Pregnant Pond Farm: Sir_Scouries?


This is an A.I.R./LITEROTICA Summer Lovin Contest Entry. I’d truly appreciate it if you took the time to vote once you’ve read it.

This story, while not completely true, is based on a story a onetime girlfriend of mine once told me about summers she’d spent on her grandfather’s farm during her teenage years.

WARNING: This story is an Incest Category story that involves both consensual and nonconsensual sex between relatives who are all over 18 years of age. While descriptions of farm animals mating acts are described in the story there are no scenes involving human/animal sex. Those looking for bestiality must go elsewhere.

It’s approximately 4 and a half LITEROTICA pages long. I hope you enjoy the story.

PROLOGUE: Long Island, New York, Late March 2011

“Young lady, you are spending the summer with your grandfather and I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

“He lives on a farm!” I squeal back.

“Not one more word,” my mom threatens. Her eyes are flashing.

“He doesn’t even have internet service!”

“Your grandfather needs you,” mom answers.

“Dad?” I whine as I look over at my father at the other end of the table.

“Maybe we should discuss this later, let cooler heads prevail,” dad says tentatively. I can see he has no stomach for getting involved.


“Maybe you could go for just July and not both months,” he finally offers. But he doesn’t meet mom’s eyes when he says it.

“Jules, your daughter Amanda will be spending the summer at Pregnant Pond Farm and that’s all there is to it.”

“What kind of stupid name is that for a farm anyway?” I shout. “He should be in an old folk’s home, not pretending he’s some kind of stupid cowboy.”

“Leave the table this instant,” mom orders.

My little brother Jack snickers. I quickly give him a dirty look before I turn back to mom. “It’s true.”

“You’re a spoiled brat.”

“Honey, can’t we–” dad starts.

“Shut up Jules.” My mother is not happy. The hell with her!

“I’ll run away from home first,” I yell as I slap down my knife and fork on the table and jump to my feet. A second later I’m out of the room.


My mother didn’t say another word to me for the following two days — not one word until my Spring Break visit home was over. Dad tried to broker a deal but mom had been adamant. Apologize or else he finally advised me. Noooo effing waaaay!

Two days after our spat I was on my way back to my school. Nestled in the New Hampshire foothills, and one of the few remaining female-only ones, it is regarded as one of America’s finest private schools.

My cell phone was turned off Monday morning on my first day back at school. Thinking it was a simple mistake I borrowed a friend’s and called the cell provider. “Your service has been cancelled by the account holder,” I was finally told after a half hour of being transferred from department to department. My mother was the account holder!

Tuesday I was advised by the school commissary that my account had been used up and would have to be topped up again before I’d be able to make any more purchases. Investigation quickly revealed that the money transfer that usually came on the first of the month hadn’t arrived.

On Wednesday I received a whacking big envelope. It contained a packet of papers.

Mom’s accompanying impersonal note read: Amanda, perhaps you didn’t realize it but the person who was planning on financing your $55,000+ per year first choice of University was your grandfather. Hearing that you’ll be unable to visit him this summer he’s advised me to tell you that you’ll have to find alternative financing. Find enclosed application forms for a variety of scholarships you might potentially have a chance of winning as well as application forms for less expensive colleges. Love Mom.

“I’m going to Dartmouth,” I almost screamed down the line when my mother finally picked up.

“Oh that’s just wonderful dear. Daddy and I will be so proud of you … especially given your decision to do it on your own.”

“You’re rich!” Even as I tried to be firm and no nonsense I could hear the panic that I couldn’t seem to keep out of my voice. What if she wasn’t bluffing?

“Your grandfather has agreed to pay the balance of your fees for this school year. Which I believe was very nice of him given the way you’re treating him.”

“I hate you!”

“Have a wonderful day dear,” mom answered.

“Where’s daddy?” In answer my mother hung up.

In the end I capitulated. What other choice did I have? Daddy had been kind and loving and reassuring when I’d talked to him but it slowly became clear that he wasn’t going to cross mom on this one. He even confirmed that grandpa had been paying for my private schooling. ‘For both you and your cousins,’ he’d assured me.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK!

Summer Holidays: June 26th 2011

“It’s just not fair,” I complained as I watched the miles roll by. Mom, her eyes on the road, simply ignored me. pendik escort She’d been doing that ever since we’d left home four hours earlier.

“It’s the middle of nowhere.” Silence greeted my words.

“What if I have an accident or get sick. There’s no medical care for miles.” Mom continued to ignore me. She’d been ignoring those same complaints for the last three months. There was even a happy little grin on her lips.

“Bitch,” I muttered angrily almost under my breath.

“You’re going to thank me some day,” Mom announced when we finally got to the Interstate exit that would lead us deep into the back woods of Pennsylvania and eventually to grandpa’s farm.

“I’ll never forgive you,” I promised back.

“Fresh air, healthy food, learning about nature, walks in the woods, a skinny dip in the pond late at night, a fire roaring in the fireplace when the weather cools ….” Mom was clearly living in some long ago world as she waxed nostalgic.

“No TV, no internet, no kids my age, no concerts, no mall, no twenty-first century,” I shot back.

‘It’s one of the most beautiful places in the world.”

“Fifth Avenue is beautiful mother. As is the Guggenheim and Central Park. A farm out in the back woods of Pennsylvania is not beautiful.”

“Your grandfather can teach you so much honey.”

“Like what? How to milk a cow? Or how to cut off some poor little chickens head?”

“There’s not one girl your age who wouldn’t love spending their summer around horses.”

“I won’t be riding them mother! I’ll probably end up shoveling horse shit.”


“It’s true.”

“You’re going to learn all about thoroughbred horse breeding. Your grandfather told me that some of the best mares in the country have booked every opening in his stallion’s schedule this year.”

“So I’m going to spend my whole summer watching some big stallion jumping on some poor little mares? And how will that help me become a lawyer some day?”

Truth be told, even though I’d never have admitted it to mom, the whole breeding part of the farm did intrigue me. I’d never seen horses doing it although my curiosity had led me to doing a little investigating on the internet. Horses, I’d found out, had very, very large penises.

My grandfather had lived on Pregnant Pond Farm all his life. As had his father and grandfather and great grandfather before him. Mind you that’s not what they called it when he was born. That’s not to say that granddad was a total hick. He had gone to university, albeit an agricultural college. Then, once he’d returned to the farm with his new bride (he’d snagged a debutante from Philadelphia somehow) he’d set about transforming the family farm.

Oh he didn’t do it right away. His father was still alive in those days and so for many years it remained the same old, general purpose farm it had been for the preceding hundred and fifty years. A bit of everything — pigs, a small herd of milking cows, an apple orchard, some corn, chickens, and whatever else they grow on farms in Pennsylvania.

But in the years that my mom and aunt were growing up grandpa was working on his dream — thoroughbred horse breeding. Learning about it. Studying the science of it. Two events that fell like a hammer on my granddad’s head — first, the death of his father, and the second, which occurred just weeks later, the death of his wife in a horrific farm accident — were the catalysts of his final move into full time breeding.

And that’s what he’d been doing ever since. For some twenty-five years. Successfully. He’d lucked out with the first stallion he’d bought and had never looked back. He’d been raking in the big bucks for over ten years by the time I pulled up to his doorstep with mom that summer day. Mind you I didn’t know then just how big.


Before arriving that day I hadn’t seen him for almost eighteen months, not since two Christmases ago. But there was no mistaking him when we finally got there. There was just something unmistakable about him. A ruggedness, a maleness that you didn’t often encounter in New York City.

“Who’s that,” I muttered as mom turned the car and we started up the last fifty yards of muddy track that led to grandpa’s front door.

“Don’t you even recognize your granddad?”

“Of course I do. I meant the girl he’s got his arm around.”

“That’s Jennifer. The neighbor girl I told you about. The girl you’re replacing for the summer.”

“Why does he have his arm around her?” And he did! And he not only had his arm around her. She was nestled against him. Nestled in a way only a girlfriend would be.

“I think maybe they were in a bit of a relationship,” mom answered.

“WHAAAAAAAT!” I screeched as mom slowly brought the car to a halt twenty-five feet from where grandpa and his young, blond bimbo were standing arm in arm.

“He’s sleeping with her?” Mom didn’t say a word. “Mom, she’s like my age.” Still nothing from mom. “But he’s in his sixties.” Mom opened the door without answering and seconds maltepe escort later she was engulfed in her father’s arms.

Grandpa’s sleeping with a teenager? What a cow I mumbled to myself as I stumbled from the car.

“Well lookee here, our little Mandy’s all growed up,” my grandfather finally said after he’d broken away from mom.

“Ha, ha,” I grumbled, trying not to let him see how much just the sound of his voice affected me.

“C’mon over here, give your old grandpa a big hug,” he invited. I was soon engulfed in his arms. They weren’t boy’s arms. Instead he had the strong arms and hands of a man who’d done physical work every single day of his life. Suddenly, as he held me, memories of how these same strong arms had protected and comforted me when I’d been a young girl coursed through my brain. Sitting protected in his lap while he read me an after dinner story. I suddenly remembered that in those days I’d loved the farm.

“She’s even grown some breasts,” grandpa said to mom as he released me. Blushing, I gave mom the evil eye.


I was introduced to Jennifer. The blond bimbo. A bimbo with farmer’s girl breasts. And then, after a few more minutes of conversation, we two teenagers were dismissed. “Your mom and I got some stuff to talk about. Jenn hon, you take Mandy into the house and get her settled.”

As it turned it was darn hard for me to stay mad at Jennifer. She was nice and tried hard. I wanted to ask her about her and granddad but I just couldn’t. I mean what do you say — hey Jenn, how come a twenty year old like you is fucking my granddad?

It was just a simple farmhouse. Solidly built but there was nothing special about it. There was no TV. No Internet. Grandpa was rich but he’d always had simple tastes. “You can go into town, there’s Internet everywhere with the college being there and all,” Jenn told me with a smile when I queried her about it. Except town was ten miles away and I had no car.

Mom only stayed a couple of hours — a long, private conversation with granddad followed by a late lunch — before she left in mid afternoon. She told me she loved me as she got into her car. In return I promised I’d never forgive her.

I was given a one day reprieve that first day. All I was asked to do was help Jennifer prepare dinner. But she ended up doing all the work as I spectated. What did I know about cooking? Well, as it turned out, I had five days to learn. That was when girlfriend Jenn was leaving. She was going to a cooking school in Miami of all places. A school I found out later that granddad was footing the bill for.

Can you believe it? He’d threatened to cut my schooling off, his own granddaughters, even as he’d offered to pay school fees and living expenses on Miami Beach for Miss Horse Farm!

I met the three other Pregnant Pond regulars at dinner that night. Grandpa ran a tight ship — there was no idle labor on his farm! First, Felipe and Angel, the teenage stable boys. Young Latinos who I learned later weren’t actually legally residing in the good old U.S. of A. The third member of the team was Gretchen, a tough looking, wiry, taciturn, twenty-something year old, ex-jockey from Texas.

Everyone, including gramps, just dug in the second the heaping platters of potatoes and ribs and bread and corn were placed on the table. And no one said a word until every last crumb of food was gone. It was food first and talk later with this crew.

“So, can ya cook?” Gretchen asked me in a hard southern drawl as she waited for Jenn to reappear with the apple pies she’d baked that afternoon while I’d taken notes. I shook my head no.

“That’s great,” she grumbled as she gave me a dirty look. Those were the last words she said that night. To any of us. I guessed immediately that I wouldn’t be conducting any conversations about the state of modern art with her that summer.

The Mexicans didn’t seem too concerned about my lack of cooking skills. Mind you I wasn’t sure if they understood English. The only words they’d spoken during the entire meal had been to each other and in Spanish. And although I’d studied Spanish for four years in high school I hadn’t understood one word they’d said. Clearly they weren’t speaking the Castilian Spanish I’d studied!

I helped Jenn clean up in the kitchen. How could so many pots and pans and plates and cutlery be used for one meal I wondered as I sweated over the steaming water in the sink.


“I’ll wake you at five thirty,” Jennifer said as she helped me make up my bed. It was nine forty-five and grandpa had just suggested it was time for all of us to turn in. Nine forty-five?

I went to bed feeling sorry for myself, then I tossed and turned from ten til eleven. Heck I hadn’t gone to bed that early in years. So, when the noise started I was still awake. Jennifer was very, very noisy when she was having sex. Even if the man poking her was over sixty years old.

It was sorta disgusting. But exciting too… But what the heck was he doing to kartal escort her I wondered. She actually screamed at what I guessed was the ultimate moment. A scream of unmistakable pleasure. I hadn’t realized that men as old as gramps were even able to get erections. And here he had this twenty-year old rocking the farmhouse with her screams.


“Mandy! Mandy!” I awoke the next morning to somebody shaking me.

What the fuck? “What?” I groaned.

“It’s time to get up,” Jennifer said.

“What time is it?”

“C’mon Mandy there’s no time to lose,” Jenn insisted as she pulled my sheet and blanket down. Then she started to giggle. I watched her eyes. Was this farmer’s daughter laughing at my clothes?

“What?” I grumbled.

“Nothing,” she answered but couldn’t keep the grin off her face.

“It’s a satin baby doll. With French lace trim,” I said about the deep scarlet, black laced, clinging garment I was wearing. “They’re available in the more fashionable stores — perhaps they haven’t reached rural Pennsylvania yet,” I added sarcastically.

“Wait til I tell describe them to your granddaddy,” she said, then, with a wide smile on her face, turned and left the room. Bitch! She’s laughing at my clothes? While she’s letting some old coot stick his penis in her…


“Breakfast has to be ready in twenty-five minutes,” I was told when I finally staggered into the kitchen five minutes later. I hadn’t even had time to comb my hair. Jenn was standing at the opened back door with a towel over her arm and looking like she was ready to flee.

“Then where are you going?” I asked.

“Your granddad and I have a quick swim together every morning,” she said back over her shoulder as she slipped out the kitchen door. “Get the coffee and porridge started”. I simply watched dumbfounded as she walked towards the pond. Porridge?

“No time for lollygagging young lady,” suddenly boomed out behind me. I almost jumped out of my shoes! Granddad. With only a towel around his waist. Before I could say a word he too had disappeared out the back door.

When I peered out after him I saw Jenn. She was down by the pond. She was naked! She really did have big breasts! A second later granddad, now about thirty feet from the kitchen door, allowed his towel to fall. He too was naked!

Five minutes later they climbed out of the water. They’d just finished swimming across the pond and back. I of course had been watching them almost continuously since they’d jumped in. Grandpa did nothing to hide his penis as he walked up the bank to where he’d left his towel. I’d never really seen one that way. Just bouncing up and down as he walked. Even with my inexperience, and even though his penis wasn’t erect, I knew it was a big one. What kind of pervert was my grandfather I wondered as I stirred the porridge. It smelled awful.

“Who burned the porridge?” Gretchen asked twenty minutes later after she’d taken just one mouthful. Fuck her I thought.

I cut off my first chickens head that day. Of course that was after I’d helped with the breakfast, cleaned up afterwards and been given a tour of the property.

And after Jenn had shown me, and explained exactly which plant was which, the vegetable garden. She’d also shown me the apple trees and the raspberry patch. How to collect eggs. We’d cooked lunch. Then I’d chopped off the poor chickens head. I got blood on my three hundred dollar designer jeans. When I complained about it Jenn told me she’d lend me a pair of her overalls.

“From Walmart?” I asked sarcastically as I looked dismissively at the overalls she was wearing.

She just laughed. And, due to her big breasts, she didn’t look that bad in her Walmart special. She certainly pushed the bib out. Grandpa must really like big tits I figured as I trudged back towards the house with the headless chicken in my hand.

I knew that some men liked women with big tits. Mainly unsophisticated hicks I mused to myself.

My First Stallion

I didn’t get near the breeding barn during my first five days at Pregnant Pond Farm. I didn’t have time. The first night I’d spent at the farm I couldn’t believe how early everyone had gone to sleep. I’d tossed and turned for hours. By the third day I was tumbling into my bed exhausted almost as soon as I’d finished up cleaning up after dinner. You work hard on a farm!

Jenn turned out to be a good teacher. She loved cooking and it showed. And somehow, with her enthusiasm and general good nature, she awakened in me some hitherto unknown interest and maybe even some talent for cooking. It turned out to be sorta fun learning how to bake a pie.

Jenn was just one of those nice people whom it’s impossible to dislike. And she had a simple view of life that I’d never encountered before. When she finally left five days after I’d arrived I knew I’d miss her. Who else was I going to be able to talk to? Grandpa had pretty much ignored me while Jenn had still been there. The morning after she’d left, once he’d finished eating his breakfast, grandpa invited me down for a tour of the barns and animals.

“Time you found out what the hell we do out here in the country that allows you to live like a queen in the big city,” he said as he led me out the kitchen door.

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