Lunch Time 4.2/5 (17)

I could see the dust plume coming from a ways off. Eventually I could make out the rusty Ford pickup truck kickin it all up as it moved down the country lane. Glanced at my watch, after rubbing the dirt off of it, and sure enough, it was time for lunch.

I stopped the tractor, and then turned it off. Right away the AC stopped in the cab. The rust bucket carefully pulled off of the road and then moved across the field that I was plowing under towards me.

The field was so fucking dry that even as the dust plume that was trailing behind me settled, another came towards me with the oncoming truck. Just barely, through the dust, I could see her waiving at me.

Cracking the cab door I was met with the searing dry heat that had settled over us weeks ago. Immediately sweat beaded on my forehead. I stepped out of the cab onto the tire of the tractor and then dropped to the ground, raising another puff of dust.

The truck pulled up close, and she smiled as she opened the door. She stepped out. I thought I was dirty! Covered in dust, the woman was wearing a button-down-the-front yellow polka-dot sundress, over her rubber boots, with a floppy hat tied down under her chin.

I knew the dress was yellow only because I had seen it before – when it was cleaner. Her hair was pulled into a clip leaving a pony tail hanging down almost to her waist. I could see the whites of her eyes, and her brilliantly white teeth as she smiled, and undid the bow under her chin so she could remove the hat.

I spread my arms out and looked at her as if to say, “what?” She smirked, shrugged, and reached up to undo the clip. She bent her head and ruffled her fingers through her long, red tresses, pulling them over her shoulders and up in front of her face. Then she looked up at me through her hair, and the fire in her eyes was as smoking as the heat of the day!

With a step forward I was directly in front of her. Using both thumbs I gently rubbed the dirt caked on her cheek bones, and then bent in to touch noses. My expression was simple frown combined with a suggestive shrug.

She smirked again, still blazing me with her eyes, and then she shrugged to as in, “sure.”

I stepped back to lean against the tractor tire.

She slowly unbuttoned the top one on her dress. Then the next,…and the next. I could see the perspiration running down the valley of her chest. Anouther button, and another. Her belly, white and clean compared to her face and hands was revealed. Finally, the last was open and she pulled her dress a part and shrugged it off of her shoulders.

My gaze travelled south, from her smoking eyes, past the smudged cheek bones, to the double handfuls revealed to me – bright white against her farmer’s tan and the dirt – and the beautiful pinky sized nipples standing up to greet me.

Further south past her inverted navel to the tuft of reddish brown curly hair covering her lower lips. Then, back up to her eyes as she carefully folded the dress and set it on the truck seat behind her.

“Lunch time,” she murmured with a saucy grin and she stepped forward and knelt down in front of me. With sure practice, she undid my belt and pulled the button and zipper on my jeans. With a yank she pulled them down to my knees, barely avoiding the spring-loaded cannon that jumped up to say hi. Still looking at me,

she licked it once, and then took me into her mouth. One hand on my prick, the other squeezing her own breast, she swirled her tongue around the head, bringing me onto the toes of my boots. Then she pushed herself forward, moving her hand to my ass for balance, and drove her mouth onto me. Over and over. And over.

It didn’t take long. She was very, very good, and knew all of my triggers. Ten minutes and I was blowing a load down the woman’s throat. She made sure she got it all, licking her lips as she stood back up. I pulled up my jeans and did everything up.

Turning back to her truck, she pulled her dress out and on, starting to do the buttons up, “couldn’t get it dirty,” she said, and we both laughed.

Done, she handed me my lunch pail and a thermos. With a beaming smile she quietly said, “thanks for lunch,” and she licked her lips again with a giggle.

“So,” she continued, as she started to climb into the truck, “where is my husband?”

I pointed wordlessly towards a hill, beyond which another plume of dust could be seen.

She nodded thanks, and slammed the door shut, immediately gunning the truck in that direction.

I smiled and thought, “I like lunch time.”

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