Reunion Sparks in the Barn

Wesley pulled his truck up the long gravel drive of the old family property just as the afternoon sun started slanting gold across the fields. Twenty-eight, still carrying the thick shoulders and heavy thighs from his high-school football days, he hadn’t been back in three years. The reunion barbecue was already humming near the house—laughter, the smell of charcoal—but he headed straight for the weathered barn out back, where his stepmother had texted that someone needed help moving the last of the hay.

He pushed the big door open and stopped dead.

Colette was bent over a stack of bales in tiny denim shorts that had ridden high between the full cheeks of her ass, the fabric stretched tight over curves that hadn’t been there when she was a skinny eighteen-year-old. Now twenty-six, she was all soft hips, heavy tits straining a thin white tank top, dark hair piled messily on her head. Sweat glistened on the small of her back. She straightened, saw him, and her mouth curved slow and knowing.

“Well shit. Look what the reunion dragged in.”

“Colette.” His voice came out rougher than he meant. “Mom said you needed a hand.”

“I do.” She wiped her palms on her shorts, eyes dragging openly down his chest, the way his faded jeans clung to his cock even soft. “You’ve gotten bigger. Everywhere.”

They worked side by side, hauling bales. Every time she passed him she brushed close—tits grazing his arm, the plump swell of her ass bumping his thigh “by accident.” The barn smelled like dust and sweet hay and her warm skin. Banter turned sharp and loaded.