The Visitor (8)

Suddenly, spring spread across the rolling hills of western Massachusetts like a blanket. The grass turned green almost overnight, snowdrops, pussy willows, and daffodil shoots sprang up, breaking the colorless back of winter with shades of yellow, pink, purple.

The unexpected warmth after the late-winter blizzard was typical of spring weather in New England. Already Sarah had sprouts popping up in peat-pots in her small greenhouse, peppers, tomatoes, and other long-season veggies getting a jump on the last frost date. The air was redolent with the scent of damp earth, and rang with the calls of birds. Each night the calls of geese moving northward came through her just-barely-open window. Each morning she woke to the perky churp churp of robins, the squabbling of sparrows, and the flash of bluebirds whizzing along the hedge, hyperactive with nest-building fervor.

There hadn’t been much time for dating, what with the sudden warmth rushing into the highlands, and a late-season outbreak of some stomach virus. Those two factors kept Sarah and Zac apart far more than she wanted.

She had gone into the clinic to see the obgyn, since he had been so insistent, but although her uterus had been sensitive, and a bit swollen, nothing out of the ordinary have been found. She’d passed on the hormone test. It was frightfully expensive, she wasn’t sick enough to warrant it, and until Zach, she hadn’t had sex with a penis in so long that there was no way she was pregnant. Mostly she could ignore the discomfort, and did. Occasionally she felt like her prior meal was swimming around in her belly, but other than those quick hits of nausea, life was too busy and demanding just now to even worry about it.

Wiping a dirty forearm across her face, she swiped at sweat. It was annoying how one day it was 35, the next 75. She was roasting. Work on the tractor took both her and Larry, as they  tuned, tightened, and  Rube Goldberged the thing together for another season. Sweat trickled down her neck and she wanted nothing more than to dive headfirst into the cold water of the pond behind them.  Wanting to jump into the farm pond and doing it were two widely different things, despite the heat of the late April day. She was tempted, she was so frigging hot, but since the ice had only just melted in the last 10 days, the water was as yet far too frigid to make it sensible. Instead, she walked to the edge so that she could splash some water on her face. The pond was still as glass, and she saw her face reflected there, hair coming wildly out of her braid, the big smudge of dirt across her cheek. She pulled off her glove, and dipped her hand into the water, sending ripples across the pool. Closing her eyes, she swiped her steaming cheeks, her boiling neck.

“Should be wearing a hat…sunstroke in April isn’t totally unheard of.”

She whirled, nearly falling backward into the pond. Zack! He grabbed her around the waist, sliding his palms up her back and cupping her head to kiss her soundly.

Larry ducked his head back to his work on changing the oil, hiding his smile. Moma, watching from the kitchen window felt no need to hide her own smile. This was going wonderfully well. She couldn’t wait to get to the phone and call Zach’s momma and share the news. The two were well matched, and very obviously fond of one another.

“You sound like a doctor or something.” Sarah whispered in his ear.

“Or something. And I think you need an immediate check up.”

She tilted her head back and laughed.

Zack swore his cock grew several inches at that laugh. She was so fucking sexy and was so clueless about it. Her exposed throat was too close to not take advantage of. Lips trailed hot fire down from ear to the slender hollow at the base of her neck. His tongue teased that little spot and he was pleased to hear her whimper.


His right hand slid around her side to surreptitiously allow his thumb to caress her nipple into hardness. He felt her tense, her breast arching into his touch, her faint quiver as desire was lit.

“Don’t you have something in the barn I need?” His lips murmured against her throat. Turning, taking her hand in his, he led her to the musty old barn. Tugging her into a vacant stall, he closed the door without looking, and backed her against the wall.

Skilled fingers were amazingly quick at unzipping both jeans, hers and his own, in lowering hers to her knees, in palming her mons, fingertip caressing her swollen and throbbing clit. Her eyes were wide, teeth biting her bottom lip at the sensual assault on her body.

He turned her, face to the wall, tugging her hips back and impaling her on his rampant shaft. Their moans mingled as his hot hardness filled her wet softness. Drawing back, thrusting deep, hands on her hips, he plummeted again, repeating the ancient dance. Fingers digging into the crossbeam in front of her, all she could do was take, be taken.

She came twice before he erupted with a muffled grunt, filling her emptiness with his rich cream. Pulling up her panties, her jeans, tucking his cock away, he turned her to face him. Nimble fingers moved to fasten the top button of her jeans with a tug, bringing her close to him. He took a kiss from her, smiling.

“I’ll think of you all day, out there working, your pussy slick and wet  with my semen.”

He turned and left her there, hand to her racing heart, a dreamy smile on her face. She heard the slam of his door, the purring hum of his car, the grating of tires on the loose gravel of her driveway as he headed down the mountain. She was still smiling when she came out of the barn, poking Larry as he grinned his gap-toothed, knowing, smile at her.


He’d watched her draw close to him, her fingers breaking the water and nearly touching one floating tentacle. He felt the warmth of her in the deep comfort of the cold water, felt the minute heat changes her penetration of the liquid engendered there.

He’d felt, too, the emotional barrage as the male biped gripped her, and, still tied to her, her release and response to his bumbling sexual assault. He did not worry, He did not feel the biped was a threat to him, nor to the eggbearer. His being with her was of  no matter, his seed was safe.

He coiled and uncoiled his nine arms, catching a small fish and squeezing it until it was lifeless, stuffing it into his feeding hole.

No one was there to see the ripples shaking the surface of the pond on the warm, windless day as the creature moved deeper into the cool depths to rest until moonrise.




7 thoughts on “The Visitor (8)

  1. Oooooh! I wondered when this story would resurface. 🙂 Last time we heard, the poor thing was wandering across the countryside. Loved the quicky in the barn too!

  2. Ha, this time i saw the title and knew what it was about!! That way i can kind of skim through and see if i need to skip this one or if it’s safe to read. 🙂 Good story thought.


    P.S. Maybe in the future you could give Southern Sir my dose of tentacles? {giggle…}

  3. OH MY NERVES! What a way to start my Monday~should I thank you or curse you?
    I think thanks are in order.. this will certainly keep my mind off of anything mundane today..

  4. Creepy. He is watching her still. Gives me shivers.
    I love it!

    I had forgotten this story, so, so glad you continued it.

  5. Well now ladies, you all seem to be a little crept out, by what is in the farm pond. Come on up to Maine, we have plenty of farm ponds, lots of barns, and a few strange creatures for your enjoyment. Some of the tentacles are a little short and most of the creatures only have one, so I have been told. Tip
    PS, you might want to wait a while for the water to warm up a bit, we are a few days behind Western Mass when it comes to ice out.

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