My Rural Neighbor, Becky (Part #2)

In Part #2 of this story, youthful Becky moves into Bradford's summer house in Kentucky where plenty of sex becomes a frequent part of their daily routine!

Introduction

This is the second part of a story set in 1905. Here is a brief recap of the first episode:

A successful, 37-year-old, California-based writer named Bradford James inherits a house in rural Kentucky from a distant relative he never knew. He intends to sell the house, but changes his mind when he sees its potential as a place of solitude where he can write without being disturbed. Three days after moving in for the summer, he is visited by a poor girl of indeterminate age named Becky Sayer. She lives on the nearest farm half a mile away. She is looking for a job, so she asks Bradford if she could cook, clean or do anything else for him. Bradford hires Becky basically out of pity to be his cook, cleaner and companion for $50 per month. Becky tells Bradford about the poverty on her farm which softens him even more. Modern technology is unknown to Becky who has to be shown how to turn the house’s faucets and electric lights on and off. She has never seen a bathtub before. Bradford offers her a chance to use it. Becky agrees—but suggests that she and Bradford bathe together! Having come from a family where she has a father and three older brothers who wash their bodies as a group, Becky’s suggestion is not intended to be sexual. Nevertheless, Bradford accepts the offer and uses the opportunity to have a carnal encounter with the very naïve Becky. She enjoys her first real bath very much—and everything that came with it. The first story ends with the two of them heading to Bradford’s bed for more sexual fun.

Bradford is the narrator again for the second story.

Part One

After enjoying a very substantial and well-cooked meal that my new cook, housekeeper and bedmate made for me, we did go to my bedroom. Becky was immediately impressed by the size of the bed I had there.

“That must be four times as big as the old bed I have at home!” she declared. “You must have oodles of room for a good night’s sleep, Bradford.”

“As I told you earlier, Becky, you have the choice of going home each night and returning here in the morning, or you can stay overnight anytime you wish and use the spare room. It has a bed not quite as big as this one. I’ll offer a third option, too: You can share my bed with me anytime you like."

“Bradford, do you mean we’d sleep together all night after we do fucking?” Becky asked me excitedly. “I think I’d really like that! The idea of cuddling with you every night until I fall asleep gives me a warm feeling all over.”

I gently laughed at Becky’s enthusiasm. “Yes, cuddling is wonderful fun, Becky, but I think fucking is better. I want to give you another load of cum.” Bradford pointed at his crotch and added, “Becky, I’m getting hard down there just thinking about it.” Becky grinned. She didn’t quite understand sex yet, but she knew I had given her a compliment—and on some level I believe she knew she was wholly responsible for my solid erection.

Becky and I both undressed quickly. To me, Becky almost looked like a different female than the one I had screwed in the bathtub a few hours earlier. She had cleaned herself up considerably with the earlier bath. Becky was now a well-scrubbed girl from her shiny hair to the tips of her sexy little toes, and it was paying off in the looks department. Becky was seemingly getting more attractive to me—and desirable—by the hour. After a few minutes of kisses that I applied liberally to every inch of Becky’s body (both front and back), I focused my attention on her small breasts. They were delightful things, with their areolas pointing slightly sideward. “These tits are just begging to be sucked!” I told Becky in a lustful voice. I was true to my word. I enjoyed myself thoroughly with my mouth and tongue.

After six or seven minutes elapsed, Becky broke the silence by saying, “I’m glad you like them, Bradford, but I want you to put your penis thing into my pussy again. I really liked that part of fucking!”

I made a mental note that Becky had plenty to learn about many things, including sex, but I did politely say, “Why, certainly! I’m happy to oblige, Becky!” I quickly mounted her missionary-style and slid my throbbing dick into Becky’s welcoming pussy. Honestly, I could get used to doing this for years with this compliant lass.

Apparently, the repetitious thrusts that I was using to fuck her in bed felt quite different to Becky than the screwing she got when she rode my erect rod in the bathtub. “I like this kind of fucking, too, Bradford,” she happily stated. “Please keep doing it to me. Your hard dick feels so very nice inside of me! My daddy’s penis never felt this good.”

The thought of Becky being occasionally ravaged by her drunken father almost killed the mood, but I shooed it out of my mind for the time being. It was I who was enjoying Becky’s carnal charms today—not her creepy father! In fact, not long after Becky spoke, I could feel the stirrings of an imminent orgasm within my balls.

“I’ll pull out because I’m going to come soon!” I informed the charmer lying beneath me—and I did exactly that. I held my throbbing penis in my right hand when the first spurt of semen blasted from my dick. It mostly sprayed jism across Becky’s torso. Even in the throes of passion, I remembered I’d promised Becky that I’d give her some of my semen as “dessert”. Accordingly, I instructed Becky to open her mouth. I prided myself on being a sexual marksman with my cum shots. One rope of well-aimed cum flew directly into Becky’s mouth—which pleased me greatly. I still had the deft touch! Becky promptly gagged on the treat—and spit it out with utter disgust.

“Ooh, I didn’t like that part of fucking, Bradford!” Becky immediately complained. “That tasted just awful.”

I apologized. “Well, I won’t do that again, Becky, I promise,” I said sincerely. “It’s strange. Some girls absolutely love the taste of a man’s cum while others hate it. There’s no accounting for which female is in which camp. You just never know.”

Becky proved to be an open-minded girl. “Well, let me try some again, and see if I like it better this time.” Using two fingers on her right hand, she scooped some of my thick white goo from a spot on her chest just below her right breast and dropped it from a distance onto her waiting tongue. Two seconds later, she spit it out, too.

“Nope, I really do hate it,” was her verdict. “Sorry, Bradford. I can’t stand it. Yuck!”

“Oh, well. It’s not all that important to me, Becky,” I told her honestly. “From now on I’ll just come on other parts of you, such as your titties or perhaps on some other section of your sexy body. Maybe your bum! It’s very cute, you know!”

“Bradford, I liked it when you shot your gooey white stuff into my vagina when we had our bath. That felt very nice. You can do that every time, if you want.”

“There are consequences if I do that, Becky,” I said in a stern monotone.

Becky just gave me a look that told me she did not understand how a girl became pregnant. I was tired, so I said to her, “Becky, we can talk about it at length in the morning. I need a good night’s sleep. You and your pretty pussy have completely exhausted me. I’m not as young as I once was, unfortunately.”

“Bradford, I’m going to take you up on your offer to sleep with you,” Becky informed me. I smiled but said nothing. Becky snuggled up beside me in a “spoons” position. I lovingly drew her close to me, put my hands upon her sexy little, sperm-covered breasts, gave them both a squeeze, and soon drifted off to a very pleasant sleep.

Part Two

The next morning, I awoke at about 4 a.m. I must have slept soundly, because neither Becky nor I had moved much during our slumber. I softly laughed when I realized I still had my hands on her delightful tits! I noticed I was aroused—I wonder why!—so I put my morning wood to work by placing it inside my bedmate’s pussy. I gave her perhaps three or four thrusts. The fourth one awakened her. I quickly pulled out.

Becky was quite groggy when she asked, “Bradford, I just had a dream that you were fucking my pussy! Or was it a dream?”

I lied to her for fun. “No, I’ve been a good boy all night,” I stated. “It must have been a dream, Becky, dear. Go back to sleep for a few more hours and then we can share breakfast.”

A few hours later, as we ate the delicious pancakes that Becky had made me, the two of us did have an informative talk about basic biology. I was actually aghast at how little Becky knew about procreation. Once I gave her a rundown of the basics, I commented, “Now you understand why your father beat the hell out of your brother when he was going to put his dick in your vagina that day, right?”

“Yeah, I sure do!” Becky replied. “I also know why Daddy always pulled out when he put his dick in me when Mama was away.”

That image still bothered me. I made a decision. “Becky,” I said, “you can go to your farmhouse as often as you like, but I don’t want you staying there if your mother is not home. I don’t trust your father to behave himself with you. Say, why don’t you just stay here with me all summer? You can give your earnings to your parents when you have short visits with them, but stay most of the time with me, please. I like having you around.”

“What you’re saying is you like having sex with me! Isn’t that right, Bradford?” Becky asked with a naughty grin.

“Of course…and that’s why I’m upping your pay to $100 a month. Plowing your pretty pussy with my hard dick is worth every penny of it.”

For the next week, Becky exceled in cooking, cleaning…and screwing. We copulated an average of twice per day. That was ample for me, but Becky was always hinting she wanted more. Sometimes it was more than hinting. On the fourth day of her employment she said, “I’d really like to take a bubble bath right now, but it really is more fun with two of us in the tub, Bradford.”

“If you insist!” I said, faking a lack of interest with a tired voice. Then I ran across the room, picked Becky up, tossed her on my shoulder and carried her into the bathroom. About 10 minutes later, I rewarded Becky with a geyser of my hot sperm—the strongest orgasm I’d ever had with her thus far. I couldn’t pull out in time. Maybe, deep down, I didn’t want to pull out. Be that as it may, all of my load ended up inside her vagina. We both looked at each other, shrugged our shoulders simultaneously, and embraced for the next 20 minutes—all the while my penis remained impaled within her.

Part Three

Amazingly, despite the temptation of round-the-clock sex with a young beauty, I did some of my best work on my typewriter. I averaged a short story per day—which was about three times my normal writing speed. Somehow all this sex was rejuvenating my creative spirit. When I told Becky that our intimacy was doing wonders for me as a writer, she replied, “Let’s see if this helps, too!” Becky proceeded to give me a blowjob while I was finishing the final draft of a two-part tale. This was something out of the blue. I had never mentioned oral sex to her before. I was going to ask her where she learned about that, she paused and gave me the answer.

“When I went home for two hours yesterday for a visit and to give Mama the $100 you paid me, I told her that we were doing lots of sex things together. She wasn’t surprised, but she did tell me, “If you’re getting paid this much money by Mr. James, you better suck his dick every so often to keep him happy!’ So how did I do?”

I responded as any normal male would under those circumstances: I strongly ejaculated all over Becky’s face. She was extra careful to avoid swallowing what she called “the yucky stuff.”

Every couple of days, I’d hike two miles to the nearest post office to send off my manuscripts and check to see if I had gotten any mail. Most of the small amount of mail I received at my summer address was from my publishers. Occasionally, I also got fan mail from readers who somehow knew I was summering in Kentucky. That was flattering. One day I was pleased to get a missive from Derrick Corby, a longtime friend of mine back in California who was inquiring about my life in the middle of nowhere. Here was my reply to him:

“Dear Derrick! What a wonderful surprise to hear from you. I must tell you that I have had a remarkably productive summer writing so far. I’ve fulfilled six obligations, all of them well before their due dates. Furthermore, I am very pleased with the quality of every story I’ve written.

“I must also tell you that I credit most of this extended success to a lovely local neighbor girl named Becky Sayer whom I’ve hired as a cook and housekeeper. She’s also willingly become my bedmate. My life is now comprised of eating, sleeping, writing and fucking—in about equal portions. I’ve become quite fond of Becky, which isn’t really surprising considering how much time we spend enjoying each other carnally. I don’t know how I’ll ever bring myself to part with her once the summer ends and I relocate to my old stomping grounds near you. I’m seriously considering not returning. However, I might opt to come back with a young and nubile wife on my arm. I’m just pondering my options now. I will keep you abreast of my plans when they are finalized. Kindest wishes from your friend Bradford James.”

Becky had received no formal schooling at all. There were no mandatory schooling laws anywhere in 1905. Somewhere along the line, though, Becky had learned how to read passably from her mother. Unlike her three brothers, Becky was keen to learn, so her mother taught her some of the basics whenever she had the time. I employed Becky as a proofreader—which was basically an honorary title. I didn’t expect her to find any errors in my stories, but she surprisingly did catch a few words I had mistyped. I applauded her success in doing so.

I hadn’t posted the letter I had written to Derrick the day before. I hadn’t even put it into an envelope. Becky came upon the letter and, out of curiosity, began to read it. My first instinct was to stop her, but I suddenly decided against it. There were about three weeks left in the summer and I wanted to have a long chat with Becky about our future, together or otherwise. I figured my letter to Derrick would give Becky a strong indication regarding how I genuinely felt about her.

When she got to the end, she looked at me with adoring eyes that were glistening with tears. I couldn’t tell if they were happy or sad tears. Maybe there were a few of both.

“That’s a letter to an old and dear friend of mine, Becky. As I’m sure you read, I was telling Derrick about you and me and us. Honestly, I don’t know what to do. I’ve become so used to you sharing my meals, my house and my bed—especially my bed—that I don’t want to go back to my fulltime home in California without you. I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, I know what you should do!” Becky quickly responded. “Give my pussy a good fucking, fire a huge load of sperm inside me, make me pregnant, marry me, and when you leave, you can take me back where you came from and introduce me to your friends and family as Mrs. James.”

I roared at how quickly Becky suggested such a plan. “Okay, my love, you certainly didn’t come up with that idea in a split second!”

“That’s right. I didn’t,” Becky confessed. “My mother did. I was visiting her today. She wondered why I wasn’t already pregnant by you. She knows there’s no future for me on the family farm here in Kentucky. She wants me to marry you, go to your home in California, and have lots of babies.”

I said nothing at all for about half a minute. That plan was certainly ideal—so long as Becky liked the idea of marrying me, moving across the continent, and being the mother to my yet-to-be born children. I finally said, “What do you honestly think of your mother’s idea, Becky?”

“I like it—because I love you, Bradford.”

Now there were tears in my eyes. “I suppose I better do this officially,” I said to her. I dropped to one knee, took Becky by the hand, and asked her to marry me.

“Yes!” she screamed. She then engulfed me in a hug, and we shared the most romantic kiss we had ever had.

“I think it’s too late in the day for us to walk into town to get a marriage license and find a justice-of-the-peace to perform a ceremony,” I opined.

“I agree,” said Becky, “but we can still get the pregnancy part taken care of! Let’s fuck in the bathtub like we did the first day I was here—and don’t you dare pull out. Give me every drop of your sperm. Let’s make that first baby, Bradford, right now!”

I generally didn’t like to be ordered about, but that was one order I was deliriously happy to follow. It took a while, but Becky heated plenty of water for a bath for two. I applied the bubble bath. I got into the tub first—just as I had that first time—followed by my sexy, young fiancée.

Becky got right to work. “I’ll make your dick plenty hard with a hand job, Bradford. It needs to be at its hardest to make that baby.”

“Oh, now you’re an authority on the subject!” I kidded her. “Not that long ago, you thought that a stork brought babies.”

Becky laughed loudly, but she did give me an excellent hand job that resulted in my having a superb erection. I played with her gorgeous tits. They had definitely grown a bit since our first bath. Perhaps it was a sign that Becky was already pregnant. Once her nipples got hard, I said, “You are aroused; I’m certainly aroused. Ride my hard dick, Becky, and let’s get down to the important business of baby-making.”

Becky slid down my shaft and embraced me. The feeling was sensational—as usual. I slowly lifted her up and down to stimulate my penis even further. I wasn’t going to last five minutes, but I didn’t care.

“Ejaculation time!” I sexily whispered into my lover’s ear when I could sense my orgasm approaching. “Here it comes. Let’s hope one of those millions of sperm cells collides with your egg.” I let loose. All of my best cum shot seemed to come from our shared baths. This time was no different. This was the first time we were actually trying for a baby, so it felt just the slightest bit unusual. Somehow, we both instinctively knew we had succeeded in our joint task.

We were silent for a minute or two as we just held each other in our arms. Finally, Becky asked me, “Do you think we can ship this bathtub to your California home, Bradford? It’s a truly wonderful place to fuck.”

I just laughed and flung some soap suds at her. They landed on the tip of her nose.

The next morning, bright and early, we walked hand-in-hand into the nearest town, mailed my letter to Derrick, and applied for a Kentucky marriage license. As we were on our way to see the justice-of-the-peace, something occurred to me that might be important.

“I’ve never asked you this, Becky,” I began. “I’m 37, but I don’t know how old you are. You’ve never told me. So…how old are you, my love?”

There was a long silence. Becky did not answer my inquiry directly. Her only comment was, “This is rural Kentucky, Bradford. Do you really think it matters?”