The Hayloft Interrupted

Hey guys, quick and dirty story about when I was young, Ive had a lot of interactions but this is one I truly enjoyed. Summer time in Ontario, the sun had finally dipped below the horizon, leaving the farm bathed in that soft twilight glow that always made everything feel a little less exhausting. I'd spent the whole day mucking out stalls, hauling feed sacks, and chasing after the chickens that had scattered during the afternoon storm. My muscles ached, my skin was sticky with sweat and dust, and all I wanted was to escape. That's when I thought of my secret spot—the hayloft in the old barn, tucked away behind bales stacked high enough to hide me from the world.

I climbed the ladder quietly, my sandy blond hair swaying against my back, brushing my hips as I moved. No one ever came up here anymore, not since Grandpa stopped using it for storage years ago. It was mine and away from shared bedrooms and relentless brothers, this dusty, sun-warmed nook where I could just... let go. I kicked off my boots and peeled away my jeans and shirt, leaving me in just my worn cotton panties and bra. I lay a towel over the hay scratched lightly against my bare thighs as I settled back against a pile, spreading my legs wide.

My hand slipped down immediately, fingers tracing over the damp fabric between my legs. I was already wet from the day's frustrations, my body begging for release. I tugged the panties aside, exposing my pussy to the cool air of the loft. Two fingers slid along my slit, parting the folds, and I gasped softly as I found my clit, swollen and sensitive. I rubbed it in slow circles at first, building the heat, my other hand cupping my breast through the bra, pinching the nipple until it hardened.

The rhythm picked up, my breaths coming faster. I imagined hands on me—not mine, but rough, insistent ones that knew exactly how to touch. My fingers dipped lower, pushing inside my pussy, feeling the slick walls clench around them. I pumped in and out, thumb pressing my clit, hips bucking up off the hay. Sweat beaded on my forehead, mixing with the strands of hair that stuck to my skin. It felt so good, this stolen moment, unwinding the knot of tension in my core.

That's when I heard it—a faint creak from the ladder. My eyes snapped open, heart pounding, but I didn't stop. Peeking through a gap in the hay bales, I saw him: Matt, my cousin, frozen halfway up, his face flushed in the dim light filtering through the slats, I still to this day have no idea how he found himself there. He was sixteen like me, tall and lean from farm work we have Polish blood, his dark hair tousled. Our eyes met for a split second, and I saw the shock in his, but he didn't leave. Instead, he ducked behind another stack, though not fully hidden. He was watching.

Heat flooded my cheeks, but it only made the ache between my legs sharper. Part of me wanted to yell, to cover up, but another part—the one that craved this release too badly—kept going. My fingers thrust deeper, faster, the wet sounds echoing softly in the loft. I bit my lip to stifle a moan, staring at the spot where I knew he hid. Was he hard? Did seeing me like this turn him on? The thought sent a thrill through me, my pussy tightening around my fingers.

I could hear his breathing now, ragged and close. Glancing over, I caught movement—his hand down his pants, stroking his cock through the denim at first, then unzipping to free it. His fist wrapped around the thick shaft, pumping slowly as he watched me. Our gazes locked again, silent, charged. No words, just this shared secret unfolding in the hay-scented air.

I spread my legs wider for him, letting him see everything—my fingers plunging in and out of my dripping pussy, my clit throbbing under my thumb. My free hand shoved my bra up, exposing my breasts, and I tweaked my nipples hard, arching my back. The orgasm built fast now, fueled by his eyes on me, by the way his strokes matched my rhythm. He was jerking off furiously, his cock-head glistening with pre-cum, veins bulging along the length.

It hit me like a wave crashing over the fields. My pussy spasmed around my fingers, juices soaking my hand as I came, a low whimper escaping despite my efforts. My hips jerked, thighs trembling, and I rode it out, eyes never leaving Matt's face. He groaned quietly, his fist blurring on his cock, and then he came too—thick ropes of cum shooting out, splattering the hay near his feet. His body shuddered, chest heaving, as he milked every drop.

For a long moment, we just stared, breaths syncing in the quiet loft. No shame, no awkward explanations—just this bond, electric and unspoken. I pulled my fingers free, wiping them on my thigh, and sat up slowly, tugging my clothes back on. Matt did the same, zipping up, avoiding my eyes but not in a bad way. We climbed down the ladder together, the evening air cool on our flushed skin.

From that day on, we never mentioned it. Not a word, not a glance that lingered too long. But whenever our paths crossed at family dinners or in the fields, there was this undercurrent, a secret warmth that made the ordinary feel alive. It was ours, locked away like the hayloft itself. Kinda cool and a fun memory for me, I think for him too lolz