Emily feels free. She has left her warm woolen underpants and stockings on her bed in the cosy loft above the barn. Now she feels the chilly breeze curling up under the thick woolen skirt and ruffles the blond wool of her thick pubic hair as she strides. Morning sunlight radiates on her face as she steps on long frosty grass, her boots crunching on patches of ice and snow.
Over the west of the farm rises a formidable small mountain dotted with huge standing boulders, a secretive sacred place for the original Maoris. In front of her a huge mountain range rises and rises out of flat ground to meet misty grey clouds that cover its peaks that are blanketed by pure white snow.
Emily is free from her work and study for two whole weeks. Through her skirt her hand touches her full naked mound between her legs that reminds her of poor old neighbor Dougie and Bruce, her Maori rugby All Black, who has his hands full this week, not with her soft flesh, but tackling the hefty Australian Wallabies. She hopes he comes back home to her in one piece.
It was her kind old Dougie who asked his farmer friend Gentleman Jim if Emily could come to stay at his farm here for her holiday.
Jim turns out to be an effable older man, big and strong as you would expect, with thick white hair. As he cooked her home-cured bacon and egg this morning for breakfast, washed down by steaming billy tea, he chatted about his beloved wife now passed away and his children all grown up and fled to the cities, both here and in Australia, leaving him for most part happy here with his sheep.
Emily sees the sheep now with their thick white cuddly wool gathering in their dozens near her barn to be fed hay by Jim, who waves at her with a broad smile on his face. She continues her walk on along the running stream where pure water from melted snow gurgles over big round rocks and pebbles.
Returning to the barn later, she finds it packed wall-to-wall with bleating and jostling sheep. In the middle of the thick woolen carpet on hoofs, Jim is down to his singlet with his broad back to her shearing an ewe struggling between his legs. Strong aroma of lanolin and sheep droppings rises to the ceiling along with the combined body heat of the animals, both of which assailing Emily in the head.
“Hi. Had a good walk?,” shouts Jim when he hears her shut the barn door.
“Yes, terrific, Jim. So fresh out there,” says Emily happily.
Emily sticks her hands in warm thick wool as she pushes her way forward through sheep. She stands by a tool counter admiring the fast and economical way Jim’s buzzing electric shears cut strips of curling thick wool from the sheep, leaving them smooth and even whiter and cuddlier. There are waves of wool and whole fleeces at his feet that Emily grabs now by the armful and piles into a large container to be baled later.
“I usually have a couple of shearers helping me but being Sunday the blokes are off,” says Jim. “Guess you might have to be my Jillaroo today.”
“Here. I’ll teach you,” says Jim, letting a shorn sheep free and hauling another struggling one, heavy with wool.
“Straddle your legs over this one. You need to wear work jeans really but never mind, the lanolin is good for the bare skin of your legs.”
Jim is now behind Emily guiding her hand as she holds the electric shears. She feels his muscular body all around her as he bends over her with her bottom pushing between his strong thighs. Beneath her between her straining thighs, she feels the warm bucking sheep pushing its wool up against her bare vagina.
It takes her a long time to slowly strips the wool off her first sheep. Jim is all that time behind her, guiding her arm and steadying the sheep with his left hand. Emily becomes conscious of his hardening erection against her backside in their joint effort.
“I’ll stand back and let you take the next one on your own,” says Jim with a smile, as he stands back against the tool counter to watch.
Determined to show that she can do it, Emily deftly grabs a smaller beast and mounts it quickly like a very small pony. She starts to shear it as it put up a big fight, during which her woolen skirt rides up many times at the back to reveal her very bare pink bottom and the blond wool tuft between her straining white thighs.
No doubt Jim is enjoying the sight from behind but Emily doesn’t care. All she wants to do now is to finish shearing this bloody sheep, which she does after a long while.
Sweaty and puffed, she turns around to look at Jim for approval.
“Well done, girl,” smiles Jim and steps forward to wrap his big arms around her.
“You know what? From what I can see, I think you could do with a shear yourself, if you don’t mind my saying,” says Gentleman Jim who pushes sheep aside making space to position Emily with her back leaning against the tool counter.
“What…what you doing, Jim?”
“Don’t worry, just lean back and keep very still. Let me trim back some of that lovely blond wool of yours.”
Before Emily realizes what was happening, Jim brings the whirling shears from the floor and lifts up her skirt in the front to reveal her full curly bush on its mound, being offered to him as it were on a plate.
“Stay very still now, this blade is wide and sharp.”
To her amazement, Emily watches helpless as the razor like head of the shears expertly trims her pubic hair, dropping the glittering blond curls to mix in with the white wool on the floor, to puzzle the wool inspectors later. Jim gently opens her thighs wider so that the blade can remove all the fuzz at the top of her legs.
Emily can see the increasing excitement on Jim’s face, especially when she becomes more open just under his nose. Having left her fleshy mound now almost bare covered only with short downy blond hair, Jim turns the machine off and places it on the ground.
He kneels in front of her and starts to kiss the top of her mound and works his way down the soft bright pink crack that he has opened up. His tongue joins in the exploration as Emily can’t help pushing forward hard against it and his searching mouth.
“Oh, hell, Jim!” she blurts out. “Jim!”
The old farmer is in a hurry now. He pulls Emily forward roughly and pushes her to kneel on the floor on top of the shorn wool. Emily hears him undo his belt and unzips his work trousers.
Then he takes a shorn fleece from the ground and drapes it over her. As Jim stands astride her legs, Emily must look like a strange ewe with tousled blond flowing hair flopping forward, a bare round pink bottom pointing back out from under thick white wool. She can hear the hoofs of the other sheep as they stand watching uncertainly all around.
Jim mounts her like a ram now, deftly inserting his very hard and long penis to the hilt.
“Fucking hell!, Jim. Go easy,” is all that Emily can say, before weird unsheep-like noises come out of her mouth as she is quickly overwhelmed by it all.
Jim is taking longer and his sharp thrusting adds further to Emily’s already overwhelming agony. Then there is a loud bellow echoing to the rafters as he at long last finishes, his head resting briefly on her back.
The farmer pulls the fleece off Emily’s back and helps her up, still holding firmly on to her.
“Thanks for that, Emily. Hope you didn’t mind my taking advantage of you,” says Jim, apologetic. “It’s been a very long time for me.”
Emily snuggles up to kiss the gentle man on his cheek in response.
“Cup of tea time?,” asks Jim, again smiling.
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