My wife Cherie is a slut. She dresses like one, talks like one and certainly fucks like one. To be brutally honest, that's why I married her! She gets and gives me all the action I want, but on one condition. She gets her action from whoever and whenever she pleases.
I'm happy with the arrangement because I have a condition too. She has to tell me when and with whom. All the juicy detail! We both get off on it and have the most pleasurable sex life. I wouldn't have it any other way. Nothing arouses my senses more, than when she comes back to our farmhouse, with that strong smell of sex about her and regales her adventure.
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The summer had been good. The farm was enjoying one of Its best harvests yet. Yields were high on the corn-fields; no drought conditions had affected any of the arable crops. Staff sickness was at a low and all looked good for the local village harvest supper this evening.
Cherie, my promiscuous and loving slut wife, had also harvested well. She'd had some rich pickings of her own throughout the season. Lusty labourers, mechanics, feed suppliers had had the pleasure of her charms. I knew about it; our bond was she had to tell me about her little escapades in the richest and unembellished detail. There were quite a few.
All was well with the world as I drove her to the village church this particular warm evening in our Range Rover.
She looked particularly fetching and had gone to great efforts to make herself 'respectfully 'presentable. 'A pretty flowing Laura Ashley print dress -very modest by her standards - fashioned her beautiful shapely figure, clasped at the waist with a matt red leather belt. A pair of classy red Stiletto shoes adorned her feet and a matching red clutch bag was settled in her lap. Her neat mousy hair hung loosely around her shoulders. She was the epitome of a glamourous middleclass farmer's wife. It was all show of course. I had a strong feeling that underneath the dress, she'd have something 'special' on to titillate.
To answer my suspicions, my left hand wandered to her knee and moved up underneath the dress to check. A smooth silk stocking brushed against my hand. I moved my hand higher and felt the smoothness of her naked thigh and a suspender strap.
'Hoping to get lucky sweetheart?' I asked, gazing into her eyes.
She parted her legs inviting me to go inside if I desired. 'Someone will be hoping to Darling. Plenty of lusty bucks to be had around here. Your dirty wife will get her quim filled ... make no mistake!'
Putting her hand on mine she placed it underneath the dress and guided it to her open and accessible crotch. She always went commando. I dipped two fingers and moved them in and out, enough to have her breasts rise and fall before offering the sticky residue to her mouth for sucking clean. No further words were ushered, she lapped up her juice as if licking a lolly. We arrived at the church, but our minds were far away from singing hymns and praying to our maker for thanks and forgiveness.
Cherie checked her lipstick, stepped out the car and accompanied me on my arm into the church, her heels clipping on the hard York stone paving, her demure light dress just puffing up in the evening breeze, enough to expose her stocking tops but not her naked arse.
If the devil could see her now, I mused, entering the church portico.
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The service was the usual churchy affair. Hymns, prayers, eyes wandering. The church was only half full. Cherie was no doubt on her cock watch. I helped with the scouting, but in my mind's eye, I couldn't see anyone I'd think she'd be remotely interested in.
We alighted to the village hall at the final amen, which was only a short walk from the church and to be the venue for the harvest barn dance. I could have offered one of my barns, but it was groaning with produce. I did manage to spot a few likely lads smoking in groups of 2 or 3 outside the hall, and Cherie managed to raise a few furtive glances to get her juices flowing. Word would get around inside from the young bucks that a piece of ass had walked in.
The hall was crowded. It seemed many in the village had forgone the church in favour of the bar and were already well oiled. We found a straw bale to sit on by the side of the hall, having charged our glasses with the local cider. The band struck up, and a few approached the dance floor. The lights had been turned down and shyness was evaporating.
'Babe, see anyone?' I asked.
'Hon, dressed like this I don't think there's much interest. Not my usual pick -up garb!'
'Loosen the top of your dress, sit with your legs apart to show some stocking top, teasing a glimpse of your slit. That'll get you interest and eye contact.' I felt like a hooker's pimp, but I knew I was getting something out of this and it wasn't money.
It wasn't long before we noticed guys attention. Whilst dancing with their partners, it was obvious the guys preferred to be facing us, or rather, Cherie. I'd be a gooseberry sat with her and I knew she was gagging for some action. Her dress was now pretty well hitched above the knee and she had quite ungainly opened her legs, being the saucy bitch she was. The buttons at the top of the dress were showing ample cleavage with the tight red belt high on her waist, and I could see her stiff nipples from the side. She was getting eye contact with the young lads on the floor. I was proud of her. Several wives and girlfriends weren't and small bickering's and snarky remarks had ensued.
'Hon, get me another drink ... take your time!' she demanded. 'There're some guys aching for action. One's with his girl but he can't keep his treacherous eyes off my tits and stocking tops. She's going to be upset, but it's going to be his lucky fucking night. And mine!'
