Farm Dreams

You we're hiking in the Mountains of Montana unless you seek shelter at a Farm which is Run by a widowed milf and her hot daughter.

The storm rolled in fast—dark clouds swallowing the Montana peaks, wind whipping through the pines. You cursed, shivering in your soaked jacket, and spotted the farmhouse just as the first crack of thunder split the sky. The porch light flickered when you knocked. The door swung open, revealing a woman in her late forties—curves hugged by a flannel shirt, blonde hair piled messily on her head. Her gaze raked over you, lingering a beat too long. "Lost, sweetheart?" Before you could answer, a younger version of her appeared—early twenties, same full lips, same knowing smirk. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed under her ample chest. "Looks like we’ve got a stray, Mom." The older woman—Lena—stepped aside. "Get in before you freeze." The warmth hit you first, then the scent of vanilla and something muskier. The daughter—Jess—brushed past, her hip grazing yours. "You’re dripping everywhere," she murmured, fingers trailing down your arm. Lena tossed you a towel, her eyes dark. "Better get you out of those wet clothes." Jess bit her lip. "I’ll help."

They Help you to Change,give you Something to eat and Show you the guest bedroom where you stay the night

Lena leads you down the hallway, her hips swaying slightly as she gestures toward the guest room. “Bathroom’s just across the hall,” she says, her voice low. “Towels are in the cabinet.” Jess lingers behind you, her fingers plucking at the hem of your soaked shirt. “You’re gonna catch a chill if you stay in these,” she teases, tugging lightly. The fabric peels away from your skin with a damp whisper. Lena returns with a set of dry clothes—an old flannel and sweatpants that smell faintly of cedar. “These should fit,” she says, handing them over. Her fingers brush yours, lingering just a second too long. Jess leans in, her breath warm against your ear. “Need help changing?” Her hand slides down your back, playful but deliberate. Lena clears her throat, though her gaze doesn’t leave you. “Dinner’s in twenty. Don’t take too long.” The moment the door clicks shut, Jess’s smirk deepens. “Mom’s *such* a tease,” she murmurs, stepping closer. Her fingers trace the waistband of your pants. “But I’m not.” Downstairs, the clatter of dishes and Lena’s humming drift up—a promise of something simmering, in more ways than one.

The dinner is simple but hearty—homemade stew, crusty bread, and a bottle of red wine that Lena pours generously. The table is small, forcing knees to brush beneath it. Jess’s foot nudges yours, her toes tracing your calf lazily. “So,” Lena says, swirling her wine, “what brings you out this way?” Her gaze is sharp, but there’s amusement in it. You give some half-truth about being a traveler passing through, but Jess interrupts with a laugh. “Bullshit,” she says, tearing off a piece of bread. “No one *just* ends up here.” Lena shoots her a look, but there’s no real heat in it. “Jess.” “What? It’s true.” She leans forward, elbows on the table, cleavage pressing against the edge. “I think he got lost on purpose.” Lena’s lips quirk. “Maybe.” The conversation drifts—local gossip, the storm, the way the firelight flickers across their faces. Jess’s fingers keep finding excuses to touch—passing the salt, “accidental” brushes. Lena watches it all with a knowing smirk. Eventually, she stands, collecting plates. “Guest room’s ready,” she says. “Jess, leave our guest alone.” Jess pouts but follows her mother’s lead. Upstairs, the bed is firm, the sheets cool. The house settles into quiet—except for the faint creak of footsteps down the hall, slow and deliberate. Sleep comes, but not before you hear a door ease open.

You wake Up in the morning while Lena Brings you breakfast, your foot hangs Out of the bed and she discovers that you are extremely ticklish

Sunlight filters through the curtains as you stir awake, the scent of coffee and fresh bread drifting into the room. Lena stands in the doorway, balancing a tray with practiced ease. Her hips sway slightly as she steps inside, the hem of her robe brushing against her thighs. "Morning," she murmurs, setting the tray on the nightstand. "Hope you slept well." You stretch, your foot slipping out from under the sheets. Lena’s gaze drops—then her lips curl into a slow, dangerous smile. "Oh?" She kneels beside the bed, her fingers hovering just above your bare sole. "Didn’t take you for the ticklish type." Before you can react, her nails graze the arch of your foot. A jolt of laughter bursts from you as you jerk back, but Lena’s grip tightens around your ankle, holding you in place. "*Lena*—" you gasp, squirming as her touch dances higher, teasing the sensitive spot just below your toes. She chuckles, low and throaty. "Jess was right. You *are* fun." Her other hand joins in, skimming up your calf, making your muscles twitch. Down the hall, Jess’s voice calls out, "Mom? You up there?" Lena doesn’t stop. Her fingers dig in just enough to make you bite your lip, her eyes dark with amusement. "Better keep quiet," she murmurs. "Unless you *want* her to see you like this." The door creaks open wider.

Jess leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, her smirk widening as she takes in the scene. "Well, well," she purrs, stepping inside and shutting the door behind her with a soft click. "Looks like Mom found a new toy." Lena doesn’t let up, her fingers still tracing slow, torturous circles along your sole. "Come help," she says, her voice dripping with mischief. Jess kneels on the other side of the bed, her hands sliding under the sheets to find your other foot. The second her nails graze your skin, you jerk violently, a choked laugh escaping your throat. "Fuck—*both* of you—" you manage between gasps, twisting uselessly against their grip. Jess grins, digging her fingers into the sensitive spot just below your toes. "Oh, he’s *squirming*," she coos, glancing at Lena. "Think we can make him beg?" Lena hums, shifting her grip to pin your ankle harder against the mattress. "Let’s find out." Her free hand skates up your calf, nails dragging lightly—just enough to make your breath hitch. Jess leans in, her breath warm against your ear. "Say *please*," she whispers, before nipping your earlobe. Your hips buck involuntarily as laughter and heat twist together under their relentless touch. The sheets tangle around your legs, trapping you further. Lena’s thumb presses into the arch of your foot, her voice a low command. "Beg."

Lena sends Jess top get some chains from the Stall to tie you Up spread Eagle and Play some more with you

Lena’s grip tightens around your ankle as she glances at Jess. “Go grab the chains from the stall,” she orders, her voice husky with anticipation. “The thick ones—and the cuffs.” Jess’s eyes gleam as she rises, her fingers trailing one last teasing stroke along your calf before she saunters out. The door clicks shut behind her, leaving you alone with Lena’s relentless touch. “You’re *so* responsive,” Lena murmurs, her nails scraping lightly up your inner thigh, just shy of where you’re aching. “Imagine how much fun we’ll have once you’re properly restrained.” You bite back a groan as her fingers dance higher, skimming dangerously close before retreating—again and again, until your hips twitch helplessly. The door swings open, Jess returning with a set of gleaming metal cuffs and coiled chains. “Got the good stuff,” she announces, dropping them onto the bed with a heavy clink. Lena shifts, straddling your hips to pin you down as Jess fastens the cuffs around your wrists. The cold metal bites into your skin as she secures them to the bedposts, chains pulling taut. Jess moves to your ankles, spreading your legs wide with deliberate slowness before locking the cuffs in place. Lena leans down, her lips brushing your ear. “Now,” she whispers, “let’s see how long you last.” Jess’s fingers ghost up your ribs, tickling mercilessly as Lena’s mouth closes over your throat—sucking, biting, marking. You arch against the restraints, laughter and desperation mingling as their touches grow bolder, more deliberate. “Beg,” Lena repeats, her hand sliding between your thighs. “Or we’ll keep you like this all day.”

Jess grins, reaching into the drawer beside the bed and pulling out a long, sleek feather—black as midnight and soft as a whisper. She drags the tip lazily down your chest, watching your muscles twitch in response. Lena, meanwhile, selects a fine-bristled brush, the kind meant for delicate strokes. She trails it along the inside of your thigh, just light enough to make your breath catch. "You're *so* sensitive," Lena murmurs, circling the brush higher, teasing the crease where your leg meets your hip. "Every little touch drives you wild." Jess flicks the feather across your nipples, grinning when you jerk against the chains. "Oh, he likes that," she purrs, repeating the motion slower this time, letting the feather linger. Lena switches to the brush, dragging the bristles in slow, maddening circles up your stomach. The sensation is unbearable—not quite tickling, not quite stroking, just *there*, relentless and teasing. Jess leans in, her lips brushing your ear. "You gonna beg yet?" she whispers, dragging the feather down your ribs. You grit your teeth, hips arching involuntarily as Lena’s brush drifts lower, tracing the outline of your cock without touching it. "Not yet?" Lena muses, her voice dripping with amusement. She taps the brush lightly against the head, just once—enough to make you groan. Jess laughs, dragging the feather down your other side. "We’ve got all day." The dual sensations—soft, torturous strokes from both of them—leave you writhing, the chains clinking as you strain against them. Lena’s fingers curl around your cock, squeezing lightly. "Last chance," she murmurs. "Beg—or we keep playing." Jess’s feather traces your collarbone, her breath hot against your neck. "And trust me," she adds, "we *love* playing."

Jess’s feather glides down your ribs again, her fingers dancing along your sides in relentless, teasing strokes that make you squirm. Every gasp and twitch only fuels her smirk as she leans in closer, her breath hot against your ear. “Still holding out?” she taunts, dragging the feather lower, circling your navel. Lena doesn’t wait for an answer. She shifts her weight, straddling your hips with deliberate grace, her thighs framing yours as she reaches between her legs to guide your cock inside her. The first slow, slick slide draws a groan from you—her heat enveloping you inch by inch, her body taking you deep. She rolls her hips, grinding down in a slow, torturous rhythm, her nails digging into your chest as Jess continues her merciless tickling. The contrast is maddening—Lena’s tight, wet grip around your cock while Jess’s feather traces maddening patterns across your skin, her fingers skimming your ribs just enough to make you jerk. “Fuck—” you choke out, hips straining against the chains as Lena rides you harder, her pace deliberate, her eyes locked on yours. Jess laughs, dragging the feather down your throat. “Not so tough now, huh?” Lena leans forward, her hands braced on your chest, her movements growing sharper, more demanding. “You’re gonna come,” she murmurs, her voice thick with satisfaction. “And you’re *not* gonna last.” Jess’s fingers dance along your sides again, her touch feather-light and relentless. The combination—Lena’s tight heat, Jess’s teasing fingers—has you arching, your breath ragged, your control unraveling fast. Lena’s smirk deepens as she feels you tense beneath her. “That’s it,” she purrs. “Let go.”

Lena’s hips snap down hard just as your orgasm rips through you—her body milking every pulse as you spill into her with a ragged groan. But she doesn’t stop. Her pace slows, grinding deep, keeping you buried inside her as aftershocks wrack your body. Jess’s feather skims your oversensitive skin, tracing the hollow of your throat as you twitch beneath them. “Oh, *fuck*,” you gasp, shuddering as Lena clenches around you, drawing out the pleasure into something almost painful. “Told you,” Lena murmurs, rolling her hips in slow, deliberate circles. Her fingers dig into your chest, nails scraping lightly. “You’re *so* much more fun like this.” Jess drags the feather down your ribs again, her touch feather-light but electric now—every nerve alight, every stroke sending jolts through you. You jerk against the chains, oversensitive and writhing, but they don’t let up. “Still so *responsive*,” Jess purrs, flicking the feather over your nipple, watching you arch off the bed. “Think we can get you hard again before you catch your breath?” Lena leans down, her lips brushing your ear. “Bet we can.” She lifts herself just enough to let your cock slip free—dripping and spent—before her hand wraps around you, stroking slow and firm. You hiss, hips bucking, your body torn between pleasure and overstimulation. Jess laughs, her fingers dancing along your inner thigh. “Oh, he’s *definitely* not done yet.”

After you almost passing Out both Stop, giving you a Break but teasing you that the cowgirls in the Stall get some fun with you later, both leave and you fall asleep

Jess finally pulls the feather away, her fingers lingering just long enough to make you twitch one last time. Lena lifts herself off you with a slow, slick slide, leaving you gasping against the sheets. "Look at him," Jess murmurs, tracing a fingertip down your sweat-slicked chest. "Completely wrecked." Lena smirks, wiping her thighs with deliberate slowness before leaning down to whisper in your ear. "Rest up, cowboy. The stall girls have plans for you later." Her teeth graze your earlobe, sharp and promising. Jess tosses the feather onto the bedside table with a laugh. "Hope you’ve got stamina left." They leave you there, legs trembling, skin still buzzing from their touch. The door clicks shut behind them, and exhaustion drags you under before you can even think of protesting. The last thing you hear is Lena’s voice, faint through the haze—*"Wait till they get their hands on him."* Darkness swallows you whole.

The first thing you register is the rough scrape of straw against your bare back, the scent of hay and leather thick in the air. You blink against the dim light filtering through the barn’s high windows—golden, late afternoon. Then the giggling starts. "Look who’s finally awake," a voice drawls. A boot nudges your hip, playful but insistent. You turn your head to see two cowgirls leaning over the stall door—one with a coiled rope slung over her shoulder, the other idly spinning a crop between her fingers. The one with the crop grins, tapping it against her palm. "Lena said you’d be fun. Let’s see if she was right." Before you can gather your wits, the stall door swings open. Fingers curl around your ankle, dragging you toward them with rough, teasing tugs. The rope loops around your wrist before you can protest, pulling tight. "Hope you're not too sore," the other murmurs, straddling your hips with a slow, deliberate roll. Her calloused thumb swipes over your lower lip. "We’re just gettin’ started." The crop lands lightly on your thigh—*snap*—and you jerk against the rope with a hoarse groan. "*There* he is."

The rope tightens as they haul you up, your bare skin catching on the rough wood of the stall door before strong hands steady you. Laughing, the cowgirl with the crop loops her arm through yours, leading you—pulling you—toward the barracks, your legs still unsteady beneath you. Inside, lantern light flickers over a heavy wooden table, already cleared of everything but a few scattered tools—ropes, oil, a pair of cuffs. The one with the rope gives you a shove between your shoulder blades, pressing you face-down against the rough grain. "Hold still, now," she purrs, looping a fresh length around your wrists. The other drags her nails down your spine, making you arch before she presses a knee between your shoulder blades to keep you flat. The first knot cinches tight. The crop lands again, this time higher—*snap*—just under the curve of your ass. "Lena said you could take a lot," she muses, dragging the tip of the crop lower, teasing. "But let's see how much *we* can get outta you." The other leans down, her breath hot against your ear. "Bet you won't last ten minutes."