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.

Fiction – Chemistry Studies

This is a story I wrote some time ago now that was originally published on the “Wordejaculation” site, which is now sadly defunct. Time to republish it (and another piece that I’ll post another time) here, I think.

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It was the summer of 2003. The summer when people finally started believing in global warming. The hottest summer in 500 years.

I was in my final year at university, sharing a flat with two others – Nickie, a med student who we never saw as she was always off doing whatever it is medical students do, and Rob,  who, like me, was in the final stages of finishing his Chemistry degree. He and I had been pretty much inseparable since Fresher’s Week, when we first bonded over Tequila slammers and a love of dancing “ironically” to Beyonce’s chart topper Crazy In Love.

Rob was a walking, talking cliché – tall, dark, handsome, athletic. He had the gift of the gab and was utterly charming. I don’t think there was a girl in our year that didn’t throw herself at him at one point or another. Ironically, this made me both incredibly popular with those who thought getting in with me meant getting close to Rob, and unpopular with those who couldn’t understand our platonic relationship and were jealous of how much time we spent together.

It was around the end of May that Rob started seeing Charlotte. He had of course been out with girls before, but I knew from the beginning that this was new. Charlotte was very different to the clean-cut  girls with blonde swishy hair that seemed his normal type. She was half French; petite, olive skinned with long dark hair and the most amazing pert round breasts and peachy arse I had ever seen.

One hot and sticky Monday, I let myself in to the flat to hear laughter coming from Rob’s bedroom. I put away my shopping, and headed for my room. As I passed Rob’s room, I noticed the door was slightly ajar and caught a good view of the bed, where the two of them were lying dressed only in their underwear, with Charlotte’s back towards me. I caught a glimpse of her round cheeks in the tiniest of frilly knickers and something made me stop and admire the two of them. The next thing I knew, Rob was pulling her towards him, kissing her neck and running his hands up her thighs.

My head told me to disappear and leave them to it, but I remained rooted to the spot. He slowly slipped her bra strap off her shoulder and started kissing her collarbone. She giggled as his mouth moved lower towards her right breast and one hand moved from the outside of her thigh to the inside, while the other moved to undo the clasp of her bra.

I was frozen; barely daring to breathe as I glimpsed the silhouette of her right breast, before Rob hungrily started sucking the nipple. Charlotte moaned slightly as Rob also cupped his hand around her left breast. I willed them to move around so I could see everything that was happening, but of course they were completely oblivious to both me and the increasing dampness between my legs.

As Rob continued to focus on her breasts, Charlotte ran her hand along his arm, across his chest and down towards the soft fluff of his navel. She let her fingers linger, teasing the short hair, and playfully sticking her fingers in his belly button before slowly running her index finger along the inside of the waistband of his boxer shorts. As she shifted slightly onto her left buttock, I saw the outline of Rob’s hard, erect cock straining at the fabric, with a delicious, barely imperceptible wet patch where his cock had dribbled. Charlotte’s hand wandered further inside his boxer shorts and I could just make out the way her finger ran up and down his shaft.  As she grasped it with both hands and pulled it out of his shorts, I had to stifle a moan. My pussy was dripping at this point, and I pressed my hand between my legs in the vain hope of – what? – certainly not stopping myself, I was well past that point by now!

Still kissing, sucking, stroking and teasing, they pulled off their last remaining items of clothing. They were now completely naked. They were such an amazing looking couple, and I could not get enough of the sight of both of them. I held my breath, silently willing them on to the next level. As Charlotte went up on her knees, I saw Rob’s cock, rigid and glistening through her thighs. As she gently rubbed her pussy against its tip, I felt my own hand lift up the flimsy dress I was wearing, push aside my soaking knickers, and push my fingers deep into my own juices. I stifled a moan as my fingers found my clit and furiously began to rub.

In front of me, Rob had grabbed Charlotte’s waist and pushed her down hard onto his cock. As she slid up and down, her movements hinting at the pleasure she was experiencing, I felt myself attempting to mimic the sensation by thrusting my fingers deep inside myself. The way her breasts moved, the way she thrust her head back and closed her eyes – these were things I felt for myself. I felt every movement of his hands exploring her body, felt his fingertips tracing her nipples, and felt every thrust of his hot prick as it carved through me. I bit my lower lip to stop myself from crying out as their lovemaking grew more frenzied. I staggered backwards, leant against the wall and gave in to the delicious sensations – my fingers on my clit, thrusting into my pussy and rubbing my nipples. As I felt the first shudder of orgasm tingling in my legs and my cunt, I opened my eyes for a final glimpse of the couple in front of me and drank in the view of her tits, and his cock. Charlotte let out a long, deep moan that instantly told me her climax too was close. Rob thrust into her one last time, and all three of us came with a delicious sigh.

I hid in my bedroom for the rest of the afternoon, too embarrassed to face the pair of them. It was only when I heard Charlotte leave that I dared venture into the kitchen, where I found Rob sipping a bottle of beer and flicking through the local paper.

He looked up as I came in, and grinned.

“Good afternoon?”
“Yeah, not bad” I mumbled, my face flushing at the thought of what I had seen and what I had done.
He looked at me thoughtfully and then said; “Well, maybe next time you would like to join us…”

That, however, is another story.

Kinky Shoes of the Week – Hello Mary Jane

I have a very high instep, so love a shoe with a strap to keep my feet from falling out of it. I therefore love a Mary Jane.

Good girls wear Mary Janes, right? They’re prim and proper, and reminiscent of schoolgirls with plaits, pleated skirts and white ankle socks.

What I love about these is that they subvert that ever so slightly. The heel is a little bit too high, and a little bit too tapered for a good girl. The front isn’t perfectly round – instead it hints at a cheeky point. And then there’s the colour – a deep, wine red burgundy that’s most definitely adult.

Finally, though, what is it about patent leather? Does the high shine reflect what you want to see in them? Polished enough, maybe you will catch a glimpse of what is hidden further up the leg? Can you see a reflection of my panties? That of course assumes I’m wearing any….

In Praise of the Humble Condom

A piece on the BBC News website today uses the opening of a new Thai restaurant called “Cabbages and Condoms” as a starting point for a discussion of why people are still embarrassed about buying condoms.

At this point I have to hold my hands up that my partner and I have used condoms for many years now. I’ve tried pretty much everything else over the years – the pill, the mini-pill, contraceptive injections, contraceptive implants…but all have disagreed with me in one way or another (intermittent bleeding, mood swings, numbness, pain, you name it), so we’ve always come back to “French letters”, and I have to say, I’ve kind of got fond of the little buggers over the years.

The humble condom gets a bad press, so I think it’s time I did a little bit of marketing in its favour. You see, apart from the obvious no side effects thing (assuming you don’t have a latex allergy), there are many other advantages to the humble Johnny over other methods of contraception:

1) The big one – no STDs. Probably not so much of a consideration if you are in a long-term relationship and you are sure of each others’ clean bill of health, but certainly a big pro nonetheless.

2) The reassurance that you know it’s working. I’m a sceptical kinda gal that likes to be sure – and who’s to say you took your pill on time? A condom gives you the extra reassurance that something is stopping the whole baby-making thing.

3) No wet patch. Yes, yes, I know – filthy, dirty sex is fabulous. All that squelching and bodily fluids…cum everywhere…mmmmm….but sometimes, just sometimes, it’s nice not to have to cup your hands under yourself and rush to the toilet to clean yourself up while hoping you don’t spill drops all over the carpet on the way. Or point your bum in the air to make sure it doesn’t dribble all over the sheets. (Waterproof mattress protector. Just saying.) Or rush off to the shower to get it off your cleavage. Think of the water you’re saving!

4) Easy to get hold of. If you’re really that embarrassed about sticking them in your basket with the bread and milk, just do your shopping online! You don’t even have to brave the embarrassment of paying for them at the checkout. Sorted.

5) Condoms are fun! Ribbing, flavours, different sizes – even glow in the dark ones. Have a giggle putting them on together (am I selling this to you yet?).

5a) They can in some instances enhance female pleasure – add a bit of ribbing for extra friction, and don’t forget that they can make some guys last longer…

6) They double up as handy balloons or water bombs.

So there you have it, my top reasons for condom lovin’. Now go slip one on and do the dirty. Cleanly.