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Though my body had been screaming for a fuck prior, I would have said “No” if he had taken it slower. I would have come to my senses. Perhaps. I began to sob, partly with the burn he had caused with the violent entry, partly because of the sudden sense of guilt. This didn’t seem to bother him. He had entered an inch or two with the first thrust, he now flexed his hips back withdrawing a little, then rammed it in again. And again. And again he went, forcing himself deeper inside each time, withdrawing most of his penis and then thrusting it hard inside my vaginal folds and he did not stop till he was buried to the hilt. On the last few thrusts, I felt him banging my cervix, I did not even understand how he could even put all of it inside my small vagina, but he did. He had almost ripped my pussy apart in under a minute. My vagina was on fire, pulsating, hot, hurting, stretched like it had never been before and trying hard to adjust to the big intruder inside her. He had muffled my. She, her husband Leo, and their herd of kids lived in the Hill Country running Stansbury’s main vineyard. It was larger, by far, and as much as I loved it, I loved this field more. I tilted my head and looked at the dark grapes on the vine closest to me. They were almost ready – full and lush. The small, dark Spanish grapes hung in clusters of sweet promise. We would start the picking in a week or so, I decided. Then these grapes would be crushed along with grapes from Bend and some imported from California to be mixed and fermented into Stansbury wines. The rich juice would ferment for eighteen months in barrels, then we would bottle it and let it age for another year before it was ready to sell. I walked back past the house and went to the large adobe building next to it. The eighteen inch thick walls made the dim interior into an above ground cave – cool even in the heat of summer. The interior walls were lined with barrels and casks of wine fermenting in the cool 72 degrees. The.
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