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"Good girls don't do this sort of thing." I whispered.He told me once I was his lady in the streets and a freak in the sheets. The guilt I carried was learned from a good catholic upbringing. I shouldn't like this sort of thing. But I did..."Do you want it?" this time he's muffled. Blowing a steady breath across my saliva soaked backdoor. The gooseflesh rises and I moan. I'm ready to ignite."Please..." I moan. But unable to bring myself to ask yet."Please what? What do you want? Ask me. I'll do it if you ask." he smiles wickedly, but immediately stops his ministrations.I'm ashamed to admit it. In a small voice I reply, "Please... in my ass. Stretch me open. Make me scream. I want to feel you cum deep in me. Just fuck me, PLEASE!"He walks me to the bedroom, removing clothing as we go. Climbing onto the bed, he positions me on all fours. A flick of his wrist and he pours cool lube on my wanting asshole. Spreading it with his fingers as far in as he can go.The knowing smile on his face.. Farm life wasn't for me, so my father had helped me find a job with Mr. Green. After years helping on the farm I was fairly strong and able to handle the heavy lifting at Green's. I was 5-10, muscular, sandy blonde hair and gray eyes. Life in a small town has its advantages, but then there was the downside. By luck of the draw Doylesville didn't have many teen girls in my age range. Our small local school was mostly farm boys. So, yes, I was lacking in experiences. This brings me back to the summer of 1978. Mr. Green would let me drive the store's truck to make deliveries to farms knowing I could load and unload as necessary. Towards the end of the second week in June he asked me to load up the truck with bags of dirt and seed and bring it to the Carlson's out past the tracks.The Carlsons had one of the bigger homes in town with a large mostly undeveloped lot behind them. Mr. Carlson was a salesman who often traveled, leaving his wife Jackie at home. To occupy her time he'd agreed to.
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