Summer Hay

Gus gave out a ponderous belch and slapped the sweaty nape of his friend, grinning under the mustache. Making their way back to the village - the sun still scorching up on the horizon, yet a day was being called for these early risers, Gus a forester and Mort, one of the few shepherds scattered among these barren swathes of the country, where the central government subsidized folks to move into long- decaying hamlets. It had been a blistering day, and they were plodding their way past and through rank stubble and hay stacks, ignoring the country road winding eastwards and aiming straight for the village, as-the-crow-flies, hay- stalk planted between lips.

- Jesus, sweet Mary, burst out Mort, his gaze fixated upon the olive copice ahead, on top of the knoll, and snapped Gus's chest with the back of his palm motioning ahead with his bony claw. Gus squinted and leed his eyes with his furred bulky hoof, trying to adjust to the game of light and shadow thither. On the brink of the tuft of young olive trees gracing the crest ahead, a young woman was shooting poses of herself holding her phone aloft, while a few yards apart, a nerd was crouched in the grass maneuvering a hand held camera. She clad a jean short that was pulled down to her thighs, leaving her bottom fully exposed in the day light, flaunting her behind unabashedly; a jean jacket, or rather a slither of jeans hardly cupping her slender breasts and a pair of white Converse. Even from a distance, one could tell that she commanded the whole photo session, flouncing about, blurting out instructions to her amenable companion that appeared to be fixated on the unique task on capturing her at the peak of her snug poses.

She had also apprehended them, yet she feigned surprise when the two intruders burst onto the scene and equally so when Gus apprised her:

- Howdy. You folks need to get going. It's private property.

- Yeah, right. Please continue. Go on, psst psst. You're interrupting. And she held up her hands, waving just her dainty palms with their scintillating nails at them, hardly averting from her phone screen which seemed to be somehow threading an imaginary axis with her friend's camera and her exposed body. Said character had paused shooting and was currently starring at the two strangers, discomfited, unsure of what he should do next.

- Don't stop, Duncan! Why are you spoiling this? Just like everything else! What the fuuuck?!

- Kaleya. Maybe we should best postpone this? Please?!

- You heard your boyfriend, sweetie. He's right. And, please, cover those parts, will ya?

She seemed to have reached the end of her fleeting patience and eventually lowered her phone and beheld them, pivoting slightly. Her short kept hanging loose around her thighs, hardly covering the blonde blade sprouting south of her lean navel.

- Or what?! she sneered. First of all, he's not my boyfriend. Second, no one bosses me around. You've made a big mistake, mister. My two hundred and forty thousand followers will all want a piece of you for interrupting my Insta reels today. She was now jabbing her shiny phone to the uncouth pair, like menacing with an cocked pistol.

- Hi everyone, she followed on, pulling up a cajoling smile. I'm sorry to let you down today. I was just about to shoot the best of the week but life is full of surprises. Isn't it? Hihihi. And this wasn't a pleasant one. Our photo session was brutally interrupted by these two characters that... Her phone was now inches away from Gus's visage and Mort threw him a meaningful and somewhat prescient glance.

The phone landed with a faint swish in a prickly briar followed shortly by Mort's guffaw. His scare- crow frame was shaking with mirth.

- Fuck off now, said Gus to the impertinent brat in front of him. Or someone's gonna get a piece of you...

- How dare you, you, you jerk? And her tiny palm came to squash against his broad cheek. Could've swat a mosquito, but there weren't any. Mort stopped laughing. Gus spat his hay stick. His blow sent her reeling backwards and spinning; she went to the ground, lying prone, a gout of blood gushing from her swollen lip, his heavy hand having returned to his side, naturally, after slicing the air, his poise unruffled.

Duncan made for them, sprinting. Mort fenced out and walloped him short and hard right into the sternum. He warped like a sail catching a gust, his knees giving way, kneeling now in a plume of dust, his hands wrapped around his belly, trying hard to catch his breath.

Having made her way up on all fours, she wiped her mouth and gazed at the trail of blood smearing her palm web. Gus casually unbuttoned his pants and pulled out his already erect shaft. Next, he knelled down beside her, spreading her out with his knee against her thigh and then straddling his left over her other thigh, securing it against her midriff. Still groggy from the hit, she let out a whimper when he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her backwards. She tried to wrest herself away from him, pulling, squealing, shrilling, calling him all sorts, beckoning her knight Duncan to her rescue and batting the air with her long nails behind her; yet he was out of reach and she only stirred clouds of dust and hay stalks all around them. Duncan was sighting the whole scene, aloof. Gus's lock was too tight. He spat a fat goo in his palm and slavered his organ. Having pointed his bow, he wedged himself inside her with a short thrust. 'Nooooooooooo...' The vowels seemed to hover in the air eternally, but she had to draw her breath. Her shrieking subsided into sobs, the tear beads now mixing with her makeup and coursing down her rounded cheeks, while the forester behind her was settling into a steady ram, almost the pounding of a human heart.

- Well, she ain't spared the rod, now, ain't she? half- whispered Mort into his victim's ear clutching a tuft of his mane. That'll teach her... You, whats yo name?

- My name? He mustered some strength. It's, it's Duncan, he gibbered.

- Dun. Looks like a fine piece of ass ya got there, young man, he smirked gap- toothily. Whacha fine young people doing around here, anyhow? I'll tell you what, she might as well enjoy it, such proper funnelin'...

Having stopped crying, she had settled into whimpering while Mort, leniently, had let go of her hair and broke the lock, presently knelled behind her, going at it like a pair of hounds, doggedly, seemingly in no hurry to get over with it.

- I'll be damned, she is enjoying it...

- You're lying! He's forcing himself upon her! spurned Duncan.

- Look, you stupid fuck. He ain't fucking her. She is.

Gus had come to a halt. She kept on thrusting herself backwards, in long steady strides, her palms grasping the turf, her eyelids laden, whimpering, her tongue darting out over the pursed plum lips. It wasn't long before she picked up pace, to then suddenly warp out her back, froze, and then gasp out loudly, almost wheezing, her midriff rippling with tiny quivers.

Gus gave her a moment to recollect, dismounted her and came around. She took his palm, that he offered gingerly, almost gallantly, and stood up. A faint trail pierced through the olives and they set off, her leading the way, speechless, a young Eve and him following along, an ungainly Adam, his bulging rod wobbling about, unquenched.

- Where's he taking her, quizzed Duncan.

- Oh, they goin'a do some acquainting...

- Please, let us go. I'm sorry for what... If you want, I can give you some money. Here... and he pulled out a leather wallet.

- Nah, I don't want your money, Dun. So, tell me, you bed this gal yet?

-...

- Dun, what's this face you're pulling me? Oh, let me guess. She jerked you around, right? She, what, she had you by the finger. Some pussy- licking, some pulling on your dick? Huh? Yeah, she seem the kind alright. Get all them young' cockerels sniffing her pussy, but she aint' givin' any away. Well the day's here! Cock teasing be cock pleasin'! Hey, look at me! He pulled him by the hair and Duncan cringed. This one's a slut. If you got a speck of brain in that head of yours, you stray off! You hear me?

- I, I'm in love with her... I know... She can be demanding at times, but she's got a good heart...

- You fucking turd. Get up! Git, git! Gonna show ya what a good heart she's got. And seizing him by the seam of his shoulder he set about the same trek. Ahead of them, the trail skewed through a thicket of matted vegetation and shrubs, a swatch of shadow lurking thither.

- You make a sound, I'll blow ya teeth out, ya hear me? making a feint. Duncan cringed again, nodded meekly, straggling behind him askance. They pierced into the canopy and halted.

Mort hiked his scrawny index to his lips, pointing with his other hand ahead. Duncan cast about, adjusting his sight to the lack of sun. Feeble panting. Moans. His sight froze, mouth agape. Less than 10 meters away, Gus lied sprawling, his back reclined against a trunk, half- way supine, his hands wide open as if crucified, an un- Greek giant with eyelids shut, bespeaking of an absolute abandon. Yet, instead of the vultures ravening on his liver, Maleya was glutting on his wand, lopsided across him, her firm round rump up in the air, her head nether, her mouth drooling, occasionally gasping for air, voracious, her lips wreathed around this inconspicuous, throbbing token of meat. He was stunned. His mind was racing. Racing with dozens of promises sundered, of brushed embraces, of vain arousals. All the times she told him she was keeping herself for her future husband. Maybe him, if he could prove himself. Yet, there she was, orally pleasing another man, a man she didn't even know, earnest, engrossed, besotted, as if her only mouth, her onlyiest juicy lips could polish, whittle, sculpt, model out this wooden organ. Unstinted. Unflagging. Never once she used her hands. But still. Maybe she was forced to, he thought.

- Munching on some gristle, ain't she good at that? whispered Mort, nudging him. Look how she caught her braids behind, so she get a better bite at it, huh?

Although the shock had left him close to catatonic, Duncan could see the scrawny man was right.

From where they crouched they heard Gus utter some words. He watched in awe as she stood up and collected herself. She was fully naked now, except for the Converse. For a moment all 3 of them were in awe in front of this impeccable young body, perfectly taut. 'If only I can snatch her away now, he thought. And it would all be over.' He started to raise up, when Mort pulled him earthwards again. The while, she hiked her left foot over his belly, squatted and inadvertently reached for his shaft, only to spear herself on it.

At first, she propped her hands on his shoulders; he hadn't changed one inch his posture, little whimpers coming off her lips as she slid up and down expertly, not going quite the whole way. That didn't last though: as he buttressed his elbows against the ground and she twined her fingers across his, palm against palm, she appeared to gain a better stand and soon she was lashing him with her crotch, their bodies an elastic mesh. The sheer celerity of her, he thought, straddling over him. Duncan was cast awonder anew, his nightmare recurring, that thudding of two bodies one against each other recalling him somewhat the sound of fish falling on fish at the weekly market stalls. Mort took a short pause from ogling and whispered in his ear:

- This gal, I tell you, she's been mounted more than a bitch. Sapping him dry, will you look at that? and jabbed him with his fingers silently motioning to move closer. And so they did. Shards of light speared the wooden awning, dapping parts of her body with swatches of sunshine. He could glimpse sweat trickle down the taper of her firm back down into the swale between her cheeks, the summer- hay down clammy with sweat. He was appalled by the size of him, going in and out of her flared lips, the mulch at the base of it, a goo made of dust, body liquids and specks of hay, taking the brunt of her thrashing. She was now draped in perspiration- Duncan could sense her odor, an odor so unfamiliar hither.

She sputtered some words to her Tytius. Louder, sweetie, I can't hear you, he retorted. She went at it again. Louder, he repeated. A bestial cry erupted, a mere thread of words, splitting up whatever scraps of decency had survived.

- Fuck me! Fuck that pussy!!

With a flick, he hurled her dexter side, head over his shoulder, almost knocking her scalp against the stem of the olive in the act. She was presently perched astride his abdomen, her knees scuffing against the fallen twigs, panting, enslaved by her oncoming climax. He clutched her cuffs behind her with his right hand and cupped her bottom with his left, while nibbling on her tender pear- shaped breasts. He briefly sidled his head and Duncan thought he saw him wink to them. Or maybe he imagined it.

She was whimpering, pouting and squealing while he set out to thumping in and out of her at a cadence that Duncan thought unhuman, fell shoves, her two firm lumps that she hardly ever allowed him to brush when slurping at her slit, bobbing up and down, drawing transient creases across her otherwise perfectly formed roundness. How many times he had dreamt with properly nursing those buttocks... He watched mortified as Gus slid two of his grimy, gnarled fingers past their knuckles into the anus of the woman that he had until minutes ago glorified.

To his left, Mort was equally engrossed and muttered:

- He's shucking that pussy like it should. What an itch to scratch...

It was more than he could withstand. He sprang to his feet and bolted away, clumping along the trail and out of the canopy. He hesitated, pivoted and shouted:

- You... you sluuut! And then darted away, leaving Mort cackling behind him.

She didn't seem to catch his words. Her second orgasm had overtaken all, muffling out everything outside her and for a rippled moment, not even her two hundred forty thousand fans seemed to matter much.