Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 47222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47222 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Must be the original home they built, I realize with awe.
The homestead is two-stories and nestled among old spruce trees. It’s the very picture of charming. A wraparound porch hints at lazy summer days, while looming trees promise to shade its visitors from broiling hot afternoons. I close my eyes and I can almost smell the Carolina jasmine and open them to see a delicate vine winding its way along one of the picket fences.
On closer inspection of the scene unfolding before me, however, I notice that the property, while still retaining its majestic aura, is now falling apart. The paint on the walls is chipping away, and it looks as though there may be termites working their way into some of the wooden posts on the fence. As I climb my way onto the wraparound porch, my foot slips through the bottom board of the first step. It goes clean through, as if a scene in a comedic movie.
Startled, I chuckle at the absurdity of the situation. I remove my foot from the hole and tentatively test the other steps for potential breakage. I manage to make it up the stairs and to the front door with no further mishaps. I look back at the steps and shake my head. Place needs some work.
The crude wooden door is open, and a screen door lets in the fresh evening breeze while keeping the bugs at bay. I hesitate only a moment before I pull it open and step into the old farmhouse.
“Hello?” I call. Inside the house looks the same as the exterior: old wooden floors in need of refinishing, a sweeping staircase with some rails missing, and walls with faded paper or chipping paint. But I can tell that someone – probably Darcy – has attempted to make the most of the deteriorating space. All around the entryway and from what other rooms I can see, there are brightly colored throws and rugs, antique furniture that’s been kept painstakingly dust-free, and even an ornate chandelier over the dining room table.
From the kitchen, I can smell something delectable and my stomach growls in response. “Here goes nothing,” I mutter to myself as I make my way toward the back room.
At the stove, Darcy is bending over to tend to something in its depths, her round, full ass aimed perfectly in my direction as I enter the room. She stands up but doesn’t notice me yet, halfway turned away from the doorway.
I pause and lean against the doorframe to take in the domestic scene. Darcy’s wearing a sunflower covered apron over leggings and a thin tank top. It’s clear to me that she’s removed her bra for the day, as her nipples are peeking through the worn cotton. Her long brown hair has been thrown up in a tousled bun, and I have never seen a woman look quite so sexy.
Not like those city girls who wear too much make up and keep their hair as stiff as the stick up their asses. No, Darcy is real and I wonder... I brush off the question as I observe this innocent sweet thing before me. Then I clear my throat, startling the girl.
“Oh hi! I didn’t notice you came in.” Darcy greets, wiping her hands on her apron and beckoning for me to come into the kitchen. Her eyes dart from my face to my still-wrapped lower half to the table, clearly ill at ease and embarrassed by something.
“Yeah, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.” I sit at the little table as she places a glass of water in front of me.
“Oh no it’s fine. I figured you’d make your way inside sooner or later, otherwise I was going to bring your supper out to you.” Darcy chatters away. “Sorry, I don’t much in the way of beverages. But this is cool water, nice and fresh from the well.” Darcy blushes, embarrassed at her offering and I’m surprised by how profoundly her bashfulness touches me.
“I love water, thanks. I prefer it. Too many men drink too much,” I offer, trying to assure her it’s enough. Grateful for the refreshing beverage, I chug the entire glass of water down in a few solid gulps while Darcy watches. Grinning, I set it on the table. “Guess I was thirsty.” Quickly she rushes to grab my glass and refill it with a pitcher she takes out of the fridge.
“Make yourself comfortable. Supper will be ready in about five minutes.” Darcy scurries about her work, and I find myself unable to take my eyes off her full figure. When she bends over the oven again to remove biscuits, I want to reach for her ass and cup it in my hands.
I feel my dick get hard at imagining other spots on her I’d like to stroke and caress, but my musings are interrupted by Darcy putting dish after dish on the table: fried chicken breasts, biscuits, mashed potatoes, butterbeans, sliced tomatoes, and even a little bottle of port.