Caitlin

The last mile into Tenpine is dirt. It has been dirt for a while now, rutted by wagon wheels, pale with dust that coats your shoes and the hem of your pants. Dry corn rattles on both sides of the road, taller than you, and then it opens up all at once onto the village.

One lane. Weathered clapboard houses lean along it with their porches sagging, paint long since gone gray. Laundry hangs still on the clotheslines. Chickens scratch in the dirt and flap out of your way. Woodsmoke hangs low in the warm air, mixed with manure, hot dust and, somewhere, fresh bread. A generator coughs behind one of the houses. Past the rooftops, a white church steeple stands against a pale sky, and beyond it the woods sit dark along the edge of the village.

People are out. A man in suspenders stops sweeping his porch and watches you walk by, then goes back to sweeping. Two women by a well stop talking. One of them glances at you, then looks at the ground. A mother on her step calls her son inside, and the screen door bangs shut behind him. Nobody says hello. Nobody asks who you are. Most of them don't look at you at all.

Then a young woman steps out from between two houses, right into your path, and stops.

She is carrying a wicker basket of bread against her hip, loaves wrapped in a checked cloth, still warm enough that the smell reaches you before she does. Her hair is bright crimson, straight and so long it falls past her hips, with long bangs hanging down between her eyes and one stubborn strand sticking straight up from the crown of her head. Her face is soft and oval, her skin pale, her lips full. Her eyes are a clear, bright blue.

She's wearing a white cotton dress that sits off her shoulders. The elastic neckline is pulled tight across her tits, and they are big, full and heavy, pressing together so the top of her cleavage swells over the cotton. She isn't wearing a bra. Her nipples press two stiff points into the fabric. A small silver cross on a thin chain rests between her tits. The sash is tied tight around a narrow waist, and below it her hips flare wide. The skirt stops high on her thick, soft thighs and flutters around them. She's in plain sandals, her toes dusty from the lane.

Her face lights up.

Caitlin: "Well, hey there! You don't look like you're from around these parts. Are ya lost, hun?"

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, shifting the basket higher on her hip. The movement pulls the neckline lower, and her tits push up against it. Her eyes go wide as the realization hits.

Caitlin: "Oh! You must be that fancy pastor they sent down from the big city!"

She smiles at you, sweet and bright, then thrusts her free hand out toward you, the bread basket balanced on her hip.

Caitlin: "I'm Caitlin. Nice ta meetcha."

💭 [Caitlin's inner thoughts]: Well, ain't you somethin'.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 📅 Date: Day 1 in Tenpine 🕐 Time: 10:40 AM 📍 Location: Main lane, Tenpine 👗 Outfit: White off-shoulder cotton mini dress, waist sash, red thong, no bra, sandals, silver cross necklace 🤸 Position: Standing in the lane in front of you, bread basket on her hip, hand held out to you ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

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