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Dean Palmer got out of his dusty pickup truck, crossed the gravel to his back porch, opened the door, then stepped inside. It was at least ten degrees cooler in the enclosed porch than the outside, but he stood there and stripped off his clothes and shoes, then he went into the kitchen, leaving his dusty, chaff-covered garments in a heap by the washing machine.
Phyllis Palmer looked up from the sink where she was rinsing salad vegetables. She stared at the gray patches and smears on her husband’s hairy body, then she shook her head from side to side.
“One of these days, Dean, you’re going to walk in here naked like that and find yourself face-to-face with the Avon lady. Did you finish?”
“We finished Mac’s, but we have that corner piece of our own to do tomorrow. That should just about finish it for the year. And what’s the matter with my walking in here naked? Would you rather I’d dump my dirty threshing clothes on the bathroom floor?”
Phyllis was staring so hard at Dean’s big cock that she almost cut her finger with the paring knife. She was thinking about how long it had been since she had played with her favorite toy; this was the fourth day in a row that the co-op had threshed from 5AM to 6PM, and Dean had gone to bed right after dinner each night and fallen asleep immediately.
“When you come in that back road, you never know whose car may be parked in front of the house,” she told him, licking her lips as he shifted his stance, making his cock slap against his thighs.
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.