Eradicating Knotweed

by Midsummerman

Caution: This BDSM Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Mult, Consensual, Romantic, Reluctant, Slavery, Heterosexual, Fiction, BDSM, DomSub, FemaleDom, Spanking, Rough, Humiliation, Sadistic, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Foot Fetish, Leg Fetish, Teacher/Student, Big Breasts, .

Desc: BDSM Sex Story: A Gardener is cultivated by dominant women

Sometimes things once perceived as a thing of beauty are allowed into our lives; sometimes, like Fallopia Japonica: 'Japanese Knotweed' they can quickly overrun a situation-and take control.

He had managed to escape the humdrum, rat-race office life of Banking and Stocks; after 30 years in which the stress had nearly killed him, he had taken advantage of redundancy to pursue his hobby of gardening and make a meagre living from it. He remembered how grown men had held their heads in their hands and even shed tears at the news; he remembered having a quiet moment alone in the toilets in which he clenched his fists and punched the air in joy. He was free at last.

Now more interested in Fuchsias than futures he had purchased a van which sat in the driveway of the small house he lived in alone, having parted company with a business oriented wife some years ago. He would rise in the morning just to watch the breakneck pace of neighbours leaving in droves like clockwork, to catch trains or drive to their cars to the grindstones which awaited them. He would sip his tea or coffee, relax, and check his appointment book. At 9:30 or 10:00 he would then casually venture out into the clear streets at a leisurely pace to some suburban or rural residence to indulge his love of gardening and get paid for it.

This morning was destined to be a little different though he would never have guessed so at the time. 'Mrs Grandellar-Favour: The Noke, Hobbs End.' He chuckled at the name; sounds like 'glandular fever' he thought. Hobbs End was a very well-to-do area just outside town; huge detached houses with gardens measured in acres. Many of these residences had commercial gardening outfits tend their vast lawns, but smaller one-man-bands such as he were often preferred as the personal touch, smaller cost, and usually the guarantee of a decent job being done outweighed the alternative. He approached the property down a winding drive through a front garden the size of a small park. The house was typical turn of the 20th century; five or six bedrooms at least. Mrs Grandellar-Favour appeared, accompanied by her husband who gave him the once over, smiled and shook his hand then went back to his newspaper. She walked him round to the rear of the house, and he was pleased to see that the gardens had been kept fairly well maintained, but needed some attention. They discussed terms and they were both happy for him to start.

'Oh, there is one thing' she put in quickly on remembering an important point; 'down at the wooded end past the walled garden near the boundary with 'Red Gables' property, I am afraid we have an infusion of that dreaded Japanese Knotweed. Whilst I do not expect you to rid us of it completely- I know what trouble it is- you will need to keep it in check for me if you would. I will see you get extra for it.'

'It will be a pleasure- almost!' he laughed; 'It is a pet hate of mine, I hate the way it takes over.'

He was shown that he could take his van down as far as the walled garden, on a rudimentary drive way. Looking back the house seemed a long way off, and the wooded area even further. The sense of space made him take in a deep breath and smile. If only he had done this since the age of eighteen he thought. It was hot and he removed his shirt in the mid-day humidity, the sweat ran down the back of his khaki shorts making it look as though he had wet himself. He toiled back round toward the house filling wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow with offshoots and cuttings. His hairy chest adorned with leaves and petals. Suddenly he was aware of a presence. He looked up and there with arm outstretched holding a mug of coffee was a tiny waif like girl with bright ginger hair and soft white skin.

'This is for you' she said as her sweet little arm wobbled under the weight of the mug.

'Thank you very much' he said, as he gratefully took the mug from her. He could not help but notice that her radiant blue eyes which shone out from her delicately freckled face were not looking him in the eye, but surveying his sweating middle-aged body. She pursed her lips and smiled at him;

'I must go now' and she skipped away on her bare feet across the lawn to the house. Suddenly something inside him wished she had stayed. He felt an erection growing and felt a little ashamed with himself. The lady of the house approached and he pulled the tee shirt over his body; suddenly feeling over exposed, unnecessarily of course. He sipped the coffee as she approached.

'You are working hard' she said; 'I know it is a big garden'

'It is just fine' he replied; 'I am enjoying the day- thanks for the coffee' he put in, as he wanted to enquire upon the waif.

'Abigail was so determined that you should have a drink, watching you work was distracting her from the weekly dusting she comes in to do.'

'So the little girl is no relation of yours then?' Mrs G-F laughed;

'No she is no relation and she is not exactly a 'little girl' either. Abigail is twenty I think; she is one of Miss Proctor's girls from 'Red Gables' and one of her tasks is to come here once a week and do the dusting. We like to spoil her, as I get the impression Miss Proctor is a little strict with her charges. 'Red Gables' is a sort of private 'Finishing School' for young ladies. Strange thing is they all seem to have red hair! Most extraordinary.'

He thought of the sweet nymph again; he had thought her to be about 14, which is why he had been so ashamed at his excitement. He was now even more ashamed inside as this new knowledge had given his carnal persona license to dwell further on the milky innocence that had affected his blood pressure so. All of a sudden he was anxious to get to work with the knotweed down by the boundary. He could have a look; maybe, just maybe 'Red Gables' would require his services also.

A few days later he returned to the house, having mowed and tidied the front and done likewise with the immediate area to the rear of the property, he could now justify an excursion down to the woods at the far end, beyond the walled garden. As he ventured down, the house was completely out of sight behind him; the woodland was serene and he could have been somewhere entirely disassociated with the tended garden landscape back up by the house. The woodland was in its natural state, apart from the tubular growths of the knotweed which popped audibly as he struck it down with contempt. He was perplexed as he could see the boundary wall about 100 yards off and his curiosity just to see what lay beyond it toyed with his inner soul endlessly.

Something inside him came to a working decision which reached a compromise; he would work his way down to the wall and back again. He would cut the weed down first then set to the arduous task of digging the roots out. Just the action of hacking through the jungle of the invading plant with a machete had him dripping with sweat. He reached the wall, which was a lot taller than it appeared at 100 yards. He eyed a fallen tree which lay at an angle beside the wall; a large limb providing a natural route up and over the top. He thought for a moment then said to himself- "get a grip you fool!"- He turned to work his way back through another thicket and slashed away with the blade.

"Hello again!" an excited little voice rang out. He turned and there atop the wall was Abigail; another red-headed waif sat beside her who had a smirk upon her cherub like face.

"Would you like some of my juice" she said waving a small bottle of fruit drink at him. He looked at her and her friend and smiled. A lump came into his throat. 'Behave yourself' he thought to himself as he strode carefully up the fallen tree.

"Thank you" he said as he took the tiny bottle of juice from her and had to be careful not to consume it all-the sip he took half emptied it and barely cooled the inside of his mouth, but he was not about to let her know this. As he handed the bottle back she looked at him starry eyed and her friend delicately touched the hairs on his sweaty arm as he extended it. She giggled and licked her fingers.

"Don't mind Cindy; she is a little crazy, she will get us into all sorts of bother with Miss Proctor" Said Abigail who panted making her little breasts heave as much as was possible for such a slight young lady.

"You do not mind us watching you work do you? We would love to help you but Miss Proctor would punish us if she knew we had spoken to a man we had not been introduced to by her or Miss Hunter." He really did not know what to say, and felt he was somehow being manipulated by the minxes, but they were interesting to him, very interesting.

"No, I do not mind at all" he said as he turned and stumbled slightly on the log. As he did a soft white hand grabbed his and squeezed.

"Careful" said Abigail as she held onto his hand for as long as she possibly could. He felt the warmth through her delicate little palm and their eyes met, bringing back the lump in his throat and a lump elsewhere below. He scrambled quickly down 'What are you doing allowing girls of that age excite you' he thought. He was hooked though, and he had an idea they knew this too. He got back to his machete and smiled up at them.

"We must not get our skirts dirty on this wall or we will be in for a stroke or two!" Said Cindy, and the two in unison lifted their skirts and pulled their legs back provocatively, careful to allow him a view of their crotches; their tight white panties outlining a sweet little bulge. The two smiled knowingly. He now wished he had not 'gone commando'; he smiled and cursed as he had to turn away from the sight- his erection now as stiff as the machete and very evident in his baggy khakis.

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