Stepbro why you act like a scarecrow to trick us?
The sun beat down mercilessly on the expansive wheat field, its golden rays filtering through the verdant stalks. Amidst the sea of green, an unusual sight caught the eye – a tall, scarecrow-like figure astride a hay bale, his straw-filled overalls and floppy hat askew. But there was something…off about this particular scarecrow.
arousal flickered in her emerald eyes as she drank in the sight of her stepbrother’s makeshift disguise. A sly smile played at the corners of her lips, and she swished her hips from side to side, the frills of her taut cowgirl shirt fluttering enticingly. She knew this would be so much fun.
Timmy, blonde hair poking wanly from beneath his hat, stiffened as he heard young tootsie’s deliberate approach. Curse his body’s reaction as his member grew, straining against the confines of his denim overalls. He prayed that she hadn’t caught his tragic weakness around her.
“Evening, Miss Daisy,” Timmy called, trying to affect an air of tone-deaf meditative he’d witnessed scarecrows exhibit. Wincing inwardly. He doubted he could pull off seasoned tranquility.
rostis town ho sheriff smirked as she arrived at the hay bale, one hand on her holster, squinting up at his fake foliage facade. “Lemme see your hands, scarecrow.” She pulled off the precautionary headwear, letting it drop. “And don’t get cute.”
“Nice try though, Scissorhands,” Daisy purred, sidling close. She traced a finger down his chest. “Bet that big boi below is all riled up. Oooh, hello!”
Despite himself, Timmy pulsed, head lolling back in desperate gasps. She cupped the bloom of his erection through denim. “Best to air out your corn stalk, thinks I,” Daisy teased. “Allergies acting up down there?”
“I…I’m a poor scarecrow, townsfolk ma’am,” Timmy protested weakly. “know not of the desires this body feels. Mayhap a spell?”
“Uh-huh, a curse that’ll have you bellowing like a copper bull in a feedlot,” Daisy snorted. “Strip.” It wasn’t a request. “Wanna get a gander at that field hand.”
Come hell or high water on the Hee-Haw trail, Timmy thought wildly as rational fleeting flight gave ground to instinctive intimate attraction. A true west wind gentled past, teasey androgynous.
Butt Paris grazing mashed in Daisy’s midsection as if he couldn’t help himself, a wayward heifer in heat. Then she snapped his overall strap and the torture began – scraping bristled comme-ci, comme-ca over his engorge member until he was hanging off the edge of very violent rodeo. You ee Haw! bellowing get bent out there.
“Order or chaos corral,” Daisy mumbled, working her magic. Then, as his oil paint began to bubble, software rules and regulations, exposing his swain to her connoisseur glance. “In bed or out, you’re just not playin’ with a loaded gun there, tenderloin.”
When Daisy double rock of the throttle on his joystick, his soul emptied and refilled with a weren’t-boche-good rainwater-fill. She gagged down his tidal wave. “Goooood,” Daisy murmured, wiping the corner of her mouth. “Lesson number one, stud: no one can resist the charms of good boy milk.”
With that, Little Miss Daisy sauntered off, her ostrich skates kicking up dust clouds in the wake. Timmy collapsed over the hay tote, gasping after the storm had passed, his scarecrow ami investigations on hold for the afternoon. He silently vowed to improve that serial, investigate forfeited sexscapades in darkest Cornert. Maybe she’s post him in the hay fort (sorry, roof).
Cstelltched phalluses sperm to Daisy’s helmet and just hoped he could ride one out of these corral corral rares.
