Maybe he could walk in on her in the bath or shower, or when she was changing her clothing, he considered. Maybe, pretending it was accidental, he could get a look at her ass and tits and crotch. He blushed at the thought, ashamed of himself. But he told himself there was no harm in just looking, determined that he would never actually do anything to the sexy nymphet. It wasn't really so wicked just to pretend, as long as he never actually touched her, right?
His jaw seemed to be connected to his cock. As his prick rose up into an iron-hard rod, his teeth clamped more tightly on the stem of his pipe, the muscles taut along his lean jaw. Bonny was out of sight now, having turned along the twisting lane, but her image stayed in his mind and his hard-on persisted. Jake – and he felt sheepish about it – had often jerked off while he thought about Bonny. He had also pretended he was fucking Bonny when he was fucking Martha, his wife. Now, with his balls bloated and his prick pounding like a jack-hammer, the frustrated father considered returning to the farm house and taking his wife to bed. He knew that Martha would be willing – she always was. But it presented a tactical problem. To get back to the house he would have to cross the fields where his hired hand was working and his hard-on was so visible and prominent that he was embarrassed to be seen.
He willed his cock to shrink and soften.
The damned thing swelled and hardened. So much blood was rushing into his cock that Jake felt light-headed.