Henry "Hank" Johnson was a big strapping black man who worked on Nancy's father's farm. Nancy, a vivacious young woman with a sexual appetite that couldn't be satisfied, was well aware of Hank. But Hank seemed to be totally unaware that Nancy even existed.
Nancy knew that Hank was a big, dim-witted man who did the work of an ox. But she couldn't help notice the bulging muscles in his arms and chest when she found him working without his shirt on a hot summer day. And she loved the way he filled his jeans, and never missed the large bulge in the front, which promised that what Hank lacked in brains, was made up for in his physical body.
On certain nights, when the craving was strong enough, Nancy would lie in her bed, her fingers gently rubbing her swollen clitoris, and think about what it would be like to have sex with Hank Johnson. The thought brought her to a powerful orgasm every time.
The day came when Hank and Nancy were alone on the farm. The situation was perfect. She found him working in the hot hay loft, stripped to the waist, stacking the big square bales of hay. Hank was working hard and his torso gleamed from sweat as she approached. She had a cold glass of lemonade in her hand.
"Thought you might like a cold drink," she said.
Hank stopped what he was doing and looked around at Nancy. There she was, a petite 18-year-old girl, wearing only a flimsy halter top that barely covered her ample breasts, and a pair of very short shorts. He smiled and reached for the drink. "Thank you miss," he said.
She stood waiting, her hands on her hips, legs slightly apart, as he guzzled the lemonade. He noticed that his eyes were roaming over her body as he drank. "That was kind o' you," he said as he handed her the empty glass.
"So, is there anything else I can do for you?" she asked teasingly, her hands moving seductively up the inside of her legs, gently pressing across the front of her shorts. "Ain't nobody else on the farm today you know."
Henry stood looking at Nancy. "What you sayin?" he asked.
