Chapter 1: Counting More Than Supplies
Kate Bradford pulled the truck through the Hankins' gate at four in the afternoon, already dreading the stop. She was twenty-one, home from college for spring break, and dressed for the party that night, not for farm work. White miniskirt, white stockings, a black lacy blouse, black heels. Her father had called at noon and asked her to swing by and take inventory before the Hankins placed their spring order. She'd said yes because she always did.
Ned Hankins met her at the barn, chewing on a toothpick and looking her up and down like he was appraising livestock.
"Dressed like that to count feed bags?" he said. "Your daddy know you come out here like a Saturday night?"
"I'll be sure to ask him, Ned," Kate said, sliding past him. "Where's the supply shed key?"
Ned grumbled and handed it over. She'd called him Nasty Ned to her family for three years now, and every visit reminded her why. She clicked her heels across the yard toward the shed, and that was when she saw him.
Jebadiah was stacking seed bags by the open shed door, a big slow-moving man in his mid-thirties in dusty overalls. He straightened up when he saw her, and his mouth actually opened a little before he caught himself.
"Hi, Jeb," Kate said, smiling sweetly. "Miss me?"
"I, uh. Miss, ma'am. Kate." He wiped his palms on his overalls twice, as if once wasn't good enough.
She stepped past him into the dim shed, close enough that her shoulder brushed his arm. She heard his breath catch. This was going to be fun.
The shed smelled of hay and machine oil, the single bulb overhead throwing her long shadow across the feed sacks. She pulled the clipboard off its nail and started at the far wall.
"Count with me, Jeb. Forty-five, forty-six."
"Forty-seven," he said, from somewhere behind her, his voice low and gravelly.
Kate bent at the knees to reach the bottom row, letting her skirt ride up. She knew exactly what he could see, white stockings and the lacy edge beneath them. She took her time writing the number down.
"Sixty-two, sixty-three," she said, straightening slowly. "You still with me back there?"
"Yes ma'am." His voice had gone strange.
She turned and found him staring, red-faced, gripping a bag strap like it might save him. She smiled and batted her eyes. "You're good help, Jeb. Better than Ned ever says you are."
"Ned don't say much about me."
"Well, I say it." She moved to the next stack and let her hip bump his thigh on the way by. He didn't move. She counted tools next, reaching up on her toes so the lacy top pulled tight across her chest, and she glanced back over her shoulder to find his eyes exactly where she'd aimed them.
"You gonna help me count, Jeb, or just stand there staring?"
"Sorry. Sorry, ma'am." He came over and took the clipboard from her hand, and their fingers touched. He flinched like he'd grabbed a hot stove.
Kate laughed, soft and warm. "You're sweet. You know that?"
"I ain't sweet. Ned says I'm dumb."
"Ned's an ass." She took the clipboard back, letting her hand rest on his forearm this time, deliberately, feeling the hard muscle under the dust. "I think you're the smartest thing on this farm."
Jeb made a sound that wasn't quite a word. She walked a slow circle around him, trailing her fingertips along his arm, and he stood there like a tree, breathing hard. When she passed in front of him and turned her head, she saw it.
The bulge in his overalls was enormous. She had teased plenty of boys in her time, but nothing she'd ever made hard had looked like that, straining against the faded denim, the seam pulled taut. Her breath went shallow. She hadn't been with her boyfriend since Christmas, months of nothing but her own hand and her own frustration, and something in her belly turned over and sharpened.
She wanted it. Not just to touch it through the denim, though she wanted that too. She wanted it inside her, stretching her, owning her, and she wanted to own it right back.
"Jeb," she said quietly. "Do you like what you see?"
"I wasn't, I didn't mean to, I."
"It's all right." She stepped in close, close enough to feel the heat coming off him. "I dressed like this on purpose. Did you know that? I dressed like this for you."
He looked down at her like she'd spoken a language he'd only heard in dreams. "For me?"
"For you, big guy." She pressed one palm flat against his chest, over his hammering heart. "Ned's up at the house. Nobody's gonna walk in here."
Jeb's hands hung at his sides, opening and closing, like he didn't know what hands were for anymore. Kate looked up at him from under her lashes, and let her fingers drift down his chest, down his stomach, and stop at the top button of his overalls.
"Nobody's ever been nice to me like you," he said hoarsely.
"I know," Kate said. "That's their mistake."
She hooked one finger into the strap on his shoulder and tugged, just enough to make her meaning clear, and Jeb's breath came out in a long shudder. Outside, a crow called somewhere over the fields, and the shed bulb buzzed faintly, and neither of them moved. Kate smiled up at him and pulled the strap all the way down.
Somewhere down the road, a car door slammed. Gravel crunched, and Ned's truck engine coughed to life, fading off toward the highway until the shed held nothing but the buzz of the bulb and their breathing.
Kate turned her head toward the door, then back up at Jeb, her hand still on his strap. "It's just us out here now," she said.
His throat worked. He didn't say anything, but his eyes said plenty.
She stepped back and spotted the little step stool leaning against the wall by the feed scales, the one-armed metal kind farmers used for the top shelves. She dragged it over in front of the tall rack of fence staples and wire and climbed it, heels ringing on the metal. The shelf was higher than she'd remembered. To reach the far edge she had to go up on her toes and lean deep into it, one hand braced on the top board.
Which put her ass exactly level with Jeb's face. Her skirt hiked all the way up, no pretense left about it, and she felt the cool shed air on the backs of her thighs. Pink silk, frilled, stretched taut across her. She stayed there longer than the inventory required, tracing her fingers along sacks she'd already counted, and out of the corner of her eye she watched the tent in his overalls swell even bigger, the denim actually shifting.
"You all right down there, Jeb?"
"Yes ma'am." His voice was barely there at all.
Then she faked it. A little slip of the foot on the stool's top step, a soft cry, her arms pinwheeling. She let herself topple backward, and his hands were there before she'd finished falling, big rough palms catching her around the waist, hauling her against him.
Her feet found the floor, but not before she felt it. His cock, still trapped in denim, slid hard between her thighs as her legs came together around it, the fat length of it dragging along the seam of her panties with a pressure that made her gasp for real. One more inch and it would have torn the silk right off her. She felt the heat of him through the fabric, thick as her wrist, pulsing.
She didn't step away. She stood there a second in the circle of his arms, her thighs snug around him, and let herself feel every inch of it. God. She'd wanted to tease him, and here she was about to come apart standing up.
She pulled back slowly and looked down. The bulge jutted out from his body, the fly seam straining, a dark damp spot at the peak of it.
Jeb scrambled back a step and clapped both hands over his groin, hunching his shoulders. "I'm sorry. Ma'am, I'm so sorry, I didn't, that was, I."
"Hey." Her voice came out warm, low. She stepped toward him and took his wrist. "It's okay. It's more than okay."
He stared at her like the word okay had never been said to him in that tone.
"I want to see it," Kate said. "Can I see it?"
His mouth opened. Nothing came out. She reached up and slid the other strap off his shoulder anyway, slow, watching his face the whole time, giving him every chance to stop her. He stood still as a fence post, breathing like he'd run a mile.
The overalls dropped with a soft thud of buckles on the boards. He stood there in his boxers, gray cotton gone dark at the front, and his cock pushed against the cloth so hard it pulsed, the whole shaft outlined, the head halfway out of the waistband.
Kate's mouth went dry. She'd known it was big. She hadn't known it was that.
"Can I touch it?" she asked.
Jeb nodded, once, jerky, and then nodded again like once hadn't been enough.
She hooked her fingers in the waistband and eased the boxers down over his hips. It sprang free against his stomach, heavy and flushed, veined along the whole length, and Kate reached for it with both hands before she'd decided to. Her fingers wouldn't meet around it. She wrapped her right hand first, then added her left underneath, and there was still a thumb-width of him showing between her stacked fists and the head. Her hands looked tiny on it, dainty and pale against the dusty thickness of him.
"Jesus, Jeb," she whispered, and gave an experimental squeeze.
He made a sound low in his chest, somewhere between a groan and a whimper, and his hips pushed forward without his permission, an inch of him sliding through her grip. Clear wetness beaded at the tip and she smeared it down with her thumb, working it into the skin, and he shuddered all over like a horse shaking off flies.
"That feel good?"
"Nobody ever," he managed. "Kate. Nobody ever."
"I know." She stroked him, slow, both hands twisting in opposite directions, and watched his face while she did it. His eyes had gone glassy. His big hands hovered in the air at his sides, afraid to land anywhere. Every slow pull of her fists dragged a rough breath out of him, and the whole heavy shaft got hotter and harder in her grip, so rigid now it barely gave at all.
She sped up, just a little, just to see what he'd do. His knees actually buckled. He caught himself on the feed rack, one hand slamming flat on the wood, and a rope of precome welled up thick enough that it dripped over her knuckles.
"Oh my God," Kate breathed, and meant it. She was soaked, her panties ruined, her thighs trembling under the skirt, and he hadn't even touched her yet. She looked up at him from under her lashes, both fists sliding along his cock, and saw something shift in his face, the shyness cracking into pure want.
She dropped to her knees on the worn boards without a second thought, the hem of her white skirt pooling around her stocking-clad thighs. Dust motes drifted through the bulb's yellow light. She kept one fist wrapped at his base and worked the other up and down the length of him, slow and deliberate, twisting her wrist at the top of each stroke.
"God, look at you," she murmured. He was slick now, her spit and his precome making every glide easy, and the veins ridged under her palms like braided rope. She squeezed harder on the upstroke, and Jeb's hips jerked, his stomach muscles jumping under his shirt.
"That good, big guy?"
"Y-yeah. Don't stop. Please don't stop."
She didn't. She built a rhythm, both hands sliding in tandem, her stacked fists riding him root to crown, then adding a third trick, pressing her thumb into the thick cord underneath on every downstroke. His knuckles went white on the feed rack. A low, broken sound rolled out of his chest, something between a groan and a sob, and it went straight through her.
Kate leaned in and spat, a thick string of it landing right on the head, and used it to lather him, working the wetness down the shaft until her hands squelched with it. He was so hot now he felt like a brick left in the summer sun. She dragged her tongue up the underside in one long, slow stripe, tasting salt and sweat and the clean, animal smell of him, and he bucked so hard his boxers nearly tore off his ankles.
"Easy," she laughed, bracing a hand on his thigh. "Let me do the work."
She took the head into her mouth.
It barely fit. She stretched her lips around him, jaw already aching from the width alone, and eased down an inch, then another. Her tongue flattened against the ridge, lapping at the slick leaking from him, and his taste filled her mouth, thick and musky and raw. He made a strangled noise above her and she glanced up, keeping her lips sealed around him, and the look on his face, awe and agony tangled together, made her moan around her own mouthful.
She pushed deeper. Two more inches, three, until the blunt head knocked against the back of her throat and her body revolted. She gagged, hard, her eyes watering, but she didn't pull off. She breathed through her nose, drooled around him until it ran down her chin and dripped off her knuckles, and pushed again, swallowing past the reflex until the fat head slipped into her throat and her nose pressed into the coarse hair of his stomach.
"Oh God. Oh, Kate." His hand landed on her hair, featherlight, trembling, like he was terrified of doing it wrong.
She held there, gagging softly, her throat milking him, snot and spit shining on her face, and then dragged herself back up until she popped free, gasping, a thick rope of drool swinging from her lip to his cock. She caught her breath, wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist, and grinned at him like she'd won something.
"You're gonna ruin me for college boys, you know that?"
Then she went lower. She lifted his heavy sack in both hands, feeling the weight of it, hot and tight and hairy, and stroked it with her thumbs before she ducked down and took one of his balls into her mouth. She sucked it gently, rolling it against her tongue, and Jeb's whole body shook, the feed rack creaking under his grip. She worked from one to the other, sucking each one slow and sloppy, her chin slick, his thighs quivering against her shoulders.
"Nobody's ever," he gasped, over and over. "Nobody. Ever."
She came back up and lathered him again, spitting on him twice more, fisting the wet down his length until he gleamed in the lamplight, then sucking him back in, faster now, using her throat, gagging herself on purpose because the choked wet sound he made every time was better than music. Drool ran in strings off her knuckles where she pumped the base. Her scalp ached where his fingers curled into it, still so careful, and that care made her cheeks burn hotter than the act itself.
His breathing changed. Ragged, hitching, the rhythm of a man climbing something steep.
"Kate. I'm gonna. I need to, I can't."
She pulled off with a wet gasp and wrapped both hands around him, stacked and twisting, stroking him fast and hard, her fists a blur of slick skin. "That's it, Jeb. Come for me. Right here."
His head fell back. A roar came out of him, low and shuddering, and his cock swelled even thicker in her grip. The first rope shot out and hit the floorboards three feet away with an audible splat, thick and white. The second followed, longer, arcing past the first, landing with a heavy wet slap. Then more, pulse after pulse, each one launching with force that pushed his hips forward against her fists, spattering the dusty boards, a puddle spreading and gleaming under the buzzing bulb. She milked him through it, slow and firm, wringing out every last drop until it oozed over her fingers and dripped down her wrists.
He sagged against the feed rack, chest heaving, staring at the mess on the floor like he'd never seen anything like it. Then his head turned and he stared at her, kneeling in her white stockings with her skirt askew, her hands painted with him.
"Sorry," he whispered. "I made such a mess. I'm sorry, ma'am."
Kate looked at the pool of him shining on the boards, then up at his stricken, bewildered face, and she giggled, warm and bright, wiping her fingers slowly on her thigh.
"Oh my," she said, biting her lip. "All of that for me?"
He nodded, dazed, still catching his breath. "All of it. You're the only one who ever. You know. Looked at me."
"Then they're all blind," she said, rising on her heels to her feet, steadying herself with a palm on his heaving chest. Her heart was pounding. Her panties were soaked through, her throat raw, and the ache between her legs had gone from interest to demand. She looked up at him, and her hand slid down from his chest to give his softening length a gentle squeeze.
"I've seen it, you know," Kate said, keeping her hand right where it was. "The way you look at me. Every time I come out here, you stare at my chest like it's the last thing on earth. Don't bother denying it, big guy. I like it."
Jeb's face went from pale to scarlet in about two seconds. "I didn't. I mean, I tried not to."
"I know you tried. That's what makes it cute." She lifted his big hand off his hip before he could stop himself. "You've got good eyes, Jeb. You just don't know what to do with them."
She turned her back to him, then spun again to face him, catching his wrists, one in each hand. She lifted them and set his palms flat against her breasts, over the black lace, holding them there. His fingers twitched under hers like trapped birds.
"Go on," she said. "Touch me. Squeeze."
"I, they're so." His voice died. His hands stayed put, trembling, and Kate pressed her own hands over them and pushed down, showing him the pressure she wanted. His palms were rough as hay rope, callused across the heel, and even through the lace she felt the heat of them sink into her.
"That's it. Knead them. Like bread dough, you've done bread."
A shaky laugh came out of him, half a sob. "Ma has me do the kneading, sometimes." His fingers curled, tentative, then firmer, and the weight of her shifted in his grip. Kate's head tipped back. The ache between her legs throbbed at the pressure, and his thumbs found the swell at the top and dragged across it, clumsy and careful at once.
"See? Smartest thing on the farm." She arched into his hands, then turned herself around slow, keeping his arms bent so his hands never left her chest. She pressed back against him, her ass flush to his hips.
And there it was. His cock, stiff again, impossibly fast, plastered against the lower edge of her blouse where it met her skirt. She felt it through both fabrics, thick and slick from her spit, wedging itself into the crease of her cheeks as it throbbed. She gasped at the sheer size of it, at the heat bleeding through the layers onto her bare skin where the skirt had ridden up.
"Lord," she breathed. "You just grew right back, didn't you?"
"Sorry. Ma'am, I can't help it, it."
"Don't you dare apologize for that." She reached back with one hand and found his hip, holding him against her, rolling her own hips just enough to feel the whole length of him grind along the cleft of her ass. Her breath came ragged now. "Feel how wet I am? That's what you do to me, Jeb."
His answer was a groan, deep in his chest, and his hands squeezed harder on her breasts without being guided. Kate shivered, then stepped forward, away from him, just far enough to work. She gathered her skirt up in both fists, bunching the white silk around her waist, and hooked her thumbs into the pink satin.
The frilly panties peeled down her thighs, clinging where she was soaked, and she dragged them to her knees, then her stockings, stepping out of them one heel at a time. She held the damp lace in her fist a moment, then dropped them on a feed sack. Cool shed air hit her bare skin, and she bent forward over the scales, skirt held high, looking back at him over her shoulder.
"You know something else, Jeb?" Her voice had gone low, teasing, a smile curling through it. "Every time I wore my jeans out here, I could feel your eyes burning holes right through the denim. Every single turn-around. Don't even pretend."
"I didn't mean." He was gripping his own overalls around his ankles now, staring, his cock already jerking back to full height against his stomach.
"Well, the jeans aren't here today." She swayed her hips, slow, letting everything hang out in the bulb's yellow light. "So go on. Get a good look. A nice, long, good look at my ass."
Jeb made a sound like a man who'd forgotten how lungs worked.
"Because in about a minute, you're not going to be looking at it," Kate said. "You're going to be feeling it. From the inside."
That got him. His jaw dropped, and she laughed, low and wicked, then spun around fast, catching his hands before they could retreat, and pulled them around behind her. She planted his palms square on her bare cheeks, one on each side, his fingers sinking into the flesh.
"Grab it," she said. "Hard as you want. I won't break."
His hands closed. The calluses caught on her skin, and the squeeze pulled a moan out of her before she could stop it. He kneaded her there, both hands, mouth hanging open, staring down past her at where his fingers dimpled her flesh.
"Do you like how it feels?" Kate asked, watching his face.
"Yes, ma'am." His voice cracked in the middle of it. "It's the softest thing I ever felt in my whole life. Softer than the new lambs in spring. I, can I, is this really happening to me?"
"It's really happening." She stroked his forearm, still smiling, then reached down between them and found him again, hard as an axe handle, and drew her fist up his length once. "And in a minute it's going to happen somewhere even better."
Jeb's knees knocked the feed sack. He steadied himself on the rack, and his eyes went from her face to the pink panties lying on the sack and back, like he was trying to solve something.
"Kate," he said, and the way he said her name made her thighs clench. "What do I do? I never. Nobody ever taught me."
"That's all right." She pressed herself up against him, his cock sliding slick along her belly, and looked up into his big, bewildered, burning face. "I'll teach you everything."
"First lesson starts now," Kate said, stepping back. "You've got to help me get ready to take that thing, Jeb. I'm not made of rubber."
"Ready? Ready how?"
"Like this." She leaned against the feed rack, planted her heels wide, and slid two of her own fingers down between her thighs. The gasp she let out was half for show and all true. She looked up at him while she did it, chin tilted, eyes half closed, and watched his mouth hang open like a barn door left off its latch.
"Jesus, Kate." His voice was sandpaper.
"That's the idea." She worked her fingers in and out, wet enough that the sound of it filled the little shed. "But my fingers aren't going to cut it. Not for you. Give me your hand."
He wiped it on his thigh first, an old habit, then held it out to her like a boy offering a dandelion. Kate took it. His palm was huge and rough, warm as a stone in the sun, and she curled her fingers through his and tugged him across the shed to the metal sorting table in the corner, the one crusted with years of dust and seed grit and rust freckles.
She hopped up on the edge of it, the cold biting through her skirt, and leaned back on her elbows.
"Come here. Closer than that."
He shuffled in until his knees nearly touched the table's lip, his cock swaying heavy between them, and Kate took his hand again and brought it down between her spread legs, pressing his fingertips to her soaked lips.
"Do this," she said, and showed him, sliding her own fingers out so his could take their place. "Same thing."
Jeb swallowed hard. One thick, gnarled finger, the knuckle like a walnut, pushed between her folds and slid in to the first joint. She was so wet it went easy, and she felt him shudder when the heat closed around it.
"Oh," he said. "Oh my."
"That's it. Wiggle it around a little. Don't be shy."
He wiggled it, nervous, crooking it this way and that, and one of his clumsy sweeps dragged straight across the front wall of her and Kate's hips jumped clean off the table.
"Right there. You found it. Do that again."
He did, again and again, gaining courage with each stroke, the callus on his finger rasping places no soft hand had ever reached. Kate bit her lip and rode the motion, her stockings squeaking against the metal edge.
"Add another," she demanded.
"Another? You sure?"
"Jeb. Add it."
The second finger stretched her wider, both of them pressing in slow, his whole hand trembling like he was holding a rifle for the first time. He couldn't get them in all the way at once, so he worked them in increments, twisting, the stretch burning sweet and filthy in the best way. Kate's head dropped back and she groaned at the bulb overhead.
"There you go. Now move them. In and out. Get them good and wet."
He pumped them, awkward and earnest, the rhythm all wrong and then half right and then right, and every time his palm ground against her clit on the downstroke she jolted. Wet sounds filled the shed, louder than the buzzing bulb.
"Look at my face while you do it," she said. "I want you to see what you're doing to me."
He looked. His eyes were wide and wondering, and Kate stared back up at him, biting down on a moan as his fingers curled inside her.
"Harder. You won't hurt me."
He pushed deeper, both fingers buried to the knuckle now, and began to work her in earnest, a slow rough churn that made the whole table creak under her. Kate braced one heel on the table's edge and started moving her own hips, riding his hand, rolling herself down onto his fingers every time they drove in.
"Yes. Like that. Keep going, don't you dare stop."
"I won't stop," he panted. "I promise, Kate, I won't."
Sweat stood out on his forehead. His arm pumped, forearm muscles corded, and she could see him concentrating the way he probably concentrated on fixing a fence, tongue between his teeth, determined to get it exactly right. Something about that, the dumb earnestness of it, the sheer size of his hand inside her, wound her up fast and tight.
"God, your fingers are thick. Feels like you're already halfway in."
"Is that good? It is good?"
"It's so good, big guy." She grabbed his wrist and guided the angle, deeper, tilted up. "Right there. Rub it. Hard."
He rubbed. Her whole body locked, thighs clamping around his forearm, and she ground herself against his palm in short frantic strokes, the table shrieking on its rusted legs, dust jumping off it in little clouds. Her orgasm came up on her fast and sharp, and she cried out, loud, uncaring whether the whole county heard, her pussy clenching around his fingers in wave after wave while he held them perfectly still, watching her come apart with his mouth hanging open again.
"Kate," he whispered. "You're squeezing me. Like a fist. I can feel your heart in there, almost."
She laughed, breathless, loose-limbed, still twitching around him. She lifted his hand away and looked at it, both fingers glistening to the knuckle, and brought it to her mouth and sucked them clean one at a time, keeping her eyes on his.
"Taste that? That's what you do to me."
He nodded, dazed, unable to speak.
Kate slid off the table on wobbly legs and turned her back to him, bracing both palms flat on the dirty metal. She looked back over her shoulder at him, at the massive cock standing rigid against his stomach, and reached behind herself with both hands and pulled her cheeks apart.
"Lesson one's over," she said. "Time for lesson two. Get over here, Jeb, and put it in me slow."
His hips stuttered. "Inside? You sure?"
"I'm sure, Jeb. I want all of it."
Something went out of his face then, all the hesitation, and his strokes picked up, deep and urgent, the table groaning across the floorboards. His breathing broke apart into short ragged pulls.
"Kate. Kate, it's happening."
She reached back and dug her nails into his thigh. "Yes. Come in me. Now."
He roared again, that same low shuddering sound, and slammed home one last time. She felt him swell and then burst, pulse after pulse of heat flooding deep inside her, more than she thought a man could hold, spilling out around him where their bodies met and running warm down the inside of her thigh. He stayed buried, grinding against her with each pulse, his whole body shaking against her back.
Neither of them moved for a long moment. The bulb buzzed. Somewhere outside a tractor coughed to life in a far field.
"You're still shaking," Kate said softly.
"You did that." He laughed, breathless, and rested his forehead between her shoulder blades. "I don't think my legs work."
She squeezed him inside her one last time, lazy, and grinned at the feel of him twitching in answer. "Then you'd better stay put a minute," she said, "because I'm nowhere near done with you."
Jeb eased out of her with a shaky breath, and Kate felt the loss of him instantly, warm and empty and greedy. She stayed bent over the sorting table, palms flat on the cold metal, and looked back at him.
"Come here. Slow now."
He stepped in behind her, tentative, one boot scuffing the boards. His cock dragged along her inner thigh, heavy and slick, and she felt him stop there, uncertain.
"Lower," she said. "Aim with your hand. Put your thumb on your stomach and follow it down."
He did, fumbling, and she felt the broad blunt head of him press against her lips. She braced her forearms on the table. "Now push. Just the head. Slow as you can go."
He pushed. The head parted her folds and she gasped, a real one, her fingers curling against the metal. He was thicker than anything she'd ever taken, and the first inch of him stretched her open around him like she was brand new. It burned. It burned wonderfully.
"Oh," Jeb breathed behind her. "Oh, Kate. You're so warm."
"Grab my hips," she said, voice gone rough. "Both hands. Hard."
His palms settled on her hips, calluses rough against her bare skin, and the weight of them steadied her as much as it held her. He pushed another inch. Her walls had to give, spreading around him inch by inch, and she felt every ridge of him dragging through her, the sting braided tight into the pleasure until she couldn't tell them apart anymore.
"More. Keep going."
"You're shaking."
"I know I am. Keep going."
He sank deeper, and her breath came out in a long low groan. When he finally stopped, seated all the way in, she felt him everywhere, packed into her so full her hips ached with it. She stayed still a moment, letting her body learn him, her thighs trembling against the table leg.
"God. Okay." She laughed, breathless. "Okay. You can move now."
He eased back, slow, and she felt herself clutch at him, trying to keep him in. Then he pushed forward again and her eyes crossed. "There. Just like that. In and out."
He found a careful rhythm, dragging out and sliding home, and each thrust stretched her a little more, her body loosening around him, taking him easier. She pushed back to meet him, matching him stroke for stroke, and every time her hips hit his the depth of it made her gasp. The pain was still there, a deep sweet ache low in her belly, and it had melted into something that made her hungrier, not less.
"That's it. That's it, Jeb."
"It's really you?" he panted. "I'm really inside you?"
"You're really inside me. Now pull my hips back when you thrust. Pull me onto you."
His hands tightened. On the next stroke he drew her backward onto him, hard, and the full length of him slammed home. She cried out and rapped her knuckles on the table.
"Yes. Like that. Faster, Jeb. Faster, damn it."
He obeyed. The rhythm picked up, and the shed filled with the sounds of them, the slap of his hips against her bare ass, the wet squelch of her around him, the table shrieking and hopping on its rusted legs. Feed sacks toppled off the rack behind them and neither of them looked. He pounded her now, no caution left in him, his grunts coming rougher with every stroke.
"Harder," she barked. "You're not made of glass either."
He drove in, harder, faster, his fingers digging bruises into her hips she'd feel for days. The head of him hit something deep inside her no one had ever touched before, some place past anything her boyfriend or her own fingers had ever reached, and the impact shot up her spine like a struck bell.
"Oh God. Right there. Don't lose that."
He didn't lose it. He hammered it, stroke after stroke, and the pleasure climbed so fast her arms gave out and her cheek dropped to the dirty metal, her mouth hanging open, drool and cries spilling out of her together. The whole world narrowed to the stretch of him, the slap of their bodies, the bulb buzzing over her head.
"Kate, I can't, it's so good, I can't stop."
"Don't stop. Don't you dare stop."
His grip shifted, both hands hauling her back onto him now, and he found a rhythm that was all his own, deep and relentless, pounding her so hard the seed grit jumped off the table in little clouds. He was reaching her somewhere no man had ever been, and every thrust knocked a sound out of her that she didn't recognize as her own voice.
The pressure broke inside her all at once. She came with a scream, clamping down around him so hard he bellowed, his rhythm shattering as her walls milked him through it, but his hands never let go of her hips, dragging her through her own orgasm onto him again and again until her vision went white at the edges.
"That's my girl," he gasped behind her, mindless, and buried himself to the hilt and held there, shuddering, as a second flood of heat burst deep inside her, spilling out around him, running down her thighs to her stockings.
They stayed locked together, both of them heaving for air, the shed swaying gently around Kate like a boat at anchor. His forehead came down between her shoulders again.
"Kate," he said, muffled. "That was the best thing that ever happened to me in my whole life."
She laughed into the table, weak and glowing, still full of him. "Jeb, you're going to be late for supper at this rate."
"Don't care," he said, and rolled his hips, and she felt him twitch back to life inside her. "Ma can wait."
Kate laughed and eased him out of her, then rolled over and sat up on the table's edge, wincing at the cold metal against her bare skin. Her hair had come loose, brown strands hanging across her flushed face. She crossed her arms, grabbed the hem of her lacy black blouse, and pulled it up over her head in one motion, letting it drop to the dusty boards.
The pink frilly satin bra followed. She reached behind her back, unclasped it with a practiced flick, and slid the straps down her arms. Her breasts came free in the yellow light, full and high, nipples stiff from the cool air.
Jeb made a strangled noise. "Oh my Lord."
"Get down here." She caught the back of his head and pulled him down over her as she lay back on the table, the seed grit biting into her shoulders. "You ever seen these up close?"
"Never. Not even in the catalog."
"Then pay attention." She guided his mouth to her nipple. "Gentle at first. Lips, then tongue. Like you're getting the last honey out of a jar."
He was clumsy for about ten seconds, then earnest, then good. His tongue circled slow and his lips sealed around her, wet heat pulling at her skin, and her back arched off the table on its own.
"That's it. Now a little teeth. Barely. Pinch the other one with your fingers."
He did, rough thumb and forefinger rolling the stiff peak, and Kate moaned up at the bulb. "Careful, careful. There. You're a natural."
"Better than supper?" he mumbled against her.
"Much better than supper. Supper never made me do that." She laughed, breathless, and dragged his hands down over her ribs, her stomach, the flare of her hips, teaching him the map of her. His calluses caught on every curve. He worshipped his way from one breast to the other until her nipples ached and shine-wet, and she threaded her fingers through his dusty hair.
After a few minutes she propped up on her elbows and looked at him, at his swollen lips and dazed eyes, and her whole body clenched with want.
"I want to feel that cock inside me again," she said. "Right now."
"Yes ma'am."
She swung her legs up and planted her heels on the table, arching her back, and reached down to find the white skirt still bunched around her waist. She unfastened it, pushed it down over her hips, and let it slide off the table to land on her blouse. She raised her legs high, knees bent, and looked up at him.
"Wrap your arms around my thighs. Hold them." She reached up and lifted one black heel, then the other, setting them on his shoulders, the sharp heels digging into the dusty fabric. "There. Now put it inside me and push. The way you did before."
Jeb needed little further instruction. He braced one hand under her thigh, aimed himself, and drove home in a single long stroke.
Kate cried out. Empty one minute, stuffed to the brim the next, and her body clamped down around him in shock and joy. He was deeper like this, the angle driving the fat head of him down into that place behind her belly button that no one else had ever touched.
"Oh God, Jeb. Just like that. Move."
He moved. He fucked her the way he did everything now, with slow dumb concentration that turned ferocious fast, hips slapping against her raised ass, her heels bouncing on his shoulders with every stroke. The table shrieked and walked across the boards. Her stockings, still up, scraped against his forearms where he held her thighs. He leaned over her, folding her nearly in half, and the weight of him pressing down made her feel every inch of his depth.
"You're so deep," she gasped. "Harder. Punish me with it."
He grunted and obeyed, pounding her in a relentless rhythm, sweat dripping off his jaw onto her chest. The shed blurred. Her world shrank to the stretch and slap and heat of him, her cries bouncing off the low ceiling, his grunts roughening by the stroke.
Then his face changed. His brows drew down, his jaw clenched, and his whole body went rigid, that grimace she already knew, the one that meant he was seconds from bursting.
"Jeb." She pressed a palm flat against his stomach. "Pull out. Now. And stroke yourself."
He froze mid-thrust, trembling. "But."
"Do it. I want to watch."
He hauled himself out of her with a groan, and she felt the loss like a wound. She stayed where she was, legs open and raised, heels still hooked over his shoulders, and reached down between her own thighs to play with herself while he wrapped his fist around his glistening cock.
"That's it. Fast. Let me see it."
He stroked, huge hand flying up and down his soaked length, knuckles whitening, his breath coming in ragged hitches. His eyes roamed over her, her spread legs, her fingers working her clit, her bare chest heaving, and that was what did it.
"Kate," he warned, strangled.
"Come on me. Cover me, big guy."
The first rope hit her belly with a hot wet slap, thick as cream, from navel nearly to her ribs. The second landed on her breasts, then another, spattering her nipple, her throat, her raised thigh, pulse after pulse painting her in long white stripes. She kept rubbing herself, watching him, and the sheer filthy quantity of it pushed her over. She came with a sharp cry, thighs quaking, her heels digging into his shoulders while his seed cooled on her skin in the buzzing lamplight.
He sagged, spent, bracing a hand on the table beside her hip. She lay there dripping, chest and belly glazed, and laughed up at him, loose and glowing.
"Look what you did to me, Jeb." She scooped a stripe off her collarbone with one finger and sucked it clean. "You just fertilized me better than anything on this farm."
He stared down at her, wrecked and wide-eyed, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "I don't think I can walk."
"Good." She sat up slowly, careful of the mess, and patted the table beside her. "Because we've got plenty of daylight left, and I'm not dressed for the party anymore anyway."
Her purse sat on a feed sack by the door, and the phone on top of it lit up, buzzing once. She saw the name on the screen. Tyler. She'd promised him a call before the party.
Kate looked at it for a long second, then turned it face down with one finger and went back to Jeb.
"Quick learner," she said, running her palm down his sweat-damp chest, through the coarse hair at his sternum. "Two hours on this farm and you already know my body better than anyone."
"I do?" He looked genuinely pleased, then immediately worried. "I mean, I just did what you said."
"That's the trick, big guy. Nobody ever just does what I say." She traced a circle around his nipple with one fingernail and watched his chest jump. "Everything else I've ever wanted, I had to take. You just stood there and let me have it."
"Was it, is it good? What I let you have?"
Kate laughed and reached down to wrap her fingers around him, soft and heavy in her hand, streaked with both of them now. He was a mess and so was she, and the mess made her grin. She squeezed him slowly, feeling the blood start to gather again.
"It's very good." She tugged him by the cock like a handle, walking him half a step toward her. "You know what I like best about it? It's mine for the afternoon. I can do anything I want with it and you'll just stand there going oh, Kate."
"Th-that's true," he said, hitching, his hips already following her fist.
"I know it's true. That's why it's fun." She pushed him back against the feed rack and worked him with slow lazy strokes, not to get him anywhere, just to feel him swell in her grip, to watch his face go glassy on schedule. "Say something dumb for me."
"Something dumb?" He blinked.
"You always do. Ned says you're dumb. I say it's my favorite thing about you." She spat into her palm and went back to stroking, slick and easy.
"I, I practice your face," he blurted. "At night. When you leave. I practice it so I don't forget it."
Kate's hand actually stuttered on him. Something hot rolled through her belly, low and mean and greedy.
"See," she breathed, "that's the dumbest, sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me, and look what it did to me." She pulled his hand down and pressed it flat between her thighs, letting him feel the fresh flood of it. "That's you. Again. Already."
"Again?" His voice cracked clean in half.
"Again." She stepped back, breathing hard, and scanned the shed floor. Her eyes landed on the stack of folded burlap feed sacks by the scales. She crossed to them on unsteady heels, dragged two of them out, and spread them flat on the boards in the middle of the bulb's light, doubling them over into a thick pad.
Then she pointed at them.
"Lay down, Jeb. Right there. On your back."
He did it at once, no hesitation at all, which told her more about him than anything he'd said all afternoon. He settled onto the burlap, dusty and naked and staring up at the ceiling, his big chest still heaving, cock lying along his thigh like it was resting up for something.
Kate stood over him and looked down.
He lay there with his arms at his sides and his hair full of seed grit, waiting, and she felt the same thing she'd felt opening a present at Christmas when she was nine. She put her hands on her hips and took her time with it, letting him be looked at, letting the silence do its work. His ears went red before she'd even touched him.
"Look at you," she said softly. "My shiny new toy."
"Is that good? Being a toy?"
"It's the best thing you can be today." She sank down to her knees astride him, knees in the burlap, and took him in her fist. He was half hard already and came up fast under her strokes, thickening and stiffening until he stood straight up, rigid, the head dark and gleaming.
"That's it. There he is." She rose up on her knees, held him steady at her entrance, and eased herself down onto the head.
The stretch again, immediate, that same sweet burn as her body opened around him inch by inch. She went slow on purpose, savoring it, watching his face the whole way down. His mouth fell open. His hands hovered in the air like he'd forgotten she'd told him to grab things.
"Put your hands on my ass," she said. "You remember how."
He grabbed, both palms, hard, and she sank the rest of the way, taking him to the root, stuffed full with her weight settled on his hips. She sat there for a moment, breathing, adjusting, feeling him pulse deep in her.
"Oh," Jeb said, strangled. "Oh, it's different like this. It's so deep."
"It's my turn to do the work." She planted her hands flat on his chest and rolled her hips once, a slow grind that dragged him along every place inside her that ached. "You just lie there and take it, big guy. Can you do that?"
"Yes ma'am."
Then she rode him.
She lifted herself up until only the head held her and slammed down, taking all of him at once, and Jeb let out a gasp like she'd knocked the wind out of him. She did it again. Again, faster, finding a rhythm on her knees in the burlap, rising and falling, her stockings sliding on the rough weave, her breasts bouncing in the buzzing light.
"That's it, that's it," she panted, mostly to herself. The slap of her body down onto his filled the shed, wet and sharp, her ass smacking his thighs on every stroke. His fingers dug into her cheeks, spreading her as she dropped, and the depth of it, the sheer weight of him driving up into her from below, made her eyes roll.
"You're so big," she heard herself saying, filthy and fast. "You're splitting me open, Jeb, every time I sit on it."
"Kate. Kate, you're, I can feel everything."
"You're supposed to." She rode harder, feverish now, hammering herself down on him, chasing the angle that hit the spot behind her belly button. Sweat ran between her breasts. His chest was slick under her palms. The whole shed smelled of hay and oil and sex, thick and animal.
His breathing broke apart underneath her. Short, ragged pulls. She felt it start in his thighs first, the quiver, then the clench of his fingers, then his hips pushing up off the burlap to meet her.
"You're tensing," she said.
"I can't help it, it's, I'm gonna."
She practically jumped off him, hauling herself up and free with a wet sound, and scrambled back on her knees just in time. His cock slapped up against his stomach, blazing red, and erupted.
The first rope shot straight into the air, high, catching the yellow light before it came down across his chest. The second followed, longer, arcing up past his shoulder and landing on the burlap beside his ear with a slap. Pulse after pulse, jerking upward out of him like something under pressure, spattering his stomach, the sacks, the dusty boards, a thick white puddle spreading across his heaving chest.
Kate knelt astride him, soaked and gaping and trembling, and watched every last drop of it fly.
"Look at that," she breathed, sweeping her hair back with one wrist. "All that, and you're still just lying there like a good toy."
He turned his head, dazed, blinking at her through the sweat. "Is there more?"
Kate grinned down at him, wicked, and reached for his softening cock. "Oh, big guy. There's always more."
"But not right this second." She let go of him and sat back on her heels, watching his face fall. "You have to wait, big guy. Good things come to boys who lie still."
"How long do I wait?"
"A while." She leaned down over him, hair hanging in her face, and grinned. "You know what? You're a quick learner. Ned's wrong about you."
He beamed up at her, sweat and seed grit in his hair, looking like a man who'd been handed the deed to the whole county. She ran her palms down his torso as she pushed herself up off him, feeling his ribs, the soft slope of his belly, the cooling slickness on his skin. Her hands came away striped. She didn't wipe them.
The blouse came first. She fished it off the boards near the table, shook the loose dust off once, and worked her arms into the sleeves. The black lace had gone stiff in patches where it had lain in the damp, and a smear of grime crossed the front like a brushstroke. She pulled it down over her chest, over the drying map of him painted there, and the fabric stuck faintly to her nipples with every breath.
"Your bra's over there, ma'am," Jeb said helpfully, pointing from the floor. "By the pink ones."
"I see it." She stepped into the pink satin panties where they lay on the feed sack, drawing them up her thighs slowly, and both of them watched the soaked crotch of them settle against her. They clung, dark at the center, and she felt the wet of them meet the wet of her, nothing dry left anywhere. The bra went on last, the frilly cups smoothing over her stained nipples, and she reached down and offered him a hand up.
He didn't take it. He stayed flat on the burlap, arms at his sides, watching her dress the way he'd watched her count, his eyes following every piece like she was hanging the sun and moon back up one at a time.
"Aren't you going to get up?"
"In a minute. My legs still ain't back."
"Suit yourself, toy." The miniskirt lay on the floor with the seed grit still on the waistband, and a dark streak across the white where it had been bunched all afternoon. She stepped into it and drew it up, wincing as the hem dragged over her raw thighs. The white had gone gray at the hips and the back of it carried a long smear from the table's edge. She tucked it, straightened it, and looked down at herself.
She looked wrecked and she knew it. The white stockings were ruined, laddered runs climbing both shins, the tops gone brown with burlap dust, seed grit ground into the weave, and a patch near the left knee that was plainly dried come. The skirt was a shadow of white, dirt at every seam. The lacy blouse clung translucent in places, grime and him ghosting through the black. She made no move toward her purse or a tissue. This was hers. She wanted to wear the whole afternoon out of that shed like a second skin.
Jeb lay watching all of it from the floor, mouth slightly open.
She gathered her heels, stepped into them, and picked up the clipboard off the table on her way past. She wrote sixty-four at the bottom of the page without looking and hung it back on its nail.
"Inventory's done," she said. "You can tell Ned the numbers are right."
"Kate." He pushed up on his elbows at last, finally. "Is this a one-time? Like, did I just?"
She crossed the shed to him and stopped, standing over his spread-eagled body in the bulb's yellow ring. Then she bent down, took his stubbled jaw in one hand, and put her mouth against his ear.
"End of the driveway," she whispered. "Tomorrow. Eight o'clock at night. I'll come by after dark, and you'll get more. All you can take."
"Tomorrow," he repeated, like a prayer or a promise or a word he needed to press into the boards for safekeeping.
"That's right. Don't be late, and don't you dare tell a soul." She kissed his cheek, slow, tasting dust. "You're mine now, big guy. Understand?"
"Yes ma'am. Yours."
She straightened, picked up her purse, and walked out of the shed into the long gold light of late afternoon. Every step told on her.
She could feel everything between her legs, the raw swollen ache of it, the soreness set deep in her hips and the small of her back, her muscles remembering the table and the burlap and every inch of him. And riding along with the ache, a warm slip and shift. Their combined juices moved with each stride, loose and copious, leaking out of her in slow pulses as she walked, running down the insides of her thighs and into the ruined satin of her panties, past them, onto the streaked skirt. Twice she stopped by the truck just to stand and feel it drip. She didn't clench against it. She let it happen.
She felt light. She felt wrung out. Her whole body hummed with the deep contentment of a machine after a long day's run, loose and exhausted and satisfied in a way she hadn't been since, she couldn't remember when. Her throat was raw. Her hips had bruises blooming under the skirt. She smiled at the gate post like it had done something clever.
The drive home took twenty minutes on the gravel and county blacktop, and she spent all of them somewhere else entirely.
The truck cab smelled like the shed. She shifted on the seat and felt the wet spread beneath her, soaking through the skirt into the vinyl, a warm puddle growing at the crease of her thigh, and instead of sitting forward she settled into it. She drove one-handed and let the images run.
Chapter excerpt truncated at the edge.