Seasons of the Mind Ch. 03

All of a sudden her hand came out with the stone and she held it up to Harris.

"Look how wet it is. Doesn't that excite you, don't you want to get in me in its stead."

The stone was shiny with moisture—actually dripping.

"Go on, feel how wet it is from me, how warm it is. My thighs are wide open to you, come on, please. Lay on me, stick your cock in me. Now! Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me."

Harris took the stone and looked at it and then tapped his stick.

"No."

"That fucking stick—give the thing to me." She grabbed and then, "Oh, oh fuck, why didn't you say?"

The walking stick held in Harris' hand the whole time suddenly revealed its secret. Sturdy and long, black and polished with a silver ferrule at the end—the ferrule that had so annoyed the woman with its tap, tap, tap on the ground—but now she could see its handle, its head, all the time hidden in Harris hand, revealed to her.

Most beautifully carved, warm to the touch and polished by Harris' hand; perhaps fashioned in ebony wood—the woodcarver had taken the most exquisite care in his work—the handle, the end to be held in the hand, was not simply smoothly rounded but had been carved into the facsimile of a penis—a large black, erect penis. Every detail was perfect, the roll of the retracted foreskin, the thin, so thin fraenum, the veins to the shaft winding down and around until fading into a smooth, round, slightly tapering rod as it made its way down to the ferrule; the bulbous head—and 'bulbous' was certainly the word—so polished and smooth; bifurcated of course to one side and at its very tip the opening carved not closed but open as if in the act of expelling semen.

The girl was fingering the end, stroking the shaft—masturbating it with a look of fascinated concentration.

"It's so beautiful," she said as her fingers ran lightly up the shaft to the head, "and so big."

"I said you were welcome to borrow."

He had indeed—and she had missed the real import of the offer.

"May I?"

The girl grasped the stick half way down and inserted the rounded end under her skirt. Her eyes closed. "Oh, oh yes. Not that little boy's cock, that stone, but a real man's, a big man's. I've not before... oh... not with..."

What the 'with' was, she did not say. The girl cried out and shuddered as her hand pushed the handle of the walking stick to her. It was evidently going in.

"Fuck, that's big! Bigger than..."

She was breathing heavily and began moving the stick backwards and forwards pleasuring herself as Harris stood and watched.

"So firm, no give and the carving—I can feel..."

After a time she let go and lent backwards, hands behind her on the rock, thighs wide spread in her skirt and sticking out of her skirt the black walking stick, not resting on the ground but held up in the air—held up by being lodged intimately, the silver ferrule high in the air.

She looked at Harris. "Would you, please?"

This time Harris seemed to relent, he dropped the stone in his pocket and took hold of his walking stick and gently moved it to and fro. He could not see what he was doing, was working it by feel but he was clearly doing the right thing. The woman lent further backwards and surrendered herself to the pleasure of it. The big black penis pushing at her, being worked to and fro, in and out. Her legs were wide.

"I might just come, I might just come, I might just..."

But it seemed not.

"It's no good, no good, I can't get there but I'm on the edge. So close, so fucking close."

Harris withdrew the stick, pulled it from her skirt. The end was now not just polished but wet. His hand closed over the wet end hiding the detailed carving, he tapped the ferrule on the ground and gave his thin smile.

"Very well." The girl got up but quickly took the stick from him and walked on tapping it on the ground, pulling herself forward with it but very clearly also fondling the head. Her hand and fingers were not still upon it.

Again the wind, harsh and unrelenting for a time.

A crevice in the rock, the path leading into it, a narrow passage onwards, a passage barely wide enough for a body to pass. The wind stilled completely once inside it; above them the clouds moving.

The girl turned to Harris—not an easy movement in the narrow space. "This is nice, intimate even. We could..."

Her fingers reached to Harris' fly. One by one the buttons in the tweed trousers were undone. He stood unmoving, permitting her. The woman's hand slipped inside, feeling. She looked up at Harris' face and a smile came to her face.

"Oh good, I was worried perhaps..."

From the fly she extracted Harris' penis. It was fully erect, the knob swollen. She pulled and more of it slipped through the material of his fly.

"At last, the real thing. Oh it's so, so lovely. Look at it so strong, so hard, so smooth, so fucking wonderful—so male. I don't talk like this—normally—but I just want to fuck." Her hand was pulling, moving the erection, stroking it just like she had been stroking the walking stick.

"Not yet."

"Why, why, why—just a bit, please. Just a little in me."

"You won't come, not until we are on the summit."

"Oh, but a little bit of a fuck won't hurt."

Slowly he shook his head. She was reluctant to let go.

She walked on, Harris following, his erection projecting from his trousers where she had left it. Further on there was scrambling but always upwards, a narrow path within the fissure.

Co-incidence perhaps, but as they came out of the surprising long crevice back into the wind it faltered and died. Ahead of them just a little above them the final rise, just a mounding of stone and no more. The girl raced ahead, stick tapping on the rock. Harris followed a little more leisurely in his still immaculate tweed suit, rust coloured socks, tan brogues and casual erection.

The girl had sat down right on the peak and facing away from the approaching Harris. There was no cairn, just a final rise of the hard rock of the mountain. She was gazing out and around her, looking to the other mountains and the valleys and streams below. Far below a force cascaded, white and sparkling, falling perhaps a hundred feet. Her legs spread in her skirt, the black ebony penis once more working inside her—she had not waited to use it again.

She turned and looked at Harris and as she watched the sun came through a break in the clouds bathing the mountain top in light. A smile came to her face—perhaps it was the incongruity of seeing Harris climbing upwards towards her with his erection exposed. Perhaps it was in simply seeing it—it had not been put away.

As Harris came up to her she reached and held the erection. With the woman seated on the mountain's top and Harris standing a little lower his erection stood level with her face. Had she been minded all she would have needed to do was to have lent forward a bit and she could have taken it into her mouth.

"It's lovely," she said staring at the smooth bulb at the end of Harris's erection.

"A fine view from here," said Harris looking around, "very fine."

"Mmmm, yes." But her eyes did not leave the erection, "very fine."

Beneath her skirt the walking stick was moving steadily faster.

"Look at the waterfall, the force down there." Harris exclaimed. pointing.

The girl was gasping, clearly sexually excited beyond normal. Both her hands were moving, one moving the stick, the other Harris' erection—firm regular strokes sliding his foreskin back and forth as she gazed at it, seemingly fascinated.

"Look at the force!"

She glanced down towards the force cascading onto the rocks below, a great torrent of white foam. "Yes, yes beautiful." She did not seem greatly interested in it. "But all it reminds me of is a great big ejaculation—all that whiteness splashing." Her eyes flicked back to the erection standing before her. "I'm so worked up. I've just got to come. Please, please fuck me, please..." Her hand was working the stick, the black ebony hardness within her. "Oh, yes, yes I think..."

The look on her face, the rapid movement beneath her skirt, the rapid thrusting of the walking stick at herself, the big, black ebony head pushing at her, all indicated imminent orgasm. A look of blissful relief on her face.

Harris looked back from the waterfall and the mountains to her and at her hand really pumping his penis hard in front of her face. Her pretty face with its screwed up eyes and look of complete happiness. It was such a pretty, little face. A thin smile came to his face.

And then it happened. There was to be no fuck. Harris did not say a word. The eye of Harris' penis opened and, like the force across the valley, it too cascaded a torrent of white foam, spurting, splashing out and falling right onto the girl. Her eyes opened wide in surprise as she felt it hot on her face; lost in her own orgasm, her hand did not falter but her mouth opened. The orgasm so long sought, a release steadily building as she had climbed up and up, a peak at long last reached and so long desired had come.

The onslaught of semen splashing onto her face slowed and stopped—there was no more to come. So very different from the ever flowing force.

No more semen to be released, nothing more to come out but from the tunnel came the train, out into the bright, momentarily sunlit station. Holding onto a table for support with one hand, a young woman dressed in a tightly belted raincoat with a green hat on her hair was looking flushed and very startled. She was unmoving, seemingly rooted to the spot, yet she was shaking and breathing hard as if something had taken her unawares. Her eyes were wide and her mouth open.

A mature businesswoman in a black trouser suit looked up, "Is anything wrong?" But she frowned. What had the young woman got on her face?

A businessman, grey and balding, neatly dressed with yellow tie and handkerchief in his top pocket stood, "Can I help?" His voice betraying concern but he too was frowning. The young lady was pretty but what was that all over her face? It looked like... he had seen pictures.

"I, oh..." he said aloud as the young woman's pink tongue slipped out and licked what looked like... from the corner of her mouth.

That seemed to galvanise the young woman into action. She looked wide eyed at Harris, "It, it's real!" Her only words before she fled from the train scrabbling in her handbag for a handkerchief, a tissue.

"That was... I... what was real?" the businessman looked up at Harris.

Harris smiled his thin smile and shrugged his shoulders. He did not say more.

Harris settled back in a seat and looked out of the window towards the bustling station scene, at the young woman hurrying away. She turned, dabbing at her face with a handkerchief and staring at him as the train started moving and gathering speed.