At last I can relay to someone the experience of a lifetime that I enjoyed not so long ago in the very restrictive home and environment that's hallmark has been a horse and buggy.
I was living with my father, mother and 3 sisters in the rural hills and valleys of central Pennsylvania. I was an 18 year old doubting member of the Hammish religious belief system that seeks to uphold the righteous and holy word of our altruistic Supreme Being. We live very simple lives first and foremost and place our lives into the holy hands of the Supreme Being. Until we are married, we cannot engage in sexual acts of any kind. A quick kiss or holding hands while alone is the extent of our erogenous activity until marriage. Sexual thoughts or yearnings are from the Devil. If found even pleasuring yourself, you are tied behind a manure spreader that drags your nude body through rocky soil fresh with a coating of dung. After an hour you resemble a large turd leaking with blood. More serious incidents are rare. When they happen, it is rumored that the sexual deviant has a testicle removed and he is forced to chew and swallow the creamy meatball. Needless to say, sexual activity is a rare commodity for the horny young men of our society. Our lives are revolving around holiness and blessed sanctification.
From the age of 7 until 77, you are required to toil endlessly with literally blood, sweat and tears. I am taught and told daily that only through exhaustive labor can a man distance himself from the Devil's workshop. The impure thoughts of Satan take form in heady magnetism for the females in our clan. It is a never ending battle as a young man and one that could render your soul to damnation. I soon faced the ultimate temptation.
I had just loaded the last trailer overflowing with hay that Friday afternoon of my 18th birthday in the hot and sultry valley in rustic Port Matilda, Pennsylvania. As I was closing the barn doors, a buggy began traveling up our lane to the house. I squinted my eyes in the late afternoon sun and wiped my brow as I scanned the visiting party. A few of our flock had been arriving to grant me wisdom since I could now seek a subservient woman of our belief system to produce offspring and alleviate sexual temptations.
The arriving buggy belonged to Aunt Ruth, my father's sister from Happy Valley. Aunt Ruth was 32 years of age and had been widowed for almost 8 years after Uncle Henry had been crushed in a barn raising that was constructed from the cheap, Canadian wood saturating the American market.
Aunt Ruth had been in relative seclusion for nearly the past half a year following an incident in the Holy Tabernacle of Love. For several weeks the elders pleaded with her to return to the flock and not succumb to the hedonist heathens with their materialistic, worldly ways that led to the road of perdition. In reality, the elders were dismayed due to the significant loss of money that Aunt Ruth provided with her tithes. Uncle Henry had left Aunt Ruth with a large estate and a hefty bankroll that was a pillar to the welfare of our clan.
Following many weeks of intense pressure and even groveling by the male elders, Aunt Ruth began to reintegrate back into our fold by attending activities such as ice cream socials, candle parties and most importantly the soul of our community, The Tabernacle of Love.
Many of the women in our clan distanced themselves from Aunt Ruth over the years as she was very outgoing and exuded a very feminine mystique. More importantly, she was blessed with breasts so immense that even in the most restrictive of clothing one could see the mammoth orbs bounce and sway lewdly. Much to the angst of many Hammish women, she would often wear less restrictive and more comfortable clothing.
Aunt Ruth's Sunday dresses clung so tightly to her burgeoning bust that the buttons would simply pop off when she would bow to pray or raise her arms in praise of the Supreme Being. When shouting praises she would often jump in bliss causing her holy hooters to begin undulating and flailing in wild abandon. When the spirit really moved Aunt Ruth, her bouncing boobs caused her to be jerked forward at the mercy of those sinking weights forcing her to grasp the pew for balance as those blessed knockers fell so heavily. On several occasions her bobbing buoys caused her to tumble over into the pew in front of her. The females of our flock steamed in silent rage until they would exit the church and spread vicious gossip about her. The men defended her by stating that the Almighty moved in strange ways and that Aunt Ruth was merely being moved by the spirit.
On the fateful service of some 6 months ago, Aunt Ruth went to the alter seeking the Supreme Being’s help in finding her a mate. When she bent over the sacred alter, her humongous hangers nearly came to rest on the floor of the opposite side of the alter. The tremendous pressure of her now stretched massive jugs caused even more of the fabric on the front of her dress to be pulled down by the pendulous weights. In the blink of an eye, the length of the back of Aunt Ruth's dress and undergarments were jerked upward by the heavy tit meat pulling the front of her dress nearly to the floor. This exposed an ass that could not be contained in her skimpy panties, pulled tightly into her ass crack. It was a well rounded and voluptuous ass that was both firm and fleshy. As she plead to the Supreme Being, her bountious bubble butt's muscles began constricting and relaxing like a rubber vice. As the congregation gawked in awe, Sister Hannah suddenly sprinted behind Aunt Ruth and jerked her undergarments and dress down angrily. Immediately the already strained fabric surrounding those bountiful breasts ripped the front of her dress down the middle. Aunt Ruth tried to jump up with those knockers the size of large watermelons now flopping freely and barely covered by a plunging black bra. As she began to rise and got off her knees, those monster melons swung wildly forward and she tumbled over the sacred alter. As I dreamily remembered that very uplifting service, the excited squeal of Aunt Ruth's voice brought me back to the present as her buggy stopped in front of me. After not seeing her in many months, I was immediately drawn again to her soft and kind face that resonated a beauty that left me thunderstruck. Those deep green twinkling eyes, large soft lips, chiseled cheek bones, darling dimples and naturally long brown curly hair showed a raw sexuality and innosence that had made Uncle Henry the happiest Hammish man I have ever known.
There always seemed to be a twinkle in her eyes when she talked to me that left me gasping for breath and at a loss for words. She would tease me continuously when we were alone and often would lean towards me allowing her breasts of enormous size to nearly burst through the already overloaded undergarments and white blouse. I would often catch the men of our ministry staring at these twin mountains that must have been as big as ripe watermelons. One night, I overheard my mother telling my sister that Aunt Ruth's breasts were measured at 48EE, a burden from God due to the sexual urges they caused within men. The fact that her breasts were so huge and yet very firm caused many a husband to stare in wide-eyed wonder at what had to be the most tempting sight they would ever see.
Many a night all I would dream of was seeing those unrestrained and pendulous mammaries swing above my head - tantalizing me into stroking my penis that was longer than my size 12 shoe and as thick as my large, muscular wrist. I often thought about what my horse-sized penis with testicles the size of tennis balls would look like as my meat pole plunged like a torpedo into the softness of her breasts.
As my 18th birthday party full of ice cream and cider wound down, Aunt Ruth told me she had a surprise to show me. The pastor had just left the room leaving me and Aunt Ruth alone.
Send to your friend
