Fruit 1

“Did you know”, said he, “that during WWII in Britain, an orange was considered a great luxury?”

She mumbled the barest of replies and he wondered if he had finally begun to bore himself as well as she. He put down his book,

British Wartime Necessities

, and pondered a moment.

There they were, both sitting up in bed, he with a book and she with a magazine, their end-table lamps burning, like an ancient pajama-bound couple who had grown so used to each other that they scarcely acknowledged one another.

Complacency, he thought. This is the relationship-killer, the seed of a useless weed that grows up to choke everyone who has the misfortune to be planted in its poisonous soil. No, not tonight at least, he thought. Then said aloud, “Not tonight!”

“Hmm?”, she said, her head still buried in her magazine.

“What was that, darling?”

“Oh”, he said, “I’ve got an idea”. And with that he made his way to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator door and fumbled in the fruit tender, and selected what he thought a suitable fruit for the evening.

“Pomegranate?”, said she.

“Pomegranate.”, He replied.

Pomegranates, at about a dollar a piece, were one luxury she could afford; ever since she was small she enjoyed this succulent fruit, with its vibrant colors of red, pink and green, a delight to the eyes, and its clusters of juice-filled sacs, luscious morsels that begged to be tasted and which rewarded the taster with an unrivaled sweetness. She felt confident the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden wasn’t an apple; it had to be a pomegranate.

He watched her deftly score the skin of the fruit with the paring knife he brought. He admired her small, delicate hands as she broke open the fruit and picked out a cluster.

They still sat on the bed, as if they were still reading, but he had moved closer to her, eyeing her every motion. It was a simple pleasure she experienced, this pomegranate-eating. It aroused him.

As she bit into the first sac he admired the sensuous curves of her mouth; her full lips extracted all the juice she could muster. These same lips were stained with the juice now, and they were a deeper, more inviting scarlet than any lipstick she possessed. He moved to kiss her and as their lips met, she gave a light laugh.

“Pips,” she said. She gently removed them and placed them on a coaster where she usually placed her evening cup of tea.

“Pips,“ he said, and he kissed her again, this time more deeply. His hand caressed her soft blonde hair; she really was beautiful, he thought, as stunningly-beautiful as ever, and he must never, never take her for granted. She sighed softly as he added to this intense invasion of her mouth; she loved how the sweetness of the fruit and the magic of his kisses blended so marvelously together. She tingled now and felt responsive to every touch.

He began to kiss her neck as she grabbed another cluster of fruit and sucked on it; she wasn’t as nimble with it now because his kisses were distracting her – exciting her.

Droplets of the crimson juice spilled from her mouth; it ran down her chin, down to the supple neck he was so avidly kissing. She felt his warm tongue lap up every spilled drop; she gasped from this - this was truly amazing! What an erotic pleasure! Yet she still remained in her pajamas. Well, he thought, I’ll see to that.

As if on cue he moved his head to her pajama top. He undid all the buttons only partially with his hands, and then he opened them the rest of the way with his mouth, biting them one-by-one.

This revealed her soft breasts - her own clusters of fruit, he thought. They were succulent; they were round, soft and white, a delight to the senses. Her scarlet nipples were already partially hard, and he wasted no time in bringing them to their erect state. He flicked each nipple with his tongue and gently pinched it with his fingers.

He got another cluster from the pomegranate. This he burst all over her chest; he rubbed the precious juice into her breasts, till they were stained as scarlet as her nipples; this recipe was the perfect mixture for the most heavenly feeling she’d had in a long time.

He feasted on her titties. He enjoyed that delicious blend of sweet and savory. She enjoyed the rapturous delight of this man who seemed to know her so very well. Her breasts were sensitive at the best of times, but this? This was astoundingly good!

There was only one cluster left. Between ecstatic gasps, she watched him gently remove it from the denuded fruit. What would he do with it? she wondered. She wished he would carry on sucking her breasts; that was so perfect – she just wanted to savor that delicious moment; the moment where everything seemed suspended in time, with her hand fondling his hair as he rested on her chest. In that moment all the colors of her bedroom seemed so vibrant – from the flowery pastels of the wallpaper to the lamps which seemed to glow with infrared intensity to the deep indigo of her duvet. It was all bursting.

He took the final sac of nectar and brought it up to her lusciously-dyed lips. She could see the love and the passion and the longing in his eyes as he put half of it in his mouth and half in hers. Together they burst it, and again she felt that sweet syrupy nectar run down her mouth.

With his finger he traced the juice fully over her lips, and then he kissed her avidly. Their tongues were a swirling symphony of joy. Now she knew she was his; she could safely abandon any ideas of restraint.

He whispered in her ear, the quote from Ovid, the first-century poet, “Love must not be rushed, but savored.” His gentle, resonant words seemed to course through her entire body and echo into every pleasure zone within.

She felt his hand carefully move down – he gently squeezed her thighs and then guided his finger ever closer to her pussy. She prepared herself for his touch and could almost feel it already, but he merely traced a big circle around her drenched flower.

This was a bit of a tease, but she wasn’t about to complain. Finally he touched her, fingered her ever so gently and rubbed her pussy and clit, making little circles round and round.

He watched carefully her reaction; he loved watching her eyes roll with the pleasure and hearing her soft feminine sighs. He began to kiss her all over. She could feel the press of his full, warm lips on her chest, her belly, her hips, and down her legs. He in turn loved the delicate softness of her skin.

To him there was something about a woman’s body that was beyond sex; it was warmth, safety, coming home, mother. He loved rubbing his cheeks and face against her tummy; she thought, in a frivolous moment, that it was a good thing he had shaved today. Then she thought she must surely look a picture with the distinct tinge of crimson all over her face and chest.

She felt him move lower, and she knew where he was headed. She could sense his hunger, as he kissed her belly, her thighs, lovely little pecks here and there. His hands were still rubbing her body; each of his fingers was a little soldier, bent on exploration, and conquest. His touch was exquisite.

She felt his hot breath on her pussy. She braced herself for his tongue. He touched her.

She was woefully prepared for the shockwave of pleasure that coursed through her naked body. He rested a hand on her soft belly as his tongue moved up and down and round and round; she sensed his hunger. He was hungry. He was a man starved for love, for all the sensual joys a woman could give.

He lapped her clitoris and in that moment, both of them forgot all the strains of life, all the pressures, all the distractions, all the insipid little things that conspired to pull them apart. She moaned from sheer joy – not just the physical joy, which was intense, but from the emotional bond which was rekindled.

She rested a hand on his head and gasped with delight; each movement of his tongue brought her closer to orgasm, which wasn’t far off anyway. He felt he was plucking a delicately scented flower, or tasting the forbidden fruit. It was sort of like the pomegranate. Well, actually, the pom was just the fruit that pointed the way to the real deal; like a warm-up band before the big boys took the stage.

He loved her taste; it filled his senses and aroused him. But he took no thought of pleasing himself, until the time was right. He matched his tongue and worked his finger in rhythm to her moans; he could almost feel her tremors, each one greater than the last, like waves pounding a sandy shore, unrelenting. His head was buried between her legs now, and she wrapped herself round him, pulling him ever tighter as she felt her orgasm build. Her voice rose, her gasps ever quicker…

‘mmmmm…ohhh…yessssss…mmmmmahhhhhhhHHHHHH!’

She exploded, a glorious climax, piercing the quiet of her home, making the wine glasses on her dresser and the guitar laying against her wall resonate. Her face was crimson – flushed with delight and pomegranate juice. Beads of sweat poured off her. Her entire body was a man’s sensual delight, but it was a delicate body – delicate in the sense that given too much pleasure she might actually faint from it all. Or perhaps even die? But what a way to go!

He fully enjoyed watching her orgasm. Her rapturous face was a delight to his eyes, and he felt privileged to be a part of it – a part of her so very personal yet so very mutual experience. But now, more than ever, she wanted him inside her.

He had always been concerned she might be a bit tired or a bit sore after cumming, but she remained the trooper – still very wet and very ready. As she lay on her back and he approached her he marveled how lovely she looked – and there was a certain innocent vulnerability to her trembling body.

His cock was hard and he entered her – slowly, gradually, and she felt the full length of his tool inside her. It felt fantastic. He positioned himself atop her and wiped the sweat from her forehead. She loved how he liked to cradle her head and kiss her as he rode her, caressing her hair.

She enjoyed his moans as he worked hard for her, thrusting in & out, round & round. Sometimes he would pinch her nipple, or simply grab the back of her leg, always supporting, always enveloping her in him. With what strength she had she thrust up to meet him, coaxing him to increase tempo, until they were both one glorious fucking unit. He was moaning louder now; she loved how he could give so much to her at no cost to his own pleasure.

She felt another orgasm build and imagined his cum shooting inside her. She enjoyed all the wet slurping noises of sex – this was another part of her erotic make-up – and there were plenty of noises now. It wasn’t long before she came again, delighting in having him inside her, feeling a warm incredible sensation that went from her engaged pussy all the way to her melting face. He came soon after. He held off as long as possible, then allowed his cock to burst forth, shooting all his precious juice into her.

It was just as she imagined.

For a long while the couple – the lovers – lie there, still together as one. She could feel his cock retire after its massive campaign. This tickled.

Moments later they were in each other’s arms, two sweaty bodies, arms enfolded. She knew he would be satisfied with this, but there was still something she wanted to do for him. They would rest for awhile first, though.

Neither were sure how long they napped together, or indeed, whether they napped at all. They seemed lost in a world that was not quite this one, but not quite the next one either. Finally she told him to lie on his back, and propped his head up on a pillow.

Next she positioned herself just as he liked – curled round so he could reach her rear with his hand, and ensuring that her breasts were dangling on his chest. She began stroking his penis, and he gasped from her deft touch. He loved her soft hands touching him all over.

Then she took him in her mouth, slowly, gently at first, just savoring the tip, and finally his full length, or nearly all, as much as she could manage.

Her mouth was warm, enveloping.

“Mmmmmmmmmm”, he sighed, loving this sensual, intimate experience. She began to alternately suck and stroke, and that’s when she felt his hand begin to wiggle her ass cheek. She couldn’t fully comprehend why this wiggling turned him on so, but she was happy to oblige, and she felt her nipples go rigid as she worked him, gently increasing rhythm, watching him carefully for what felt especially good.

He rolled his eyes with pleasure now. She knew he would soon experience a deep, full orgasm – one that would strain all his senses to bursting point. She knew that a man’s second orgasm was often more pleasurable than the first (if somewhat less productive).

Her ass was being wobbled, squeezed and kneaded quite forcefully now, and at times he would cup her breast. She felt her body was his glorious support tool, meant to guide him through this erotic fantasy-world. All at once she felt again his gratitude for having her – the love that was so often and so easily lost in the distractions of modern life.

He gasped and his breathing became louder, faster. Finally he opened his mouth for air and she knew he was coming; she held him as tight as she could, coaxing him, guiding him, pulling him through this all-too-brief pleasure zone. Again they were one flesh, as close as two people could possibly be.

This time they slept together, deeply, for the remainder of the night, a night which had been, really, quite fruitful.