in her other fist. He was so fucking close…he arched and nodded.

“It’s because you’re a clean canvas, unsullied by drama or trauma,” she said as she stroked faster. The fist at the base of his cock began to pulse. What amoral bastard taught her how to stroke a cock that fucking well??

“…And because of that, I feel sure that you’re entirely mine.”

She took her hand off of the tip of his cock and straddled him, her fist still tight around the base. She settled onto him.  He was so ready to come he ached, but she was still talking.

“After having seen and done so many things and so many people, I know now that’s what I was looking for.”

Her words broke through the cloudy pleasure buzz in his brain. He felt her pussyflesh tighten around him as she bent down to kiss him, and she made slow infinity signs with her hips that made his balls tighten in warning.

“What were you looking for?” He was panting.

“Innocence.” She bent to lick his parted lips. Her breasts on his chest and her lips brushing against his pushed him over the edge, and he spurted and moaned underneath her. Even as he came, he felt her gaze on him, watching his every move. It was both comforting and unnerving but he adored her. He’d grown used to her fits of intensity.

She adjusted her dress and stuffed her panties in his pocket. After he zipped himself up, he watched as she absent-mindedly traced the carved letters of a Latin poem carved into the marble by the climbing roses.

How strangely fitting, he thought. The roses die, then the vines are burned by the ice and snow, but their heart remains green until the winter melts into spring.

Her face was still tear-stained, but she smiled warmly and sighed as he wiped them off her cheeks with the pad of his thumb.

And she says he’s the innocent one? She’s the one walking around without panties and his come seeping down her thighs, he thought happily. He was sated and felt ridiculous for his fit of insecurity.

“So…what happened here? What about those familiar hands?”

She led them back toward the more manicured part of the garden. “I already told you, baby – you don’t want to know.”

Latest Comments

  1. disapprhere says:

    Beautiful indeed. I can almost feel her. “… she exists wherever roses are in bloom”.

  2. paul1510 says:

    Ximena,
    what a lovely story to drink my morning coffee with, you never disappoint!!
    Warm hugs,
    Paul.

  3. Meme says:

    So haunting, lovely, and deeply beautiful!

  4. vanillamom says:

    this was very different from you, X…certainly hot, very much so, but such a deep, bittersweet poignancy…i felt the throb of life through this, and her sorrow…so …it was rich, and full, and beautifully written.

    thank you…

    nilla

  5. ximenawrites says:

    Is there such thing as ‘melancholy erotica’?

    I’ve been sitting on this particular piece for a while now – much longer than the time I’ve been writing for The Erotic Writer. For a while, I didn’t even want to even consider it erotica, but simply a story with some deeply erotic elements in it, but I decided to share it anyway and see what people thought.

    No matter how much a woman chooses to share with her beloved, there’s still so much she might keep to herself – not because she’s secretive or selfish, but for the good of the relationship. What good will it do for him to know things about her past that will only keep him up at night with worry, selfless anger…or even pointless jealousy?

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