I am twenty-five, and the only place I still feel completely alive is the old barn behind my grandfather’s farmhouse. The air always smells of hay, leather, and warm animal skin. Tonight the moon is high and white, pouring through the high windows like liquid silver. I walk barefoot across the packed dirt floor, the hem of my thin cotton nightgown brushing my thighs. I am already wet. I have been wet since I decided to come out here.
Grandfather is waiting. He is seventy-one, but his body is still hard from decades of work. Tall, broad-shouldered, silver hair cropped short, eyes the same pale blue as mine. He stands beside the big bay stallion, one hand resting on the animal’s powerful neck. The horse is already aroused. His heavy cock hangs thick and dark, the sheath pulled back, the tip glistening. My mouth waters.
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“Come here, girl,” Grandfather says, voice low and rough. He never calls me by name when we do this. I am just his girl. His.
I go to him. He cups the back of my neck and kisses me the way he always does—deep, claiming, tongue sliding against mine like he is tasting something he owns. His free hand finds the front of my nightgown and tears it open. The soft fabric falls away. Cool night air kisses my bare breasts, my nipples tightening instantly. He pinches one, hard, then the other, until I moan into his mouth.
“You came ready,” he murmurs against my lips. His hand slides down, cups my bare cunt, two thick fingers pushing into the slick heat between my legs. I am dripping. He works them in and out slowly, thumb circling my clit until my knees threaten to buckle. “Such a greedy little cunt. Always has been.”
I reach for his belt. He lets me. I free his cock—thick, heavy, veined, the head already wet. I sink to my knees on the straw without being told. The stallion shifts beside us, nostrils flaring at the scent of me. I take Grandfather into my mouth first, tasting the salt of him, the familiar weight on my tongue. I suck him deep, hollow my cheeks, look up so he can see my eyes watering as I try to take every inch. He holds my hair and fucks my throat in short, controlled thrusts, the way he likes when he wants to keep control a little longer.
When he pulls out, a string of spit connects my lips to his cock. He turns me toward the horse.
The stallion is massive. His cock is even thicker than Grandfather’s, longer, the flared head dark and slick. Grandfather steps behind me, hands on my hips, and guides me forward until I am standing under the animal’s belly. The heat of the horse’s body radiates against my bare back. I reach up with both hands and stroke the heavy shaft, feeling the pulse of blood under the thin skin. The horse stamps one hoof and snorts.
“That’s it,” Grandfather says against my ear. “Get him ready for you.”
I lick the underside, long slow strokes from base to tip, tasting the strong, musky flavor of him. Then I open my mouth as wide as I can and take the head inside. It stretches my lips obscenely. I suck, tongue working the sensitive underside while my hands stroke what I cannot fit. Grandfather’s fingers are back between my legs, two of them, then three, stretching me open, getting me ready. He knows how much I can take. He has been teaching me since the first time.
When the horse is fully hard and dripping, Grandfather lifts me. Strong arms under my thighs, he positions me so my back is against the stallion’s warm side. The thick cock presses against my soaked entrance. I am so wet it slides. He lowers me slowly.
The stretch is intense—burning, perfect. Inch by inch the horse fills me, thicker than anything human, the flared head popping past my entrance and then sliding deeper. I cry out, head falling back against Grandfather’s shoulder. He holds me steady, controlling the depth, letting me adjust. When I am fully seated, impaled, the heavy weight of the stallion’s cock throbbing inside me, Grandfather kisses the side of my neck.
“Look at you,” he whispers. “Stuffed full of horse cock and still needing more.”
He reaches around and rubs my clit in tight circles while the stallion begins to move. The animal thrusts with slow, powerful strokes, each one driving that thick shaft deep into my cunt. I can feel every ridge, every pulse. My body clenches around it helplessly. Pleasure coils tight and hot in my belly. Grandfather’s fingers never stop. He knows exactly how to touch me.
I come hard the first time with the horse buried to the hilt, my cunt spasming around the massive cock, juices running down my thighs onto the straw. I sob with it, shaking in Grandfather’s arms. The stallion does not stop. He keeps fucking me through the orgasm, deeper, harder, the wet sounds of my body taking him filling the barn.
Grandfather sets me down carefully once the horse pulls free with a wet sound. I am trembling, empty for only a second. Then he bends me over a bale of hay, face down, ass up. His own cock, still hard and slick from my mouth, pushes into my stretched, dripping cunt in one smooth thrust. I am so open from the horse that he slides in easily, but the angle is different, more intimate. He fucks me hard and deep, one hand in my hair, the other gripping my hip hard enough to bruise.
“You love this,” he growls. “You love being used by both of us.”
“Yes,” I gasp. “Yes, Grandfather—please—”
He reaches under me and finds my clit again, rubbing roughly while he pounds into me. The second orgasm hits even harder. I scream into the hay, cunt fluttering around him, milking him. He does not come yet. He pulls out, turns me onto my back on the bale, and climbs over me. This time he slides into my ass—slow, careful, using the wetness from my cunt to ease the way. The burn is sharp and perfect. I take him. I always do.
While he works himself deeper into my ass, the stallion comes closer again, curious, cock still hard and shining. Grandfather guides the animal’s head down. The soft, velvety muzzle presses against my clit and lower lips. The horse licks—long, rough strokes of that huge tongue. The sensation is overwhelming. Grandfather fucks my ass in steady strokes while the stallion licks my cunt, and I come a third time, screaming, body locking up, vision going white at the edges.
Grandfather finishes in my ass with a low groan, filling me with hot pulses of cum. He stays buried deep for a long moment, breathing hard against my neck, kissing me soft and possessive. When he finally pulls out, I feel the warm trickle of him running down.
He is not finished with me. He never is on nights like this.
He brings the stallion back between my spread thighs. This time I am on my back on the hay, legs held open by Grandfather’s hands. The horse mounts carefully, guided by experienced hands. The thick cock pushes into my already-used cunt again, stretching me wider than before. I moan continuously as it sinks in. Grandfather leans over me, kissing my mouth, swallowing my sounds while the stallion begins to thrust in earnest.
The rhythm is powerful, almost brutal. Each stroke drives the air from my lungs. My breasts bounce with the force. Grandfather’s hand is between us, fingers on my clit, keeping me right on the edge until I shatter again, crying his name, crying for more. The horse’s thrusts grow shorter, harder. I feel the base of that massive cock swelling. Grandfather holds me steady as the stallion locks and comes—thick, hot jets flooding me so deeply I can feel it. There is so much that it leaks out around the still-buried shaft, soaking the hay beneath us.
When the horse finally softens and pulls free, I am a mess. Cum from both of them drips from my cunt and ass. My thighs are shiny. My nipples are dark and sore from Grandfather’s mouth and fingers. I can barely move.
Grandfather gathers me into his arms like I weigh nothing and carries me to the clean pile of blankets he keeps in the corner for nights like this. He lies down with me, pulls a soft old quilt over our bodies, and holds me against his chest. His hand strokes my hair. His other hand rests possessively between my legs, fingers gently tracing the swollen, used flesh there.
“My girl,” he murmurs. “Always so perfect for us.”
I press my face into his neck and breathe him in—sweat, hay, sex, the familiar scent of the man who has owned every part of me for years. Outside the barn the night is quiet. Inside, the stallion settles with a soft nicker. I am sore in the best ways, filled, claimed, and completely, shamelessly content.
This is my story. This is who I am when the moon is high and the barn door is closed. And I would not change a single filthy, beautiful second of it.
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