Chapters En plein air: A Holsom Vignette Part 2
This story is building off a character introduced in A Holsom Women’s Social. Reading up to chapters 5 and 6 is recommended.
“We’re here, Jeanette, you made it!”
Indeed, the sky seemed to have opened up and a grand vista lay before them, the sun now kissing her skin once again as they had slipped out of the cool undergrowth. The glow warmed her, and it seemed like it would be beautiful, if she could see anything clearly that wasn’t eight inches in front of her face, that is. As far as Jeany could tell, the late summer greens and yellows intermixed with blotches of Holsom’s brown and black and gray, beyond which the glimmering sea’s horizon was more of a dégradé into the sky.
“Good girl,” he whispered in her ear, and Jeany felt a concentrated ‘goodness’ just flow through her body. She had ascended Elk Hill, not many wives in town could say that! And Ryan was still singing her praises! The pride in his voice was intoxicating as he checked her body for cuts or stings or rashes, just in case. Finding she was all clear save for some sore feet, he wrapped his arm around her slim waist and kissed her neck, walking her over to a green lawn not far from the cliff.
There was frightfully little friction between her thighs as she strutted in perfect step with her husband.
They rested on a large blanket for a while, eating lunch together. Or rather, Ryan rested, laying down and watching the birds flit by, munching on his packed lunch while Jeany kneeled perfectly erect and posed a few feet away, with a slurpee hanging off her lips, the phallic ‘straw’ tip just past her lips like a tease while the heavy bottle rested between her tits. She compulsively sucked its salty treat down, enjoying the birdsong. At least her tongue was free.
“The birds are honestly louder than us out here,” Jeany typed to Liza, wishing she could whisper that in Ryan’s ear. He was usually a bit chattier.
“Oh yeah? I swear I’m going to spend my retirement with those warblers stuck in my head. What does it sound like? The call.”
“Poo tee weet?”
“I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Its hard to describe.”
“Yeah you’re also a much better painter than a poet.”
“By his design.” Jeany laughed, as her meal announced it was done with a rhythmic slurping that didn’t cease until he pulled the dispenser out of her O-mouth with a wet pop. That was the extent of the noises she could make, hardly poetic.
“You sure like that stuff, don’t you dear?” Ryan looked at her with one eye closed to the sun.
The thought of sucking on the apple core he had just thrown off into the brush was more appetizing than her slurpee, but it’s what was good for a Holsom girl, a third of whom didn’t have teeth to chew men’s food. A cool trickle of drool kissed the skin between her proud tits and she regretted thinking of the sweet apple.
Ryan took her “salivating at the thought” as an answer, and sighed contentedly.
“I’m sorry if I was aggravated down by the road. I’ve just wanted to bring you up here for so long…”
A quiet moment passed, punctuated by a quiet, compulsive swallowing of the last traces of her salty meal.
“You know… I used to race Martin to this lookout every Sunday. In autumn, we would look out as the storms came in… He was always called to the sea, excited to get out there where the world is wild and dangerous… and before you start wondering, yes, he was usually first to the top…”
He took a long sigh, before continuing with his thought.
“I wanted to bring you here forever, I guess it just took a while to make the time…”
He drifted away from the memory of his brother, his last living family member, lost at sea in the Second Passage Conflict long before the two of them were married.
Jeany just sat there, knowing he would take her comfort if he needed it.
“I was thinking of getting the gang together and having a family picnic up here but Sean said something about Babbles’ stroller and David was worried about dirt and bugs.” he shook his head. “I mean, those kids of his were making mudpies in our backyard what feels like just yesterday! Remember when Henry was little and loved writing all over everything?”
Jeany’s chest bobbed and shook as she silently laughed, remembering how appalled David had been when he saw his little girl run in with ‘LOOSIE’ written across her forehead in dirt, barely knowing her letters but proud as a peach.
Ryan admired his doll’s shaking tits, reached over and started tickling her shoulder to keep her laughing as the mirth grew contagious. “What’s so funny, honey? What are you thinking of? The mess they made of the gardens? The— oh, the Loosie Affair?” He howled out loud for the both of them, and with a whispered “c’mere, relax my love,” Jeany felt herself slip from a elegant kneeling pose to a loose ragdoll, falling into his loving embrace on the ground, her armless side thumping flat to the earth, her cheek on his chest, limp and malleable, bursting with glee on the inside. She loved being so close to him!
“We shouldn’t have let it slip. Kaylee was so mad! Oh I think he deserved the black eye but I’ve never seen a girl so small in training cuffs like that. How long did she have those on? A month?”
He stopped tickling her and stuck his thumb into her hole of a mouth, the doll instantly sucking it as she strained to recall… she loved when he asked her questions. Jeany tapped his finger three times with the tip of her tongue, then kept sucking.
“Three weeks… wait, no- Three months! Oh you’re right, I swear you have a sharper memory than I do sometimes! That’s just good experience for her, though.”
Jeany blushed at the praise, and he noticed. Ryan kissed her forehead, but her limp body remained, cheek on his chest, tits squishing against him, shaking subtly from the laughs that petered out.
A girl keeping in touch with her family put quite a strain on most men, but Ryan never batted an eye when Jeany’s father included sisterly connections on the contracts of sale. Not having his own family, it was a win-win (something her Father likely planned, she thought just then). Maybe Sean and David were very different sorts of men, but good men, and as odd as it was to think, they were in some ways still a big family, linked by the Yearling sisters.
And maybe when they were all retired, Ryan, David, and Sean would still host gatherings together with their new wives. Jeany smiled at the thought, though it didn’t show.
“Here girlie, enjoy.” Ryan soothed, bringing something wild onto the sliver of his chest that was in focus. A ladybug! Jeany was happy as a clam, limply staring at the tiny curiosity as her man let it wander across the striped polo he had on, blocking its path when it wandered too far, controlling its wildness so she could enjoy it.
They played with the little bug for a bit, but Ryan got distracted by a message in his contacts. The little ladybug spun in circles, unsure where to go without his guidance, then started crawling its way toward her face, as if saying ‘Hi’… and that’s when Jeany remembered she wasn’t wearing her pacifier!! Her O-mouth never really closed all the way, and the little bug was headed straight for the open hole!
Jeany struggled… or she struggled to struggle, but only her panicked breaths and perhaps a sweat on her brow made it out of her dollish shell, laying there on the picnic blanket. It was slowly crawling closer, and Jeany was as blank and open as ever! She didn’t want a gross bug up in her mouth, she didn’t!!
She tried to plug her puffy lips with her tongue, but her last hope didn’t want to stretch that way! She tried to tighten her mouth muscles closed, but it only did that on its own when he was inside! She began typing her secret code, ‘SOS’, to alert him… but no, she shouldn’t… that was for emergencies only! She blinked and blinked as the bug passed the edge of her sight and— Ryan brushed it away!
“Sorry, Jeany. The weekend shift down at the farm is dropping the ball again. I spend all week curating the right features and traits and then these dumb brutes drop the— oh you don’t want to hear this. Today is our special day, isn’t it? Here, I’m obviously too worked up, let’s make it special.”
Just as Jeany was recovering from her mini panic attack, Ryan grabbed his doll and flipped her over so the mess of branches above created a blurry vignette against the wide-open sky, a bluish palette interrupted by him crawling on top of her, looking down, stroking her cheek lovingly. He had her focus in an instant.
She wanted to ask if his knees were alright. Ryan was in the prime of his life at 45, but he hadn’t sprung for replacements yet. She couldn’t ask, and other than a few deep grunts, he didn’t complain.
Diving in, his short beard tickled Jeany’s neck as his lips caressed, completely erasing his oversight with the ladybug. She strove to moan but of course the moist puffs slipped past her tongue without a sound… leaving her to voicelessly accept all these lovely sensations, his hand brushing away the frills of her dress to get at her uncovered cunt, already vibrating subtly in anticipation of him, or perhaps to keep her anticipating him, but Jeany needed no encouragement, she never had.
Jeany beamed upward, blank as ever on the surface, yet underneath so excited she could hardly breathe! She had waited almost a whole week for this! Unlike Liza, who could simply rub her legs a certain way and have her husband in a moment, Ryan’s doll couldn’t consciously seduce him in the slightest — and that’s just how he liked it. Even her sister Babbles could beg and beg for her “da-da”, but not Jeany. She was always available, half-dressed, dripping with need, but she couldn’t come onto him like her schooling had trained her to. All that easy, chatty flirtiness had always been Ryan’s biggest turn-off.
In those first few months, he allowed her three questions a week, relayed by her sister, so that his doll could acclimatize to her new life with him. The connection to Liza alone was far more than she had expected, than any woman could expect, but with Jeany locked away in her own head, that lifeline made all the difference.
In her weekly budget of curiosity, there was always one question about her routine:
Could you allow me a bit longer in the bath, perhaps? Oh, why not?
Could you arrange playdates for me with some other painters? Yes, of course.
Could you please spend one whole day every week or two with me? It would be very special.
He had to remind her how much he worked, how much she saw him in the week, most evenings, how busy a man could be — but he agreed.
And then there was always one about her changes:
If you told me to jump off a cliff would my body do it? Yes, most probably, it turned out.
Why does my pussy vibrate just the tiniest bit the closer you get? For encouragement, and entertainment. She wasn’t even supposed to notice that, apparently.
Why do my mouth and pussy convulse late in the night, waking me up? That last one turned out to be a miscalibration that warranted a return to the doctor’s office. They were supposed to work in tandem, true, but not spontaneously.
The last question, though, she made sure that was always about him:
Why don’t you grow your beard out? You would look so handsome. “Maybe,” he had said, but now he hadn’t clean-shaved in years.
Can you tell me about your family? You never talk about them. He promised he would try.
Why did you lock me away inside myself?
She waited a few months to ask that last question, waiting for her last chance before Liza would be asked politely to not relay anything further, as politely as he had asked Jeany to hold her tongue when they were dating.
Why did you lock me away?
It wasn’t an accusation. She was his wife, it was within his rights to put her in a box under the stairs and use that box as a footstool, like her grandfather had his last two wives, though Ryan wasn’t that kind of man. He filled her life full of joy, and as far as things and stuff go, she wanted for nothing. She just missed her little cheats, making him smile by being silly, making him hard by arching her back a certain way. Instead she was a silent passenger in a body that went about its routine exuding pure sexuality, yet didn’t offer it too readily. She would have suggested a pull-string like her childhood doll had, one that begged him to “touch me!”, “use me!”, “play with me!”, but she had no hands left to pull it herself, defeating the purpose.
Ryan had taken a while to answer. Days, weeks, months. Jeany got used to her life, forgetting she had even asked him such a silly question as “Why.”
On their first wedding anniversary, in a luxurious cabin deep in the backwoods of Newfathersland among the creeks and wilds, Ryan had pulled her tight mouth off his cock with a satisfied grunt and smiled down at her lying askew on the bed, right where he left her.
He had admired her for a long while before reaching over a pile of gifts — a new paint set, a Kegel-training course for her censors, and a collar that moaned realistically with every breath (something they both missed). Instead of all that, he fetched some white chocolate truffles, his favorite, plopping one in her O-mouth to dissolve on her deft little tongue while he chewed on his. A precious and unusual reward for draining his balls so thoroughly… yet she could tell his thoughts were turning as he chewed.
“Jeany, you… are like this chocolate,” he paused, glancing at her. “Does that make sense?” She couldn’t respond, of course. “No, I guess it doesn’t. I mean that there’s a shell, and a soft, sweet caramel inside. Once the shell dissolves, the caramel is exposed. That’s the best part, you know, but it doesn’t last. There’s only so much flavor it has to offer. If the shell were hardier, more rigid, more controlled, and the flavor escaped slowly… through little cracks… it… it would last longer— Forever, maybe. You could keep enjoying those little tastes, always anticipating the next one, wondering at what else is still waiting for you to discover. Much better than getting it all at once, don’t you think?”
Jeany didn’t really. She would’ve chomped down on hers if she still could, but instead she just tightened her mouth and sucked idly, staring at the cabin roof, listening, savoring his gift. Maybe she should be thankful his changes forced her to savor it, but that didn’t seem to be his point. Instead, her silent “why” from months prior hung in the air between them.
Ryan turned another of the candies in his fingers.
“If you eat too many of these, they all start to taste the same. You lose track of how many, you lose track of the subtleties–they all blend together. I don’t want that. I’d rather have something that lasts, even if the shell is artificial. The sweetest candies are all artificial, anyway.” He popped it into his mouth. “And nothing real lasts forever.”
Jeany warmly remembered those strange words as he now suckled at her pierced nipple, their picnic forgotten, her breaths growing deeper and more impassioned as she felt his hands wander. It had been years and years since that little getaway — the first of many — and without saying so, Ryan seemed to have set his sights on ‘forever’ with his doll. Jeany had of course been raised to just smile and enjoy dreamers who used words like ‘forever’, but he wasn’t a dreamer, he wasn’t making promises left and right. With every anniversary he seemed to dote on her just as much as their first, and they spent more ‘special days’ together than she had initially asked for. They didn’t usually hike whole mountains — or whatever Elk Hill was — but a missed week was a rarity.
On special days like today, her husband liked to wave the maid away and dress her himself, and on days like today she wore not a lick of underwear, just something delicate and form-fitting like the elastic little sundress that rode high at the first hint of action, bunching up around her slim waist, the hourglass figure always helping out there. Splayed out on the grassy hilltop, that missing little patch of lace and cotton left Jeany’s curvy hips and bum exposed to the elements and ready to be warmed by his hands gripping her, or his cock filling her.
He whispered, “open wide for me, lovely,” and Jeany gasped as her own legs obeyed and spread as far as her hamstrings would allow, her pleasure tunnel of a mouth spreading too as his warm cock thrust in and took its rightful place below, by force, sating the same intense desire she had felt on that hospital bed all those years ago.
There were a few things her body did without command, and his manhood inside her triggered most of them, depending on the hole. She felt the familiar tingles as her back subtly firmed up, and the last traces of Ragdoll Jeany vanished, replaced not with her coy wife act from down by the road, or her little standby mode, politely and dutiful kneeling and sucking her lunch down, no. Instead she had become a perfectly-rigid doll, laying there under him, open and ready.
Unable to react in any way to how his cock made her feel, filling her, with every thrust Jeany’s tongue raved inside its puffy prison, her holes and implants the only soft part of the tense doll body, plastiskin and muscle working together as an immobile receptacle for his urges and passions. She never felt like more of a doll than in these moments, and Jeany had learned to love it, the closeness, the desperate gropes and grazes. Her massive tits obviously shook and sloshed, reverberating with every impact. They were almost calling to him to hold them steady, but he preferred a firm grip on her shoulder, right where her arm used to be, so she would stay still, anchored to the earth as he pounded her with his hips.
Jeany’s fixed view of the sky jerked on a steady rhythm as her man used her just how he liked to, and just how she liked, too!
Jeany of course immediately went to work in what limited ways she could, squeezing herself below and almost caressing him each time he pulled out, untensing her cunt to accept each thrust and then holding again, begging him to stay with the next draw of his hips. Left with a handle over only her tongue and her pelvic floor muscles for the better part of a decade, Jeany might not have had any way to ask, to offer, but once he was inside, she knew how to draw his enjoyment out for an hour, or how to get a quick and happy conclusion in mere minutes. Today was somewhere in the middle, with Ryan a little timid fucking her in a community park, but pent up after a long and busy week. Jeany knew exactly what he needed, and though from a bystander’s perspective, out-of-body, she could imagine it looked just like a man using a lifesize doll to get off — and it was, honestly — this was how she talked to her husband ever since her final question all those years ago. This… and painting, and on lucky days like today she got to do both, as he kissed her pouting donut lips and grunted, jerking, filling her insides with his cum.
The instant she felt that first spurt inside, something in Jeany flipped and in a fraction of a second she came too, spasming hard on his shaft, eyelashes fluttering, every nerve firing and still not a twitch from the shell he had made. Staring at the sky, her mouth’s tunnel shrunk tight around her tongue, truly muting her from even an SOS, cutting her air, clenching in perfect sync as her cunt did the same, milking her husband for all he had left. With her body flooded by something more than his semen, a warmth wrapped Jeany, the world growing fuzzy, until a desperate gasp finally filled her lungs. And a feeling.
This is how that truffle must’ve felt in his mouth…
“Elk Hill.” Jeany typed on the roof of her mouth. “We reached the peak together.”
She blinked blankly, as happy as could be. Rubbing in her achievement was just a bonus.
“Haha I knew you would! I haven’t been up there since my last virgin summer, but it’s not the Appalachians, you drama queen!” Liza’s giggling almost audible in the message, “I’ve never done it up there, though. Our garden got some use for a bit.”
Then a pause came.
“Now that I think about it, David hasn’t used me outside in a year or two. He didn’t always need the pheromones to get him in the mood, and the wind just takes it away outside.”
Jeany blinked at the wide-open sky, her face ever-surprised and eager and identical to her wedding day, while she knew Liza was getting her first wrinkles at the eyes. Wrinkles of worry. Jeany wondered who she would talk to when David retired her sister and married again. Babbles was hardly a conversationalist. She would—
“Come over to the easel, honey.”
Ryan’s doll closed her legs and elegantly rose onto her knees, then up on her high-heeled boots. It was a motion that had no right being so fluid with no arms to prop or balance, but her body was long-practiced and had no issue. While her husband had pulled up his pants and combed his hair to look as dashing as always, leaving her to set up her art supplies, Jeany hadn’t moved from the picnic blanket since they came together on that windswept hilltop, and she felt him leaking down her thigh as she strutted dutifully over to the artboard, clipped on the wooden easel up at her eye-level.
That friendly little wind blew by again, letting her know that her sundress was still bunched up around her waist, leaving her curvy hips and the luscious V between on full display, along with the pert cheeks around back. He fetched her brushes, and Jeany could practically feel her husband’s admiration on her backside as she stood there on the precipice, perfectly posed and statuesque, flimsy little dress fluttering around her.
Too bad he was a terrible painter, it must’ve been quite a view.
He knew the routine by now, taking the widest brush for background work and popping its wooden handle into her mouth. She worried it with her tongue, nudging it side to side so the tip waved for him to see. “No. Help.” While the handle was way thicker than her tiny detail brushes, and her hole mouth could constrict just tight enough, the shaft was still too slippery. She wouldn’t have enough… dexterity wasn’t the right word. He apologized and slipped a silicone grip onto the thin paintbrush stem, a thicker shaft for her to suck on and manoeuvre.
The fluttering little sleevelets of her dress tickled her smooth shoulders.
Set up with a small cup of water and a slim shelf-like palette of paints beneath the artboard, Jeany’s doll body may have been wholly still, but her tongue alone wormed and worked to direct the long stick to concoct her colors, mixing blues and yellows and greens and some darker splotches too, water where needed. She had an idea of which shades she would need, and it was easier to mix now.
It was all an educated guess, of course. Her view of town was a blur. Only her tiny paperboard was in focus in the doll’s wide, blinking eyes, but that’s how she liked it. In a way, she re-remembered the landscape instead of truly seeing it, filling in the scene sparingly with half-imagined pieces.
Watercolor was Jeany’s favorite medium as a mouthpainter, and her greatest challenge. It made for the most beautifully imperfect washes and effortless blends, but it was also wild and hard to reign in. Perfectly imperfect. The girl inside gave herself a chuckle thinking it would be her ultra-obedient body’s least favorite medium — if it could understand such a strange request, that is!
The hardest part was really just the care it took to not get too wet. If Jeany wasn’t careful, the brushstrokes would drip and run, especially while painting en plein air, as her old tutor called it; upright and outdoors.
Feeling that naughty wind come back and chill the trickle of drool leaking past her lips and trailing down her cleavage and the… let’s say ‘mixed media’ coating her inner thighs, she knew wetness all too well!
Eventually, Jeany flicked her tongue and hit the rim of the glass with her brush to make it sing for her, calling Ryan to come back and change her instrument. A short wait later, she heard him rummaging through the paint set, then felt his thick fingers caress her sex and slip inside her from below, gasping at the intrusion. Of course her body didn’t move an inch. He wasn’t talking to it, he was talking to her.
Two short clenches said, “Go ahead, sir.” and her husband started listing off the round brush, fineliner, another wide fan, a palette knife — she struggled not to laugh, that was for acrylics and oils! He knew better! He was always buying time like this! — until finally he got to the one she wanted, earning him a gentle squeeze. “Yes, that one, thank you.”
He whispered into her ear, “I can’t hear you, Jeany-dear,” even though she knew he knew precisely what she wanted.
She used her muscles below, still a bit sore from squeezing his cock, as hard as she could, moving not an inch otherwise, and she could swear another droplet of his cum squirted out in the effort! Letting out a howl of pain, Ryan slipped his fingers from her snatch, mock dancing around her and the easel, clutching himself like she had broken his hand. It was more goofy than funny, but it earned him a silent giggle all the same. Of course she licked his fingers clean before getting the new brush she wanted, this time with the silicone handle already on it, but after wetting the tip she clinked the glass again — three taps.
This was his cue not to watch. Unable to look behind her and check, she had to trust he wouldn’t peek.
Jeany went to work, using the subtlest of licks and flicks to paint lush green leaves framing a gap, a vignette of sorts through which she revealed the crest of a hill, merely implying the perilous cliff beyond the far side. That kind of severity wasn’t her focus today, even if that drop-off was right there in her peripheral vision, only a few steps away; steps her feet might’ve taken in eager compliance if told to. She didn’t worry about that, comforted by the knowledge that even though she was nothing but his fancy puppet, Ryan treated his toy with care.
She left the dangerous cliff hidden, instead letting a pale yellow ground highlight the eager ascent they had made together; the warm glow she felt accomplishing this with him. After dabbling with getting the wispy wild grasses just right, Jeany painted a figure in mottled blues and browns, then another, impressions of two brothers rigidly bracing their dark coats against the wicked whipping air on a windswept hill, one with an arm around the other. Set against stormy seas made of a pallid blue speckled with navy depths and the white of the untarnished artboard capping each wave, Jeany defined the masculine forms, strong angles in contrast with the supple curves of a simple woman like her. She added in some footsteps, a richer yellow speckled in ochre mud, four feet matting the sea of grass where they had stomped together in a rush to the edge.
Ryan Paulson’s doll signaled for her husband to look, finally, and heard only a gasp in response. That gasp was her only warning before his embrace wrapped around her from behind and held her slim form tightly in the nippy breeze. Her strict pose melted into his warmth, as he gripped her with one arm above and one below her tits, without a care for the drool that had slipped out in her focus, without a care at all. He was too busy looking over her shoulder at the painting; her gift to him on their special day.
His lips found her rosy cheek from behind, and his voice wavered just a hint as he whispered in her ear, “Oh Jeanette… I love you too.”
Find out more about Holsom and other damsels on Slothargy’s DeviantArt and Pixiv