Thursday, 19 March 2015

Cultivating a Story for the Brit Babes SEXY JUST GOT RICH Part 1

Break out the popcorn and the chocolate! It’s a double feature today! I’m celebrating the Brit Babes fabulous new
anthology, Sexy Just Got Rich with a double dose of vintage K D Grace. Sometimes older stories are the inspiration for newer ones, and sometimes a romp back through memory lane gives us writers a chance to see how we’ve grown. That has happened with Cultivation, which is actually one of the very first stories I ever had published, therefore one that I can easily use as a mile-marker in my growth as a writer, but one that I loved enough and, in which I found enough inspiration, to use as a jumping-off point for my contribution to the Sexy Just Got Rich anthology – Buying the Farm.

Today I want to give you a look at how an old vintage story can inspire a new one, a more complete one by giving you THE WHOLE THING! I said a double feature, and I meant it. While the first half of Cultivation is here on the Brit Babes’ blog, the rest of it is over on my own A Hopeful Romantic blog, so grab the popcorn, settle in for the first half, and then follow the link right on over to mine for the climax. Ooooh! Did you see what I did there???

Afterwards check out the buy links and the blurb for the totally delicious Brit Babes’ anthology, Sexy Just Got Rich to see what Cultivation inspired, and to read totally sizzling stories by all eight of the Brit Babes. In the meantime, enjoy the read! 

And don't forget to support our Thunderclap! 

Cultivation Part One

Cassie braced herself, tightening her legs around Deke’s thrusting hips. He was holding his breath so it wouldn’t be long now. And sure enough, “I’m coming,” he gasped between gritted teeth. A couple of extra hard thrusts, a grunt or two and he collapsed on top of her, sucking oxygen.          

“Did you come?” he asked, when he finally caught his breath and rolled off her.

Stupid question, Cassie thought, so she ignored it, blinking hard to hold back tears. God, she hated that. When she was angry she cried. But the situation wasn’t going to get sorted tonight. Deke would be snoring in two minutes.

“I have to go.” She sat on the edge of his bed and gathered her clothes.

“Just as well,” he replied, sounding like he was already asleep. “I have to be in the fields early. We’ll talk about this later.”

She slid into her skirt and blouse and stuffed her underwear into her bag. Just as she predicted, the light buzz of a snore echoed from his open mouth and a thin thread of drool already formed a small dark spot on the pillow.

After four wonderful years at the university, after watching the world open up to her like some exotic flower, this wasn’t much of a homecoming. If it was like this before they got married, what would it be like after? And now he had reneged on his promise about where they would live.

She swallowed tears again, and reminded herself that her father wasn’t well, and she couldn’t run the farm alone. For him, she’d do what she had to. The Spivey place was adjacent to her father’s. She and Deke had played together as children. The marriage made sense.

Deke, three years her senior, had gone straight to work on his father’s farm, having neither the grades nor the interest in anything else. He wanted to marry Cassie right away. But Merrill Fielding insisted that his daughter attend university first. “You’ll have a lot of years to let this pile of dirt make you old, Cassie,” he said. “You’ve got the grades. Your mother would have wanted it. Deke ain’t going nowhere.”

Her father had got that right! She drove home slowly along the farm road where her dad had taught her to drive. It wasn’t that she didn’t love the farm. She had exciting plans for it, but she needed help. Deke was a good man, she reminded herself. She would just have to make him see the value of what she’d learned in college, and both their farms would benefit.  

The gravel driveway crackled under her tires as she drove into the darkened farmyard. Her father still hadn’t fixed the pole light in the back, but tonight the whole world was bright with a heavy dusting of moonlight.

She got out of the car and lifted her face to a full moon that seemed too heavy to stay afloat in the velveteen sky. An ache spread from her breastbone down her chest to rest low and grasping in her belly. She had wanted Deke to make love to her under the moonlight, but he said there were chiggers, and the pollen messed up his sinuses.

She let the tears slide down her cheeks. How could she live with a man who wanted nothing more than to climb on her, thrust a few times, and shoot his wad? Is that how their children would be conceived? He was too embarrassed to even name out loud her places of pleasure, let alone kiss them or caress them. Would she forever be quietly masturbating in the aftermath while he snored away next to her?

A warm breeze teased her braless nipples against the cotton of her blouse, and as she headed toward the house, the caress of her vulva by her inner thighs reminded her that her pussy was bare under the short denim skirt, bare and unsatisfied. She turned away from the house and headed toward the cabin, down to the porch swing. From the time she was a little girl, the porch swing was her private place, and she needed a private place tonight. She certainly wasn’t ready for bed yet, and by God she would make love in the moonlight if she had to do it by herself!

By the time she rounded the hill near the barn, and the cabin came into view, she already had her blouse unbuttoned and the fact that there was nothing between her engorged nipples and the moonlight but the caress of a warm spring night made the friction between her thighs even more delicious.

She was anticipating the motion of the swing rocking beneath her bare bottom while she fingered her pussy in the moonlight. But as the path curved between the two oak trees her great grandfather had planted, and the front of the cabin came into view, she stopped short, swallowing a yelp before it gave her away.

There in the porch swing, sat a stranger. Cassie quickly stepped back into the shadows before he could see her. Still she stood close enough that she could make out the rise and fall of his bare chest beneath dark erect nipples set high on tightly puckered areole. She knew her father had hired someone to help with the chores during the summer. Not only had he kept it secret how they could afford such a luxury, but he also hadn’t bothered to tell her that the hired hand was none other than Apollo himself. And tonight, Apollo was naked! He sat with his legs open, one hand caressing an impressive erection, the other kneading weighty balls. His eyes were closed, face raised to the moonlight. The shifting of his hips gave the swing just that perfect motion that Cassie had taken advantage of ever since she discovered what her pussy could do.

She blinked hard. Surely she was dreaming. But her hand had already found its way up under her skirt. It was all she could do to stifle the moan of pleasure as she wriggled two fingers in between her heavy labia, dipping and probing until they were slippery enough to tweak and circle her anxious clit.

Apollo’s efforts became more energetic as he thrust his cock faster in the fisted grip of his hand, lifting his sculpted ass off the seat with each thrust. His other hand now braced against the back of the swing to keep him from catapulting out with his pleasurings. His balls bounced enthusiastically between his thighs with each shifting of his hips. My God, he was about to come!

Cassie had pinched and kneaded her tits until her nipples were swollen to taut erections of their own, and the twitchy sensation between pleasure and pain migrated all the way to her cunt. She shoved her skirt up over her hips and braced herself against the trunk of one of the oaks, feeling the rough bark abrading her back as she thrust a third finger into her dilated pussy, imagining what it would feel like to have Apollo’s fullness inside her. She spat on her other hand and began to tweak and tease her clit. She couldn’t remember it ever feeling quite this good. Cassie rode the edge so close that she forced herself to slow her efforts. She had never come with a man. There had never been anyone but Deke, and he wasn’t exactly Casanova. But tonight, she wanted to come with Apollo, even if he didn’t know it.

She didn’t have long to wait. The man suddenly grunted and inhaled as though he had been under water too long. Then his beautiful penis jerked with a life of its own and a viscous spurt of semen arched across the porch like quick silver in the moonlight, then another and another, each followed by a deep resonant groan of satisfaction.

She could hold back no longer as her own orgasm trembled up through her pussy, over her spine and buzzed in her head until she felt like her very skull had opened to take in the silver dance of moonlight.

Licking the taste of herself from her fingers, Cassie watched as he picked up a pair of boxer shorts from where he’d kicked them off and carefully wiped the last pearlescent drops of come from his cock. Then, like a good hired hand, he mopped up every last dribble of semen from the floorboard of the porch. When he was sure he had cleaned up after himself, he took one last look around, then turned and walked back into the cabin, giving her an exquisite view of his shapely ass before closing the door quietly behind him.

She dreamed of Apollo that night. In her dreams, like in the story from her high school mythology book, Apollo chased Daphne across a verdant woodland. And Cassie wished desperately that he would catch her, that she would not be turned into a tree to protect her innocence, as she had been in the myth. She wished instead, that he would take her with such passion as only the god of wisdom and poetry could, that he would teach her things she could never have imagined in her innocence.

“Simon Dennis, that’s his name.” Joanie scrubbed at the window above the sink as though it had offended her somehow. “Rumor has it he’s from Chicago, had some high finance job there. Whatever it was,” she inspected her reflection in the glass. “He doesn’t need the money. Your father told me he said he’d work for room and board. ‘Course your father’d never allow that. He insisted on paying.” The housekeeper went back to scrubbing. “He’s a looker, I’ll say that for him, and polite. Don’t imagine Deke’ll want him around after you two are married, not a looker like that.”

“I don’t care what Deke wants. It’s my farm.” The words were out before Cassie could stop herself. Joanie had kept their house since Cassie’s mother died. She was always there when Cassie needed a woman’s touch, but Cassie could hide nothing from her.  

“Trouble in paradise?”

Cassie gulped the last of her iced tea and headed for the door. “Gotta run. The garden won’t weed itself. Thanks for the tea,” she called over her shoulder, feeling a sense of relief at escaping Joanie’s scrutiny.

The garden was more weeds than vegetables, and the peas needed picking. Cassie’s father was in no condition to maintain a vegetable patch this size, and yet every year he insisted on putting one in. Joanie did what she could to help, but the woman had precious little spare time what with keeping their house and working night shift at the nursing home.

Cassie ripped a handful of bindweed from between two young tomato plants as though it had done her personal injury. This was her home, and this was her garden. She would not let Deke move her in with his folks. He would have to see reason.

“Looking good, Cassie Girl.”

She smiled to herself at the sound of her father’s voice as he came through the garden gate. “If you’re growing weeds it does.” She wiped sweat from her brow and turned to greet him, nearly running into Apollo, who was standing right behind her dressed in a well-sweated tee shirt and jeans and carrying a hoe.

Her father laughed as she yelped ungracefully and nearly fell backwards into the cauliflower. “Cassie, this is Simon. He’s here to help us out for awhile.”

Simon offered her his hand, oblivious to the garden grime on her palm and beneath her nails. The firmness of his grip made her think of how good it must have felt wrapped around his cock last night. “Pleased to meet you,” she croaked, trying not to think about places on her own body where his hand would feel good.

He offered her a warm smile, then nodded to the hoe. “We finished in the south forty, so your father says I should help you with the weed bed.”

“Good. You can start with the brasicas.”

“That’s college talk for cabbages and cauliflowers and such,” her father said. “She studied agriculture in college. Now she knows what to pull up and what to leave.”

“I studied Environmental science, Dad.”

“I know, I know, you can make the farm more green, but what I wonder is can you figure out a way to put more green in my pocketbook.” He heaved a sigh. “I’m off to the house to make sure Joanie’s not watching soaps and eatin’ all my chocolate.”
They watched her father leave, then both turned silently to their respective rows. Cassie could feel the sun scorching her bare shoulders as she worked. The buzz of insects filled the air. Somewhere far off, she could hear a tractor in a field. Sweat dripped down her armpits and trickled along her spine. Her hands ached from efforts to which she was no longer accustomed. There would be blisters. Somehow she always managed to forget to wear gloves that first time, the time when the skin was still sensitive and tender to the hard handle of the hoe.

For awhile, she worked in that great mindless space that eased the uncertainty of what was yet to come, along with her anger at Deke. Hard physical labor, her father had always said, was good for mind and body.

Then Simon stepped back, faster with his hoe than she was, and suddenly they were working shoulder to shoulder. The mindless space vanished, and she was completely focused on the warmth of his body, the movement of powerful muscles in her peripheral vision, the way his dark hair fell over his eyes. The scent of sweaty maleness and moist fertile loam blended with the piquant smell of new growth bursting with bud and made her own roots feel deeper somehow, and her own needs feel as ancient as the planting and the harvesting and the beginning all over again.

Their breathing was heavy and humid like the Missouri spring, and in unison, like the parallel rows they hoed. With a start, she realized the sound was not unlike the sound of their arousal last night, and she felt the same ache she had felt in the moonlight, the same ache she had felt in her dream. She wondered if he felt it, but peripheral vision could give her no more than a sketchy glimpse of his crotch, obscured by his arms and the movement of the hoe.

Suddenly, what she felt was more than an ache. The blister on her palm burst sending sharp, salty pain through her hand. “Ouch!” She dropped the hoe and gave her hand a hard shake.

Simon was instantly at her side, examining the wounded appendage. “It’s a blood blister.” He offered her a crooked smile, and she noticed how blue his eyes were.  “You must have had quite a death grip on that hoe.”

“I should have worn gloves.” She hoped he couldn’t hear her heart pounding in her words.

“Let’s get it cleaned up so it won’t get infected.” He left the hoes by the gate and led Cassie to the cabin.

Inside, he motioned her to sit down on the bed. “Wait here. I’ll get the first aid kit.” He disappeared into the bathroom.

The bed she sat upon was neatly made. On the night stand was a dog-eared copy of Thoreau’s Walden. Her heart skipped a beat as she recalled staying up all night reading Walden. Her father had given it to her for her twelfth birthday. It was Thoreau who had started her love affair with Fielding Farm, a love affair that she now understood was family tradition.

The room itself was clean and cheerful. The only clutter was the tumble of books and magazines across the card table, which had served as the make-shift desk where she did her homework as a child. Before she could check out the titles, Simon returned with a wash cloth and the first aid kit. He knelt in front of her and began to clean the blister with an easy hand.

“Joanie says you worked in high finance in Chicago.”

He smiled without looking up. “Did. Don’t anymore. This is better.” He squeezed a generous dollop of antibiotic ointment on the wound before putting a Band-Aid across it. “There. All clean.”

Find the rest Cultivation over on A Hopeful Romantic blog!

Sexy Just Got Rich: The Brit Babes Do Billionaires:

Billionaires have it all but that doesn’t mean they don’t have to work hard to get what their hearts desire. In this anthology of erotic BDSM stories the Brit Babes offer heroes and heroines who aren’t shy about taking what they want. From farmyards to luxury penthouses, wealth is all about sating needs, connecting souls and taking pleasure to new highs. Whether you’re looking for a coffee break read or something longer to curl up in bed with, you’ll find something to suit your needs in Sexy Just Got Rich. 

Buy Sexy Just Got Rich Here


  1. Love it...! *puts on running shoes and races over to A Hopeless Romantic*

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