Crows In The Cornfield

The violet marbled sky seemed wicked. The clouds moved with an angered haste, swinging with the wind. My heart was torn. Below the sky the Spaniard, below him was I, and below I the dampened grass. My shirt was pulled down in the back,but pulled up in the front, the Spaniard's hand was tucked between my bra and my breast, massaging his way to conquest. His lips broke from mine and he slid down to kiss my belly. His tongue slipped from between his lips and moistened my navel.

My heart jumped in my chest; no, no, wrong... Wrong, called my conscience to my body. His head moved upwards, tugging at my shirt, pushing my bra up to nurse upon my breast. The warm saliva moistened my nipple. My body was warm and tingling, my self control was hiding in the shadows of the darkening sky. The lump beneath his britches had grown against my thigh. The zipper of my jeans was groaning as it fell, it's toothy lock of protection had faded at the sleight of his hand.

My nipple grew erect in his mouth. I shuddered in distaste for my lack of inhibition. His hands grabbed at my butt, pulled on the waistline of my jeans, I lifted my hips from the ground and my jeans and panties were pulled down my thighs. He freed his phallus from his own, and pinned his body against the layer of denim between my thighs. The slick moistened foreskin felt slimy between my floral petals.

I heard the call of the crows from the cornfield. "Caw, caw!" said one, "Caw!" replied the others from the branch of a lone standing tree. They bore witness, they had a wonderful view of the mating rituals of humans. They watched with keen observance as the sin of adultery was committed. The Spaniard slid inside me and my body cringed in both desire and self loathing. It didn't hurt, I was more damp than the grasses in the dusk-lit field. The Spaniard moaned into my ear, "Unghhh... you feel so good."

No, no I don't, replied my conscience, while my body disagreed. In truth, naught was escaping from my lips save for my breath. His body pushed onto my half removed jeans, pinning my thighs between he and I. His thrusts were growing ever more persistent. My innermost tunnel caved to his length, welcoming him in, in the most disgusting way. Suddenly a crack of thunder sounded through the valley.

"Hurry," I whispered. The Spaniard knew his time was running out. Soon the rain would come and I would be rushing home. The crows called again from a swaying branch, "Caww!" they watched the Spaniard spasm inside me and flew away. He lifted himself from me, millions of his sperm swam towards my womb as he zipped himself up. The warm thick juice inside me felt like a poison. I reluctantly pulled my panties up and trapped his burning DNA inside. Then wiggled my hips as I tugged my tight jeans up and reapplied the toothy ziplock.

He extended a cold hand and lifted me to my feet. The sky lit up with the distant lightning followed by a boom. It began to rain and we started to run. "Run, run..." said my self loathing. "Run home to your husband." the hateful portion of me teased the defiled. "Run home to your real love." "Run home to your loving husband, if he can stay married to one so defiled" The call of the crow was laughing at my shame as it went off to find it's cover from the storm, "Caw! Caw!"

Well aware of his sperm floating inside me, the long walk home was one of shame. The warm juice packed within me and zipped between my thighs was no summer rain, I wished the lightning to strike me.

*************************************************

The door swung open with a cringing squeak. My husband sat at the kitchen table reading the newspaper. The room was quiet and dim lit. The splash of lightning outside cast a shadow upon his face. He switched from reading his papers to reading my face. His eye brow crumpled up like the fibers around a knot in the wood floor.

"What's wrong?" he asked with a streak of anger in his voice. Only a partial side of his face was lit, but there was a fire in his eye that could be seen across the room. His raven hair was painted like the feathers of one of the corn field's crows. It was taunting me, teasing, laughing at me, mocking me.

"I... I..." could hardly form the horror and abhorrence of my actions into words. My heart was sputtering, pulsating, cramping in my chest. I felt like a child, like I was when my father would ask me about something I had done wrong. The mustard colored curtains waved in the wind by the open window, as if a hand motioning for me to spit it out. "...I did something terrible."

There was a dreaded silence as he placed the newspaper down on the table. He laid his hand upon it as if he expected the wind through the window to blow it away on him. "What have you done?" he asked in a voice both stern and concerned.

"I'm terrible. I did something horrible." I said in a pathetic voice.

He immediately stood up and marched over to me. His hand grabbed my hair. He twirled a lock of my hair then combed his fingers through it, resting his palm upon my shoulder. I was trapped between him and the door and considered the escape. Into the storm again, would the night be safer? "What is it?" he asked again, interrupting my train of thought.

"I cheated on you." the words were painful, an admission that I had been trying to deny to even myself. "I'm so sorry..." it sounded in the anechoic, muddy, mess in the back of my throat. He forcefully turned me around to face the storm outside the door.

I could feel the tearing fibers around the breaking of his heart. He couldn't bear to look me in the eyes, and I felt much the same.

"... Who..." he coughed up the word from below the choking tears. The flash of lightning lit up the old maple in our front yard. Thunder sounded almost immediately. His hands reached down to my waist and began to unbutton my jeans.

His hand slid my zipper down, which made a crunchier sound for my husband's hand. I bent my waist into him, I didn't know what to do, captured by my husband, I could hear the groan of his stomach knotting up. I whimpered reluctantly the Spaniard's name.

He tugged my jeans down and I felt a huge glob of the Spaniard's cum splatter on the floor below. "Do you love him?" he asked, wiping a finger between my defiled folds, then flicking the foreign liquid onto the oak floor boards beneath me.

"NO!" I said convincingly, "I love you! I love you!" He shoved his penis inside my loosened tunnel. I felt the Spaniard's lubricant slicken my husband's cock as he shoved it inside me forcefully.

He began thrusting, grabbing my hair and lifting it with a pull. "Does he have a bigger dick!?" he said loudly and angrily as he churned the Spaniard's milk into butter inside of me.

"No..." I whimpered.

"Then why would you fuck him!?" he then shouted, pounding his cock into me to the rhythm of the violent storm outside.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..." I really didn't. I never wanted that. I felt like the biggest failure. "I failed you" I felt I had ruined my life. I felt the darkness of the night, crushing me.

He was hard and long, thicker than the Spaniard. His balls began to churn and his cock started spasming. I soon felt the vile poison of the Spaniard being displaced by the wholesome goodness of my husband's squirt after squirt of cum inside me. He yanked his cock out of me and turned zipping his cock back up. Then he left me there, went upstairs and went to bed.

I stood there trembling. Pants at my ankles, I stood there crying, completely alone and having no clue what to do. Only the faint echo of the call of the crow in my head.

What kind of life is this?

I can no longer stand the sound of crows by the cornfield. When it rains, it pours and I shall never again be caught in a thunderstorm for I am forever bound in remorse by tears.