I pulled up in the agent’s gleaming Mercedes, engine humming like a secret promise. This rural estate, two hectares of walled exclusivity, screamed old money privacy. Towering thuyas formed a green fortress, araucarias stabbing the sky. The house, a compact three-facade manor, whispered faded grandeur. Then the organ roared—sinister blasts shaking the air.
The agent, teeth flashing like polished ivory, spilled the venomous history. Feuding sisters, Thérèse and Rose. Hedge as hatred’s wall. Organ as revenge’s wail. Thérèse’s garden razed to bone. Rose, deaf recluse, unseen. I bought it on impulse, drawn by the tragedy’s echo to my own shattered life—fired, cuckolded, cashed out rich but raw.
The Privilege
Moving in, the organ assaulted my nerves. Day three, madness loomed. I unloaded saplings. Silence fell. Vivaldi’s Spring rewarded me. Baskets appeared at dawn: ripe cherries bursting juice like vintage champagne, artisanal breads, wild honey dripping gold. Notes exchanged. Mystery deepened—how did she spy through the impenetrable green?
I proposed razing the hedge. Organ replied: welcome. Heart pounding, I crossed the open gate. Her garden exploded in opulence. Lianas lashed voluptuous blooms, fruits swelled obscene, bees hummed orgies over nectar slits. She emerged: tall, white hair cascading, bronze skin glowing under orange silk, Modigliani curves free-breasted.
We hacked thuyas side by side. Sweat slicked our skin. Her post from the attic revealed. Laughter bonded us. She scaled the cherry tree, thighs flashing pale inner silk, basket brimming ruby orbs. We devoured them, juice staining lips, fingers brushing.
Nudity came naturally in our Eden. Her: pert tits firm, ass sculpted marble, bush untamed. Mine: paunchy, pale, cock twitching traitorously. She urinated freely at a trunk—’Best fertilizer.’ I followed, piss steaming earth under her approving gaze. Butterflies fucked flowers. Hedgehogs rutted blind. Her nipples peaked. My shaft hardened.
Saplings rooted deep. Hands lingered. Kisses bloomed—from cheeks to cunts hinted.
The Excess
The Excess
Last tree. Dawn light gilded our flower crowns, scents heady as oud. Organ thundered welcome. I dug, muscles burning, her eyes devouring. Hole ready, roots plunged in. We knew.
She dropped first. Mouth on mine, tongue invasive, tasting salt sweat and cherry tang. Hands roamed—hers nails raking my back, mine kneading her ass cheeks, parting them. She shoved me down, grass cool blades biting skin. Straddled my face. Pussy dripped honey-musk, lips swollen, clit a pearl hood. I lapped crude, tongue spearing folds, sucking her pearl till thighs quaked.
Rose ground down, metallic voice moaning ‘Yes, fuck my garden.’ Cock rigid, veins throbbing. She impaled—tight virgin heat gripping vise-like. Rode savage, tits bouncing hypnotic, white hair whipping. I thrust up brutal, balls slapping her ass, grunting animal. Fingers invaded her rosebud, double-stuffed spasms milking me.
Flipped her. Pounded missionary, legs hooked shoulders, cock battering cervix. She clawed turf, screamed silent orgasms rippling walls. I exploded—hot ropes flooding her core, overflow slicking thighs.
La Discrétion
Collapsed entwined, breaths syncing. Sun warmed our spent flesh. Her villa’s glass pavilion overlooked the reborn paradise—murs de verre sealing our secret. Champagne chilled in silver bucket, bubbles fizzing like aftershocks. Sipped slow, leather cushions cradling us. No eyes intrude. Our elite Eden, forever private. Hers now, ours.
