People think that erotica is all about the shagging. Well sometimes, just sometimes, as erotic story writers, we strive to real beauty and depth. This story below is a reflection of this...
Down on the farm
by Tabitha Rayne
I was hanging out the laundry on a beautiful sunny morning. The smell of the cow slurry permeated the air, filling my lungs with the goodness of the countryside. I’d snuck some of my smalls in with the farmer’s washing and who happened to walk by as I pegged up my cotton panties?
Farmer Giles and I hadn’t talked much, barely making eye contact as I served his shepherd’s pie in the evenings and then bade him goodnight. Today though, he walked right up to the line and held the scant fabric to his face breathing in the clean scent of my knickers.
“Mmmm, very nice,” he said in his gruff voice. “Though I’d prefer it less fresh. I dream every night of grazing from your pasture, nuzzling my nose into your open fragrant buttercup.”
I admit my buttercup unfurled as if the midday sun was shining directly on it at his sauciness. I squeezed my thighs together lest he smelled my blossoming flower.
He inhaled again, his gaze skimming over chest and my rising wheaty globes quivered like freshly kneaded dough. Oh how I craved his big rough fingers free them from my gingham blouse.
“Do my words shock you?” he asked pulling his shoulders back and thrusting out his chest to show me his manliness. The bulge in his britches was impressive.
“Yes,” I said, but a bit of the devil sprang into me, “I didn’t realise your grain tower would be so big.”
It was his turn to blush and he threw the washing basket from my arms and pulled me to him.
“Yes, yes my grain tower is big, but also very full of seed.” Then he kissed me, letting me feel the throb press into my tuffet.
I squealed as he led me round to the barn. The dappled sun heated the hay where he flung me and my skirts flew up to reveal my wanton knickerless state.
“Oh yes,” he hissed under his breath and fell to his knees before me. “Time to separate your wheat from your chaff young lady.” He eased his fingers into my furrow making me dribble my creamy curds and whey over his knuckles.
“That’s it my naughty little wench,” he said, “You’re as wet as the sheep dip on hot June day. Look what you do to a man.”
He unbridled himself and let his throbbing tractor piston fall into my view. I gasped, having never seen such a size. And then, before my very eyes, he began to milk his man udder slowly in his large fist. It fairly made me rosy to see and I reached down and clutched at my peaking bosom marbles, rolling and squeezing them, watching him pump harder.
“It’s time I was herded into your pen young shepherdess,” he said, and flipped me over into the bales.
My feed trough was as moist as silage fermenting in the sun and I squeezed my chops together, bracing myself for the thorough ploughing I was surely to receive…
If you're not panting and barely able to keep your hands off yourself after that, I am hanging up my pen!!!
This entry is part of the #EUPHOFF from The Chintz Curtain - you HAVE to read the other entries, they are simply genius!!! Thank for inspiring me :D
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