Fiction – A Partridge In A Pear Tree

Inspired by the 12 days of Christmas, somehow this turned into another summer story. Seems I’m longing for long, hot, lazy summer days again!

Merry Christmas x

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She knew he would be waiting outside her window, it had become a ritual now. Every year, around the same time. He came home to help on his father’s farm at harvest, as he did every year, just as her parents went on their annual wedding anniversary weekend to Cornwall, giving her an excuse to come back and house sit.

She thought back to the first time, the summer after her sixteenth birthday. It had been a cloudy, overcast day, and she had come home from school to change into a sweatshirt. Standing in her bedroom in just her bra and panties she rummaged among the clothes cursing her personal untidiness. She didn’t know what had prompted her to look out of the window when she did. It was probably that a slight movement had caught her eye, but she liked to think it was some kind of sixth sense. The tree was full and leafy, heavy with ripe fruit, the ideal hiding place. It had been his jeans that had given him away- a flash of blue against the browns and greens.

Lucy smiled as she remembered the shock she had felt when she had realised that there was someone outside her bedroom window, watching her dressing. That first time she had hurriedly drawn the curtains, as she had the second time it happened the following year, even though she had been fully clothed that time.

The fourth year had been the deciding year, the year she had made her mind up that if he was going to make his annual pilgrimage, she would at least make it worth his while. She had stood in front of the window in her underwear that year, slightly unsure of herself and awkward. Year five saw her topless, and year six threw caution to the wind and saw her fucking her then boyfriend on the desk in front of her window.

Over the years she had started to look forward to this time of year, and the visits from Tom Partridge. When they met in the village they hardly spoke, barely acknowledging each other past the usual neighbourly pleasantries. Their bond remained unspoken, yet she could see that intensity and desire burned in his eyes every time he looked at her.

The pear tree was ageing, the fruit slightly gnarled and pitted, but its trunk was as strong as ever. It would still hold his weight without any trouble. This time, the tenth anniversary of that first visit, she had a surprise ready for him. She only hoped the shock wouldn’t make him fall out of the tree. Lucy put the kettle on to busy herself in the kitchen, and waited.

She didn’t have long before she heard the familiar creak of the garden gate and saw Tom sneaking in and creep towards the old tree. The way he swung himself up into the branches with such ease amazed her. While the leaves of the tree obscured her view of him slightly, she was sure his eyes were searching for her at her bedroom window. “Not this time”, she grinned to herself, trying to calm the butterflies in her stomach. Gulping down the remnants of cold tea, she grabbed the blanket she had earlier placed on the back of the kitchen chair, and headed outside.

She had to try her hardest not to look up into the tree as she walked towards it. The key, she knew, was to make it look as unplanned and as innocent as possible, although she felt sure he would know it was anything but. Spreading the picnic blanket out under the shade of the fruit tree, she was sure she could sense his puzzlement as the script they played out every year deviated from the usual.

Once the blanket was in place, she stepped onto it and let the loose robe she was wearing slide from her shoulders, although she found herself wondering how it managed to slip off so easily when surely every single goose-bump would hold it up? She stood, head bowed for a split second, feeling her reserves flood away and desire begin to rise. Her gaze grazed her erect nipples, and she wallowed in the tingle of the blood rushing to her cunt, before slowly sinking, first to her knees, then onto her haunches, where she paused again for a split second, before lying down on her back, closing her eyes and spreading her arms out in the shape of a crucifix.

She knew he must be looking at her, admiring her pale skin and the pinkness of her nipples. She hoped he could feel her arousal as she imagined his eyes sweeping the curves of her breasts, the slight dip of her belly and the outline of her hips. Lucy wondered idly whether he could see how swollen her cunt was, how the sticky juices were pressing the tops of her thighs together.

Her thoughts were interrupted in the most frightening and unexpected way, as a ripe pear disengaged from the tree and fell down beside her, missing her by only an inch or two. She jumped and squealed slightly, before bursting into raucous, throaty laughter, which was stopped in its tracks when the second pear fell hard onto her right thigh. “OUCH”, she cried, somehow sure that this particular pear had not made its own way off the tree, but had received a helping hand.

She was rubbing the sticky spot where it had fallen, sure it would result in bruising the next day, when the next one rained down onto her stomach, oozing slightly as the overripe flesh of the fruit met her own, quickly followed by another one just under her left breast.

It was not until this point that she looked up into the tree for the first time. He was holding another pear in his hand with a thoughtful and calculating look in his eye. Her eyes blazed a challenge at him and the next fruit landed on the blanket next to her right breast, causing her to throw back her head and close her eyes once more, arching her back and spreading her legs in invitation, and causing the finely balanced pears to slide off, leaving their gloopy trail on her body. She inwardly thanked God that there  didn’t appear to be any wasps in any of the pears that had fallen down – while she had nothing against a little bruising, she did think that wasp stings might kill the mood somewhat.

As she lay there in expectation of the next blow, she was surprised to hear his voice hurriedly utter four words. “Rub them on you”. Doing as she was told, she grasped the pear that she instinctively knew was softest, and started to smooth it on her breasts. She felt the slightly mealy flesh disintegrate and coat her in a film of sticky juice, mirroring the effect it was having in her pussy. Lost in the pleasure of her own sensations, it took her a while to tune in to hear the moaning that was coming from seven feet above her, but she smiled as the audible cue told her what she had suspected.

There was not much left of the pear once she had smeared it over her belly and haunches, and it was the little stalk that made contact with her clit before her fingers did, mingling the sap on her digits with the juices of her cunt. The familiar trembles in the soles of her feet told her that she would not take long to orgasm if she let herself continue, but she didn’t know if she would be able to hold back for very long, as she quickened the pace, discarding the stalk and now furiously rubbing her clit.

The moaning in the tree above her grew louder and more guttural, while her own breathing grew shallower and heavier. She dipped her fingers into the sticky juices between her legs, before shoving them in her mouth and greedily sucking on them. The taste of ripe pear mingled with her pussy juices tasted delicious, and she briefly regretted that Tom couldn’t taste them too.

As she lustily sucked on her fingers, she looked up at the tree to see Tom’s erect cock springing from his jeans. The view of him stroking his thick cock spurred her on to place her fingers back between her legs and glide her fingers over her sodden clit.

The next thing that hit her was not a pear, but a short stream of milky white juices over her midriff and breasts, as Tom ejaculated over her, tipping her over the edge into her own shuddering orgasm. When it subsided, she lay back on the blanket, exhausted, and burst into unstoppable laughter. She could see she would have to start planning what was going to happen the following year…

Fiction – Underground

The second of my stories originally published on Wordejaculation.

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She was grumpy. It had been one of those days at work where nothing seemed to go right. Customers weren’t happy, her boss was frustrated and the stupid cow she shared an office with had decided to leave early and dumped all the urgent tasks on her.

His day, on the other hand, had left him buzzing – one of those rare days when everything seemed to have gone his way, and the testosterone was flowing. Plus that new girl in HR was definitely flirting with him. He grinned as he walked the short distance to the underground station and got on the train.

The métro on the way home was packed, as usual. She sighed, squeezed her way in and tried her hardest not to breathe in the smell of stale commuters. As she stood holding onto the rail, she closed her eyes and imagined herself far away. People were still squeezing on, until it seemed every possible drop of air was being taken up. As the train set off, she let her body yield to the rocking movement of the carriage. Inwardly cursing the bags and briefcases that were digging into her, she concentrated on her mental image of palm trees and sunny beaches.

He looked around the carriage and momentarily hesitated as he brushed up against the woman in front of him. Was that the new girl from HR? The one with the amazing arse and the penchant for killer heels? He had spent many an enjoyable moment wanking over the thought of dragging her into the nearest fire escape and fucking her senseless. He was momentarily disappointed as he realised that this was in fact a different woman – still, the resemblance was striking. Damn, she was also pretty hot. He felt his cock start to throb as he admired the way this woman’s curves were visible through the pencil skirt she was wearing. He cursed the fact he was directly behind her and tried to imagine the front of her blouse – slightly too many buttons undone, perhaps…a peek of a lacy bra?

As she desperately tried to get to her happy place, she became aware of something pressing against her hip that did not align with the usual pressure of a packed commute. She had not paid the man behind her much attention until then – he was the usual middle-aged manager in a suit that seemed to frequent that line, no doubt heading back to the suburbs to his miserable frigid wife and 2.4 children. She inwardly shook her head as she tried to get the bizarre thought out of her mind that the man was pressing his penis into her – it had obviously just been too long since she had last got laid, and her mind was starting to play tricks.

He mulled over what might happen if he should press his crotch against her. Would she cry out? Turn around and insult him?  Stamp her stiletto on his foot? Parisian women could be pretty forthright. The thought turned him on even more. There was now no hiding the fact that his cock was fully erect and pressing against her arse. He panicked, held his breath and waited for her inevitable reaction.

She tried to concentrate on what she would have to eat that evening. And yet…that was definitely a body part pressing into her, now with barely perceptible movement. She swore she could now clearly feel the outline; the long, firm shaft and the exposed head. Her first reaction was shock. She looked around the carriage surreptitiously,  but all the other commuters were wrapped up in themselves and nobody was paying her the slightest bit of attention. Why would they? The man was so close to her, with his briefcase strategically placed at groin height. Nobody would be able to see a thing. While these thoughts were shooting through her mind, the man’s initially tentative movements grew stronger and more confident. She knew she should cry out and draw attention to what was happening, and yet her mouth was dry and she felt paralysed. All she could think of was the way his cock was rubbing against her buttock with an increasing urgency. She was convinced she could hear his breathing quickening.

He could not believe that she had not reacted by now. All he could focus on was her arse and the way his cock was rubbing rhythmically against it. He wanted so badly to lift her skirt up, pull aside her panties and thrust his hard prick into her pussy in full view of all the commuters. Rip open her blouse and expose her tits to the carriage… The fantasy spurred him on, until he felt more brazen and more confident.

Quickly, and barely perceptibly, his hand brushed her other buttock, reached towards his crotch and, with a single smooth motion, undid his zip and grabbed his cock out of his trousers. It felt amazing. The feel of the extra friction from the rough cloth of her skirt against his throbbing head almost made him come instantly.

She could now more clearly feel every stroke of his cock through her skirt. She gagged slightly, yet something still compelled her not to move. Her thoughts were a mixture of curiosity and disgust.

The man placed a hand on her left buttock to steady himself as with a last, barely imperceptible, thrust of his hips he shot his load all over her skirt. As the train slowed towards the next station, he rapidly zipped himself up, bent forward, whispered “Merci, madame” and left the train.

With that she knew it was over, as quickly as it had begun. All that she was left with was a sick feeling in her stomach, a sticky wet patch on her skirt and a tingling in her cunt.