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Then I used my hand to open up my jeans more to allow him more access. It definitely worked and he got even deeper. He didn’t really know what to do...though. He was just wiggling them inside. But that was enough for me and his fingers were properly wet now.This went on for quite a while. I was slowly losing my caution of being seen but still maintained a constant vigilance. Both my hands just guided him. One hand was on top of his hand which was squeezing my boobs as hard as ever, and the other. I saw the opening to the pasture ahead and decided I’d better look for a place to stash my clothes. Part of this was the thrill of leaving my retreat cut-off, and having no quick way of getting dressed again. I wanted to ride out in the open pasture completely naked and committed, leaving my clothes far behind. I stopped short of the bright sunshine beyond the few remaining trees ahead, and dismounted, leading my horse beside a large, fallen log. I looked around one last time, pulled my boots. The Chicken Cordon Bleu was fantastic. Abby's twice baked potatoes were good too.The peach parfaits were greeted with oohs and ahs when they appeared. The parfaits disappeared in a blink. Will and Abby gave Julie and me credit for the dessert.When everyone was done, Dad sat back and said, "That was great Will and Abby. Thank you for dinner." You're welcome, Mr. Martin." Abby answered."I'm glad you enjoyed it." Will added.Dad continued, "I can't help but wonder. What are you buttering us up. Like everything the adults of Arbor drank, Cintosa had its origins rooted firmly in the wine industry. It was a combination of grape leaves and a specific fungus called the 'foot of the vine', that only grew on the ground beneath grapevines. Both the leaves and fungus were dried and crushed into a coarse powder, which was steeped in boiling water, just like you would tea. It was both bitter and earthy at the same time, with a slight, peppery aftertaste. Cintosara was a rarer, and some would say.
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