The Sheepish Saga: Shearing Day
Sheepwomen Fleuretta and Hesperia are strapped into the shearing chair to be given some tender loving care at the hand of their shearers.
CHAPTER 1: SHEARING FLEURETTA
Fleuretta skipped across the meadow,
tossing her golden curls
as she sought out the best patches of mallow.
Finally! Shearing day had arrived
and after breakfast, Broxa the shepherdess
would herd the flock one by one into the barn
where they would take their place
in the shearing chair, lie back
and spread their thighs to await the razor
that would strip away the horrible stiff curls
between their legs.
Fleuretta munched a mouthful
of sweet mallow. Soon — so soon! —
the skillful hands of Matthias,
Schafsbach’s local shearer,
would do away with the wiry hairs
that she so hated for their torment
of the soft skin between her thighs.
“Baaaa!” she exclaimed, her mouth full.
“Baaa! Baaa!”
Lemontine, chewing on clover a few feet away,
shot her a baleful look. Fleuretta ambled over
and leaned against her shoulder.
Lemontine, poor thing, hated shearing
and would have preferred an all-natural look,
but Broxa said that it wasn’t hygienic
and insisted on fortnightly shavings.
“Come along, Fleuretta,”
said Broxa, striding up to her.
“You’re first.”
“Baaa!” she bleated
as she scrambled after the shepherdess
through the ankle-deep grass to the barn.
The barn smelled of hay
and soap and something minty and medicinal
that Broxa called disinfectant.
Matthias gave her a light tap on her ass
as she came in. He and Broxa
exchanged a few words
and then Broxa went out.
Fleuretta looked up at Matthias
and took a deep breath.
Ohhhh, he smelled good:
lemon balm and lavender,
the sweetness tempered
by the sharpness of his anticipation.
She nuzzled his groin.
Reyve, the shearer in Lammheim,
always swatted her away
when she did that to him,
but Matthias thrust his hips gently towards her face
and stroked her hair.
“Baaaa,” she said softly,
mouthing him through the denim.
He gave a little groan,
then pulled back.
“Up you go,” he said,
slapping her ass again
as she mounted the chair.
With her feet in the stirrups
and her legs spread wide,
she lay back against the grass-covered pillows.
Matthias grinned at her.
“Good girl.”
He held out a dandelion
and she munched it at once.
“Now then.”
He sat down on the three-legged stool
between her legs.
“You do need a shave, Fleuretta,
that you do.”
Fleuretta closed her eyes
as the familiar routine of soaping up began.
She sighed, slumping more deeply into the chair
as the warm water and lavender-scented soap,
together with Matthias’s gentle touch,
began to work their magic.
