Father in law catches us in the barn
- 3 years ago
- 40
- 0
In The Barn free porn video
New tale for you - slightly edited from a previous draft. More straight sex (I know, weird that, coming from me, eh?) with domination. Not chasing a particular theme, it's just what I've got. The usual rules apply. Enjoy.
It's the same every time.
The slatted wood of the doors swings wide, an open space beyond, in the Barn.
Needles and briars beneath my bare, soft feet.
He leads me here. Hand on the nape of my neck, walking just behind, controlling.
I follow, ahead and obedient, though he sees for me.
Into the Barn we go.
The air is moist and chill against my nipples, no matter the spoke on season's wheel. Organic and rich, the scents repel and beggar submission to that which is before and behind.
Into the Barn, deep inside. To where the light does not reach, the dust is not stirred, the a****ls cannot see.
My muscles, tense and rigid, body straight and erect, he leads behind relaxed and jandering. Away from prying eyes though all can see. God and Nature both can see my nakedness, my shame, my shuddering breasts, all the heavier for the exertion. My chest does not rise, breathing is shallow, my fear is an abyss.
To the saddle horse he leads.
I hesitate. The sun shines just barely this far, cupping my left heel in it's golden touch. He removes his hand from my flesh. Now I draw in a sputtering, fearful breath.
One foot now between my own, his right foot, kicking gently, spreading me apart by degrees. My hands go to the wooden crossbeam before me, as though drawn my a puppeteer's strings. Only the rest of my body shakes now. I want so much to scream out, to ruin this all by pleading for it all to end.
My hands on the wood, worn smooth as leather with age and use, (I feel as though placed in stocks). My buttocks shove themselves backward - I have no method of control, no illusion of resistance. My ankles are now digging their sides into the hard wood underneath the s**ttering of hay. They are planted, firmly, some three feet apart.
My ears hear my lips shuddering together, the mouth inside trying to make words. My back arches.
I am now straight and stock still, my head an even plane from the top of my hair, dangling down around my face (now hidden) past my neck, down my back. The only place my body curves at any but the straightest of angles is at the natural curve of my full and ripe ass.
Roughly, he enters me.
My body goes limp under the skin, my muscles and bone offering no resistance to this violation. Over the skin, I am bent at the waist, 90 degrees of fear, stock still, only my fingers now clasping the wooden saddle horse. I have gone utterly silent, even my voice casting aside any pretensions of excess. Now I am truly Cold - within and without.
Gooseflesh erupts across my skin. One hand, his, wickedly slashes across my full right rump cheek, harsh and an ear crack in this place. One by one the birds in the rafters look away.
Another hand hovering, also his, thumb at the basal chakra, just over the V-shaped small of my back, the fingers spread across the left of my rounded posterior - controlling, stilling, dominating.
He is immense. Each thrust pounds into my maidenhood, pushing, bruising the ripe fruit inside, forcing it's way yet deeper.
My honied mouth, unlike my 'real' one, speaks. Loudly. Wet sucking noises make the air sloppy. He is merciless and certain, and utterly quiet. I cannot even hear him breathing behind, within, or over me - and I am quiet as terror itself.
He slaps me again, square across the ass, HARD - I do not even yelp, for while I do feel it, the sensation only speaks to that part of me that he penetrates. I know what it is he wants, because I begin to do so immediately. I am now bucking my hips, not slowly and not with any particular grace or quality of rhythm. No, I am luridly forcing my ass back against him, stuffing far more of that bestial meat deeper and deeper into and within me than I would ever wish for.
It's the same every time.
The slatted wood of the doors swings wide, an open space beyond, in the Barn.
Needles and briars beneath my bare, soft feet.
He leads me here. Hand on the nape of my neck, walking just behind, controlling.
I follow, ahead and obedient, though he sees for me.
Into the Barn we go.
The air is moist and chill against my nipples, no matter the spoke on season's wheel. Organic and rich, the scents repel and beggar submission to that which is before and behind.
Into the Barn, deep inside. To where the light does not reach, the dust is not stirred, the a****ls cannot see.
My muscles, tense and rigid, body straight and erect, he leads behind relaxed and jandering. Away from prying eyes though all can see. God and Nature both can see my nakedness, my shame, my shuddering breasts, all the heavier for the exertion. My chest does not rise, breathing is shallow, my fear is an abyss.
To the saddle horse he leads.
I hesitate. The sun shines just barely this far, cupping my left heel in it's golden touch. He removes his hand from my flesh. Now I draw in a sputtering, fearful breath.
One foot now between my own, his right foot, kicking gently, spreading me apart by degrees. My hands go to the wooden crossbeam before me, as though drawn my a puppeteer's strings. Only the rest of my body shakes now. I want so much to scream out, to ruin this all by pleading for it all to end.
My hands on the wood, worn smooth as leather with age and use, (I feel as though placed in stocks). My buttocks shove themselves backward - I have no method of control, no illusion of resistance. My ankles are now digging their sides into the hard wood underneath the s**ttering of hay. They are planted, firmly, some three feet apart.
My ears hear my lips shuddering together, the mouth inside trying to make words. My back arches.
I am now straight and stock still, my head an even plane from the top of my hair, dangling down around my face (now hidden) past my neck, down my back. The only place my body curves at any but the straightest of angles is at the natural curve of my full and ripe ass.
Roughly, he enters me.
My body goes limp under the skin, my muscles and bone offering no resistance to this violation. Over the skin, I am bent at the waist, 90 degrees of fear, stock still, only my fingers now clasping the wooden saddle horse. I have gone utterly silent, even my voice casting aside any pretensions of excess. Now I am truly Cold - within and without.
Gooseflesh erupts across my skin. One hand, his, wickedly slashes across my full right rump cheek, harsh and an ear crack in this place. One by one the birds in the rafters look away.
Another hand hovering, also his, thumb at the basal chakra, just over the V-shaped small of my back, the fingers spread across the left of my rounded posterior - controlling, stilling, dominating.
He is immense. Each thrust pounds into my maidenhood, pushing, bruising the ripe fruit inside, forcing it's way yet deeper.
My honied mouth, unlike my 'real' one, speaks. Loudly. Wet sucking noises make the air sloppy. He is merciless and certain, and utterly quiet. I cannot even hear him breathing behind, within, or over me - and I am quiet as terror itself.
He slaps me again, square across the ass, HARD - I do not even yelp, for while I do feel it, the sensation only speaks to that part of me that he penetrates. I know what it is he wants, because I begin to do so immediately. I am now bucking my hips, not slowly and not with any particular grace or quality of rhythm. No, I am luridly forcing my ass back against him, stuffing far more of that bestial meat deeper and deeper into and within me than I would ever wish for.
Liesl
- 10.04.2020
- 15
- 0
