Fig Tree Ch. 02

It was a warm Saturday afternoon and Michael was finally doing something about our backyard. The way the bushes were becoming overgrown made me suspect that they were fast becoming hiding places for a large amount of wildlife, and probably not the type of wildlife I'd like to encounter. What with that and the lawn and the edges his afternoon was pretty much complete. He also had a mate coming around on Sunday to do a bit of pruning on the fig tree. It looked as though it hadn't been pruned for years.

That non pruning didn't apply to the part of the tree that wanted to stick out over our neighbours place. Apparently Damon, the neighbour, had attended to that each year in self-defence and he'd asked Michael if he had any objection if Damon continued the practice. Michael just said go for it, being all in favour of anything that saved him work.

Looking over at the tree I was just in time to see a branch fall off it. Watching a little closer I saw a long pair of secateurs reach up and clip off another branch. The branch had to be several inches thick, which meant that Damon, assuming it was him, must have been packing considerable muscle to hack through the branch.

I have to admit I was curious. I'd met Damon a time or two and I hadn't thought him particularly muscular. Fit enough, I guess, but not with snap thick branches in your hands type of muscles. Having nothing better to do I decided to wander around to his place and check what he was doing.

Mind you, if going around to his place meant going into his house I wouldn't have a bar of it. The man was a beast and a cad and not the sort of person a young lady such as myself would want to find themselves alone with. However, out in the open air with my beloved husband close by, that was a different matter. I would go and observe and tell him how he should be doing the pruning. It was bound to irritate him.

I strolled around to his backyard. He flicked a glance towards me as I ambled up but then ignored me. (What a swine.)

"Damon," I said in a sweet voice.

"Sylvia," He acknowledged.

At that point another thick branch came down, with Damon stepping swiftly to the side so that it didn't land on him. He leant his clippers against the fence and turned to me.

"How can I help you?" he asked.

"Well, it's just that I saw you were pruning the tree and I thought I'd offer some advice as you did so," I said, smiling happily. "As a matter of curiosity how can you cut branches that thick? You don't look as though you're strong enough."

"It all depends on the tool you use. A man always chooses the right tool for the job he intends to do. With the right tool in hand a man finds the task becomes a lot easier."

He nodded towards his clippers.

"That particular item is a pair of long-handled, ratcheted secateurs. The length gives me both reach and leverage and the ratchet increases the force behind blades even more. Anything that fits between the jaws will get chopped without much effort."

"Why are you really here? If you want to offer someone gardening advice I can hear Michael in your yard, singing badly and swearing at recalcitrant plants."

"If I offer Michael gardening advice he gets upset and stroppy and I don't want to upset him. You, on the other hand, I don't mind upsetting, considering you're a cad and a lowlife."

"Now don't be shy. Tell me how you really feel," Damon said. He said it with a straight face, too, but I could sense the smirk he was hiding.

I sniffed and stuck my nose in the air. Looking at the tree I frowned.

"You're making a bit of a butcher's job of that, aren't you?" I suggested.

"Seeing I'm doing the same pruning as I've done for a number of years I think you'll find the tree will survive. I would explain the intricacies of pruning to you but I suspect that you're not really interested and probably wouldn't understand anyway."

"Properly done, pruning will facilitate the growth of a plant," I promptly snapped out.

"Quite right, but in this case, pruning will be used to stunt the growth of the tree in this direction. Ever seen any good topiary?"

I had to give him a blank look on that one. I knew the word but wasn't quite sure what it meant. Something to do with plants was all I could come up with.

"Bushes that are shaped to look like things. Balls, animals, buildings, that sort of thing. They're achieved by positive and negative pruning, encouraging the plant to grow the way you want it."

"How interesting," I said in a voice that implied I found it anything but.

"Ah, of course," he said. "Fancy me forgetting that."

"Forgetting what?" I demanded, wondering what the hell he was talking about.

"The real reason you came over," he said, catching hold of my arm.

"What the hell are you talking about?" I asked, tugging at my arm.

My arm stayed firmly in his grip and that meant when he sank down onto the lawn I perchance went down with him, with one slight difference. He finished up sitting on the ground while I finished up lying face down across his lap.

I had time to say, "Hey!" and then my skirt was flipped up and his hand came down upon my bottom.

"You're here for that spanking I promised," he said cheerfully, dropping another fast spank on my poor bottom.

"You're mad. I want no such thing. Let me up, and I mean now!"

I was past furious I can tell you that. Did he promptly let me up? Not that you could notice. Instead my panties went sliding down and off, being dropped on the grass to one side.

"Stop it," I hissed at him. "I'll scream."

"No need to scream," the cheerful swine said. "Just call Michael's name very loudly and he'll probably hop up on the fence to see what's going on."

Oh my god. If Michael climbed up and saw what was going on I'd just die. Get caught by my husband with my dress up, panties down, and that cretin, Damon, spanking my bare bottom? Not in this lifetime.

His hand came down again and there was nothing I could do about it. This time his hand didn't lift back up immediately, rather pausing to caress my bottom in a most unseemly manner, his long fingers slipping between my legs and touching me somewhat more intimately.

His hand lifted and I promptly close my legs more tightly. His hand came down and I winced, and then fumed as I found that the gap at the top of my legs was still enough for his fingers to probe me in that same delicate area.

Seeing that jamming my legs together didn't help my cause I relaxed them, determined to just suffer in silence. But I was so going to slap him once he finished. Or perhaps show him I knew how to use my knee. His hand came down one more, demonstrating that relaxing my legs was an error, as it gave him more room and this spank landed on my lips, giving them a sharp sting.

All things considered Damon was probably being careful with his spanking. The spanking stung, yes, and the teasing of my pussy was infuriating, but I very much doubted that Damon was leaving bruises. I'd finish up with a red and smarting bottom, but that would be all.

After one spank he paused, hand resting on my bottom, and he started pushing my top up. I started protesting and he just told me I was being silly. With that he popped my bra open and pushed both bra and top higher, letting my breasts dangle, not that they dangled for long as his hand promptly covered them.

Now I found myself not being spanked but with a hand fondling my breasts and another hand rubbing my vulva, and I was awfully aware of both those hands. The trouble was I didn't know what would happen when I protested what he was doing. Would he or wouldn't he stop? If he did stop, would he start spanking again? If he didn't stop, what was I supposed to do?

He did stop and then his hands closed upon my hips. He then proceeded to demonstrate just how much muscle he had by calmly picking me up by his grip on my hips. My legs dangled on one side and my head and arms dangled on the other. I very hastily put my arms down to make sure I caught myself if he dropped me. I didn't want to find myself doing a face plant.

He just lowered me again, my arms taking up my weight in the front and finishing up on my knees. I went to scramble to my feet but he wouldn't be in it. He had one hand on the small of my back holding me there and the other was back between my legs, massaging me.

"What do you think you're doing," I demanded. Quietly. I wanted to shriek it at him but, and it was a big but, Michael might hear and that I certainly didn't want.

"What am I doing? Are you kidding? What do you think I'm doing?"

His hand moved away but then he was touching me down there again, and it wasn't his hand doing the touching.

"You wouldn't dare."

I barely breathed the words out, knowing even as I said them that he most certainly would dare. He just laughed softly, pressing more firmly, sliding between my lips into a passage that seemed only too willing to yield right of way.

His cock sank fully into me and I gave a muffled groan. Even though I didn't want this (honestly, I didn't) it just felt so right to have him do that. Even as he started to move in me I found myself responding, pushing back to meet him as he started thrusting into me.

His arms came around me, his hands closing over my breasts. He was rubbing them, playing with them, his movements there matching the movement of his cock as it slid back and forth, teasing me, arousing me, making my body ache with need.

Have you ever been in a situation where you're very much aware of two different things at the same time? Find yourself experiencing two conflicting emotions simultaneously? If you have then you can probably imagine how I felt. I was very much aware of Damon's cock making free with my body. How could I fail to be aware of that? At the same time I was also aware that we were out in the open. True, being in his yard made it relatively private, but Michael was just the other side of that fence. If he looked over the fence all hell would break loose. It would serve Damon right but I'd cop the fall-out and I hadn't done anything wrong. I was the victim here.

As for emotions! His cock was repeatedly plunging into me, delighting me, pleasing me, promising pleasure untold if I just let it continue, and there was no way I wanted him to stop. In contrast to that was the fact that he wasn't my husband and he shouldn't be doing this and I most certainly wanted him to stop.

"Damon, you have no right to do this and you have to stop," I managed to say.

In reality what I said was something along the lines of, "Damon, ah, you, ah, have no, oh, right to, ah, do this and, ah, you have to, ah, stop." It's hard to keep your thoughts straight at times like this, the force of his thrust making me lose my breath each time he rammed home. It was embarrassing.

"Are you saying you want me to stop?" he asked. He certainly didn't seem to be out of breath.

"Yes," I gasped out.

"Oh. Give me a minute to think about that."

Thank about it? What was there to think about? Whatever, while he was contemplating the idea he didn't slow down, following his philosophy of make hay while the sun shines. His cock kept pounding away, my arousal continuing to grow.

"You did imply that you didn't really want this," Damon said, "so I guess it's only fair and reasonable that I stop if you ask me to."

It would have been a lot more fair and reasonable if he hadn't started in the first place but I wasn't going to argue.

It turned out I should have argued. Damon's idea of stopping wasn't to stop as such but to finish off what he'd started. His pace increased and he was now driving home with renewed vigour, bouncing me on his cock at a great rate. Instead of giving the occasional gasp when he banged into me I was suddenly going, 'aaaaahhhhh' on a rising note as his cock seemed to go berserk inside me.

Then I was climaxing, and climaxing in a big way, ripples of pleasure washing through me, while I desperately clamped my mouth shut so that I wouldn't scream. Damon was jerking about, expending himself inside me, and I was just shuddering and shaking from the whole experience.

I grabbed a packet of tissues from the pocket of my skirt and hastily wiped myself down, very quickly tidying up my clothes, breathing hard the entire time. Respectably dressed again I gave Damon a killer look.

"You're a monster," I told him. "That's the third time you've assaulted me."

"Second," he promptly replied. "The first time was once, not twice."

"It was twice. I should know. I was there."

"So was I," he pointed out, and I had to admit that he had a point.

I sniffed, turned and departed. See if I ever came to visit his house again.

I was about to walk down my own drive when I was hailed by another neighbour.

"Hi," I said. "Stella isn't it?"

"That's right. Were you just visiting Damon?"

"Yes," I said, with a nod. "He and Michael are doing gardening, working on that old fig tree."

"Ah," she said, nodding with understanding. "I was just going to warn you not to visit him by yourself. If you have to go and see him take someone else with you. Any of the neighbours will be willing to accompany you. You can ask me anytime."

"Um, are you implying that he'll make a pass if I see him by myself but won't if I have company?"

"Not exactly. The man's a brute. If you go by yourself he's likely to rape you. Truly."

"Oh," I said, trying to sound shocked. "Well, that's something he won't do if I have company."

"I didn't say that," Stella said gently. "If there's two of you it means he has a choice and whoever he rapes has a witness that it was rape. Ah, it's said that both women are able to act as witnesses for each other. Like I said, the man's a brute."

But she was willing to go with me if I had to see him? Interesting.