Two Weeks at the Farm - Sex Stories

Two Weeks at the Farm

... is what are you doing out here? You shouldn't be out here alone Brenda," I said, dismounting and stepping closer to her horse. " Thank you for your concern John, but I'm perfectly safe," She said as I helped her from her horse. " I'm near home, and anyway, I ride this road almost every day." Looking at her intently, I took another step toward her and she instinctively stepped back in response to the narrowing distance between us. Feeling uncomfortable by my closeness, she began to walk around me, " Well, my folks are probably waiting dinner for me, so I'd better get on home," She said nervously. As she tried again to pass, I took her arm pulling her to me, forcing my rough hand inside her shirt. Though she had let me take some liberties before, it had been different...gentle, pleasurable. This assault is hurtful. She screamed in shock and embarrassment and begins to struggle against me trying to break my hold as I lifted her off the ground, half dragging her toward a small copse of trees. Another rider approached, " This isn't finished, Brenda," I whispered as I took my hand and pulled her along behind me. " It's me, Reverend, just me, Robert Grafton." The Reverend smiled and shook my hand and she watched as his expression changed when he saw her. " I think you know Brenda, don't you? We were just talking a bit," I said casually with a broad conspiratorial grin on my face. Brenda sees my darkening scowl. That incident left her shaken and should have been a warning of ...

... things to come. On Friday we departed for my farm to spend the weekend together. Brenda watched my stern face, as we rode in silence towards my farm. When we reached the house, I helped her out of the car. She is surprised when without a kiss or caress I told her to go upstairs and I would be up shortly. " John, aren't you coming up with me?" She began, before I rudely cut her off. " Go . . . now," I said sharply. Looking at me with hurt feelings and disbelief, she turned obediently to climb the staircase. She entered what is obviously my room and stood there her eyes taking in everything. Meandering about the room, she saw it is huge and thoroughly masculine, dominated by a massive bed to one side, chairs, tables, louvered glass doors opening onto a balcony, a large mahogany bar in the corner and one wall covered entirely with shelves of leather bound books. Crossing through an opened doorway, she walked into a smaller less masculine adjoining bedroom. The room when compared to my bedroom is quite feminine, the furniture finely crafted and the room beautifully decorated and filled with yellow roses, her favorite. Hearing the bedroom door open she turned to see me walking across the larger room, and stopping in the adjoining doorway between the rooms, closing the door behind me. Smiling, she hurried to me, but stopped short of reaching me when she saw my look of displeasure. I said nothing at first, but began casually talking as I circled her, gradually backing her against the ...