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You want great furniture and live in Ohio, you think Amish. Granted it takes going down the gravel roads and reading hand painted signs, but most of the time the only thing better than the craftsmanship is the price. That's what got me pulling into an Amishman's place just last week, the guy at the harness-maker's shop saying this Junior was the one to see about a roll top desk for my husband's birthday. Too bad Junior had something else in mind that just about made an old lady like me blush.

Maybe it's just me, the gray haired granny who didn't give up her cherry until two days before her wedding, but certain elements of the physical relationship between a most willing woman and an even more willing man should be kept out of sight. Things like dressing up like chickens maybe. Not that Junior was out in the barn in a rooster suit, don't get me wrong. More like a birthday suit, but that's a little ahead of the story. One thing for sure, this Amish has got the act of passion pretty down pat.

Actually she was going down on Junior, not Pat, me apparently not making enough noise when I'd pulled up to the house. Hell, I thought the sound of a car would have attracted some attention in a world of horse and buggy. The car door closing too, or even my footsteps out to the barn itself. Apparently not is one of the great understatements of life. Like it or not, I was about to be an eyewitness to some old-fashioned loving.

Part of my brain was telling me to get the hell out of there. I'll call it the rational side. The other part, the Literotica side, was telling me to keep my feet glued to the floor, there was a story here. Plain People Pussy or something like that. One side telling me to be good, one telling me to be the pervert. Obviously the peeper side won, I'm putting words to print about as fast as he was putting it in her mouth.

She is a beauty, that Amish maid with the cornstarch complexion and fire in her eyes. The prayer cap, that little white piece of organdy the women wear in public, had come off, tossed over to one side and long, long chestnut locks had fallen. Junior's flap on his pants was open, his cock more than ready for a pleasing. It's not that I'm an appreciator of fine peckers, don't get me wrong. I'm a prude, the last good girl on earth at times, but it was somewhat hard to miss. Especially one that hard.

I think I was grinning but I'm not real sure. I was sure this demure little holy woman had done this before, no doubt. Maybe I just had this image that people backwards by choice wouldn't be doing anything but missionary to make those dozen kids they all see to have. Apparently Mrs. Amish has to take care of her man now and then when the bad time of month came just like I used to do. This one had made it an art form though.

We're talking the worship of the male appendage that gives womanhood so much pleasure when properly maintained. I watched silivri escort transfixed as a mistress of the blowjob did her thing, gentle kisses slowly giving way to long, passionate licks of the ultimate treat. She was absolutely driving him wild, him reaching once and then again to guide her head, each time the fair one shaking him off. So much of a paternalistic society where he tells her what to do. This little bitch was in total control and had only begun.

Her lips wrapped around the head of his penis and then she pulled back, the suction of sucking sending a pop through the tomb still barn. She giggled and then wrapped her lips onto him again. Beard but no mustache tossed his head back, driven wild by this little tart. I knew I had to get out of there but I couldn't move. I was totally, completely engrossed in the unbelievable. Jesus Christ, I couldn't wait to see my lover again and try some of this myself. The thing with the pop, definitely. Sucking him outdoors, that had potential too. Just the overall quality, no doubt this time prisoner called Amish knew a hell of a lot more about blowjobs that I did and she was just getting started. Made me wonder if she swallowed too.

That was a bizarre thought but I do that a lot, one visual image triggering some sort of journey through the mind for me. Even stranger is the fact my husband thinks blowjobs are repulsive, so disgusting he never let me do one. I'm serious, he'd eat me in a heartbeat but I never could return the favor. It wasn't until I took a lover more than ten years ago, me the 50 year old, that I got that cherry popped. I swallowed that first time, I swallow every time he lets me but I guess it's not for everybody.

My best friend Wendy swallows but she always insists her man drink a lot of fruit juice before she does the job to him. Deb, on the other hand, never swallows. She won't do her man that way unless she's got at least her shirt off and usually her bra too. Deb says it gags her, she'd much rather get a face full or let him come over her boobs. Not that she's big, no bigger than I am. Certainly not huge like Wendy. We've all been tit banged and all, but only Wendy is really carrying a set. Yeah, it made me wonder if Mrs. Amish liked to swallow or spit. Too bad I'll never find out.

It was a scene right out of my own life, just a week ago Tuesday, the man loving a blowjob but not about to let the lady get away without pleasure herself. Like the crude girls say, he'd take being sucked but he'd much rather be gonna fuck Somehow in my daydream I'd missed him taking her head off his stick, his hands sliding down to her armpits and now lifting her to her feet. They stood there looking into each other's eyes for just a moment and then he lifted her long blue dress up and over her head. Bra and a half slip, pretty in lace, this little Amish woman. Then again, unless that şirinevler escort bra was all brag, she wasn't so little after all Me and my stupid modern mind world, I start wondering if he's going to upright her right there against the barn post.

Me, personally, I used to think upright was all right, tolerable usually but it was also the only way my husband ever got in deep. Real deep, nailing the little wife against the bathroom door once in a while. Taking a lover changed all that, teaching me big things come in smaller packages and upright is one great way to get banged. When my man takes me that way, it's almost like he's impaling me on his pecker, that gorgeous head damn nearly coming out my throat sometimes I think. Yeah, I like it like that, at least with him. Chalk it up as another thing I'll never know about the Amish.

No upright here, instead his turn to worship her body. One long, slow kiss and he had her bra undone. One more long, slow one and he pulled it off her chest. Jesus, she was big. Jesus, she was nice. Maybe she was thirty, maybe a little older, but she didn't have the sag most big girls have. Her breasts were firm and high, her chocolate brown nipples straight out in heat. Hell, my nipples were hard, my underpants wet and I wasn't even getting touched. I didn't know how I hadn't been seen.

I wasn't twenty feet away and they hadn't seen me, they hadn't heard me, they had no clue I was peeking. I should have split but I couldn't, this was just too unreal, even as real as it all was. Real life loving between two most willing humans who happen to be Amish. In a barn, doing what I do in my bedroom. It was absolutely mesmerizing and it really had just begun.

Slowly he kissed his way down her face, her throat, her chest and then those magnificent breasts before he sunk to his knees. Hungrily he began to suckle one and then the other nipple, her arms wrapping around his head as now she arched her head back and moaned in pleasure. I swear I caught her woman scent as he fed, so totally turned on myself as his hands slid under her slip and caressed her thighs. Slowly they worked their way up and then suddenly stopped. I knew it, knew it in a heartbeat. Amish women can be just as much a tramp as me.

Her eyes were shining as he slowly raised the half slip up. I had to bite my lip from giggling, my two men never so smooth in stripping me when I wear one of those damn things. Up it went, up over her waist as she raised her arms and I just about fainted. The little harlot wasn't wearing panties. Talk about coming out to the barn to get banged, this was it. She was naked, her dark brown bush quivering as he sunk back to his pleasure of her honey pot. This bearded man knew how to give as much pleasure as he had gotten...and was about to get.

Outside I heard chickens cluck, from somewhere behind me a cow's şişli escort moo and right in front of me a woman's lust groans as her man made her crazy. The Amish woman's nipples were harder than diamonds, her hands trying to steady herself as her man's tongue drove her over the edge, turning her knees to jelly. Baby, I know how you feel, the memories of the first time my husband did me like that. Our honeymoon, someplace in Pennsylvania, and me sure he would be pissed when I gave a face full. Jesus, it drove him nuts, hubby getting on and balling the living crap out of me that night. Just about like what was happening in the world of shoo-fly pie.

Amish woman had lost the struggle, falling back onto a hay stack as her man took charge. He stood, the trousers falling. God, Amos, nice butt. I mean very nice, firm, tight, just like her boobs. For just an instant I saw how much she'd turned him one, even more than when she sucked him. It was so damned erotic, the whole thing, but I still have some shred of dignity. Of morals. I'm not going to be an eyewitness to another Junior being made out in the barn. I beat feet, the sound of chickens and cows now replaced by the moans of passion and the savage lust grunts of a man totally getting his woman...and her getting him.

Jesus, was I embarrassed as I dashed to the car and got out of there. All the remorse I should have felt swept over me as I started out the lane. I'd walked in on saints screwing. Hell, Amish. Pious. Holy. Holy shit, they screw just like we do, maybe better. I thought of all those kids on the Amish farm and started laughing as I neared the road. They might reject technology but by damn, that doesn't mean they're stupid. In fact it seems they're a lot smarter than us. They wouldn't almost forget about a roll top desk.

That was the reason I was in the area but damn, there was no way I could go back and face these two after watching them screwing away. I glanced right and then left when I came to the road, spying an Amishman about 100 yards down the way cutting weeds at the next place. I wheeled the car in his direction and pulled up to get some advice.

OK, I didn't realize an extra button on my shirt had opened until it was kind of obvious he'd noticed. Who knows, maybe Amish like the boobs of a woman twice their age. Don't know, don't care. I just wondered if there were any other cabinet-makers around, I'd stopped next door and there didn't seem to be anybody at home.

"There wasn't?" the Amish said with a frown on his face and one eye trying to figure if my bra was black. It was, my slight motion of a hand making sure we resolved that issue before I shook my head. Nobody home.

"Strange," he said with a shrug, content with the tiny bit of breast I had. "Should be. My wife went down there to help Junior with the chores while his wife is up in Wisconsin doing some visiting."

I suppose I should have stayed around and found out about that desk but I had to head out, stealing one last glance at the neighbor going back to his weeding. Thinking back to the lovers in the barn and finally resolving one life experience I'd never had.

Jesus Christ, it took a trip to Amish country to find out what it's like to shit myself.