Free Country Pleasures by Primula Bond Page A

back and forth, flicking across the distinct points of her nipples so that they stood up more stiffly beneath the loose shirt. Pangs of desire shot through her. The memories of pleasures past were dim, but slowly they were returning.
    She moaned out loud before she could stop herself. It was like being woken from a deep sleep. Sally would probably say it was just like getting back on a bicycle. Janie tossed her head from side to side to get Sally out of her head and to get back to the pleasure starting to overwhelm her. She wanted to lift her shirt up, show him her bare white tits with their raspberry-red nipples, ripe for sucking, but he had hold of her arms and, anyway, he was intent on balancing and feeling her tits as they were, hidden under her shirt. The greed and excitement in his face was infecting her. She became frantic, wriggling and twisting underneath him. She wrenched her hands free from his and took hold of his hips, pulling him up a little so that shecould unbuckle his belt. He was still wearing his T-shirt and her shirt was still buttoned up, but there was no need to undress, and no time.
    His mouth was open now, too far away for her to kiss it again. He was breathing harshly and she panted wildly as she stretched herself under his hands and tore at his jeans. However out of practice she may be, and however much Sally may have mocked, here she was, spread out beneath a gorgeous stranger practically in the open air. This was what Janie had been missing. She wasn’t interested in the luxury of waiting, she wanted to find the length of this man’s stiffened cock, hold it in her hand, discover what the feel of her body was doing to him, how hard it was making him. She needed to feel him inside her. It was time. Now.
    A draught whipped across her face, cold on the patch of stomach exposed by the rucking up of her shirt. Janie heard a cough, or a snort, somewhere nearby. There was no mistaking it. She couldn’t decipher what or where it was. The old barn seemed to have inhabitants of its own. The wind whistled across the rafters in short gusts that sounded like laughter. The stormy weather was hurrying her, and across the field Sally was waiting in the cottage.
    Sod Sally for intruding, and sod the creeping sensation she suddenly had, of being watched. The farmer’s jeans were undone now, and Janie reached down to find his cock, but he grabbed her wrists and forced them back over her head, pinning her down with one hand while he drew his cock out of his jeans himself. It seemed he liked being in control. He let it nudge in between her legs then yanked her trousers and knickers down. The hay scratched into the crack of her bare bum as she wound her legs round his hips, straining her groin up against his, unable to wrestleher hands out of his grip. She wouldn’t stop writhing until she felt his stiffness sliding its way inside her.
    Now something really was shifting about in the corner of her eye. She flung her head towards the door. One, maybe two heads, two pairs of eyes, were framed, totally still, just inside the doorway. She couldn’t make out if they were young or old, male or female, as the fading light was behind them and it was almost pitch-dark in the barn. The only line of light was the one that travelled from the door, placing the writhing pair on the hay bale right in the spotlight.
    She struggled beneath him for a moment, squealing to get his attention and dropping her legs down. They had to stop. Someone was going to march right in and catch them. There was nowhere to hide.
    â€˜Look there, someone’s there, someone coming,’ she croaked at him. She was torn, distracted, but exhilarated by the fear of discovery. It was like doing it behind the bike sheds, or in the park. The farm had always spooked her whenever she went exploring there, but that was part of the fun, and never had the scariness of it actually turned her on before. Then again, never before had she laid