Fair Warning:
This is a wife-sharing story. If this sends you into an eye-twitching rage then just move on -- possibly to the romance section. It is also pure fiction. That means that neither of these people are real. This isn't me, this isn't my wife.
This one is also very long. It starts off with heavy teasing and exhibitionism but get very hardcore later on.
*
Towards the end of it all there was a moment where I thought we would get lynched, and all I could think about was the fact that this was all because Jessica was simply incapable of not volunteering to help. That was what Jessica was like: ever eager to please, always smiling and obliging. It has been remarked that we are an odd couple. Chalk and cheese. Opposites attract and so forth.
I remember the moment with clarity. Jessica -- her green eyes and dark hair contrasting distractingly with her floaty white dress -- turning to one of the old haggard bats that was sat in our yet-to-be-unpacked living room and saying: "Well, I could deliver the newsletter around Greendale if you are desperate."
Of course they were desperate, there was no way that the old fossils sipping on their tea would get around our hilly little village without adding another stone to the picturesque graveyard. I feel like Jessica might have hesitated on the "I", as if she might have said "we" but changed her mind. I guess our five years of marriage taught her something after all.
We had lived in Greendale for just over a week and the house was still an almighty mess. Jessica was putting things to rights in glacial fashion and I knew better than to get in the way. I was settling into my new role as Project Director and had enough plates to spin at work. We had moved to Greendale to escape the dreary, cramped, hateful life that only exists in modern cities. We had hit that age where most of our trendy friends had already left to have children and the bars and restaurants we had loved were suddenly too cheap and nasty or horrendously pretentious.
Jessica had a vague idea about starting a family but I think she really looked to the move as an extended holiday, a career break in a picture-perfect rural village where she could stride around like Tess or Jane Eyre in a pastoral ideal of cow-shit and vertiginous hills. For this Greendale was perfect. Close enough to a place with real jobs but pretty enough to be a painting. The folk around here were generally older and retired, or young folk looking to become farmers.
So I put in my transfer request and surprisingly got an offer almost instantly. With a pay rise. Why on earth hadn't someone else snapped up this opportunity in such a location? I found out in that first week as I battled the incompetent yokels who already hated my guts.
My wife made it all bearable. The fresh country air and the unseasonable warmth made her beauty blossom in those first few days in Greenfield. She is an amazingly beautiful woman, only lacking the height and frosty bitchiness to be a catwalk model. She had done some catalogue work, smiling in breezy summer dresses, and I still got a thrill flipping the pages and seeing her there smiling back at me.
At university, where we met, she had been known as 'Lady Jessica' due to her posture, her received pronunciation and her pedigree. She came from money and you could see it in the sharp cheekbones and her long neck, the easy way in which she carried herself, the self-assurance that came from never wanting for anything. She was posh totty and make no mistake.
She always had her dark black hair straight and long, down to the small of her back and there was also something of the pin-up about her figure, a fullness in her breasts, a swagger in her hips. Her green eyes danced and changed from emerald to sapphire depending on her mood. She was little but lithe and lively in her movements and thought -- quick to laugh and always restless. Sometimes I would just sit in a defeated heap in our garden and just watch her at work in her little shorts and tied up tee shirt. In no time I'd find more than my batteries had recharged and I'd find myself on top of her, heaving into her as she bounced in glorious naked joy beneath me.
We had been working our way through the house, fucking in each room, breaking in the house as was our tradition, when the old dinosaurs had come knocking at the door. We scrambled to make ourselves presentable and less than an hour later and Jessica had roped herself into writing an article about countryside running routes ("It'll be fun!") and delivering the hated newsletter to every house in the village.
I refused before she even asked me. "Fine," she pouted, "I'll just do it during my morning jog." This sounded perfect to me and I forgot about the whole thing for a few days, until the box of newsletters arrived, dropped off by tractor, dumped unceremoniously on the driveway. The next I thought about it was at six thirty seven in the next morning when my delightful wife rolled out of bed and got into her running gear.
I opened a bleary eye and saw a vision of yoga pants covering an outrage of an ass, a bare midriff and a bra-top thing, which she must have bought when she was a teenager as it was very deliciously tight around her perky tits. Her long dark hair was in a loose ponytail and her eyes sparkled as she smiled at me. "Fancy a run?"
"Never. Don't forget your stupid newsletters."
