Helen hesitated, opened the lid, breathed, and there they were. Bright, tall, pink, strong, stalks. Her first forced rhubarb of the season. Reaching for it, she slid her hand along the firmest stalk till she felt the tender base, the bit where stalk met rhizome, then pulled. Her fingers felt a thin wet jus lining the stalk, the same thin mucus that lubricated his straining shaft last night, as she straddled him, squatting on his sweating chest, stretching him to the very limit of her indecency:
‘Reaching for you, baby,’ she’d said…
Helen slid her soft hand along his turgid, erect, shaft until she felt his tender base, the taut bit where his stalk met his heavy, full scrotal sac, then pulled. Her fingers caressed his rigid tarse eagerly brandishing the nub, rubbing his sore slit, squeezing the tender ridge of throbbing glans until thin jus oozed out of him. His slick mucus lubricated and coated his stiff gland, soiling his hairy groin and buttocks. It dampened the palm of her soft, smooth, deft hand, as she continued.
‘Stretching you, baby, stretching that fat cock of yours, imagining you’re my blade, I’m your sheath: sheathing you as you spurt your thick, fertile semen deep inside me, covering my love-hole in your seed. I’m pretending, baby, pretending your tongue’s licking my raw steak flesh, tickling n teasing me, erect, my shy, little, clit, your teeth: tearing at my veinous, pliant folds.’
Helen slid forward, squatting on his mouth, cute enough not to cover his nose with her splayed cloaca, wanting to nurture not drown him. Sealed he couldn’t speak, groan, moan, whelp, plead, or cry inside her lubricious cleft only lick n taste her warm girlie jus, satisfying her craven lust, his slut’s insatiable, pled demands for the lambent, forceful, flickering, ticklish tongue.
‘Penetrate my fuck-hole, imagine your tongue’s a cock inside me, lover. I’ll squirt in your mouth. Caress my soft breasts as I come, if you like, stretch me, shunt me, baby, shunt me to my limits.’
The best part, he found, was when he lay comfortably on his back being ridden by her: all sweaty, dripping wet, hair slick with wet, teats erect, slick slit all splayed, oozing girlie jus, arse raised, arching her body upwards, ready to squirt for him. The best part, he found, was when she raised her arse, came on, and squirted all over him.
Helen continued reaching, and pulling, till she’d gathered eight healthy sticks. Once the harvest was over, she straightened, stretched, rubbed her wet vent, replaced the lid, and saved the rest.
There was little more for her to do. The allotment was dug over, weeded, manured, and planted out with early shallots, and broad beans, compost heap was full. Nascent buds were opening into tender leaves on a few of the raspberry canes. Helen had even managed to reinflate the flat tyre on her wheelbarrow. Other than the village church bells, ringing for matins, the place was devoid of life. A sly, lean, fox crept past her destined for an Italian’s hen coop. Robins pecked around her blackcurrant bushes for red worms.
Helen stood back, admiring her handiwork. Only then did she feel the intensity, the bitter cold of winter permeate her thick fleece, woolen sweaters, woven shirt, vest, and bra. She shivered.
For Helen, her allotment provided a safe means of escape, a sanctuary, a peaceful haven where she could reflect on her life as a slut, hopes and aspirations, unfulfilled dreams. The filthy novel hadn’t gone as well as expected. She’d crashed into writer’s block. Felt she’d failed. Failure, in her warped mind, led to pervasive mood swings, discontent, seasonally affected disorders, abysmal bouts of maniacal depression, and her inevitable, complete and utter, ruptured, heartbreak.
At least, the fresh rhubarb gave her renewed heart to carry on.
The numb tingling sensation spread out of the crown of her head, burning the sides of her face, and neck, coursing through her nervous system till it reached his extremities. Helen’s vision went blurry, then failed. She struggled to breathe. Sharp pain stabbed her chest. Her stomach was bloated. Scared in a blind panic, she staggered as far as her manure compound and fell in a heap on the hard mud. The slut didn’t recover her senses, and find her way back to her bronze ecoboost, until nightfall.
