Animal Farm (Fuck)

I’ve been working this farm alone since the day my husband walked out. He took the truck, the savings, and left me with the land, the debt, and a herd that still needed feeding.

I had no choice.

I put an ad up in town for a farm hand. Someone strong who didn’t mind long days and dirt under the nails. Pay was room, board, and whatever cash I could scrape together.

He showed up two days later. Cole. Twenty-two, maybe. Tall, lean muscle, dark hair, quiet eyes that looked at me like he already knew exactly how desperate I was. I hired him on the spot and gave him the bunkhouse out back.

He started at sunup. Mucking stalls, fixing fences, hauling feed. By mid-morning his shirt was off. Sweat ran down the deep groove of his spine and disappeared into the waistband of his jeans.

Every time he bent over, those jeans stretched tight across a firm, young ass that made my mouth go dry. I told myself I was just checking his work.

My cunt called me a liar. It stayed wet and swollen all day, throbbing every time I caught a glimpse of him through the kitchen window.

Three weeks. That’s how long I lasted.

One evening after supper I walked out to the bunkhouse. The door was cracked. Cole stood at the sink, stripping off his work shirt, washing the day’s dirt from his chest and arms. Water slid down hard muscle and caught in the dark trail of hair that led into his jeans. He turned when he heard the floorboards creak.

“Something wrong, ma’am?”

I stepped inside and shut the door hard. “Stop calling me that.”

I walked straight up to him, put my palm on the warm, wet plane of his stomach, and slid it down. Found his cock already half-hard in his jeans. Thick. Heavy. I squeezed it through the denim until he sucked in a sharp breath.

“I need this,” I said. “Been needing it since the day you got here. Every fucking day I watch you work and my pussy soaks through my panties thinking about these hands on me.”

He didn’t pull away. Just stared down at me, breathing hard, while I undid his belt and shoved his jeans and boxers down in one hard yank. His cock sprang free—thick, flushed, the head already shiny. I wrapped my fingers around it and stroked slowly, feeling it swell and pulse against my palm.

Then I dropped to my knees on the wooden floor.

I took the head into my mouth and sucked like I was starving.

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He tasted like salt and clean skin and the faint taste of sweat. Cole groaned and buried a hand in my hair—not gently. He held me there while I bobbed and took him deeper.

I let my spit run down his shaft and drip onto my chin. I sucked. Hollowing my cheeks and swirling my tongue under the head the way I used to do for my husband before he decided I wasn’t worth the trouble. Cole’s hips jerked. His cock throbbed against my tongue.

I pulled off with a wet pop when he started leaking. Stood up, shoved my own jeans and soaked panties down to my boots, and bent over the small table. Ass out. Legs spread. My cunt was dripping down my thighs.

“Fuck me,” I told him. “Hard. Don’t you dare be gentle.”

He stepped up behind me. His thick cockhead nudged between my folds, found my entrance, and drove in with one long, ruthless thrust. The stretch burned so good I cried out. He filled me completely—deep enough that I felt him in my stomach.

Then he started pounding.

No warm-up. Just raw, brutal fucking. Hips slamming into my ass hard enough to bruise. Balls smacking my clit with every thrust. The table screeched across the floorboards. Wet, filthy sounds filled the little bunkhouse every time he bottomed out. I reached back with both hands and spread my cheeks wider, offering him everything.

“That’s it,” I gasped. “Fuck that lonely cunt. Use me. I’ve been empty too goddamn long.”

Cole growled and gripped my hips hard enough that his fingers would leave marks. He fucked me like he was trying to break the table. My tits bounced hard in my tank top. Every thrust punched a broken moan out of me. My clit was swollen and aching; every slap of his balls sent sparks up my spine.

I came first—cunt clamping down hard around his cock, legs shaking, moaning into the wood like a whore. He didn’t slow down. Just kept pounding me through it, chasing his own orgasm with that young, endless stamina.

“Give it to me,” I begged, voice cracking. “Flood this pussy. Pump me full. I want to feel you leaking out of me all night.”

That finished him.

Cole buried himself to the root, groaned like he was dying, and came hard—hot, thick jets pulsing deep inside me. I felt every spurt, every throb, and gasped with him. He stayed locked in place until he was empty, sweat dripping from his chest onto my back, cock still twitching inside my cunt.

When he finally pulled out, a thick rope of cum followed and slid down my thighs onto the floor. I didn’t move. Just looked back over my shoulder and watched him tuck that beautiful cock away, still shiny with my juices and his cum.

“Same time tomorrow?” I asked.

He nodded, still breathing hard. “Yes, ma’am.”

I pulled my jeans up without cleaning up, left the mess between my legs, and walked back to the house.

My pussy stayed open and wet and used the rest of the night. I kept thinking about next time—how I’d ride him in the hayloft until my thighs burned, how I’d make him bend me over the tractor seat in broad daylight, how I’d drop to my knees in the barn and suck him until he came down my throat while the cows watched.

The farm still needed work. The bills still needed paying.

But at least now I had something worth getting up for.

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