Mary slowed her eager skips down to a slow walk. Although evening approached, it was just too hot to go any faster. On top of that, her decision to go braless today meant her breasts swayed uncomfortably in her orange, cotton camisole; almost popping out at anything faster than a stroll. Mary cursed at forgetting to apply sunscreen to her exposed skin. Tattered brown shorts covered her upper thighs, leaving only smooth skin to run down to her black, dust covered wellies. She knelt down to pick a daisy, and slid it through her wavy, blond hair. She had hoped wearing a high ponytail would help with the heat. Her chest expanded as she sucked in the country air. Mary smiled as she followed the laneway towards the farmyard. She loved the farm this time of year. The smell of fresh cut grass, cute animals hopping about, and the sun sinking behind distant hills, leaving a deep, orange glow to linger in the evening sky. Once again, the tufts of grass that lined the middle of the lane made Mary think of the wisps of dark hair that covered her pussy.
Her brother and sisters were rarely to be seen at home, preferring to live it up in the city. They were either studying or working there. Mary could only stick a semester of college - and the city - before dropping out and returning to the farm. She knew it had disappointed her father, that it was her, and not her brother, George, who seemed to have a passion for farm life. But it was her that had that love. Why would she want to move to the city? Everything she wanted was right here.
The grunting got louder as she approached the sheds. Probably dad lifting something too heavy again, she guessed. She got closer to the slightly ajar door, looked in, and then immediately jumped back. Slowly, she poked her head around the opening. Oblivious to his daughter's presence, Frank's grunting continued. His face was flushed red, and a vein bulged from his neck. Slightly hunched over, his huge hand moved frantically over his cock. It was easily bigger than other boys', Mary thought. 'Hands like shovels' people would say about her father. She stood outside; her half exposed back pressed against the wooden wall. She stifled a silent laugh as she backed away. Truth was, this wasn't the first time she came across her father like this. She stomped the gravel to make more noise.
"Daddy, are you in here?"
Pushing open the gate, and hoping she'd given him enough warning, Mary prepared herself for whatever she'd see.
"Oh, Hi, honey," he said, his back still turned to her as he fastened his work pants.
"Goodness, daddy! The sweat is pouring off you. You must be working hard. Do you need a hand?"
"Don't worry honey, I've already fed the calves. Go on back to the house, and I'll be right behind you."
"Daddy, you don't have to do my jobs. I told you already, I want to help as much as possible around here."
Frank looked at his daughter for a moment before reaching for a pitch fork. In one fluid motion, he drove it into the bale of hay at his feet, and hauled it up over his head onto a high platform. Mary watched as his arms and shoulders flexed through his vest. It was a display of strength that she'd witnessed a thousand times before. Like then, her smile conveyed her sense of awe.
"All done now," Frank said, placing the fork in the corner.
Mary just smiled as she squeezed his bicep. They laughed as he feigned a bodybuilder pose. She wasn't sure where things were going, but found herself sat on a bale of hay next to the big man. He was still panting, but she knew it wasn't from innocent farm work.
"I'm sorry I'm not George. I know you'd prefer your son. But I'm serious about working this farm for you daddy."
"I know, darling. I guess I'm just a bit too traditional. Though you're a girl, you've proven yourself time and time again that you're well able for the job."
Mary could have brought up some sexist nonsense that she heard in her short visit to college. But she knew that his grievances were honest, and that that bullshit would never fly with him anyway.
"It's just, you're my little girl. And I always imagined you in a nice sub-urban house with a bunch of kids around your skirt...or a career...or whatever you wanted."
"I want this," Mary said.
Frank's meaty hand covered her back. Mary leaned over and nestled her head in the solid pillow of his chest.
"Really, I'm your little girl, huh? Does that mean I'm your favourite?" Mary asked, giggling.
"Well...I...uhm- "
"Relax, daddy. You don't have to answer that. But I'm not exactly a little girl anymore. I'm mature. I've grown."
"Yes, you have."
His fingers felt good on her back.
