Ripe For Picking – Part 2

Ripe For Picking – Part 2

By Kevin Moore

I met Jerome outside Woodford railway station, in the car park, the day after my visit to the clearing in the wood.

‘We have a problem, Kevin,’ he said softly. ‘The pigs [police] have turned up in force and are searching the wood. Apparently, someone’s gone missing from the local loony bin.’

A police car and two vans were parked in the car park, and another police car was parked in the main road, outside the public toilet.

‘I think we better go back to my place,’ he said. ‘We can play with Jigga and Tiny Tim, and I can show you some really sexy magazines.’

I didn’t need to be asked twice, and I couldn’t let down Tiny Tim.

‘How far away is your place; and what about my bike?’ I asked.

‘Leave it chained up in the bike-rack, over there,’ he said, pointing to his left. ‘I can drive you to my place in less than ten minutes. My car’s over there, the Super Snipe beside the concrete bollards.’

I made sure my bike was well and truly secure – I checked the padlock twice – before leaving it in the rack and joining Jerome by his car.

‘Don’t worry about your wheels, boy,’ he said, mocking me for my overzealous concern. ‘No one is going to nick that pile of old junk.’

‘It maybe old, like you,’ I snapped, ‘but it’s never let me down. It’s the best.’

‘Watch your mouth, boy,’ he said, sourly. ‘Yesterday’s arse slaps were mere taps of affection; if you backchat me again, I’ll whack your arse so-o-o bad.’

The look in Jerome’s eyes told me that he wasn’t kidding, and even though I kinda liked the punishment he’d doled out the day before, I didn’t want to push him too far.

‘Sorry, man. I didn’t mean to…’

‘Just get in the car and behave,’ he snapped. ‘I owe you six of the best already.’

We didn’t speak until the Super Snipe pulled up outside a small cottage, which was located between Denbury and Elm Green, some ten minutes later.

‘Here we are, Kevin,’ he said, as he dropped his hand on to my right leg, just above the knee, and squeezed. ‘If you take off your shorts and Y-fronts now, and walk up to the front door bare-arsed, I won’t punish you.’

‘Leave it out,’ I said, as my cheeks began to burn bright red with embarrassment. ‘I’m not going to do that, someone might see.’

‘None of the locals use the lane nowadays, not since they built the bypass. So I’ll be the only one watching you parade those pretty bum-cheeks.’

‘No way,’ I said defiantly. ‘You can slap my arse all you want, but I ain’t going to walk up to the front door bare-arsed.’

‘Okay,’ he replied. ‘That’s another six bum-tingling slaps I owe you.’

I tried to imagine myself walking up the path, wearing no shorts or Y-fronts, and parading my ‘pretty bum-cheeks’. Jerome was definitely putting some lewd ideas in my head.

Once inside the cottage, I was told to strip naked and stand in the centre of the living-room. Jerome disappeared into the kitchen as I complied with his instructions.

On his return, he went straight to work on Tiny Tim. He knelt down and gently sucked my hard-standing cock into his mouth. I felt my knees buckle a little, and really thought I was going to climax there and then.

I then heard a creaking noise, coming from the direction of the staircase behind me.