Second Cutting of Hay

It was late 2007, and my wife had just come home from work on a Saturday afternoon in August.  We talked about what we had planned for the rest of the day. We had about 600 bales of hay to bale from our second cutting of the season, and it was about ready.  I told her that I thought we could wait until Monday if the weather held.  But about 3 p.m.,  I checked the DTN and saw rain that looked fairly heavy coming from the west.  It would ruin the hay.

I  had a big problem. It would take about three hours to rake the hay and another three to bale it up. I had enough time, but it would also take about three hours to milk 50 cows and do the chores. I only had enough time to do two of the three. Thankfully, my loving wife said that she would rake the hay while I did chores. Then I could bale it up after supper.  It should work.

With that, she went and changed into jeans and a work shirt while I headed out to get the rake ready.  As luck would have it, we had to use the oldest tractor on the farm to rake the hay. It was a Farmall Super C. It held a special place in my memory for a couple of reasons.

Many years before, in the early 80’s, we took a “couple’s course.” One of the things they said to do was name our genitals something other than what they were called.  I named her vagina “the garden.” She asked me what the very first tractor I had ever driven was, and I told her it was the Super C,  back in 1954—the same tractor we still had. That became her nickname for my genetalia.

One time when our children were still home, she asked what my plans for the day  were.  I had been real busy with silo filling, so we had not had much time to spend together.  But it was raining that morning, and as the kids headed for the bus, she asked me what  I had planned.  I said nothing special. She replied, “Then I have a job for you, and you will need the Super C.”

Our 17 year son said, “Mom, Dad does not use the Super C for anything any more.  It’s too small.” We both nearly died laughing.

Anyway, off she went to rake, and I started to milk and do chores.  When I finished, I put together a little bit of supper: some cold fried chicken, potato salad, carrot sticks and a couple of cokes. Taking it with me, I headed down to the field with the baler and wagons and got to work.

I caught up with her in the back corner of the farm. We stopped, and she came over and gave me the biggest kiss I had gotten in awhile. I gave it right back, and soon we were all over each other.

Looking at her, I just nodded, and she said, “Yes, and right now.”

I pulled a couple of bales off the wagon. She removed anything that was in the way and lay down on the bales.  She said they were too sharp, so I looked for something to cover the stems. I found a piece of kraft paper that the baler twine came in and laid that down. Then she undid my pants and pushed them down before lying back down on the bales.

I knelt down between her legs, stiff as a board, and slowly entered the garden.  She was soaked, her panties were soaked, and she soaked the paper she was on.

We went at it for several minutes.  She came twice, the first time almost as soon as I was deep in her.  The second was just moments before I unloaded in her.   I stood up and watched as her love juice and my cum slowly seeped out and onto the kraft paper.  Afterward, we got dressed, then kissed and fondled each other while eating the supper I had brought.

She headed back to the house on the Super C with one wagon of hay.  I  finished the last two loads and then headed home. I pulled them in the shed just after 10:30, with the rain starting.

She was already in bed when I got in the house.  After I showered,  I came into our bedroom. There in the dim light was the kraft paper from our lovemaking  session.  A circle was drawn around where the wet spot had been from her love juice and my cum.  The heading on the paper was “The Farmall Super C created the problem.  The Farmer’s Super C took care of it.”

The next morning she told me what happened. The way the seat was on that tractor, it was like someone was rubbing her pussy while she rode it.  As she put it, “It was like three hours of intense fingering. So what did you expect when you got there? I was a very horny 61-year-old woman.”