A few people requested a longer version of my Halloween micro story and back then I was really in a full-on Autumn fun mode so I've written this in a few days. Since then I lost interest and just couldn't bring myself to finish it. It would have been a pity to completely abandon it though, so I literally forced myself to sit down and tie it up. I feel, because of that, it doesn't flow effortlessly in places like it should. I'm off to work on some Christmas projects now but I do hope it still brings a few smiles if nothing else.
I know, I know, global warming is not really something we should embrace, but this balmy 24°C on the 10th of October, here in the UK feels lush if I’m being honest.
***
“We are not putting the air-con on in friggin October,” I yelled at my husband, slapping his hand away from the control panel of the car.
“Jesus, Miss Eco Warrior.” He rolled his eyes at me and rolled the window down instead.
“Yes, breathe in the lush scent of the countryside” I laughed when the mixture of fresh meadows and not-so-pleasant livestock odour hit my nostrils.
“I still don’t understand why we have to drive an hour to get a goddamn pumpkin when the supermarket ones are just as big and probably cost less. Not very eco now, are we?”
God, I should have left this one home along with the kids. The word ‘adventure’ is surely lost on him. “Where is the fun in that?” I looked at him with evil witch eyes promising to turn him into a field mouse if he didn’t shut up. “I wanted to do something fun and autumnal, just the two of us. Just be grateful that I organised a playdate for all the kids for today so we get to spend the afternoon together.”
“I’m sure there are much better ways to spend a date night,” he kept on moaning.
“Date afternoon,” I corrected him in a snappy tone. “You know, I was kind of hoping for some literal and not-so-literal rolling in the hay and a nice autumn forest walk with a special picnic, if you remember those... But now, you’re ruining my mood.”
I was gripping the steering wheel till my veins popped like in the chad driving meme and forced myself to concentrate on the road in front of me while letting him stew in that lost opportunity soup.
“Ok, ok, you are right,” he finally blurted out, “I am being a dick. Any time we can spend together is nice.”
Wow, it’s a first, that he admits that. Somehow, I don’t buy it, though. “You’re only saying that because I hinted at the three-letter magic word.”
“Maybe,” he grinned with his usual cocksure attitude. God, I sometimes hated his flippant stud poise. And no, I wasn’t sold. Not that cheap, Mister.
“You are a dick!” I declared in a suppressed voice, trying to conceal what percentage of that I actually meant. To be honest I wasn’t even sure myself. I did hate him. At least a little bit. But then, I habitually grinned at him and we suddenly got teleported back like ten years when we used to hurl insults at each other for foreplay.
“Listen, if you love me, you need to love everything autumnal, because I’m a basic autumn bitch and I love it all. Pumpkins, colourful leaves, all the autumn spices, my new fire pit in the garden, where you’re yet to join me by the way. They all turn me on.”
“Oh. Pumpkins, though?”
“Yes, that’s right: pumpkins. They’re nice and round, orange, hard on the outside, soft on the inside...”
I was only half-joking and this time, I managed to keep a straight face. I gave him time to mull over all that and just listened to the radio for a while. By the time he finished unpacking my sentence and was going to say something about the fire pit, we had finally arrived, so I just ignored him.
***
As I pulled up to the rustic wooden fence, I already spotted the first place for my autumn selfies: a carved tree trunk bench with a giant wagon wheel back. “This is amazing,” I shrieked excitedly as I sat down. “I need one of these in the garden.”
“In the summer it was a Japanese garden, now a ranch. You do dream big, girl.”
I wanted to correct him that the Japanese garden phase was two years ago, inspired by an amazing one I visited in Poole with the girls, but I've bitten my tongue. He would not stop rubbing it in, that after spending nearly a grand on ornamental stone pagodas, Buddhas, a rock garden, and some weeping cherry and acer trees, I realised that we didn’t have the space for a koi pond, which would have been the main feature.
“Would you rather I started a Chanel handbag collection?” I retorted. Of course, he hadn’t the faintest clue, what I was on about.
“Never mind,” I sighed and told him to take a seat next to me. After snapping a few cute selfies together, with our cheeks touching side by side, I instructed him to ‘casually’ throw his herculean arm around me. Maybe I didn’t have a Japanese garden and I will not have a ranch but at least I had a sexy-ass sidekick with Vin Diesel shoulders and a face that would, without a shadow of a doubt, turn any good girl bad.
We decided not to go through the farm shop, and following the large wooden signpost, we headed straight to the pumpkin patch. I took a few more pics with the hilariously dressed scarecrow couple – a granny enrobed in a flowery retro housecoat and her grandpa counterpart bending over his cane, flashing a builder’s bum made of two small pumpkins.
Nearby, a row of rusty wheelbarrows were fading into a background of brambles and I pointed a finger towards them. “That’s next.”
“Forget it, I am not carting you around in one of those.” His tone was way too serious for my liking.
“Oh yes, you will!”
“Your big butt would wreck ‘em,” he laughed cheekily, trying to get out of the embarrassment of being with a grown-ass kid.
“How dare you!”
Eventually, we only did one lousy picture which was ruined by my sulking face. I marched off in a disappointed haze to check out a few rows of smaller, different-coloured novelty pumpkins while he followed me with a bored expression on his face. At one point he even dared to pull his phone out and started scrolling through his social media feed or something. I was fuming.
Being a weekday early afternoon the field was deserted. No kids in sight; just the way I liked it. A couple of acres easily swallowed up the few folks bending over various-sized and coloured pumpkins. I was walking around aimlessly with the lost puppy following behind, when, by what looked like an apple orchard, I spotted a woman having difficulty lifting an enormous, burnt orange-coloured pumpkin into her extra-large cart. She was wearing scandalously short ripped denim shorts and I couldn’t help but stare at her toned legs as she strained under the impossible task. She tried lowering the side of her cart and rolling in the mammoth-sized fruit without success.
“Damsel in distress at 2 o’clock,” I poked my husband’s shoulder. The nobleman he is, still and all, he walked towards her offering a hand.
As they lifted the orange behemoth with joint effort, their fingers touched for a brief second and I couldn’t miss that tiny spark flashing between them as they glanced at each other.
“You like ‘em big?” my husband joked in a tone that was far from joking matter.
“Aah surr’ do,” she answered, rolling her tongue into a fake Texan farmer girl accent. Her suggestive smirk was just short of winking at him really. They were flirting right there in front of my very eyes, in the middle of a darn pumpkin patch. I just couldn’t believe it. Yet, I just stood there watching the tornado form.
“Where are we taking this orange monstrosity?” he asked grabbing hold of the handles of the wheelbarrow.
“No, no, I’ll manage from here,” she said. God, she was quite the temptress in her chequered shirt tied high, revealing a midriff that you wanted to cook eggs on in the October heat. Much of her dirty blond hair long escaped the restraints of her messy ponytail.
“I insist,” my husband replied, his voice deviously distorted.
No girl can really say no when he insists. So we followed her into the barn that stood just behind the farm shop.
***
One side of the enormous building was filled from floor to ceiling with shelves of different-sized, different coloured pumpkins. “All those will be sold in the farm shop,” she explained. The other side housed an empty animal pen and a huge stack of hay bales. Then there was the pile of giant-sized pumpkins right in front of us. “And these ones are going to the Kent country fair.”
“So these are not for sale?” I tensed up. I already had my eyes on a few, whatever price they were.
“Oh, your husband’s been very kind helping me,” she cooed stepping closer to him. “I’m sure we can agree on a price,” she continued, raking her chocolate, manicured fingernails against his denim-trapped monster. I was somehow not shocked, not even surprised.
“I do love a bargain,” I encouraged her with a sly smile. Then to reinforce the green light I placed my hand over hers and directed it back to his package.
Out of the three of us, my husband seemed to be the most shocked. “Wow,” he muttered, looking down to us shorties from his six-foot frame. Oh sure, because he wasn’t expecting this, especially after the theatrical way she has shut the barn door behind us? Come on.
“See, and you didn’t even want to come,” I scoffed at him.
“What?” the blondie looked at both of us puzzled.
“Yeah, he’s not into anything autumnal,” I said tutting at him.
“I’m sure we can change that,” she purred teasingly, her nails freely roaming his body now.
For a few seconds, I revelled in the sight of her chest rising and falling heavily with the rhythm of her hands exploring all the possibilities my husband’s seemingly boring black jeans and old grey t-shirt were hiding. My fingers worked his belt expertly, I’d bought it for him as a Christmas gift a few years back, after all. When I pulled it open and clawed at the buttons, I gave the hot blondie a glance of an alpha female wolf who was willing to share her pray and graciously let her take the first bite. Of course, it was more of a gentle lap of her tongue than a bite.
Letting his jeans fall to the ground, I pulled his boxers down next, while she hesitantly took his head between her puffy, ripe-apricot lips.
“All yours,” I joked, pulling his foreskin right back to reveal all his juicy glory “Don’t be shy.”
Maybe as a weird ‘thank you’, she gave me a deep kiss, one that you need to catch your breath after. Except, there wasn’t really an ‘after’ as my lips never left hers. I inhaled and breathed her in, holding her lust-clouded face between my hands.
I could taste his sweet, familiar precum on her lips. It was such a turn-on and I was dying for more. The impatient, insatiable slut in me wanted to see him fill that sexy mouth with his cum sooner rather than later. But I had to rein my frustrated hellcat in.
My tongue trailed her cheekbone and I bit into her chin playfully while my husband raked his fingers through my tousled mane, reminding me of his presence.
We took all that passion and launched it on his rock-hard showpiece, taking turns swallowing his whole thick eight inches and sliding our lips on it together. I love giving him a sloppy blow job, and seeing all the mess dripping down onto the hay-littered concrete floor was new and exciting. Looking into her lust-filled eyes also made it a zillion times better.
“Fuck, this is nice,” my depraved other half cursed repeatedly. “I’m not gonna last long,” he also protested when we failed to give him a break between our lips. On top of that, I might have, in the heat of the moment forgotten how he reacts when I rough-handle his balls the way I did.
In that case, I thought, time to pay more attention to this horny farm girl then.
“Tell me something,” I whispered to her through heavy intake of breaths, “when you put these slutty clothes on this morning... when you ‘forgot’ to do your top buttons... Did you have this in mind?”
“Itss’s much betteeer than I ever hoped,” she replied blowing gentle kisses onto my lips, her fingers gripping her new toy firmly, giving him a slow, teasing hand job to the rhythm of our tongues dancing smooth cha-cha-cha.
I undid the rest of her popping buttons and tugged her white lacy bra down to her stomach, revealing pert little breasts with erect nipples. Tempted to roll them between my lips but wanting to tease her at the same time, my tongue trailed around her areolas first, then I playfully bit into her soft flesh a few times.
But I couldn’t resist those perky, wanton nipples much longer and after sucking them briefly, I rubbed my husband’s stiff cock on them.
The ripple effect of such a simple impulsive act caused a bonfire magnitude flare up in her eyes and her husband blurting out, “You’re making me cum, babe.”
“God, it hasn’t been that long,” I chuckled. We had sex the other day. But yes, I admit, we didn’t have a threesome - his known kryptonite - for at least six months. “You’re not cumming yet,” I told him in no uncertain terms as I firmly gripped his cock that was harder than I ever recalled. “I want to see you fuck her,” I hissed into his ear. I just had to pull the lion’s whiskers, even if I was running a serious risk of him losing it right there into my fist.
“Oh no, not yet,” our plaything giggled, unaware of the previous sentence between us.
“Why, what else do you hope will happen?” I fanned the burning embers while letting her step out of those outrageous shorts and her barely there lace panties.
Oh, we all knew what was going to happen, I just needed to hear it from her. But her trembling reply dispersed into incoherent profanities against my lips.
Slowly lowering myself onto my knees in front of her, I continued my tease stroking, kissing her legs, her inner thigh, going upwards ever so slowly. Quinn took over playing with her nipples. He was much more aggressive than I had been. Her loud moans and cursing filled up the vast empty space of the barn.
“Fuck, you are absolutely soaked,” I welcomed the sensory overload of her fountain of nectar. Her wildflower honey flavour was an explosion on my palate and I drank all of her while parting her lips with deep strokes of my tongue. My mind went into overdrive conjuring up all the fantasies of how this delicious, tight pussy will soon be filled with a hard cock that belongs to my husband. The violent waves of anticipation crushing against the wavering wall of the natural human instinct of jealousy were maddening.
Then, of course, my practical, considerate brain had to ruin everything:
“Damn, babe, we left all the condoms in the car.”
It was a deal breaker. It could have easily ended there. It has happened before. We usually found other ways though and never once had to leave with a bitter taste in our mouth. At least figuratively, if you know what I mean.
“We’re not going to stop now,” she voiced her intentions to our biggest relief. She pouted her lips into an anxious, bratty expression. “I’m on the pill. Not ideal, but I think I’d die if I didn’t get this inside me now.”
I was the happiest Genie to grant her wish. “You heard her,” I snapped at the wizard who undoubtedly had the real power to make her desire come true.
He stared at me with a look of “how exactly?”, questioning the practicalities of it all. We were obviously more used to a bed, sofa, or at least a kitchen worktop. An empty barn was definitely a new territory, something we didn’t have previous experience of. Luckily, I’m good at improvising in any given situation. In a very unladylike fashion, I gave a few kicks to one of the bigger pumpkins, till it rolled closer to her, providing either a seat or something to bend over, it was her choice.
She chose the latter, offering her luscious butt, - so perfect that it should have been listed under the Natural Wonders of the World - and her soaking pussy to my twisted other half. He wasted no time testing just what these farm girls are made of and thrust his cock into her with such determination that it made my toes curl and I wasn’t even the lucky one at the receiving end.
“Fuck...that is just....” she erupted, unable to finish her outcry, as my sweet-other-half-turned-animal withdrew, just to slam it back home again harder. “Fuck...,” she started her babble anew, her eyes darting all over the dimly lit space. They were rocking the pumpkin back and forth recklessly. If it had rolled over completely, it would not have been pretty.
As much as I really wanted to hear the end of her sentence, she needed to be grounded, she needed to be supported against the brutal thrusts. I stepped in front of her, her clammy, dishevelled face resting on my thigh as I muffled her outbursts with my palm. “Shush! Even the people in the shop can hear you, silly girl!”
Usually, I was the one who had to be quieted like that, in a different kind of threesome. I always loved it when Quinn suppressed a little loud me in such a way. This role reversal was a turn on a whole new level. It left me so worked up that some of the things I wanted to do to this hot piece of doll are just unspeakable.
I knew I had the desired effect when thunderclouds gathered in her eyes and the little slut screamed and nipped the soft flesh of my palm.
My sidekick flashed a proud smile towards me and I smirked back with a ‘I learned from the best’ grimace. “I think she’s trying to say ‘Harder.’” My laughter was truly dark and possessed.
Then I had an even better idea: I dipped my fingers into my creek of passion and fed my juicy digits to the shrieking piglet. She ravenously lapped at them like a feral farm cat at milking time.
“Want more, hungry girl?”
“Mmmm, yes, yes, yes,” she begged, her pleas punctuated by brutal thrusts.
I sat on the impromptu seat, trying to find my balance, which was difficult due to the size of the pumpkin. But as soon as her tongue found my love button between my legs I didn’t care for the possibility that we both might fly off this uncomfortable makeshift seat.
“Go nice and slow...and deep,” I moaned up to the high, cobweb-infested ceiling but more to my husband as a warning.
“No,” she protested fiercely, “I don’t want him to go slow.”
I was just about to comment, what a little demanding brat we had on our hands, as she stood up and dragged my husband towards the other side of the barn. He barely had time to step out of his clothes that were still pooled at his feet.
She led us to the hay bales, threw some sort of blanket on top of the lower row, and before I could have asked whether this was something she’d done before, she was lying there on her back with legs apart, eyeing my husband with a “Now, where were we?” command.
“You’re way too naked to be wearing the trousers, little one,” I poked some innocent fun at her and twisted her nipples hard to teach her a lesson. “Give it to her, give it to her baad, babe.” Hubby was all too happy to oblige my request.
Still rough-handling her erect nipples, I started rubbing her exposed clit making her lose the plot pretty quickly under all the stimulation.
I was tempted to saddle and muffle her face as she began her noisy howling over again, but this was just too good to give up. I wanted to be in control, I wanted to be the one who decides how and when the little slut came. I slapped my palm against her mouth, harder this time, making sure to also block her nostrils temporarily.
“Shut it, or he’ll silence you in another way. You don’t want that, do you?”
She shook her head, or tried to, under the heavy weight of my hand. I didn’t need her pretty face between my legs, I was getting off on those fiery submissive eyes. Muffling her, pinning her down on the bales of hay with my left and alternating between pulling her nipples and stretching her pussy open with my other, I made sure she was riding the edge of madness.
"I wanna see you filling her up with your cum so much!" I begged my husband - my voice an unprintable sweet mixture of desperation and a power-tripping command. "And you," I hissed at her "you're gonna be a good girl and cum with him."
By the looks of it, the poor girl had no idea what the difference was anymore. Her eyes were rolling back into her head and she was trashing her body against her uncomfortable bed, screaming into my palm.
When I stretched her pussy open and smacked her swollen clit she started squirting triggering Quinn to shoot his load inside her. He pulled out and there was much more to come. It was the hottest, messiest sex we had for a while.
"Wow, that was fun," I blurted out breaking the temporary awkwardness. "I think, next time we need some ropes," I grinned.
"Oh don't get me started again," she grimaced, then quickly started apologizing. "Sorry guys, I dunno what’s gotten into me, the October heat gone into my head or something."
"Oh don’t apologize, I don’t blame you. I blame him." I shot an evil eyes across at my husband. "He’ll pay dearly, once we’re home."
Walking back to our discarded pieces of clothing I asked her if it was ok to take the pumpkin we used as a seat earlier.
"That one will come with a special price tag I’m afraid: your number," she replied
***
A week later, when we brought the "sex pumpkin" out of the shed for the kids to carve, and they all went, "Wow!", I told them how very special that pumpkin was. "Had to drive two hours to get it and it was very expensive." I looked at Quinn winking and couldn't fail to notice the different, almost worshippy way he looked at pumpkins now. Also, he wouldn’t stop talking about the beautiful autumn leaves and apparently, he is in love with the country begging me to go back to the farm and do the other things like the corn maze. He’s sure addicted to fresh farm produce.
***
“Have you told your husband yet?" I text Amy later in the afternoon.
“Yes. He can’t wait to meet you two”
"Sweet. I’ll bring over one of my world-famous apple pie."
"Can’t wait to taste it."
Something tells me we’re not talking sweet pastry.
