Feature Writer: dr_mabeuse


Published: 22.10.2011

Story Codes: Erotic Horror

Synopsis: Her dead husband’s garden has gone to seed

The Autumn Garden

All things considered, things hadn’t turned out to badly for Clare. She still missed Roger on occasion, but those occasions were few, and she’d found that most of what she missed about him could easily be supplied by the men she picked up in the bars and supper clubs that surrounded Hidden Lake, and in a quantity and quality far more to her liking than anything Roger had ever been able to provide. He’d left her well-off financially, though, with his pension from the university and a nice annuity, as well as the house in town and this lovely, brand-new luxury A-frame on the lake, completed not long before his final heart attack. It was a shame he’d hardly ever gotten to use it, and often when Clare stepped out on the big redwood deck to have her morning coffee or take the sun, she thought of him and tried to do it fondly. But those occasions were growing rarer too. She was still a very good-looking woman and had a lot of life ahead of her and she intended to make the most of it. There was really nothing to be gained by dwelling on the past.

Cory Beckwith was calling to her from the far edge of Roger’s garden, way back by the woods, calling to her and waving to attract her attention. He had his shirt off, which was encouraging, and Clare took a moment just to admire him, that lean young body and soft, sun-bleached curls. She could have had the Mexicans plow up Roger’s garden and sod it over, but in a stroke of genius she’d hired Cory to do it. As far as she was concerned, the vegetables could lie there and rot, but this gave her a convenient excuse to have the young college student over for some nice, sweaty, outdoor work, and from the way she caught him looking at her as she stretched out on the deck in bikini top and shorts to take the warm autumn sun, he might soon be doing even more.

But right now he was calling her, and Clare sat up and lowered her sunglasses against the glare. A drop of perspiration ran languidly down between her breasts as she got to her feet and went to the rail.

“What is it, Cory? I can’t hear you!”

He was yelling something to her, but she couldn’t hear a thing over the roar of the crew swarming over the Zimring’s lawn next door, cleaning up leaves and trimming and edging. She pointed to her ears and shrugged to show she couldn’t hear, and Cory raised his arms in exasperation and began trudging back through the ruined and wilted garden. Clare watched him come and carefully adjusted the straps on her top and wondered if she had time to give herself another quick coating of oil, but she was already sleek and glistening from the last application, so instead she turned her back to him and pretended to be fussing with getting her clogs on so he’d at least get a good shot of her back and the thong that emerged from the low waistband of her tight shorts.

The roaring of the leaf blowers stopped just as Cory approached her, and the sudden silence was jarring.

“Perfect timing,” he joked, and Clare smiled. He cleared his throat and called up his adult voice and pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “You know, the garden there runs beyond the far fence,” he said. “You didn’t tell me that. There’s more stuff out there outside the fence, like growing wild. Pumpkins and stuff. You want me to do that too?”

Clare had been looking at him and it took her a moment to focus on what he was saying. “Oh? It does?”

“Yeah. Thins out by the fence there, then starts up again and runs right up into the trees at the edge of the woods, even back into it a little ways.”

“Oh? Oh my!” She put on her helpless-widow face and looked down as if she were thinking, but he was so close she could see the fine line of hair that ran like a little beard from just below his navel to down into his low-hanging jeans. “Oh, I didn’t know! But yes, of course. Can you take care of that for me too? I’ll certainly pay you extra.”

“Sure, Mrs. Brendt, no problem. I just don’t know how far you want me to go. Here, come have a look. I’ll show you.”

“Clare,” she corrected. “Please call me Clare. Mrs. Brendt makes me feel like an old lady!”

He smiled apologetically. “Clare,” he repeated. “Okay.”

And to show him that she was in no way anything like an old lady, she made a little show of slipping into her thin white shirt, arching her back as she slid her arms into the sleeves to make herself bulge over her stretched top.

It worked, and his eyes slid down to her chest for a good long moment, and when he looked up he was smiling, a funny little grin that gave her a thrill, and made her exult inside. Yes! It was going to happen. She could tell from that grin. She just had to play her cards right and drop a few more hints, and it would happen. Cory wasn’t the dumb piece of beefcake he might look.

He turned and walked down the stairs with Clare following, sorry she hadn’t gone first so he could watch her ass.

The October sun was warm, and hotter down in the bare dirt of the garden than it had been up on the deck. The plot was large and ambitious as befitted a professor of biology who’d always itched to grow his own food, and Clare found walking on the dead weeds and raw turned earth unpleasant, as if she were walking on a grave. She tried to ignore the feeling and instead kept her eyes on the twin dimples on either side of Cory’s spine just above his belt. She thought idly about what it would be like to press her nipples into those dimples just for fun, but she knew that would be too weird for him. He was just a kid and wouldn’t appreciate the strange urges and fancies of a mature woman.

They reached the fence and Cory pointed at the ground beyond. “Here,” he said, waving his arm in a vague arc, and Clare saw what he was talking about. There were low weeds outside the fence, and scattered among them she could see some fat pumpkins and gourds, rotting and half sinking into the ground, and even the decrepit remains of what must have been home-made trellises, now being held up by thick tangles of dying vines that clung to them like survivors of a shipwreck.

“There. And all the way into the tree line there and even into the woods. You want me to clean all this stuff up too?”

Clare looked at the mess in distaste. The jumble of dead weeds and rotting vegetables and blackened, writhing vines made her vaguely nauseous. She’d never liked gardens and had never particularly liked plants, but there was something actually unpleasant about the way these fat, hairy stems wound among the decaying produce and plunged snakelike into the earth, still in search of sustenance to feed their dead and decaying fruit.

Cory misread her distaste as uncertainty and said, “A couple weeks ago before that big frost I probably could have salvaged some of this stuff and sold it in town. People need pumpkins for Halloween, and they always like buying local stuff. There’s some big ones out here too. Or were. They’re all just mulch now, all rotten.”

He bent and lifted a gray-green stalk as thick as his thumb. It must have been attached to a big pumpkin he wanted to show her, but as he yanked it up the decaying fruit fell off and all that was left was a small chunk of thick orange shell, black around the edges and dripping some sort of vile, yellowish, putrescence.

Clare repressed a shudder, and even Cory made a sound of disgust as he threw it down into the weeds.

He wiped his hands on his jeans and looked around “It’s a big garden,” he said. “My Uncle farms outside of town and grows all his own vegetables, and his garden isn’t half this big.”

“Yes, well, Doctor Brendt taught botany at the university. We bought this place specifically so he could have a garden, and I think he used to bring some of his projects up here. He must have planted some outside the fence.”

Cory looked at her with interest. “Oh yeah? Cool. But all that stuff outside the fence looks pretty wild. No rhyme or reason, like he just threw stuff out there.” He craned his neck to look off into the woods. “Although, that’s really a pretty far throw.”

“I really wouldn’t know. It was his garden. I never set foot in it or even looked at it till today. Dr. Brandt and I weren’t especially close.”

Cory missed that hint, and Clare saw that things were in danger of getting away from her. Her little seduction was threatening to turn into a talk on horticulture, which was the last thing she wanted. She needed to close this issue and bring the attention back to her.

“Well, maybe just clean up around the fence so the Mexicans can tear all this down without standing in rotten vegetables and vines. Burn it even, I don’t care. I just don’t want to have to look at it anymore. I’m going to re-sod the whole area next season and maybe make a little enclosed patio.”

“Yeah, that’d be nice. And hey, if you need anyone to do some of the landscaping work for you…”

She was relieved to see the grin was back, and she gave him the slightest cock of an eyebrow in encouragement—just a little and not too much. And while his eyes were on her she took the opportunity to reach behind her and remove the elastic that held her hair up, raising her elbows a bit higher than necessary and taking a bit longer than removing the scrunchy really demanded. The smooth silk shirt she was wearing parted and slid away to reveal her bikini-clad breasts with perfect timing, and her dark glasses allowed her to watch Cory’s face.

She shook her hair out and ran her fingers through it, still the same glossy burnt sienna she’d had when she was a girl, with just a strands of gray that provided a regal and distinguished touch. She pretended to study the sky. “But you know, it’s getting on to be the hottest time of day, and I don’t want you working out in this sun. Why don’t we take a break and I’ll make us some lunch. You can take a dip to clean up, and by the time you’re out, I’ll have it on the table.”

Cory smiled. “Hey, that sounds good to me. But you know, I didn’t like bring a suit.”

“Then swim in your shorts,” she said in her best offhand manner. “Or go in the buff. I won’t look, and no one else is going to see you. I know that from experience.” Now it was her turn to give him a little leer. “Just stay this side of the dock and no one can see. And besides, it’s not like I’ve never seen a man before, Cory. I’m well past the giggling stage, I assure you.”

He smiled but she saw him blush even behind that gorgeous tan, then turned on her heel before he could see her blush as well and started walking back toward the house. “I’ll leave you some towels down on the dock so you can cover up as soon as you get out. And I won’t peek—promise!”

She threw him a final grin. “Lunch will take me about fifteen, twenty minutes, so enjoy yourself.”

She walked away, her face red and her heart pounding at her own boldness. Even so, she still had the presence of mind to put a little sway in her walk to give him a show.

“So what do you want to do about the rest of that stuff out there? The stuff out by the woods?”

She waved a hand without looking back. “The hell with it. Let it rot.”

~ ~ ~

It all went so easily. Cory came in flush and buff from his swim, never even bothering to put on a shirt. She served him her special BLT and then sat and watched him eat, leaning on the table in such a way that she gave him a good view of her dark and inviting cleavage, and even just the slightest peek of some areola to keep her own excitement up. It worked perfectly. Cory’s face took on a dark and wolf-like cast as chewed his food and looked at her.

Afterwards she managed to brush up against him with a little more pressure than she’d intended as he left the kitchen, and that was pretty much all it took.

She pretended to be shocked when he grabbed her and pressed her back against the wall, and she put up just a bit of token resistance for appearance’s sake, but her, “No! Please, don’t!” didn’t fool either of them, and when his mouth came down on hers and he pressed that lean young body against her and she felt the hardness of his chest against her skin, she gave up all pretense of a struggle and just melted against him, pushing her hips against that thick, hard bulge in his jeans, and whispering. “Oh yes! I know it’s wrong. I know we shouldn’t. But it’s been so long since anyone’s wanted me this way!”

It was excuse enough, and she moaned as he kissed her mouth and her neck and his hands slid up and pushed the skimpy top out of the way and took possession of her breasts. Her moans and gasps of pleasure were probably the first genuine emotion she’d shown him all day, and it was sincere. His crudeness and impatience thrilled her and was just what she’d wanted and been aching for— that wild and desperate passion of youth. She loved being ravished and she loved teasing a man till he ravished her just like this, in this state of feverish need. She loved the roughness and near violence of a man’s passion. It was something Roger could neither ever understand or perform.

But she was overwrought now herself, hotly excited by having played the whore and seductress all day, and she moaned into his mouth as she worked feverishly at the button on his jeans, while Cory attacked her breasts with greedy ferocity, squeezing and licking and sucking them, and she reveled in it. She’d always had a gorgeous rack and had never gotten this sort of appreciation from her husband, and now she gloried in men’s consuming worship of her breasts. The boys especially always went for her tits and there was something deliciously Oedipal about their fixation that she found terribly exciting and thrilling, and she’d come to expect this kind of treatment from her young lovers. She moaned and pressed her head back against the wall so she could arch her back and push her tits into his mouth.

“Oh God, yes! Just like that, Cory! Yes! Just like that!”

He didn’t stop devouring and kneading her breasts even when she finally got his jeans open and managed to push them down far enough to take that thick, meaty cock in her hand. He was gratifyingly big, just as she’d suspected, and his prick throbbed with youthful impatience and virility. He was alive and heavy, like a bar of lead encased in a thin velvet sheath that slid easily over his love muscle as she squeezed him and started a slow pump.

Cory’s low moan excited her, and she increased the speed of her masturbation, priming him and bringing him along. She took his hair in her free hand and managed to pull him off her breast at last and up to her kiss, then guided his right hand down between her legs till he got the idea, moaning lasciviously into his mouth to encourage him as he began to rub her where she needed it most. He wasn’t experienced. He fumbled so badly with the fastener on her shorts that she finally had to open it herself and then take his hand and push it down inside her thong. It wasn’t an easy thing to do while pretending you’re being seduced, but Clare pulled it off.

“Come with me, lover. Hurry!”

She pushed him away just enough that she could grab his wrist and lead him into the big bedroom with the A-frame ceiling and the panoramic view of the lake. It had been their bedroom when they’d first bought the place, but Roger had hardly gotten to use it, and she’d made sure it was her room now, throwing out his things or putting them in storage and buying new furniture to her own tastes—a big king-sized bed with a spotless white cover, matching white bedroom furniture, and antiques she’d bought in town, all carefully arranged and highlighted with perfect little splashes of color. She led Cory to the foot of the bed and turned him around so he was just where she wanted him, then kissed him, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing his mouth and then his chest, dragging her lips down over the taut ridges of his hard young stomach and farther still, lowering herself till she was on her knees and he was standing there, knowing what was coming and not quite believing it.

He wouldn’t tell anyone, she’d decided, at most maybe a couple buddies. And even so, what if he did? She wouldn’t mind getting a reputation among some of his young stud friends. And if she made it good enough, he probably wouldn’t talk at all. He wouldn’t want to tell his friends how this widow lady gave him the best sex of his young life.

She knelt before him and took his cock in her hand and stroked him, looking up at him subserviently and feeling it twitch with eagerness as he met her eyes. Cory gasped and stared down at her. Clare had put him right where she could see them both in the antique dressing mirror in the corner—her whore mirror, carefully and unobtrusively set up for just such occasions. She gave him a few preliminary wanks and glanced over to see the reflection of herself on her knees about to suck this young stud’s cock, and felt a rush of raw, salacious heat at the sight of herself posed like a cheap and sleazy cock-hungry slut before him. She loved the sight of her own ripe, toned body in any situation, but even more she liked the sight of herself as a proper, respectable middle-aged woman and widow turned into a lewd and wanton whore.

She turned him just a little so she could get a better view without having to turn her head, then looked up into his eyes and opened her mouth and extended her tongue in invitation. She held his cock and licked it slowly, catlike, from shaft to tip, tasting his young sweat and musky male excitement, then licked him again just to hear his shuddering moan. Then she opened wide and slid him boldly into her mouth, humming with pleasure in a way she knew he’d feel in his balls.

Cory tried to control himself, but she heard him groan through his teeth and his prick jerked sharply in her mouth with a pre-orgasmic spasm, as if trying to come before all systems were up to speed. She took him slowly, languidly, savoring every throbbing vein and bump on that hard young meat as it slid over her tongue, savoring the thought that it would soon be pounding into her pussy and filling her with sweet, intrusive pleasure.

“Oh! Oh shitttt…” he moaned as Clare hollowed her cheeks and drew on him, sucking hard and slowly pulling her head back. She got to the head and licked it like a plum and then immediately dove on him again and repeated the action, and again, till she’d established a steady and regular rhythm. She wasn’t one to go for teasing kisses and licks—not with a young lover like this—but got straight to the main course: getting him to the point where he was mad to fuck her, turning him into a ravening animal.

That’s what she wanted. That’s what she needed, and she reached around and grabbed his ass and used it to pull himself into her and then guide him, in and out, back and forth, sucking and moaning around his cock, rubbing the flat of her tongue against him and letting her saliva run freely down her chin as she breathed hard through her nostrils.

Look at that bitch in the mirror! Look at that dirty slut! Look at her on her knees, slobbering and slaving over a some stranger’s prick, spit and cock juice running down her face, big tits bobbing back and forth as she sucks him off! Look how she loves it! What a shameless fucking whore! What a total cum-hungry cunt!

Cory was moaning constantly now, grunting as she pulled him into the wet suck of her mouth, back and forth, back and forth. Her lips got tied and she backed off till she had just the fat head in her like a fat cherry, took his shaft in her hand and started beating him off, lashing her tongue against that red and angry glans. Her other hand went down between her spread thighs, and she pushed it in with a muffled moan and started to masturbate fast and hard, slapping her hand into her wet pussy in a way she knew he’d hear and notice. She knew how to excite her lovers and she loved blowing them away with her slutty lewdness. She loved being the best fuck they ever had.

Cory’s thighs were clenched and his belly was tight and starting to tremble. He was twitching in her mouth and seeping a steady stream of bitter lube and she knew he was getting close. She pulled her mouth off him and stood up, continuing to wank him slowly with her hand. You had to be careful with these college guys. One suck too many and she’d have a mouthful of hot jizz and that’s not what she wanted right now. Phase I was finished.

She led him gently to the bed and no sooner had she climbed on and laid down on her back than he was on her, poking at her with that big eager cock, but she managed to get herself settled and grab his dick and guide it to where it should be, then planted her feet on the mattress and tilted her hips up just in time to receive his first, brutal thrust. She grunted in pleasure. His force and the need and that initial frisson of pain were just perfect, but she had little time to savor it. Cory immediately began slamming into her like he was already in the home stretch.

“Easy, baby, easy! It’s not a race, Cory. We’ve got time!”

But he apparently had no other speed. He banged into her with desperate ferocity, his hips rising and falling like some steam-powered machine, and as his big log sawed in and out of her, Clare realized it was going to be a quick and rapid fuck. There was not much she could do to slow him down or make it last. He was clearly in no mood to be controlled, so she laid her head back and gave herself over to the pleasure of being thunder-fucked by this young untamed bull.

It was such a shame, because Clare was good. Since Roger’s death she’d made a study of it and she knew what men liked and how they liked it, and a big part of her pleasure was in giving a man the fuck of his life and being the best he’d ever have. But all her talents were going to be wasted on Cory.

She had a mirror for bed sex too, and she looked at it now. It was over on the dresser, and in it she could see Cory fucking her, that hard young ass and lean body bucking up and down between her legs and making the big bed creak She watched herself and studied her face as he slaved over her. She heard that wet, obscene sound of his prick in her sopping pussy and decided she’d better grab whatever pleasure she could while he lasted, so she began to fuck him back, using her thighs and belly to lift her hips to him in a smooth, hungry motion.

Yes! That was better! He was wonderfully thick and that tight fit and powerful thrusts were pulling and pushing her pussy in and out and causing her swollen clit to bob back and forth like a little boat in a storm, and suddenly she was feeling that familiar ambrosial pleasure filling her veins and sweeping her up that big, high, hill.

“Oh God yes! Fuck me, Cory! Do it! Take me, hard! Hard! Just like that and don’t stop!”

Close—she was getting close. Just a little more, and just then Cory latched onto her breast again and resumed that powerful feverish sucking. Her nipple was sore and it hurt, but felt good too and maybe that touch of pain just the thing that would send her over the edge and into her orgasm, but suddenly as he sucked she shuddered with a vision of those ugly and grotesque vines he’d shown her, sucking nutrients from the soil. It was the same kind of desperate and futile hunger he was using on her now, and she saw the ruined furrows of the garden and the rotting vegetation even as Cory rammed his cock into her again and again and slobbered and sucked at her tit. She tried to arch and twist away to get his lips off her and dispel the image but he was in her and on her and wasn’t budging. His constant moan and the sounds of his sucking mouth seemed suddenly disgusting, and she grabbed his hair to try and pull him away from her, but it was already too late.

Cory stiffened and at last released her breast. His fingers dug into her ass and he pulled her close and pushed deep, and she knew he was cumming—the strangled gasp, the helpless, reflexive thrusting, the hard pulsing of his prick inside her. She closed her eyes and tried to rush up to join him and find that impending climax, but it was already out of reach, fading and dissolving like a distant cloud. She watched it go and sighed as she felt him thrusting and jerking and then start to soften inside her. She felt a trickle of semen seep out of her as he shrank, and that was all. He was finished. There was nothing to do but hold him and comfort him as he gasped and panted in the aftermath of his own release.

His mouth was still against her tit and his voice was muffled as he moaned, “Oh shit! Oh holy fuck! Oh wow…”

“Shhh,” she whispered. “It’s okay. It’s okay. It was so good, Cory! You made me cum so hard!”

~ ~ ~

She wasted no time with him afterwards. She was polite and smiling, but made it clear that they were through and that hanging around and hoping for another round wasn’t an option. There was a party she was going to and her friends were picking her up, she said. She had to get ready, and of course, he wouldn’t want to be there when they came.

After he left she went back to the bed room and straightened up and got rid of any evidence of his being there. She went into the big bathroom and douched thoroughly, then took a long, hot shower, washing and scrubbing till she was impeccably clean. She didn’t want any trace or whiff of him on or in her body. Clare liked the process of sex, but found the biology of it faintly disgusting.

She inspected herself in the mirror, looking carefully for any signs of bruising or discoloration on her breasts and especially around her nipple. He’d sucked her like a hoover but had apparently done no damage.

The lie she’d told him about the party had given her an idea though. The Back Roads Inn across the lake was celebrating Halloween all week, and she was dying to show off the dress she’d bought: a snug and short charcoal wool sheath with an orange argyle pattern on the bodice that was just devastating on her— just the right mixture of innocent and sexy. She could wear that and some dark stockings and her sexy black garter belt that anyone could easily feel if they should put their hand on the small of her back while dancing, say, or whatever. There’d be a lot of single men there tonight so it was definitely worth a shot. She was in no mood to stay alone tonight.

She did her makeup and hair and dressed, then poured herself a glass of wine and got a slim joint from the eyeglasses case she kept in her night table and went out on the deck.

The night was beautiful. The uncanny Indian summer weather made late October feel like mid-September, warm and dry. Cory had told her that it wasn’t going to last much longer, there was a front moving in. But meanwhile the air was perfectly still and balmy, and the gibbous moon that was slowly rising behind the shadowed pines on the far shore lit the scene with a pale white light and laid ribbons of silver on the motionless lake. It looked like a postcard, too perfect to be real.

Clare finished the joint and dropped the glowing roach into the cat tails that crowded the shore and found herself facing the garden, dark and shadowy in the moonlight. She took a sip of wine and looked at it. It didn’t frighten her at night. It had no meaning for her. The night was too calm and too placid for her to harbor any bad feelings for that dead and deserted piece of ground. She was dressed and she was beautiful and ready to go out, and all that ugly mess would soon be torn up and disposed of.

She stood there and looked as the wine and the joint seeped through her body and relaxed her, and suddenly noticed that the leaves at the far end seemed to be moving as if a wind were blowing through them—a soft rustling of the leaves on the ruined trellises and on the ground. She waited to feel some breeze or errant gust on her face and arms, but there was nothing. Possibly it was an animal, a possum or raccoon making its way through the tangle of leaves. Animals didn’t bother her. They were all over the place here, a part of the scenery.

The leaves moved again, more of them this time, a wider swath than an animal could cause. They rustled as if a wave was washing over them, and this time she did feel the stirring of a wind, rather chill. She should probably take a sweater with her. She looked up at the tops of the pines at the woods’ edge, but they were absolutely still and motionless.

They stirred again and she heard them now, the distinct rustling of dry leaves rubbing together, and now she heard something more.


She straightened. It was Roger’s voice. It was his whisper, his accent. It was his voice just as it had been after the heart attack, weak, breathy. It was the way he’d called for her when he’d collapsed in the garden on that day in August and she hadn’t heard him, hadn’t even noticed he was missing for hours.


She jumped and uttered a little sound of alarm. It was his voice. He’d laid there on the ground hidden in the leaves of his beloved garden with his face pressed to the dirt, calling her till a neighbor phoned to ask if he was all right because she’d seen him staggering a bit and thought she’d seen him fall. Clare had rushed out and found him and brushed the dirt off his face and called for the neighbor to dial 911. But it was apparently too late. It had all happened so fast and what could she do? She’d done everything a wife could do. They’d all told her so.

“Clarisssa pleassse…”

Oh God! He hadn’t died! There’d been some terrible mistake or mix-up and he hadn’t died and now he’d come back and found his way to the garden he loved and was calling to her to see if this time she’d listen!

How long had he been there? How much had he seen? How much did he know? She needed to explain. She needed to tell him it was all nothing…

A big wind reached her then, a hard sudden gust blowing down from the tree tops and sweeping across the garden, making everything clatter and rustle and making the trellises shake as if alive.

“Roger! It’s all right! I’m coming, Roger! Where are you?”

She dropped her glass and it shattered on the deck. She scurried down the stairs and out into the garden, looking frantically left and right and out into the darkness. She knew he wasn’t dead! She’d known that all along. It had all been too quick and too sudden, too confusing, and somehow they’d made a mistake. He was out there and he knew about her. She should have waited longer before she started getting rid of his things, his books and his notes and the furniture they’d shared. She should have waited longer before she started bringing men back to his house. She should have waited longer before she started ripping up his garden.

“Roger! Where are you? Are you hurt? I can’t see you!”


The dead leaves were rustling, the vines were trembling. Everything seemed strangely alive. The leaves out here were green, the stems vigorous. She put her foot in something soft and rotten—a decaying pumpkin—and pulled out her shoe, coated with some pale yellow excrescence dotted with maggot-like seeds. She took the shoe off and shook it clean and walked with one foot bare, the dead vines and creepers snagging the bottom of her stocking.

“Roger? Roger?”

There was a back gate out here, flimsy and falling apart and covered with leaves. She wrenched it open and stepped out into the weeds beyond, the wild part of the garden where she’d seen the sucking stems and rotting vegetables. She looked around.

She was in the open now, outside the fence. The moonlight was shining on the quivering vines. She didn’t know what was happening.

“Roger? Roger!”

She needed a light. She’d have to go get a light from the house. She turned and almost stumbled. The weeds had tangled around her ankle. She pulled her foot free, and then the other was caught. She looked down and was horrified to see stems seemingly slithering over the ground like snakes and twining around her ankles, sending out thin shoots and tendrils that grew and elongated before her disbelieving eyes and strained upwards as if seeking her, as if climbing a trellis.

She bent to free herself but her ankles were thick with them now and she started to lose her balance. The plants gave a sudden jerk, wresting her legs apart and causing her to fall back, but plants surged up to cushion her fall on a bed of green, while stems and shoots quickly encircled her wrists and arms in pale, writhing tendrils and spirals smelling of sap and earth. They wrapped around her waist and throat till she couldn’t move, and then started passing her from plant to plant in a rustling, reaching sea of leaves and stems, moving her steadily toward the woods.

The plants were moving, fluttering, slapping against her face and legs as she was hauled along by an army of grasping stems and suckers. They slid up her legs and under her skirt; they wormed down the neck of her dress and down her back. She struggled, but it was useless. She felt the vines pulling and tugging at her dress, and then it was tearing, ripping apart as they descended on her like a pack of insensate scavengers or blind green worms, shredding the garment and tossing the pieces away, snapping her bra and exposing her naked breasts. Cold, creeping tendrils wound eagerly around them and enclosed them in tight green spiral cages, squeezing them into grotesque cones.

“No! Stop! Damn it! Stop–” She tried to scream, but some noxious vine slapped a fuzzy leaf over her mouth and then another and another, effectively muffling her and cutting her off from the world.

They slid her along till they apparently had her where they wanted her, and there she stopped. The vines spiraled up her thighs and curled around her shoulders to keep them down. They circled her waist and her arms and even tangled in her hair, pulling her head up so she was forced to look down at her near naked body encased in writhing greenery.

It was Roger, She knew it was Roger, or some part of him that had somehow infused the plants. Some part of himself that he couldn’t give her as a man, that he’d given to these plants instead, and that they now were going to give to her. She knew what was coming. She knew exactly what was coming even before the final barrier of her panties was torn off and her thighs prized apart and held in the obscene attitude of coitus, ready to receive this tangled, twining lover. She mewled in protest and tried to close herself, but the grip of the plants was tight and irresistible. Whining was all she could do.

Something brushed against her sex, something soft and smooth, and she saw big, white, trumpet-like flowers hanging over her, dripping with some milky fluid and bending to stroke her with their obscenely soft petals. Flowers emerged from the vines holding her breasts too, and bent to press their open mouths against her nipples and began to suck with a deep, vegetative need, blind and hungry.

“Roger! Roger!” She tried to scream but the plants were still pressed tight against her lips, and her muffled cries were lost amidst the dry rustling of the leaves and living stems that seemed to quiver with some mindless excitement. She felt soft, threadlike tendrils curl around her clit and a probing shoot slide into her vagina and swell into a thick gourd-like tumescence that pressed maddeningly against her internal walls. Another stem slid easily into her clenched anus and curled within her like a root seeking sustenance, making her dizzy with the weird sensation of a writhing anal invasion. Then it swelled too, filling her most sensitive orifice with an insistent, tuberous pressure.

Horrible, it was horrible! Clare arched her back and writhed in desperate silence on the shadowy moonlit earth, trying to escape the obscene double penetration, but there was no place to go and no way to break free of the plants’ implacable grip. The leaves over her mouth fell away but she was too stunned with fear to even scream. Vines held her jaws apart as she was forced to accept the fleshy protuberance of yet another vine that quickly became engorged and filled her mouth till it almost choked her. Some sort of soft, fuzzy vesicles at the base of this organ slapped against her chin and she knew what they were and that they were ripe with seed.

And then, with all her holes plugged, they began to fuck her. In weird, vegetative concert the gourd-like growth in her vagina began to pump in and out, stimulating her with all its bumps and nodules. Feathery little tendrils stroked and twined around her clitoris, and the thick root in her ass throbbed and pushed insistently into her rectum.

Clare twitched and moaned. The pleasure she felt was a shock and totally unexpected, and even more intense than her fear and horror. A sweet, consuming sexual pleasure that seemed to obliterate her panic and bypass her brain and go right to the very core of her being. The plants stroked into her, pumping, and her legs fell open helplessly of their own accord. Her hips pushed up in instinctive reflex to receive the pushing, penetrating vines, and she moaned around the thick shoot in her mouth, which suddenly withdrew slightly and then surged back in at a new angle that caused the tip to slide against an erotically-charged spot on the roof of her mouth, and she began to instinctively suck, hungry for whatever sap or fluid it contained. She sucked even as her pussy sucked and her anus sucked and the trumpet-like flowers at her breasts sucked in an exchange of primal energies between animal and vegetable, of nourishment and deeply entwined biological destinies she couldn’t begin to understand.

She was being fucked on that wild and overgrown patch of moonlit earth with the dark pines looming silently overhead, aware of her own sexual fluids streaming from her plugged vagina and seeping down over her violated asshole, feeling the warm spill of saliva from her sucking mouth. The plants were drawing some liquid from her breasts that could only be mother’s milk, and the flow caused a deep and visceral pleasure to take possession of her and merge with the pleasure in her ass and pussy. They were pulling some sort of primal sexual energy from her, but it felt good. It felt wonderful t give like this, to be so utterly used.

She hardly noticed when the grip of the vines on her body relaxed and left her free to hump and fuck back shamelessly like some feral beast in heat. She planted her feet on the earth and weeds and pushed her pussy up in offering to the vegetable cocks that pumped and plundered her holes, letting herself go completely. She threw her hands up over her head in final surrender to this botanical rape and sucked desperately at the bulbous stem that fucked her mouth with an urgent energy she’d never felt from any man.

And as she fucked and sucked she felt the cock in her pussy swell and harden and suddenly throb in spasms of vegetal peristalsis and ejaculate a dense dry puff of dust inside her womb, a thick load of some sort of sticky spores or pollen she couldn’t even conceive of, as the stem in her mouth reared back and erupted and filled her throat with a thick, sappy liquid, pumping and ejaculating wildly till her face and hair were slathered with the gooey white fluid

She sucked and fucked and swallowed and fed as her own orgasm seemed to rise up suddenly from the very earth and overwhelm her in an explosion of sensate ecstasy that obliterated everything she’d ever thought or felt and blurred the distinction between her and all the rest of creation so that fruit was food and life was death and earth was heaven and she was rushing to meet it all in mindless oblivion.

It was good, it was good. It was all one and she was all of it, vegetable and animal and even mineral all one, and she took it into her body and it was her body and her body was all of it. It was good. It was good. It was so good…

When Cory arrived the next morning, he found Clare’s doors open and her car in the driveway, but no sign of Clare herself. He looked around and then went down to the dock and scanned the lake but saw nothing amiss. The weather had changed during the night and fall was definitely here, and he really doubted she would have gone swimming in this cold wind anyhow.

He went out into the garden and out to the far side of the fence and started chopping at the dead and wilted vegetation when his eye was caught by a flash of color over by the edge of the woods. When he walked over he was surprised to see a perfectly shaped pumpkin lying in the weeds, bright orange and sleekly beautiful, and at the very peak of ripeness. A pumpkin so perfect it seemed almost supernatural.

But knowing what Clare would want, he picked up his axe and smashed it with a single blow, jumping back as the mess of seeds and goo spilled forth.


2 thoughts on “THE AUTUMN GARDEN”

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