YOU are a seasoned farmhand on a large farm that sells Holstaur milk, Weresheep wool and Honeybee honey. The farm owner profits greatly from this and pays you well for your time. Many seasons you’ve worked fields and busted your back upon this farm, and every year a specific Holstaur grows more fond you. She was a beauty of a Holstaur. The prize girl of the farm’s population.
One night, after a hard day at the farm. You were sitting in your home, you had just eaten and were all showered up, ready to settle down for the night. While you sat in the main room of your home, the candle burning on the coffee table painting the room in a dim glow, there was a knock on the door. Opening the door, there was the Holstaur who is sweet on you. She asks you if she could come in.
Terry's thoughts skyrocket at the very presence of Micheline at his step door. Ever since his arrival as a hand on the field, he's been watching her amidst the wind of the seasons. Not the scorching heat of summer, nor the cold grasp of winter could hope to claim dominion on her beauty. Her pink air, spots, eyes...lips.
The only thing that was as marvelous as her appearance, was her inner beauty. A lover of small things, and an amateur at sculpting, her heart is as big as her buxom chest, able to draw anyone and everyone into hours of dialogue from what would be the smallest of things. There was this time where her and the boss, Matthew, had spoken the afternoon away about miniature sculpture solely based on the significance of their colors, depicted by the artisan's choice.
And there she was, resplendent as ever, sheltered amidst Terry's door frame...holding a cauldron of what smells like stew. His thoughts had taken a life of their own, locking his nerves in place under the inability to fathom any answer for her very presence. Was it a mistake? Surely it was, why would she be here, of all place?
Her voice rings once more, directly bypassing his passivity "Could I come in? I'd really love the company"
His head shakes under the reverberation of her tone, setting him in control once more, only because he didn't have the gift of passivity to lure her elsewhere. It had to be an error of household, she was looking for someone else. Like Mason, perhaps. Another deserving of admiration, somewhat as the mirror to Micheline. Why not go back then? It's barely dark under a clear sky. No rain would come to impede on her way.
Regardless, Terry gives in, half of him in jubilee at her footsteps ringing through the fold of his domain. Her feet carry her to the kitchen where darkness reigns...until a light switch is flipped, burning it away. She sets her cauldron on the table before brushing off sweat from her brow "Feels good to have the hands unburdened".
Terry watches her with incredulously as she seamlessly translates herself to the cupboard of his kitchen, to pull out two folded plates as well as a ladle from another. Everything lays on the table, with her now turned to Terry, the latter still pondering.
Her eyes wince slightly "Ohh, sorry about that, Terry. I thought I'd come by with a homemade brew of my own to share. Like I said I would".
"Huh?" His head spins in confusion, prompting him to take a hand to it "When did you say something like that? I don't recall--
"Of course not!~ A wink comes to his side as the ladle carefully spins in the cauldron "You went up and wandered off before my voice could reach you".
"It was the wind, it was windy this day".
"I don't recall, otherwise my hair would be flying in my face" Her eyes are turned to her stew, though her body language speaks no riddle, all attuned to Terry's contribution in a conversation he seeks to divert.
"Well, I had something to do on that day, I couldn't exactly idle by".
"Really? I thought it was dinner time. We were all eating at that time, even you, squatted away behind a tree. I thought I'd use the company of a man free in thought".
"Hun...well, the boss called me for something..." Terry looks down to his hands, twirling them in defect, well sensing Micheline's unconvinced stare wholly hidden under her gentle expression. No hint of a loss for her patience is depicted.
"Terry, we both know Matthew went on home to get dinner with his Theressa. He's been doing that for 2 years straight. Hell or high water, he's getting that honeycomb sandwich".
"It's fine if you didn't hear me..." Micheline cups his hands in her own, presenting him to a duo of plates filled to the brim with meat, vegetable, soup and cups of grape juice "The important is for me to get that company I've been wanting for a while".
"Isn't Mason usually unoccupied at this time?" Terry makes an effort to speak, feeling the cusp of her fingers surrounding him. Why was she here is she was longing for another? Why not at Mason's? The buzz at the farm always had predicted the two's eventual entwine.
"Indeed he is. However, I thought to catch up with the last conversation we had. Something about miniature statues?"
"Hum..." Terry never spoke of his hobby to anyone, let alone her. From a block of wood to a tiny statue of fantasy characters in armor or signs, he often spent time either after work or during the weekend to craft these and paint them, only now experimenting with other material such as rock and metal.
"Ohh, right, we did not speak of it. Well, perhaps would it be a good time for us to speak of them over a plate? I've always was interested the time you went to carry one around".
"Hum...sure?" Terry cautiously gets himself to face one of the steaming plates of stew. His left flank is...flanked by Micheline's presence putting a little space between them. Her smile makes his heart meltdown...or that may be the first spoon full of stew, which considering the latter implications of it, would make sense.
They spend about an hour eating and talking. Well, he was eating and talking. Micheline had a share before walking here, a test to assure herself of the quality. Her plate remained empty despite having pulled it out, to begin with. The conversation often blocks out, under Terry's reservations turned to the state of night. Every ten minutes, he'd pull the brakes to ask her whether she wanted an escort back home. Every time, she'd deny it, seeking to hear more.
Eventually, having had his fill, Terry would then toll away with the dishes, at the night had reached its apex midnight. The heat in his cheeks remains minutes after having eaten, refusing to let up, no matter the gallons of water he drank.
"Did I put up too much spice? Very sorry, Terry. Perhaps would you seek a glass of milk?" Micheline stays sitting, her entire body turned to the man struggling in a simple case of dishwashing, her hands clasped downward to her waist. Her tail sways innocently as it would at the apex of day.
"It's fine, I have some at the fridge--actually, nevermind, it's not as persistent, now" He jests, the rush of warmth receded. Unfortunately, it was not lulled, merely 'receded', seemingly in travel across his body "I...I didn't take you for a spice lover, to be honest. That is some serious stuff you've doused your stew with".
"You didn't know? Hmm, I guess I forgot to bring you something once in a while, though you never are the easiest to find". Her voice lowers at the last words, almost trying to say something. The message, whichever it may be, completely passes over Terry's head, all embroiled with the traveling rush.
And then, it stops. It stops in the heart of his desire, one building up for the summit of those two years. It builds up in heat, the heat drawing in the flow of his lifeforce to condense in a particular place. The gradual, yet sudden initiation of this process had Terry by surprise, almost dropping the plate he has on his hand.
A wholly different stroke of heat rushes to his cheeks, the buildup restraining his movement. Unmistakable to his body, he projects his voice "Well, that was fun and all. But, I think we both need a night's sleep. How about I escort you back?"
"Really? Can't we spend the night in each other's company? It would be lovely" She rises off her chair, hands still joined at the middle. Her expression is one of plead, a visage scarcely worn.
"You wouldn't want to be here at the moment. Perhaps another night? A weekend?"
"Really, I don't mind spending the night here. Why so dismissive? I there something wrong?"
"Well..." The more they idle by, the more this heat manifests in Terry. Forcing his eyes to stray at her luscious pink lips, moist and sweet. his eyes wince, his mind spurning thoughts of kisses and devouring her mouth.
Sweat pours down his forehead as they now carry themselves to her buxom chest. Plump and filled with whole feminity, his mind tethered with thoughts of fondling them in a dozen different ways. His fingers grind against each other, already tasting the touch in a make-belief.
And then...her hindquarters. Micheline had entered in a skirt and blouse, a decent set to boot. Alas, Terry's increasingly hungry eyes only see an easily removable cover for her womanhood. His thoughts, almost entirely dominated by the process of thoroughly ravishing her unclaimed feminity, prompt him to hurriedly give in to her demand "Fine, fine! I have a spare bed for you to use for the night being".
Hearing this makes her ear rise in continuous joy "Excellent! Worry not, I shall be---
"Yes, yes! Excuse me, I need to use my bathroom. Good talk and have a good night! Bye!" Terry hurries away from Micheline's curious sight and rushes to the toilet. The door locks, leaving him alone in his space. In here, his thoughts barely recede in the corner of his mind. Only enough for him to realize his pants are bulging unnaturally. He dares a sight under, welcomed to a massive 'stand for attention', from his member "Huh?! Where did this come from?! It can't be Micheline! Every time we've met and this never happened! It is because she's alone with me?! I mean, she's beautiful and serene, her touch is soft and all...her lips are so moist...begging for a ki--"
He stops midway his sentence, seeing how flustered it makes him "No, no, no! I mean, she's beautiful to look at but, I couldn't just...no! Not like this! I mean, alone and so vulnerable, presenting herself so willingly--Argh! No! Why am I thinking like this?!"
His mind, amidst its delirium, remembers the gallons of water drank, a possible solace from whatever afflicts him "Yes! Yes, yes, yes! I drank a lot! It's probably just that! I needed the toilet! He turns to the toilet bowl, seeking to relieve himself, a process taking minutes.
Of course, his thoughts remain obsessed with Micheline. And they were gaining momentum. His solution? Straight to bed. He runs the steps, hoping to sleep it away.
What awaits him begs to differ...
Micheline stood by the edge of the bed, ever open for...anything. Her pose is devoid of any resistant features. She was waiting...
"Micheline?! This isn't the room I spoke of!" Terry's cheeks burn with a furious crimson, almost seeping pants from him. His reservations begin to falter before him.
"Really? I thought this would be the right one. I mean, this your room, is it not?~ Micheline further closes the gap between her arms, putting an emphasis on her chest. Her voice is pitched, accentuated with small pants of her own and a pair of matching cheeks to his.
"Yes--I mean no! This is my room! There is another for you to--" His words become blurry to her ears as she stands up, slowly walking to him. Each step brings her to a barrage of unintelligible words all the way to his front. Still, she carries herself in a state of 'readiness'.
An act he notices "Micheline? What are you--
~Please be gentle~ she utters in a voice of submission, head lowered.
"What?" His body knew of the implication, his conscience did not.
~Please. Be gentle with me. I'm still...~ Her hands hover to her womanhood, hidden by two layers of underwear and skirt, head rising to meet his eyes. They glimmer in a layer of anticipation laced with a slight apprehension of the unknown. A woman being guided amidst a garden of thorns, to be led to the heart of it all, given to trust the hand that leads her. In this case, Terry's unmoving hand.
"Wait! You're not--!! But, why are you telling me this?! Where are you going--
~Even under their effect, you still resist...I'm ready...~ She closes her eyes, her lips part in uncertainty, entirely unmoving.
"Mushrooms?! What mushrooms?! What is this--" A surge of heat rushes throughout his body, his movement becoming his...and alien to him. In a spur, Terry laps his hands around the holstaur's waist to drag her close, somewhere between force and gentle touch.
He forces his lips on her, awoken to a new sensation. A mix of soft and plump, taste almost beyond his current capacity to comprehend. A taste that makes him...hungry. His hands lower to her hindquarters, softly squeezing vigorously. The kiss breaks as Micheline can't help but moan in a cow's tone, her arms now coiled around Terry's neck.
He couldn't speak, given entirely to his desire. A desire shared by many among the farmers. One bottling up to two years. One that, according to her words, she had open.
Her pants only serve to further fan this flame of hunger in his 'quarters'. He couldn't bear to wait, though, a splinter of second sees him regain clarity, eyes turned to the door of the room. This second, laced in the knowledge that staying in her presence any longer would see him commit to utterly ravishing her, with no certain promise of gentleness.
~I understand, my sweet.~ Her voice calls out to him, followed with a set of fingers cupping his chin to re-direct his stare back to her ~I understand your reservation. Please, ravish me, ravage me to your heart's content~
The last strain of control he has over whatever she had evidently doused him in slips. Slips as he pushes her to his bed on her back. She does not resist, her stare filled with pure anticipation, watching one of his hands go for her blouse, picking apart the buttons. Her generous portion finishes the rest, exposed in the air to fill his eyes.
His other hand, to her skirt, which he laps on her waist. No rush or sudden act, he does so, to which he then buries a finger in her lingerie. One of the strings, he pulls, dragging her underwear across her legs, to expose her womanhood. The area around it is damp.
Her body now at the whims of the ambient temperature, Terry turns his attention to his pants. Pants which's belt he unfastens. His member, suffocated, pushes the top of it away, leading to the pants to drag down his knees. He pulls down his own underwear, truly pulling his 'piece' out.
Micheline watches the thing twitch as Terry approaches her hips, his hands planted on them. Her eyelids lower barely, her voice unapologetically anticipating ~Ohh, I think I've put a bit too much in the stew. I don't know whether it'll fit...~
Their privates are but centimeters away, moving no more by Terry's admission, admiring the woman's body he is to make his. An unfathomed dream as he recalls, long thought to be unreachable for him.
It serves to drive him forward, one of his hand taking hold of his twitching member, guiding it to her closed 'entrance', quivering and trembling. Her last words ~Your dessert...bon appetit~
Inch by inch, Terry forces his bloated member deep inside Micheline, attaining a scream out of her as it burrows in. His hands return to fiercely clamp on her hips, her legs now slumbered over his.
Her pants powers through the loss of her virginity, now given to a building pleasure as he thrusts repeatably. Terry himself gasp, unable to believe the scene before him. HIs hands-on Micheline's hips. The visage of encroaching pleasure adorning her, mouth relentlessly open in pants and gasp, screaming in joy in every push of his hips.
Her hands lay back on each side of her body, given to her ravishing. Such a moment mounts and ramps up, as evident by her cheeks burning brighter at every second.
Of course, such a moment in Terry's eyes becomes too much, as it is for any man coupled with a monster. His 'pole' twitches strongly inside, a sign of his resistance withering. Feeling it, He stops, colliding their hips together, driven by an instinct to explode as deeply inside as he can. The thrusts continue, moving her hips as well.
Micheline feels all of it, her hands taking hold of the sheets behind her, bracing for his inevitable release. Her inexperienced body did not brace enough, her scream climbing a few pitches as her ravisher's twitching tool violently gushes his seed inside. It flows with great pressure among her inner walls, causing her to gush out in an unbarred screech.
Every thrust sees his 'pole' pour his white stuff in her 'confines', her body utterly focused on feeling his male substance filling her stomach, clustered with nerves. The tide continues, as the bloated nature of his hunger refuses to end, spurning again, and again, all lulling down according to her lowering shouts, replaced with a stringent pant as his hardened part loses steam, cased in its churn.
Terry's breathing comes primarily from his nose, the climax, in more ways than one, bucking his muscles in positions he hadn't known about. His eyes meet Micheline's, the latter forgoing the initial pain his 'insertion' had caused, filled with love no word could describe. Moreover, her eyes depict yearning behind those pink pearls.
Her head turns sideways, having caught her breath. She coos as her fingers plant on his hands, an unsubtle manner of leading him on. Hands that keep hold of her waist ~You can have seconds...if you wish~
The initial madness passes through him, allowing a more cognitive response from the man. Even someone as evasive as Terry can see she wanted more. To communicate the love they did minutes ago in a way without words. And her words, deeply knowledgable of his desire barely scratched at the surface, for he now steers the reigns, and had no way of wasting such an opportunity.
He presses his hips against hers, causing a small whimper to seep out of her lips, and his produce to overflow out of her womanhood. One of his hands moves to one of hers, taken into one another. His face is displaced between desire and genuine emotion, a marriage of both laced in his voice "I'll have seconds...and thirds...and much more".
~To your heart's content~ she whispers, feeling his hips and therefore, member regain steam. He would ravish her. He would ravish her again. And again.
And again... --- "And again?!" A voice drops and bounces through a small room. Across the desk, a metallic sigil depicting a name: Matthew.
Terry stands on the precipice of the door, or at least, by its side, his hands continuously lifted in submission. The swear falling off his head is one of receding trembling "I didn't think it'd be like that! I tried suggesting to escort her out, but-but she didn't and--and, I felt weird and--
"You're telling me that, you, one of my most reliable men on the field..." Matthew, glancing at Terry behind rectangle frames, steps off his chair, slow to walk in circles "...after receiving another fellow in your domain, after she fed you and held your company, you simply went and 'claimed' her with absolutely no reason?! All night?! Without any consent?! Is that what you're telling me right now?! Because that's what I'm hearing!"
"Well, yes...but--" A hand rises in his direction, eyes glaring away from Terry, scolding in anger. This stare, mellowed out, turns to Micheline, quietly sitting by her own side.
"My dear, I know this must be a bit...difficult for you. Alas, I need to get your side of this incident. Please, would you recall the event transpired up to this week?"
She perks up, easily moving off her chair to clop all the way to a terrified, but resigned Terry. Her arms coil around him, spurning more dread from the man, only to soon contest these fears "Simple enough! I finally got my very own gentleman".
"Yep! Though seeing him struggle for a while left me to ponder whether I had inputted enough raging mushrooms. Turns out I've had put a bit much...~
"Raging what?!" Terry's voice rises to the roof, to an unashamed holstaur and an unsurprised manager.
"That much, huh? I knew you were a spice amateur, but, having skipped out the weekend without notice, I can see why". Matthew's humor makes a heel-turn, quickly enough to let the smell of falsehood linger amidst them.
"Raging what? Mushrooms?" Terry still utters confusion as his boss casually paddles toward him, hands falling on his shoulders.
"Thank you, Micheline. You may join the rest. I just need a word with one of my men".
"Of course!" Her jubilee enamors her sense of self in a much brighter light than usual, causing her to skip her way out the door, only to spend a few seconds waving back toward her lover with earnest eyes behind a closing door.
"I'm sorry boss, I didn't know--
"Come now, Terry. You didn't really believe I was angry, right? Relax" Matthew chuckles a bit while guiding the bewildered handyman to a chair, himself going back to his own seat "I know your disposition. You wouldn't harm a fly even if it stung you".
"Really? Then what was--
"I just wanted to goad you a bit, come now. Though I think I overdid it. My apologies. Don't you worry about a single thing. Your new lover already spoke of ways to...get intimate with you".
"Wha--when did that--
"About a week or two ago. You're not exactly the easiest guy to pin down, you know. I've heard about all of your hundred and one excuses as to avoid her. Almost like the plague really. Why though? She's a very sweet lady, as you've undoubtedly experienced during this weekend...in close proximity if I am to judge her demeanor".
Terry looks to his hands, and then a nearby reflection of himself at the hanging mirror present at his left "I'm not exactly an Adonis around here. I'd rather not nag the others with my 'features'." Terry wasn't exactly a standard of human beauty, according to his own words. Be it by his slightly larger upper teeth at the middle, his longer-than-usual nose or unremarkable eyes, to him, it was more than enough to largely avoid the majority of the other workers, to the point of becoming a candidate for the yearly champion in hide-and-seek.
"Well now, it's no wonder she went for the tiny spice rack" Matthew speaks those words with an unimpressed expression directed at Terry, who was still fixing the mirror, prompting him to turn incredulously at his superior "It seems just about everyone could see how enamored she was becoming with you. Between the rarest of small talks among the two of you when you hadn't immediately fled the place and the hobby you seem to be fond of, it was pretty obvious that her eyes sparkled at every second. Even the boys out there could see it. But it sounds like you've gone to place a blindfold out of that weird sense of self-depreciation".
"Really? I didn't see it".
"Exactly my point, my good man. Two years, Terry. Two years of that mouse and cat you went to play. I'm surprised nobody went to spill the beans, though I suppose they hoped you'd see past that self-inflicted set of standards you went to put her sight in a potential mate. And, well, that didn't work. I think that love nest you two went to craft in the course of the weekend had you learn a thing or two about your tender half, did it not?"
Terry's mind sparks "Her timidity? I mean, despite the common knowledge of their kind, she wasn't the most leading in our closeness".
"Quite. She's a timid flower. Well, was...still. You confessed abut of confusion about the spiciness of her cooking. It's a tiny mushroom famous for that concentrated kick. One that has a few side effects. The first one wouldn't really change a thing, considering Micheline is already reluctant in taking the lead".
"Ohh? Ohh...I guess that is why I couldn't think straight. Why I...even went she was still...I didn't relent".
"Nothing to guilt yourself over, my good man. If she didn't want it, chances are there wouldn't be as many as she said. In fact, this is exactly what she wanted. You make off with that lack of confidence in yourself and basically lead the dance, so to speak".
Terry's epiphany comes in a calm lull "Ohh...wow, I...see. Really didn't think she was that into me. Well, it became evident during and after our connection, as if she had divulged everything through her body. It was so pure, even among our...vigor. I think I made a good call to get one of these, then..."
His hand pulls out a mini black box, one unmistakable in human traditions. Who one might appreciate a span of time passing through the would-be spouses before a fierce declaration, monsters view things a tad differently. For them, in but the span of one night of passion, they could communicate years of bottled-up feelings toward their counterpart, an experience that Terry truly felt as if years of knowledge shared from the two had passed. It was enough for him.
And apparently, his boss as well, a smile of approval following a nod "Goodman, that is a few steps ahead you've maneuvered. It'll be agreeable to no longer being the only married man in this farm..."
He moves up his seat, walking around his desk to meet Terry once more, a much more formal clasp of his shoulders "I know you'll make her the happiest that she can be. Don't forget that, alright?"
Terry smiles, making little of his mundane feature as he flips the box to his side, watching the pink pearl glimmer within "Of course..."
Behind the door, she remained. Her hands joined in febrility, her eavesdropping mounting an overwhelming joy in every inch of her body, demonstrated by a singular tear of anticipation. He wouldn't even have the time to make the demand...