The next morning we got up, and like two young boys, each had morning wood. He told me it was my job to take care of that, every morning, and I did e...actly as I was told. He said I would have to take every drop down my throat and not waste any of it, none ever escaped me. That afternoon, we were in the barn stacking bales of hay. He walked up to me and said, "do you know what I want from my little slut?" I told him no. He told me that was a shame, because since I didn't know I was going. My balls slapping against you ... Pulling you to the side so you could see my cock pound in and out of you ... your head and breast laid on top of the dresser watching your body receive what it badly needed. You didn't try to lift your head to look at me, moaning in a sound you never heard come from you ... biting your lip you watched ... as I pounded your eager pussy ... I was hitting the spot that would take you to the place you wanted to go ... your orgasm was building, "oh god ... harder. Frank never got to see his baby.’ ‘Was Helen’s mother named Lydia? Did she have red hair?’ The woman stared past me, deep in thought. ‘Why, I believe that was her name! And she did have reddish kinda hair. How in the world did you know that?’ ‘It’s hard to explain in words.’ The room chilled a bit as the old dowager gazed at me, then rose and stood, looking out the window. In a quiet voice she said, ‘I’ve heard stories around Redbud Valley, but I’ve lived here most of my life ‘n never seen. Your breath is shallow and you are bucking against my hand. I lean up to your ear and ask you to be patient and to go slow. Don't run to the pleasure, let it wash over you, let it find you and envelope you. I wait for you to regain control, stroking my finger in and out of your pussy slowly, avoiding your clit. I slip a second finger into you and you gasp. I move both my fingers against you g-spot, pushing firmly, rubbing in hard circles the way you like. You cry out, I curl my fingers and.