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Fistfuls of Hay

A farmer's wife allows an unusual relationship - and enjoys it, too!
Nelle balanced the heavy basket of wet clothes on the ample curve of her hip and shielded her eyes against the late day sun. Grasshoppers flicked through the grass around her, a humming buzz of life in the emerald green. She’d heard the deep rumble of the tractor returning from the field a few minutes ago. By now her men would be in back of the barn, knocking off the dirt, making use of the hose to wash away the salt and sweat of a hard day, cooling off their sun baked skins. She headed for the wash line, her feet lightly tapping a count down, marking the seconds she patiently waited.

Five minutes. She would give them five minutes to start, and that would give her enough time to hang the washing. If they were quick about it, she’d have enough time to bake a pie for supper. The apples were hanging heavy on the garden tree; it was time to taste their ripened juices. It would be apple pie with cold ice cream from the creamery. If they took longer, it would be a cake. Chocolate, she thought to herself. Chocolate and cherries, the last of the berries from the neighbour’s orchard. I’ll dust it with cocoa and make a fresh pot of coffee.

The sun beat down even as it drifted toward the soft horizon. The grasshoppers droned. Nelle wiped the back of her tiny wrist across her damp brow, dragging tea red tendrils of hair with it. Four more minutes.

One by one the shirts went up, fresh and clean and cool to the touch. Socks were strung like festival bunting beside them. It was such a pleasant feeling, hanging the washing. It felt good to stand back and watch it catch the wind, each empty arm puffing open like a windsock, each pillow case filling like a sail. Two more minutes.

Nelle bit the corner of her nail to control her excitement, a dirty habit her younger brother had mercilessly teased her for in their childhood. She looked at the barn, its red siding gleaming brilliantly in the long rays of the sun. She turned her feet toward it. The laundry’ll be done soon in this breeze. I might have time for another load before the sun is gone. She started walking, wiping her hands on her cotton apron.

At the barn window she stopped just off to the side, out of sight of the occupants inside, and leaned her shoulder against the warm wood of the window frame. It was the perfect spot with the perfect view. The corner of her nail went back between her teeth as she watched, enraptured.

Beyond the window, standing in the loose hay piled near the back, her naked husband Tom roughly pulled the clothing off Jamie the farmhand, dropping it, kicking it away from them. He pressed his face to the other man’s chest, inhaling his scent deeply, and then, with long, slow strokes of his tongue, licked away the beads of sweat the hose had missed. Lower and lower he licked, down the other man’s tight belly, sinking to his knees, nuzzling into the black thatch of Jamie’s crotch.

It was when he was on his knees that Nelle lifted the skirt of her gingham sundress, hitching it around her hips, and slid her hand between her legs. Her cunt was throbbing, her trembling, secret flesh was moist and hot. The scent of her arousal blended seamlessly with the scent of drying hay, the sun-warmed wood, and the crushed grass beneath her booted feet. Her knickers she had left on the cutting block in the kitchen to keep them from getting stained. There was no barrier between her fingers and her sticky folds.

Inside the barn, her husband took the farmhand’s proudly erect cock into his mouth, swallowing it smoothly with the kind of ease that only came from practice. Nelle couldn’t hear Jamie’s groan, but she could see it on his face, the way his eyes narrowed, the corner of his mouth twitching. He took her husband’s head in his hands, fingers locked in his damp, brown hair, and, gently at first, then with more confidence, slid himself in and out of the man’s throat.

Nelle bit her lip, bracing her weight against the window frame, watching as Tom reached around behind himself and slid his finger into his own ass. She deftly mimicked him, sliding her own finger inside her slit, pressing up, massaging perfectly timed circles on her tender hidden spot. Her eyes went from the moist trickle at the edge of his mouth to the widening hole in his bottom, to the beast-like glint in Jamie’s eyes as his lust began to take control.

Cake or pie? Nelle’s wedding ring was rubbing over and over her clit, sending little shocks down her legs and up her spine. She kept herself standing through sheer will even though her knees threatened to buckle. Her thighs were damp with more than just sweat.

Jamie pulled himself from Tom’s mouth. Nelle groaned, watching the shudder that ran through her husband’s body. The farmhand led the other man deeper into the hay, pushing him down to his hands and knees, taking his spot behind him in the rustling softness.

Cake. I’ll put some brandy in it. I’ll whip some heavy cream and… “ Oh…!” Nelle gasped out loud as Jamie slid his cock into her husband. The pain that briefly twisted Tom’s face made him beautiful in the dusty half light of the barn. His eyes glazed over, his mouth hung open as he panted, and as the pleasure overtook the pain, his muscles rippled as he pushed back against Jamie’s grinding hips.

The farmhand fucked Nelle’s husband, his steady hands tightly holding Tom’s firm ass. His gaze was glued to the place where his swollen cock pumped into the other man. Neither of them saw the woman just outside, barely hidden now, her apron strings untied, the straps of her dress pulled down, one hand on her charming little tits, the other out of view.

Like animals the men were joined together with grinding hips and curling spines, and Tom, his eyes desperate, was grasping at the hay as though trying to hold on, trying to keep from being lifted by the force of the other’s thrusting. But all he could do was grab fistfuls of hay.

It happened like a flame flickering to life. First one then the other, both men pressing together as their bodies spasmed. White fluid spattered the hay at the same time it trickled thickly down Tom’s thighs. They were panting, their tanned chests heaving. Jamie was bent over Tom’s back, his forehead resting between the other man’s shoulder blades.

Nelle stuffed the hem of her apron into her mouth to keep from moaning loudly as she followed behind, her juices spilling messily down her legs and into the grass as she came. She slid down the side of the barn, sinking to her knees as she tremored uncontrollably. Her fingers dug into the pulsing constriction of her cunt, prolonging her orgasm, drawing it out until the heat of her body combined with the heat of the sun threatened to cause her to faint.

The last flickers of ecstasy faded gradually and Nelle gave a shuddering sigh. Picking herself up, fixing her clothes, she peeked through the window again. Tom and Jamie were nestled into the hay where they had collapsed, spent. It was with a look of tender devotion that the farmhand gently pried open Nelle’s husband’s hands, releasing the fistfuls of hay he’d been clutching. He kissed the man, who opened his mouth without hesitation. Nelle smiled.

She picked up her laundry basket on her way back to the house, setting it on her hip. Chocolate cake, maybe with ground almonds instead. That will give them enough time to tidy up and come in for supper. And I’ll start another load of laundry. The thought of picking hay from their clothing made her grin.

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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