The barn smelled of damp earth and fermenting corn when she named her price. "Fifty for the basket, but you pay it my way," Mara said, wiping her hands on her overalls before popping the top button. The buyer, a thick-armed man named Cole who'd driven up from the city looking for huitlacoche, watched her fingers work the denim. "Or you walk."
He didn't walk. He stepped closer, boots scraping the concrete, and said, "Show me how you want it paid."
Mara dropped to her knees right there on the scattered hay. She yanked his belt open with quick, rough pulls, freeing his cock. It was already half-hard, heavy in her palm. She spat on the head and stroked once, twice, then took him deep without warning. Cole groaned, one hand gripping the top of her head as she sucked him wet and loud, spit dripping down her chin onto the front of her shirt. She worked him fast, cheeks hollowing, tongue pressing hard along the underside until his hips started to jerk.
"Jesus, that's the price?" he rasped.
She pulled off with a wet pop, strings of saliva connecting her lips to his shaft. "That's the down payment." Standing, she shoved her overalls and underwear down in one motion, kicked them aside, and turned to brace against a stack of feed sacks. Her ass was round and pale, the cleft already glistening. "Fuck me like you mean to buy the whole crop."
Cole didn't need telling twice. He lined up and drove in hard, one thrust burying him to the balls. Mara grunted, pushing back to meet him. The barn filled with the slap of skin and the wet sound of her cunt gripping him. He fucked her rough, hands clamped on her hips, pounding so deep she felt it in her spine. Every time he bottomed out she moaned louder, demanding more.
"Harder," she ordered. "Earn that smut."
He gave it to her, slamming in until the feed sacks shifted under her weight. Sweat rolled down his chest. Mara reached between her legs and rubbed her clit in tight circles, coming with a sharp cry that made her walls clamp and flutter around him. Cole didn't slow. He kept driving through her orgasm, chasing his own until his rhythm broke and he pulled out at the last second, striping her lower back and ass with thick ropes of cum.
She stayed bent over, breathing hard, letting it drip. "Basket's yours," she said finally. "But the next one costs double."
Cole laughed, low and rough, already tucking himself away. "I'll be back tomorrow."
Mara straightened, wiped herself with a rag from the workbench, and pulled her overalls back on. The corn smut sat in neat baskets by the door, black and fragrant, ready for market. She priced it the same way every time now: cash or cock, and she always collected both.
