Blueberry Stained Fantasy

Sitting against the white oak, Harmony slowly lifts her dress before reaching a furtive hand beneath the elastic of her panties. She keeps looking around, nervous that some unknowing passerby will catch her with her knees wide, thighs spread, and fingers swirling.

"Careful," she thinks. "Don't let anyone see you." But far beneath the surface of that thought is a tremor, shaking the foundation of what she knows. Does the idea of being seen thrill her? If asked, Harmony would answer no endlessly, blushing to the roots of her curly hair while her hands played nervously at the hem of her dress. But the secret part of her that knows all of the things she hides in the nooks and hollows of her soul would have a very different answer.

Harmony imagines blueberries. She imagines pulling them from the stems and eating them greedily until her fingers and mouth are stained a deep shade of blue. She imagines being caught under a big oak tree by a tanned and lean man claiming to be the blueberry farmer.

She imagines that sinking feeling of being caught blue-handed, and suddenly her eyes become glossy with regret. Harmony begs him for forgiveness and confesses she has the money at home, and if he just lets her go, she can-

But the farmer rubs his stubbly cheeks before shaking his head. "You're not going anywhere. At least not before I get something back."

Her heart sinks before the farmer nods down at her. "Lift your dress," his voice a low command. And Harmony, too scared to protest, does. Only his gaze is making her feel hot somehow.

"And where are your panties?" he asks testily.

"I-I don't know." This is true. She hasn't explored the fantasy enough to know why she doesn't have them on, but they are gone. Nothing but the trim strip of hair resting above her cleft. Then, Harmony makes an addendum and tells herself that he has her panties. Somehow she's dropped them, and he picked them up. That how he found her. It isn't exactly a solid plot, but it's enough to keep the fantasy going.

The farmer commands her to hike up her dress and hold it between her teeth. As she does, he gazes down at her pussy as if they were playing poker, and her pussy was the money at stake.

"Spread your thighs more." She does. "Lean back against the tree." She does.

He grins wryly as he takes her in, this woman who is far from a madonna with her legs open and her fingers stained blue. Then, he sighs, and Harmony isn't sure, but she thinks she hears a thin strand of satisfaction.

"Now play with yourself."

Hearing this makes something in her throat tighten. Harmony wants to say, "I can't." She wants to say, "I won't," and, "I've never done that before." But both of those would be blueberry-stained lies.

What she does do is shoot him a wounded and pleading look, even if her hands are unflinching. Harmony imagines three fingers brushing by her bush and slowly swirling around her clit, the sensation leaving her breathless as it travels through her body. She wonders how she looks to him right now? The woman thief slowly turned pervert. A stained blue mouth with matching fingers soon to have a blue pussy. She wonders how her finger will taste after this encounter.

She swirls and swirls until reinforcements are called. Her free hand comes down, exploring her depths and making her moan. Her breath comes in heavy as something inside of her builds in rhythm with the tremor still shaking, shaking, shaking.

The low chuckle of the farmer touches her ears. "That's right, show me what a naughty thieving slut you are."

Harmony isn't sure which vulgarity is worse, his language or the sight of him lurking closer to her, with his jeans undone and his cock in hand. He's a strapping man, more girth than length, and... Were those her panties he had?

Outsider the fantasy, Harmony hears her fingers playing in the puddle she's made beneath her dress. The fantasy has never been this exciting before, and suddenly she's eager to get to the end.

In the fantasy, she's wordlessly pleading for the man to touch her. Instead, he stands there, her panties pressed to his nose while he strokes his cock. She wonders how she smells to him. From her own fingers, her scent has always seemed rich and lovely, the fragrance of her excitement and sometimes shame. Does he smell the same things?

The question dies as an orgasm as big as life, and twice as bright explodes through her! All at once, Harmony's thighs are writhing in sweet climatic chaos. Her mouth is a gasp before she licks her lips tasting berry sweetness.

The farmer soon follows, grunting his passion as his hand drops, and distantly Harmony realizes the bastard is using her panties to catch his cum. She watches him soil the cotton in one, two, three, four, and finally five alabaster streams. His cum is thick, and even from her arrested spot against the bark, she can smell it, a scent like chestnuts and sweat.

There is a chest-hitching moment where Harmony and the farmer stare at each other. Neither one is sure where to go from here. At last, the farmer tucks his cock back into his jeans and extends his hand, offering Harmony her panties back.

"Here," he's back to being grumpy again, only now his words don't carry the edge they did before. She hesitates before finally taking her panties, ignoring how her thumb landing in a hot gush of the farmer's seed. Then the farmer's words assault her, and she drops the hem of her dress from the clutches of her teeth in favor of shocked disbelief.

"Put them on."

He can't be serious, can he? His dark eyes command her and his spreading smile encourages her. So she bends down, lifts one leg, and steps into them, then the other before pulling them up to her waist. She can feel his spunk, still warm and damp in the cotton.

And did she like the feeling? The answer makes her blush, and she tries to stuff it way down inside of her. But, like a stubborn child, it refuses to budge. She knows she shouldn't like it, just like she shouldn't like being watched. And, Harmony knows she shouldn't be fantasizing about all of this under a goddamn white oak in broad daylight. Least of all, she shouldn't like the farmer's last words.

"Now get the hell out of here." He starts in a listless voice. "And if I see you here again, you'll get more of the same. Do you understand?"

Outside the fantasy, Harmony nods as her second climax blossoms, lovely and robust. "Yes," Harmony says aloud, nearly screaming it. She knows she will be back. She knowing that this obscene play between them will be in bed with her tonight, a week from now, two years from now, forever.

"Yes, I understand."