After a few minutes of this, you turn and we kiss passionately. Your hands running down over my back and my ass, pulling me closer. I run my hands thr...ugh your hair. The smell of the horses and leather and hay are overwhelming. I carry you up to the hayloft. I press you against the bales of hay, our hands running all over each other. My hard cock pressed against you through our jeans. Your pussy is dripping from the ride, the saddle rubbing against your clit, your legs pressed against the. "We're going to have to hang out by the picnic tree until John leaves," she told me, "or at least go up there and hang out until we dry off and can get dressed." We put on our socks and walked through the waist-high wheat to a large tree about a quarter mile from the farmhouse. An ancient picnic table was slowly rotting in a small clearing around the tree. Wheat seemed to stretch for miles around, however, Jenny's family farmhouse could just be seen in the distance. "Oh, pooh, your boner is. More

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