My father ran a huge farm where the main crop was potatoes. We also had dairy production and chickens that we sold occasionally but it was more for our food needs. Since I was a child, I was responsible for looking after the poultry. It’s not complicated, all you had to do was spread the seeds and open the door early in the morning. In the evening, of course, the doors had to be closed; the chickens all came back by themselves at nightfall. The doors had to be closed to prevent a fox or worse a wolf from coming during the night and seeing the carnage in the early morning. One day I had not done the work of closing the doors, having forgotten, and in the morning more than twenty hens had been massacred by who knows what animal had been able to enter the henhouse.I was just a little girl and my father gave me a spanking I will never forget. My mother also hit my buttocks with my panties down, which were red for days. I also have the task of looking after the vegetable garden, it is large and sometimes takes hours to weed.

William and Jack did most of the work on the land. Joe takes care of the cows, we have sixty of them. He processes them and some of the milk goes into large tanks and a truck often comes by to empty the contents. The other part is delivered in cans and intended for a few customers and for Uncle Arthur who produces cheese from it. He lives alone, his wife having left him when I was very young.

Uncle Arthur

Uncle Arthur was the kindest man I knew, he teased me constantly and made me laugh so much, I often went to his house on my bike to see him busy preparing various cheeses that he made me taste until I was no longer hungry. I used to go there alone when I was nine or ten, I think. He said he loved my presence and regretted not having had a little girl like me. I was proud to hear it.

Neither my father nor my mother had ever shown me as much affection as Uncle Arthur, he was handsome and they said he was as strong as a bull. I admired him, found him so kind, so attractive, wondering why he lived alone. Even though he lived more than three kilometers from my house, I cycled to get there as quickly as possible, with joy in my little girl heart.

My father once told me that during the war he had burst into a camp of German soldiers and killed them all, about a dozen. He humbly said it was easy because they were all drunk.

The resistance had been able to obtain motorcycles and dozens of weapons, explosives and ammunition. He had resisted and nothing frightened him. He had said all sorts of things about him when they were young. He could have described a Rambo movie and it would have been the same. It was almost unbelievable what he was saying.

He is said to have killed two Germans with his own hands using their heavy-caliber machine gun, which he turned against the German soldiers, killing a significant number. He allegedly dynamited a bridge containing four Panzers, trucks and dozens of soldiers, all of whom were sent back to the creator. The explosion was reportedly heard fifty kilometers away. Resistance fighters who stood too close were also killed by the blast and all the debris that fell on them. The survivors and other resistance fighters had to sleep in the woods for months, the Germans looking for any man over the age of fifteen. There were dozens of summary executions in the commune.

I was also told that one day he was in a bar and a fight broke out, all these blokes were beating each other up, he, sitting at the back of the room, calmly finished his beer and one after the other he took out all these men with kicks in the ass and slaps in the face, as one could imagine Obelix doing the same effortlessly. He took his seat again and ordered another beer to everyone’s applause. He was a legend in ourlittle town. Tall, imposing physique, broad shoulders and large hands that were immediately noticeable. I considered him a hero.

One day at his house, Madame Couture, a very thin young woman of less than thirty, came to visit him with her two sons with Down’s syndrome, about twelve or ten years old. He gave her kilos of cheese, more than ten kilos, and piled the bricks in her bags, which he filled to capacity, and refused her money. And he gently caressed with his big hands the faces of these two poor boys who looked at him smiling, telling them to always be good boys with their mother. She left in tears, thanking him and hugging him, her two boys joining her in hugging her uncle Arthur. It was so touching and sad but I didn’t understand anything. He said to me:

“Poor Mrs. Couture, it was her father or her brothers who impregnated her and produced these two sons. Her life was a nightmare from the moment her father began abusing her. And her ordeal continues with these two children. She will never find a husband and she is doomed to a life of hell. She now lives in a small house a little out of the way on the farm but I have no doubt she’s still being abused by those bastard sons of bitches. If we were still in the time of war, I would send them all myself to God’s judgment”, he said. This confirmed to me the accuracy of Uncle Arthur’s feats of arms; he had truly accomplished what was told as a legend; he had already killed.

Despite these violent, murderous words, I returned, on the verge of tears, seeing his big heart, his kindness towards this woman and these two poor boys. It created an emotion that I couldn’t control and my tears rolled down my cheeks. Uncle Arthur, with his big thumb, wipes away my tears, consoling me. And singing, “Don’t cry, little girl! Even if people are mean, don’t cry!” He often sang funny or naughty songs or tried his hand at operatic tenor. His voice was as powerful as he was.

“Don’t cry, little girl! Many men are cruel and mean; it’s for them that we should cry. Don’t cry!”

I looked at him in admiration, my eyes in the water, sobbing. This man, so different, so special, I said to myself.

As the years go by, I visit Uncle Arthur every week, sometimes more than two or even three times a week, in fact, whenever I can. Deep down, he represented the ideal man, strong and kind, I wanted to be in his presence, to feel his love, his attention. I used to go there by bike and sometimes with our mare, I loved to ride horses. The horse’s name was Va Vite (Go Fast). As I galloped I shouted VA Vite Va Vite to Uncle Arthur’s, repeating during this long journey that the mare had known instinctively for all these years. What a joy, she was docile and fast, hence her name.

He had a blond goatee and his hair was graying, he often shaved his head, it looked good on him, his smooth head gave him a proud look, a bit like Yul Brenner but more virile. He said, I don’t understand anything, I don’t have any gray hairs on my chin but my hair has lost all its natural color. His arm hair was also a beautiful golden color.

I had grown a lot and now had nice curves. I always wore very light dresses to feel comfortable or a short denim skirt and a plaid shirt that I tied under my breasts, creating a plunging neckline. I only wear cowboy boots too. My brothers sometimes said that I looked like a farm whore, but I paid no attention, accustomed to their usual nastiness.

Uncle Arthur, unlike my brothers, never failed to tell me how pretty he found me and sometimes gazed at me for long seconds, examining me from head to toe. He made me blush and I was so happy in those moments. During my visit, I wore a little makeup with blush and lipstick. Normally, I never acted flirtatious. I always went to visit Uncle Arthur, with whom I was secretly in love. I should say madly in love I thought about him constantly.

One day while I was near his house, I fell off my bicycle. I scratched my knees, hands, elbows, and chin pretty badly. Uncle Arthur saw me and came running towards me to help me up.

“My poor darling, wow, you did a great stunt!” Laughing.

It hurt, but I started laughing too.

“Are you in pain?”

“Yes, especially when you make me laugh!” Laughing!

He took me inside his house and took out antiseptics and began cleaning my wounds. My hands, elbows, and knees were aching, and I wondered if I would be able to get home on my own.

He first heated the kettle for a minute, then poured the water onto a large towel, which he used to remove the dirt from my arms and legs, being careful not to touch my bleeding and painful wounds. He then pressed the same towel firmly onto my wounds. Gently he cleaned me, he asked me to sit on the table to clean my knees and took a seat on a chair in front of me.

Meticulously and slowly he took care of my knees not yet knowing that he had a direct view of my transparent panties, my dress having risen up on my thighs. I don’t know what came over me but instead of covering myself, I opened my thighs giving him a better show. And he continued to clean my knees with an antiseptic liquid, he did it slowly I saw his gaze which was fixed on my panties.

My breath, my heart rate accelerates little by little, I felt my little virgin pussy becoming wet. He stood up, to give me care first on my chin and then on my elbows. I pushed my butt out a little, making my dress lift up more.

With my panties in full view, he finished cleaning my wounds on both hands, his eyes fixed downwards.

“There you go, darling, wow, that must be painful?”

“Yes, I’m in pain. I think I’ll have trouble walking for a few days.”

Still sitting on the table, he takes a seat again on the chair in front of me. He placed his hands above my knees, pretending to examine my injuries but his eyes were fixed on my panties. His hands were now caressing my thighs.

“Thanks, Uncle Arthur, I couldn’t have received better care at the hospital,” I added, laughing.

“You know, your pussy looks really wet. I can see it pretty well from where I’m standing.”

I should have closed my thighs, but instead I said nothing and didn’t move. He looked at me, continuing to caress my thighs, making my breathing quicken.

“Do you want to see?”

He stood there gaping for a moment, then nodded. I was going to indecently show him my little pussy. I pulled my panties aside exposing my cunt to his view. I once saw my father with his face between my mother’s thighs and at that moment I had this image in my head.

“You want to smell it, taste it, I’m happy to let you.”

He was looking at me, suddenly he took my buttocks pulling me closer to the edge of the table and he plunged his mouth on my little pussy licking me gently. My head tilted back, feeling a pleasure I hadn’t experienced before. He sucked my lips, how sweet and pleasant it was. I was moaning and feeling in a daze, I wanted to scream at him not to stop. Instead I pulled his head in and held it firmly against my pussy, moving my pelvis and moaning louder. I don’t know how long, maybe ten minutes or more, but he licked me non-stop, then spasms appeared and I screamed haaaaaaaaaaaaaa! I lay on the table with my thighs raised and I could still feel my uncle’s breath on my pussy. He kept tasting the juice that must have come out of my vaginal spring.

“Uncle Arthur, I have never known such pleasure.”

It’s been over ten years since I last tasted the exquisite taste of a vagina. And it is, I believe, the most beautiful and the best that I have ever savored in my life. And besides, you expelled a lot of liquid whose name I don’t know and it was wonderful, that taste that a man could sell his soul for. How I wish I could taste it more! If you want of course!

Were there that many?

“Yes I took everything!”

“Do you want me to please you in return? Let’s change places.”

I was sitting on the chair, Uncle Arthur had stood up, I had the bulge in his pants in front of my eyes. He unzipped his pants and took his cock out of his boxers. His cock looked almost like our donkey’s. My God, I’ll never be able to take it that big, I told myself. I placed my aching hand on his hard cock, he was looking at me intently.

“How big this is! I don’t know if I’ll be able to uncle Arthur.”

“Do what you feel, my dear.”

I started to lick him gently, I didn’t know how to do it. Then my tongue swirled around his blood-engorged glans, I opened my mouth and sucked it in, turning my head left and right to create the movement. From his moans and his breathing I understood that it must be pleasant, so I continued like this for a while. I then began to jerk him off like I had seen my brothers on some occasions jerking their cocks in the barn not knowing that I was spying on them.