Note: all characters in this story are 18 or over (except maybe the pumpkins). This is my entry for the Literotica Halloween 2017 Contest. All comments are welcome. Enjoy!
*
As usual, Laurie hears it before she sees it: the jingle of a belt unbuckling behind the pumpkin shed, a zipper descending.
These assholes will not stop fucking Laurie's pumpkins.
She exits the shop, creeps around the side of Midnight Carriages, crouches behind the massive, twisted oak tree at the corner of the barn, and peers around it.
There, in nearly full moonlight, she can see him, slouched against the back of the shop: a sweaty, pudgy frat guy, plaid and khakis, grunting and thrusting in and out of a pumpkin.
Her boss, Monty, doesn't know about the stupid frat ritual -- doesn't know that it's become a Halloween tradition for frat boys to creep through the woods separating Midnight Carriages and Easter College, take a pumpkin from the stockpile at the back, carve a small glory hole, and return night after night to pump their thirsty dicks in and out of it.
Last October, after a very graphic Reddit post had birthed this gourd-fucking craze, the frat guys had just been stealing
the pumpkins to take home and masturbate into.
Laurie still wonders what they'd done with those pumpkins.
Afterwards, that is. Thanks to the Internet, she knows what they were doing first: warming the pumpkin in the oven. Cutting a narrow, dick-sized hole in the side. Finding a private room and thrusting their anxious cocks in and out of pumpkin-flesh until --
ecstasy
-- flooding them with cum.
Then, she imagines, since they were the kind of guys horny enough to steal a pumpkin to have sex with: probably doing it again. Lying there in sweaty, naked, post-orgasm warmth, licking a palm and wrapping it around their limp, spent penises until they throbbed back to life and—
Laurie blinks. She still shares a tiny apartment with too many roommates, and it's been nearly two days since she masturbated.
Get it together.
Tonight, after all, she has a mission: revenge.
At first, when Midnight Carriages opened for the 2017 season, they tried security devices. Laurie had talked Monty into the cheap, nearly invisible plastic pushpins that BLEEPed if pumpkins were taken too far from the barn.
Two weeks ago she caught her first red-faced teenager at the edge of the woods. Furious, she'd swiped the beeping pumpkin from his arms and hissing, vindictively, "
Use your imagination like the rest of us.
"
But Laurie's not too old to remember that horny dudes find a way.
A few days after catching that kid, she'd gone out back to restock from the pumpkin pile and found a neat hole gouged in the topmost pumpkin, redolent of pumpkin seed and stale cum.
Every night thereafter, while closing, the same noises from the back: thrusting, grunting, and then a last moan as a desperate cock emptied into a defenseless gourd.
The tradition -- or hazing ritual, or what the fuck ever, Laurie doesn't care -- now seems to be: carve a hole into a pumpkin, hide the pumpkin in the pile, and return night after night to fuck it.
Rather than burst out and catch one of them -- satisfying, but maybe not as long-term effective -- Laurie has devised a vengeance.
Tonight, mere days before Halloween, she settles in behind the oak tree to watch.
Her first night hiding behind this same tree, years ago -- the night she'd first discovered the secret perks of closing Midnight Carriages -- had been so much different.
A thin belt of woods separated Midnight Carriages -- a seasonal, side-of-the-road pumpkin and cider shop -- from a row of Easter College frat and sorority houses. Years ago, to the careful listener, on the nights of big parties, these woods would have been alive with the rustling, moaning, and gasping of couples sneaking out of parties to fuck in the forest.
The edge of the Midnight Carriages barn -- its tough but yielding wooden wall, the soft, rich-smelling earth beneath, the way the moonlight cut through the trees, the shelter of the nearby forest in case someone came out -- had, for one wonderful year, been a favorite spot, which Laurie discovered on her very first night closing the shop.
It was a Friday, and as the only employee on night duty, Laurie was closing up when she heard the noise.
She'd come around back, pepper spray in hand, expecting field mice or, as the noises grew louder, a raccoon. She discovered, instead, something much larger than a raccoon.
Two somethings, in fact. Two younger-looking students she'd come to name the Bookworms; one a slightly round girl, gasping and moaning as the other, a pale, scrawny male, fucked her from behind.
There was something adorable and earnest about their nakedly anxious humping. Laurie would call them the Bookworms because she would later fantasize that this was their first time, that these two were both nerdy, introverted, had maybe met at the university library and, later that night, lost their virginity right there, next to the pumpkin pile.
Well. Sometimes that detail would make it into her fantasies.
Other details were always there: the girl's sweater, bunched up under her armpits so that her plump breasts swung free and wild in the cold October air; the boy's scrambling hands grabbing desperate fistfuls of breast; his jeans and underwear bunched around his ankles, belt clinking with every thrust.
The girl bit her forearm, stifling an increasing crescendo of moans, and then with a desperate yelp she came, knees buckling, ass shaking so badly that her partner's throbbing cock swung free and out into the air. She collapsed into a trembling pile on the soft earth, pale rear end still pointed at the moon and convulsing with the aftershocks her orgasm.
The boy grabbed his twitching, glistening cock, eyes rolled back in ecstasy, and no sooner had he wrapped his hand around it than the first spurts of cum flew out of it. He moaned as his dick jerked and gushed, firing hot ropes of cum into the air, splattering off the girl's ass and onto the ground.
Laurie, watching from behind the twisted tree, realized she had been holding her breath. She inhaled deeply and smelled the sex on the air, felt a warm insistence in her panties.
"Oh,
God
," the boy moaned, spasming dick still in hand.
As the Bookworms hastily clothed, Laurie crept back into the shop, quietly unlocked it, and, within moments, registered the following facts:
She was completely alone in the dark barn
The blinds were drawn
Her warm, soft leather chair was barely ten feet away
Her pussy was aching with hot, animal desire
Laurie's pants were around her ankles before she'd locked the door. She kicked them loosely, half-stumbled into the chair, plunged two fingers under her sodden panties and rubbed herself like mad, remembering the way the girl's knees had quivered with every vigorous thrust.
"
Oh!"
She came like a lightning bolt, back arched, hips twitching, waves of pleasure radiating out to the ends of her toes.
Laurie gazed dizzily around at her erstwhile workplace: pants lying in a crumpled heap, panties soaking a spot onto the chair, the vague scent of her own wet pussy hanging in the air.
She remembered the jets of glistening cum painting the girl's bare moonlit ass, and, rolling her head back in the chair, rubbed herself to a second toe-curling orgasm.
Two nights later, the Bookworms came back, and Laurie witnessed what she liked to think was the girl's first blowjob, beginning with a few cautious slurps at the boy's bared, eagerly throbbing prick.
At first he was polite, gracious, even seeming a little nervous, but as more and more of his cock disappeared into the girl's throat with each gulp, he lost himself, leaning back against the barn, one hand bracing against the pumpkin shed, another with a fistful of the girl's hair.
This time, Laurie didn't wait until she was back in the barn. She stuffed one hand down her pants while she watched and traced silent, frantic circles around her clit to the sounds of the girl's greedy slurping and the boy's increasingly urgent moans.
Suddenly the girl gave his cock one last lick, lifted her sweater, unclasped her bra and leaned back, working his cock with her right hand, so fast that it was a blur. Two full, creamy breasts popped out, nipples at attention.
With her other hand she took a fistful of his balls and, like she'd yanked a rip cord, his cock exploded, the first thick rope of cum splattering off of the girl's nose.
Splurt
-- rope after rope, spraying streams of cum onto her bared breasts, thick white droplets staining her bra and her sweater.
Maybe this
wasn't
