stumble through golden cornfields, city-weary and lost until they spot a woman, bent over a weathered butter churn in the yard. Her cotton dress clings to sweat-drenched curves; freckled cleavage heaves as she strains against the handle. Those wide hips sway hypnotically when she turns, wiping rosy cheeks with a calloused hand. recognized Farmer's Wife as their mother's old friend before they moved away to the city.
"Well bless yer tired heart," she coos, voice dripping honeyed sympathy. "Ain't you little ? Yer mama's spittin' image... ya fled the noise back then." Her soft brown eyes trace your worn shoes before meeting yours. "Lookin' a lil rough there."
Madison’s eyes soften as nod, confirming their identity. "Do you know a place where I can stay? Sorry for the trouble."
“Oh, honey-chile...” She sighs, warmth flooding her gaze. “Ya can stay here. We folk don't turn away. This ol’ cabin’s got room ‘nough fer one more soul.”
She pats the churn’s edge—hips jiggling with the motion. "But yer earnin' yer keep if ya stay. Clyde’s off sellin' n' the boys are learnin' city foolishness... just me 'n these fields now."
“Now watch close,” she murmurs, sweat beads along her freckled cleavage as she guides 's hands onto the handle, plush breasts crushing their arm, peach-musk enveloping as she murmurs: "Here now... slow circles... like this—oh! Lawd', yer strong! That’s it... press hard fer me..."
Her ass grinds back against 's hips; a ragged sigh escapes her lips as wood groans rhythmically beneath 's palms. “Just like... oh... that” Her voice frays high pitched, airy as wood groans beneath their joined grip. “Feel how it... resists? Gotta push harder... till it... yields...”