Meeting My Mother Chapter 2
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Lambs free porn video
Lambs
The Lambs
Cutting balls, the bleating sheep, the farmhand pinning them down,
holding them with all his might. I was watched on as the lambs lay down
crying. I was holding a pen, counting the sheep as they be flayed. I
wrote the number down as the farmhand checked their tags before wrapping
his bare arms around them, pulling them towards him. His raw muscles
bursting as tightened his grip on them.
"Twenty seven, B, seventeen," he called to me.
The farmhand smelt of piss which I found for myself was sharp to the
skin, burning. He changed position with the farmer and tooled their
balls, neutered them, castrated them, caused them involuntary gender
neutrality. Was it transsexuality?
"Would they become effeminate?" I asked.
"That I would never know, no they, for death was assured as so too the
wilting of the summer rose, and so too the fat lamb goes to slaughter"
Said he smiling
I knelt next to him in the rancid hay as he was again pinning them down,
my knees dirty, my bare legs tanned and shapely in my small tight summer
shorts. I wanted a closer look, to understand, I could smell his weak
aftershave, I could smell his sweat, I could smell his heavy breath. I
could see close up the perfect body of a man, ripping beneath his T-
shirt and broken jeans.
I tried to catch a lamb, chasing it around the pen for minutes, the
farmhand watching on laughing as the little white fleece out maneuvered
me constantly. I tripped a couple of times, my black T-shirt smeared and
dirty. The farmhand jumped off the gate, and came into the pen with me,
he stood behind me as we together cornered the lamb. He reached out
swiftly and caught the lamb by the leg, and pulled it up towards me, his
body touching mine from behind as he took my hands in turn and showed me
how to hold the bleating fleece to my body. I could feel the strength of
his arms around my slenderness, the might of his hands, I could feel his
body pressed up close to mine, I could feel his cock brushing.
-
I had met him only a week before, I was walking in the woods miles away
from nowhere, alone in the privacy of my pulsing fantasy. I had changed
in the bushes, quite as a mouse, listening out for invading sounds of
people, but there was nothing but the sweet sounds of the summer heat.
The birds were singing sweetly, the river flowing meekly, and the trees
whispering in the early summer dawn as I stepped out of the bushes and
took the path that was rarely followed.
He came out of nowhere, bounding through the waves of grasses, a small
sack upon his back. I had nowhere to turn, nowhere to run, nowhere to
hide, it was too late for he was almost upon me. I recognized him from
the village, a little older than me, handsome, strong and honest. I cast
my eyes down as he passed me, as not to see into his soul, nor to
embarrass myself.
.
"Good morning," he mumbled, to which I was silent.
Seconds passed as I walked slowly away, trying not to panic.
"You know this is private land," I heard him say, his voice closer to me
than I expected. I did not turn around, I just stood stock still and
answered in the sweetest voice I could muster, "I'm so sorry, I did not
know."
There was an awkward silence, as I stood with my back to him. My long
summer dress caught in the breeze billowed, as did the long strands of
my auburn wig.
I wish I had brought my sunglasses, I wish I could sound like a girl I
thought, but didn't as I could almost hear my own voice creaking in its
male tones, breaking the illusion of this summer dream. "I won't come
here again," I almost whispered.
I stepped forward, with the intent to walk away.
"I know you." That voice had somehow come so near. I could almost feel
his breath on my neck. I ran away into the trees, to the sounds of his
laughter fading in the summer breeze.
-
The farmhand passed me the tool, I took the lambs balls in my dainty
hand, and held them gently, I smiled at the farmhand, looking into his
eyes as I caressed the fur lined testicles. I placed the tool over the
ball sack and applied the micro rubber band, cutting off the necessary
fertilization of possible new life. I placed the tool down and soothed
the lamb, with a kiss to the top of the head. The farmhand laughed.
I never expected him to knock at my door a few days after he had caught
me in that little field, that small talk in the grassy fells. I had ran
away and he had not followed me, but it seemed he wanted to stay all the
same. I was blushing pink as I heard his voice ask my sister for me at
our front door.
"Maybe you need to have some interests to occupy your mind," he said as
we walked together along the market.
He had not mentioned the event, of me being caught, of me being
embarrassed, he avoided the direct conversation, like it was a forgone
conclusion what he was referring to as "Your Problem." I thought it was
kindness, a Christian man, maybe an attempt to get me straight through
daily talks and subtle conversations.
'Do you want to come to the farm and help, or at least learn something.
I conceded with a smile as I think I understood him a little, maybe it
was the touch of his hand on my arm as we walked home, or the wink at my
front door. Now I thought that there was a hint of him really trying to
make his way with me.
-
The Bull
I watched the bull, its furious nature, its insanity, a living force,
just muscle, balls and cock, full of a single intent, to fuck or fight.
He the farmhand prodded it with a stick, to torment it, to drive it
insane with fury. He was showing me the bulls cock.
"Like a small arm, would kill with a single blow," he said seriously.
"I don't think I could blow that, it's too big." And I giggled like a
girl.
With that in mind he took me to a summer love spot, to the hayloft,
where I lay down and slept a lunchtime snooze. I remember beforehand the
lemonade, apples and custard pie, our picnic, where he talked and
flirted with me. I could see it in his eyes when he asked me to wait for
him, resting his ruthless rough hand on my stick thin arm. And that
wink, and that smile
I didn't really sleep, but I dreamt of him as the bull, half man,
half...
A minotaur, that's it, that's the word. A bulls head, and rising horns,
his body rippling in masses of muscle, covered in black course fur. His
enormous cock, an erect cock, chasing me naked through the fields. There
was blood and roses in the end, I was dead, drown in a hedge, surrounded
by rose petals, my face in puddle of pearl white semen.
"the sperm it sells so well," he told me when I mentioned my dream to
him
But I died happy in the dream, I remember that.
He showered in the cow shed, I could hear the cold water running below
and him whistling. He walked back naked to the hay loft, dripping where
his fresh denim lay. We kissed a lot, I was easy for him as I stood to
greet him with one hand on my hip the other held, as camp. I had tied my
black t-shirt into a knot at the waist, unbuttoned ,my shorts slightly
to reveal my crisp white lace, I had removed my sneakers to flash my
screaming red nail varnish. I was scared at first that he would beat me,
that I had been mistaken by the signals, but I guess his cock being
erect as he walked towards me was a dead giveaway, as was his smile a
confirmation, his hands taking mine a certainty. That lunchtime I got
imprints on my knees from the sharp biting straw, I got to taste the
summer crop which was in abundance from the strong and healthy farmhand.
-
Samsons Field
Later that week in Samsons field, me his summer got heavy grass stains
on my knees, splitters on my hands, and a flood within me. It was
secluded, an old mine held in the small woods, hidden from the world,
miles away from anyone. It was over a log, a dead tree, an old oak tree,
it was over in minutes, but I couldn't look away. I could watch the
birds and butterflies, the leaves in the breeze, the sparse grass blow
as he took me, but I kept looking back at his face, straining my neck to
watch him, placing my hands upon his as they held onto my hips. I guess
I fell for his soft words of a language I did not know, I followed his
style, I submitted to every term, I kissed every word. I know that I
moaned to his lustful cries, I gasped when he made that flood, I called
him by his name of which I did not know, and he called me mine, calling
me his Jessabelle
Later we held hands in the tractor, and he rested his hand on my leg as
we made our way to end of the day. It was getting dark the tractor
headlights cutting the night, but until the tomorrow we kissed, and
kissed. We made out again on top of the hill, the lights out, the
moonlight striking upon the distant village below. I sat upon his
plough, semi naked, with his arms wrapped around me, my legs spread as I
sat upon his lap, as the cows watched on to our love mating.
All the days and weeks later I could feel his summer in me as I made my
way home, the evening sun on my face, the aroma of the farm hand on my
skin, I could taste him, feel him living within me. And in those short
nights before the waking dawn I thought of him, dreamt of him as my
bull. Running frantically away from him, as he pursue me through hedge
and thorn, his raging hard thrust in front of his mighty body, pinning
me to the ground, fucking me. I woke up wet from so many dreams. My
sister swore she could hear my distant cries from across the hallway, as
I fled from the minotaur of my dreams.
I dressed as a summer breeze, as dressed as the sunlight, I dressed as
the flowers and the roses. Pampering myself for a day at the farm
causing frown lines and rumors at the breakfast table, causing rows on
getting home, and get abashed for stealing sister underwear, and mothers
clothes.
Each day a steal into the unknown, pushing the boundaries, pressing into
that hidden femininity. Craftily clothed, subtle hints, smoke and
mirrors, what could be construed as feminine, was something possibly
not. Yet I was living for my dreams, dressing for his pleasure, wearing
something unseen beneath the torment of my seams. Beneath the fabrics of
my life I wore sex, I wore silk, I wore lace. My mother jeans, my
sisters tops and blouse, underneath my nylon seams, aching for pleasure.
We were watched by others not knowing if they understood, the horses,
the pigs, the hens, the dogs, they got to see the show. Lunchtime
feeding, dinner time breeding, kissing to the summer end, they watched
on mostly in silence. In grasses green, in the corn so tall, in trees so
bright, we made our way to starlight, to moonlight, to natures call in
erotic tunes of lusting and feeding upon each other.
-
Love Bites
Love bites and lullabies, they filled my day, yet by the setting sun I
was accused of being gay. A homosexual cross dresser by my brother, a
disgrace by my father (I just wanted you to grow into a man I could be
proud of), a little slut by my mother. My sister, well she just loved
the gossip and the stories I told her in our fold of togetherness, she
was into detail, wanting me to walk her along the way of my dirty summer
stories. That helped of course in getting to borrow some things from her
without getting her in the way, without being called absurd.
The love bites was the cause of the arguments, I did not know how to
hide my life, I was dressing gay, feeling gay, being gay, so the
conclusion when they asked me was, that I was gay. In some ways I was
glad to get off to university at the summer fall. The yelling, the
shouting, the accusations, the teasing, the taunting, all from my own
family. My father wanted to beat-up the farmhand, after I confessed to
being in love with him, and being his girlfriend. Though father backed
down when the farmhand came to collect me each morning, and drop me off
at night, father was no match for my bull.
The day I left for university I cried so many tears, happy tears, in
knowing that I would return with the birth of the fawn and growth of the
corn to once again to breed in the gentle breeze of the hills.
I think the farmer knew what was going on, I was never given a job to do
as such, never paid, just there to be with the farmhand. He seemed not
to have a problem with us being us, left us alone in the hay at
lunchtimes, made himself known when we were hidden away, made himself
scarce when my Minotaur was ready for some chemistry. The farmer's wife
was sweet as the apples pies she made us, she let me play my part in
this tale of summer, let the nature take its course.
On the last day at the farm, there was drinks and celebration for end of
the season. The farmer asked me if I would like to come back for the
following summer to join them once again. It was a resounding yes from
me, to which the farmer expressed his joy in pulling me towards him and
held me tight, his hand touching my lower back and smoothing my already
tacky ass. The farmhand laughed, and I just smiled in knowing who would
be the girl in all this.
Insemination, castration seemed to fill the days, both of which I wanted
a lot. My dreams were answered through this summer as until the autumn
lay into toes into its ass and cast it out. My summer of play and of
love. And just like the lamb, I too was neutralized those summer days in
the top field, listen to the wind, the breeze, the animals, watching the
butterflies dance, as we loved. I too was castrated, or so it seemed as
my personality took a journey south to were the sun shines in all its
beauty, where flowers always will bloom, to where the sweet scent of
womanhood cast its stream. And as for insemination you know that I can
only ever be infertile, but yet everyday something grows inside of me,
and I think it's a woman, for I see her every day.
Anastasia
- 25.01.2022
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