Evelyn Street: Behind the barn

Bewilderment crowded in on Sandra, and she felt completely out of control of the situation. Her hands rose slowly to her breasts, and she gasped as she felt the electrifying effect her own touch had on the now sensuously throbbing mounds. But she couldn't take her hands away – somehow she felt that she had only herself to turn to to help her get over this terrible discovery. She felt strangely illucid, as if her perusal of the lewd pornographic pictures had touched off a streak of insanity in her, and she could no longer control her stampeding libido. Her mind was fermenting with images of the various positions she had seen in the photographs, and lurid thrills were beginning to shoot up and down her body. Involuntarily, she pressed her palms down her sides, along her hips, and then dipped them between her nylon-encased thighs. Immediately, she felt as if her vaginal mound was straining to reach the comfort of her own hands, and she felt a rush of inner moisture proclaim the intensity of the weird sensations. She could feel that the crotch-band of her panties was slightly moistened and her fingers inched forward, like individual bloodhounds on the scent of a relentless target.

Moments of rationality broke intermittently through the clouds of her frenzy, and taunted her with unanswerable questions. What had turned her into a roiling mass of feverish desire? Was it because Mike hadn't made love to her for so long? Or were the dirty pictures having an illicit prurient effect on her?

Her fingers kneaded at the burning lips of her moistened pussy through the flimsy panties and Sandra winced from the delicious contact. Why should I be denied pleasure? her mind argued dimly. All those girls were enjoying themselves; Mike was pleasing them… it's not fair that I should be left out…

As though they had received assent, her fingers burrowed hurriedly under the legband of her panties and teased over to the tingling flesh of her swollen pussy lips, and Sandra felt the fleshy folds pulsate under her sensitive fingertips. She sighed from the exquisite sensation, feeling relief flow through her. This is wrong… you shouldn't do this! Veiled threats echoed through her mind, hidden warnings from schoolgirl-filled corridors… dark messages about evil masturbation…

But Sandra was too intoxicated with the rush of pleasure to pay any heed to her own sombre warnings, and her fingers continued to plunge into the warm deep recesses of her desire-drenched pussy. Nothing mattered to her now – the whys and wherefores were unimportant – all that she was concerned with was quenching the raging fires that had sprung up unattended in her loins, and which required heavenly fuel to feed its lascivious hunger before it allowed itself to be put out.

Suddenly irritated by the impediment of her panties, her hands began to tear impatiently at them, and she raised her hips from the swivel chair, and eased them down over her thighs, leaving them dangling at her knees. But she didn't care about that – her hands were rolling up her soft angora dress and bunching it about her hips, and she revelled in the freedom of exposing her passion-enflamed loins to the cool evening air which was rushing in from the half-opened office window. Her fingers dug impatiently again at her burning furrow, and convulsively probed at the trembling hole of her clasping cunt.

"Aaaaaahhhhhhhh…" she couldn't suppress a sigh as her hand cupped onto the now moistly pulsating orifice and she felt the heated walls close in like a vise on her sunken middle finger.

The passion inside her was goaded on to greater fever by the lurid thoughts which had taken possession of her head and would not yield. Obscene thoughts framed by the disgusting photographs she had seen, images of desire and lust instigated by many actions and acted out in many forms. She was almost convinced that a large heated penis was ramming into her eager, open pussy, that she was one of those girls whose head was thrown back in complete abandon, whose mouth was open and from which a stream of sighs was rushing, whose hips were churning under the delicious onslaught of a heavy, passion-bloated cock which was plunging deeper and deeper and harder into her…

Waves of heat were washing over her now as she ground her buttocks down into the leather of the seat and revolved her saturated fingers around inside the velvety interior of her febrile vaginal sheath. A feeling of dizziness was taking control of her, coupled with a wonderful sensation of relief, and now she knew she was cumming, because she felt so good all over, and her hips were jerking uncontrollably, and a mist of hot, feminine orgasmic fluid washed down over her churning fingers, and she felt the office revolve around her and her head was torpedoed by a kaleidoscope of collaged nude figures, male and female, all fucking and sucking and licking in total frenzy, and she was at the center of it all, and she was loving it, every minute of it…

Sandra slunk back against the chair, drained of all energy, curiously devoid of all feeling but a satiated stupor which controlled her and made it impossible for her to do anything, not even pull her dress down over her naked thighs. Her legs were splayed, her panties hanging uselessly at her knees, and in the dim of the mortification which was beginning to manifest itself inside her, she reassured herself icily… "he'll pay for this… I'll make him pay for this…"

Sam Maguire eased himself down from the ledge under the office window, and with a furtive glance around, slunk off into the foliage that surrounded the Peters' house. He was still trembling with excitement, and could hardly believe what he had seen. Later, when he got to his quarters, he would go over it all again in his mind, dwelling on every single detail of what he had seen. He couldn't quite believe that he had been so lucky. He thanked his lucky stars that he had decided to have a peek when he saw the window open in the office, and heard muffled sounds from inside. Of course, it was fairly dim inside, but still, he could see what was going on.

I seen her! I seen her fingerfucking her own pussy! he chuckled to himself, treasuring the memory of the faint glimmer of hair-lined pink he had glimpsed between her open thighs as he eavesdropped on the demented woman. He had seen her flimsy white little panties dangling at her knees, too. Who'd have thought that he, a mere farmhand, would have got a front row seat, and seen with his own eyes the beautiful wife of his boss, playing with herself? All the nights he'd dreamed about the lovely, haughty Mrs. Peters, all the times he'd imagined what she'd be like with her dignity lost and stripped bare-ass naked… now he'd seen her, half-naked anyway. She didn't see him, didn't know he'd been watching, but he had been, and God, he wouldn't have missed it for anything.

Mike hurried over to the dairy and went straight to the milking parlour. He spotted Eve right away, standing to the right of the long row of cows already chained in the milking passage. She had put on a white coat, and her blonde hair was piled high on her head, and capped with a small band of white. Even with her fair, creamy skin, she did not look washed-out, and Mike thought to himself how attractive she looked in the white dairy coat. Her ample curves were cleverly accentuated by the tightly belted garment and Mike could not resist running his eyes over her proud, full breasts jutting out like snow-capped peaks, the slight sway of her molded hips, the long arch of her shapely legs. She was talking to Sam Maguire, and turned when she heard Mike come in.

"Good evening, Miss Slater. I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long."

"Oh no, Mr. Peters. Sam here has been showing me the ropes and making me feel at home. And do call me Eve, please."