"What are you doing?" came a familiar quiet voice from behind.
"I have a knot in my back and it's killing me." I grunted, rolling the hard cord of muscle running along my spine back and forth over the sharp edge of a six by six post. High above was a shelf holding miscellaneous pieces of lumber and it's support leg worked just great for pummeling my bunched muscles into submission. Not exactly an attractive look, all hunched over and grimacing, but I was rarely concerned about what people thought of me, including my boss. Not that I had anything to worry about. Model I was not, but built powerful with a stamina to outlast most men, yes.
"Who's fed?" he mumbled while rummaging around with the grain bags just off to my right, I answered without shifting my gaze from the dirt floor, though he drifted in and out of my peripheral vision.
"Everybody but the goats, I'll get on it soon as I'm done here." I shifted just enough to press on the other side of my backbone. He didn't answer, not that I expected him to. We'd worked side by side for long enough, I could practically read his mind and often did. As owner of the place, he expected a lot of those he hired and I had shown my fortitude time and time again. Taking a few minutes to catch a little relief from a hard cornered post wouldn't diminish his view of me. I had put in too many hours of hard labor without ever being asked and often without breaks for him to find fault now.
A dull pain seeped into my arms and legs, a sign that I was holding my breath without realizing. I pulled the dusty air in so deep that it arched my back and put the bed of my shoulder against the post's sharp edge. Oxygen flooded my system sending electric tingles down my fingers and my head had tilted so I couldn't see Boss Man anymore. I payed little to no attention to what he was doing, we each had our own projects and rarely interfered unless it was obvious the other needed a hand. Handling grain was a one person job and I felt no need to stop what I was doing. The sounds of paper sacks being ripped open and poured into the large chest freezer blended with the harsh cries of exotic birds and trills of squabbling alpaca coming from outside. When he spoke I barely heard, he always talked quiet, but this was more of a harsh whisper.
"Quit already," and his hand dropped onto the dip of my neck, pulling me backwards around the post and a few steps towards the large open doors of the barn, "you're doing it wrong."
I muttered some halfhearted rejection, but by then he'd already squeezed low on either side my neck good and hard, and I immediately slumped into it. In comparison to his own body, his hands were in perfect proportion. On my body, they were massive and so deliciously strong. Years of college football had taught him just how a good masseuse rubs out bad tangles. He started slow and tentative, this was the first time he'd ever really touched me other than glancing brushes. My brain knew I should be uncomfortable, but the heavy sensation of his thumbs delving into my back was too much to deny. As it always happens when some poor sap manipulates my sore back, I sighed long and deep, letting out squeaks and coos as he hit all the right places. Yes, I know. Not exactly sexy, but the sounds just roll out of me.
Under the type of assault he was waging on my neck and shoulders, my weight shifted to my heels and pressed my back against his stomach. Linebackers weren't known for a six pack and tiny Calvin Klein waists. At 6' 8" he had a hard time with doorways, usually ducking slightly and turning to the side to keep from brushing his shoulders. He was thick through and through, guess that's why I never had a problem with my own shape around him. I am built like a draft horse too.
My eyes had drifted mostly closed and my mouth was slack when he spoke again. How long had we been standing there? My god, I was a sloppy mess, he had certainly found my kryptonite.
"Move forward." The beast of a man commanded, though he didn't release me, far from it. His hands draped heavy and complete around my collar, while his barn door chest shoved me forward until my hips hit the chest freezer. The same dented freezer he'd been filling with grain earlier, it's dented top was now layered with a single row of brown paper feed sacks. With quiet power, he pressed my neck down until my face rested on the dusty bags.
"You're a back is a wreck." and I grunted in agreement. More slowly than necessary, his hands slipped from my neck and opened like fans across my shoulder blades. Ever so slowly they crept down over my teal cotton shirt, the heels of his hands pressing firmly into those painful tenderloin muscles. The pressure increased with every full stroke he made and my self respect diminished in turn. His thumbs searched between my shoulder blades and spine, strumming the rope tight muscles like a guitar string. His palms ran along my ribs in long, successive strokes until I was actually moaning. Few people had the balls to press as hard as I ask. Oh and I did ask, repeatedly. Grunted it actually between labored breaths and the crunching of brown paper under my chest. He did not disappoint. Those giant calloused hands pummeled my stiffened back into resignation. His breathing was loud, almost panting. I assumed it was from the effort he was putting in.
In a single powerful motion, he slipped his hands under my arms, cupping my shoulders from the front and pulled me up tight against his chest. The crown of my head rested center of his sternum and I could feel his copper red beard snagging my hair. It wasn't until now that I realized his hips were pressed firmly against my ass, pinning me to the cooler. Not unpleasant in the least and unbenounced to him, back massages fire me up like a rip cord and I had lost almost all reason.
At some point I had removed my glasses and they were still clutched in my left hand. Like a blind person, I waved my arm around searching for a safe place to put them, finding none. He snagged them from me and placed them above his head on the lumber shelf. Once both his hands were free, he began to circle my upper chest with stiff fingertips. How could he know this was one of my favorite sensations? Oh yeah, we could practically read each other's minds. I was tender and sore in the pocket between my shoulder and ribcage, and that's where he centered his attentions. Small, intense movements in all the places that no one else before had ever thought to massage made my bones feel light as cattail fluff.
His attentions didn't stay kosher for long, before my brain could catch up, his hands had my peach sized breasts enveloped. They were in fact too small for his massive grip, but he didn't complain or stop kneading them in long slow motions over my shirt.
"No, no. Not a good idea." I protested weakly. Not doing a thing to stop him from snagging my shirt at the bottom and pulling it over my head so that I stood there in only a grey sports bra, which he pulled up with a flick of his wrist and exposed my breasts to the warm air. Wild rose pink and puffy, my nipples never went eraser stiff. By God, I love feel of rough working hands against my skin. Every scratch and almost too hard caress fed the fire. Christ, he was in way over his head. Truthfully, I think the whole thing started innocently enough, but the sounds I make can easily flip the switch and now we were in too far to stop. At least for myself.
Almost angrily, I clutched at his jeans and pressed myself hard into his upper thighs. My breaths came with small cries and a writhing body. He didn't cease palpating the muscles along my chest and arms, now that I had made my intentions clear. That only made his hands linger over my breasts longer with each pass. Goose flesh broke out all over my body and I laid back against him. Those giant hands dropped to my hips and his thumbs sank into the soft spaces under the back of a leather belt I wore. This only made me press into him harder, rocking now in a rhythm we both knew. He had my waist clinched between both hands one second and the next, they had slipped around and unbuckled my belt. Next was the pop of a brass button and the quiet buzz of a zipper. His hand was hot, my cunt was lava. There was nothing tentative about the way his fingers slid over my panties and hooked ever so gently into the dip of bone.
"I want to fuck you." came the rushed whisper above my head.
"Then fuck me and don't be soft about it."
"Now, I want to fuck you right now."
"What are you waiting for?"
He hooked his thumbs into my pants and shoved them down over my cheeks, taking my panties with them. The absence of his body against my bare ass was shocking and sent a real shiver of fear in my blood. I could hear more than just the shuffling of his clothes and I suddenly had a bolt of desire to get out of there. Pull my pants up and drive right the fuck out of there. My flaming pussy was the only thing that stopped me. Turns out my pussy was right, as usual.
He peeled down his drawers and stuffed a small plastic feed pan under my feet to raise me up. I didn't look at him, I didn't talk to him, I didn't care about anything but the cock I knew was coming. He tried to be easy, giving me three lengthy swipes from clit to cunt, but that was all the self control he could muster.
"God, you're soaking wet." His voice was shaky and he entered me like a hot skewer into butter. I screamed. And grunted. And moaned. And commanded him to fuck harder. Commanded him to pull my hair, to bite my neck and he did all I asked. It was like being plowed by a freight train. He was build huge all over and I had to shove myself away from the cooler to keep him from bruising my hips with each wicked thrust. The day wasn't hot, but humid enough that we were both tacky with sweat. Nominal sounds of the barn were overtaken by the sharp slap of our skin. I knew the first time I laid eyes on him nine years ago, that if ever the chance to fuck him arose, I wouldn't balk for a second. Holy shit, it was bliss.
It wasn't until I said, "You had better slow down or you're going to cum way too soon.", that he let up the vicious, delicious pounding.
In an instant he pulled out, leaving me gasping for breath. He swung me around, lifted me up and plopped my ass on the grain bags. In two clean movements he had my boots off and just as swift, jerked my jeans a few times and slid them down my tanned legs. Socks were the next victims. He hooked one finger in the leg of my panties to pull them free, but only one leg. He wanted to see them still hanging there.
