Things are getting spicy in my story....see what I did.....
Chapter 5
I get back to the house and as soon as I walk in, the smell of pork chops with onions and green peppers floods my nose. Ooh, my favorite! I realize I’m starving, on top of being filthy, embarrassed and still damp. I need to shower, for many reasons. I cross through the kitchen on my way back to the first floor bathroom, which is closest to my room, and my mom is standing over the stove, working her magic. “Hey hun! You’re back! How was your walk?” She looks over at me and her expression changes from happy to confused. “What the heck happened to you? Where did you get that ugly shirt?” I mentally flash through where I’ve just been and decide that partial truths are a good way to go. “Oh, I went down by the creek, but I accidentally fell in. No big deal, I’m fine,” I reassure her immediately. “The shirt—uh — I came across Frank over at the livestock barn across the road over there and he had an extra shirt in his truck that he gave me. It was already dirty from being in the truck,” I add, before that becomes her next question. “Oh jeez honey, you gotta be careful down there.” She returns to flipping pork chops. “That was nice of Frank. Where’s the shirt you had on?” Shit! My shirt! I left it on the rearview mirror! “I…have it tucked into the back of my waistband. This shirt’s just big so you can’t see it.” Don’t over explain, Fiona, she’ll tell you’re lying. I don’t know why I’m lying. It wouldn’t hurt anything to say I forgot it in the barn. But for some reason, right now the truth feels more wrong than the lie. “Oh, ok. Well, go get showered. Lunch is almost ready.” “Sounds good, Mom.” I continue to head towards the bathroom. “Did you save the onions and peppers for me?” “You know I always do, sweetie.” I’m smiling as I grab a towel from the hallway linen closet, enter the bathroom and shut the door, locking it behind me. It’s nice to be home. My mom’s always been my best friend and while we talk every day when I’m off at school, there’s something so comfortable being in this house with her. I guess because this place is her. I don’t mean that she loves it here — quite the opposite — she hates the farm. She was a city girl that married a farmer and the farm won. But there isn’t an inch of this house that doesn’t have “mom” all over it. The furniture and decor, the smell of cookies baking, or fried chicken on the stove, the paint on the walls that hasn’t been changed since I last helped her paint it when I was probably 12. Maybe we should paint while I’m home this summer. That would be fun. The bathrooms still even have those cheesy peel-and-stick wallpaper borders that were all the rage in the mid-nineties. She maintains this house, therefore she is the house. No, she is home. My dad, on the other hand, has little to do with this house besides eating and sleeping in it, and the occasional times during calving season when he hauls an almost-frozen baby calf in and puts it under heat lamps on the kitchen floor. Cows are idiots and will have their calves in the dumbest places, in the middle of winter. It’s up to my dad to find them and make sure they’re not dead, and if they’re not, try his best to keep them alive. And sometimes that means decorating the room we eat in with a baby version of the thing we’ll eventually eat. The irony of it all. I always loved it though. I never understood why he didn’t do it in one of the barns instead, but I suppose when it’s that cold out, neither he nor the calf want to struggle for heat out there. Plus, I think he knew I’d like to be a part of helping bring that calf back. My dad isn’t one to show emotion very well, so little gestures like bringing in a brand new baby kitten he found for me to hold, or putting me in charge of rubbing warm towels on a baby calf to help bring its body temperature up, were his way of showing love and affection towards me. The farmland outside is dad, and the house is mom. And I can’t help but feel like I’m on the verge of shitting on both of them just a little. I look into the mirror and my smile, full of nostalgia, fades. I’m a mess. My hair is disheveled and dull, with bits of hay dust in it, my damp leggings are starting to make my skin feel rashy and my shirt — Frank’s shirt — is filthy, and the realization hits me that I can almost see the man himself in this shirt, even with it on my body. There’s so much space under it that it’s unavoidable to feel what a beastly man he really is. It’s like I can feel him wrapped around me again. Ew. I start unbuttoning it as quickly as I can and when it falls open, exposing my breasts, my memory flashes back to standing by that truck. I see myself, standing just like this, only in the reflection of the truck window instead…with Frank’s reflection in the mirror…with him watching me…with the cows and the birds, all watching me. I feel a tightening, deep and low in my belly. My nipples start to clench into points and my face suddenly feels flush. Oh no. I need to get in the shower and cool off. I turn on the tub’s faucet and after it warms up a little (I said ‘cool off,’ not freeze my ass off) I pull the little knob that switches the water from the faucet to the shower, whatever that thing is called and step in. I instantly feel the grime of the morning start to rinse down my body. It feels wonderful. I comb my fingers into my hair, and see the tiny pieces of hay making their way to the puddle at my feet and floating effortlessly down the drain. A few get stuck to my skin on the way down, so I grab the body wash and squirt a little into my hands before gliding them up and down my arms, across my belly and then up to my breasts. I cup them in each hand as I watch the water cascade over them. My nipples are still erect and I don’t know if it’s from the water pouring over me or from the intrusive thoughts I can’t seem to shake. I close my eyes and instantly images of being under a waterfall in that creek, which doesn’t really exist, flood my brain. I’m naked under it, relishing in the feeling of freedom and eroticism it gives me. I toss my head back to let the water rinse through my hair and there above me, at the top of the waterfall, I see someone — a man — watching me. He doesn’t move. I can’t see his face clearly, but he’s built exactly like Frank. My eyes dart open in the shower; my breath quickens. Why? Why is this happening to me? I’m disturbed, yet I’m so fucking horny, I can’t stand it. Fuck it, let’s take care of this and get it over with. I sit down in the tub, but leave the shower running. I close my eyes again. Now I’m sitting under the waterfall, off to the side, against the creek bank, just under the lighter trickles of water coming from above. The man is still standing up there. His face comes into focus and I see that I was right — it is Frank. He’s in his work clothes and he’s staring right at me, with his hand holding his cock over his jeans. He’s almost squeezing it, even, and I can see how much of a handful he’s got. My breathing gets faster and I glide my hand down to my pussy. I slide my fingers between my swollen folds and feel how slick I am. God, that feels good. I take my other hand and gently squeeze one of my breasts. I’m looking right back at Frank as I do it. I already feel my muscles contracting, deep inside, my climax starting to build. I slide the hand from my breast down to my clit and start rubbing it as I slide two fingers of my other hand into myself. I watch Frank, still gripping his cock, pulsing his hand on it like he wants to jerk off so badly. But he doesn’t. His hand is the only thing about him that’s moving. Everything else is stone still, but then his eyes — his eyes are growing darker — wanting. I stroke myself faster, both inside and out. My body flexes in response, my back tries to arch and I feel myself clenching around my fingers. Frank doesn’t take his eyes off of me, and I can’t look away. Even if I try, I can’t. I feel like I’m on a runaway train. Not like this. I don’t want to stare at him as I come. Just open your eyes, Fiona, and it all goes away. But something about him watching me is fueling this animal in me that’s ready to explode. I rub myself faster, harder and suddenly, Frank — still locked into my gaze —gives me a slight smile and a nod. My body climaxes in response, crashing like a lightning bolt strike. My vision fades out. The waterfall and Frank fade away, as my muscles spasm over and over until the intensity dissipates like distant rolling thunder. I slowly open my eyes and the shower is still spraying down on me. My lungs are somehow tired and I’m trying my best to steady my breathing when a loud knock on the door jolts me upright. “Fiona, lunch is ready!” Jesus, Mom! Could you knock louder? I clear my throat. “Ok! Be right out!” I lay back down in the tub. I just need a moment to regroup myself. Well that was a first. What was that? I don’t think I’ve come that hard in a long time, and I don’t understand why Frank was in my daydream. That’s what that was, right? A daydream? Did I just daydream about Frank? No, I daydreamed about being watched. He just happened to be the one watching me. Yes, that was it. I pull myself up to my feet and my legs are so wobbly, I worry that I’m going to slip. I’m too youthful to need a Life Alert, but damn, this is dicey. I quickly wash my hair, rinse, turn off the water and grab my towel. When I step out of the tub, my reflection is staring back at me in the mirror. Hello, again. You look…different, Fiona. It’s true. The dirty, hay-ridden girl in the big flannel shirt that just stood here isn’t here anymore, not completely. The woman staring back at me now is flush all over, glowing. Her breasts look a little fuller somehow, and her eyes — there’s a gleam of something new in her eyes. The brown of her irises look lighter than before, almost golden, yet the look in them also asserts something a bit…darker…than before. I think I look forward to getting to know her a bit better.
Continuing my "Farmers Daughter" series....love to hear your thoughts.
Chapter 4
What the hell am I doing? Shit. I have no plan. I haven’t interacted with Frank since the day I was mowing, and my brain’s unsure now if what happened that day even happened. I’m only a few feet away from him now. Say something, Fiona. Say ANYTHING. “That was quite the spill you took down there,” Frank spoke first. Thank God. “Yeah, not one of my finest moments,” I reply with an embarrassed giggle. He looks me up and down and I can feel his eyes focusing on my nipples showing through my wet, white, cropped tee before moving down to my soaked leggings and I wonder if he can tell I’m not wearing panties under them. “Are ya cold? I might have an extra shirt or something in the truck over there.” He gestures over to his truck, parked backwards where the dirt road ends at the barnlot. He must have unloaded something when he got here, to have chosen to back it in. His offer makes me suddenly wonder if my appearance offends him. Or is he just being polite? As if on autopilot, my eyes wander down and catch a glimpse of his package forming a mountain under the fabric as if two tectonic plates just collided in full force. Only, it’s me who feels the shudder. So, I didn’t imagine it. With that, an idea just came to me. I quickly look back up at him. “Um, sure. Are you sure? I mean, if you have one. That’d be great,” I say through a shy smile. He looks surprised that I took him up on his offer, followed by what seemed like a flash of disappointment. I don't think he wants me to change out of my wet shirt. But I have a test for him, which may help prove to myself that I’m not going insane. He walks over to his truck and I follow a few steps behind. He opens the passenger door and reaches into the cab, shuffling around whatever’s in there, and comes back out holding an old flannel shirt with dirt and hay stuck to it. He whips it against the side of the truck a couple of times, but maybe only 2 pieces of hay shake off. At least he tried. “I’m sorry, all I got’s this one. It ain’t been worn, but it’s been tossed around in the truck for a while, so it don’t look the greatest.” He holds it out for me and I step up and take it from him, trying not to look disgusted. “That’s totally fine, thank you.” I give him a smile of appreciation and look around for a place to change. There’s the livestock barn that the cows aren’t currently in, since they’re all out in the pasture. I could go in there, but that’s not really ideal for my little test here. “You can change in my truck, if you’d like,” he said, as if reading my mind. “Ok, perfect. Thanks.” I walk over to the driver’s side, so that the truck is now between me and him and place my fingers on the door handle. I could just change in the cab, like he said. I’m starting to doubt the idea that I was so bold about two seconds ago. I look around at my surroundings again. Besides the two of us standing here in the barnlot, there’s nothing or no one else around but cows in the distance, random birds flying in and out of the barn and the sound of the wind blowing through the short cornfield bordering the dirt road. Fuck it. I’m gonna do it here. While staying on the driver’s side, I turn my back to the barn, hang his shirt on the side rearview mirror and start removing my wet t-shirt. I feel the sun hit my breasts, instantly warming them which relaxes my nipples for a second, but then the breeze grazes across them, and that, combined with the residual moisture on my skin from my shirt, feels cool and they’re suddenly back at attention. What a rush! I take a deep breath to calm my nerves and soak in the heady feeling of being topless outside. I go to reach for the flannel shirt, replacing it on the mirror with my wet one, and I pause for a split second as I let out a small gasp. In the rearview mirror, I can see Frank standing back at the barn, but he’s turned right toward me, watching me change. Gotcha! I knew it! He’s totally perving on me! I grab the shirt and lower my head as I work through opening the buttons. Why is an unworn shirt already buttoned? Keeping my head down, I peer up into the mirror, as slyly as I can, and watch him watching me. He’s got the thumb of one hand tucked into his waistband and the other hand — the other hand, looks like it’s playing with his zipper. It reminds me of the dream I had when he looked like he was about to pull his cock out, while watching me almost fuck another guy. Holy shit. He either can’t tell that I see him looking…or he doesn’t care. The latter thought sends a small chill down my spine. But I keep my resolve. I open the shirt and as I swoop it behind me like I’m putting on a jacket, the motion heaves my breasts a little higher and I turn a little to my right, towards the truck door to use the window as a larger mirror. He probably caught some side-boob view there. It’s not my fault he moved to stand back there. Or that he’s turned towards me. Or that he’s watching. My whole body is reeling with adrenaline. I finish buttoning the shirt, which is quite large on me, but this isn’t exactly a fashion show situation, so I don't care. But it is something of a situation. I turn to walk back towards the barn and Frank quickly turns also, seemingly pretending like he wasn’t just watching me the whole time. “Thanks again.” I say to him as I walk to where he had been standing and quickly steal a glance back to where I had been, just to see what he could see. Yep, it’s a pretty good view from here. I look a little to the left and spot two hay bales on the ground, laying by the hay trough in the middle of the dirt corral in front of the barn. Ah, he must have brought that hay. That’s why the truck is backed in. “So…what are you working on, up here?” He looks at me like I have two heads. I don't think he expected any further conversation with me. “Oh, I was just about to throw a couple of them hay bales in the feed trough for the cows before goin’ home for lunch.” “Oh yeah, it IS about that time. Can I help? Since I’ve distracted you from your work? I’m sure you’re hungry and want to get going. It’s the least I could do, for the shirt.” He looks uncomfortable with my offer. Either that or the fact that the python from last time is fully back, trying to pop the zipper out from his work pants and that’s making him uncomfortable. The zipper he was just playing with. I feel like I may be poking a bear, but I can’t seem to stop myself right now. I’m extremely intrigued by the effect I seem to have on this old man. Besides, he seems harmless enough. What’s the worst that could happen? He gets a little turned on and I get a little thrill out of it? Sounds like a win-win for both of us. “Alright, yeah. I could use the help. You’re right,” — then in a deeper voice — “I am pretty hungry.” His eyes flash something quickly as he says it and it sends a tingle all throughout my body, like the kind you get when something jumpscares you and your limbs go numb for a second. Only, I didn’t visibly jump. Instead, I felt frozen. I saw the hunger he’s talking about in that flash. A darker need that I don’t think I truly saw before. I take a deep breath. Proceed with caution, Fiona. “Ok, great.” I flash him a look back, not too dissimilar from the one he just gave me. Another prod at the bear. “What can I do?” “Ya ever picked up one of these square bales?” he asks. He turns and points at where the bales are, and his thick bulge also points with him. I can’t stop looking at it. I wonder if it’s all him, or if he stuffs something down there. It’s a dumb thought, but I really can’t believe what I think I’m seeing. “Ummm…I think I’ve tried before, when dad was stacking some in the other barn, but that was a long time ago and I wasn’t strong enough to lift it. I’m probably still not. Don’t you take the baling wire off to put it in the trough? So the cows don’t eat it?” “Yeah, but not ‘till after you toss it in, so it doesn’t fall apart before ya get it in there. Here…take my work gloves…you’ll need’em to grip the wire. It can cut through yer hand pretty easy.” He takes his gloves off and approaches me to hand them over, and his trouser snake looks extra excited to be within striking distance. I slip my hands into each glove. They’re warm from his hands and for some reason it strikes me how personal it feels to put a man’s gloves on that he was just wearing. It’s like I can feel his hands on mine. My face flushes at the thought. “Ok, all set. Which bale first?” It’s obvious which bales are going in the trough, since they’re sitting right beside it, but I still want him to lead the way. He walks over to the first bale and silently gestures for me to come grab it. I walk over and get both sets of my fingers around the wire, which fit pretty tight against the bale, and try to lift it. To my surprise, I can get it off the ground but I don’t know if I’ll be able to get it high enough to toss it in the trough. It’s about 3-4 feet high and 8 feet in diameter, and these suckers are heavy. The trough looks like a ring-shaped cage, of sorts, and the cows eat the hay through the wide-spaced bars that make up the sides of the ring. That’s probably the size of cock-ring Frank would need. STOP IT FIONA. I need to get it over the top of the ring and Frank can tell I’m going to need help, so he moves in behind me, once again, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hope he would. Some teeny-tiny part of me wants to feel his massive cock against my ass again. What the hell is wrong with me? That’s so twisted, Fiona. He reaches around me like he’s giving me a backwards bear-hug (oh, there’s that bear I’m poking) and grabs the baling wire on either side of my hands to help me lift it up. I can only assume his hands are used to the wire, so he’s not worried about not having his gloves. I instinctively squat a little bit to get better leverage and to try to get my left thigh under it to help hoist it, and when I do, I practically sit my ass right into his lap. Holy fuck. If we weren’t wearing pants, he would’ve impaled me from behind, right there. “Oh, shit, I’m sorry!” I can’t help but apologize for totally ass-ramming his dick, and suddenly I’m super embarrassed that I just acknowledged what happened out loud. “Naw, it’s alright – don’t stop or you’ll drop it,” he responds, as if nothing even happened. That’s weird. Maybe it IS fake and he didn’t feel that. He props his left foot up onto the bottom bar of the trough cage, for balance – or maybe leverage – and the movement makes me stumble back into him again, causing the weight of the hay bale to fall against my chest and now my whole back and ass is pressed up against his front. I feel his heat down my whole backside and I swear it seems as if he’s grinding against me. His rigid cock, through his pants, is sliding up and down my ass crack and the material of my leggings is so thin, plus they’re still damp, that I can feel his bulge against me clearly, as if I were naked from the waist down. Oh my fuck. It’s definitely all him down there. Rock solid, old man boner. Eww, old man boner. Why did I think I wanted this touching me? We’re both breathing heavily from the exertion and I’m losing my grip on the bale, because I’m losing my focus at the same time. I attempt to reset my grip with the bale in mid-air, which only rocks me against him even more. “Almost there!” he grunts. “Don’t stop, Fiona!” I can’t do this. I’m freaking out inside. I need this to stop. NOW. I open my fingers to drop the bale, but he’s still hanging onto it, keeping me trapped between it and him. I panic. “I’m out! I’m done! LET GO!” I shout. He immediately lets go and the hay drops to the ground in front of me with a heavy thud and I try to move away from him so quickly that I trip and tumble right over the bale. “Oh shit, are you ok?” he asks, as he takes a step towards me, hand outreached to help me up. “Yeah, I’m fine.” I try to get to my feet as fast as possible, by myself. “I got it.” My shirt is covered in more hay, my right arm hurts from landing on it and my pride is all but shattered. His shirt. His shirt is covered in hay. I forgot I’m wearing Frank’s shirt and suddenly the events of the last 15 minutes sink in and I feel disoriented. “Sorry, I gotta go. I forgot mom wanted my help with lunch,” I lie. I start walking away, but I also feel bad for leaving so abruptly that all I can do is turn around and say “thanks for the dry shirt.” “Yer welcome.” He doesn’t say anything more, as he stands there looking at me. He doesn’t even move. I turn back around and keep walking down the dirt road that leads back to the house.
My first night home was great. My mom cooked dinner for me and my Dad and we made chocolate chip cookies together, like the old days. It was all super chill and I slept like a log in my old bed. My mom hasn't changed my room at all, although I’ve clearly outgrown it. Still, there’s something comforting about that. Before I fell asleep though, I couldn’t stop thinking about that weird exchange I had with Frank when I first got here. He seemed…off. It kinds of gives me the creeps. The Frank I remember was always friendly to me and was more like an old family friend by now rather than just a hired farm hand. He’s always been kind of a keep-to-himself guy, but if you spoke to him, he’d chat with you for as long as the conversation naturally lasted. However, yesterday, he seemed different. The way he stood there staring at me. It wasn’t ominous, necessarily, but he’s just never done that before. And how quickly he turned and left once I noticed him was unusual. No wave, no holler of hello. He actually froze like maybe he’d seen a ghost. That’s the best comparison I can come up with. But instead of fear, there was a little darkness there within his eyes. I mean, I know I only looked at him for a few seconds, and when I waved and he snapped out of it, that darkness left and was then quickly replaced with fear before he disappeared. I might be totally off, but he almost looked lustful, which is the last thing I would expect out of a 59 year old man, but I do remember what I was wearing when I got out of the car and lately I have been extra tuned-in to my….womanliness. Could that really be it? Do I have that kind of power over an old man that saw me for just a few seconds from afar? Or am I just being totally full of myself? This could be a fun sneaky game to play this summer, to find out. I’ve decided I’m going to mow the lawn today, as it desperately needs it, so I decide to dress in a “cute” casual outfit. In the past, I would’ve thrown on some athletic shorts and an old track t-shirt, but this updated version of me doesn’t wear t-shirts unless they're cropped or with no pants. I did bring home some short frayed-edge, denim shorts that I don’t mind getting grass stained, and they barely cover my ass cheeks. Perfect. It’s early June, sunny and probably around eighty-five degrees out, but the humidity has already set in making it feel more like ninety-five, so I opt for a loose yellow tank that I cropped myself, since I love showing off my belly button ring, and I don’t wear a bra under it. I rarely wear bras anymore unless I’m working out. The air flowing through it will feel glorious on my skin. I pull my hair into a bouncy high ponytail, and slip into my white converse tennis shoes (yes, I know, I’m mowing in white shoes, but bleach and the washing machine will take care of the stains no prob, so calm down) and grab my Discman that’s already loaded up with a mix CD I made just for mowing. I run the cord of my earbuds through my shirt so I don’t get tangled while steering and it brushes over one of my nipples, bringing it to attention. I don’t hate it. I’m sure that won’t be the last time that happens during the bumpy mower ride, and the thought makes me smirk to myself. I clip the Discman to my shorts, leave the house and start walking up to the machine shed where my dad keeps the mower parked. The machine shed doors are already open, which is typical, as my dad is a man of routine and that’s the first thing he does every morning around six-thirty a.m. He finishes his breakfast, throws his overalls on, laces up his work boots and marches up to the machine shed, unlocking the pins and shoving each giant sliding door open, and that’s where they stay until sundown. I haven’t attempted to open one of those doors in ages, and despite my training, I still don’t think I could. I walk across the dirt floor, which makes up three quarters of the shed’s floor, with one quarter in the front right being concrete, where all of my dad’s tool benches are. The familiar smell of metal and motor oil permeate my nose, and I head straight for the old blue tarp that covers the White brand riding mower. Without that tarp, this thing would be covered in a quarter inch of dirt after 2 days of sitting here. I flip it off, simultaneously stepping back to let the flying dirt settle, when I hear the clang of something metal hitting the concrete floor on the other side of the shed. I shriek in surprise and turn around to see Frank walking out from behind the combine that’s between me and him. “Hey there, Fiona. Sorry, I just dropped a wrench.” “Oh, God, hey Frank! That scared the shit out of me. Glad it was just you…no worries! I thought an animal was in here, like a feral racoon or something.” “Yeah, that does happen, as you know. Just a month ago, yer dad found a dead one in the combine. Must’ve climbed in and gotten trapped. This thing hasn’t moved since last fall, so they like to try to nest in there over the winter.” “Yeah, he told me about that one over the phone a couple weeks ago. God, that had to smell horrible. I don’t even wanna think about it.” I shudder and turn back towards the mower to check the fuel tank. I’m not sure where this is going, but conversation about smelly, dead raccoons isn’t exactly my favorite. The fuel gauge is busted on the mower, as it’s been for years, so I have to flip the seat up to open the gas cap and visually check to see how full it is. I lean over to peek in, and I can feel my loose tank droop very far forward. I look down and see that the gap between my breasts and shirt is now so big that I can see all the way through and out the other end of my short shirt. And also through that gap, I see work boots approach from behind me. I stand up quickly and Frank is so close, I can feel his heat. “You might need this to see better,” he says as he hands me a flashlight. “Yeah, that will help. Thanks,” I answer. I need to lean forward again to shine the flashlight in to see the gas level, but Frank isn’t moving. He’s still directly behind me and I realize now that he’s been checking me out. He’s either looking at my ass back there, which I know is hanging out, round and plump, from the bottom of my shorts, or he caught an angle where he can see up my shirt when I’m bent over, getting an eyeful of the underside of my small, perky breasts. The thought excites me, for some reason, so I decide to give him both, while playing innocent to it all. I lean forward, with my ass to him, and shine the flashlight in. Only, instead of looking in, I peek back through my shirt gap and I now not only see his boots, but a thick bulge that’s formed in his pants. Oh my God, he looks huge. What the fuck is an almost 60 year old man doing with a dick that big? I can’t even see the whole thing because he’s rather tall and too close to me to get a full view, but I know what pants look like when they’re pitching a tent and he’s erecting a 12 person pop-up right now. I carry on with my plan, and I shift my feet around in a half-circle while staying bent over, kind of like when you spin around a bat before pinning the tail on the donkey, and pretend like I’m trying to get a better view into the tank, when in reality, I know I’m giving him a straight front view down my shirt and to my dangling tits. “Hmmm, yeah, it looks like I should fill it,” I determine out loud. I’m so curious that I sneak a quick peek, with just my eyes, at Frank’s pants now that I’m somewhat facing him, and I try to make it so fast that he can’t tell what I’m looking at. My eyes catch the massive boner straining against his work jeans. And he knows it. He starts moving towards me to get behind me again, and I’m just wondering how he can even walk with that thing like that. “Let me check it out,” he says, and he comes up behind me and leans over my back, like the cliche move of a man showing a woman how to hold a pool cue, and I feel it. He is absolutely bulging up against my ass, and his large, tall body is hovering over my whole backside, enveloping me like a big heated blanket and all I can smell is a mixture of pasture and machine oil on him. My body freezes in place and he wraps his large hand around mine that’s holding the flashlight, aims it into the tank and peeks into it right next to my face. “Yep, that much ain’t gonna make it the whole time. I can fill it for ya if you’d like,” he offers. He still hasn’t moved back and I can still feel his fucking python pressing against my ass and it’s now throbbing. I wonder if he’s making it do that on purpose. Like how I’ve seen that dudes can flex it, you know? I’m still frozen, finding myself both a little intimidated at the situation, but somehow, surprisingly, also very turned on. Can he tell? Is he just fucking with me? I’ve never been this close to a man over 22. It’s kind of exciting. “That’s ok, I know how to do it,” my breath hitches a little as I reply. He stands up and backs away from me, and I can breathe again. “Naw, really. It’s no trouble. Just drive it down to the tank over there and I’ll fill ya up — fill it up — for ya,” he offers again. I caught that slip, too, which he covered with a little clear of his throat. This man is unbelievably horny right now, and I did that to him. I should feel bad, but I don’t. Maybe because it made me horny too, and it proved me right….this sneaky summer game is going to be a lot of fun, I think. And here I thought I was going to get bored being here for like 3 months — ha! Frank takes off towards the gas tanks and I hop on the mower and start it. As I pull out of the machine shed and travel down the gravel driveway towards the tanks, the whole machine is vibrating between my legs, sending a ripple through my entire body and I can feel my nipples pull in tight as my loose shirt gently shimmies over their peaks. The uneven surface of rocks and small divots in the driveway is bouncing my breasts in an arrhythmic way and they feel heavier than usual when they rise and fall on the larger bumps. I look up ahead and Frank is waiting there for me, staring like a deer in the headlights. I wonder what he’s thinking. I park the mower, and hop down so Frank can lift the seat to fill it. This time I keep my distance from him, but while he’s looking away from me and into the tank, I can’t stop myself from eyeing his bulge. My heart is racing so fast right now, and I don’t know why. It’s very unsettling. My nipples are still as hard as diamonds. Breathe, Fiona. Frank finishes filling the tank, leaning over so he can hear when it sounds full, and the minutes passing feel like hours. When he stands back up I can’t help but notice his hand quickly adjusting his crotch and I try my best to hold my composure, unsure if he can tell that he’s making me nervous…or horny….I don’t even know what I am. He screws the gas cap back on and flips the seat back into position and I thank him, hop on, start it back up and drive away, raising my hand in a “see-ya-later” gesture, without turning back to look at him. I need to get out of this moment like RIGHT NOW. I start in the large front yard since it’s one big square and I really just need a simple space to zone out in for a while as I collect my thoughts. What WAS that? As my heart settles back down and I let it sink in, what I just witnessed, I don’t know how I feel about it. I mean, I love feeling sexy and I love giving a good tease, which is why I dress the way I do sometimes, but I didn’t even know I was going to run into anybody this morning. I just planned on being on a lawn mower for the next 2 hours, so, my affect on Frank just now wasn’t my fault, right? He’s just a dirty old man that got a little peep show by accident. Or is he? I did encourage it a little bit by allowing the extra peeps, after all. He’s always been very kind to me, and not in a creepy way, but this felt a little bit creepy. And what I can’t understand is how my damn body reacted to it. Traitor! Frank’s definitely NOT my type of guy. Aside from the fact that he’s old as fuck, he’s not anywhere near what I would call a Silver Fox either. He’s a bit overweight, but he’s also quite tall, maybe 6’4”, which makes him look overall large and beefy, rather than just fat. He’s kind of a beast. He’s balding at the top and the blonde hair he used to have is now mostly gray. He has a constant 5 o’clock shadow covering his pudgy face and chin. Ew. A far cry from the fit college athlete guys I’ve been with or interested in. He smells like old dirt and is always breathing heavily. But for some reason, when I saw that thick bulge in his pants, it sent a strange heat through me instantly. I couldn’t stop it. I guess maybe it's because I’ve never thought about old-man boners before, and by default I’d assume they look half-staff and wrinkly, but Frank’s….his was not what I expected. I mean, wow. Oh my God, STOP PICTURING IT FIONA! I’m completely disgusted with myself. You fucking slut, you know you don’t want it! He’s gross! He’s old! There’s not a chance in Hell I desire that man. Sure, I had a weird “human” moment, which I’m sure was just because I’d never seen a dick that big, plus, let’s face it, it was flattering and kinda hot that I caused his arousal. Something about it made me truly feel not like a kid anymore. That’s IT. Ok, case closed. Get over it. I sigh and while keeping the wheel straight, I roll my head around in a circle to ease the tension in my neck, but I stop when my chin is at my chest and notice the darker wet spot in the denim between my legs. Fuck.
This is the first part of my new series "Farmers Daughter." This is a spicy one ;) This pic is me at 20 back on the farm, with a girlfriend of mine taking the pics....more on that later... Hope you enjoy!
PART 1
Prologue:
This summer, I learned 3 things: The farm will never look the same to me again….ever. I didn’t know you could use a fork lift for that. “Fuck around and find out” is my new favorite phrase.
Chapter 1:
“Why the hell do you care?! I told you I was going home for the summer and I don’t care what YOU do! We. Are. On. A. Break!”
“I don’t get why it has to be a break! What are you gonna do? Like, are we broken up?”
“No! I mean, yeah, I guess so! You’re gonna do whatever you wanna do anyway, and now you’re 100% FREE to do so. I’m going to do the same!”
“What does that mean?!”
“I don’t know, exactly. I just mean that it doesn’t matter. You do you, and I’ll do me. Then we can sit and talk about everything again at the end of summer and see where we’re at OK?”
Why do I always feel like I’m talking to an idiot?
“Ok. I’ll probably come home a few times too and alternate between staying with my dad and my mom. Maybe we can talk sometime then.”
“Ughhhh…..ok, maybe. I gotta go, I’m almost home. Please stop calling me all the time about the same shit. I’m sick of it.”
“Fine.”
“Great. Bye.”
I flip my phone shut and throw it on the seat next to me. I take a deep breath to calm my frustration. That was my boyfr— I mean, ex-boyfriend, Brad. We’ve dated since early high school and now go to the same college together, but I swear to God he’s gone backwards in the “growing up” department. Or more likely, maybe I’ve just outgrown him. Long story short, we’ve been a shitshow for the last couple of years and keep doing this “break” thing, like it ever makes things better. It’s me who instigated this break (or rather, ALL the breaks), and I know it’s just because I wanna be a little naughty this summer, and I haven’t found the balls to call the whole thing off for good, but I also can’t stand him 90% of the time anymore. I’m hoping this summer helps me clear my head and commit one way or the other. I’ve been “spoken for” for most of 5 years now and I’ve tried to use our breaks as experimentation times, and boy did I during this past year! But those are stories for another time. Now…now it’s time to get away from campus and enjoy the countryside I grew up in. Maybe briefly reconnect with a few old crushes from high school, just to taunt them with how much I’ve changed. Show them what they missed out on. Not that I want them now. Hell no. As former high school star athletes, they’re all washed-up, starting to get fat and are seemingly stuck in that godforsaken town. But I wanted them to want me, once upon a time. You see, living out in the country makes you a bit of an outsider in my small town. I wasn’t in the “cool club” since I wasn’t a “townie” and to be honest, they weren’t actually cool AT ALL. I wanted nothing to do with their drinking, shoplifting, mean-girl ways. I was too much of a goody-two-shoes to even remotely desire that. I wouldn’t have joined their ridiculous circle, even if I lived in town and they begged me to. But as it went for some of my crushes, their friends wouldn’t have allowed them to date me. The circle must stay within the circle. That’s how I started dating Brad. He wasn’t one of my original crushes, but I was his, and he left the circle in order to pursue me, which earned him some serious brownie points, only to jump into another ridiculous circle in college that I can’t stand. (Ok, don’t go down that road now, Fiona.) Back to these old crushes. Sure they may have seen me as athletic and hot or whatever back then….but now….now I’m a D1 college athlete and I’ve got the body to show for it. All the running and workouts have made me leaner than ever and the weight training has toned up my abs and legs, filled out my ass and kept my tits extra-perky. And now I have a bit more swagger. Can a girl have swagger? Maybe sass? Ever since spring break and my trip to Padre Island, I’ve stepped out of my goody-two-shoes self a little and have been exploring a riskier, freer side. I’m still not a law-breaker, of course, but rules are a bit more bendable now, in my opinion. I can see my parents house up on the hill about a mile ahead. There’s nothing but pastures and cornfields out here, so you can see and hear a car coming from at least 2 miles down the road. I cross the small creek bridge and climb the steep hill that leads right up to our driveway. Everything looks the same as I remember. Our 1970’s two-story farmhouse still has its beige siding and brown roof. The front porch is a bit worse-for-wear, nothing a little paint couldn’t fix, but it’s still solid. Our giant front yard looks like it needs to be mowed and I bet my parents saved that for me. They know I love using the riding mower. I put my headphones on, pop a cd into my Sony Discman and just zone out for 2 hours and nobody bothers me since I’m doing something useful. Maybe I’ll tackle that this week. The driveway is long, and up ahead, past the house which sits on the right, the driveway splits. The right fork leads straight to an old, tall, hay barn, and I can see a rack wagon backed into it with “square” hay bales stacked high on it and a few barn cats chasing each other around. Although they’re actually rectangular, they still call those square bales as opposed to those huge round bales you see either scattered around giant fields like big forgotten Easter eggs, or wrapped in white plastic and lined up to look like giant marshmallows. Those are fun to jump around on and I always enjoyed it as a kid when I had to tag along to the hayfields with my mom to deliver lunches to my dad and his “hired men”. That’s what they’re called around here. Not employees, but hired men. The left fork in the driveway leads up a slight hill and ends at the big machine shed where my dad keeps some of his tractors, machine parts, tools and stacks of grain and feed. The trash burn barrel sits several yards in front of it. Growing up, for a little while I thought everyone burned their trash. But then I learned that I just had mainly country friends, and that wasn’t something “townies” did. There is also an island of grass between the forks in the driveway where a small shed sits with what looks like attached carports that mainly store some old broken cars and a wagon full of firewood we use in the fireplace in the winter. And finally, there’s a hog house off to the side of the left fork, before the machine shed, that used to house pigs when I was a kid, but my dad sold those years ago and now it’s another storage shed. It's a shed city around here. I pull onto the extra concrete pad my dad put in next to the house, so as to keep the area in front of the garage clear for my parents car to get in and out and put the car in park. I’m sure my mom saw me coming down the road 3 miles ago, so I’m surprised she’s not already standing at the front door waiting for me. Oh wait, yes she is. She’s waving through the sidelight beaming like a kid on Christmas. I step out of the car, stretch my legs and deeply inhale the scent of dirt, hay and lilacs from the nearby bushes. As excited as I was to get out of this place, it sure does feel good to be back for a little while. I start to round the car to open the trunk and get my things out, nostalgically scanning across the property along the way, when my eye catches someone in the hay barn, standing by the corner of that hay wagon, watching me. It’s Frank, my dad’s longest-employed hired man. He’s probably been helping at this farm for 20 years or so. Long enough that I don’t remember a time he wasn’t working here. Since he’s looking right at me, unmoving, I lift my arm and give a country wave to him. You know, where you don’t actually wave, but just hold a couple of fingers up loosely and do a little head-nod at the same time. He responds with a quick but slight head-nod himself, turns on his heels and disappears deeper into the hay barn. Was that a greeting? Or did he not expect me to see him staring at me and I caught him off-guard? He looked uncomfortable at my noticing him, which is strange since he’s known me my whole life. I hear the front door open and although it’s only been like 10 seconds, I can tell my mom can’t wait any longer for me to come in, so I grab one of my bags and head in. I’ll come get the rest later. I keep my eyes on the barn as I climb the steps and cross the front porch to the door, and I swear I can still see him standing there staring, but this time he’s back in the shadows.
I glance back to where we left Vivan and Clint and they're nowhere to be seen. I ask my husband about them.
"They left. They were going to go walk around and check out some other places. They invited us to go with them, but I knew we'd want to stay here. I feel bad they left, but oh well," he says.
"Aww, that stinks. I feel bad for them too. They really wanted to get naked. Haha...we could've helped them. Oh well." I reply.
He agrees, "Yeah, I know...that sucks."
As we exit the Garden of Eden and head down the stairs, I glance back at my man, who's walking down behind me. We exchange looks, and I can tell we're both a little weirded out at the situation but excited at the same time. We've never been led by another couple back to their room before, at least not for this reason, and the unknown of what was to come was a strange feeling. A flurry of questions fly through my head. *How does this work? How do we start? How does this go down without being awkward? I've never fully been with another woman before. Well, except for Amy, but she was more of the active one (that’s a story for another day). Wait...another Amy? What is it with Amy's? Weird. I guess we'll see what happens. She can help lead me. And how will that be with Dave? I haven't done anything with another guy since I met my husband. At least I'll know what to do with it. I know what my man likes, so I can work with that I guess.*
The cab ride to their hotel is a bit hazy. I have no idea what direction we're going or how long we're in the car. Amy is beside me and she leans over and whispers, "When we get to the room, let's really give the guys a show. They'll love it!"
I repeat what I said before, "Absolutely...but you lead the way!"
The cab drops us off on Who-Gives-A-Fuck-Street, Key West, FL, and I'm only left to assume someone paid the driver. We walk from the sidewalk through a breezeway and into a courtyard. There's a swimming pool shimmering to the left. It definitely looks closed for the night. My husband and I hold hands as we follow Amy and Dave through a corridor and up to a hotel room door. Their hotel room door. The anticipation waiting for the key card to be swiped and the door to open is a bit unnerving. The door opens and we follow them in.
It's a small room, and I take a moment to glance around without being nosy. I'm not sure if I'm looking for anything in particular, but part of me wants to get a quick feel for how these people are. It's not bad. A bit cluttered, with clothes scattered about, mixed in with shoes, and what looks like shampoo or lotion bottles laying around on the floor. *Maybe lube?* But then again, clutter happens easily in a hotel room on vacation. It's not easy living out of a suitcase, and the last thing anyone wants to worry about on vacation is repacking everything every single day just for tidiness. I see no signs of drug usage (other than pot, which we already knew about and were offered) or hard-core prescription medication bottles, so we're good.
Amy goes and grabs their stash so we can take a hit before getting started, and Dave checks the bathroom for a lighter. Nada. No problem. I kinda want to remember what goes down tonight anyway. The alcohol in my system is going to have to ride solo tonight. I just pray I don’t totally sober up before we get started.
Meanwhile, my man and I make our way to the bed. I climb up on it and kneel, facing him. He glides his hands up my waist, to my breasts, catching my bandeau with his thumbs and pulling it off over my head. I pull his shirt off as well, followed by my jeans, and proceed to undo his pants, which are straining against his already hard cock, waiting to be set free. Meanwhile, out of the corner of my eye, Amy has made her way over to the bed and is following suit. The lights go out. Dave joins Amy in undressing and I have my man out of his pants and my hand wrapped around his throbbing cock, caressing it while we kiss. I feel a soft touch come up behind me, as Amy runs her hands down my back and over my ass.
"I want to taste you." she whispers. *Oh my God.*
I respond simply by turning and laying down on my back. She spreads my legs and immediately starts to kiss me, dipping her tongue into me little by little, over and over. I have my head slightly hanging off the side of the bed, with my mouth doing its work along the underside of my husband’s cock, licking up and down his shaft, while my hands cradle his balls. He has huge balls. I can't fit them into my mouth, but I love licking the shit out of them when they're smooth. They're so soft and delicate, and his reaction to my tongue drives me wild. I'm enjoying this part so much that I almost don't fully notice that Amy is sucking on my lips down below. Until she starts nipping at them. *OW.* Ok, I could do without the biting. Other than that, this whole thing is sexy as hell.
I can only assume that Dave has been working on Amy's ass in some way during all of this, but then I hear Dave ask Matt if he can get in on what his wife's doing to me. "Sure, man, but just for a minute."
Dave climbs up onto the bed beside where Amy is laying and joins in on the pussy licking party I'm hosting. Two warm, wet mouths lick and kiss on me, and it's very surreal. One set of lips is soft, full, and delicate and the other is thinner, with scruff from his facial hair. A totally new combo to me. I only wish Amy would stop biting me. It's distracting. As they carry on, I continue with my fun with my husband’s cock. It's so fucking huge, I can't get it into my mouth at the angle I'm at, so I wrap my hand around it and pump it while I keep sucking his warm, soft balls. I get lost in the moment for a while, only hearing the sounds of quiet sucking and moaning floating through the room.
The next thing I know, everyone is moving, except me. As I remain on the bed where I lay, Amy gestures for Matt to come up onto the bed, and I watch as he kneels in front of her and she grabs his cock in her hand and places her mouth on the tip before taking him all the way in. *Holy shit, that's fucking hot! Take it. Shove it down your throat, Amy.* Watching another woman deep throat my husband is now one of the sexiest things for me to witness. It's extremely erotic. I know what his cock feels like in my mouth. I know how it fits, how the shape of it feels, all of its ridges, how soft and velvety the skin is, how it feels as it throbs and grows from hard to rock-solid and back again, in response to the pleasure it's feeling. Now, in this moment, I can imagine all of that in her mouth. What she's feeling; Only, knowing that it's totally foreign to her. Knowing that his cock is full of wonderful surprises for her; And that I get that all to myself every other day of the year for the rest of my life. It's like letting someone come spend a wild night in your beach-side mansion that you get to live in every day.
While she probably feels very womanly and powerful right now, as she sucks up and down my husband's shaft. I actually feel like the powerful one in this moment. I own that cock, and I'm giving her permission for the joy-ride. I can take that away from her at any moment. But I don't want to. Not yet. It's just too fucking sexy to watch. I can imagine my husband felt the same way when both of them were going down on me.
My viewing pleasure is interrupted as Dave comes over to my side of the bed...
The rest will be sent out via PM check your inbox....
Hey there, neighbor. View-Master. You greeted me in front of the house earlier today. It’s the first time we’ve spoken and I wondered if you speaking to me was a test. You wonder if I know that you watch me and you’re trying to see if I’ll give anything away. Is it because you want to know if your cover is blown? Should you be more careful in your voyeurism? Or does that heighten the experience for you to know that I know? Does that turn you on? You have no idea you live next to TheDareMilf and that I’ll accept your challenge. The thrill of it turns me on.
I’m now standing in my swimsuit at the back patio door, gazing out at the pool. Let’s play our little game, shall we? My heart is racing and my nipples are hard. I step outside onto the lanai and the sun hits my skin like a warm blanket. It feels so nice. I glance around and don’t see anyone else outside…but I see your back patio slider open. Was that open a few minutes ago when I looked over? I don’t think so, but I probably didn’t hear it over my own beating heart. I have to force myself not to look over at the gap in the fence. To acknowledge you there directly changes the moment and I’ll probably run back in the house like a groundhog that sees his shadow and you won’t see me out here for 6 weeks.
I take a breath and step further out, looking over the landscape beyond my lanai screens, working up the nerve to slide my swimsuit down. I start with one strap, then the other. I let them fall down my arms, as my breasts expose themselves to the sun. My nipples react to the heat upon them, softening a little, and a heat inside me starts to ignite low in my belly. I place my thumbs along the sides of my suit and slowly start pulling it down, pausing just when it gets low enough that I’m about to expose my most intimate parts to the nature that surrounds me. Another breath, and I slide it all the way down so that it drops to the floor. The breeze blowing between my legs sends a thrill through me and I can feel the delicate parts swell in response. I pick up the swimsuit and hold it in my hands. There’s something exciting about holding the tiny article of clothing that made all the difference between safe and daring.
I hear a rustle in the bushes in the corner, and my heart skips a beat. I expect for you, or another neighbor, or a landscaper to come walking around between our houses and my mind flutters through possibilities of how an interaction might go at this exact moment. What will I say? What will THEY say? Will I be able to play it cool? Will I say hi, like this is normal? Or will I start trying to explain myself or maybe just run back into the house, mortified? Ahhhh, I don’t know! My body freezes and my eyes scan the perimeter of the lanai. Another rustle, and a squirrel leaps up onto the screen and starts skipping along one of the support posts. It’s a damn squirrel. I exhale a deep breath of relief. Wow, my senses are on high-alert! Once the initial fear that shot through me dissipates, it is quickly replaced with a wave of tingles and my skin responds, covering me in goosebumps and my nipples stand back at attention. Ok, what’s next? Are you over there View-Master? Are you secretly laughing, amused at my skittishness? Or maybe you're jealous that the squirrel got a full-on view, but he couldn't care less? After all, you can’t jump up and press yourself right against my lanai screen for an unobstructed viewing. That would just be inappropriate, wouldn’t it? Kind of like how it might be inappropriate for me to go splay myself out over that ½ wall on the other side of the pool…?
This was a really risky shot with landscapers looming just out of from, to the right, through the bushes....it would be a shame to not share it 😈
If you have Rebill turned on, the uncensored version will be dropping in your inbox sometime after next Wednesday3/8. Check your settings, you won't want to miss it!
Jumping ahead to being a mid-twenties newlywed. This photo was taken on a later date at the scene of the crime ;) I had no idea the night before was going to happen the way it did, so I didn’t think to capture something from it that exact night. Read on for Part 1 of “Kinky in Key West”…
"Would you like another drink?"
My husband points to my beer can, the universal signal for 'another?" when words are drowned out by blaring music and loud ambient crowd noise. I swirl the can around a little, checking for how much is left.
"Sure! But I'll just split one with you." I'm pretty good at knowing how to pace myself. I'm feeling great right now, and there's no need to push it.
"Ok, sounds good. I'll be right back." My husband turns and starts walking across the dance floor, passing by a group of 3 skinny, nerdy guys in their underwear that are dancing around a petite girl whom I've watched strip down to nothing but her skirt, piece by piece over the course of the last half-hour. They remind me of the cast of The Big Bang Theory. Sheldon, Leonard and Howard seem to be having the time of their lives, daydreaming of one day climbing out of the "friend zone" and into their very own “big bang”. Sadly, there is no hope. You can just tell. Those hipster glasses aren't exactly charming the skirt off of Penny...even though they did seem to work on the shirt.
I glance around at the strange, but interesting crowd that lines the perimeter of the rooftop bar. Some look confused, and have clearly stumbled their way up here, unbeknownst to what this place is all about, but unable to look away or leave. Regardless, most of them have a shit-eating grin on their face, and resemble a house cat staring out the window at a crowded bird feeder. Some sit silently on benches lined up between trees that block the view of the rooftop for passersby along the sidewalk below. A DJ booth looms over the dance floor on the opposite end of the roof from me, poised up on a stage, lit up like a blue Christmas tree, and doing well with its job of making sure conversation isn't easy to hold with others. Here, you either dance, or you sit and watch people dance. Get involved, or become wallpaper with eyes. Either option is insanely fun to do here. There's also one more option here; wear that pseudo-expensive new shirt you bought at the boutique down the street yesterday to go "clubbing" in on Saturday night, or free yourself and lose it. And your pants. And your bra. And your underwear. Nakedness is accepted and encouraged.
This is the way of the Garden of Eden.
I turn to my left, and our temporary new friends from Maryland, Vivian and Clint, are a couple more drinks in than the last time I checked, and their dancing is showing it. Vivian steps over to me, with a big smile on her face.
"You guys gonna go out there?" as she gestures to the debauchery going on out on the dance floor.
"Oh, definitely! We'll get there...he's just getting us another drink first!" I speak confidently, trying to hide my nerves at the thought.
Her smile widens, "Ok, good! We were just waiting for someone to lead the way!"
They seem really sweet. I can tell they're new to this kind of scene, like I kind of am, and just want someone to show them the ropes and help them break the ice. I want us to be those people for them. Why? Because that’s what I need. I need something to embolden me. Kind of like how I hate spiders, but if someone else is freaking out about one, I’ll step in to take care of it for them. The courage comes because someone else needs me to have it. Plus, it looks like fun out there….thrilling even. I guess I’ll just hang back for now, watch the show, and then meander my way in after things start getting a little crazier. I have, however, made it as far as losing my lacy see-thru top and am left in just my bandeau bra top. Not very risky, but it's a start.
I look across to the bar, and I see my husband still over there, leaning on the bar with his elbows and seemingly in conversation with some guy. I take a minute to admire my sexy husband, who stands out like a Calvin Klein model in the middle of the middle-aged, kind of rough-around-the-edges crowd that surrounds him. That ass, though. I love his ass so much, and the way his pants tighten around it when he bends over, or when he has his foot propped up on the rung of a bar stool, both of which he is doing right now. Damn. Everything happening here is making me crazy horny.
I turn to Vivian, "I'm going to go check on my husband real quick. I could use that drink. I'll be right back."
I'm not sure if she could actually hear me, but I think my bar-fly sign language of pointing for "go" and tipping an invisible cup to my mouth for "drink" did the trick, as she nodded back at me and two-stepped her way back to her boyfriend.
I saunter over to the bar and wrap my arms around my husband from behind, kissing his back between his shoulder blades. "Hey, you..." he counters, while turning and wrapping his right arm around me, pulling me in for a kiss. "Here ya go." He hands me the drink he came over for - a vodka soda. "Hey, this is Dave." He turns me to greet the guy he's been talking to. "We've been chatting for a little bit. He and his wife are from Maryland."
Hey there, neighbor. I see the way you look at me a little long, when I step out to check the mail while you’re tinkering in your garage. I always smile politely back, but what I really wonder is if you’re undressing me with your eyes the way it feels like you are. Do you already know what’s underneath? That fence in your backyard, between mine and yours…can you see through it? I bought this house for the pool, after all. The way the sun beams across the lanai deck most of the day, warming the hot brick pavers, inviting me to lay my skin across it, was just too tempting to pass up. The cage around my lanai and the privacy fence bordering our yards, gives the illusion of actual privacy, but who am I kidding? I can see your back sliding door from my sunbathing spot. If I can see you, you can see me, right? But, I don’t think you realize that. Or maybe you do, and you like the thrill of assuming I don’t notice that you always leave your back screen door slid open, even in 90 degree heat, so that you can easily sneak outside silently, undetected and find that conveniently shifted slat in the fence, giving you the perfect angle to watch me sunbathe, as if through a classic View-Master toy. That shall be your nickname, View-Master. We haven’t officially introduced ourselves since I moved in, but I think that ship has sailed. I don’t want to know your name now, and I believe you don’t want to know mine either. I wonder what you’ve nicknamed me…?
So....a bit of a DareMilf origin story and then I have an announcement to make.
In this picture I was freshly 20 years old and in Texas for a college spring break trip. This is the first time I was photographed and/or "dared" to be nude in public.
I was always the shy, goody-two-shoes girl growing up and up to that point in college, I wasn't really into drinking or partying like a lot of my peers were and instead took my school and athletics seriously. But it was spring break and I was ready to have some fun.
"Go topless!" one of the more outspoken guys yelled out with a drink in his hand as we got down to the beach. My nerves tingled at that suggestion with fear, but also curiosity. There were about 20 guys and girls in our group and I was incredibly self conscious about my smaller boobs.
No way I could do that...
Some of the girls looked at each other while the guys egged us on. Nobody was quite ready to take the plunge yet. The guys chanted "show your tits!"...but still the ladies all laughed and ignored the request...bunch of idiot college guys.
I was single at the time but there was one guy in the group, Brandon, who I had a huge crush on. He wasn't on the level with the other loud idiots, but was a bit more reserved. I was easily the most shy one of the group, and started to walk away to check out the beach and escape the peer pressure when one of the idiots yelled out "Fiona...do it!" I was mortified and turned beet red....almost in a panic over being called out. I nervously shook my head no...but just then Brandon spoke up and smirked at me with those mischievous green eyes.
"Come on...loosen up...I DARE you!"
With that request, from him, tingles washed over my body. Goosebumps formed on the surface of my skin and I could feel my little nipples stiffen underneath my bikini top. Something stirred inside me.
"Fuck it!"
I ripped off my top as the group cheered. The warm sea breeze blew across my bare breasts as the sun kissed my previously covered skin, and all the guys stared. The adrenaline surged through my body as my arousal grew. Pretty soon, some of the other ladies joined in. It was an amazing feeling, the freedom and exposure, and I was uncontrollably horny for weeks afterwards.
This day is where my journey as "TheDareMilf" began.
Since then, I have had many adventures like this. I have pictures of some and kept a journal on all of them.
Now I want to share those with you. In addition to making some really great new content I will also be sharing all of my old erotic stories, sexual escapades and pics.
I will also be adding in some hot boudoir shoots and lingerie.
Live events, interactive photo shoots and flashing workshops are in the works and will be announced on here.
My subscriptions will be turned back on...at only $6/month to keep only serious DareMilf fans around and we will be ending the month of March with a first-ever face reveal. You'll want to stick around!
Who would be interested in attending a 2-day flashing tour/workshop....hosted by me in Key West this May? The event would include a ghost tour with flashing stops along the way, a clothing optional bar, an interactive boudoir shoot and maybe a boat ride out to a nude Sandbar. Great for couples! I haven't figured out cost yet, but shoot me a message if you are interested so I can start planning.
