Big Johnson Bulge on Display in Another One of Mr. D-Pants Safe-for-Work Videos – Enjoy the Farm Work

Cheri had been laughing at the title for a full minute before she could speak.

“Big Johnson bulge on display,” she read out loud, scrolling back up on her phone. “In another one of Mr. D-Pants safe-for-work videos. Enjoy the farm work.” She looked over at Manny, who was leaning against the kitchen counter in nothing but a pair of old, paint-stained work jeans. The soft, heavy shape of his cock was already faintly visible against the worn denim. “We’re doing a farm video.”

Manny raised an eyebrow. “We don’t have a farm.”

“We have the backyard,” she said, already standing. “We have the old fence. We have those jeans. And we have the biggest Johnson on the block. That’s enough.”

She made him keep the jeans on—no underwear, same as always—and dragged the camera outside while the light was still good. The backyard wasn’t much: a stretch of grass, a weathered wooden fence, a couple of tools leaned against the shed like they’d been working. She positioned him near the fence with a shovel in one hand, the other resting on his hip, and framed the shot so the thick, soft bulge in his jeans was impossible to miss.

Cheri stripped down completely behind the camera, skin warm in the afternoon air, and stood naked with two fingers already sliding between her legs while she checked the monitor. Manny waited, the heavy outline of his cock clear against the faded denim.

Her voice came through the mic easy and a little playful.

“Safe for work,” she said. “That’s the joke. Look at the bulge. Big Johnson on display. Just a man doing farm work. Don’t look away.”

Manny’s eyes stayed on her naked body. Cheri’s fingers moved in slow circles as she spoke.

“Shift your weight. Let it hang. Let the jeans show everything they’re trying to hide.”

He did. The thick soft cock dragged against the inside of the denim, the head clearly outlined when he turned. Cheri’s breath caught. She let the camera run on the bulge for a long stretch—Manny “working,” moving, the heavy shape swinging and settling with every step—then paused the recording.

The second the light went off she was across the grass and on her knees in the dirt. She mouthed the bulge through the jeans, hot breath and open lips, until she felt him swell. She popped the button, eased the zipper down just far enough to free the head, and sucked him wet and slow, one hand stroking what was still trapped inside the denim. When he was thicker and starting to firm she tucked him back in, zipped him up, and went back behind the camera, thighs already shiny.

She hit record again.

“Fuller now,” she said, voice lower. “The jeans are losing. Watch him move. Watch the Big Johnson try to get out.”

Manny rolled his hips, took a step, turned. The strained denim showed every shift. Cheri’s fingers pushed deeper between her legs.

“Keep the safe-for-work fantasy going a little longer. Just a man. Just his bulge. Just farm work.”

She paused once more. This time she yanked the front of the jeans down and let his cock spring free—heavy, half-hard, already glistening from her mouth. She stroked him with both hands in the open air, spit-slick and deliberate, until he was fully hard and standing thick against the backdrop of the fence. Then she left the jeans stretched under his balls and returned behind the camera dripping.

“There,” she said, rough now. “Out of the Mr. D-Pants. Look at it. Thick. Heavy. Glorious. This is what the safe-for-work video was actually about.”

Manny gave himself a few slow strokes. The thick cock shone in the sunlight. Cheri’s breathing had gone uneven.

“Keep watching. That’s the Big Johnson. The one the jeans were only ever packaging.”

She let the camera run while he stroked above the ruined waistband, the backyard quiet except for the soft, wet sound of her fingers between her legs. When her thighs started to tremble she stopped the recording.

The second the light died the farm-work fantasy ended.

Manny grabbed her, lifted her clean off the ground, and carried her the short distance to the weathered outdoor table against the side of the shed. He set her on the edge, shoved the jeans further down his thighs, and thrust into her in one hard, deep stroke. Cheri cried out, legs locking around his waist, the sudden stretch pulling a broken sound from her throat. He fucked her like that—standing, powerful, every thrust driving the thick cock all the way to the base—while she clung to his shoulders and moaned into the open air.

The first orgasm hit her like a wave crashing too early. Her pussy clamped down hard around him and a hot, heavy rush of fluid sprayed out around his cock, soaking his stomach and running down the insides of her thighs. She kept shaking through it, nails digging into his back, and he never slowed. He just kept thrusting into the wet clench of her body until another climax tore through her, stronger, messier, her voice breaking into a high, helpless sound as more fluid gushed out of her and dripped onto the grass below the table.

Manny pulled her off the table without leaving her body, turned her around, and bent her over the edge. He thrust back into her from behind in one smooth, brutal stroke, one hand planted between her shoulder blades, the other gripping her hip hard enough to bruise. The new angle made her see stars. He fucked her deep and steady, the wet slap of his hips against her ass loud in the quiet backyard. Cheri’s orgasm built low in her belly and then detonated—her whole body locking up as her pussy spasmed around him in tight, rhythmic pulses, a long, continuous gush of fluid pouring out of her and running down her legs in shiny streams. She was still trembling when the next one hit, harder, her knees nearly buckling as she came with a raw, open-mouthed cry, the pleasure so sharp it bordered on too much.

He hauled her upright, spun her to face him, and lifted her again. Cheri’s legs wrapped around his waist as he lowered her onto his cock and started thrusting up into her with short, powerful snaps of his hips. Their mouths crashed together—messy, open, desperate. She came while kissing him, the orgasm rolling through her in thick, wet waves, her pussy fluttering and spilling around his shaft while she moaned directly into his mouth. He fucked her through it and another climax followed almost immediately, deeper, her entire body shaking against his as more of her wetness soaked both of them.

Manny carried her the few steps to the soft grass near the fence and laid her down without pulling out. He covered her body with his and fucked her with long, rolling, intimate strokes, one hand laced with hers above her head, the other sliding under her ass to pull her up onto every thrust. Cheri’s free hand cupped the back of his neck. She came again with her face pressed to his throat, the pleasure thick and overwhelming, her pussy clenching in slow, powerful spasms that milking him while a fresh rush of fluid escaped around his cock and soaked the grass beneath them. He kept the same deep rhythm and she came once more, softer but no less intense, her legs trembling against his sides, her breath hitching with every pulse of her orgasm.

They rolled so she was on top. Cheri planted her hands on his chest and rode him with slow, grinding circles, taking every thick inch to the root on every downward roll of her hips. Manny’s hands held her waist, thumbs stroking her skin. She leaned down and kissed him while she came—long, wet, shaking—her pussy gripping him in rhythmic waves as she spilled over his stomach. Another orgasm followed while she stayed close like that, their lips barely separating, her body trembling through the aftershocks while he thrust up to meet her.

When he finally pushed deep and stayed there, pulsing inside her with a low, guttural groan, Cheri held him through it, kissing him softly, her walls still fluttering around his cock as he filled her. They stayed joined, breathing hard, the afternoon sun warm on their skin, the ruined jeans still tangled around his thighs.

After a long moment Cheri lifted her head just enough to look at him. Her eyes were soft, her mouth swollen from kissing. She brushed a damp strand of hair from his forehead and spoke quietly, voice warm and a little wrecked.

“I started this thinking about the bulge in those jeans,” she murmured. “The safe-for-work joke. The farm-work fantasy. And the whole time all I could think about was how it would feel when the camera was off and I finally got to have you like this.”

She kissed him again, slow and lingering, then rested her forehead against his.

“I love the videos,” she whispered. “I love watching you. But I love this more—you still inside me, the grass under my back, the way you look at me when there’s no lens left between us.”

Manny’s hand came up to cup her cheek. Cheri turned into the touch, pressed a softer kiss to his palm, and settled against his chest with no intention of moving.

“Next time we can film the farm work,” she said, almost smiling. “But after the camera stops… I still want this. Just us. No title. No audience. Just you and me and the way you feel when you’re all the way inside.”

She kissed him one more time, quiet and full of everything the video could never capture, and stayed right there in the grass with him, the Big Johnson still buried deep, the rest of the world finally far away.