Old Man & His Young Woman: Naked Garden Love

By Emma Jones

"Slowly Ivy undressed, very much peeling the wet things from her. In the mirror she could see the raised goose pimples on her skin. She smiled at her reflection as she tested the water with a naked foot. So good to settle her bottom down into the water, so good to turn off the taps and lie back closing her eyes.

Outside the bathroom she heard the old gentleman say, "I'll put a towel and a dressing gown for you just outside the door. Ivy had not closed the bathroom door. It was still open a few inches. He could have just walked in, could have just come in and put the towel down - it would have been a reasonable pretext and given him the opportunity to ogle. Ivy would not have cared; she was much more interested in getting into the bath than worrying about a door a little ajar. Her eyes were closed, and she was luxuriating in the warmth of the water, relaxing after the awfulness of the journey and arrival, feeling just how lucky she had been that the old gentleman had bothered to speak to her and invited her in. What would have happened, where would she have been now had he not spoken and replied?"

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Emma Jones
• Release date: Feb 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005248055

Emma Jones

I am a freelance erotic writer who loves writing stories under various genres of erotica

Book preview

Old Man & His Young Woman: Naked Garden Love

By Emma Jones

Published by

Cougar Publications at Smashwords

[e-mail]

Copyright 2022 Cougar Publications

Distributed by Smashwords

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to any actual person, living or dead, events or locales is entire coincidental

Authors Note:

All characters depicted in this work of fiction are at least 18 years old or above. Names, characters, business, events and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Contents

Chapter 1: Soaked and Drenched

Chapter 2: A Young Woman

Chapter 3: Sharing a Bath

Chapter 4: By The Fireside

Chapter 5: Naked in the Garden

Chapter 6: His Tongue and Her….

Chapter 1: Soaked and Drenched

The gentleman sat in his old dressing gown. Woollen and tied with a cord. It hung a little open and through that opening stood his even older penis. He was anything but a young man. Beside his armchair stood a small and round mahogany drinks-stand with a single glass of chilled Chablis.

If the truth be told, the gentleman was settling in for a pleasant evening alone reading, the sort of thing old gentlemen like to do, and... perhaps it is not done to reveal this, but it was undoubtedly true... a slow wank by the fireside. But it was not to be. Events were conspiring against his quiet solo evening. Travelling towards him, but not knowing, came the young girl whose vagina was destined to receive his semen that evening. Neither party had any inkling, but that would be the outcome.

The fire in the grate flickered, sending wavering orange light across the room. Behind him electric light from a standard lamp cast sufficient light for him to read, creating a pool of illumination from its heavy and old shade. The recesses of the room were dark. It was how he liked to sit on winter evenings although it was almost spring, just no one seemed to have told the weather. Even the sound of the wind wuthering and moaning outside, gusting at the house and making creaking sounds in the nearby trees fitted his mood. He took pleasure in the fussy Victorian like clutter of the room, the cosy warmth of his fire and the contrast with the cold outside.

He also took pleasure in what he was reading. Not for him modern erotic literature or 'girly' or pornographic magazines. His preference was for older erotica, or at least erotica set in a different time. Tonight, he had chosen to remind himself of certain passages in 'Lady Chatterley's Lover.' Not a work of erotic literature as such but parts were very much of that nature. Very much. Open in front of him was Chapter 15:

'Do you know what I thought?' she said suddenly. 'It suddenly came to me. You are the ''Knight of the Burning Pestle''!'

'Ay! And you? Are you the Lady of the Red-Hot Mortar?'

'Yes!' she said. 'Yes! You're Sir Pestle and I'm Lady Mortar.'

'All right, then I'm knighted. John Thomas is Sir John, to your Lady Jane.'

'Yes! John Thomas is knighted! I'm my-lady-maiden-hair, and you must have flowers too. Yes!'

She threaded two pink campions in the bush of red-gold hair above his penis.

'There!' she said. 'Charming! Charming! Sir John!'

And she pushed a bit of forget-me-not in the dark hair of his breast.

'And you won't forget me there, will you?' She kissed him on the breast, and made two bits of forget-me-not lodge one over each nipple, kissing him again.

'Make a calendar of me!' he said. He laughed, and the flowers shook from his breast.

'Wait a bit!' he said.

He rose, and opened the door of the hut. Flossie, lying in the porch, got up and looked at him.

'Ay, it's me!' he said.

The rain had ceased. There was a wet, heavy, perfumed stillness. Evening was approaching.

He went out and down the little path in the opposite direction /from the riding. Connie watched his thin, white figure, and it looked to her like a ghost, an apparition moving away from her.

When she could see it no more, her heart sank. She stood in the door of the hut, with a blanket round her, looking into the drenched, motionless silence.

But he was coming back, trotting strangely, and carrying flowers. She was a little afraid of him, as if he were not quite human. And when he came near, his eyes looked into hers, but she could not understand the meaning.

He had brought columbines and campions, and newmown hay, and oak-tufts and honeysuckle in small bud. He fastened fluffy young oak-sprays round her breasts, sticking in tufts of bluebells and campion: and in her navel he poised a pink campion flower, and in her maiden-hair were forgetme-nots and woodruff.

'That's you in all your glory!' he said. 'Lady Jane, at her wedding with John Thomas.'

And he stuck flowers in the hair of his own body, and wound a bit of creeping-jenny round his penis, and stuck a single bell of a hyacinth in his navel. She watched him with amusement, his odd intentness. And she pushed a campion flower in his moustache, where it stuck, dangling under his nose.'

The old gentleman moved comfortably in his chair and sipped from the wine glass. His untouched penis reared from his dressing gown. The image of Constance adorned with flowers had a profound effect upon his mind. No less the idea of Mellors adorned with flowers and the creeping-jenny around his penis. He closed his eyes and reached, imagining the scene, preferring to think of Mellors' penis erect and strong with the binding plant running around and round it. He smiled and opened his eyes, turning back the pages into the preceding chapter where Mellors had most definitely been described erect - 'darkish and hot looking' - and had taken his mistress.

'He dropped the shirt and stood still looking towards her. The sun through the low window sent in a beam that lit up his thighs and slim belly and the erect phallos rising darkish and hot-looking from the little cloud of vivid gold-red hair. She was startled and afraid.

'How strange!' she said slowly. 'How strange he stands there! So big! and so dark and cock-sure! Is he like that?'

The man looked down the front of his slender white body, and laughed. Between the slim breasts the hair was dark, almost black. But at the root of the belly, where the phallos rose thick and arching, it was gold-red, vivid in a little cloud.

'So proud!' she murmured, uneasy. 'And so lordly! Now I know why men are so overbearing! But he's lovely, REALLY.

Like another being! A bit terrifying! But lovely really! And he comes to ME!—' She caught her lower lip between her teeth, in fear and excitement.

The man looked down in silence at the tense phallos, that did not change.—'Ay!' he said at last, in a little voice. 'Ay ma lad! tha're theer right enough. Yi, tha mun rear thy head!

Theer on thy own, eh? an' ta'es no count O' nob'dy! Tha ma'es nowt O' me, John Thomas. Art boss? of me? Eh well, tha're more cocky than me, an' tha says less. John Thomas!

Dost want HER? Dost want my lady Jane? Tha's dipped me in again, tha hast. Ay, an' tha comes up smilin'.—Ax 'er then! Ax lady Jane! Say: Lift up your heads, O ye gates, that the king of glory may come in. Ay, th' cheek on thee! Cunt, that's what tha're after. Tell lady Jane tha wants cunt. John Thomas, an' th' cunt O' lady Jane!—'

'Oh, don't tease him,' said Connie, crawling on her knees

on the bed towards him and putting her arms round his white slender loins, and drawing him to her so that her hanging, swinging breasts touched the tip of the stirring, erect phallos, and caught the drop of moisture. She held the man fast.

'Lie down!' he said. 'Lie down! Let me come!' He was in a hurry now.

And afterwards, when they had been quite still, the woman had to uncover the man again, to look at the mystery of the phallos.

'And now he's tiny, and soft like a little bud of life!' she said, taking the soft small penis in her hand. 'Isn't he somehow lovely! so on his own, so strange! And so innocent!

And he comes so far into me! You must NEVER insult him, you know. He's mine too. He's not only yours. He's mine!

And so lovely and innocent!' And she held the penis soft in her hand.

He laughed.

'Blest be the tie that binds our hearts in kindred love,' he said.

'Of course!' she said. 'Even when he's soft and little I feel my heart simply tied to him. And how lovely your hair is here! Quite, quite different!'

'That's John Thomas's hair, not mine!' he said.

'John Thomas! John Thomas!' and she quickly kissed the soft penis, that was beginning to stir again.

'Ay!' said the man, stretching his body almost painfully.

'He's got his root in my soul, has that gentleman! An' sometimes I don' know what ter do wi' him. Ay, he's got a will of his own, an' it's hard to suit him. Yet I wouldn't have him killed.'

'No wonder men have always been afraid of him!' she said. 'He's rather terrible.'

The quiver was going through the man's body, as the stream of consciousness again changed its direction, turning downwards. And he was helpless, as the penis in slow soft undulations filled and surged and rose up, and grew hard, standing there hard and overweening, in its curious towering fashion. The woman too trembled a little as she watched.

'There! Take him then! He's thine,' said the man.

And she quivered, and her own mind melted out. Sharp soft waves of unspeakable pleasure washed over her as he entered her, and started the curious molten thrilling that spread and spread till she was carried away with the last, blind flush of extremity.'

It was delicious, the juxtaposition of Lady Chatterley's body and that of Oliver Mellors. Again, the old gentleman closed his eyes and imagined. The passionate enthusiasm of the young, the virility of the man and the readiness of the young woman. The old gentleman's penis still could stand and did stand on many an evening when the old desire came to him. That strength had not gone from him, but it stood alone. There was no woman to join with, not anymore. His thoughts turned to his well-tended garden and the old stone statue, a copy of one from ancient times complete with visible but 'soft small penis,' just as Constance had held in her hand. In his mind the image of the statue somewhat different, where its 'phallos rose thick and arching'