I grew up on a small farm in Southern Illinois. Now I know what y’all are thinking. It’s isolated on the farm and all those stories about incest between the farmer and his daughter and brothers and sisters are untrue. Well, they’re not—untrue, that is. Or as I used to say before my overpriced college education: “they ain’t.”
For some reason, kids just physically mature faster in the country—must be all that good clean livin’ (she says with a sarcastic smile). And I was no exception. I was just a skinny little red-headed tomboy one year and then suddenly, within the next, I sprouted. All over.
By the time I turned eighteen, I was somewhere between a woman and a girl. My hips and bottom just defined themselves a slight curve away from my very flat stomach. My legs remained rather thin to my dismay, but they had a muscular curvature around the thigh that was a bit new due to my favorite pastime of Western horseback riding. My pussy had grown a small bush of red-hair that I kept neatly trimmed for appearance, and because I had grown fond of masturbation and had found out that if I kept my hair neat around my pussy, I could stimulate my clit to climax much faster.
My proud breasts were the most noticeable change. Where the before had been the season for sprouting puffy sensitive nipples, by my fourteenth year, I had managed to cultivate a nice set of girlish titties. Now, at eighteen, they were verging on C-cups, and it was difficult to find a bra that would fit around my still skinny chest and cup the tits that had grown to the shape of well-rounded grape-fruits. I stood five-foot five in the mirror, weighing in at 117 pounds.
I liked to look at myself naked there in the evenings before bed. I liked to think about the feeling I would get in my stomach, while cantering horseback. I wasn’t stupid. I knew when I was getting hot in the saddle and took full advantage of it. What turned me on more, was the fact that I knew some of the older men—the trainers and instructors in the stable where I rode, were paying particular attention to my mount. I could feel their gaze on my thighs and seat. I knew I was outgrowing my Western shirts at the top. I could feel Jack, and older cowboy with a black moustace, watching my breasts bounce up and down in my ill-fitting bra’s.
On my bed my hands would snake down slowly to my cunny, where I was already wet thinking about Jack’s tickly mustache on my hard nipples. I liked to imagine it rough. I wanted him to force my panties down in the tack room to get at my little pussy. I imagined him muffling my screams with his hand and breathing in hard puffs of hot air down my neck and chest. Mmmmmm, I’d get butterflies in my stomach and arch my back, with my fingertips rubbing my clitoris hard visualizing his tongue in my pussy-hole and his mustace treating my clit to the ride of it’s life. My face and breasts and cunt would flush all at once. It would fee like I was falling as the walls of my pussy contracted and I came in waves.
That year, marked the two year anniversary of my Grandma’s death, God rest her soul, and after much prodding from his daughter (my Momma), Grampa came to live with us.
With it just being Momma and me in the house, I hadn’t been used to too much modesty. Wandering around the house in the t-shirt I slept in was a common occurance. Often, I slept without underwear. I didn’t really consider how difficult it might be for a horny old goat to concentrate with a selfish nymph running around him.
One spring morning, I noticed something green forcing it’s way out of the ground in the front flower bed. My tee-shirt began to ride high as I leaned into the sink and stretched forward to see what it was. I asked Grampa what he thought might be growing out front. He came over to me and stood behind me. He was a big, tall man and he didn’t have to lean too far forward to see from his vantage point. I learned that more than one thing was growing that morning. I could feel his enormous erection scraping against my bottom.
Hmmmm, could be a crocus this time of year.
Now his palms were on my shoulders and he was pressing me against the sink. He wasn’t shy at all. As he began to rub up against me, I know I should have been repulsed by my own grandfather, rubbing his old hard cock up against the crack of my cotton clad ass. But I wasn’t…
In fact, the impropriety of his sexually using me turned me on. I pictured his old cock popping my cherry inside my tight pussy hole and I began to get very wet and hot indeed.
Then he stopped and went away to his room!
I softly padded behind my ol’ Grampa. I cracked the door to his room and saw him on the bed. He had the zipper down on his trousers--his white tee shirt clung over the large hump of his tummy. Grampa had big hands and he used them to spring his great purple monster from it’s prison. Oh my, what a cock! It was so nice and long—at least 8 inches hard from base to tip. He used his thumb and forefinger to gently massage the mushroom cap head.
“Ugnngh,” He groaned very softly. His eyes moved to the crack of the door, he said in a voice that was firm, “Jollee, sweety, you gotta job to do now, as a young woman, it’s time you learned to finish watchya start. Now, come in here girl…”
I was somewhat afraid but dripping wet with excitement at the same time. My pussy tingled oh so hard. I found it hard to look him in the eye.
“Josie,” He asked quietly, “look at my cock girl…C’mon now, look at it.” My gaze swept up from the floor to the large engorged cock in front of me. Grampa sighed at his own stroking as he exposed himself to me fully.
“Whatta I do Grampa?” I asked innocently.
“Lemme see that sweet snatch,´” He growled, in a voice I had never heard before from him.
