The Farmer's Daughter

HELP ALWAYS WANTED, WORK FOR BOARD ACCEPTED. COME AND ASK AT BIG HOUSE.

Hefting your bindle up onto your shoulder, you scratch at the scruff of beard that fuzzes your jawline and consider your options at present. Judging by the angle of the sun, it's already late afternoon, the light departing gradually behind the wispy copse of forest to the west. If you don't stop now, you'll surely have to camp out in the woods. For a long moment, you stand thinking, before giving a shrug, tossing the bindle over the fence, and hopping over after it. The farmhouse looms up from amidst thr darkening fields like a vision from a dream, lanterns flickering on the porch and the smell of something fresh and savoury wafting toward you through the open windows. The woman who answers the door wears a grey roughspun housecoat, an apron and a thin, kindly smile. She gives you a tentative wave in greeting as she fusses with the tapering flyaway bun atop her head of brunette hair. "Hullo sir," she says. "Your face is new to me, you wouldn't happen to be a passer-through now would you?"
"Guilty as charged," you smile (in truth, you are guilty of many other things besides). "I'm a stranger to these lands, it's true. Been on the road for days," you jerk a thumb over your shoulder. "Couldn't help but notice the sign up on your fence back there. Can I assume the offer still stands?"
"It does indeed," the woman claps happily. "Oh this is wonderful! It's been an age since we last had some help around the farm." Her smile widens to show a set of dull grey teeth. "How long would you be interested in staying?"
You make a point of appearing to consider the question, screwing your mouth up and squinting your eyes a little as you mull it over. "Mmm... no more than a few days, I shoulx think. Always had a wanderer's heart, if you understand my meaning."
"That should be fine," she nods, though her smile seems to fade a fraction. "Just fine, and certainly we've a need for the help. There's quite the list of chores at present, and my husband's back has troubled him terribly of late." She pulls the door fully open, beckoning for you to come inside. "But that's a conversation for tomorrow, in the meantime we're just about to sit down for dinner."
"Really?" You make a show of furrowing your brow doubtfully. "Maybe I should take a plate to the barn? I'd feel awful about interrupting a family dinner..."
"Nonsense!" The woman waves a hand dismissively. "No better time, you can introduce yourself to everyone!"

She takes you down the hall and through to the parlour where a large dining table is posted up in front of a modest stone fireplace. Around the table, there sits a large man with a thick black beard, three boys of varying ages—the smallest no older than seven and the oldest no younger than eighteen, all of them blessed with the same pug nose and messy mop of curls—and a winsome-looking girl no more than a couple years above the eldest of the boys in age. She had a button nose with thin, colourless lips and a scattering of faint brown freckles adorning her cheeks. Her hair, which was near enough the same hue as her mother's, fell in a bounteous curtain of ringlets over her shoulders and halfway down her back. For clothes, she wears a roughspun grey tunic and matching breeches, all of it so loose and flowing on her that you couldn't rightly see the true shape of her body beneath it.

At the first sight of her, she had you. While you regarded the others only briefly before moving on, you find yourself swiftly enamoured with the girl. It's not necessarily that she's the greatest beauty—you've seen (and stripped) plenty of technically prettier ones... no, it's something in the way she moves, the way the firelight catches her, her aura if such a thing can be said to exist. The crotch of your own breeches tightens, and immediately you indulge in your signature ability, instantly freezing everything from the diners at the table to the wall of flames dancing quietly in the hearth, not wanting to reveal your amorous attraction toward this couple's daughter as part of your first impression. For a few moments, you work the muscles in your legs, hoping to draw the blood away from your cock... but soon realise there's little use in it. It'll have to be dealt with, you decide, and with another brief glance at the girl, you come up with an idea that should be just the ticket.

Leisurely, you traipse through the house and over to the stairs, climbing up to the second floor and opening doors until you find one that looks like a plausible match for the girl's bedroom. You step inside, close the door behind you, take off all your clothes and move naked around the room, pulling open drawers and peeking in cupboards for something suitably sensitive and racy. Several minutes pass, as you look past a stack of charcoal sketches, an old worn-out teddy bear with a missing eye and curious signs of staining on its flank, even a leatherbound journal all sealed up tight with a tiny iron padlock. You move back and forth past the windows, shafts of moonlight playing over your body while you lazily stroke at your cock to tide yourself over. Eventually, you notice one of the pillows on the bed is askew, your pervert's instincts immediately telling you to hone in on it. You approach the bed, toss the pillow aside, and all but gasp as the treasure beneath presents itself to you. To your delight, the girl has left a pair of itsy bitsy, teeny weeny white panties there, on the bed. Scooping them up, you hold them to the light and turn them this way and that to get a better look. The material is thin, with a hint of translucence in the crotch and rear, and tiny frills along the top of the waistband, and a bow placed just so on the front.

They're cute, awfully cute, and awfully cute makes you dreadfully horny. Your stomach takes on the delightful buoyance that comes with illicit excitement, and as you ball the panties up and bring them to your nose, you're already starting to touch yourself a tad more vigorously. One sniff tells you they're used, and a second makes your cock tingle and stiffen even further than it already has. Already there's precum dripping like frothy white saliva from your tip, and without thinking you pitch forward and land softly on the bed, grinding your cock teasingly into the plain blue bedspread as you breathe your gracious hosts' pretty young daughter in. Her kitty has a faint musk, with fruity undertones and a tang that slides up your nose and into the back of your throat. In peaks and valleys of intensity, you pleasure yourself stupid on her bed, with her panties, spilling yourself into her bedclothes again and again, until your cock begins to twitch impotently, and soreness starts to gather at the tip. Winding your efforts down, you roll onto your back and place the teeny white underthings over your cock's head like a handkerchief, wiping and swirling it clean of the residue there and giving yourself small, sputtering shocks of residual pleasure at the same time. Finally, you let out a sigh of relief and starfish yourself out on the bed, riding out the wave of clarity and shame that occasionally comes on when you've just given in to your most devious and perverted impulses once again. Five minutes pass, then you rise in silence, crumpling the panties up into a sticky cotton ball, dressing yourself, and slipping them into the pocket of your breeches. To the best of your ability, you leave everything as you found it, slip back out of the room and saunter downstairs, returning to the doorway of the dining room to make your introductions proper.

With a deep breath, you allow time to resume. The flames continue their merry dance, the air is filled with the scrape and clink of knives and forks on plates. You make sure to press your weight down onto the nearest floorboard, and at the sound of its creaking the rest of the family looks up nearly as one. The woman appears behind you, still beaming up a storm. "Everyone!" she calls out. "Seems our sign still works! We have ourselves a new guest!" She walks around you and goes to pull out a chair for you at the foot of the table. "Well go on then, everybody introduce yourselves!" Barely able to look you in the eye, the boys mumble out their names; in order, from youngest to oldest: "Peter,"
"Harold,"
"Jon."
Her husband puts down his fork, laces his fingers together, looks you up and down and grunts. "Can you carry a hay bale?"
You give him your folksiest, most friendly grin. "I've two hands, so I expect so."
He considers that a moment, then gives a slow nod. "Name's Selwyn," he says. "That's my wife, Penelope." She gives a small wave, as if to confirm. Trying not to swallow too noticeably, you permit yourself at last to look to his right, over at the girl. She's trying not to look at you, and already making an irritated face as she realises the whole room expects her to. With a roll of the eyes, she meets your gaze, sets down her fork and says, in a low, bored voice, "I'm Benedetta, weird stranger who's standing in my house." Another, more pointed gaze from her father. "But everyone calls me 'Etta' for short."
"Nice to meet you... Etta," you reply, trying not too much of the gleam of excitement show in your eyes. What a strangeness it is, to know the colour and smell of a girl's undies before you know her name. "Nice to meet you all, as a matter of fact, I'm..."