Aden is the Topiary King, Bess is his kitchen gardener. She doesn’t understand why shrubbery makes him hard until he gives her a personal demonstration.


I feel heat rising off Aden. I smell his sweat all piquant and woodsy. I’m so tight and tetchy that even the first graze of his fingertips against my muff makes me gasp and wriggle.

I never had a muff — at least not a real one — until I met Aden. I was smooth and naked. I wore bikinis and thongs. But Aden doesn’t like bare ground where something should be growing.

In the beginning it itched. Every night Aden tended me with soothing lotions and oils while he admired my new growth, tiny and prickly like young grass. He promised me it would be worth the wait. With time the new growth thickened and grew soft and escaped the edges of my panties like it was always migrating toward his touch. The more it grew, the more his hand was there to caress, to examine. Then I stopped trying to contain it. I stopped wearing panties and let Aden’s garden grow unhindered. All that soft springy growth was new to me. I could barely keep my hands from straying under my skirt for a stroke. I never missed a chance to admire its rude, rambunctious fullness when I was naked, or when I was in the bathroom. My muff exerted more control over us than I would have ever imagined. One of us was always touching it or talking about it or thinking about it. That led to sex. Lots of sex.

And when we fucked, my god, there was rough, uneven texture that hadn’t been there before. It was a primordial act when he fucked me in the topiary. It was fur against fur, catching and holding the animal scent of us, humping and growling and spreading our smell on the grass like the rest of the wildlife.

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