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Steamy-Stories

Steamy-Stories

De: Steamy Stories
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Explicit short stories of intimacy and passion.2003-2022 Biografías y Memorias Ciencias Sociales Higiene y Vida Saludable
Episodios
  • Future Farmer's Wife

    Future Farmer's Wife
    Nov 24 2025
    Future Farmer's Wife. Summer loving, working on the farm. Based on a post by Farmer jill. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. When I was a young girl, every summer was an adventure. The farms around Stearns County, where I lived; would need extra help to cut, bail; and store up the hay for the long snowy winter. Everyone did small square bales back then, and that meant manual labor. The thing was that although the job paid great, it was not a regular job. The hours were always subject to change, with the weather, break downs, or hay production. You had little notice when you were needed, and then it was only for a few days. Farm kids also had to work on our own family farms; so you had to work it around that. Yet since every farmer needed the extra help it was like all the kids were a labor pool to be exploited. I liked working the hay harvests, because it allowed me to have spending money. Sure I was "paid" working for my dad but farming is a long term paying type of job. I didn't get actually paid for my labor but in the winter I would get money to go to the movies and the like. It was the summer of 81. I just turned 18 and the hay season started. The first job I heard about was at the Wilson Dairy Farm. I had worked for the Wilson's before. I showed up at 7am, on the appointed day, and there were four other people. The Wilson's only really need four laborers but you never knew what kind of quality you would get so the first day most farmers would have extras. Then at lunch they would get rid of the lazy, slow or stupid. In addition to myself, there were the Hanson brothers, Bill and Ted. I had worked with them before. They worked hard and usually worked the conveyor. In case you don't know; the conveyor is what gets the bales from the wagon up into the hay loft. It was a tricky job. You couldn't overload it, because it would jam. You also couldn't go to fast because the people unloading would get overwhelmed. There was also a guy I didn't know. He must have been new in our area. I was pretty sure he wouldn't make the cut. His hands had no calluses on them, dead give away. The last person in the group was none other than Cooper Banks, my high school crush. We were both the youngest in our families, and the only kids still living at home. We were both in the high school FFA club, Future Farmers of America, But he quit the club when he became a starter on the wrestling team. He was a year older than me and had just graduated. I'm sure that he didn't even know I existed before today. He was pretty popular at school and never lacked for female attention. Cooper was born on a farm on a different bus route from me, so I never had a chance to be noticed by him. Yet here he was, in the flesh. The Hay Harvest Operation. The way haying worked most times is; you went out with a wagon and while the farmer drove, you loaded the wagon. One person on the wagon, and a couple passing bales up. Other times the bales were formed, tied, and delivered to the wagon and then you stacked them on the wagon. In this case it was both types. Mr. Wilson was baling onto one wagon while the new guy stacked. Meanwhile us four took turns driving and loading/stacking another wagon. Once we had some wagons loaded, people would then work on loading the hay into the barn, hayloft, through an upper door under the gable; while others collected more hay. The farmers kept big coolers of cold water on hand, to hydrate the workers, and we often poured water over our sweaty bodies, to get relief from the humid air. Halfway through the day, our clothes were soaked. At lunch time, as I suspected, the new guy was let go. Blisters developed on his hands, because he didn't bring work gloves; so he was done. This left Bill loading the conveyor, and Cooper and I stacking the hay now in the barn's upper loft. Ted continued stacking bales on the wagon that Mr. Wilson was towing behind his bailor. It's hard work, but you are so busy, that it goes fast. Soon enough, the day was over and Mr. Wilson paid us. Then he asked us to be back tomorrow. That's another good thing, cash at the end of the day. We all said we would be back tomorrow, and went to leave. I ended up walking beside Cooper, and I was desperate to think of something to say to him. He was wearing a Van Halen concert t-shirt, so I asked him about it, "Cooper, that's a nice shirt. Did you like the concert?" "Oh yeah, those guys were great, I'd go see them again. You have a pretty nice shirt on, too." Now I was wearing the usual kind of t-shirt for this work. Mine was Long sleeves to protect my arms and it was well-worn. It was sorta too small for me, because it was pretty tight across the chest. I was pretty proud of my boobs that had kept developing over the past year. My tits were high on my chest, and especially firm, and jiggled a lot. I'm sure Cooper liked what was inside my shirt. Last winter, my past boyfriend said my tits were the perfect size, just more than a hand full. ...
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  • Abandon Ship: Part 2

    Abandon Ship: Part 2
    Nov 23 2025
    Abandon Ship!: Part 2 Jemima provides Davy with kinky new insights into female sexuality. By Big galute. Listen to the Podcast Steamy Stories. "Davy if I could, I would marry you at this very moment." "Don't mock me." "I'm not, I'm serious." I didn't answer, finally realizing that I was stuck on a boat in the middle of the ocean with an insane woman. "I don't know about God but I do know about the church and the clergy that tell us about sins of the flesh, many of the clergy are the biggest sinners amongst us." I stayed silent but knew that I'd heard many men on the river saying the same thing. "Why can our bodies do such things? Why does it feel so wonderful when we do? Surely humans are designed to enjoy sex in whichever way they want?" I couldn't think of any answers to Jemi's words but still thought she was insane. "I know that I have a high spirit and enjoy doing the things society tells me I mustn't, but that's not because I am bad but rather because I am free and should be allowed to make up my own mind. All the men I have ever been introduced to, have been vain, shallow, or stupid; sometimes all three." I listened to her profound words, but she wasn’t yet done; "In a different situation we may never have met, or if we did we would not have spoken. But you are different from them, we are stuck on this little boat but you are sweetest, most sincere man I have ever met. I also sense a wild free-spirit inside you, longing to get out." Any doubts I had about Jemi's sincerity disappeared as she kissed me, a soft, gentle, loving kiss. We molded together as Jemi nuzzled her head into my chest and placed her leg across me, causing me to harden and grow and causing Jemi to giggle. "I love you, and I love your tallywacker." She said before falling asleep. I awoke to the early morning sun and to Jemi sitting upright and smiling down at me, "Is it always that engorged in the mornings?" She asked, her eyes roving down my body and her smile widening, the mischievous glint back in her eye. "Sometimes." "I've been staring at it for ages, it twitches and moves and you sometimes touch it in your sleep." She placed her hand to my forehead and laughed, "Good, no fever. Your face is so red I wondered." I went to sit up but Jemi gently pushed me back down, "Lay still, I want to study it awhile." I could have refused and insisted that we got busy with the sail but I was getting use to Jemi and knew there was no point. "My friend Imogen says her husband's is short and fat, with a rather musty, unpleasant smell." "Yours appears to be long and fat and I could detect no unpleasant smells." Seeing my puzzled look, Jemi said, "I smelt it whilst you were asleep. Actually it was quite fascinating, I blew on it and it twitched. The bulbous gland at the top appears to be the most sensitive, the thick shaft less so." Laying there listening to my beautiful angel ruminate about my appendage was exhilarating and highly arousing and I knew that I wished it always to be so, I also knew that we needed to get sailing if we were to have any chance of survival. "I think we should hoist our sail." I suggested, changing the subject. "You're probably right." Jemi went quiet and I think I detected a new glow to her cheeks. "Imogen says that when her husband emits semen in the morning he is far more productive and it assuages any foul humor he may have." "Would you like to emit some semen?" I nodded, unable to refuse. "Teach me how, so I would know how best to do it." Jemi said. I wanted to ask what else Imogen had said but dared not, instead telling Jemi; “I just wrap my fingers around it and pull back & forth, Like you did last night." She thought about this for a while before asking, "Do you think of things when you do it?" "Sometimes, last night was the first time anyone else has ever done it for me and I didn't need to think of anything." "I like the name tallywacker but for the purposes of my studies I will think of it as a penis, when you make love to me it can be your tallywacker." Before I could respond to this Jemi took my penis in her hand, "It is heavier than I imagined, maybe more than a pound, there is already fluid leaking out the top." Jemi ran a finger of the other hand across the fluid, the sensation causing my penis to twitch violently and me to take a sharp breath in. "Was that painful?" Jemi asked. "No, just sensitive. Almost ticklish, in a way” Jemi nodded as if storing this information away, she then brought her fingers to her face "A slight smell of ammonia and mildly salty flavor." I was enjoying Jemi's hand on my penis but I wasn't sure if I enjoyed being part of an experiment. She suddenly started shaking it violently, "The muscle tries to resist and the penis becomes harder, tell me, does that feel nice?" "Slightly uncomfortable but not unpleasant." Jemi nodded and then started slapping my penis hard against her open palm, until it became too rigid to ...
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  • Abandon Ship: Part 1

    Abandon Ship: Part 1
    Nov 22 2025
    Abandon Ship!: Part 1 Two virgin shipwreck survivors share a lifeboat and a few more discoveries in the Victorian-era By Big galute. Listen to the Podcast Steamy Stories. "Man the lifeboats! Abandon ship! Abandon ship!" We had been at sea for ten days when the storm hit, our splendid vessel battered and broken into no more than firewood, all the passengers and crew seemingly lost. I came to, my legs dangling in the water and my arms and upper body atop some flotsam timbers. The sea around me was calm, with small pieces of wreckage everywhere. I tried to look around, the throbbing pain in my head and the low morning sun making it hard to focus; no one to be seen, just me. I pulled myself up onto the driftwood, too tired to think, my mind too blurred to do anything other than curl up and sleep. Davy, Davy Arthur that's me, eighteen years old and on my first ship. I'd grown up by the Thames, my father worked on the tugs but died when I was young. It was in my blood and I'd always dreamt of being at sea, then my mother died and I got a job as a stoker on the SS Cadwallader, sailing to the new world. In other words, I assisted in tending the boiler furnace for this steam ship named for a Welsh king from centuries ago. The several months I spent shoveling coal into the furnace, reduced my once-stocky six foot frame by more than 2 inches around my waistline. "Hello, Hello. Are you okay there, are you alive?" I tried to follow the voice, a ladies voice, young and a bit wispy & screechy as she shouted out to me, "Hello, I'm over here, can you see me?" I slowly turned my head and body to the left, maybe 3 rods away from me was a small wooden life boat, a damsel frantically waving her arms at me. I managed to raise one arm to let her know I was alive and she started to paddle with one oar, the boat turning sideways rather than towards me, then I think I passed out again. "Hello, are you alright, can you move?" The voice was much closer now, kind and posh, like the ladies I had sometimes overheard in coming out of tearooms in London. The boat was now less than a fathom from me but I felt hardly able to move, all my strength needed to perch up on one elbow. "I'll hold out the oar, see if you can grab it." The wispy voice directed. I used my free arm to grab it, then held on for dear life and found myself getting right up to the starboard, till a soft hand grasped my wrist. "You'll have to help me, I can't pull you in by myself. Can you get onto your knees?" I did as she said, and rolled up over the rail, then plonked myself onto the small lifeboat, almost tipping us as I did so. "Oh you poor thing, you're all cuts and bruises." As she said this she supported my head and offered water to my lips, "Drink slowly in case you get sick." Consciousness was a fleeting state, and I could not decipher reality from delirious dreams. I looked up at her pale lips and beautiful green eyes and wondered if she were an angel and I was dead; my thoughts slipping as my eyes closed; the ripping of material and my angel saying "We must cover you from the sun." being the last sounds I heard. I felt a wet cloth on my forehead and heard soothing words being spoken, the smiling face of my ‘angel’ looking down at me as I opened my eyes. "Hello again." Came her pleasant greeting. I think I smiled back and then tried to sit up "Take it easy, let me help you." She offered. I felt the wonderful softness of her body against mine as she set me upright. The spinning in my head slowed as I tried to focus and clear the fog in my brain; shipwreck, lifeboat, angel. "Do you remember going overboard and the ship sinking?" My angel asked. I shook my head, in the affirmative. "I think you must have banged your head pretty badly’” she assessed. “You have a nasty bruise on the side of it." I put my hand up and felt the tender area above my ear. "I think you have what Professor Gower refers to as a concussion, are you familiar with Professor Gower's work." I again shook my head in the negative. "He's the eminent neurologist of our time. I think you should be okay in a day or two." I nodded, then asked; "What's your name, and are you an angel?" She looked taken-aback and then burst out laughing. "Oh my dear thing, no I'm not an angel and you are very much alive. My name’s Jemima Fairweather but you may call me Jemi, all my friends do. What's your name?" "Davy Arthur." "Nice to meet you Davy Arthur; & may I call you Davy?" I nodded to her. At that point I could care less what the skipper of the only lifeboat decided to call me. "Now, how do we get out of this pickle." She asked, expecting me to be a seafaring expert. I followed her gaze as she looked around, nothing but water and us in a small wooden boat, no more than fifteen feet long. I looked around our boat; there were three small wooden boxes, only one rowing oar and Jemi, her elaborate bustle dress torn with several parts missing, and what looked like some ...
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