MISS IVY'S GARDEN (In theory F/M)

[Xtc]

Hello good people,

This old man thought it was time to post a tale. It is one that I resisted posting here because, as certain people will know, it doesn’t involve too much (ie for our American readers, ‘any’) of the ‘game’ element. However, there should be enough smut to satisfy those readers who enjoy ‘erotic situations’ – not that I approve of such things, of course. The ‘tying’ is not so much home-made as institutionalised but, surely, in a well-regulated society, that is how things should be.

OK, as one whose partner is of Traveller heritage (or a Welsh/Wiltshire Gyppo, as they put it), I invite readers to participate in a traditional custom to see if the tale is wanted or not. The company would sit round the fire and, at a suitable moment, the Story Teller would say, “Click.” If the answer was, “Clack,” he/she would then repeat, “Click.” Upon a further repeat of, “Clack,” they would embark on a traditional formula that linked into the story. My favourite one is, “These things took place so long ago that If I had been there then, I would not be here to tell you about them now . . .”

OK, he said again, I won’t bother with the intro but neither will I start until those of you round the camp fire join in.

“CLICK”

[dallen108]

CLACK

[Xtc]

Thank you.

CLICK

[KidnappedCowboy]

CLACK

[Xtc]

Thank you, [mention]dallen108[/mention] and [mention]KidnappedCowboy[/mention]

Now that the children have gone to bed, let's stoke up the fire and pass the cider jug around. What follows is a story set in a better-ordered society than prevails today.

[Xtc]

Miss Ivy's Garden (1)

Miss Ivy was very fond of her garden. She didn't do much gardening herself, of course, but she would visit as often as possible. Every day, as long as it wasn't raining, she would inspect the sturdy trellises and select a choice specimen which she could enjoy later in her chamber. She never visited too early in the day because her gardeners needed time to festoon the trellises with the specimens she so admired, and who gets up much before mid-day in any case?

That morning, but not too early, Miss Ivy rose and her acolytes attended to her toilette. After a mere two hours she was ready to show her person to the world outside. She left her boudoir, opened her delicate pink parasol and walked to her nearby dog cart. She gave both the draught beast and the mounted tiger critical visual examinations and, fortunately for her stable lad, she was pleased with what she saw.

Miss Ivy mounted her carriage and handed her parasol to the tiger who was, of course, securely fastened to the post mounted on the rear of the vehicle. Although he was displayed in the customary fashion, the eyeholes in the tiger's leather hood had not been covered. That way he would have no excuse for exposing Miss Ivy's delicate complexion to the ravages of the early summer sunshine. She regretted that having one arm free spoiled the symmetry of her tiger's presentation but a lady has to make sacrifices if she is to keep her complexion flawless and the colour of the most delicate of all imaginable pink roses.

Miss Ivy always chose English speaking acquisitions to draw her carriage; that way she could simply deliver verbal instructions and she could keep the more extreme chastisements for when her instructions were not obeyed immediately. Being hooded and, unlike the tiger, consequently sightless, the acquisitions were generally keen to comply. That way they might avoid the electric shocks that were so much easier for Miss Ivy to administer than the now redundant, old-fashioned applications of the riding crop. Such exertions were obviously not suited to being made by any lady of refinement.

To get to the garden from the manor house involved a journey of little more than a minute but, of course, Miss Ivy could not possibly be expected to walk, it was much too far and it might have occasioned her to break sweat and, if anybody chanced to see her doing so, it might have given very much the wrong impression about her. No, sweating should be reserved for her private gym and for certain encounters later on in the day. Miss Ivy was pleased with the smoothness of her journey and with the way her directions had been so excellently implemented. Perhaps she would allow the draught beast some relief from his hood when he was safely chained to the stable wall later on. If her return journey was equally enjoyable, she might even consider ordering the stable boy to unlock that nasty metal cage that had been cramping and digging into his private parts for nearly a month, Miss Ivy kept carful track of such things, but she would probably not allow him to have his arms freed from that bag-thing that kept them behind his back. That would be too much. Miss Ivy was having a good day.

------00000-----

Miss Ivy wished to disembark to view the specimens that adorned her trellises in greater detail. That day she had commanded her gardeners to prepare specimens that would make a fine display of foliage and they had been busy since early in the day training the specimens and making sure that they were displayed to their best advantage. Being away from the manor house there was, as one would expect, no mounting block to facilitate Miss Ivy's disembarkation but, of course, there was always the dog.

Miss Ivy pressed the button marked "d" on her key fob and the door to the dog box sprang open behind her. She hoped that her kennel boy had stowed one of her favourite dogs in the box but she never specified which one he was to use because she knew that they all had to be given the opportunity to prove themselves if they were ever to gain advancement in her service. It was very tempting to look as the designated dog unfurled himself from the box and made his clumsy way to the ground but, being a lady, Miss Ivy could, of course, not afford to show even a passing interest in the creature. The dog did not bother to get to his feet but merely positioned himself by the step. He was kneeling with his back bent and his elbows tight up against his knees. He knew he had to provide a very stable platform for Miss Ivy's delicately slippered foot as she stepped down.

Miss Ivy disembarked; a few seconds without the shade of her protective parasol would not matter and she knew that both the tiger and the dog would have been well trained in the mundane procedures. She turned and examined the dog. Miss Ivy was having a very good day.

As with all the dogs in her kennels, this one was youthful, entire and none too tall. Miss Ivy could tell by his restraints that her kennel boy had decided that he could be trusted. She would need to let him know that he was allowed to continue as his head was at the time dutifully bowed.

"Up." The dog regained his feet, initially pushing himself up on his hands that were clamped closely together. At least this one's hobbles weren't so short that he would not be able to keep up with the progress that it would please Miss Ivy to make. "Look up." He stood with his legs straight and his hands raised in front of him in the expected praying posture. The ring on the top of his stainless-steel bridle was at little more than eye level to Miss Ivy. He was one of her favourites, red headed and slight but with good muscular definition and, from what she knew of him when she inspected his nakedness last, certainly in need of being contained in whatever was under that steel codpiece. Miss Ivy took a few minutes to enjoy her acquisition. Perhaps she would ask the kennel boy his name.

Time was wasting and Miss Ivy's garden was demanding her attention. She diverted her eyes to where the tiger was still dutifully holding her parasol in front of him. She pointed and looked back at the dog. Perhaps she would call him "Rufus". He nodded curtly and retrieved Miss Ivy's protection from the hooded tiger who immediately dropped his free hand and placed it against the open clamp on the vertical pole. Miss Ivy pressed the "twr" button on her key fob and the clamp closed. That was better; Miss Ivy's preference for a symmetrical display of her acquisitions was satisfied.

The dog needed no instructions and followed Miss Ivy on her tour of her garden doing his best to ensure that her delicate complexion was never exposed to the skin-aging sun. Miss Ivy was pleased with his efforts. Yes, she would call him "Rufus" but she would leave it to the kennel boy to tell him.

TBC

 

[KidnappedCowboy]

CLICK CLICK!!!!

[Xtc]

Thank you, oh lover of horticultural studies. I shall have to give people a few days to catch up.

[Guardianbound]

Click! I don't normally enjoy F/M stories but this is yummy!

[Xtc]

I don't normally write them so thank you!
I think I might have cheated a bit my making all of Miss Ivy's minions male.

[Xtc]

Thank you for clicking and clacking.
Here from the well-ordered world is the next chapter.

Every individual who sends me a "clack" will speed up the posts.
"Click"

[Xtc]

Miss Ivy's Garden (2)

Miss Ivy took her time examining the exquisite garden display. Her gardeners had excelled themselves in the way the exhibits had been trained, pruned, sprayed and displayed against the heavy metal trellises. She thought to herself that she would have to allow the gardeners to have meat to eat the next day. She examined every specimen carefully but there was no doubt, really, which of the exhibits would be taken back to her chamber. It was such a superb specimen.

Miss Ivy examined the descriptive label. The specimen was 183 centimetres tall not including the luxuriant foliage and that must have extended like a spectacular, black halo at least another 20 centimetres in all directions round its head. The specimen had been displayed against a specially made cross of white maple against which the gleaming rosewood colour of its roots, trunk and branches contrasted pleasingly.

The specimen had been stretched tightly and, as soon as its skeleton had adapted to the pose, the nurseryman had stretched it again so that there was no scope for movement even should a wind suddenly blow up. When the specimen had been considered to be human, someone would have cared about the pain he was probably in but money talks, he had been traded, therefore he was no longer human and all that mattered was that he pleased Miss Ivy aesthetically. On that day he did and all the specimens with pale barks and blonde foliage stood not a chance in comparison.

Miss Ivy had seen enough to decide. She made a mental note of the number on the specimen's trellis, turned and walked away so briskly that the dog was taken somewhat by surprise. He did, however, manage to shade his mistress before her delicate skin could become too endangered. Miss Ivy was so excited about the splendid specimen and his luxurious foliage that she didn't even notice that he was at all slow off the mark. "Rufus", of course, was unaware of this and was left worrying that he would have to continue wearing that bridle with the tormenting metal intrusion into his mouth once he was returned to his kennel. He had known several of his less successful kennel mates to be kept in them for over a day.

-----00000-----

Miss Ivy and her escort approached the dog cart and, upon her pressing a button on her key fob, one of the clamps holding the tiger to his post released and the tiger held out his hand. The dog ceded the parasol to him and the tiger positioned it before him ready to shade Miss Ivy as she rode back to the mansion house.

The dog really wanted to get things right and made a back ready for his mistress to mount her transport. Miss Ivy boarded without acknowledging her mounting block and sat as her parasol was accurately positioned. Miss Ivy never bothered to acknowledge any creature as low as a tiger, unless it was to inform him of forthcoming chastisement, but this one must have been close to earning promotion. Perhaps Miss Ivy would call for him later and have a closer look at him.

Once it was obvious that the passenger was safely ensconced, the dog clambered unsteadily to his feet and the door to the dog box swung open. His next manoeuvre was never easy even though he'd had a lot of practice over the past year. Crawling into a raised box not much wider than himself was a problem, especially with his wrists clamped so closely and uncomfortably in front of him. He had developed a technique where he bent forwards and grabbed a rod near the base of the box and on the opposite side. That left his rather shapely arse displayed because the back of his garment consisted only of the tight chain belt that was pulled down onto his hips and the chain that held his codpiece in place. It ran between his legs and up his crack to the belt where it was padlocked into place. It always had an unpleasant "massaging" effect whenever he walked. Having grabbed the handle, he gradually pulled himself into the dog box and tucked his legs underneath him. The box was little higher than the minimum needed to allow him to make sure that his hobble was dragged on board. He heard the door lock behind him.

-----00000-----

Miss Ivy was excited about her new specimen but the short journey back to the manor house needed her full attention if the beast between the shafts was to deliver her successfully. She was very happy with her journey, not happy enough, of course, to inform the former athlete of her satisfaction in person but she had decided that he would, indeed, be allowed freedom from that chastity cage for a few hours. She was sure he could find a way to give himself a satisfactory level of relief without the use of his hands.

The stable boy was waiting to receive the dogcart and to return it to the mews. Obviously, he could not expect to ride in Miss Ivy's personal conveyance but, having a dog in the box, he would not have to lead the draught beast himself. Miss Ivy handed over her key fob and the stable boy bowed his thanks and rose from his knees. Once she had retrieved her parasol, Miss Ivy immediately lost interest in the proceedings and turned on her velvet-slippered heel. Miss Ivy needed to change into something more comfortable. She returned to her dressing room. She was moist with excitement.

TBC

[Xtc]

Miss Ivy's Garden (3)

Once inside her boudoir, Miss Ivy commanded her pageboy to call for her dressers and to get her personal assistant to send three of her most accomplished masseurs to the adjacent pamper lounge. The white-kilted youth bowed his head and Miss Ivy tapped into her phone the codes that unlocked the pageboy's gag and raised the clamp that was holding his ankles close to the floor. The pageboy had been serving Miss Ivy for long enough to be adept at slipping his knees forward and clambering to his feet from his forced kneeling posture even without the aid of his arms, and Miss Ivy could certainly see no reason for removing the clamps that were holding his wrists close together behind him. The pageboy ran from the room knowing that he would only have the demanding rubber wedge dislodged from his mouth for long enough to allow him to deliver his messages before the leather panel that held it in place was buckled again.

The pageboy delivered both messages and rushed back to Miss Ivy's boudoir where he was soon clamped into his kneeling posture once more. He heard the lock click behind his neck. At least he was allowed to sit on the top of the stocks-like ankle clamp these days and did not need to kneel upright any longer. There were rewards for pleasing Miss Ivy but the pageboy knew that slouching would never be tolerated.

Miss Ivy waited impatiently for her dressers to arrive. If they didn't come soon, she might even have to consider undressing herself, but she would then have to look for two more dressers who might be more punctual. She would miss her current dressers, though; one of them had lasted nearly three months in his post and the other one was about to celebrate his freedom having served her for an unprecedented whole year. It would be such a shame but she would have to make an example of them that the remainder of her household would be unlikely to forget. Hey, ho, such men were cheap and Miss Ivy had to have reliable ones at her command.

Just before Miss Ivy could send for the Common Sergeant, however, her dressers arrived and prostrated themselves in a manner which Miss Ivy thought she might accept. Perhaps she would still call for the Common Sergeant but she would only have them beaten. Yes, that would do but it would have to be a beating that would leave permanent marks. Such a pity, that younger one was really handsome; it was a shame that both of her dressers were gay.

Miss Ivy could not afford to spend any more time in contemplation if she was to be ready for her masseurs and for those diversions that were due to follow their attentions. She commanded the younger dresser to undress her while the other laid out the clothes in which she wished to receive her selected foliage specimen. She sometimes regretted that none of the dressers she chose demonstrated a desire for her naked body but, picking those whose attentions were unlikely to be distracted by such a treasure did have its advantages. Yes, she would have them beaten by the Common Sergeant but she would get him to remove their balls as well. Miss Ivy simply did not enjoy waiting.

Miss Ivy was soon standing in all her glory (and only that) and the dressers once more prostrated themselves on the floor. Before they spread-eagled themselves, Miss Ivy's masseurs arrived. These were three impressive specimens and, unlike her dressers, they certainly needed to be intimately caged before kneeling in front of their naked Mistress. Miss Ivy examined the three skilled males, the slender one of East Asian extraction was trained in reflexology, the larger, blonde one gave just about the best back massages that Miss Ivy had ever experienced; so much so that the last time he attended to her, she had him safely secured and delivered to her bedroom later in the day where she unlocked his chastity cage for an hour. There were rewards for pleasing Miss Ivy but she could not bring herself to free him; she needed his skills on the couch and enjoyed his skills in the bedroom too much to be without having him at her complete command. It was a shame for the fellow that he would have to remain in servitude but Miss Ivy's needs had to come first and he did enjoy the occasional reward.

Today, Miss Ivy was more in the need of the manipulations at which the largest of her masseurs excelled. He was a muscular, young, black man who would need to make very close contact with Miss Ivy's body if he was to do his job properly. Miss Ivy was aware of the way such intimacy affected certain parts of his anatomy but she had recently ordered her overseer to change the spiked device, that had previously tormented him whenever his penis tried to expand, for a much more merciful silicone device. It was certainly not as painful for him whenever he concentrated on Miss Ivy's perfect body, but he did wish that he could be rewarded in the same way that his colleague had recently been rewarded.

He moved in to provide what some practitioners would describe as "an aggressive crunch". His firm torso was pressed against Miss Ivy's back while he pulled her folded legs against her body. It was because of such manipulations that Miss Ivy had designed special costumes for her masseurs. All the while they were wearing only those padded cod-pieces over their chastity cages, their movements were completely unimpeded (except for the shackles around their ankles, of course) and, when they came close to Miss Ivy, the velvet-covered padding avoided any unfortunate contact with the metal or plastic devices that they concealed. They also gave a rather optimistic impression of what such devices might contain.

Following about thirty minutes of his chiropractic manipulations, a much more relaxed and supple-feeling Miss Ivy wondered if she might not be able to entertain herself with his magnificent body later on. In the past she had considered ordering her surgeon to modify the chiropractor's larynx and to remove his tongue so that his handsome visage would not have to be spoilt by that heavy gag but, actually, she quite enjoyed the barely suppressed sounds of his frustrated moans as he worked. There was also another possible advantage to allowing the slave to retain his tongue. Miss Ivy decided that, after having given her attention to the horticultural specimen, she would still be capable of enjoying the attentions of another handsome, dark-skinned specimen as well. That young tiger would have to wait for another day.

Once the chiropractor had been dismissed to kneel on the floor, Miss Ivy thought that she would enjoy some attention from her reflexologist. Obviously, this slave could not be gagged or he would have been unable to explain his findings and subsequent treatments to his patient. Miss Ivy noticed, however, that she seldom had to activate the shock collar these days as he had learned merely to whisper and then only when it was unavoidable. Following her treatment Miss Ivy decided that she would get the overseer to remove the collar which, in a masterpiece of her blacksmith's art, was clamped round the base of the practitioner's cock and holding his wired chastity cage in place. It was a masterpiece but he deserved to have it replaced by a more conventional collar round his neck.

Following her treatments Miss Ivy decided that she did not require the services of her white masseur after all and dismissed the three of them to their barracoon.

The elder dresser stood and fastened Miss Ivy's selected, expensive (and more than a little sparse) lingerie on her pleasantly relaxed person. Miss Ivy examined herself in the full-length mirrors. She liked what she saw as her negligee floated seductively while she moved but there was something missing. It took no more than a minute before her shapely form was supported on matching, but rather impractical stiletto heels. Perfect. Miss Ivy was having a good day. No, she would spare her dressers the castrations. They obviously still had to be beaten but perhaps not as savagely as Miss Ivy had originally intended. "Yes", thought Miss Ivy, "That young one really is quite handsome, what a waste."

TBC

[Xtc]

I'm glad that, judging by the number of views, people seem to be enjoying the story but I'm a bit disappointed by the absence of feedback.
Feedback is the only encouragement a writer gets and it can also prompt them to future efforts and guide them in such efforts so that they may write things that might please the readers. I know that is no guarantee of quality but it might help to avoid the poorer efforts by encouraging authors to better heights.

Oh well, at least this post gives the member who complains about my whining the opportunity to sharpen his pen.


OK. I'll go and sit down in a dark room for a while with a bottle of gin.

[blackbound]

Is it clack now? Clack.

[Xtc]

I 'Click', you 'Clack'.

I take that as a 'Clack'. Thanks.

[Xtc]

Advisory note
Get ready for what the common call smut. It is not smut, it is literary allegory.

OK, here's the next smutty bit:

[Xtc]

Miss Ivy's Garden (4)

Miss Ivy dismissed her dressers and made a brief call to her overseer regarding the beatings he should arrange for them to receive from the Common Sergeant before redirecting her attentions to much more pleasant matters.

During the ministrations of her masseurs, two of Miss Ivy's gardeners had prepared the specimen that she had selected earlier for her enjoyment. Not only had its bark been oiled until it glowed but its limbs had been rearranged in a "hands up" posture with its twigs splayed and stapled immovably against a contrasting pale velvet background. The velvet was fitted to a rigid backing and was, for the most part, deeply padded. The gardeners mounted the exhibit vertically (as suits a botanical specimen) in Miss Ivy's bedroom before prostrating themselves on the floor. Miss Ivy was not accustomed to requiring privacy when she was exercising her predilections; it was so often more convenient to have assistance on hand at various stages of her exertions.

Miss Ivy liked what she saw when she returned to her bedroom; her gardeners had arranged the lighting carefully so that she could appreciate every detail of the newly rearranged specimen. Its muscular roots were splayed and forced straight by the protruding support between them. Miss Ivy was delighted to see that, just above where the support was doing its job, there was another smaller limb already pointing rigidly upwards and she had not even had to ask for medicines to be administered to ensure the durability of such an inflexible shoot. Miss Ivy thought that it was a good job that the specimen had not been blindfolded and that she had obviously made a correct selection. She was pleased to notice that the limb had not been pruned nor had its surrounding foliage been trimmed.

Miss Ivy's gardeners would probably not need to suffer the same fate as her dressers as long as her survey of the specimen continued to please her so. She passed a rare approving look over the backs of the prostrate pair, not that they could notice that with their faces buried in the luxurious deep pile of the carpet that was redolent of Miss Ivy's favourite perfume. Not that she would be interested in any case, but Miss Ivy could not see the effect that inhaling the characteristic fragrance was having upon the horticulturalists as they lay there. The fronts of their already skin-tight leather shorts tightened even further at the thought of their proximity to that perfect specimen of femininity. It was probably fortunate for them that their gags efficiently muffled any unfortunate, frustrated groanings and prevented them being overheard by a Miss Ivy who was totally engrossed in her dendrological studies.

Miss Ivy was glad that she had not had the specimen blindfolded. He obviously liked what he saw. Miss Ivy gave the small lumps at the base of the protruding limb quite a gentle squeeze. The resultant muffled, aspirated groan pleased Miss Ivy; it was almost as if the wind was blowing through the specimen's branches especially as all of the specimen's transpiration had to pass through what, if it was still considered to be human, would have been its nose.

Miss Ivy just gave the impressive member a few gentle strokes as the specimen exercised just about the only movement that remained to it. The luxurious foliage was crushed into the padded velvet and it screwed what would previously have been called its eyes tightly closed.

Miss Ivy stood back and continued her survey. Where the trunk rose from the roots, it was narrow and well defined, with an intriguing knot about ten centimetres above the base of the interesting limb that Miss Ivy had just examined. Miss Ivy did not allow herself to consider how incongruous it was that such fine horticultural specimens, that always had to be presented in such an immobile manner, had to be exercised rigorously for several hours a day when they were not on show if they were to be kept in peak condition.

Miss Ivy's fingers traced the knot and worked their sensuous way up the trunk investigating all the details including two prominent buds that seemed to get even harder as she squeezed them. She enjoyed the sound of the wind through the branches again.

The specimen had been reconfigured since Miss Ivy had first encountered it in her garden and she was pleased with her gardeners' efforts because they had left her view almost unimpeded so far. Until the upper branches, other than the protruding support, there were only two plant ties round the specimen's roots just above the knots above where the roots flattened and forked along the ground. Miss Ivy knew those root extremities were often very sensitive.

Miss Ivy moved in again. Following a scratch from her immaculately manicured scarlet fingernails against the specimen's throbbing, protuberant member her investigation of the properties of the specimen continued to the limbs. This time Miss Ivy noticed with approval that her gardener had trimmed the foliage from where the limbs joined the trunk leaving a smooth transition for her to scratch gently several times before moving on. The whole specimen tensed even more before the sensuous fingers moved on.

The upper limbs had been rearranged so that they were horizontal only until one of Miss Ivy's gardeners could bend the rest into a vertical aspect. The thicker sections of the limbs seemed to swell and harden whenever Miss Ivy managed to elicit a reaction from the specimen; upon her further caressing them, they were even more impressive than those of her blonde masseur. This specimen would probably we worth further attention from her gardeners and Miss Ivy made a mental note to demand to inspect it again in about a year's time. It would be something for her to look forward to in her otherwise humdrum life.

Miss Ivy's horticultural appreciation continued up the limbs and onto the twigs. They had each been stapled to the velvet background so that they were immovably splayed. Miss Ivy loved the incongruous pale colour of their source, which she talon-tickled and was rewarded with another breeze through the branches as the entire specimen tensed once more, but she also noticed that the interesting limb above the little bulge seemed to be leaking somewhat.

The specimen was obviously very nearly ready. So was Miss Ivy!

TBC

[Xtc]

OK, back in the saddle again having been away so, next part coming up once I've checked it out.
Please cover the budgie's eyes, here we go:

[Xtc]

Miss Ivy's Garden (5)

Miss Ivy instructed her horticulturalists to mount the glowing specimen on a raised bed: her water-bed. The mounting board had substantial rings on the corners that were efficiently accommodated by four tension straps that had to be accessed from where they were stowed out of sight at the corners of the bed. Miss Ivy watched with increasing impatience and made the decision that the gardeners should, in future be accoutred in those steel codpieces, like her masseurs; she could always get her costumier to run up a set of skimpy brown leather thongs to complete their clothing. Miss Ivy had so many duties to perform, she would probably even have to design them herself, but seeing common workmen sporting such erections as they were was simply, well, vulgar and Miss Ivy could simply not tolerate anything so common. Although the younger one looked as though he could be used as a very easy target for a game of quoits. Miss Ivy would have to remember that; life is so demanding.

Once the specimen was mounted, Miss Ivy realised that the peg that once supported what was, to her, the most important aspect of the botanical specimen could be somewhat inconvenient in the next few minutes. What a good job the arboriculturists needed that hefty mallet when they originally mounted the specimen in Miss Ivy’s bedroom. Even stretched out as it was, the specimen certainly seemed alarmed as the older one gave the peg a hefty whack, loosening it sufficiently for him to remove it. The wheezing of the wind through the branches this time accompanied more expansion and contraction of the trunk than one would have thought possible in a dendrological specimen even such a fine one. Fortunately for the very worried workman, there was hardly any sign of bruising when Miss Ivy took the little bulge in hand to examine it. She was pleased to find that the little limb was still poker-stiff and was now leaking quite freely. The Gardener dreaded to think what might have happened if the limb had wilted under his care.

Miss Ivy instructed the older gardener to prostrate himself and the other one to approach her. He knew he was expected to kneel but he hardly expected Miss Ivy to open her diaphanous robe like that. Miss Ivy checked; yes, he was peeping out of the top of those tight leather shorts, definitely worth commanding into her bed. But Miss Ivy needed to get back to the job in hand.

The robe floated and the boy’s breathing became laboured. “Panties.” What the hell - - -? It was a good job he was gagged. “Untie them.” Miss Ivy’s undies, even such skimpy ones, were going to get in the way imminently. The gardener took the ends of the bows at each side of Miss Ivy’s shapely hips and pulled them delicately; it would be dangerous if he caused Miss Ivy any distress by rough handling. The insubstantial garment fell to the carpet. The Gardener nearly exploded. Miss Ivy ignored him and turned to the current object of her attentions.

Miss Ivy stood at the foot of her bed. She started by scratching the pale bases of the specimen’s roots and was gratified by the twitching she noticed just at the base of its trunk. Gradually those carefully manicured fingers worked their sinuous way up the roots as Miss Ivy’s head approached the main focus of her attention. She could not afford to do too much to it with her mouth if Autumn was not to arrive too early but, just a sensuous lick all along its underside was surely safe. The specimen went rigid again. Miss Ivy gave the throbbing tip just a gentle nuzzle with her nose before moving on.

By then Miss Ivy’s immaculately made-up face had overtaken her fingers, which she used to keep the specimen interested, surely the most redundant activity ever, but it kept Miss Ivy happy – and it kept her juices running. As she climbed the trunk, Miss Ivy nuzzled that little knot that she encountered and then gave it a gentle licking all round. Miss Ivy nearly blew it at that time. Perhaps a little more urgency was required?

Miss Ivy continued towards the head of her bed and kissed that frantically flaring nose. The wheezing through the leaves reached fever pitch as Miss Ivy fitted the little limb into its correct receptacle. Miss Ivy’s breathing was chiming with the unavoidable minute shiverings of the cruelly confined specimen.

Miss Ivy never had any time for male descriptions of the level of penetration they could achieve; she was more interested in the amount of enclosure she could provide, and I am assured that she could provide enough to satisfy any man in whom she was interested, or any fine dendrological specimen that was accommodated on her raised bed for that matter. What a pity she was interested only in her own satisfaction and not in the least in the inconsequential satisfaction that her skilled manoeuvrings might provide for her bed-mates.

Once safely attached, Miss Ivy pushed herself up into a keeling position, thus accommodating the limb even more satisfactorily. That hit the spot. With her shins on the upper roots and her feet between them Miss Ivy adjusted her posture and embarked upon her favourite form of dynamic exercise. She couldn’t care less that both of the gardeners could hear her and she had probably forgotten that the younger one could see her as well. She had timed things well and had come to her climax just as the specimen spasmed and the sap flowed.

Miss Ivy stopped thrusting and caressed her breasts; the specimen could hardly breathe. Miss Ivy had no time to waste disengaging but she did rather hope that the specimen would repay further examination once she had rested her weary self for a while. Oh well, it didn’t really matter, there was always that young gardener - - or that incredibly muscular masseur - - - or even the tiger. Making decisions wearied Miss Ivy so she retired to her boudoir and called for her dressers.

Miss Ivy thought she might allow her gardeners a day off soon, but wouldn’t that jeopardise the well-being of such magnificent specimens as the one that was now spent on her bed? Decisions, decisions; she hated making decisions, but Miss Ivy was very fond of her garden.

THE END

[Guardianbound]

Bravo! Making horticulture sexy again

[Xtc]

Thank you, oh dendrological fan.

[blackbound]

A very different story, but intriguing. Miss Ivy, though, would do well to remember that the blacker the berry, the sweeter the juice!

[Xtc]

I am sure that she is aware of that.
Let's face it: it seems that she is giving herself another year to confirm her suspicions.

[boots]

OK, as one whose partner is of Traveller heritage (or a Welsh/Wiltshire Gyppo, as they put it)

Is your partner a man or woman? I remember when I was younger having the biggest crush on a traveller woman that lived in my village. She worked with horses all day so had the most amazing legs and bum. I would dream of being dominated by her.