Frapping Farm Girl

by Cristiano Caffieri

Angela liked working on the farm but when she had to witness the bull fucking the cows she was a bit embarrassed standing there with Damon, a young man she was sweet on. Sometimes when the bull missed the mark he would grab onto the long cock and guide it in for him. She sometimes dreamed about guiding Damon’s dick into her pussy, however, she kept her distance, and for good reason. Her uncle owned the farm and he was highly religious. She knew that any sign of the two youngsters fooling around would get her into trouble and Damon would lose his job.

In the hayloft above the cowshed, she had concealed a dildo she had bought on a trip to Cleveland and when she felt frustrated she would sneak up there and slip it into her crack. It was shaped just like a penis, a big penis and she loved the feel of it. She didn’t always cum because she was under a certain amount of tension, always afraid that someone might burst into the loft at any time.

This actually happened one day and it was no other than Damon who had come up looking for a pitchfork. He looked a little surprised to see her lying back on the hay slipping in and out of her crack. She quickly stopped and tried to hide it but the damage was done.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself,” he said, “I often come up here myself to masturbate.”

“Do you really?”

“Well being so far from town I never get the chance to meet girls – except you of course.”

“Who do you imagine you’re fucking when you’ve got it in your hand?”

“I think about you,” he replied, casting his eyes down as if ashamed.

“When I have this silicone dick sliding in and out of my foo foo I think of you.”

He laughed, “Why do you call it a foofoo?”

“It sounds nicer than cunt.”

He nodded his head in agreement and then asked if the dildo made her cum,”

“Sometimes but not always,” she said, but I bet if you shoved it in for me I would cum.”

She handed him the long stiff silicone prick with the bulging bell-end and asked him he’d like to try and see what happened.

Leaning back, pulling up her skirt and spreading her legs, she handed him the red dildo and then closed her eyes. Damon was kind of afraid of hurting her and so he gently inserted it between her lips. ”Push it right in,” she said, “I love the feel of it.”

He gradually shoved it up to the hilt and wondered just where that would reach in her belly.
“Move it up and down then,” she urged him, getting a little impatient.

Damon, needing a little stimulation himself, shoved his hand under her TShirt, under her flimsy bra and massaged her tit. He then started to work the dick in and out of her hairy twat, slowly at first and then faster and faster as she responded with moans and groans and cries of “That is so fucking good.”

When she came she writhed around on the hay like a madwoman and then cried out, “Give me the real thing Damon – fuck me – please fuck me.”

With his pants around his ankles and his prick standing up at a thirty-degree angle, he dropped to his knees and rammed it into her wet muff. She loved it and so did he.

As she pulled up her top so he could see her tits bounce Damon drove it into her like a piston rod. It wasn’t long before he felt his balls beginning to tingle and his hot cum moving up. When he shot his load she wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him tight against her.
When she released her grip she smiled,

“I liked that – didn’t you?”

“I liked it a lot,”

She put the dildo in her mouth and started to suck on it and when she pulled it out she said,
“I know lots of ways to make you cum, why don’t we meet up here when uncle Fred takes his nap in the afternoons and I could show you.”

A few weeks later Damon had cum so many times his balls looked like two shriveled walnuts.

Eventually, he had to quit farming as he was too worn out to handle a hoe. THE END

Sex games make life worth loving!

Copyright 2019 Cristiano Caffieri. You may not sell, license, sub-license, rent, transfer or distribute any part of these stories or the photographs herein in any format, or claim ownership.

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