by Candy Quinn
I got so wrapped up in my own experience, fondlin’ myself beneath my PJs and tasting his seed, that I got carried away and made a moan myself. It got the attention of the two of them above me and I froze in my tracks.
“Did you hear that?” Fiona asked Mr. Roberts as he felt up her big tits.
“Probably just some animal,” he replied, not wanting to be distracted from her body.
“We should get on back before Rose notices I’m missin’,” Fiona said, suddenly worried about getting caught again, now that she had the man’s cum dribbling out of her pussy.
“Alright,” he said and he pulled back from her with a final smack of their lips.
“Thanks for showin’ me somethin’ new,” Fiona said with a blushing grin as she pulled her dress back into place.
“Thanks for the warm welcome,” he echoed in response as he tucked his big tool back into his underwear and pants with some effort.
And then, before I knew it, it was all over. They were disappeared back out into the darkness, and I was left in the treehouse by myself, the smell of their sex so heavy in the air. I couldn’t believe what I’d witnessed that night, and I figured it was goin’ to be the only time I’d ever see something like that.
But following around Mr. Roberts, it didn’t seem he was all too content with just one of my sisters, and when I noticed him eyeing up the twins one day, I took to spying again...
Dirty Country Love
Book Themes:
Barely Legal Virgin, Breeding, and Step-Brother Romance
Word Count:
20,108
* * *
Rollin’ hills, green grasses, and trees off in the distance.
It was a view as unchanged from memory as it was from a few hours down the road where she came from, but to Britney it was home.
All her life she’d lived out in the countryside, or at least all she could remember. From the time she was a lil’ child, she remembered the smell of the barn, and the sight of the endless fields of crops. Even before she found herself taken in by the kindly gentleman that was friends with her ma, before she passed on.
She was young then, only about eight or so, she reckoned, but her ma passed away and she had nowhere to go. Except to stay with her godfather, Mr. Drake.
An older man, tall and stern, he always had a smile for her, treated her like his own. Though he already had one of his own too, an older son. Damien.
As the truck took her on back to the Drake farm, she felt a chill run up her spine thinking about the older boy. He’d left home for the big city long before she was of age, always full of piss and vinegar, as the elder Drake used ta say!
He was always a bit of a trouble maker, unlike her, and so when it came time for her to move on out… she didn’t go to the city. Nope! She made her way to the tiny lil’ community at the heart of the farmlands, to work the diner there.
She missed working on a farm itself though, and always wanted to return. Preferably if she found a nice man, a good, hearty farmer, to settle down with, pop out as many kids as the harvest had wheat!
Well… not that many, but near to!
She’d never met the right man, even though plenty a fella flirted with her across the counter, but then word came…
Old Mr. Drake passed away. And with him the closest thing Britney had to family close by.
She hopped a ride on over with a co-worker who was on her way to visit a relative. Cindy was a nice gal, though not too chatty, so the ride was quiet. But that suited Britney just fine, she wanted to think about the man who was near a father to her.
She recognized the area immediately, long before she saw the farm house, even though the lands all looked near identical for hours of driving.
“That’s the place,” Britney said, sadness and excitement mingling. She’d missed the place, missed farm-livin’.
Pulling up to the front drive, Cindy came to a stop and gave a smile.
“Ya’ll sure you’re gonna be okay out here?” She asked.
“Yeah, don’t worry,” Britney said, taking her bag in arms as she opened the door. “That lawyer fella said we’d sort out the will real soon. And until then he told me it’d be best if I tidied up and laid a claim to anything I want to keep.”
Cindy was quiet for a moment before she nodded.
“Alright. You take care, Britney. I’ll see ya back at work in a few days,” she said.
“Drive safe, Cindy.”
And with that, they parted ways, and the quiet of the farm was soon Britney’s alone.
The farmhouse was a lovely old style, kinda Victorian with a country vibe. It went back in the Drake family, and old Drake kept meticulous, good care of it, and did his best to pass on the skills and enthusiasm to do so to his son. Not that it panned out, with Damien runnin’ off and all.
Britney soaked it all in, remembering the good years as she slung her bag over her shoulder and sauntered on up.
It was another hot day in the country, and she wore her shorts and plaid top, keepin’ it nice and breezy with her hair tied back in a ponytail.
The animals were all taken off the farm, she was told, to be held temporarily at another place, where they could be cared for until matters could be sorted out. And though Britney worried there’d be a lot of work to do, she found the place pretty neat, just as the old Drake liked it.
She wandered around the halls and rooms, soaking it all up, noticing how nothing had changed in all the years since she first arrived. Well… except for the pictures of her. Elder Drake really did treat her like one of the family, after all.
Still, she did her best to tidy up and look through things, though she didn’t have much of a heart for disturbing the order of the place and claiming stuff for herself. So instead she scrubbed the floors, dusted the furniture, and got it all as spick and span as she could.
Though a task as big as that was somethin’ for more than one day, and well after night fell, she was bushed! Too beat to even cook, she felt. But then, without someone to cook for she never much felt like eating anyhow.
She went back to her old room and laid out on the bed, fully prepared to drift off in her former room — which looked the same as the day she left it — when suddenly the roar of a motor tore the quiet of the night apart.
It made her heart race!
But Britney, still dewy from working a sweat up cleaning, went to the window and peered out cautiously.
There, still a ways off, she could see a single light coming towards the farm.
She didn’t know what to make of it, but as the roar grew louder and it turned down the lane… she realized it had to be a motorcycle.
The porch light was still on, so when the bike came to a halt before the door, it was enough to shed some light on who she was dealing with.
Was a big, tall fella, in black leather and jeans. A hard lookin’ sort, though she couldn’t make out much more.
She got to worrying, being all by herself in the house, and went to fetch the gun she knew old Drake kept by his bed.
She had to load it, but there was time. The man seemed in no rush, and his loud, heavy bootsteps could be heard coming up the front porch steps before he got to the door.
Britney’s heart raced, but she loaded up the revolver before the man was coming up the stairs to the second floor.
Trying to calm her breathing, she cursed her luck.
Her first night fully alone — no family or roommate — and something like this had to happen!
She waited beside a door for the sound of the man reaching the top of the stairs, where the squeaky floorboard would give him away. And as soon as he got there she came around the corner and pointed the gun.
“Stop right the—” she began to shout, but the thug vaulted over the railing and grabbed her arms, pointing the gun away in less than a heartbeat!
She knew it was all done then, because the man was broad and strong, and had over a foot in height on her!
“The fuck you doin’?” he s
aid, his voice gravelly and dark.
Gravelly, dark and familiar.
Her vision went all blurry with the stress of the situation, but hearin’ that hard but familiar voice, she stepped back, or tried to at least. The big brute of a man kept her in place as he wrenched the gun from her grasp.
“Britney? That you?” he said in the light above the hall, staring at her in disbelief.
Her own shock was no less, because though he was dressed in thick boots, black jeans and a leather jacket, looking like some biker criminal off of the TV, his dark hair and strong-jawed face was all too familiar.
“Damien,” she said in a light, airy voice; stunned almost to silence by the sight of her former crush.
“Shit,” he said, still holding her tight as he looked her up and down. “It is you,” he remarked, with a shrill whistle, and a wry grin that said he was impressed with how she’d changed in all the years past.
It made her heart beat even faster than before, and she was glad it was still dim inside so her blush was a bit more private. Pressed right up against him, though, it was hard to believe he couldn’t feel her heart near ready to break out of her chest.
“You scared me,” she replied with a bit of a grimace. She shouldn’t be surprised he’d come back for his own father’s funeral, but still, she wasn’t expecting him either.
“I ain’t the one pointin’ guns, Britney,” he said, that wry look on his rugged face still before he checked the chamber of the revolver and gave a whistle. “Fully loaded too. You was ready to pump me full of lead it seems,” he remarked, sliding the gun into his pocket as he held her close still.
Damien leaned in real close, his deep voice a low husk as he murmured to her.
“Y’know, that’s a bit far to go for an inheritance. Even by my standards,” he remarked with dry humour. Or at least, Britney hoped it was humour!
But with his warmth pressing into her, she was havin’ a hard time thinkin’ straight. She’d always been his annoying adopted sister, someone he never had time for, and he’d never held her like this before, not ever. She could smell the fresh air and rich leather off him, and it was intoxicating.
“I thought you were a burglar,” she said, trying to sound calmer and more in control than she felt.
“Nah,” he said, “not tonight.”
He flashed her a wink before finally letting her go from his iron grasp.
“And damn, Brit. It’s been a long ass time,” he said, crasser than ever as he unzipped the front of his jacket, showing a tight white shirt that clung to a well sculpted torso beneath.
Whatever Damien had been up to all these years, he sure as heck wasn’t takin’ it easy, judging by all that muscle beneath his leather.
She wanted to be a smart-aleck, to come back at him with something quick witted, but she was staring at his chest even though she knew she ought not to.
Nervously she went to tuck some blonde hair behind her ear before realizing too late it was all up in a ponytail. She licked her lips and took a deep breath.
“Well yea, you been in the city the whole time,” she finally managed.
Though a peek upwards showed she wasn’t the only one starin’ at a chest.
“Startin’ to have regrets about that,” he remarked, slidin’ one thumb into the waistband of his jeans as he tongued the center of his lower lips. It was an awkward sort of moment, but before it went on too long he said:
“When’d you get here, sweetie?” His voice kinder than she was used to, even though it was rougher than ever. Probably been smoking and drinking all these years.
“Earlier today. Just... cleanin’ mostly,” she replied, and where his voice was hard and rough, hers had gone even softer and more demure. Why was he looking at her like that?
The way his hand rested on and in his jeans, it tugged ‘em down an inch lower, pulled his shirt taut so that she could make out the bumps of his abs through the white cotton. He leaned one hand up on the wall as he got in real close to her.
“It’s a real shame about pa,” he said, which struck her by surprise, seeing that his mind seemed to have gone elsewhere from the moment he saw her. “But it was enough to draw the two of us back together here, at least. He’d have been happy ‘bout that.”
“Yea,” she answered, because it was true. Old Drake always wanted the two of them to get on better and to keep in touch more but that never happened.
She fluttered her eyes closed, feeling a bit overcome by it all and those weird thoughts she was havin’. She’d noticed he was cute when they were younger, sure, but that was just a harmless crush and then he rode on out of her life like he didn’t care at all.
But now he cared.
The moment drew on between the two of ‘em for a while, with Damien reaching a hand up and brushing back a stray lock of hair from her face. But at last, he smiled unevenly again and pulled away.
“Gonna go hit the hay, Britney. Didn’t see no car out front, so I s’pose that means you’ll be ridin’ with me to the funeral tomorrow,” he said, turning and strolling slowly towards his former room in the old house.
On his motorcycle?
Just the thought of it gave her the chills — the good-but-bad kind — and then she felt guilty that Mr. Drake’s funeral wasn’t the first thing on her mind. Damien was.
She nodded mutely, a lump in her throat keeping her quiet as she pictured herself grabbing onto those abs as they rode up the dirt road.
It was going to be hard getting to sleep.
* * *
Mornin’ came after a restless night of thinking about the man that was near to a father to her, and Damien.
Though old man Drake was like a pa, Damien could never be said to be like a brother to her. He was older than her by a few years, and so by the time she came over he was already a teenager, doing teenage things when not on the farm, doing the men’s work when he was. She never got to spend much time with him, and then suddenly he was gone.
But none of that kept her from admiring him from afar.
Much like how when she awoke — a lil’ later than she intended, thanks to the restless night — she came out to the sight of Damien getting out of the bath.
He hadn’t bothered shutting the door, shameless or heedless as he was, and she saw him rising up, water cascading off his body. The morning light shone in through the window, glittering off the liquid.
He was big, bigger than his pa even. Broad of shoulder, with muscles like outta the movies! Though unlike those movie fellas, he was dark and hairy, covered in tattoos. A heart was right square in the middle of his chest, a phoenix on his hip. Ebon hair upon his torso, runnin’ down from his pecs through the middle of his abs before coming to…
Oh lord, she nearly fainted!
She’d never rightly seen a man naked, not full on like that. And Damien was full on, alright. Full on man, just… full! And big! Lordy!
He yanked the towel from the rack and brought it to his chest before noticing her, flashing a big ol’ grin in her direction.
She wished the floor would just swallow her whole then because there wasn’t no pretending she didn’t see it all. She swallowed hard but she couldn’t say nothing, couldn’t even move. It was like she was hoping that if she just stayed still and quiet he wouldn’t have seen her after all.
Her nightgown billowed around her thighs, one of the open windows bringing with it a cool morning breeze, and it was enough to wake her from her stupor. She turned on her heels, staring instead at the wall.
“Sorry!”
Damien took his time, toweling himself and then his dark hair off as he strode on out of the bathroom. She could see only a faint glimpse of him from the corner of her view, but he wasn’t making a big effort to cover himself up entirely.
Instead, he watched her for a moment at the door to his room.
“Bathroom’s all yours now, Britney,” he said before he went inside his space, giving her a final glimpse of his rear.
She cursed inwardly,
and cursing wasn’t something she normally did. She went to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her so that she could be alone with her embarrassment. She looked in the mirror and sure as shootin’, her pale face was bright red, her blonde hair a mess all around it.
She took her sweet time getting ready after that, afraid to poke her head back out. But once she finally did, she caught sight of something she never thought she’d see.
Damien stood there, in a suit and tie, and though he sure as shootin’ wasn’t clean-shaven, he was lookin’ like some stud out of the movies, or off an ad. The black suit fittin’ his broad body so snug and tight, but tight in all the right ways, it was perfectly fitted. And the fact his hair was a lil’ tousled and his stubble a lil’ rugged, only added to the way he looked.
“Ready whenever you are, Brit,” he said, hands in his pockets.
Suddenly she felt underdressed in her simple black dress, and shined up mary-jane shoes. She didn’t have much to wear to such a somber occasion, but she did her best.
“I’m ready,” she replied, her head dipping down, her face still feelin’ too hot from catchin’ him nude.
He tilted his head towards the stairs before leadin’ the way.
“C’mon,” he said.
It wasn’t long before she was facin’ the prospect of ridin’ a motorcycle for the first time in her life. As Damien climbed atop it, he pulled the helmet off the seat and handed it over to her.
“For your safety,” he said, apparently set on ridin’ to his own pa’s funeral in a suit atop that noisy machine. Britney had trouble understanding it. Even if it did have a certain… appeal, in other ways.
It felt wrong, the way her heart was pounding and her excitement was rising when she was on her way to a sombre occasion. It wasn’t fair the way those contrasting emotions were warring within her, but she was grateful for a break from the sorrow. Even though her head pounded with sadness, her stomach tightened with excitement as she wrapped her arms lightly around his waist.
He took her hands, pulling her into him tighter and sending her heart to racin’ even faster. She could feel his abs with her hands pressed beneath his suit jacket, and when that roar went from beneath them, her squeak of surprise was drowned out by it.