wi**** Posted May 29 The mower groaned behind him like a beast finally tamed, trailing clumps of grass and dust in his wake as he dragged it toward the gazebo. The sun pressed hard on his back, turning his soaked shirt a darker shade, clinging to the cut of his shoulders and the narrow taper of his spine. He moved like the heat didn’t faze him—just another challenge to conquer. Jeans streaked with green and dirt. Sneakers unlaced, tongues flapping with every step. His calves flexed with each slow stride. He let the mower settle. Straightened. She was there, waiting—his delight, exactly where he’d left her. Propped casually on the railing, catching the full weight of the afternoon sun. He ***led off his shirt in one motion, swiping it across his face, then grinned to himself as he looked toward her. That slow smile said he remembered. He’d found the Soft thing that morning, while grabbing drinks. Tucked low in a cool pocket of the store, almost overlooked near the bakery. But once he touched her, that was it. Slight give beneath his fingers. Warm with potential. Her scent—floral, sweet, just this side of sinful—sealed it. Had to come with him, be his. Now, with his shirt tossed carelessly over the railing, he sank into the lounge chair beneath the shade. One forearm resting along the armrest. The other reaching into the cooler. An ice cold water in his calloused hand. Then with tho other hand pulled his Sweet Tender from her loft. Let the cold splash from the bottle run down and over her blushed skin. A chill kiss before the real work began. With both hands, he turned her. Rubbed her. The fine fuzz caught on the ridges of his fingertips as he pressed harder, circling, exploring. He pushed the green cover up back, then plucked it free, tossing it aside. His lips hovered close now—the Velvet One just brushing against his mouth. Then his tongue tasted her. A long, slow sweep. The fuzz met flesh. His jaw worked. His mouth opened. And then— He pushed in. The explosion came immediately. Juice burst down his chin, running hot across his throat. His eyes fluttered shut. He pulled her away slowly, panting a little, and turned her in his grip. Another bite to the tender flesh. Each motion Bigger. Sloppier. His other hand came up to steady her, spread her open. Both palms now sticky. He pressed his finger along the split, pushed deep, opening her wider. His breath caught. Lips parted. Tongue sank in. The sound it made—wet and low—cut through the birdsong. Juice trickled down both hands now. Lips finding the next soft spot. Gasp. And again A low guttural Groan. Yet again Sticky fingers adjusted their grip. His chest heaved in oral pleasure. Eyes half-lidded. He brought her close for the final ***. One more bite, right to the core. Suckling the forbidden pit taking in all the juices and flavor And then— Still breathing hard, he grabbed his shirt from the railing and dragged it across his face and neck. The fabric smeared more than it cleaned. His hands, too, got wiped. Just enough. He looked at what remained. Bare. Slick. Hollowed. He tossed the pit into his lunch bag without ceremony. “Damn fine peach,” he muttered, settling back into the chair.
Wi**** Posted May 29 Lol I knew what it was when he was still in the store. I drove my 1025r John Deere to the store up the road from me for diesel fuel the other day and they had just gotten fresh peaches in. I bought three and put them in my cooler. Man they were good.
Deleted Member Posted May 30 Pretty quickly, I had a sense it wasn't a woman, but then I actually went back on that thought because she was supposed to have come from near the cooler and you'd splashed cold water on her, but when you tasted her the juice was "hot" across your throat, so I was like okay it is a woman. Lmao. only to be proved wrong in the end. It's a good little story. I don't feel minutes of my life were wasted reading it haha.
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