QUICKIE: THE HOTHOUSE

Potted smut!

Greenhouses traditionally have romantic connotations, especially conservatories, as well as being microclimates of lush indulgence. 

Yeah, bullshit; when you have to work in one all day when it's muggier and hotter than outside.

Still, the copious sea of vibrant greens was soothing, and the bountiful orchids were beautiful. They made up for my sticky, clammy, sweaty self, even in my shorts and a loose T-shirt. 

I won't mention my unsexy, heavy, obligatory health and safety work boots.

The greenhouse was a hothouse—a heat trap even with the vents open. The drip watering system was doing its — plop, plop — over the plants but not refreshing me. I was a perspiration nightmare.

Still, heat and clammy make you think of sex; it was 'fucking weather'.

If I lived in the tropics, I would be 24/7 screw crazy. 

No, I was in a Mediterranean summer dry heat in suburban Perth

Orchid plants are so deceptive. So plain without flowers; yet they have beautiful delicate, fragile asymmetrical petals; very like a girl's private petals; though mine were currently soggy and plastered together; even in cotton knickers.

A whiff of citrusy orchids distracted me from my girly discomfort, though my favourite pungent wafts were butterscotch and coconut.

Marcus came in with his order book. Otherwise, I would have had the stinkin' muggy place to myself all day.

"I need five lady slipper orchids; can you help me now, Sara."

"Sure," I said. 

It broke up my endless separation and transplanting of the new bulbs.

He wiped his brow; twice; "Shit, it really is stuffed in here."

We walked down a couple of long rows of tables to the Lady Slippers.

"Select them with care; they are for the boss's new girlfriend," said Marcus.

I was scanning for well-formed petals and vibrant colours.

"The pouchy lips are so cute, "I said aloud, selecting a fine specimen.

"Mmm," said Marcus; "Do they suggest anything to you?"

"God, Marcus, are you trying to come onto me?"

Well, that put him on the spot. 

It's either a flustered lying no or blushing nodding yes!

There was Marcus like me: in his work shorts, a blue T-shirt with The Cottages Nursery's name and logo, and heavy protective boots.

His physique was more than fine: broad shoulders, clear pecs, toned, and deceptively luscious, attractive lips—for a guy.

"Yes, and you know it; screw the orchids. I'd rather screw you," he said outright.

"Here and now?" 

Well, my reply wasn't actually framed as a question or rejoinder because I was dropping his pants, and yeah, Marcus was fully equipped where it counted, and boy, were his balls hanging way low in the heat.

He surprised me not by his size but by the fact he was manscaped. 

It made for a super smooth fuckin slurpy slide along his shaft. I nibbled his sack nuts like they were cute bulbs.

Marcus was straight into the male receptive groans of pleasure.

"Orrgh, orrgh!"

The more I dribbled and spat for lubrication on his pecker, the deeper I took his meat, the harder Marcus got, and the more he pushed with his dick into my mouth.

"Let's see your cute butt…uh," he said; after a leisurely, quality suck-off session.

Marcus got me up and made me lean over the Thai orchids on the trestle before me. 

I got a delicious waft of raspberry scent up my nose, but it was superseded by my shorts and knickers being tugged off, and my arse cheeks spread.

"Mmm; so peachy," said Marcus; as he grabbed handfuls of my soft fleshy butt and squeezed firmly. His thick cock nuzzling where I wanted it. His pecker sampling and pre-testing my wetness before his hot dog indecently plunged in, directly, thick and deep.

"Oh, fuck you…fuck you…you prick…fuck me…harder…deeper…yeah, ooh, ooh!"

Okay, so not very ladylike, but it sure expressed the pussy pleasure-filled sensation of hard dick cramming and thrusting in and out of me.

We might as well have been screwing in a sauna. 

Hell, we were raunchy, body fluid squished together.

We had the sticky, tacky, viscous enjoyment of primed genitals between our thighs and the heated, sopping, raw passion of hard sex extruding from every pore of our two drenched bodies.

"Mmm, yeah, mmm, yeah!" I said as he rimmed my arse.

Well, that got his fingers digging in my bum like a native Boodie ferreting in my booty.

Then I got it. My arse was rooted. He stuffed my slot with ribald gusto!

"Oof, oof, oof", he groaned, jagging like a manic jackhammer.

"Raah, aaH! Fugh'in hell! Sheez, that deep."

His pecker pounded like a freewheeling bungee cord, endless pushing forward and insane hefty recoil. My ring tapered inwards, then gawped.

Of course, the bastard didn't conserve his wad. He just creamed my patootie. He had no power of withdrawal over his piston-pushing cock, and I was equally too dazzled by self-pleasure.

I was demanding of each thrust into my potted crack as it built my satisfaction. 

Forceful, filling, frictional happiness.

Talk about feeling like being in a sweatbox after the pleasure of our orgasms faded.

The number six greenhouse was stifling, except for my pungent muskiness before I put on my clothes.

I helped Marcus quickly select the lady finger orchids and take them back through the nursery's greenhouses and outdoor plant sections into the air-conditioned garden showroom for gift wrapping.

"Let me manage from here," said Marcus, "Seriously, Sara, you had better get to the ladies and freshen up. I mean, your flush is great, but fuck, you are a sweaty mess."

I was in the washroom to freshen up. 

Screw guys; they fucking screw, all hot and sweaty and walk around hot and sweaty, and no one looks or thinks; beyond a hot and sweaty guy.

But, a hot and sweaty girl in public — can only be a tart who had a quickie!