Country Girl's Creamy Secret

The first time I saw Malik, he was standing in the feed-store parking lot with a cardboard box of tomatoes balanced on one hip and a city look on his face that said he had no idea what to do with either. Dust was already settling into the creases of his nice pants. I was twenty-eight and had lived in that quiet rural town my whole life, so I knew a newcomer when I saw one. He was thirty-eight, he told me later, and he had never been with anybody. Not once. Straight as a fence post, virgin as a morning pasture, and somehow that made my stomach flip harder than any boy who had ever tried to sweet-talk me at the diner.

I walked over in my soft cotton dress and my old boots and offered to help him load the box. When our hands touched on the cardboard, something hot jumped between us so fast I nearly dropped the tomatoes. His eyes went wide. Mine did too. We stood there in the sun like two fools who had just recognized each other from a dream.

“I’m Yvonne,” I said, and my voice came out low and sweet the way it does when I want something.

“Malik,” he said. His mouth looked soft. I wanted it on me already.

He had just moved into the little rental past the creek, running from whatever noise the city had been. Everybody in town took one look at us that week and decided we were a normal straight couple the second we started sitting together on my porch. They saw a country girl in a sundress and a handsome man from away, and they smiled like it was the most ordinary thing in the world. Nobody asked what I kept tucked inside my soft panties. Nobody ever had. Only he was going to know, and even then I made him wait until the wanting got so thick I could taste it.

We started meeting after chores. I would find him on the dirt road with his sleeves rolled, and we would walk until the trees hid us. The lust hit so fast it scared me a little, in the good way. I wanted his hands under my dress. He wanted to put his mouth on my neck and stay there. We did not say the dirty parts out loud at first. We just looked. His eyes kept dropping to the gentle shape in the front of my panties when the breeze pushed my dress against me, and I let him look, because I already trusted the way he breathed when he did.

One evening in the barn, with the horses fed and the light going gold through the slats, he kissed me. It was clumsy and hungry and perfect. His hands stayed on my waist like he was afraid I would vanish. I pressed closer and felt him hard against my belly through his pants, and a little sound escaped me that was not ladylike at all.

“I’ve never—” he started.

“I know,” I whispered against his mouth. “I want to be the one. I want all of you. Every day if you’ll let me.”

He nodded like he was drowning and I was air. We kissed until my lips were swollen and his cock was straining so bad I could see the wet spot on his pants. I did not let him touch under my dress yet. I wanted him crazy for it. I wanted us both walking around town smiling like sweethearts while our bodies screamed for creampies we had not even given each other yet.

The whispers started the next afternoon, out behind the hay bales where nobody could hear.

“I think about it all the time,” he said, voice rough. “Filling you. You filling me. Hot. Every single day.”

I laughed soft and country and slid my fingers along his belt. “Creamy loads, sugar. I crave yours so bad I can’t sleep. And I got something creamy of my own I been saving for a man who can keep a secret and still look at me like I’m his girl.”

His eyes went dark with want. “I can. I will. I don’t care what anybody else thinks we are.”

“Good,” I said. “Because what I want with you ain’t just pretty kisses. I want your hot piss in me. I want mine in you. Enemas, Malik. Deep and warm and filthy, and then I want us breeding each other until we can’t walk straight. You still with me?”

He swallowed. His hand shook when he took mine. “Yes. God, yes. I’ve never done any of it, but I want it with you. Only you.”

That was all the permission either of us needed.

The sweltering afternoon came three days later. My little farmhouse was empty, windows open, cicadas screaming outside. We had been stealing kisses in the barn all morning until I couldn’t stand the ache anymore. I pulled him inside, locked the door, and stood in the kitchen with my dress damp against my back.

“Touch me,” I said. “Under. I need you to know.”

His hand slid slow up my thigh, respectful even while he was shaking. I guided his wrist higher, under the hem, into the soft cotton of my panties. He found me there—thick, hard, creamy at the tip already, heavy in his palm. His breath caught. He didn’t pull away. He wrapped his fingers around my girl-cock and stroked once, gentle, like he was learning a prayer.

“Oh,” he said. “Yvonne. You’re—you’re perfect.”

Heat flooded my face and my cock at the same time. “Nobody knows but you. Everybody out there thinks I’m just your sweet country girlfriend. I want it that way. But in here I want you to feel all of me. I want to give you everything, and I want you to give it back. Including the piss. Especially the piss.”

He nodded, forehead against mine, still holding me through the panties like he never wanted to let go. “I want your creampie in me. I want mine in you. I want to fill your belly with hot piss and feel you do the same to me. I’ve been hard thinking about it since you said it. I’m a virgin and I’m not scared. I’m starving.”

I kissed him deep, tasting sweat and want. “Then get undressed, city boy. Kitchen table. We’re done waiting.”

We stripped in the sticky heat. His body was lean and unused, cock standing up flushed and pretty, already leaking. Mine curved thick and shiny at the head, the way it gets when I’m this worked up. I bent over the old wooden table, cheek on my arms, ass lifted, panties kicked aside on the floor. The wood was warm. My hole clenched with how badly I needed him.

“Fill me,” I told him. “Piss enema. Deep as you can. I want my belly round with you.”

He stepped close, one hand spreading me, the other guiding his cock to my tight rim. He had to push a little. I breathed out and opened for him, and he slid in with a groan that sounded like relief and worship mixed. Once he was seated, he held still, trembling.

“I can feel you,” he whispered. “So hot inside.”

“Now let go,” I said. “Give me all that hot piss. I want it.”

He did. The first rush was startling and perfect—steaming, steady, flooding my ass in a thick warm stream that didn’t stop. I moaned into my arms as my belly started to swell. He pissed and pissed, virgin bladder full from the sweet tea I’d poured him, and every pulse of it made me clench around his cock and drip my own cream onto the floorboards. My stomach grew heavy and round. The pressure was filthy and tender at once. When he finally finished, he stayed buried, hands stroking my sides.

“You’re so full,” he said, awed. “I can see it.”

“Hold me like that a second,” I panted. “Then I’m doing you.”

We moved careful. I kept as much of his hot piss inside as I could, clenching, while I turned him and bent him over the same table. His ass was untouched, tight, shaking. I spat into my palm, slicked my thick cock, and pressed the creamy head to his hole.

“You want my piss enema?” I asked, voice gone honey-rough.

“Yes. Please. Fill me up, Yvonne. I need it.”

I pushed in slow. He was so tight I saw stars. He bore down the way I told him, and inch by inch my girl-cock sank into that virgin heat until my hips met his ass. Then I let my bladder go. My piss was hot and endless, steaming into him in long forceful jets. He cried out, not in pain, in shock and pleasure, fingers scrabbling on the wood as his belly filled under my hands. I pissed until I was empty and he was sloshing, stuffed, whimpering my name. The kitchen smelled like sex and warm salt and summer.

“Good boy,” I murmured, kissing his shoulder. “Now I’m gonna ride that pretty virgin cock and take your first creampie while I’m still full of you.”

I eased out, careful, and turned him onto his back on the table, legs up. His cock was angry-red and dripping. I climbed on, cowgirl, my piss-swollen belly brushing his, and sank down onto him in one slow slide. He filled my piss-wet hole perfectly. I rode him hard, tits bouncing, thick cock slapping my own stomach, the enema shifting inside me with every grind. He grabbed my hips and thrust up like a man who had waited thirty-eight years for exactly this.

“Gonna come,” he gasped. “Yvonne—my first—inside you—”

“Do it. Cream me. I crave it every day. Give me that hot load.”

He broke with a shout, pumping his first creampie deep into my tight hole, pulse after pulse, so much I felt it mixing with the piss already flooding me. I clenched and milked him until he was shaking and spent, eyes wet, smiling like he’d found home.

I didn’t let him cool off. I slid off, turned him onto his stomach, and pushed my thick girl-cock back into his piss-slick ass. He was loose and wet and greedy now. I fucked him deep, the table creaking, my heavy balls drawing up.

“Need to breed you,” I moaned. “Need my creamy load in this ass every single day. You feel how bad I need it?”

“Yes—please—creampie me—I need yours too—”

I slammed in and came, thick and hot and endless, flooding his piss-filled hole with my heavy creamy load until it squelched out around my cock and ran down his balls. We stayed locked together, moaning how much we needed each other’s hot creampies, how we were going to do this every day, how nobody outside would ever guess what the sweet country couple was doing behind the farmhouse door.

Later, in the shower, we did it one more time, slow and loving. I held the detachable head aside and pissed a warm stream into his open ass while he knelt and held himself open for me, kissing my thigh. Then he stood, turned me, and gave me a gentle piss enema of his own, cock nudged just inside, hot fluid flowing while we kissed deep under the spray, tongues lazy, hands soft. The water rinsed the mess. The want didn’t rinse at all.

We dried off, dressed like nothing had happened, and went out to the porch swing as the light went purple. I curled against his side in my soft dress, panties snug over my spent cock, his arm around my shoulders. From the road we looked wholesome. A country girl and her man, swinging slow, fireflies starting up.

He kissed my hair. “Tomorrow,” he whispered. “After the feed run. I already want another creampie. And I want to fill you again until you can’t hide how round you are under that dress.”

I smiled against his neck, already scheming the hayloft, the spare blanket, the way I’d bend him over the saddle rack and take my time pissing into him before I bred him twice. “Tomorrow,” I said. “And the day after. We’re never gonna get enough.”