"Rollin' rollin' rollin' in the hay"
Rating: NC-17 for sex, sex, sex -harmless fun.
©Takerhapsody@aol.com April 2001
You've been driving all day and not only are you completely exhausted, you're completely lost! Twilight is descending upon the corn fields that stretch as far as the eye can see. The only building in the vicinity is an abandoned barn.
You turn onto a neglected dirt road barely wide enough to accomodate your small car. You get out of the car, tossing the stupid map away. You take a deep breath, and soon grow calm. The green leaves of the corn field rustle softly in the evening breeze. The sky is like a water color painting of faded blues and pinks that spill onto the quiet landscape below. You exhale slowly. Everything is so peaceful here. You forget about getting lost, forget about where you were going. You begin to walk towards the barn. The sweet smell of fresh hay wafts from the half opened door.
You go inside. Your eyes widen. A motorcycles leans upon its kick stand. It's a brand new, blood red Harley Davidson. Beams of light pierce through slits in the roof and hit the motorcycle's chrome, making it sparkle. You approach the splendid machine and caress the gas tank.
Suddenly, your body gives a start. A noise. Something shifting in the hay, somewhere nearby.
You turn around and see a man, lying on his back in the hay.
An enormous man, asleep.
Bits of hay are intertwined in his flowing, golden red hair. Intricate tattoos cover the entire length of his massive arms. He is wearing black jeans and a black shirt, unbuttoned down to his stomach, which is adorned with yet more tattoos. His legs seem to go on forever...
"Dead Man Inc." you whisper, reading the words written upon his shirt.
His eyes open.
"You lost?" he says softly.
"I -I, uh, well-"
He smiles; it suits his smooth, supple lips so well. "It can get tough on the road," he says. "You have to rest now and then."
You nod. There is something about him that cannot be explained, and attracts you infinitely.
"Why don't you come here, and rest with me then?"
You swallow, your feet move and bring you to him. As if obeying some unspoken command.
"Go ahead, lie down next to me, woman," he prompts.
You do as he says. You want to touch him, you want to glide your hand across the wide expanse of his chest. No sooner has the thought entered your mind that you are doing it. His skin is warm and soft, the pale red hair on his chest slightly rough against your palm.
His smile widens, but it's still a lazy smile. A self-satisfied smile. He almost looks like a big cat. A tiger. There is a five o'clock shadow on his cheeks, but it is strawberry blond and glints in the dying light.
You lean down and brush his cheek with yours.
There is a low rumble in his throat. His hands reach up and mold the curves of your bottom. "Mmm... nice little piece of ass you got there," he says, his voice a deep baritone.
Your throat tickles pleasantly at the sound.
You saddle his thigh; you need to be closer to his stretched out body.
His lips part and he cups the back of your head, drawing you near. His kiss is eager and rough and tender all at once. His breathing accelerates. He grips your hand and places it upon his crotch; he moves your hand back and forth over his erection.
He is big. Exquisitely big.
"Unzip me," he says. "And take off yer panties, darlin'."
Any rational thought you might have had was silenced a while ago when you saw this mythical being sleeping in the golden yellow hay.
You do as he says. You undo his pants and lower the zipper that constrains him. His manhood immediately surges forth. Your mouth feels dry and you swiftly discard your underwear.
His hands close around your waist; he flips you over and settles between your thighs. The hay beneath you is warm from his body.
"I can't wait, babe," he breathes, his voice husky and full of need. "Been on the road... too long... alone."
You stare into his brilliant green eyes and groan as he begins to penetrate you, slowly working his hardened shaft inside your moist, inner passage. Your hands graze his cheeks and your fingers clutch his silky hair as he continues to thrust until he is sheated to the hilt. He stops then and your eyes are locked together; he grunts softly and wets his lips.
"Oh, you're tight," he says. "Does it hurt you?"
"No," you pant, "no... don't stop, don't stop, Dead Man..."
His engorged sex is immense, but your body adjusted to him as though it had been waiting to receive him, encompassing every inch with ease.
"Don't stop, Dead Man," you repeat breathlessly.
Sweat glistens upon his forehead. His buttocks tense, and he starts to flex his hips; he shoves his jutting length deep inside of you, making your breasts shake in time with his languid thrusts. He groans and increases the speed of his assault, pounding fiercely against your ravenous entrance. His body is so huge and strong above yours; his legs so thick and muscular; his back so wide and hard. You can feel it -you are coming...
You spread your legs even more. Your neck arches, your fingers and toes curl, you call out his name.
He trembles and moans, release gushing from his sex in rhythmic spurts within your rich, slippery depths. You can feel it, each time.
His body sags against yours, but he doesn't crush you, he tries to support himself upon his elbows. He kisses your neck, your jaw. Strands of his long, wavy tresses brush your cheek. His breath is hot as his lips meet yours.
"Yeah... yeah..." he whispers.
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