Old Farmhouse - La Vielle Maison de Ferme Pt. 02

All week Françoise's thoughts were of the young man. She was quite unable to get him out of her head. Nothing unusual for a young woman to have thoughts of a young man, though it was really more usual to have thoughts of a young man clothed... well, mostly. Françoise had only glimpsed him like that as he had made his way from the farmhouse. A back view only. Her thoughts were of him in his natural state as she had seen him so clearly. And in her bed her thoughts turned more to what she had particularly seen and what it might be, not just to hold his body, but touch him most especially there.

And then, out riding with her father in his carriage, sitting erect and still as she was bid, she saw the young man by the roadside near the next village. He had rightly doffed his cap to her father as they had ridden by. Had he seen her, had his eyes rested upon her? She thought not.

Would he come again to her farmhouse? Françoise was in two minds about that. She resented her house being invaded, her privacy and feeling of security very much upset. But she had very much liked seeing the young man and what he had done. She liked the look of him very much indeed. Her thoughts returned again and again as a young girl's will to a young man she fancied.

Up, up, up the hill in the heat and the sunshine Françoise toiled. Certainly an effort but the prospect - the reward - considerable. To be alone, at least perhaps, in her farmhouse and enjoy the thrill of nakedness and her fingers. There was also the possibility of her young man. The thought of seeing him again, perhaps even conversing or... or touching in her mind.

It was with care she entered the old farmhouse and she intended to thoroughly search it before undressing. It was with beating heart that she climbed the stairs so unsure of what she might find. But there was nothing, just the dancing motes of dust in the slanting sunshine. With a sigh (of relief or desire?) Françoise let her clothes slip from her body in the back bedroom and then she made her way to the window in the front bedroom and sat as she did, and as he had done, on the sill looking out. Her naked buttocks where his had been only the week before. Lovely to stroke and play thinking of him, wondering what it would be like if he was suddenly in the doorway naked and erect, looking at her. Perhaps, she mused, he was already in the back room looking at her. She turned and stared at the crack in the doorway but could see nothing. He could not have seen her the week before and she could not see him; the window was not directly behind the crack in the door to show something or somebody was obscuring the light. Perhaps he was fingering her clothes, taking in her scent. Françoise moaned and thought of how he was experiencing three of the five senses of her: sight, scent and sound but not yet touch or... taste.

She had to go and see. Had to do what the young man had not done and look again in the back bedroom, but there was no one there. Françoise was unobserved and alone. She smiled at her fancy and looked out of the back-bedroom window and then heard the sound of the pump working and froze. He had returned again.

Françoise heard his footsteps on the stairs. Momentarily she thought of moving to stand at the top of the stairs but, instead, she merely resumed her position of a week before to watch. He was as fine and handsome as she remembered. Fine, handsome and naked, but also glistening with water, even his dark curls slicked down around his head. Of course her eyes dropped to his other curls, to the manly organ swinging from side to side as he ascended the stairs. At the top he paused staring at the front bedroom window she had so recently vacated and his hand went to his pénis and lifted it up, leaving Françoise, not a metre away, with a very clear view of his hanging balls; so very like those of the bull in the field. She knew of the danger to her and women of what they contained but the whole idea of potent seed gave her a thrill, the more so when his stroking hand brought into full prominence the instrument by which that seed could be sown. It was big, it was 'magnifique, formidable et très splendide!'

It was very much a repeat of the week before, and no worse for that to the watching Françoise. She very much joined him in spirit, her fingers working along with his but in a different place. Again, the long heartfelt sigh, just as she had heard the week before. A joy to again see the outpouring of his lust and desire - and she counted to 'neuf' this time!

Undiscovered and somewhat satiated by her own fingers when again alone after the young man had left, Françoise made her way back down the hill. She was thoughtful. She had been undiscovered a second time. That could not last. Did she actually want to be discovered; she did want to get to know the young man but did she, really, want to become somewhat more involved than propriety would at all allow. Meeting naked what might happen? Perhaps they might merely - do what they did to themselves but to each other. Both the thought of another person's hand touching her and she wrapping her fingers around that 'queue,' that 'bitte' was a little more than pleasing.

No clearer in her mind what she wanted the next time she ascended the hill. Certainly, she had hoped in the week to see him out and about but had been disappointed. Just the chance opportunity of saying a few words, with her knowing things about him which he would not at all know she knew; but she had not seen him at all even when out with her father in his carriage.

The farmhouse was as quiet as ever. Françoise stood in the kitchen listening. There was not a sound. Was there perhaps a way of warning herself of the young man's approach - if he came - could she see from a window him coming from afar? Françoise ascended with that in mind and, of course, the prospect of undressing and being herself. She was, though, too late. The young man was already there, already upstairs in the front room, already undressed, already sexually aroused and she saw him as soon as her head breasted the first floor and could see into the room. He was as fine as she remembered, as desirable and as male as she could wish. A man to have sexual relations with indeed, a man she wanted to know better, a young man about whom her fancy had steadily grown: only he was not alone, not at all.

The couple were embracing. It was most certainly the young man Françoise had seen before but with him a young woman, both naked, and with their arms around each other and their mouths together. Their eyes were shut and they were most clearly utterly engrossed in each other. The young man's pénis was as rigid as Françoise remembered but it was not his hand that encircled it this time - but it was encircled. Françoise stood in the doorway; her mouth open as she just stared. Not just one person but now two had invaded her private and secret house and despite her thoughts of the young man the last two weeks it was clear his thoughts already had a very sharp focus. Who was the girl?

Perhaps they heard Françoise breathing, perhaps a sixth sense was involved but they suddenly became aware of her and almost leapt apart to stand separately, staring with eyes now wide at Françoise framed in the doorway, blocking in effect any thought of flight. The girl's right thigh rising to coyly hide her so fair pubic hair, such a pretty, sweet looking young thing; the young man just standing looking in shock all strong limbs and rigid pénis. A truly wonderful sight.

"Who are you?"

It was the first time she had heard his voice.

"I come here. I thought no one else came to my house. I did not know you were here. I did not wish to disturb your... I hoped I'd be alone - this time - and..." Françoise could not help it, could not help staring at the young man's pénis; so upright, so strong.

"Your house?" The girl spoke. A pretty country voice.

"This time?" It was the young man.

And it came tumbling out. Easier just to explain how she had found her way in, tidied a bit and enjoyed the peace and seclusion.

"I like to be naked here, too," she said it shyly. "I do what you do when alone." She was looking at him, a hint of defiance in the way she said it.

The young man's mouth hung open.

"I've watched you twice," she turned pointing back towards the other bedroom, "from there. I've seen you. Seen you do your thing." Saying it gave her, she thought, the upper hand. So good to watch the girl's hand return protectively, perhaps proprietorially to the young man's pénis. "My house. I'm not leaving."

"Nor are we," he said.

"Well, I'll sit here," Françoise settled herself on the window sill, "and you can be there."

A stalemate.

The young man and his girl were not moving either. Instead they embraced again. "We want to be together," said the girl.

When the young man turned back again Françoise had divested herself of her dress; was sitting on the window sill naked and her hands were touching her breasts.

Françoise tossed her head and smiled at their surprise, "I think I'll like watching you; would you mind? I'll do my thing and you do yours. My house but you are welcome to..." Her hand went to her mouth at the presumption in what she was saying. Defiance, arousal, a degree of stubbornness about her house? "I've never seen..."

"You are very pretty," said the girl.

"And you also." And she was: pretty ringlets cascading down her head; the white skin of her body like cream; her little breasts decorated by sweet little pink nipples; her hips generous and with a triangle of gold between them; her eyes blue as the sky, rosebud mouth and slightly upturned little nose. Wonderful to see her being touched by the young man, his fingers upon her skin.

And it was obvious by the way he stared at her, the young man was now more than happy seeing Françoise there. He was fingering his girl but looking at Françoise, taking in her darker charms.

What was perhaps unexpected, it was just not something which had really come into Françoise's mind, was seeing the girl drop to her knees on the floorboards and take the young man's pénis into her mouth. But, of course, it fitted and to Françoise's mind came the thought that for the man it was very much the perfect vagina substitute: not like... Well, she had heard the servants one time joking about Pierre in the village and his friend Bernot. It had not been unkind but had been more than a little amused and Françoise had inferred the two men travelled a different path or sought a different goal from a vagina. They, after all, did not possess such a feminine place.

Was it done to shock her? Certainly, the young man smiled in amusement at her reaction. Was her surprise so well written on her face?

The young woman smiled too, holding the thick pénis head centimetres from her mouth like one might hold a dainty morsel on a fork, or perhaps fruit in one's hand - a plum or apricot perhaps. "We like to come here," she blushed, "and be together." Was it defiance too, the way she closed her eyes and very deliberately opened her mouth ever so slowly and eased her lips over the shiny knob of the young man's pénis? Certainly it showed possession - that the young man was hers.

It was such an erotic sight. Françoise could not help herself, could not stop her hands touching between her legs nor rubbing a nipple. It was not as if the lovers ignored her, but they did what they would have done, she thought, had they been alone. So good to watch the pénis sucking but that did mean they could not kiss. She watched intently the rising and falling of the girl's head and thought she knew exactly why the young man reached and stopped her. Holding her head completely still. Then he lifted her upwards and kissed her, his mouth on her lips, his tongue probably within the mouth that had until moments before been sucking upon his pénis.

Françoise stared at the big male organ, so wet from the girl's mouth and wondered.

The young man sat on the chair and the young woman sat on his legs, upon his thighs - side saddle in effect. Françoise could see both his fingers entering the girl and her hand back on his pénis. At first, they were embracing and kissing and not looking at her, leaving her free to stare and imagine as her own fingers played, but then they turned to watch her and see what she was doing. It was a strange thrill to be watched by them. She was not hiding anything. They could see as well between her legs as she between the young woman's. An exciting thing to do but how much better to have been sitting on the young man and been doing what the girl was doing and with his fingers stirring.

It was not Françoise, nor the young man but the young woman who came first. So fascinating to see the look of almost surprise come over her face and then a mixture of near pain to her screwed up features, followed by utter relaxation and then a gasp or two. Françoise recognised the feelings but had never watched herself in the mirror.

"I've never seen... I've never seen another woman." The young woman reached across and touched her. "It is Léonie, and this is Alain."

"Françoise."

"Would you like to see Alain..."

Françoise dropped her eyes, "I have seen before but..." she raised them, "I would like to see again."

A smile, "So different from us, Oui?"

So different indeed. There was wetness, certainly there was liquid but a projection of liquid. Françoise watched the girl, Léonie, as her hand moved upon the erect pénis, her eyes not leaving the thing. She had seen Alain make it work but this was different again. Her own fingers played as she leant a little closer trying to judge when the spasm would be. And it almost caught her, a few centimetres closer and...

Françoise liked; she liked very much seeing the pénis spurt again.

Her turn. Françoise had come many times in that room but none before when she was being watched. And both Léonie and Alain watched closely; watched what her fingers did and her face when she came.

"You were crying," said Léonie raising her finger to Françoise's eye.

"Sometimes... when I come, I do... a bit."

Françoise walked back down the stairs feeling very different from when she had walked up them earlier. She had relieved her sexual tension and had seen not just Alain but Léonie come. She used the pump and then dressed and left. A shorter afternoon than usual but she felt she was intruding. Had intruded, even if really it was her own farmhouse. They should really have left her alone, or perhaps she should have left them alone. Another time she would suggest that.

Another time indeed. It was only the next week found Françoise peace and tranquillity once more disturbed. They were not there before her: indeed, she did wonder if she might be alone for the afternoon. Pleasure at being alone or disappointment? She was not sure, but she had hardly settled herself in the window when she heard the sound of voices. She was in two minds. Annoyance at the disturbance but excitement at what she would see.

She had not bothered to hide her dress. It was downstairs and would be seen. It seemed the others took the cue from her as both Alain and Léonie were naked as they came up the stairs. Françoise stood; if the couple were disappointed to find they were not alone they did not show it: they had, after all, known by her dress as soon as they entered the farmhouse that Françoise was there. Léonie came to her and kissed her on both cheeks as if an old friend. Certainly, like old friends, they did not have a lot of secrets from each other, not after the week before. Alain did the same though it was not quite like the greeting of a brother, certainly not when she felt just the brush of his pénis against her stomach.

"You are looking lovely, Léonie." She took the girl's hands and stood there with her, the two facing each other at arm's length.

"And you too, Françoise..." she paused, "and what do you think of Alain?"

It was so good to see, when the eyes of the two young women turned to him that he began to erect. Such a sight, watching his manly organ moving all by itself, moving like the hand on a clock face from six to twelve o'clock but taking such a short time. A pointer changing from the hour to the minute hand - twice the length or more by the time it reached twelve o'clock. He did nothing to help it or obscure it. The young woman just watched.

"He is very fine too!"

A big grin from Alain and he walked around the room, evidently so enjoying displaying to the young women. And what man with a fine physique, and an undoubtedly fine pénis, would not have enjoyed presenting himself to such an appreciative and female audience?

But Françoise was not really part of the triste. It was not a ménage à trois. Françoise could watch, could observe closely but was not invited to touch. Nor did Alain touch her, though his hands and fingers roamed freely over and within Léonie. Another delightful afternoon of sexual pleasure, Françoise not needing to imagine what men and women did together but able to freely watch. Able to see Léonie's mouth upon Alain and even, to her surprise, see his mouth between her legs. How Françoise wished he was between her legs, she opened them the wider but to no avail. Alain did not take the bait... but he certainly looked.

Again, Françoise came to her farmhouse, climbing the hill in the sunshine and heat, pausing for breath as the bees busied themselves amongst the flowers and grasses.

There was no reason to wait, no reason to check the house for strangers. If Alain and Léonie were there, then so be it. She liked to watch. If not, well then, she would be alone. As she preferred Françoise dropped her dress in the kitchen, shivered in happy anticipation and climbed the stairs naked. She was not alone. Alain was there sitting in the chair looking out of the window. He was not toying with himself, he was not even undressed.

"Léonie - she's been forbidden by her mother to go walking in the fields alone. Her mother suspects something."

"Oh."

'Oh' indeed, Alain looked so crestfallen, devasted even; the look of sadness and loss on his face betraying much more than the simple sexual frustration of not meeting his girl for release. Any thoughts Françoise might have had of comforting him in that way, and satisfying herself, disappeared. Jealous of Léonie certainly, right from when she had first seen them together, but now she realised just how much she meant to Alain. IT was written all across his face and in the set of his shoulders. This was real love and it went to her heart. A move from the initial thought that she might perhaps steal Alain away to wanting to help them and bring the lovers together.

They talked for a time but Alain did not make any sort of move towards her. She naked, him clothed, but he did nothing. She had a little hoped he might take consolation in her body. Perhaps let her help him with his pénis. But no. Eventually he reached, kissed her on the forehead and walked out of the room. Françoise moved from her window across the floor and watched him, from another window, walking away with head down. Such a fine young man, but not, it seemed, for her. Françoise returned to her window and sat idly playing and thinking. Alone, as perhaps she liked to be. It was not the best of visits to her farmhouse.

One thing for the mother to forbid Léonie to walk in the fields alone: quite another when invited by Françoise, the daughter of Monsieur Henri. Indeed, the mother was delighted her daughter was seen as a fit companion for the fine young lady. Short walks at first and then an ascent up the hill to the old farmhouse: most certainly with a purpose in mind.

The girls came giggling through the bramble passage and into the cool of the old house. It was so hot on the hillside, hot under bonnets, hot within dresses - and, indeed, would have been as hot if naked. They looked with longing at the pump and it was a matter of seconds before two naked girls were squealing under the deluge of cold water, throwing pails of cool spring water at each other. So good to ascend hand in hand and sit, naked hips touching, together on the window sill.