Pasture Daze

By the TrashMan

~
Sweat drips down your face, collecting into a darkened patch on the front of your shirt. But the temperate evening  sun is not the cause, nor is it entirely the work you’ve attended to-stacking small bales of freshly cut alfalfa to dry in the now clipped rows of the field. It was decently hard work, and there were a lot of bales to pile and too much work on the rest of the farm for any of the rest of your family to help.

The mild burn in your muscles was joined by a slight ache in your neck that had come about from keeping your head perpetually craned to the ground; determined, desperate to avoid looking. You haven’t glanced for the better part of the hour, but you can hear. Jingling brass bells affixed with black chokers to petite, prancing forms; tittering voices, and overly loud giggles accompanying unspeakably inappropriate language.

Separated from your farm by a simple wood and wire fence, the great green pasture was inhabited, no, INFESTED with sheep women. You can remember being just a boy and your old man threatening to tan your hide six ways to Sunday if you ever fooled around with the coy ewes of the pasture; t’weren’t nothing good to be had in that pasture, he said.

But as you grew up, you found it harder to ignore, and the pasture’s denizens grew ever more interested in you. They’d gather up in a flock by the fence whenever you or the other fellers set to work in the field, watching on with none too disguised interest while they frolicked in the grass or lounged against the fenceposts, doing everything possible to show off smooth, slender legs, or fluffy wool covered curves; even erupting in theatrical swooning when in the muggy heat of summer, you stripped off your shirt.

With other folk to work with, it was easier to deal with, and you could get on with your chores without fuss. But alone, it was almost impossible to ignore with the full force of their misbehavior concentrated on you as a singular target.

And in the last few days, estrus had set in among the herd, and the corresponding change was daunting. The ewes rarely left the fence so long as you were working, and some days you’d arrive in the darkness of pre-dawn morning and find several sleeping where they had been all the day before. Their bells sounded constantly as the leaped and wheeled about the turf, trying to grab your attention, while others merely pressed against the fence, propositioning you in fevered tones if not outright pleading for you to mate them, touching their enflamed nethers in vain.

On and on you’ve endured, pouring every ounce of resolve into your flagging resistance, hoping to outlast their mating cycle.

With the sun getting low, you’d be heading in soon, and then you might just be able to have a few beers and find some peace. And you keep working, urging yourself on through the last stretch.

A mild breeze wafts past and you appreciate for a moment the cool, fresh air. But as you inhale, you realize too late that air is not all you’ve just smelled. A pungent smell, hot almost despite the coolness of the breeze, thick and entrancing. The smell of a ewe in heat.

That tears it.

You turn to the fence and begin walking, a stride not entirely of your own choice, towards the pasture. With the lateness of the day, even the lust-mad sheep had largely dispersed. A few had seemingly passed out right on the grass, but one still stood, eyes fixed hard on your approaching form.

As you walk, you pull away your damp shirt, letting it drop to the ground, and awkwardly kick off your boots and work off your jeans. The anthro, a young, shapely lamb, gasps and clutches the planks of the fence tight at the sight of your now bulging cock tenting your undershorts. You stand just more than an arm’s length away.

The lamb breaks her hungry gaze with your groin and clears her throat, puffing up the fluff of her chest where the roundness of her breasts was visible. “Well now, the e—lusive farm boy finally paying a visit, and,” she drawls in a velvety, seductive voice and makes a show of surprise “all to see lil’ ol me? If Ah’d known a strapping man like yourself would come a callin’, why I’d have seen to it I were proper presentable.”

She gives you a sidelong glance and leans over the fence, shelving her bust on the posts, and smirks. “Seeing as you made the trouble to come all this way, and in your…Condition, no less, Ah’d be right unpardonable to not offer any” she seems to lose herself in a hungry stare at your confined bulge before shaking herself back to a veneer of composure “assistance.”

You take another step forward, so that your groin was level and a bare inch or two from the now almost drooling lamb’s nose. You shift your undershorts down and off, and the ewe gasps, eyes widening.

 “Well that’s mighty kind.”

Your cock plops into the lamb’s face, thick and throbbing on her smooth snout. A trembling black hand grips your shaft and holds still while she nuzzles your cock, breathing hot, moist breaths as she buries her nose against your sack. She looks up, and a great shivering tremor runs through your body as she runs her tongue up your shaft, licking up the thick bead of precum glistening at the tip.

“C’mon, sugah, don’t make a poor lil’ lamb beg now…”

Compared to the bales of hay you’ve lifted all day, the ewe is light as a feather-er, bag of wool. You reach out, seize the sheep under her arms and hoist her up and over the fence. You turn her to face you, loop an arm around her slim back, and press her toned fuzzy belly and soft tits against your torso, locking lips.

Her breath is startlingly fresh, like fresh cut grass, and her squeak of surprise at the lifting and kiss is replaced with a throaty moan of pleasure. Her tongue, surprisingly powerful, wrestles with yours and her hands scrabble at your back, blunt fingers gripping and running over every muscle they find.

Your cock, harder than ever, bobs up between the lamb’s dangling legs, brushing damp wool and the outside of a burning hot mound. The leggy lamb’s supple thighs clamp together around your shaft, and she squirms in your grip, grinding your cock against the thick lips of her pussy. You hiss between her teeth and one hand falls to grope at her firm ass, playfully tweaking her puff of a tail.

A few moments later, she pulls back her head, tongue hanging from wet lips as she pants to catch her breath. She rubs her chest forcefully against yours, dark eyes glittering with lust.

“Ah’m burnin’ up boy, ah just can’t take it no longer,” her voice cracks with pleading need and she humps her hips rapidly, squeezing your cock with crushing force “Ah’m a beggin’ ya, cool me down boy, make this devil’s heat stop, please, oh Lord please!” 

You heft her once again, freeing your member from the trap of her thighs, and roughly tumble her around so that her tush and dripping pussy are raised to your sight, and with a swift, reckless thrust you pull her down and spear into her burning hot nethers.

Slick and dripping as her pussy is, the tightness of her entrance still causes your thrust to slow. A choked, breathless gasp of surprise, pain and fulfillment rattles from the lamb’s gaping mouth, blue shadowed eyes framing glowing red cheeks.

Once you’ve hilted, you pause, breathing hard, almost in time with the anthro in your grasp. And then, releasing months upon years of repressed lust, you fuck the slender girl with all you’ve got. Your hips pump and smash wildly into the slight cushion of her ass, rocking her slight frame forward only to be arrested by your grip. You drill hard and fast, thighs and groin slapping wetly against the now glowing pink cheeks of her tush, driving up to your balls in the rapidly quivering love tunnel of the ewe, which clenches and trembles uncontrollably as you fuck her.

Hanging almost helpless, the lamb grunts and bleats high pleasured notes, oblivious to the roughness of your treatment as you mate. Primal instinct takes over, and you both become lost to the pleasure. Occasionally she arches her head back and you lock eyes; your teeth grit, grunting with effort and ecstasy, hers’ are clouded, consumed with the animal act, mouth agape, tumbling out insensible cries and mumbled demands to fill her up, to breed her with everything you have.

And you do, concentrating all your strength into pounding tight, tender lamb pussy. Your knees bend and you drop to the ground, kneeling, still thrusting. The lamb lies on the shorn ground, back arched and ass raised. You grip her petite hips and lean over her slighter form, hips slapping forward with such force as though you were trying to fuck her into the ground. Her own dark hands claw at the soil, digging deep gouges as you fuck like wild animals.

The hot eruption of pleasure that blooms in your loins burns away all other thoughts, and you crash your cock into the lamb’s pussy with finality before you cum. The lamb wails her own triggered climax and writhes beneath you as you collapse on top of her, pinning her flat with your weight as you dump thick, hot spurts of your seed into her fertile, demanding womb. You grind ferociously against her body, coaxing out every drop of your cum into her welcoming body until the searing orgasm fades into a throbbing stillness that leaves your legs weak and your heart hammering.

Still pinned, seemingly unconcerned with your bulk on top of her, the lamb coos in satisfaction, sweating red face overtaken with a placid grin.

You roll over onto your back next to the still prone sheep, trying to catch your breath and staring up at the darkening expanse of the sky. Ma was going to hang you from the weathervane when she found out about this.

The beginning of your contemplation of the consequences of your actions is interrupted by smooth hard fingers splaying across your chest, and a fluffy, sweaty mass working up to lay on top of you. The lamb props an elbow under her chin and looks at you with a sly grin.

“If you ever get tired a’ plowin’ fields, Stud, Ah reckon you could make a career of plowin’ sheep.” 

You chuckle “Well, it better pay real nice if I’m gonna do right by my woman,” you scoot up so that you’re sitting, back against the fence, the lamb cradled in your arms. She blushes suddenly, furiously, then smiles sheepishly (dohoho) and pats her belly.

“And a whole MESS of young’uns sugah, if this here little tumble in the grass is any indication” before she bobs up her head to press her lips to yours.

A whining, plaintive voice breaks the quiet moment.

“Sooo, uh, when’s MY turn?” a pouted, indignant lamb demands, leaning over the fence above.