Into the Bush Pt. 01

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Note: This is the first part of a six-part story. It starts slowly and leisurely, before becoming very intense in especially Parts Five and Six. It was written for a woman I initially met online, who lived 300 kms away, whom I was able to visit every five weeks or so for more than 18 months. In the end, she never made it to my farm.


You arrive at the farm late on a sunny morning. I hug you tightly and kiss you tenderly, running my hands up and down your back. I discipline myself to do no more. We sit down together and have a quick simple lunch. We talk quietly about small things. We look into each other’s eyes and tell each other how happy we are to be in each other’s presence.

We touch each other frequently. As we sit eating, I stroke your legs. I run my hand from your calf up to your knee, in behind your knee, then up to your thigh.

After we finish eating, I say “Come with me. I want you to visit my patch of bush on the farm.”

You take my hand and follow me out the front door, down the concrete steps and out into the yard. As we pass under the peach tree, we turn left and walk past the sleepout and go between the sheds in the shade under the great oak tree. Instead of going up the track to the right up the hill, we walk along the stream that forms the southern boundary of my farm, the Manuka stream.

There gaziantep escortlar are large poplars growing along the banks of the stream. We walk past the old pig sty, through lush green grass liberally dotted with yellow buttercups, through a gate and along a grassy track towards the pond.

The pond is hidden behind flaxes, yellow irises, lilies, blackberry and other bushes. Up the steep slope to the right are blackwood trees amongst which pine trees once grew (they were cut down to give more room for the blackwoods). Beyond the pond are the tall eucalypts and poplars marking a northwards turn in the stream.

I lead you off the path momentarily to show you the pond – when I bought the farm it was a stark dirty pool that had just been excavated, its banks consisting of bare clay. Now it is transformed, hidden in greenery, the weed on it betraying the passing of wild ducks.

We stand looking at the pond, enjoying the sight, feeling the cooling breeze that comes off it. I move to hug you from behind, holding you close, my arms under your breasts. I can feel you breathing. You can feel my cock hardening in my jeans against your buttocks as my warm breath caresses your neck.

I bury my face in your neck. You tilt your head back to rub your cheek against my temple. Our breaths mingle.

Time stands still.

Then it is time to move on.

I lead you back to the path and we walk single-file through a narrow track with thick blackberry on either side. I call this Brian’s Gap. It was created a number of years ago by a Boer buck goat called Brian – I ran him on a wire through the middle of the blackberry for a couple of weeks, daily bringing him fresh water and sometimes untangling him when his rope got caught up or wrapped around the blackberry.

Brian ate this gap.

I had bought Brian as a young goat and he grew into a very impressive masculine animal – very strong and tough, very powerful, very musty smelling, very interested in anything female. I had to sell him because he became too strong for me to handle.

You walk in front of me. I tell you to walk slowly. I admire your figure and my gaze lingers on your butt.

I give into temptation. I reach down and place a hand under your skirt, sliding it up your legs to your thighs. As your footsteps hesitate, I push fingers into the crotch of your panties from behind, slipping one long finger into your pussy slit. It lodges there as you resume your slow deliberate walk. I place my other hand on your back, steadying myself as we go.

You feel my finger creating sensations in you as you place one foot after another. I feel you squeezing your cuntal muscles. I feel your juices begin to seep out through your cuntal walls.

And as we walk through Brian’s Gap, my finger insinuates further into your gap, my hole.

Coming out of Brian’s Gap, as my finger slides out of your gap and my hand slips out of your panties, letting your skirt fall back around your calves, we enter the Pond Meadow, a small enclosed area of grass and buttercups. There are bushes and trees all around us. To the right are blackwoods and Japanese privet. We walk past tall eucalypts to our left which give way to shorter alders underneath the towering poplars.

Ahead of us and to the right is the start of the Bush, a large grove of mature native trees of diverse species. These rise up the slope away from us to the top of the ridge. Between the bush and the stream, in front of us, the Pond Meadow funnels into the Bush Track.

“Stop, Paula.” You do so, standing still, facing quietly forward.

I come up behind you and slip a hand around your body and up the front of your tee shirt. It is cool on your warm chest. You become aware of the front of my body pressed lightly against your back, then you feel my fingers insinuate insistingly beneath the bra cup of your right breast.

I grope your beautiful breast mound, enjoying your erotic surrender of it to me, and after a few short seconds I give your engorging nipple a little twist as I extract my hand. I hear you gasp quietly.

“Walk on, Paula.” You smile as you do so.

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