Chapter 3: Let’s Do It in the Road
Back at the farmhouse, we had the dessert Kaitlyn and Mary made, a poppy seed bundt cake, dusted with powdered sugar on top. Lovely straight, but perfect with tea!
While the rest of the group scattered to rest and let that settle, I took Kaitlyn aside and said, “On our hike back, your father said it’s time to fertilize the fields.”
She replied, “Actually, it’s a bit late in the year. Let me guess: he’s been holding off until we got back.”
“Yup. Said he wasn’t sure if he’d go with good old NPK fertilizers or leave the spring fertilization up to us. I told him to hold off, that you were eager to try this experiment.”
“I am,” she confirmed, then stated rhetorically, “You’re wanting to do this now.” With a nod of accession, she began stripping bare in her family’s dining room, no hesitation at all; I barely caught up with her, the two of us stuffing our socks into our shoes at about the same time.
We got our invisibility bubbles on and were out the back door, strolling hand-in-hand across the nearly-bare family farm fields, planted but not yet showing much greenery.
We walked slowly, feeling out into the land, getting a sense of it, bonding with it, becoming one with it. By the time we hit the gate at the fringe of the farm’s furthest field, we knew it and the neighboring Johannsen one intimately.
Kaitlyn unlatched the gate and quickly stepped through it, saying, “Fence darn near drained my magic! Almost lost my bubble!”
I laughed quietly, then said, “Practice, shishya. You’ll get to the point that you can hold tighter to your magic in proximity to simple tech like this, but you have to keep the magic in close to your body.”
That’s another experimental result, not speculation: the 1.2 meter limit we’d measured for Kaitlyn vs. Smartphone was about 0.4 meters for me. I had years more experience doing it, so stepping through the gate hardly affected my magical reserves.
Now out in the middle of the rocky country lane, the Gutierrez farm to one side, the Johannsen farm to the other, I used my power to push the gravel down below the hard-packed dirt, creating a blackboard-smooth plane in seconds. “My dear,” I addressed my wife, “why don’t we do it in the road?”
Kaitlyn stepped up beside me, placed a warm hand on my bare invisible butt cheek and slid it sensuously up over its curve, then up my back, hooking my neck, pulling my lips down to hers. We kissed long and slow, the spring wind swirling about us. On breaking for breath, she said, “Show me a fertility rite, my guru.”
We sank to the ground, and I began plowing her field, a symbolic proxy for the actual fields surrounding us, building our magic up and up, packing our magical reserves tight using the ramming method we’d just invented with Ranger Nemo, back on spring break.
No one drove down the quiet country lane to disturb us, and no one was nearby in earshot, verified by our magical senses of the area, spread out deep through the land, below the level of the artificial fences, stretching up then to the surface level, so that we knew every living thing for half a kilometer in radius, covering both farms’ fields, the lane, and much in excess: lawns, planter boxes, and kitchen gardens.
We flowed from position to position, keeping ourselves lubed and limber, edging toward a single simultaneous stupendous orgasm.
«Now, Davie! Now!» my wife sent through our mage bond, and I felt her vaginal pulses beginning on my pistoning cock. “Eeeeeeeyyeeeeeeeeaeiiiiiighhhhhh!” she yelled, not caring who heard.
“Grrrrrrraaaaaaaahhhhhh!” I cried in tandem, my cock planted deep into her fertile field, pushing her in doggy position several centimeters across the smooth dirt surface, my glans sealed to her cervix, pumping her full of my life-giving seed.
We released the power of the orgasm downward, out below the land in a shallow pancake shape, then up to our working area’s surface. We pulled nutrients up from deep underground, broke last year’s plowed-under material down into its most useful forms, fixed nitrogen from the atmosphere, and synthesized new molecules from the elements we had at hand, producing our own homemade fertilizers.
As the last spasms of our simultaneous orgasm subsided, we knew we’d done as good a job as the best commercial fertilizer on the market. We’d just saved the two farms thousands of dollars in fertilizer and several person-days of labor each, but best of all, we’d had fun doing it!