I fucked a shepherdess in the woods sucking her tits

Back when I was just seventeen, fresh out of high school and cramming for college entrance exams, life was a mix of books and boredom. My family lived in a small village in the rolling hills, where we tilled the land and tended crops to make ends meet. On days when algebra and essays drove me up the wall, I’d escape to the fields, wandering through golden wheat and emerald beet patches under a sky so blue it felt like a painting.

One late summer afternoon, I was strolling through our sugar beet fields, the air thick with the scent of earth and greenery. That’s when I saw it—our carefully planted rows, trampled and nibbled down to stubs. Sheep had been here, grazing without a care. “Good Lord,” I muttered, my heart sinking. “All that work, gone to waste.” Anger flared in my chest. Who’d let their flock ruin our livelihood?

Determined to catch the culprit, I grabbed my old rifle the next morning and headed back to the field. I found a spot among the wild blackberry bushes, their thorns pricking at my sleeves, and crouched low, eyes scanning the horizon. The beets were our lifeblood, our family’s income. I wasn’t about to let some careless shepherd get away with this.

The sun climbed higher, and just as my legs started to cramp, I heard it—the faint jingle of sheep bells, growing louder. A flock crested the hill, spilling into the field like a woolly tide. My gaze darted to the figure trailing them. A shepherd, no doubt, but not the grizzled old man I’d expected. It was a girl. A young woman, maybe seventeen or eighteen, her presence as startling as a deer in a clearing.

She was stunning in a wild, unpolished way. About five foot three, slender but curved in all the right places—full breasts straining against her faded floral dress, hips that swayed with each step. Her blonde hair was woven into two braids, half-covered by a red scarf that fluttered in the breeze. The dress, worn and patched, clung to her frame, and beneath it, I caught a glimpse of matching floral bloomers peeking out. She stood there, staff in hand, watching her sheep with a quiet intensity.

My anger should’ve burned hotter, but the sight of her doused it like rain on a fire. I stepped out from the bushes, rifle slung over my shoulder, and her hazel eyes widened as she spotted me. “You!” I called, striding toward her. “You little thief! What do you think you’re doing, letting your sheep destroy my family’s crops?”

She flinched, clutching her staff tighter. “Oh, please, sir, I’m so sorry!” Her voice was soft, trembling, with a lilt that made my pulse quicken. “I—I tried to keep them away, I swear. They just… they got loose. Please, don’t be angry.”

Her name, I’d learn later, was Emily, but in that moment, she was just the shepherd girl, her cheeks flushed with panic. “Sorry doesn’t fix this,” I snapped, though my tone softened against my will. “Those beets are our income. I ought to seize your sheep and make your father pay for the damage.”

“No, please!” she cried, stepping closer, her hands clasping my arm. “My father—he’ll kill me if he finds out. I’ll do anything, I beg you. Just let me go, and I’ll keep them away, I promise.” Her touch was warm, her body so close I could smell the faint lavender of her skin, mingled with the earthiness of the fields. My body reacted before my mind could catch up, my cock stirring in my jeans, pressing uncomfortably against the denim.

I don’t know what possessed me—maybe the heat, maybe her pleading eyes—but the words slipped out. “Alright,” I said, voice low. “I’ll let you go… if you spend some time with me. Just you and me, right here.”

Her eyes widened, a mix of shock and something else—curiosity, maybe? “What… what do you mean?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“You know what I mean,” I said, stepping closer, my gaze locked on hers. “No one’s around. Just a little fun. I won’t hurt you, I promise. I won’t… go all the way.”

She bit her lip, her face scarlet, and for a moment, I thought she’d bolt. But then, in a voice so soft it was almost lost to the wind, she said, “Okay… but only if no one sees us.”

My heart pounded as I took her hand, leading her deeper into the blackberry thicket, where the bushes formed a natural curtain. We sank onto a patch of soft grass, and I pulled her close, my lips finding hers. She tasted sweet, like wild honey, her kisses tentative at first, then hungry. Her body trembled—fear, excitement, or both—and I whispered against her ear, “Relax, Emily. It’s just us.”

“You’re… you’re sure no one will see?” she murmured, her hands clutching my shirt.

“I’m sure,” I said, kissing her neck, feeling her pulse race under my lips. “Just let go.”

Her fingers tangled in my hair as I unbuttoned her dress, revealing her bare breasts—no bra, just perfect, firm mounds with pink nipples already hardening in the cool air. I cupped them, marveling at their weight, and she gasped, arching into my touch. “Oh… that feels…” she trailed off, her voice dissolving into a moan as I teased her nipples with my thumbs.

“You like that?” I asked, grinning as I lowered my mouth to her chest, licking slow circles around one nipple before sucking it gently. Her moans grew louder, her hips squirming against the grass. I tugged her dress off completely, leaving her in just her floral bloomers, which were damp at the crotch. My fingers slipped beneath the fabric, finding her pussy—hot, slick, and so tight I could barely ease a finger inside.

“God, you’re soaked,” I muttered, my cock throbbing painfully in my jeans. She whimpered as I rubbed her clit, her thighs parting instinctively. “You want this, don’t you?”

“I… I don’t know,” she gasped, but her body said otherwise, hips bucking against my hand. I peeled her bloomers off, exposing her pussy to the sunlight—pink, glistening, with a sparse patch of blonde curls. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, and I couldn’t resist. I leaned down, kissing her inner thighs before licking her slit, tasting her sweetness. She cried out, hands fisting in my hair as I tongued her clit, her juices coating my chin.

“Please… oh, please,” she begged, though I wasn’t sure if she wanted me to stop or keep going. I didn’t stop. I sucked her clit, flicking it with my tongue until her moans turned to desperate sobs of pleasure. Her first orgasm hit like a wave, her body shuddering, thighs clamping around my head.

I couldn’t wait any longer. I yanked off my jeans, my cock springing free—seven inches long, thick, veins pulsing, the head glistening with precum. Emily’s eyes widened, half in awe, half in fear. “It’s… so big,” she whispered.

“Don’t worry,” I said, guiding her hand to it. Her fingers wrapped around my shaft, stroking hesitantly, and I groaned at the sensation. “Just touch it. Feel it.”

She did, her touch growing bolder, and I positioned myself between her legs, rubbing my cock against her pussy, the head sliding between her slick lips. “Tell me you want this,” I said, my voice rough.

“I… I want it,” she admitted, her voice shaking. “But… be gentle.”

I pressed forward, the head of my cock stretching her tight entrance. She gasped, nails digging into my shoulders as I inched inside, her pussy gripping me like a vice. “Fuck, you’re tight,” I groaned, moving slowly, letting her adjust. I didn’t push too deep—just a few inches, enough to feel her heat enveloping me. I thrust gently, her moans mixing with mine, her legs wrapping around my waist.

“You feel so good,” I panted, kissing her deeply as I rocked into her. Her pussy was heaven, wet and warm, and I fought to keep control. She was lost in it now, her hips meeting my thrusts, her moans turning to cries. “James… oh, James,” she whimpered, my name on her lips driving me wild.

I felt the pressure building, my balls tightening. “I’m gonna come,” I warned, and she clung to me, her own climax building again. With a final thrust, I pulled out, my cock erupting, ropes of cum splashing across her belly and thighs. She screamed, her body convulsing as her own orgasm hit, her pussy clenching around nothing.

But then I saw it—blood, mingling with my cum on her thighs. Her virginity, taken in the heat of the moment. Horror washed over me. “Oh God, Emily, I’m sorry,” I stammered, scrambling back. “I didn’t mean to—”

She sat up, grabbing a rag from her discarded dress, wiping herself with trembling hands. Her eyes met mine, tears streaming down her face. “It’s too late,” she whispered, her voice hollow. “What’s done is done.”

“Emily, I—” I started, but she was already dressing, her movements mechanical. She gathered her sheep, herding them away without a backward glance. “Wait!” I called. “What’s your name?”

She paused, turning just enough to look at me, a sad smile on her lips. “Just call me the Shepherd Girl,” she said, and then she was gone, vanishing over the hill.

I’m thirty-eight now, and that day haunts me like a ghost. The memory of her face, her touch, the blood on her thighs—it’s as vivid as if it happened yesterday. I never saw her again, but I carry the weight of that moment, a secret etched in the fields where we became something more, and something less, than strangers.