The backyard greenhouse door creaks open. Humid heat slaps my face. It’s dusk, end of first school day. Village quiet, everyone winding down for dinner. I stash my Solex in the garage. Spot Justin through the grimy glass panes. Handyman in his white gloves, clipping buis hedges along the path. Our eyes lock. His weathered face cracks a knowing smirk. I nod toward the greenhouse. He glances at the big house—lights on in the kitchen, Clémence banging pots. Parents chatting inside. Risk pulses in my veins. He drops shears. Follows me in. Door latches with a soft click. Air thick with earth and sweat. Moonlight filters through cracks, shadows dance on wet soil.
His breath hot on my neck. ‘Miss Claire,’ he whispers rough, callused hands graze my hips. I spin, unbutton jeans fast. New tight Levi’s slide down thighs. No panties today. Pussy already slick from school thoughts. Bent over potting bench, ass out. He unzips. Thick cock springs free—veiny, uncut, sailor-thick from his whorehouse days. Grunts low as tip nudges my wet slit. ‘Quiet now,’ I hiss. House windows glow yellow. Any yell, and Monique calls out. He spits on palm, rubs shaft. Pushes in raw. Stretches me wide. I bite my knuckle. Glass vibrates faint from thrust.
The Contact
Slaps echo soft—wet skin on skin. His belly smacks my cheeks. ‘Fuck, so tight,’ he growls under breath. Hands grip my waist, thumbs dig bruises. I rock back, clit’s grinding wood. Parquet? No, dirt floor crunches under boots. Muffled moans escape. Cover mouth. His balls slap my thighs, sticky. Sweat drips down my back. Light from terrace door filters under greenhouse frame—gold sliver sways. Clémence’s voice drifts: ‘Dinner soon!’ Panic spikes pleasure. He hammers faster, ragged breaths. ‘Gonna cum,’ he chokes. Floods me hot—thick spurts deep inside. Pulses throb. Cum oozes out, down legs. I clench, mini-orgasm ripples. No scream. Just shudder.
He pulls out sloppy. Zips frantic. ‘Thanks, miss.’ Slips out door—creak, gone. I stand panting. Pussy throbs, full of his load. Wipe thighs on jeans. Pull up, button shaky. Peek out. Garden dark, house lit. Heart hammers chest. Cross lawn tiptoe. Gravel crunches soft. Voices inside—Hubert laughs. Slip in back door. No one sees. Up stairs, wood groans faint. Shower runs hot. Cum swirls drain. Scrub fast. Fresh dress. Down to table. Smile sweet. ‘Good day, father?’ Thighs sticky still. Secret burns sweet. Village sleeps oblivious. Our backyard dirt holds the scent.