Femdom fantasy: The gardener - an unexpected morning game

“Femdom fantasy: The gardener - an unexpected morning game“ was written for BDSMforyou.nl by Mistress Moriah.

The morning sun breaks hesitantly through the clouds. It is still cool, but the promise of warmth hangs in the air. I am sitting outside with a steaming cup of coffee in my hand, my feet up, a book in my lap - although I hardly turn a page. My attention is elsewhere. The monotonous hum of the electric hedge trimmer is oddly soothing. It works like background music for my thoughts, which slowly but surely turn in a different direction.

He works symmetrically

My gardener - I have forgotten his name again, something with an R - is busy on the hedge. Crisp work, I must give him that. Everything symmetrical, exactly the way I want it. He is younger than I would normally hire, but something in his attitude appealed to me straight away. He works without a shirt, his upper body glistening with sweat, which gathers in a thin layer on his skin. His arms are muscular, but not too much so. His gaze is focused on his work, his face has a nonchalant air, combined with a cheeky expression that I would normally find irritating, but which now, somehow, is precisely what feels inviting. As if he is challenging me, consciously or unconsciously.

And that is exactly the wrong attitude in my garden. Or perhaps exactly the right one, because it intrigues me. He has nerve, I can feel it in everything. And I love it.

A smile plays around my mouth. Something in me wakes up. Not aroused, not yet. First comes the little plan. And it slowly bubbles up like coffee in a percolator. Simmering, warm and full of promise.

Tools

I put my book down beside me, closed, take one last sip of coffee and calmly stand up. My heels click lightly on the tiled path as I walk inside. The door closes softly behind me. In the hallway I open the cupboard where I keep my 'tools' - not the kind of tools he uses, but at least as effective. Cuffs, a ball stretcher, a leather paddle, clamps, a blindfold and of course my favourite toy: the bull whip. Sharp, precise and with a sound that commands respect all by itself.

I put everything in a roomy canvas bag. Not too conspicuous. No rush. Everything under control.

I walk round to the back via the side path, my bag on my arm. The hedge shields me from his view. He has not heard me - or he is pretending not to have. His upper body moves rhythmically, his shoulder blades dancing under his skin. I stop close to one of the thick, old trees at the edge of the lawn. The spot is perfect. For now, I am still invisible to him.

A smooth movement

I put the bag down, unzip it, my hands deep inside. I take out the cuffs. He only hears me when I step up to him. And by the time he turns round, I already have one arm secured.

"What...?"

He gets no time to finish the sentence. In one smooth movement I twist his wrist behind his back, click the cuff shut, pull his other arm along and fix that one too. He turns, but his eyes betray no fear. At most surprise. And curiosity. Or perhaps even something mocking or defiant.

"Shh," I whisper as I fasten his wrists to the tree. "

His mouth opens, but closes again without a sound. I pick up my paddle and tap lightly over his shoulder blade. "Too tight in the trousers," I murmur. I pull at his belt, undo the button, zip down. The trousers slide down to his knees with some effort. He now stands there half naked, arms bound, legs restricted in their movement, body tense.

I walk around him. I touch him nowhere. I let the silence do the work.

Stubborn and defiant

What a delicious attitude. Stubborn. Yet at the same time at my mercy. No struggling, no big mouth. Only a certain tightening in his back, an almost invisible tremble in his thighs. He finds this exciting. Good. Then we are already halfway there.

I crouch down, my hand gliding over his lower back. The skin warm, clammy, alive. I put a clamp on his nipple. No warning. Just doing it. He groans. Not a word, only sound. His head sinks slightly forward. The second clamp follows - a little firmer.

"Do you mind if I interrupt you for a moment?" I whisper.

He shakes his head. Without a sound. I read his eyes. I tap the paddle on his buttocks. Once. Twice. Harder. His breathing quickens.

I take my bull whip from the bag and deliver a stroke across his back. Not inhumanly hard, but penetrating. Rhythmic. His skin slowly turns red. I feel it myself too - the tension, the pleasure, even the calm that comes with it. Everything fits here. Everything falls into place.

His body betrays him

The bull circles through the air. I hit his leg. Then his flank. He turns away slightly - reflex - and I chuckle softly.

"Do you want to stop?"

He says nothing.

"Then we will carry on."

My hand glides to his crotch. Warmth. He tries to squeeze his legs together, but his trousers restrict him. A perfect prison. His body betrays him, though. His feeble attempt at resistance is no more than a show. His whole body is silently screaming for more. For me to go on.

I put on the blindfold. Take a step back. Leave him alone for a moment in his darkness. Pick up the ball stretcher. Fit it with precision. His breath catches. My heart beats slower. Everything slows down. Only the tapping of an overzealous woodpecker in the distance. And his breath.

Delicious little gardener

My mouth is close to his ear. "What a delicious little gardener you are..." I say softly. "Perhaps from now on you should work here on your knees. Cutting the grass with a small pair of nail scissors, for example."

He half laughs. Or tries to. The laugh catches as I use the bull again, a little fiercer this time. I enjoy the sound the whip makes on his body and the red welt that seems to underline this fierceness all the more. His back arches. His breathing quickens. I love this kind of play. No agreements. No scripts. Just feeling the moment and diving in. Both completely in the now.

Fleeting kiss

Slowly I remove the clamps. He groans. Taking them off is always more intense than putting them on. I know. I gently rub the skin underneath loose. I relax his balls and remove the stretcher. Stroke his back. Let my fingertips glide over his shoulders. The blindfold stays on. Nothing more for a moment. Only touch, without expectation. His body relaxes. The adrenaline subsides. His knees almost give way. Softly I stroke his lips with my mouth. He opens, but I do not answer his silent request. Not yet. Perhaps never. The future is unpredictable and right now there is only now.

I undo the cuffs, but still say nothing. He turns round. His eyes are wild, searching, questioning.

"Next time, please start shirtless and without trousers," I say with a wink.

Then I turn round, bag in hand, and walk back to the terrace. I fancy a coffee. And I want to finish my book. Although I already know I will not remember a word of what is in it.

Oh well, who cares. The best stories are the ones you simply live yourself, after all...

Mistress Moriah

Source

Text: Mistress Moriah
Photography: 123rf.com