Deep Crotch Mother – Chapter 1

“Mommy, can you figure out what’s wrong with it?” twelve-year-old Timmy asked as
his mother bent over the fender of their ancient Ford and stared at the engine.
“Quiet!” said the lad’s twin sister, Beth. “Let Mama think.”

Marcella, hearing the approach of a vehicle along the back-country road, bent a bit
farther and elevated her hips. The breeze, which had been gusting across the
prairie, dipped underneath her light skirt and billowed it up above her bottom.

The approaching driver got a sudden, unexpected view of her generous buttocks,
which packed and expanded the filmy fabric of her pastel panties. Her thighs
gleamed, pale and smooth, above gartered stockings. Rubber screeched.

Marcella waggled her bottom, causing her buttocks to wobble in her panties. The
pink nylon shimmered in the late-afternoon sunlight. The crotch seam of her briefs
pressed against the lush softness of her ass.

Finally she pushed her skirt down and turned to face the farmer in his rattletrap truck
which had come to a skidding stop beside her. His gray eyes glinted and a grin came
to his weathered face as he gazed at the pretty woman in her late twenties. She
wore no makeup except for a touch of lipstick, and she had a fresh and wholesome
quality that contrasted with her voluptuous figure. The breeze stirred her auburn hair
against a cheek as she smiled almost bashfully.

“I seem to have some car trouble,” she said in a sweet voice. “I wonder … ”
The middle-aged farmer licked his thin lips. “Want me to take a look at it? I’m pretty
good with engines.”

“Oh, would you? I’d be ever so grateful!”

“Sure. Just let me pull off the road.”

He guided his truck to a stop on the shoulder in front of the stalled car, and he
walked back, a lanky figure in bib overalls.

“It just stopped,” Marcella said, and gave a little shrug. The large bulbs which filled
her blouse shifted in a liquid way, making it abundantly clear that she wore no bra.
Her plump nipples imprinted themselves on the plain white fabric.

“Let’s see now … “ the farmer said, and bent to look at the engine.

Standing next to him, Marcella bent forward also. His sneaky side-glance took in the
tumbling beauty of her breasts. She wriggled slightly, causing her tittyflesh to
tremble.

The farmer cleared his throat. A quick look told him that the woman’s kids were
playing at the rear of the car and that there was no traffic approaching on the road.
He reached up underneath her skirt and grabbed a handful of her panty-sheathed
bottom.

She acted as if nothing had happened, except that there was a slight catch to her
voice as she asked hoarsely, “Can you tell … what’s wrong?”

Standing at her right side, he squeezed her left buttock, his fingers extended along
its quivery flank as his thumb pressed the fabric of her panties into the crack of her
ass. Marcella squirmed more, making her fleshy mound vibrate in his grasp.
With his other hand he pretended to tinker with the engine. But his heart wasn’t in it.
The fifty-five-year-old farmer had an iron-hard erection, such as he hadn’t enjoyed in
years.

“Can’t quite figger what’s wrong,” he said huskily as he fiddled with the carburetor.
The tips of his fingers curled around the left leg elastic of the woman’s flimsy briefs,
and he stretched the elastic toward him, at the same time gliding his hand inside her
panties.