Sarah showed up at the farm on a hot Friday afternoon with a small bag and no real plan. She was twenty-two, bored with the city, and her cousin had offered the spare room for a week. The place smelled like dirt, animals, and diesel. The first person she saw was the foreman, Rick, thirty-five, thick arms, dirty jeans, and a stare that said he already knew what she wanted.
He didn’t waste time with small talk. “You here to help or just look pretty?”
“Help,” she said, even though she had no idea what that meant on a farm.
By sunset he had her in the big red barn. He shut the door, grabbed her by the hips, and spun her around so her chest pressed against a stack of hay bales. “Pull those shorts down,” he told her. She did it fast, no panties underneath. Rick spat in his hand, rubbed it over his cock, and pushed straight into her cunt without another word.
She grunted loud. He was thick and he didn’t ease in. He fucked her like he was trying to split her open, hips slapping her ass, balls swinging. Hay scratched her thighs. She reached back and spread her cheeks so he could go deeper. “Fuck, that’s it,” he growled. “City girl pussy taking farm cock already.”
He came inside her after ten hard minutes, thick ropes flooding her. When he pulled out, cum ran down her leg. He wiped his dick on her ass and told her to clean up before dinner.
That night she couldn’t stop thinking about it. The next morning she went looking for him again. Rick was working on the tractor in the equipment shed. She climbed up into the cab, pulled her tank top off, and straddled him on the seat. He didn’t even take his boots off. He just unzipped, shoved her shorts aside, and let her sink down on his cock again.
She rode him rough, tits bouncing, sweat dripping between them. The tractor smelled like grease and old sweat. Every time she dropped her hips he slapped her ass hard enough to leave red prints. “You like farm dick now, huh?” he said. “Say it.”
“I like farm dick,” she panted. “I like it deep.”
He flipped her onto the seat, folded her legs back, and pounded her until she came so hard her thighs shook. He pulled out at the last second and shot across her stomach and tits, thick white streaks she rubbed in with her fingers.
Over the next few days it became constant. Mornings in the milking parlor, bent over a stainless steel tank while he fucked her from behind. Afternoons out in the pasture behind the silo, her on all fours in the grass while he used her mouth then her cunt. One evening he took her into the chicken coop after dark, made her kneel in the straw, and fucked her face until spit and precum ran down her chin. When he was ready he bent her over a feed bin and took her ass for the first time, slow at first then harder once she relaxed around him.
She learned to ask for it. “Fuck my pussy again,” she’d say in the middle of chores. He’d drop whatever he was holding, drag her somewhere private, and give it to her raw.
No condoms, no pulling out unless he wanted to paint her skin. She stopped wearing underwear entirely. Easier access.
By the end of the week her thighs were bruised from his grip and her cunt stayed sore in the best way. On her last night Rick took her out to the empty field behind the barn. He spread a blanket on the grass, stripped her, and fucked her under the stars with slow, deep strokes that made her come twice before he flooded her again. When he finally pulled out, she stayed on her back, legs open, letting the night air cool the mess between her thighs.
She left the next morning with his cum still leaking out of her. The farm had changed her. Every time she sat down on the bus ride home she felt the ache and remembered exactly how it happened.
