Agatha Kristenson - The rancher_s wife

"Funny, isn't it," Mela whispered, her hand quivering on Cole's sun-bronzed neck, "how you think you'll find just what you want a long way from home. I kept looking and looking and I find it right here in South Dakota…" The young blonde heiress was still trembling, her full, melon-like breasts heaving under the pink cotton shirt, from the hotly passionate kiss they had exchanged.

"This is crazy… you know that… let's get the hell out of here," Cole growled, not really sounding sincere.

"For a man who lives close to the earth you've got a strange uptight conscience," she whispered, her green eyes burning him. Cole tried to look away from that mocking expression daring and teasing him.

"Look… we had our fun in Paris… I didn't expect…"

"You didn't expect to find me here. I know…" Mela's pearl-lacquered fingernails slid down Cole's shirt front coming to rest right on the thick bulge of his penis straining against the prison of his jeans.

"I thought a big hard-on like you've got had no conscience," she whispered, her hand closing around the throbbing hardness that beat telltale beneath the cloth.

A strangled groan tore out of Cole's mouth as he felt her soft hand close on him. He could see the upthrust curve of her full young breasts heaving against the shirt where a button had come loose. She leaned against him on the hot leather seat, her breath coming quick and unevenly, her eyes like a jade green fire beckoning him into the depths of a fiery, unknown hell.

"Why lie, Cole? You want to fuck me here just as much as you did in Paris."

The hell of it was, he did! Sitting so close to her he could almost smell the excited female heat of her eager young pussy. Still, though, he hesitated. The bees buzzed and droned monotonously by the blackberry thicket and the whole world was still and waiting.

"Goddd…" He groaned suddenly and his muscular arms snaked around her pliant body and his lips came down hard on her half-opened pink-lipped, moist mouth goading him and laughing at him. He had to crush that smirk off her face… wipe it out… obliterate it!

Mela could feel his hand bury itself in her soft hair as his hungry mouth sought hers. She took his tongue gratefully. To hell with the Latin lovers and French lovers and English gentlemen, she thought. There was nothing like this roughneck South Dakota rancher who used her like a bull did a cow. She would have come home even if Pa hadn't died, for Cole Sutherland was here and none of those sweet smelling pansies in Europe could ever match the likes of him. She knew. She'd tried them all.

Fucking his tongue into her soft wet mouth, his hot lips bruising her unmercifully, Cole's hand slid up her rib cage to lift the heavily trembling softness of her breasts. The shirt was all she wore on top, for he could feel the soft resilient warmth, the yielding, melting flesh quiver under his palm. Jesus Christ! What did you do with a woman like this? You fucked her! That's what you did. You fucked her 'til she screamed for mercy!

Crushed against him, Mela kept her hand on his slowly rising hardness, growing and swelling obscenely in his pants. She trembled and gasped, feeling the heat of the man blazing far hotter than the sun that beat down on them in the field so harshly. The muscles in his arms were bunched into hard chunks of rock, and she whimpered deep in her throat. The fevered, vertical little mouth up between her legs was growing into a hotly pulsating opening that had to be filled with the hardness that was springing from his loins.

Their tongues dueled for long minutes, their eyes closed against the brilliant sunshine, hands busily exploring and caressing and smoothing. Cole's hand slid inside the cotton shirt to cup the magnificent swell of the heiress's eagerly palpitating breast. He trembled like a stallion in spite of himself at the feel of the hot naked flesh against his palm, the hardened nipple leaping out to nuzzle into his gripping hand. God damn! She was like a bitch in heat! He squeezed the soft firm whiteness of her breast, full and voluptuous and heaving with the rampant passion that rippled through it like hot summer lightning.

With a muffled moan, Mela tore her lips from Cole's and pulled his warm voracious mouth down to her excitedly quivering nipple. "Oh God… suck it… suck my tit…!" She jerked her shirttail out and fumbled with the remaining buttons of her shirt as his head began to burrow into her chest and his hungrily seeking mouth found the ripe succulency of the hardened erect nipple. As his wetly ovaled lips enclosed the luscious half-sphere and his rapacious tongue flicked hotly on her flesh, Mela screamed softly, "Oh… baby… that's it… suck it… suck it!"

The heady sweet smell of crushed gardenia petals in the hot sun hit his nose as Cole buried his whole face in the soft pillow of her full heaving breast. His madly licking tongue and warm moist lips clamped down hard on the sensitive nipple, and he heard the lewd urgings spring from her lust-constricted throat. She acted as if she were trying to ram her tit down his mouth, he thought. Hell, he hadn't fucked a broad in a car since he was a green kid. Well, this one wouldn't wait and he couldn't! He could feel his balls, sperm-bloated and aching, his impatiently pounding cock almost bent double inside his pants. How could it have any conscience? It was screaming for release. It was like this was a last chance at life, at Paris, at fucking!

Pulling his hungry mouth into her desperately trembling flesh, Mela's head fell back against the hot leather seat, her throat, breasts, and upper torso naked to him. She could feel the expectant quivering extend down her rippling belly and deep inside her excitedly reverberating loins as Kate's husband's mouth drew on her goose-bumpled nipple and sucked it hard and viciously into his ravenously heated mouth. Two nights of fucking in Paris with him hadn't been enough. She was never going to get enough… not of this! Her hands flew to his belt and she struggled with the waistband as he leaned against her eagerly agitated breast, licking, sucking, and nuzzling. She felt his hot breath on her like a flame!

"Oh God," Mela cried; "Help me, Cole. Where is your big, beautiful cock?" The rancher heard the young, excitedly writhing girl moan in despair as her hands clawed almost maniacally at his crotch. He straightened up, ripped his belt loose, and then jerked the zipper down, frantically working his jeans down his legs. Cole felt her hands feverishly unbuttoning his shirt, and he heard little mewls and moans bubbling desperately out her mouth.

When finally his shirt was off and his Levi's down around his knees he turned to help the wildly excited young heiress, only to find she was way ahead of him. She was jerking her jeans and black nylon panties down but they had caught on her boots.

"Give me your foot," he panted. She turned to him in the seat with one boot toward him, and he could see the soft hair-fringed vaginal slit up between her firmly rounded young thighs open like a flower, showing the tiny dewdrops of moisture that welled from deep inside the depths of her love-starved pussy. Christ! She was all pink and swollen, with her glistening cuntal lips wide open in invitation.

Mela could see the giant throbbing penis jutting up from his loins like a bull's. The dark curling pubic hair was a mat above its long sinewy length, the fleece above the sword that looked as though it could service a cow or a mare with no difficulty. His prick was ridged and purpling, thick as her wrist and she couldn't even estimate its length. Inches meant nothing anyway. That prissy little Frenchman had been hung as well, but was so selfish and inept that he may as well have had a baby's prick. Her breath caught at the magnificence that awaited her, its cyclops eye drooling in anticipation.