Ripa for the Pickings

It was another boring Saturday afternoon. As much as I looked forward to the weekend while sitting at my lifeless desk job downtown, I couldn't remember the last time I had a truly awesome experience to warrant the anticipation. It seemed all I ever did was clean around the house, organize my bills, and maybe catch the last half hour of "It's Academic" on the tube. But on this particular day, I decided to shake things up a little bit. After a quick scan of my refrigerator, I realized that I was out of fresh-picked fruit. While my drab little house was nothing to write home about, my property was tastefully surrounded by yards and yards of raspberry bushes, ripe for the pickings 6 months out of the year. Seeing as this was the 3rd week of June, I knew I had a few plump and juicy treats waiting for me outside, so I set out with my plastic Safeway bag and my SPF 45 sunscreen to go and retrieve some of Mother Nature's sweetest candy.

Reaching the foot of my driveway, near where tire tracks had displaced stretches of unmowed grass days earlier, my first glance at the bushes was rewarded with nary a raspberry in sight. "That's funny," I thought to myself, "I could have sworn I saw dozens driving home from work yesterday." Did the deer get to them? Maybe, but some of these raspberries were high off the ground; only something... or someone... with considerable height could have dislodged the tangy delights that adorned my property's greenery.

Then I heard a rustling- the scrambling of human feet trying to evade the scene. My eyes focused to see a rather petite woman in her early thirties, blond, perky and tanned to perfection. Watching her from behind, I could tell she wasn't going to make an easy getaway in her designer shoes.

"Show yourself," I challenged the feminine intruder, who then seemed too frozen in fear to move another inch. I briskly approached her, dropping my sunscreen and Safeway bag without realization in my haste to catch this berry thief red-handed. Suddenly, she turned around, flushed in the face not from feasting on berries but from embarrassment and tears, and it was then that I realized...

"Holy shit, you're Kelly Ripa," I said without censure to my insensitive word choice. "What are you doing here?"

Kelly's eyes were darting every which way, failing to find an escape path. "I'm so sorry- I didn't realize this was your property." Inexplicably, she began dumping raspberries out from the front of her shirt, which she had tucked over to make a small carrying pouch. It was then that I noticed her breathtakingly hard stomach, battle tested after having 3 children, two by c-section. The contours were the stuff of legend; the topography a thing of abdominal wonder.

"No, no," I began, trying to console the visibly shaken morning talk show host. "Please keep them. It's an honor having you handle my berries."

Kelly let out an adorable chuckle, making her perfectly sculpted torso undulate firmly. "It's a good thing we aren't on national television right now."

"Why's that?" I inquired, my eyes traveling up her rouge-stained top, which was cut low and ready for summer.

"Well, if I heard you correctly, you said it was an honor having me handle your berries." I was awe-stuck, transfixed on the bubbly AM-babbler who stood before me, moist with sweat and raspberry juices.

"... You know, like testicles."

"Oh!" I shot out, escaping my stupor. "Sorry- you're quicker on your feet than I am. That was funny."

"I don't just read the cue cards, cutie," Kelly replied, placing her sticky hand on my shoulder, wiping away some coconut scented white sun lotion from my shoulder.

"SPF 45," I said nervously, feeling her body warmth quite palpably, "They tore down the tanning booth in town so I moved on to home remedies."

"Is that so?" Kelly asked with a hint of playfulness in her voice. "From my vantage point, it looked like that blotch was the byproduct of a late morning hand-gliding session."

"You mean... from masturbating?" I asked bluntly, seemingly locked in her gaze.

"Well, I was going to suggest bird shit, but what you do while hang gliding is your own business."

"Oh, I must have misheard you," I said, "I thought you said 'hand-gliding,' like hang gliding- one of your clever play on words."

"So you think I'm clever?" Kelly asked, now brushing some hair out of my eyes. "I wish Regis thought I was clever."

I felt my jeans begin to tighten as she took her sweet time fixing my hair. "How is Regis doing these days?"

Her pupils constricted, though the anger her eyes suggested was suffused with tinges of lust. "Not very well since I stopped fucking him on the side."

I was taken aback. "You guys...?"

"Oh yeah," Kelly shot back, tracing her fingertips down the sleeves of my button down dress shirt. I couldn't discern whether she was wearing nail polish or the stain of the raspberries. "Do you think I got where I am today because men thought I was clever?"

My palms were sweating, my breaths becoming deeper, and my heartbeats faster. "Well, I suppose some women had the same opinion."

Kelly stuck her tongue out, lightly touching my left earlobe. "You men are all the same with your woman on woman fantasies," she said in a near-whisper, blowing gently into my ear canal. "How's this?"

To my loins' ineffable chagrin, my sense of reason began to kick in, "What about your husband, Mark?"

"Oh, he hates when I do this," Kelly responded, mixing up her quick breaths with even quicker pecks to my auditory cartilage. "Probably because his ears shutdown whenever I have my mouth open."

I let out a belly-shaking laugh, but immediately, Kelly put her finger to my lip and shut me up.

"I wasn't being clever," Kelly said, sticking her sugary index digit into my mouth, caressing the bottom of my tongue like some sort of erotic thermometer. I began to suck the finger dry of it sweetness, extending my free hands onto her exposed hips, which were quivering like a freezing chihuahua having a seizure. Removing herself from my oral cavity, Kelly swooped in for a sensuous kiss, pulling me by the belt behind one of the bushes, hidden from the public eye.

"I think one of the raspberries got caught in my pussy," Kelly said, unzipping my pants whilst I unbuckled my belt. My pocket rocket tried unsuccessfully to greet her from the captivity of my boxer briefs, which she dutifully yanked down as I began to fondle her breasts over her shirt.

"I see you've spotted my juicer," I answered as my toes clung to the moistening inner fabric of my socks. In a brilliant bit of heat of the moment choreography, I grabbed held of Kelly's top as she dropped to her knees, thus removing it to reveal her small but sensational rack with nipples redder than the stains on her displaced shirt. My eyes closed as she started to suck me off like my dick was the candy apple from the boardwalk she looked forward to devouring on her summers off from grade school. Opening my eyes only after a matter of seconds, I saw her jeans and panties flotsam on one of the barren bushes, her soggy sucklecup now breathing the afternoon dew.

"What are you going to do about that raspberry up my snatch?" Kelly asked, 7-10 splitting my sack, tracing the vein up to the fold of my helmet with her tongue

"I'm gonna juice it," I answered, dropping down to an Indian position with Kelly on my lap. Instantly, she began grinding my Johnson with her ass cheeks as she wrapped her arms around my neck, her wedding ring lodging into the top notch of my spine.

"How do you think it got there, Big Daddy?" Kelly questioned as she quickened her motions, her face betraying deep contemplation, if only momentarily. "Why would I do such a stupid fucking thing like....oh, just like that...yea."

I didn't have any answers, but I did have the hard-on of the century at that moment. Her hip shifting became swifter than the snickering rabbit's, heightening my ecstasy to the point where I forcibly lifted her up and inserted my broad rod into her berry pouch. As I started to juice the tart out of her, I noticed her hands were gathering the fallen berries she had dropped earlier.

"I want to eat so many berries," Kelly began before being interrupted by her own pelvic convulsions, "Oh... I want to eat so many berries that our illegitimate love child grows red hair.... AH YESS!!"

"I want to eat so many berries," I started, which prompted Kelly to launch some of the berries into my mouth, her hips now imitating a coin-operated washing machine. "God...I want to eat so many ....ahhh... that I cum raspberry.....ohhh."

Kelly lay on her side, lifting her left leg as I started to sharpen my thrusts in my attempts to reduce to juice that elusive raspberry. "We ate so many....oh....we have none left for harvest. YOU RUINED OUR FUCKING HARVEST!!!"

"AH, WHORE!" I yelled, pushing her ass cheeks together with my trembling hands, "YOU'RE A LIAR! OHH! YOU'RE STORING THEM FOR WINNTTER, YOU FUCKING SQUIRREL THIEF! OHH!!"

Kelly then rolled onto her chest into the doggy position as I began to pack her like I was late for a plane, trying to cram my belongings into a crowded suitcase. "MARC..."

Hearing her scream her husband's name, my jaw tightened as I began to pull her hair back in a fit of jealousy, grinding her ass with all the fury of the march of the bulls in her husband's native Spain. "Am I doing you like your husband?" I asked.

"OH NOOO," Kelly moaned with red juice dripping from her mouth, washing the front of her body that was out of my viewpoint. "I meant Marc...OH!!!"

"WHAT?" I shot back, sharpening the pace as my hands reached around to cup her spilling breasts.

"I meant Marco...like...MARCO POLO!!!" Kelly responded as her fingers dug into the soil of the earth. "You're getting closer to the raspberry...YES! OH!! SAY POLO YOU FUCKING CIRCUMNAVIGATOR!"

"POLO! OH SHIT!" Not only was she quick on her feet, she was quicker off of them. And lucky for me, I wasn't quick at all as my cock only seemed to get more and more engorged gliding up and down her juice box.

"Marco!!"

"Polo!!"

"Marcccoo!!!"

"Polo!!"

"MOTHER FUCKING MARCOO!!"

"POLE-FUCKING-OLO!!! OHH YEAAAHH!! I'M THE GREAT EXPLORER!!!!!"

"YOU'RE DIGGING A HOLE TO CHINA YEEAHHH! DEEPPERRR! OHH! DON'T STOP AT PAKISTAN! DON'T YOU FUCKING STOP AT THE FOOT OF THE HIMALAYAS!!! YOU"RE ALLLMMOSSST...THERREE.... YOU'RE GONNA POP IT! MMYYY GREEAAAAT WALLL OFFF CHIIIINNAAAAA!!!!!"

I felt the rush building at my meaty basin. I wanted to withdraw but my mind was stuck on the fact that Marco Polo never circumnavigated the globe. Before I knew it, my cock unleashed a bevy of white lava into her battered beaver that surely swamped the figurative raspberry of her erotic lore. To me, it was a damn shame since I've had this fantasy for years where in my dreams, I got to ejaculate on her stomach while she caressed her moist pussy. It would have been like cumming on a dinner plate.

Kelly fell back onto me, flattening me on my back as she slowly churned the last batch of my semenil butter from my exhausted penis. "Most of my guests just bring a clip. But you sir... you brought the whole fucking feature, didn't you?"

Again, she stunned me with her quick wit, though once I crossed the threshold into her secret ballot, I began to realize her clever remarks were second nature to her. This is what she does for a living- not the fucking, of course- I mean the light and ineffectual rapport she establishes with hundreds of strangers every year in front of audiences of millions. If she could turn it on and off like a light switch, who's to say she couldn't flip on and off the genital pool and billiards act? I felt conned.

"By the way, I didn't catch your name," Kelly said, now with her back to me as she began to collect her clothing.

That only confirmed my suspicions. She could care less who I was. There would always be another guest tomorrow. "Marco Polo," I answered matter-of-factly. Surely enough, she didn't think the half of it.

About 8 weeks later, I called in sick to work so I could satisfy my curiosity as to how Kelly was doing after our passionate romp in the fields. As Regis theorized of a great dinosaur on the "Lost" island to actor Matthew Fox, Kelly seemed withdrawn. At the end of the show, she revealed to my utter shock that she was pregnant with her forth child. After the audience applauded her, Regis got right into the question that was on everybody's mind...including my own.

"Have you picked a name yet?"

"Oh Regis, you know my husband won't let me pick anything on my own anymore," Kelly responded, eliciting laughter from the unsuspecting audience, conditioned to greet her acerbic comebacks with automatic warmth. Of course, I knew what she meant... about the pickings... and it was berry bad news indeed!

The End!