Some years before I had seen a farm-girl whose name was Pender, a fine lass with a merry face, and lightish brown hair; she must then I suppose have been about seventeen years old. From ogling and laughing, I got to kissing, with that she was pleased enough, and often I think put herself in my way to get it; a pinch on the bum she did not resent. Thinking all safe, I one day poked her near to her notch, and she only saying, “Adun now sir, do”, my hand went up her petticoats, I struggled with her, and we both fell on the grass near a barn, when my fingers touched her cunt. She set up a yell, my fingers were stained with her monthlies (not the only time that has occured in my life), she sat for a minute crying, then walked away, leaving me in fear lest she should tell my aunt. She never did, but avoided me, and would not look me in the face. When older, I only thought of her when there, or when my memory ran back on the quims I had touched in my then short career.

Having now nothing to do, but to read, and idle about, I was wandering in the farm, fields, stable, cow- houses, everywhere, and soon knew all the faces on the estate. Among them was Pender, still so named, she having then been married about a year to a man bearing her own maiden name, and was then about twenty-three years old; a tall, strapping woman, with a bum as big as a washing-tub; brown she was from working in the sun, but fucking regularly as I supposed had cleared her complexion, she was a good, comely country-woman. Our eyes met, both at the instant thought of the day when I got my fingers red up her petticoats; she curtsied, and blushed, I laughed with a baudy look I expect, and said, “Well you still here.”

I spoke to her again on other days, her husband worked on the farm, and she was dairy-woman. When-ever I saw her my prick stood, and I avoided her, for fear of an erection increasing my gleet.

There was hay-making, — lolling about with a book I went to look on, it was at one or two fields off from a large rick-yard which was near to the farm buildings. There was a half-made hay-stack with a ladder against it, up which without any object I went idly, and laying down went on reading. It became cloudy, the head-man calling out said, “We'll have rain, cut off all on yer, and get the hay up into cocks, yes you, — you, — yes you too” (I did not know who he was talking to.) Men and women crossed the rick-yard, and went off in the distance, Pender was one, and was well ahead, when he called out, “You had better get the dairy-work done though.” She turned, and coming slowly back stood still a moment, then comfortably squatted, and pissed.

I laying half buried in the hay was not visible to her, but seeing her piddling, raised myself, and looked. As she finished she gave her clothes that usual hitch against her cunt, looked up, and saw me, turned round quickly, went away from the yard, and then as if she had forgotten, turned round with her head hanging down, and came through the rick-yard. I slipped from the stack, and met her at the foot of it, — we were surrounded with stacks.

Her face was red. “A comfortable piddle you had”, said I stopping her. “Adun sir”, said she. “A kiss, for old acquaintance”, snatching one. “I am married”, said she. “Don't care, so much the merrier, it's not so wet as it was, when I felt it some years ago?” “Oh! lawk don't, I'm married.”

We had moved a little, were by the hay-sack then making, a heap of hay had fallen as they had lifted it from cart to the stack. I closed with her, kissing and hugging, gave her a push, and we both tumbled into a sitting position together on the heap, she half laughing, half resisting; then kissing her, suggesting pleasure, pulling out my prick, seeing a thick pair of legs in dark stockings, big thighs, a belly, some brown hair at the bottom of it, I felt cool flesh, a wet warm split, and was on her, up her, and spent in her.

I came to myself with a tingling aching sensation inside my prick, the stiffness, and spending had hurt the urethra which had been split by the bougie. I had a notion that blood must be coming, and still stiff pulled it out of her; the little lingering sperm on the tip looked all right, she had not spent, for I don't think I could have shoved more than once before I had emitted my semen. I threw myself on her to put into her again, but she baulked me. “Oh! now for God's sake if my husband caught us there would be murder”, but I was burning with want, it was more than two months since I had clutched a woman's back-side, and spent up a cunt. Furiously I pulled her back, rolled over her, and fingered her; she rose spite of me, and went off. “Pray don't come with me, we may be seen, I wouldn't for the world we were seen coming out the rick-yard together.”

A minute's reflection made me wiser. I got upon the hay-rick again, saw men and women in the hay-field a long distance off, I called out names of one or two I knew, — no one answered, went into the farm-yard, hollowed there, no one answered, thence went into the cow-house,—there was she milking.

I stood by the cows, pulled my prick out, begged her to let me do it again, talked all the baudiness I could, reminded her of when first I wetted my fingers in her red-stained cunt, lifted up the cow's tail, swore if she did not let me I would put my prick up the cow. It was funny to see a woman whose cunt was full of sperm pulling vigorously at a cow's teats, whilst a man with his prick exposed was holding up a cow's tail, showing its cacked arse, and not too clean cunt. What absurdity will not a lewd man do?

“I must get this done, I am frightened, we shall be seen, we shall be caught”, said she. I dropped on my knees, and as she went on milking, put my fingers up her petticoats, the slit was wet with my leavings. I pulled her face towards me to kiss, whilst she kept tugging at the cow's teats.

When the cow was dry she took the pail across the yard to the dairy, emptied it, and came back, looking in all directions, called out some name, but all were at the hay-making, heavy drops of rain were falling. “Come to the stable”, said I, and laying hold of her pulled her in that direction.

I partly coaxed, partly pulled her, she looked uneasily round the farm-yard, and we entered the cow-shed. At one end of it was a cart-horse stable, close to that a large barn. With arm round her I led her towards the barn, there was straw and hay there; but in the stable in the first empty stall was a heap of fresh straw. I pushed her down on to it, the next instant I was fucking her, and what a fuck! I shall recollect it to the last day of my life, it was delicious. It was two months since I had had a woman; here was a stout, fat-arsed, hard-fleshed, healthy country woman; rough, dirty with work, but whose thighs were white, and whose cunt was a clipper, who was randy, had every capability of giving a man delight. No highly fed woman clad in silks and satins, could have ministered to me as she did, as replying to my thrusts her cunt sucked my prick up her, and we spent together.

I raised myself up without uncunting; the straw rustling and crushing under us, too excited to lay still, after I had spent. She lay in quiet enjoyment, till putting down one hand to feel round our bellies, I roused her, then she wriggled, and out slipped my cock. “I must get up, for God's sake let me.”

We got up. I don't suppose that more than twenty minutes had passed between my first, and my second poke, still my prick remained stiff. She went quickly to the cow-shed, put down the milking-stool, sat down and began again tugging at a cow's teats, I again standing by her side with my privates hanging outside my trowsers.

I wanted to see her limbs, to feel her breasts. The idea of her cunt squeezing out its moisture on to her chemise as she sat on the stool, the desire to see every part of her, that irresistible want to see all, feel all, and satisfy every sense which springs up in the mind of a man when a woman has satisfied his voluptuousness for the first time overcame me. She tugged at the teats. “Oh! go, pray do, — I won't, — you shant, — ye've done me over. — oh! if you are seen here what will be said? — don't now get a poor woman into trouble, the milking must be done, if it's not what shall I say?” and tug, tug, went both hands milking.