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All of my stories include descriptions of sex scenes that could cause offence to some people. Please do not read this story if you are offended by perverse sexual material, or if you are under the legal age of consent for your own country. These stories are pure fiction and are not based on anyone living or deceased.
Well I guess if you’re reading this you have probably already read part one of my story, and know how I suddenly, at the age of twenty-three became aware of how wonderful sex can be. If you haven’t read part one, then a lot of this story might not make any sense. Right, so where had I got to? The ‘rescuers’ had now departed from my life, and for my part, I hoped and prayed, that I’d never see or hear from any of them again. Â
I showered, and then dressed, and for the first time, I wore jeans to go to work, mainly to avoid anyone seeing the marks on my inner leg. Silly now I come to think of it, the marks were from about a couple of inches above my knee, right up to my crotch, all the way up my inner leg. So with the skirts I normally wore for work being fully flared, and always at least knee length, there wouldn’t have been much chance of anyone seeing the marks anyway.
But regardless, dressed in jeans and blouse, I said bye to Michael who was just getting up, and set off to work. As normal when I arrived, I opened up the farm shop, and turned on the bell. On the door jamb of the farm shop was a bell press, and there was also a rubber tube laid across the entrance to the farm yard. Both of these were connected to bells that were located in most of the buildings around the farm yard. So I’d know if any vehicles arrived; or if people call to the shop on foot, they could ring for attention using the push-button.
As customers only ever started coming in dribs and drabs until lunch time, and then again around four in the afternoon, the rest of the time I had various other tasks to get on with. Egg collecting being normally my first, so once the bell was turned on, I picked-up my egg collecting basket and went on my rounds.
I searched around all the places I knew they normally laid their stray eggs, ending up at the chickens own properly made roost. Then with my basket full to overflowing, I carefully made my way back to the shop. We’d had no customers while I’d been away, which was about normal for a Monday, so I then began to sort the eggs into their sizes.
I think it was around ten o’clock, when with all the eggs sorted; I took a walk into the potato shed. This was definitely not my favourite job. The potatoes were loaded by tractor into the first floor of this building, so from down here, the roof above my head was loaded with tons of potatoes. In the corner of this shed was a sack filling machine. This was old and like most things about this farm, due for replacement.
It was supposed to take the potatoes from above, into this big wooden box, and then through a chute, into the potato sack. The whole of this big wooden box was connected to a mechanical shaking device, which was driven by an electric motor. The chute had a closing flap that was operated manually with a very big long lever.
The theory was simple. First place an empty sack onto the chute, and wrap the metal retainer to hold it in place. Second, the motor needs to be turned on, so the big box vibrates, this not only keeps the potatoes from jamming, but helps to make the flap open easier. Next pull the lever, letting the potatoes into the sack.
But in practice, once this machine is left overnight, or worse still over a weekend, moving that lever is nigh on impossible. So there is a wooden beer crate stood on end by the side of the machine which you have to climb onto. Then leaning as far across the top of the machine as possible, and using the lump of wood that is always laid on top of the machine. You try to reach around behind the upper chute, and thump the lever pivot boss (well that’s what the farmer says it’s called; I just know it’s that lump of metal sticking out the other side of the machine).
So I approach this job knowing the first time I try to get that lever moving, I’m going to have a real struggle on my hands. I get a paper sack and attach it firmly to the chute, and then switch on the motor. The whole building starts to drone, and clouds of dust begin to float down from the timber boards that make the ceiling. I heave with all my weight against the lever, but as I expected, it doesn’t budge an inch.
So now for the dreaded ritual, I carefully climb onto the wooden crate, holding onto the side of the vibrating machine for support. I’ve done this hundreds of times before, but never before have I noticed the vibration being so intense. But I try to put that out of my mind, and I now lift my left leg across, placing my foot on the lever. Then I take hold of the lump of wood from the top of the machine, and holding it stretched out in front of me. I lean forwards onto the top of the machine, to attempt to get the pivot pin within my reach.
As my tummy presses against the machine, the vibrations start the same feelings generated by that device the men had inserted inside my pussy two days previous.
I have to stand back, putting my leg back onto the box, but even the vibrations getting to me via my arms, which I’m using to balance with, are keeping this stimulation simmering. I decide it’s just my imagination, I must just have sex on the brain, all that is needed is a firm application of will-power. Ok, here goes!
I swing my leg back across to the lever, and lift myself up to my tip toes, and then slide myself as far as I can onto the top of the machine. Will-power or no will-power, my body lights-up with a glow, which emanates from deep in my crotch. My pussy is pulsing, my nipples are tingling, the bloody machine is driving my body out of control! And now to make things worse, my mind starts joining in the stimulation.
I guess you’re wondering what I mean by that. Well like I’ve said, this is not the first time I’ve been in this position. And I been perched up here bashing this lump of wood at the pivot pin for sometimes in excess of fifteen minutes. And on several of those occasions, either the farmer, one of his sons or one of his hired workers has suddenly appeared upon the box behind me. They have then lent across me, and tried to demonstrate where I should be hitting the machine.
Never in the past had I even given it a thought, that their leaning up against me, might be some kind of sexual turn-on for them (god! I must have been one green girl). And I’d never known or even considered that maybe these men might have been stood behind me for some time, looking up at my pathetic efforts. Whilst they viewed me with legs wide open, and them looking up from below.
But now, with the machine instructing my body to produce sexual hormones by the barrow load, my mind starts to wonder if maybe one of these men might be watching me. And maybe, he’ll have his cock in his hand, and be wanking it. And god forbid, any second now, he might jump up behind me, and . . . I turn my head, and standing there is Ian! How the fucking hell has he found me here?
He speaks, “Excuse me, I rang the bell. â€
Now I realise it isn’t Ian at all, in fact its one of the men who lives in the local village, he’s a regular customer. I don’t know his surname, but I know him as Bob.
“Oh sorry Bob, it’s the noise of this bloody machine. â€
I’d just sworn out aloud, in front of an almost stranger! What was happening to me? I clambered off the machine, and followed Bob back into the shop.
“Sorry about that, but that flipping machine has been giving me a lot of trouble this morning. â€
But as I’m walking along, I can feel the wetness in my knickers, and I’m hoping that it hasn’t soaked through my jeans, meaning it would have been visible to Bob while I was on that machine back there.
“That’s alright Shirley love, I won't tell. Even a vicar's wife has to be allowed to swear once in a while. I guess you’re all on edge after your little adventure this weekend?â€
God! What the hell does he know about what those men did with me?
“Adventure?â€
“Yes, its all over the middle page of the news paper, looks like your husband put in a direct call to his boss for assistance, and you got a full mountain rescue crew.
I served him with potatoes and half-a-dozen eggs, and he went happily on his way. And one good thing about talking with him, it had taken my mind completely off sex. So much so, my tummy felt quite calm, and all my pussy felt was wet and sticky. But not wanting a repetition of the machine induced orgasm, I decided I’d go in search of whoever was doing milking duties today, to ask for assistance.
So my first place to look was the milking parlour, but as I’d expected, by now all milking was long since finished, and the place was hosed down and silent. I called a few times, but nobody answered. Then I looked in the first building, this was the stables, a very large building made to accommodate at least thirty horses. But it now only had three mares, and one large stallion. Now again, I’d seen these horses hundreds of times before and never have they had any sexual effect on me. Although if I’m being really honest, the first time I ever saw a stallion with an aroused cock, I froze to the spot, and stared in disbelief.
But back to the present; as I looked around the door, the hind quarters of one of the mares was directly in line with where I stood. She was some five or six feet away, her tail high in the air, and her big pink pussy was pulsing, just like the men had mine doing yesterday. This simple natural farm-yard sight suddenly re-kindled my throbbing pussy. But instead of turning around and walking out, I stupidly walked the few paces along towards the stallions stall, to see if he had picked-up on the signals she was sending. Picked-up on them! Although from his stall he had no way of seeing her, her scent must have delivered her message. That magnificent cock was stretched out so long, it only just missed sweeping the cobbled floor as it kept lunging forwards and upwards, swinging back and forth with a vapour trail of steam following it.
I dashed out of there, as if the horse was about to take a hold of me, and stood at the outside of the door, trembling. It took a few seconds to pull myself together, and then I continue to the next building. But by now, my tummy was simmering, and I knew it would take very little to get me aroused again. I went from building to building, calling out in each one, but I got no response from anyone. Then when I had searched just about every building, and was about to make my way back to the shop, my attention was taken by the farm dogs. I know I hadn't mentioned that we had dogs on this farm, but that is because, after you’ve worked here some time, you don’t even notice them.
How many dogs there are on this farm I don’t know, as most of the fitter ones, normally either chase the tractors as they go off to the fields, or get a ride with one or other of the drivers in the cabs. The ones left around the yard are usually the older less fit, or young inexperienced ones.
I must have seen the farm dogs mating several times before, and I’d normally just turn my head and ignore them. But this time, it fascinated me, to watch how what was really the equivalent of a little girl, could stand her ground, while this Labrador twice her size, the equivalent of a big man with an enormous cock, pounded away at her. How long I stood there in a trance, just watching and getting more worked-up, I’m not sure. But the old dog had her at least three times, each time his knot preventing him from uncoupling. But my attention was suddenly broken by the cacophony of bells ringing in the various buildings, and announcing the arrival of a car into the yard.
I turned and made my way smartly towards the shop door, watching the car pull-up alongside one of the buildings, and thinking to myself, ‘don’t recognise the car, must be just a stranger passing through the village’. Then as the man got out of his car, it maybe took a second or two for it to click, but I had seen him before, and his return was far from welcome. It must have been four months ago, and last time, his car was a magnificent Bentley.
But even if the car was different, this was the same man who had come into the shop and asked for a tray of eggs, and a sack of potatoes. Now I know I can lift the sacks of potatoes, and usually do if the customer is a lady. But even if I do venture to lift a sack for most male customers, they invariably offer to carry it themselves.
Now I’m not saying he wasn’t welcome back because he didn’t offer to carry his own potatoes, although at the time I did think that very un-gentlemanly.
His car was a big old Bentley, and the rear lip of the boot was very high. As I reached the back, I had to strain to get the sack over this rim, and then try to reach deep into his boot, leaning in with my feet almost leaving the ground. Not even thinking about him trying anything, I naturally had my legs parted to aid balance whilst lifting, and being a warm spring day, my skirt, though long, was made of thin material, and fully flared. All of a sudden I felt his hand ram under my crotch, and he gripped me tightly. I struggled, but in that position, he lifted, and my legs were left flailing in mid-air. I screamed out, but with my head buried deep inside his boot, and a deserted farmyard, it was pointless. As it was, another car arrived, and he had to let go of me.
When I got out of his boot I was so embarrassed, and blushing quite red. Stupidly, my first concern was to try to compose myself before the customer that had just arrived, noticed anything had happened. So with just a few words from me in the form of a scolding, the man got into his car and drove away. I had said if I ever saw him again I’d phone the police, but this all happened about a month before my marriage, so that was about four months ago now.
I was stood in the doorway, watching him, as he strode towards me, brazen as you like.
“Ah Ha. I knew it was you. â€
“What do you want? I told you never to come here again. â€
“What on earth do you mean? It’s a shop isn’t it?â€
“It might be, but it’s not open to you. You can get back in your car and go before I call the police. â€
“What ever for my dear?â€
“Don’t come the innocent with me; you know what you did last time you were here. â€
“Oh that. Surely you can't still be upset over that. I was only giving you a bit of a lift, to make sure you got the jolly old spuds past the eggs without breaking them. â€
“I don’t care what you say you were doing, if you don’t go now, I’m ringing the police. â€
“Well my dear, you be my guest. But I don’t think they’ll be very amused when they get out here, to find an innocent old gent like me who only wants to buy a few eggs. â€
With that he just sidestepped past me, and waltzed into the shop as cool as you like.
“Ok. Tell me what you want, and then I can get you out of here. â€
“Shirley. That’s a nice name. â€
“Where on earth, who told you my name?â€
“It was in the paper, Shirley Grey. The wife of Reverend Michael Grey. I never knew that soft little pussy I had a hold of last time was a vicar’s wife’s pussy. â€
“Look stop your foul talk now, and go!â€
“But you haven’t served me yet. â€
“Ok then, what do you want?â€
He held his right arm towards me, his palm uppermost, in a cupping kind of shape.
“What I’d really like is a nice tender juicy piece of meat that would just fit into the palm of this hand. â€
And as he spoke, he was opening and closing his fingers in the same kind of gripping manner he’d taken hold of me last time he was here.
“You dirty old sod,†and with that I strode up to him, and took hold of his wrist, and began to pull him towards the door, “come-on, I want you out of here now.
I thought using direct action would take him by surprise, and even with my slight build, I’d hoped to be able to get him to leave. But he just swung me around and overbalanced me onto the stack of potato sacks. As I went down on my back, he followed, falling face down on top of me. One of his hands gathered up both of my wrists, whilst his other went into my crotch. At this point, the jeans were my saviour, meaning his groping fingers were not able to make contact with my flesh.
So whilst he groped, and was now struggling to unleash the belt in my jeans, I screamed and kicked with all my might. It was obvious in seconds, that shouting wouldn’t bring help, so I tried talking to him.
“Look you bastard. I might not have phoned the police last time, but if your hand goes inside my jeans, I’m phoning them for sure. â€
This distracted his concentration off the job he had in hand only slightly, undoing my belt that was, but didn’t stop him.
“Are you telling me it’s not worth a little feel, to stop your husband seeing the video you made this weekend?â€
I froze, my kicking stopped, and he just looked me in the face.
“Ah! So I’ve got your attention. â€
“What video?â€
“A video made by some mountain rescue men. â€
â€Look pack-up undoing my belt; tell me what you know about a video.
“Ian Parker is an old mate of mine. He’s been doing this mountain rescue scam for a good five years now. â€
“You’ve seen it?â€
“No not yet. But he’s fucked everyone he’s helped down so far, and vicar’s wife or not, I’m betting you rode his cock like an obedient little whore. â€
“Even if that was true, why should I let you touch me?â€
“Do you want your hubby to know his wife is a slut?â€
“Shows how much you know. My husband knows what they did to me. â€
That was a stupid thing to tell him.
“So, they got the reverend in on the action, god that’s even better. So you want the whole parish to wake-up tomorrow morning, to find photo’s of you having a gang-bang.
That bloody video was going to haunt me for the rest of my life, how many more people knew of its existence? I couldn’t see that I had any way out of this, but I tried one last bluff.
“Your so called friends did attempt to abuse me. But my husband thwarted them.
So bluff wasn’t going to work, force was useless, so I thought negotiation was my best option.
“Look, even if I was going to let you do anything, it’s far too risky in here. â€
“I’m prepared to take the risk. Now stop gabbing, and get your belt undone. â€
So much for trying to negotiate, he had me cornered, and knew it. He’d loosed my wrists, and I began to unbuckle my belt. Then I pulled the press-stud open. I’d just taken hold of the zipper when, ‘saved by the bell’. It rang aloud, making us both jump.
“Shit. Don’t think this means you’ll get off scot-free.
“Oh in that case, I’ll have. . . â€
She went on to go through what she wanted, all the time making general chit-chat mainly about what she’d read in the paper, and then I helped her out to her car with all the stuff she’d bought. Just as she was driving out of the yard, I saw Peter, one of the farmer’s sons, going into the stable. I called, but he was out of earshot. As I looked back to the shop the old bastard was standing in the doorway looking at me, and beckoning me towards him.
I turned, and ran, as fast as my legs would carry me, I sensed he was giving pursuit, but I didn’t try to look.
The old sod had dropped my wrist, like it was on fire, and he now stood a couple of paces back. This was going to be a fine balancing act, if I got this man a beating (which is what he deserved, and I would like to have seen), he’d no doubt punish me with a disclosure of the contents of that video. But at very least, I wanted to prevent him from doing anything to me.
“Its ok Peter, he was just going. â€
Peter reached across, and as his hand took hold of the shoulder of the man's coat, he dragged the man towards him, stopping with the man's face inches from his own. The man looked like he’d messed himself; the look on his face was justice in full measure.
“I don’t know what you’re up to, but if Shirley doesn’t want me to feed you to the pigs, then think yourself lucky. But if I even see that car of yours so much as drive past our farm, you’d better start praying. Now get gone before I change my mind. â€
If I thought I ran down the farm yard quickly to get to Peter, then the speed this man ran back made my pace look like walking.
“Shirley? Are you alright?â€
“What? Oh yes. Sorry, I was miles away. Oh Peter thank you for what you did. â€
“Did he touch you? You should have let me sort him out. â€
“No he didn’t touch me; he was just getting a bit pushy. I was maybe making mountains out of mole hills. â€
“If he ever comes near here again you just tell us, it don’t need to be me, dad or our Jimmy, or the other two. We’ll rip his balls off. Oh sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude. â€
“That’s ok, I know what you mean. But thanks anyway.
“Ok I’ll let you get back to the shop. â€
“Are you busy?â€
“Always busy, but if you want me, I’ll make time for you. â€
“It’s that machine again. â€
“God Shirley. I sometime think you only come and ask for help, so you can get me in that dark shed with you. â€
I obviously blushed.
“Don’t say that,†I said, but he could tell it was only a half-hearted reprimand.
He began to walk me slowly back up the yard; I was on his right-hand side, and he’d placed his arm loosely around my back, with his big hand resting on my right hip.
“Well I swear every time I get to it. One whack, and its working. â€
As we walked, his hand was slipping lower.
“But you can hit it harder than me. â€
I reached behind me, took hold of his hand, and eased it back up onto my hip.
“It don’t take any forcing, so long as you hit it properly. I guess I’ll have to try to show you again.
“Aw, don’t say that, I was only larking about because I’ve never seen you wearing jeans before. â€
With that he pulled away from me, and gave me one of those disappointed school boy looks.
“Oh come-on you big softy, you know I’m not angry with you. I can take a joke, but you know I’m a married woman, and if anyone had seen you. â€
“So I’m forgiven?â€
“Of course you are. â€
With that he swung his arm back around me, and as he said.
“Come-on then lets get that machine of yours sorted. â€
He planted his hand firmly around the right cheek of my bottom again.
“Peter!â€
“Don’t get excited, no one is going to see me in here. â€
And, of course, we were now inside the shop building, so what he said was correct.
“That’s not the point. â€
With a lot of meaningless chat back and forth, he walked me the length of the shop, and into the potato shed, with his hand going from one cheek to the other. And once or twice, a crafty stroke in between the two!
Well we were now stood by the dreaded machine, and although I’d been fighting him off, and mildly scolding him for his over amorous attention, this attention had my pussy throbbing wildly in my knickers.
Well the first hand signal was him ushering me to climb up onto the box. I tried shouting back, “But I thought you were going to do it to save time. â€
“What?â€
"I thought you were going to do it to save time. â€
"What?"
“I thought you were going. . . â€
I gave up; he was obviously playing silly buggers, and pretending not to hear me. So, as I placed one foot up onto the box, and took hold of the side of the machine, the vibrations going through my arms started taking effect. I only paused for a second, to take stock of my feelings, when I felt his hand under my crotch, assisting me to lift my bottom hence right leg up onto the box.
Before I had chance to turn around and give him any kind of reprimand, he was up there on the box with me, his massive torso towering above me. He lent across, and lifted my left ankle, and placed it onto the big lever, then as he brought his hand back, he gave me the thumbs-up sign, as if to say are you ok like that. I nodded, to indicate I was, and he lent across the machine, above me, but his chest was pushing me hard in contact with the machine, and leaning me forwards.
He started pointing, and as he placed the big lump of wood in my hand, it was obvious he was trying to show me where to hit with it. As I’d said, I’d been shown hundreds of times; I just couldn’t make it move. But the wood now slipped from my grip, dropping onto the top of the machine. He picked it up again, but offer it to me as much as he might; my arms were like limp wet rags dangling from my shoulders. My pussy was and inferno of blazing desire and muscular action.
As it pulsed violently, I’m sure it had drawn every drop of strength from all other parts of my body. It was only Peter pushing hard up against my bottom, that prevented me slipping into a heap on the floor. Peter was now beginning to realise something was wrong, and that I couldn’t do anything with his lump of wood. But the lump in his trousers, that I could feel pushing hard into the crack of my bottom, now that was something I could use right now.
But he, of course, wasn’t aware he had a wanton slut in his power. He still was looking on this as a very naughty game he was playing with the vicar’s wife, and probably wondering if he was going to get away with how far he’d gone already. My body was being attacked from all angles, the machines vibration, Peter’s manly bodily contact, and my own desire. But the one that brought my orgasm to a climax was my vivid imagination.
I could feel him ripping the crotch of my jeans, and then pushing his mighty cock deep up inside me. Then as he rammed hard, lifting me right up off the box, I felt his warm spunk inside me.
I came to my senses some minutes later, and I was laid on my back, legs parted. Peter was sat alongside me, and as soon as he saw I'd come to my senses, he said.
“Oh thank god! That frightened me. I thought you were having some kind of fit. Are you ok?â€
I immediately began to flail my fists at Peter, raining down a torrent of blows against his face and upper body.
“You bastard! How could you. I trusted you, and thought you were my friend. â€
He just sat there looking gob-smacked, and not attempting to defend himself, either verbally, or physically from the blows I was inflicting.
The bell rang, and the expression on Peter’s face, looked like he was now the underdog in a fight, who was being ‘saved by the bell’. He sprang to his feet, and without a word, he was gone, closing the door behind him. I looked down to my crotch, and stared in disbelief. I had to check with my hands. But it was only now, I realised, my jeans were intact.
So now I began to feel really guilty, I’d imagined him fucking me, and orgasmed almost in his arms. I guess he’d had to stop me from falling, and lifted me down. But neither my blouse nor jeans showed any signs that anyone had attempted to make any kind of entry. I’d let loose with a tirade of abuse and even physically assaulted him. But he was guilty of nothing more than trying to show me how to get the machine working, even if he was using slightly dubious methods. But these methods were the ones he and all of the other men on the farm had used before, and I’d never even thought them wrong, let alone worried about them.
And worse than any of this was my performance, humping the machine, and collapsing into his arms. And then I can only assume writhing around with legs open whilst I moaned in ecstasy. Now he was out there serving the customers I was paid to serve, after I’d beaten him with all my might, for no reason at all. I dreaded him coming back, and I sat there, legs now closed, watching the door.
It opened, and he just pushed his head around it.
“Can I come in?â€
â€Oh Peter, what can I say? Come here. I’m so sorry.
“Enough. Shirley enough. What’s happening to you?â€
“Oh peter I’m so sorry. I can’t explain. I’ve been so wicked. Please promise you won't tell anyone. â€
“Enough Shirley, come and sit down. Tell me what the hell is going on. â€
“Oh god Peter. I feel so ashamed. â€
“You mean your cuming like that?â€
“Yes.
“Can I tell you what I really think?â€
“What do you mean?â€
“Just that, do you really want to know what I think about you doing that?â€
“I’m not sure I do. But, if you’re already thinking whatever it is, I guess I’d be better off knowing what it is. â€
“Well, and I don’t mean to be rude to your old man, sorry, I mean the vicar. But if a girl is that highly strung, it’s a sign she isn’t getting enough. It don’t matter if you’re talking women, bitches, mares, or any other animal. It’s either not regular enough, or the equipment he’s using ain’t big enough to do the job. â€
I was stunned, and at a loss for words, I just sat there looking into his eyes. Peter broke the silence.
“Well, am I right?â€
“I I it’s not that simple. â€
“Shirley love, I’ve worked this farm all my life. I know you’ve got an education, but some things in life don’t need a degree to workout. I know it don’t sound romantic, and you ladies don’t like being compared to dogs. But a bitch on heat is a bitch on heat, and we both know, that orgasm you just had ain’t gonna stop your craving.
“I really don’t think we should be talking like this. Please, I’m so sorry I went berserk at you earlier, that was very wrong of me. And I’m sorry I embarrassed you and humiliated myself. But my private life with my husband is just that, private. I’m going to have to go home to get changed, I’ll understand if you tell me you don’t want me to come back. â€
“It’s up to you, if you want to take the rest of the day off, then you stop at home and rest. â€
“No, I didn’t mean take the rest of the day off, I meant if you felt you didn’t want me to work here any more. â€
“What? You mean you want to leave us?â€
“Well no, I behaved unforgivably. I thought the other way around; you might want to sack me. â€
“Don’t talk like a pudding, sack you never. Given half a chance, I'd give you the fucking you need, but less said about that the better. "
"Please Peter; you frighten me when you talk like that. "
"Ok girl don't fret, I'll not touch you unless you ask me to. And, we’d not sack you just because your husband isn’t doing his job properly. You get off home, and if you feel ok, come straight back, otherwise, we’ll see you in the morning.
I was soon in my car on my way home, all the way thinking about his simple analysis of my condition. Could he be right? It couldn't be the need for a regular fucking; I'd had more this weekend than most women get in a lifetime. That only left the size of Michael's cock! Well I was now at home, and I had a quick shower. Then I did something totally out of character, I took a big cardboard box from the bottom of my wardrobe. I started spreading the packets, boxes and loose garments all around our bed; so that I could see them all, and choose which one I wanted to wear.
What are these garments, where did I get them, and why are they in my wardrobe? My brother is two years older than me, and for some reason, our family piety, skipped him totally. He was going around with girls whilst he was still at school, and it wouldn't surprise me if he hadn’t lost his virginity before he’d left. Well from my sixteenth birthday, the first day of legal sex in the UK, and on every subsequent birthday, he bought me sexy underwear. It had gone on right through my uni years, and continued to this day. So much so, even my parents used to think of it as a harmless family joke.
But I only ever wore knickers and bras that were functional and covered up properly. That didn’t mean they couldn’t be pretty, but never skimpy or frivolous.
I put them on, and stood in front of the full length wardrobe mirror, turning from side to side. My public hair was untouched, and grew quite wild, so it was visible on either side of the lace material. The cut of the panties meant my legs looked longer than I’d ever seen them.
“Yes. That’ll do. â€
There was nobody else in the room, but I still said the words out aloud, maybe just to convince myself I was actually doing this.
I put on one of my normal flared skirts, and cotton blouse, and then I was ready. Oh hang on, I looked around, found a second bra and panties set, just as skimpy, another skirt and also a blouse, and put them all into a bag as spares. Well you never know. I then put all the underwear back into the box, and the box back into the wardrobe.
So looking no different to normal, but definitely feeling like a tart at the very least, I set off in my car, with a spare set of clothing, just in case. I arrived back at the farm at about one o’clock, normally our busiest time.
As I walked into the shop Peter called,
“I'm glad to see you. â€
The next two hours were mayhem, even people who didn’t know me, but who just knew that I worked at this farm had come along to buy food, but mainly to get the full story first hand. It was like being a kind of minor celebrity. When the rush eventually dwindled, Peter said.
“Dad’ll be pleased. By my reckoning; we’ve about doubled our takings today. â€
“Don’t suppose you can push the old man over the edge again next weekend?â€
“Peter!"
I scolded, as I pushed him away with my open palm on his shoulder,
"That’s wicked. â€
Even though, I have to admit I had a slight smile on my face at the same time.
“Whelll. You can't blame me. Trades picked-up and I’ve never seen you looking so. . .
“Panties, what do you mean?â€
“You’ve never worn skimpy knickers like them before. â€
“How on earth do you know what my knickers look like?â€
“You really don’t know?â€
“No. I’m not wearing a short skirt, and I haven’t climbed any ladders. â€
“But the material of your skirt is so thin, and when you bend down it clings to you, showing the outline of your knickers. And then when you pass the open doorway and you’re silhouetted against the sun, it is the most glorious site. â€
“And just because the underwear I’ve got on is different to the style I normally wear, you think that means I’ve changed in some way?â€
“No. Not just the underwear. â€
“Well what else?â€
“I don’t want you to think I’m being rude. â€
“Go on say it. â€
“You’re on heat.
“Why do you say that?â€
“Because it’s true. â€
“That’s not really a nice thing to say. â€
“I said you’d think I was being rude, but I’m not. You are on heat, even if you are the vicar's wife. â€
“What makes you think that about me?â€
“I smelt it first thing this morning, down by the stables. At first I thought I’d caught a whiff of the mare, she’s begging for it. But then I noticed it was a different scent. Its no wonder that old man tried to feel you up this morning, I bet you were driving him wild. â€
I felt so humiliated, he could smell me! And to make me feel worse, every word he said was true.
“I don’t know what to say, I had a shower before I came back to work. â€
“Do you really think if I chucked a bucket of water at the mares arse, the old stallion would loose interest?â€
I didn’t answer.
“No, of course he wouldn’t. She wants it, and until she’s had it, her fanny will be sending invitations to anyone who’s interested. Now you may be fussier than her, but until you let someone ease that aching for you, you’ll be sending signals to every man with a pair of working bollocks. â€
“What can I do?â€
Suddenly the bloody bell started ringing.
I looked all around and found a long wooden pole, and then after turning the motor on, I got as far over to the right of the machine as possible, and began poking and prodding the pivot pin. But being as there was nobody pushing the lever at the same time, it had no effect. I had to make up my mind what to do next. Option one, was climb onto the machine and get aroused, and probably still not succeed in getting it working. Two, I could find Peter, and maybe go through a repeat of my earlier humiliation. Or three, which would still require finding Peter, but then try to persuade him to start the machine for me.
The last of these three options was my preferred choice, so off I went looking for him. As the last place I’d seen him was the stables, that is where I headed first. As I approached the building; I could hear animal noises coming from within.
As I opened the door, my premonition had been correct. I stood there in the open doorway, watching the big stallion ramming that two foot long monster cock up inside the mare. She was tethered to a post, and had no way of avoiding his onslaught, not that I think she would have done, even if let loose.
“Come in if you’re coming, and get the bloody door shut. â€
And as Peter said this, he pulled me by my wrist, and with his other hand he pulled the door shut behind me.
“Come back here out of his reach, he’s too busy seeing to her to worry about who he tramples under him. â€
As he was saying this to me, he pulled me back up against himself, as he stood to the side of the mating animals, with his back against the wall. He held me tightly to him with his hand on my tummy, and I immediately felt his cock hardening, as it lay in the crevice of my bum. This hand was big, and the fingers long, the ends of them forming a semi-circle that encircled my bushy mound. I was sure he must be able to detect the turmoil that was going on in my tummy, as my arousal once again began to build.
I watched in amazement, as the stallion pumped his cum deep into her, and then his enormous cock just flopped out, followed by a gallon of cum that gushed from her pussy.
“Good lad. Good lad.
As he approached where I was still stood against the wall, he put both his hands above me on the wall, and pushed his hips forwards, bringing his bulging trousers into contact with my lower tummy.
“Well?â€
“Please Peter. â€
“Please what? Please give me the same. â€
“No, please. I’m married. â€
“But you want it. â€
“Don’t do this to me, I’m begging you. â€
He launched himself off the wall, turned away from me, picked up a bucket from the floor, and flung it at the end wall of the stable.
It hit the wall and ricocheted around the floor making a deafening clatter.
“Peter; please don’t be angry. â€
“Angry? I’m past angry. You fucking stand there, your pussy begging to be fucked.
“I I Came to ask you to help me. â€
“But you know I told you you’re driving me crazy, for gods sake, I’m only human. And after telling me this morning how much you owed me, you come down here, rub your rump onto my cock, and then say, ‘OH please don’t, I’m married’. Well married or not, getting me so worked up and then just walking away. Surely that can’t be Christian behaviour?â€
I felt so guilty, I knew he was at least partly right, I was to blame for getting him so worked up, but even though I felt guilty, I couldn’t voluntarily let him fuck me.
“I’m sorry but I’m. . . â€
He didn’t let me finish.
“Married. Yes I fucking know that. But ten minutes in the back of the empty stall is all I want. I’ll start your fucking machine and even bag the bloody spuds for you, just give me ten minutes. â€
“If I come into the stall, and relieve you, would that be good enough?â€
“Relieve me? What the fuck does that mean? A blow job?â€
“Well I was thinking of just using my hands.
“Do we have to do it in here?â€
“Why? Where do you want to do it?â€
“I don’t know. It just seams so; I don’t’ know, kinda' smelly, and unromantic. â€
“What you want romance now?â€
“Please Peter, don’t be coarse. This really is a big thing for me. If I do this for you, I'll be going against everything I've ever believed in. And that includes breaking my marriage vows. â€
“Ok Shirley. If it's so important to you, you tell me where you want us to go.
Next second the bloody bell rang again.
“Shit!â€
“Now Shirley, I’ve never heard you swear like you’re doing today. Just go and serve them, and I’ll be waiting for you in the barn. â€
I walked up the yard, my pussy throbbing wildly, and these panties not really wide or thick enough to soak-up the juices it was producing. It was a lady customer, and as I’d expected she didn’t want to buy much, it was more just a gossip she wanted. I cut her as short as I dare without being rude, and then I walked briskly through the yard, and across to the barn.
By the time I got there, I was almost breaking into a trot, and as I walked in through the big open doors, Peter appeared from out of the shadows, and took me up into his arms. He carried me with one arm around my back, and his other under my knees. He clambered from hay bale to bale, and in seconds he was walking along the flat top of the stack, right up high in the roof.
As he lowered me to my feet and stood behind me, he asked.
“Well, was I right about the view?â€
“Oh Peter, it's wonderful up here. â€
Then as I turned around, he was stood there naked, his cock in his hand, big and animalistic. He lowered himself back into a sitting position, taking hold of my hand, and pulling me down with him. Then he lay flat on his back, and with me knelt at his side, he put one of his big hands on the back of my neck, and directed my head down to his cock.
I didn’t fight it; I just let him kind of lead me. As his big bell end approached my lips, I opened my mouth. God was this cock big. I slid my mouth over it, gliding up and down his length, and within seconds he was probing my throat. My body was again in flames, and as I felt his hands undoing my blouse and then bra, I knew things would only get more intense. As my bra dangled loose, his hands roughly mauled my breasts, and plucked at my nipples. As before, no matter where the stimulation is generated, it all sends its concentrated exhilaration down into my pussy.
Just as I was beginning to think my nipples were about to burst, I realised his hands had now moved on, and were applying the attention elsewhere. At first I wondered where or what they were doing, then as I felt my skirt coming over my hips, and down my legs to meet my knees on the hay, I almost tried to stop him. But as I began to lift my head, a hand pulled it back firmly onto his cock, and his thrusting was attempting to ram it into my throat.
And while my attention was concentrating on the cock trying to fill my throat, he single-handedly lifted me by my tummy out of my skirt, and lowered me back down on top of himself. As my knees landed one to his left side, and one on his chest, I instinctively lifted the one from his chest, and spread myself astride his head. It only took one swift tug with his fingers to pull the gusset of these scanty panties to one side, and then he had my pussy within his reach.
As his tongue made contact with my pussy, I heaved myself down onto him, and he latched onto my pussy, sucking and licking for all he was worth. So here we were, me humping as hard as I could, with him gripping my hips, and his head going up and down with me. Whilst at the other end, he was humping like crazy, and try as I might to take his cock into my throat, the force of it was pushing my head back and forth like the head on a rag doll.
This action was very short-lived, and in no more than three or four minutes, he was cuming in a series of jerks into my throat. I never got the chance to taste his cum; it was injected straight into my stomach. But I had not yet reached the point of orgasm; maybe it was the initial fear that had delayed my build-up, or just him being so worked up, he'd cum prematurely. But as his cock softened in my mouth, I tasted his cum as it slid out over my tongue and from my lips. He immediately turned me over, so he was now on top, and his face buried itself into my pussy. So, even though he’d had his satisfaction, he was still working my pussy, to bring me to mine.
I remember thinking how wonderful it would be if my Michael did this for me, instead of just rolling over once he’d shot his cum. I had my legs stretched as wide as I could manage, not because he was pulling them, but because I wanted him to be able to get his tongue as deep as possible.
At first I kind of thought it slightly improper, but as soon as his licking started, it re-kindled the feelings the fingering and licking Ian had given me a few days ago. As he licked and poked his tongue up my bottom, I could feel my pussy pulsing wildly. It wanted filling, and it wanted it badly. Then Peter let go of my legs, and I let them fall splayed open.
He lowered himself on top of me, his face above my tits, and he began to suck from one nipple to the other and back. My hips were giving the spasmodic heaving, as the pulses drove down to my pussy. I felt the big head of his cock sliding along my pussy slit, and it slipped up over my mound and lay on my tummy. He pressed himself down onto me. Then lifted his weight back off. As his weight came off I heaved my pussy up past the end of his cock, and heaved down. It slipped along my slit, going in the opposite direction to last time. As it reached my hole, my pussy almost swallowed it in one gulp.
Then as he thrust, I felt my pussy walls stretching wide, but the stretching kept going right up deep inside me.
As my arousal got more intense, so did my vocalisation and physical response to the brutish shafting he was giving my pussy. The harder he pounded me, the greater the intensity of my arousal. As he fucked my pussy; his mouth was not just nibbling gently on my nipples, but was now biting and pulling. This rough treatment was driving me wild. I was now in my world of ecstasy where reality and imagination begin to mingle and mix into an indistinguishable illusion.
With the heat of the day, and all this exertion, both our bodies were sweating profusely, and my eyes had long since closed to avoid the stinging perspiration. My hair was stuck to my wet face, and I’d guess I looked a mess. His pace changed, he now eased his cock in a slow long thrusting, using every inch of his massive shaft to penetrate deep into my pussy.
How could this man be so wonderful, one minute fucking me so powerfully; like he was the big black stallion I watched earlier in the stable. The next, caressing my face and hair, and kissing me so gently. Then back to an animalistic ravishing of my tits, ripping at my nipples. This contrasting stimulation was driving me totally wild. Then I heard Peter's voice, and even in my trancelike state, when I heard Brian answer, I began to realise something was not as I’d thought. And from Peter’s questions, I guess he’d only just realised as well.
“Brian, what are you doing?â€
“I’m just warming up and waiting my turn. â€
“No just go, before she realises you’re here. â€
“Don’t be so fucking silly. You’re getting your share, I want mine. â€
I opened my eyes to find Brian‘s face directly in front of mine.
“Ah, so you aren’t asleep.
Peter had almost stopped, and was propping himself up on his hands.
“Look Brian. Just fuckoff. I’ve only just got her going, if you start fucking about, she’ll go off the boil, and neither of us’ll get a fuck. â€
“Well don’t let her then, you get back to ramming her cunt, and I’ll keep her face occupied. â€
I tried to have my say.
“Please Peter, Brian no. Don’t do this to me. â€
â€Stop your bleating woman, once he gets his cock back up your cunt, you’ll soon start begging for more. â€
And as he said that he brought his big fat cock up to my lips, preventing me from protesting, and Peter just re-started ramming me. And even though I at first wanted to protest, Brian was right, within a few penetrations of Peter’s wonderful cock, I was riding him hard, and sucking Brian. It wasn’t too long before I detected Peters jerking motion, and I knew he was pumping his cum deep up inside me. But being as my arousal had been almost halted by the surprise arrival of Brian, I didn’t manage to cum with him.
But that wasn't to say I'd gone off the boil completely, on the contrary, I was well and truly on my way to an orgasm.
“Fuck me harder. Come on. Fuck me. Harder. Come on fuck me like Peter. â€
That was the spark that set-off the fireworks.
Well when he began to cum, my pussy went crazy, gripping his cock and then squirting cum out in alternating spasms. He pumped his cum up me for a good half minute, but I carried on long after he pulled out. When I came to my normal senses, Peter was first to ask.
“Are you ok?â€
“Yes. A bit week and wobbly, but I’m ok. â€
“Sorry about Brian, I guess you made a bit more noise than I expected you to. I really thought we’d be safe up here. But I’m sure he’ll keep our secret, and you got the good seeing-to I said you needed. â€
Well that was one thing he got right, I certainly got a good seeing-to, just these two men on their own, have satisfied me more than all four of those mountain rescue men did during any of their sessions over the weekend. And I can tell you something else; both of them are like the continental Lager they advertise on TV, they reached parts of me, that nobody else has ever reached. So although my original intention was to just satisfy Peter; to re-pay his kindness and maybe keep him from getting over amorous, they’d now satisfied that aching that had been deep inside my pussy since Michael left me unfulfilled last night.
Although I hadn’t planned for this to happen, I couldn’t lay the blame for what had just happened at Peter’s door.
Peter had pulled his trousers back on, but Brian was still flat-out on his back, his big soft cock laid across the tops of his legs. I began to use handfuls of the soft hay to wipe myself down in preparation to putting my skirt and blouse back on again. Through all the fucking I’d just received, my panties had stopped on, with just the narrow gusset pulled to one side. I straightened them up, and reached for my bra. Then with panties and bra sorted, I got to my feet, and walked over to where my skirt had been thrown.
Brian looked across. .
