WicKed Fulfills a Farm Boy’s Dream!


WicKed Fulfills a Farm Boy’s Dream!

Teenage Seductress Takes a Farm Boy’s Virginity.

Approximately 15,300 Words


Donald Mallord

Copyright by dmallord, 2022, USA. All rights reserved.


Somewhere, in mid-continent, there is a four-way stop sign, out in the middle of miles of cornfields. To the right, as you approach it, sits a nondescript café with a blinking neon sign in the window announcing ‘Homemade Milk Shakes.’ Sitting within is a lanky, freckle-faced nineteen-year-old, across from his buxom red-headed mama. He is the spitting image of a rough-hued, manly farm owner, bred from generations of fair-skinned and robust pioneers. Life for him, is at a crossroads. Jack’s mama is dutifully offering what little advice she can. Unfortunately, she had his same level of experience growing up; never having left the farmlands like her ancestors before her.

Neither one of them has any inkling that a wayward wind is blowing their way, carrying a glowing spark that will change both of their lives.


A Sojourn to the Farm

“Come on Kitten! We should’ve left earlier. Move your…”

“Hey! Watch it! Language…It’s not my fault your morning wood kept stoking the embers glowing between my slick thighs!”

I chuckled at her growing sassiness. Kat seemed to be rejoining the living and opening up again. That brought a smile to my face.

“Yeah, I shared some of the fault for that,” I admitted to her, “but you started it; and kept blowin’ on those embers until they flared up.”

“Daddy, I wasn’t blowing embers! I was blowing six-inches of your…”

“Language, young lady!” I interrupted, mocking her a bit, with some of her own sassiness.

“Cock!… There! I said it!” she giggled, quick-wittedly, and gushed with exuberance.

Running late, we skipped breakfast at home, stopping instead just outside the beltway, as we turned onto the two-lane state highway leading out to the country. It was one of those new fast food places with the arches. We opted to eat in, rather than on the run. Finishing our muffins, eggs, and sausage breakfast, I handed Kitten the keys, as we headed out the door. Her eyes lit up like sparklers on the Fourth of July. Even though she’s had a license for a year, most of her driving has been short distances in town. She was jubilant, skipping like a kid again.

“Really? Not going to start ‘Brake, you’re too close! Watch your speed! Blinkers for the turn coming up! Crap like…”

I saw her choke. I knew the ending to the sentence, “… Mom says.”

Mom was gone. There would be no more advice on driving…or on life. I’d give both my nuts to have her back. Even give up stoking flames, if I could just wave some magic wand and return Katelyn to us.

It was in the middle of the parking lot, that Katrina stopped. My arms gave her a hug and a light shake of the shoulders. “No, you’re a good driver and this is the chance to drive long distances on the open road. It will be great practice for when you get out behind the wheel on your own. I slid into the passenger seat, watching as she adjusted the power seat and mirrors with due-driver’s-training diligence.

In her excitement, she was unaware that her loose, short skirt was riding up, revealing those great thighs, right up to her panties. Those muscular legs were showing off all that gymnastic training she had put in over the years. The seatbelt clicked; with the strap crossing her white tee, drawing it taut against her braless breasts.

‘Nipple alert, Daddy!’ I smiled to myself, ‘There was no needless guessing about whether she was or was not wearing a bra. Damn teenagers! At least she has panties on for the road trip.’ Although, I admit, it was nice eye-candy.

Kitten pulled out onto the highway, intently focusing on the road as we drove for miles without much traffic in sight. The cornfields flew by, row after row, with only a hint of a stray farmhouse set back off the road, as we sped past. Only a mailbox here and there gave a clue to the existence of humankind. My mind drifted. Kat concentrated on driving; confidently beginning to increase her speed, and reached the magic 55 mph. We’d grown accustomed to enjoying some periods of silence over the past year. It came out of the somberness from sitting in hospitals, awaiting news of my wife’s health status. The last of those came after EMS ran from home to the closest hospital for what little help, they could offer.

I used the quiet solitude to mentally review things that had occurred over the past twenty-four years of my life. I tried to fathom how this chaos had wrecked our lives. How my love for Katelyn, entwined our lives with Dr. Marie, and Kitten’s promise to Katelyn to always take care of me. That had to be a misinterpretation by Kitten; I just knew that. But from all the details after the kaçak iddaa first night she slipped into my bed and got her so-called ‘birthday present,’ I knew we were headed for trouble. Still, I went along with it. It made Kitten happy. Had to admit, afterward; I kind of liked the joy it gave me, as well. Katrina was fast developing a hyper-lust toward sex, equal to her mother’s.

My conversations with Dr. Zimmerman, regarding incest helped to salve a few cuts to my psyche, as well. His brief counseling sessions with Kitten helped her, too. I suspect. She came out of those smiling after each one. But underneath that brief respite, I knew she needed, and I needed, the help of a true pioneer in the field of incest. That was on today’s agenda.


Jack Fletcher and His Momma Talk

“Mama, do you ever stop to wonder if there is more to life than plowing’ fields, growin’ corn, raisin’ cows, and shoveling bullshit?” he growled, “I do!”

“Language, Jack Daniel! You know your Daddy isn’t too happy with the way you and your sister have taken to using such language.”

“Sorry, Momma….And bullcrap, then?”

“I suppose, JD, for some folks, that is,” Mrs. Fletcher sighed, as she watched her son gaze out into the pasture at the herd of Angus cattle. The herd had followed the beaten path up to the water trough. It was a daily ritual; like a life-cycle always meant to be.

“Momma, didn’t you ever want to just, up and leave the farm? You know, just run away to the city, and find out what life was really like for other people?”

Juliet smiled at her son’s exasperation; at having to accept his fate as heir to a large farming operation in America’s breadbasket.

“Jack, there’s a purpose in life that is bigger than you or me. We can’t just run off whenever we get an itch to look for better things. If we did, who would be here to raise the food you would need when you run off to the city?” she smiled. “Besides, your Daddy and I aren’t going to live forever, you know? One day this land and all the ‘bullshit shoveling’ will be yours, and your sister’s.”

“And when the two of us die? Who’s gonna look after it then?” JD muttered.

“My grandkids!” Juliet laughed. Although, she had an idea that wasn’t where his thoughts were going. She’d hoped to break that forlorn look of despair she had seen in his moping around the café this morning.

“That ain’t likely! I’d have to have someone to…” Jack Daniel Fletcher chafed at her light-hearted remark.

Juliet Fletcher could easily identify with that last unfinished remark JD made. She was sure it would have ended with the words, ‘… to have someone to fuck!’ if she hadn’t just chastised him for language abuse.

She had felt that same gnawing tension, once. JD was nineteen, going on twenty. Most kids his age had already left for the city or gone off to college somewhere. It was his fate to be among the chosen. To remain behind and fulfill his father’s dreams of operating a multi-generational farm. JD was the fifth generation; his daddy had no intentions of breaking that sequential hand-me-down heritage.

Momma knew there was more to his sputtering about her grandkids. Juliet knew it was about that itch between a man’s legs that needed to be scratched–equal to a woman’s wants that craved to be fulfilled with life growing within. She knew he needed a mate; someone to provide for that consuming release aching to gush down and out of that Angus-sized cock he carried between his legs.

“Baby, it’s gonna happen one day. Maybe, it’s just gonna be out of the blue,” Mrs. Fletcher chortled as she stood up, “she’ll be gorgeous and come waltzing into this old place and she’ll meet you!”

Inwardly, desperately, she had wanted to scream, “Run, Jack! Get the hell out of the fields! Sow some oats in the city, then come back to your father like the prodigal son. Bring back someone that pleases you. Then ask forgiveness from your Daddy! Run, Jack, run!”

Juliet, a virgin until she married Jack Daniel Fletcher IV, never had the chance to run or taste a bit of the wild side. Her life had been preordained from about thirteen. She was going to be the wife of Jack Fletcher IV. The best choice her mamma and daddy could arrange. Worse for JD the fifth, though, the county fields were barren, all the virgin women were taken; or had had words with their parents and left for the cities. Jack would probably be left having to pick from some failed marriage, or some ‘divorcee with a kid’ that the wind blew in from who knows where.

Instead of a scream, she sighed, “I’ll make you some lunch, before you head back out to the fields. Your Daddy wants that last pasture plowed under this week, ready for seed by next Friday.”

Jack Fletcher slouched in his seat, bridling against his fate. He watched his mother’s lithe bottom stroll toward the kitchen. Watched those round orbs wiggle only the way a woman’s tease could do. It always stirred his secret desire to have kaçak bahis an opportunity to be naked in the hayloft with her. He shook his head to clear that image from his imagination and took a deep breath. Then let it out.

‘Lord,’ he signed again, ‘Make me a gorgeous angel appear; the way Momma said. One that can fuck all day. Or else take me out of here, today.’ He knew the words were wrong. It was really bad form to make such a prayer, he figured. But he was certain greater powers understood he was a man, with needs.


Almost two hours into our trek across corn country, I felt the car slowing down. Kat pulled into a small lane between two corn fields. I had nodded off to sleep for a little while. The jostling of the car, as it moved off road, stirred me awake. I rubbed my eyes, when I heard the car door opening. Katrina was out the car and getting into the backseat.

“Hurry, Daddy, I can’t wait!” she cried.

Craning my neck, I discovered she was frantically stripping off her tee, her skirt, and those lacy panties.

“I need you in me! Hurry!”

Her fingers were marching between her thighs. Despite my wonderment at what brings this on, my dick responded first. She pulled me in without foreplay and we did it like mink, no thought of tenderness; just animal-like, crazed sexual fulfillment until we both came.

Exhausted, I lay panting and dripping sweat, profusely down my face and onto Kitten’s already drenched breasts. With the sun beating down, the inside of the car had become like a bread oven.

“Fuck, that was crazy good!” she gasped, drawing in deep breaths of air.

I struggled to push up onto my elbows to give her room to breathe. My cock remained buried between her thighs, as we struggled to recuperate. Slowly, I pushed myself up and sat back in the leather seat. Her legs were draped over mine. We were like sponges. Kitten remained sprawled out, her breasts firm and her nipples glistening. Her right leg hung down off the bench seat. I watched as my cum seeped from her cunt, sliding between her legs, and landed on my thigh. The car was awash with the smell of fresh raw sex; a commingled smell of our perspiration and secretions from her slit.

“What was that?” I managed to huff out, as we regained our senses. Slowly, our breathing leveled out and Kitten finally broke the short silence as she grinned; while staring up at me with those adorable blue-green eyes.

“You were asleep, Daddy,” she explained, sheepishly. “So, I took the opportunity to… try sex while driving. You know? Playing with myself. Daddy, I read somewhere that people do that, just get naked and drive around having sex in their cars for fun. I came so hard, Daddy, and couldn’t stop cumming. I needed more! That’s why I had to stop the car and pull into this spot. Sorry, Daddy. You, okay?” she asked, as she wiped the beads of perspiration from my forehead with the palm of her hand.

Nodding, in acknowledgement, as if that were a perfectly acceptable thing to do under the circumstances, I swallowed hard and backed out of the car to retrieve my clothes from the car top. Fucking in the back seat of a car, with the sun beating down on it in 85-degree weather, really saps your strength! We should have left the engine running…the air conditioning would have helped with that!

Kitten slid out of the seat, right behind me, and wiped her brow with her top; then slipped back into it. Viewing her standing naked from the waist down in the middle of a cornfield created a flashback. It was a memory of seeing a pinup at an old gas station’s restroom when I was traveling out to visit Grandma’s farm. The blond-haired pixie wore an unbuttoned, red-checkered men’s shirt; it was tied under her tits forming a loose halter. While her tits were haltered, the view from the waist down of her naked body was turned just far enough sideways that her pussy was invisible to my watery eyes. It made a life-altering image of women for me from that day on.

Picking her soaked panties up, she giggled, “Can’t drive with these on anymore!” Then, she dropped them onto the floorboard of the backseat. Retrieving her skirt, she waved it to get my attention, while looking at me, provocatively.

“Dad-dy?” her exaggerated pronunciation caused me to turn.

I looked up slowly, comprehending her provocative waving of her skirt, and replied, “On. Definitely! Yes, put it on! If you couldn’t ‘keep it in your pants’ before, what on earth makes you think you can drive around, half naked?” I cried out in exasperation.

“Party pooper!” Her sardonic rejoinder giggled out, as she slipped back into her skirt, sans panties.

Climbing back into the driver’s seat, she backed out onto the road and restarted our journey. I cranked up the air conditioning. She puffed out a long breath that moved a few long strands of hair out of her eyes and tried to refocus on driving. I began to wonder if I shouldn’t get an ice chest for emergency extinguishment purposes. illegal bahis Jesus! Kitten was acting as if getting laid in the middle of a cornfield was a normal routine while out driving!

‘What is she turning into?’ I thought, as we seemed to approach yet another new phase in our lives. God, this is becoming incredulous.

My mind drifted back into how we came to this point in our lives as we continued flying by field after field. I hoped to find an answer, soon, before our lives unraveled.

Only the braking of the car, as we approached a four-way stop, in the middle of a wide expanse of cornfields, shook me back into the present moment. Katrina checked for traffic, crossed over the intersection, and turned right; into the first hint of civilization. It was a mid-afternoon pit stop at a crossroads center with a gas station, feed supply store, local farmer’s repair center, and a diner with a neon sign in the window advertising ‘Real Homemade Milkshakes.’

“You’re too quiet, Daddy! Can’t have you falling asleep on me, again. How about a strawberry shake to wake you up?” she asked, with a grin.

I huffed out a smile, then tried to stifle a yawn, but failed. Somewhat sheepishly, I finally crawled out of my seat thinking the yawn had to be related to the exhausting cornfield fuck from a short while ago. The insufferable heat and high humidity swarmed around us. I stretched my legs and back; trying to limber up before picking up my pace in order to catch up with Katrina. She’d strolled off, not waiting for me, and pushed through the front door.

By the time I got to the door, Kitten had strolled briskly up to the counter. I entered, catching sight of a lanky, curly-redheaded kid about a year older than Kitten sitting at a window table. Typical farmer, I thought, bib overalls, and wearing a sweat-stained John Deere cap. He sat, slowly eating fries, and staring out the window at a few Angus cows grazing nearby. He never noticed our entry, oblivious, that is, until he heard Kitten’s lilting voice, as she called out to the lady behind the counter.

“Hi! Can we get two large strawberry shakes, ma’am?”

Kitten’s voice just exudes teenage sensuality with every syllable. John Deere’s head snapped around at the sound of her sweet, melodious voice. His eyes widened as he focused on her long bare legs, and then traveled upward to take in a great view of her ass, as she faced the counter. I recognized that appreciative look. I’d had to play guard dog many times in the past when Kat was out and about.

The short skirt gave him a lot to look at, those athletically developed thighs in particular, as his jaw dropped slightly. ‘Guess he doesn’t get much to look at this far out in the country,’ I thought.

As the shake machine began its whirling, Kitten turned intent on getting some straws from an adjacent counter. She spotted John Deere’s dropped jaw and gave him that ‘I’m hot and I know it!’ smile. I grinned, watching her begin her teen-model walk to the counter. Pure provocation on the prowl is how anyone with a smidgeon of sense would have seen her!

Picking up a couple of straws, she veered closer to his table and, looking in my direction, exclaimed, “Oh look, Daddy! Buffalo!”

Then, drawing a bead on her farm-boy target asked, “Do they belong to you?”

Pretending ignorance about the Angus and attempting a southern drawl, she asked John Deere as innocently as she could. I know full well, with John Deere now just a two-foot distance from her, he couldn’t help but see the wonderful view of her braless tits in that wet tee shirt. Katrina was tugging her tee downward making the most of them for his delight. Before John Deere could answer, she loosened her grip on the straws, letting them slip from her fingers. She leaned closer for a better look at the buffalo. Well, leaned closer, I suspect for John Deere to get a better look at those protruding nipples under that tee.

“Oh!” She twittered while smiling at him. John Deere was slow to respond, his eyes were focused on her breasts; not on the fallen straws. So, Kat crooked her head and nodded at the floor.

John Deere’s fixation on her breasts broke away, as he finally got her drift and leaned down, with one hand on the corner of the table, to retrieve the straws. Glancing up, his table-hand jerked with a start. He tumbled onto the floor, spilling his fries over him. I just shook my head with pity, as Kitten slowly spread her legs and provided him a wonderful view of her shaved peach. Vixen or ‘Sexen’? It was getting difficult to determine.

“Are you okay?” she exclaimed, with mock concern, allowing him a full spread-eagle view, directly up her skirt.

“Jack Fletcher!” yelled the curly, redheaded waitress as she scurried out to investigate the commotion. Astutely, she quickly took in the situation.

“Get your… butt… up off the floor!” Although she couldn’t have known about my daughter’s bare-peach view, she knew full well that Jack’s eyes were looking directly up her skirt.

“Yes, Mama,” John Deere answered, hiding his grin from her. “Don’t worry, Mama. I’ll clean it up.” With another shy smile, he turned to Kitten and I heard him whisper, “Thank you!”

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