Gardening: Master’s Style, Part One: Clearing the Ground

“I want all the debris removed and put in the trash before I get back.” Master waved his hand toward the small patch of black dirt in front of us.

“Yes, Sir.” I nodded.

“Get busy.” He inclined his head. I stepped to the edge, bent down, and gathered a few dry, yellow stalks in one hand, then moved to my right. The butt plug Sir had shoved up my ass shifted. I stopped and clenched so it wouldn’t fall out.

I jerked my head toward Sir when he chuckled.

His gaze caught mine and held me in place much like a struggling fly caught in a spider’s web. A bigger part of me didn’t want to escape. I loved being under Sir’s control.

“Before I get back,” he said again. I knew that tone. He was already anticipating my failure and punishment. I clenched the butt plug once more. This time to inflame the lust already forming in my belly.

I never took my gaze off him as he strode across the backyard. His black T-shirt hugged his shoulders and lean torso. His jeans showed off his tight round ass and long lean legs. As he disappeared through the wooden fence gate, got in his car, and drove away, I still couldn’t make my legs work. Alone and naked where his next-door neighbors, if they tried, could see me. Tension knotted my belly. My pussy tightened and my clit throbbed.

Homes in Sir’s neighborhood sat on one acre or larger size lots. His sat farther back than his neighbor’s houses beside him. Both were one-story ranches, so no peeping Toms from upper windows, watching as I labored in the patch of dirt naked except for my collar. At the back of Sir’s property and every home along the street, thick evergreen trees separated the subdivisions.

By the silence, other than the breeze rustling through newly formed leaves, his neighbors weren’t around. Thank goodness.

Still, anyone could step up to the fence, look over, and see me. “They’d have to be at least six feet tall,” I muttered.

I shouldn’t be so self-conscious. Sir often took pictures of me in various poses and state of dress in his backyard and in the park across the road or along the riverbanks. But always early morning or evening on a weekday, never midday on a Saturday.

Shaking off my unease, I turned to the two-car size space near the left fence row. Withered stems, stalks, and leaves littered the broken ground. Bending, I picked up sticks and transferred them to the other hand to hold. I stood and stepped to the side. The butt plug shifted again.

I closed my eyes and inhaled. A rush of lust rooted me to the spot. I prayed I wouldn’t lose it; the plug and complete the task without coming.

With force, I controlled my need and moved in a straight line through the dark soil, my toes sank into the cool rich earth, as I bent down, picked up plants, and paused, squeezing the butt plug.

This isn’t going to end well.

Sweat beading my brow and upper lip had little to do with the midday heat as I worked. Decay and rich brown earth hit my nostrils. I caught sight of the sticks a moment before one poked me in the face. The other hand was full as well.

I searched the deck area over my shoulder. Sir said he’d leave the trash can. I let my gaze roam along the back of the house and fence separating the yard from the driveway. A chaise lounge, two chairs with a table between them sat on the wooden structure. No trash can. I piled the sticks alongside the garden and swiped the back of my arm across my forehead.

I glanced at the fence then back to the garden. Get the can now or wait till I was done?

Lost in thought, I rushed toward the house. The plug moved and my thighs brushed against the clithood piercing. The need to come, for the last half hour as I’d bent over, stood up and moved through the garden, threatened to detonate.

I stumbled and fell to my knees. Juices ran down my inner thighs. I gasped for breath and pressed my legs together, hoping the pounding in my pussy wouldn’t implode. Time ticked away, but I was powerless. I could move and come, or wait.

I tore my thoughts away from my body’s need, hoping for relief. I’m naked, on my hands and knees, and a neighbor could look over the fence and see me wallowing in the dirt, so embarrassing… My pussy clenched. I dropped my face to the ground. My forehead hit the cool grass, offering a small respite. “Stop thinking of being watched.” I trembled with the thrill and fear of being discovered. Inching one knee forward, then the next, I steeled my body and mind. I would not come, and I would finish the task and please Sir.

I grabbed the handrail and pulled up, standing. Gingerly, I stepped onto the deck, crossed to the door, and pulled the handle. The slider didn’t move. I tried again. It had never stuck before. I cupped my hands on the glass and peered inside. “Locked…”

Turning, I planted my fists on my hips and glared at the wooden gate. I could rush through it and head into the garage through the side door. Maybe no one would see me. Fat chance. Although Sir’s house sat well away from the two-lane street, anyone driving by could see me on the busy thoroughfare that connected two major roads.

I glanced at the fence gate then back at the garden. I had two more rows to go. Wait, get in the house through the garage, clean up, put on a T-shirt, and get the garbage bin.

My trek back to the garden was no less excruciating. What should have taken fifteen minutes turned into thirty. I stopped and reseated the plug. Lust curled between my thighs, coiled deep in my pussy like a rattler waiting to strike. Pain and pleasure from the butt plug strengthened into an orgasm that loomed over me like a tsunami.

Lost in the little world of torture Sir had created for me, I didn’t hear him arrive.

“Look at how dirty you are.”

I whirled at his voice. Instinct made me raise my hands, covering my breasts. “Sir.”

“Fitting for such a filthy whore.” He lifted his phone and took a picture.

His words and tone. My subsiding lust roared to life. The desire to give him whatever he wanted overwhelmed me. Then I remembered his deception. I lowered my gaze and caught sight of my body. Mud streaked the inside of my thighs, down my calves to my feet. I lifted a hand to my face and shifted my feet. I was a mess.

“You said you’d get out the trash can for me,” I said, changing the subject.

“I did.”

“Where is it?” I glanced around the backyard hoping I’d missed it. Maybe he’d hid it behind the magnolia tree.

“How did you like finding the door locked? He tilted his head toward the house.

“I didn’t. My gaze followed his. I bit my lip to keep from spouting off.

“But you did look for it.” Light and lust shone in his eyes.

He was stalling.

“Yes, Sir.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. I enjoyed his mindfucks when it led to orgasms or edging and orgasm denial. This wasn’t one of those times. “If I’d had the trash can as you promised, I’d be done…”

His brow arched. Disbelief washed over his face. He was right, I’d never have finished on time, but I wasn’t going to admit it. “You’re still not.” He gestured toward the pile and a row of debris. “You should’ve searched harder.”

“Everyone driving by could see me.” My voice rose in frustration. I pressed my thighs together. Do not come. Do not come. Do not come. I was such a needy slut.

“I wanted to see if you’d do whatever it took to find the garbage bin and complete your assignment.”

“What if I’d had to pee?”

“You have an entire yard.” He lifted his chin, his gaze roving over the lawn.

I fumed silently. This wasn’t the type of humiliation play I enjoyed, but damn if my needy pussy and ass didn’t clench at the thought.

“Go get the bin and finish the job.” Sir cocked his head toward the gate.

My jaw dropped. My gaze flicked toward the drive then back to him. “Where is it?”

“In the front yard.”

I wanted to ask where but knew I’d get no answer.

“I’d hurry if I were you. The clock is ticking.”

“May I go through the house?”

“No.” He used his stern Dom voice and had a devious gleam in his eyes.

My nipples hardened. I pressed my thighs together hoping to lessen my need but pushing against the plug and engorged clit amplified it.

I traipsed to the fence aware of Sir’s gaze on me. I scanned the yard and road. Luck was with me. Taking a deep breath, I unlatched the gate and stopped. Sir’s front fender sat inches from the fence, blocking my way to the house.

Muttering obscenities, I rushed around the passenger side of the car. I almost wept, seeing the bin sitting against the front of the house. I gripped the handle, turned, and moved. It was heavy.

Dread overtook me. I lifted the lid. Plastic bags filled the interior. I dropped my head to my chest. Pushing the can back in place, I noticed the recycling bin beyond it.

I lifted the lid. Empty. Relief washed over me. I grabbed the handle and pulled, clenched my ass, and moved as fast as possible around the car and into the backyard. My progress slowed when the wheels hit the grass, but at least I was no longer flashing my naked body to passersby.

Would this be the extent of my punishment? Doubtful. Without a word or glancing his way, I stuffed the debris into the recycling bin, picked up the last of the dead plants, and dropped them inside, closing the lid.

“That wasn’t so hard now was it?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Really? You love being watched.”

I huffed. “Those cars don’t just carry adults.” I waved my hand toward the house. “What if I’d been seen? Filmed by kids, put on the six o’clock news. We’d be in trouble.

“Doubtful. I know this area. You need to trust me.”

The words, I do, sat on the tip of my tongue. But I had doubted. He enjoyed seeing me suffer. I liked a bit of humiliation now and then, but not this way.

“The Main road is closed for a parade or march at the Park’s entrance.”

His smirk and chuckle almost undid me. I couldn’t stop my jaw from dropping.

He took another picture.

“Stop,” I blurted out. I was hot and thirsty and strung tight, swinging back and forth from edging to anxiety.

“What did you say?” His humor fled.

“Stop, Sir.”

“Master,” he instructed, his tone flat.

Yep, I was in deep trouble. I huffed out a breath. “Master.”

“Clench that pussy and say it like you mean it, bitch.”

“Yes, Master,” I whispered. My impending orgasm gained strength.

“That’s better. Take the bin to driveway, leave it there, and get back here, fast.”

“Yes, Sir.”


Yes, Master.” I did as instructed, closed and locked the gate, and turned.

He stood a few steps away, water hose in hand. He gave the spray nozzle a quick flick. The fine mist caught and hung for several seconds, then the wind whisked it away.

My heart lurched. I loved and hated the wily stare he pinned on me, and I smoothed a hand over my hair.

“You got mud on your face and in your hair.” He threw his head back and laughed.

“Shit.” I dropped my gaze away from the glare. I’d pay for the comment.

“Whore.” I fixed my gaze on Sir understanding what he’d done.

“Let’s get you rinsed off, you have clients waiting.”

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