Rural Encounter

This is another wife seduction story with a definite cuckold element. I have tried to give it a lighter touch because in writing about this particular scenario, I'm trying to exercise a personal demon.

*

Anne and I met when we were both just starting our final years, she was twenty one and I was two years older. I am slightly below average height; in fact I am slightly below average in most respects except that I happen to be rather clever. In contrast, although not quite up to model standard, Anne is exceptionally attractive and her slim figure is generously rounded in all the right places. It was a constant mystery to me how I managed to end up with a woman like her.

It was over a month from meeting her before I tried to get fully intimate and I introduced the subject by confessing that I hadn't had a lot of sexual experience. "How many?" she asked and I told her 'Only six' without pointing out that this was actually six times with the same girl. (In fact there was a second girl but, after an hour of build-up, fumbling a condom and finally getting it half way in, headlights coming up the drive signified her parent's unexpected return from the theatre. The ensuing panic and embarrassment guaranteed that I never got a second chance with her.)

Anne said nothing about her own past and went on to resist my efforts to get in her pants for almost another three months. I assumed that she had nothing or little to confess and that long defence of her chastity tended to support the belief. Of course when she did finally yield to me it was natural to believe that it was my personal appeal that had eventually broken her resolve. A couple of weeks after that momentous day I proposed and we were married six months later.

I was in halls of residence (to save money) and she still lived at home (for the same reason) so during that six month wait we had nowhere to go to enjoy each others bodies. Fortunately it was a long dry summer so we used bicycles to find secluded places in the countryside during day light freedom or down on the beach after dark. It was all we could do at the time but I have come to think that al fresco fucking has a special appeal of its own.

Twice when naked in our countryside den, hikers walked past almost close enough to touch and once after a passionate session on the beach Anne found that she had lost her engagement ring. We had hardly started to frantically sift through the sand when a seedy looking middle aged man magically appeared from the cliffs just above to assist with the search. It was actually he who found the missing ring. Afterwards we both admitted to feeling a thrill knowing we had been watched. I think that generally that there is an extra excitement with the risk of getting caught that disappears with 'marital' sex in the safety and privacy of your own house.

That said the love making was wonderful, even after marriage. I believed that Anne must have a natural talent for sex, especially inventiveness, because she suggested many sexual activities that I would never have thought of. The sex has remained good although tailing off slightly over the years. I do have a problem with slow recovery after ejaculating so long foreplay and oral has become a constant and necessary part of our lovemaking. I would even say that I like giving oral even more than fucking.

After eight years of marriage we are still without ant offspring but this was initially by design. We had seen too many others rush into early parenthood only for pressures to quickly expose flaws in the relationship. Even when we abandoned contraception after five years, we did not start 'trying for a baby', knowing how this leads to copulation by the clock, with love and even sex becoming minor ingredients. Unfortunately two years later when a pregnancy had not yet happened, we started to wonder why not. However a recent medical check has shown that although my sperm count is slightly below normal there is no reason why impregnation should not occur and that all we need is patience.

It was the annual British heat wave and for the latter part of the week we had sweltered at work but now it was Friday evening with the weekend to look forward to. Some two years previously I had spotted a rather luxurious picnic basket at a greatly reduced price in a charity shop. It had a built in cool box and all necessary accoutrements. Unfortunately, since then opportunity to use it had never coincided with decent weather until now. Anne was enthusiastically receptive to my suggestion that we spend Saturday out in the countryside.

We drove without hurrying for just over an hour, moving from major to minor and then to country roads. Near to a narrow lane I parked the car in a lay by and we set off walking up the lane with me carrying the picnic basket. That damn basket seemed pretty light at the start but by the time we reached my planned picnic spot it felt like a dead weight. We went through a gate into a field and crossed that and another, being careful to walk down the edges of the fields and keeping a wary look out for possible bulls.

About fifteen minutes steady walking brought us to the promising location that I had noted on the large scale ordinance survey map. It was a large meadow bounded to the north by a small wood and with a wide stream running down the far side. We set up the picnic on light dappled ground, partially protected from the direct glare of the hot sun by the spreading branches of a large old oak tree. The question was should we explore first or eat first.

I voted for eating but with ulterior motives. The previous three nights had been so unpleasantly hot and sticky that I don't think either Anne or I even considered indulging in sex and the forecast was that the next three nights, at least, would be the same. My mind was working on the lines that there might be opportunity for some carnal pleasure in the cool and seclusion of the wood. This was not just a hopeful fantasy because Anne had dropped some pretty broad hints that she was open to a bit of adventure. It would be nice to shag in the open air again after a gap of eight years.

Anne unpacked the basket and laid out the picnic fare, bar-b-cued chicken drumsticks, small pork pies, hard boiled eggs, tomatoes, grapes, cucumber and bread and butter with a large fresh cream cake to follow. She also filled a plastic cup each with iced lemonade from the vacuum flask. Tasks completed Anne stretched out her legs and pulled the hem of her dress up to the top of her thighs, to benefit from sunlight filtering through the leaves overhead.

We tucked in but had barely started eating when, from part way across the field and angry voiced shouted, "You're trespassing, this is private land."

I looked up to see a very tall male figure striding purposefully towards us. I reckon troops in the desert during WW2 dressed in very similar manner. He was wearing baggy tan shorts to mid thigh, a similarly coloured shirt open almost to the waist and with the outfit finished off by heavy laced up brown boots and a wide brimmed hat. Drawing closer he pointed vaguely behind him and asked, "Didn't you see the Private notice or did you just decide to ignore it?"

I had jumped to my feet defensively, well aware that if violence were to be involved I would stand very little chance. Making my voice apologetic I explained, "We came from that direction and there wasn't any notice. I'm sorry if we shouldn't be here so we'll pack up and leave immediately." But then, I couldn't resist adding," Not that we are doing any harm. We don't walk on crops, we close gates and we would have taken all our rubbish home."

My words seemed to mollify him, (or maybe it was the sight of my wife's still exposed legs). "I may have been a bit hasty," he admitted, "I've had a lot of trouble with travellers trying to set up camp on my land." Then he grinned and said, "Tell you what, if you give me a slice of that delicious looking cream cake you've got my permission to stay as long as you like."

Anne picked up a knife to cut the cake but he insisted on waiting until we got to that stage of the picnic, but did accept a spare drumstick to be going on with. I never realised what trouble very tall people have with their bodies. Standing up, the farmer looked impressive but sitting on the ground he seemed rather awkward. He did not seem to know what to do with his long legs, finally finishing with them bent double, with knees tucked under his chin.

For future reference I should point out that, in terms of a clock face, my wife was sitting at six with me at ten and our guest at two o'clock. As he was making himself comfortable, Anne looked casually over at him and then did a kind of double take. Even more oddly, she then quickly glanced in my direction before looking back at him. I assumed that she too was amused by his posture or was possibly admiring his tan for every bit of exposed skin, from face down to legs, was a uniform weathered bronze.

The farmer having introduced himself as 'John' started asking questions about us so I gave him a brief overview of our lives and then he in turn talked about his farm. It seems he ran an old fashioned mixed economy system involving cows, pigs and poultry with most of his growing crops used to feed the livestock. He said that he mainly sold his produce to shops in the two local small market towns but some direct to the public at various farmers markets. Anne did not seem to be listening, just gazing fixedly in his direction and on the two occasions he spoke specifically to her he had to repeat the question.

John seemed secretly amused by something but I could not see anything at all funny. When not in an irate mood it was possible that he found humour in many things. Anne's behaviour also intrigued me. After failing to spot what she was staring at I decided she was deep in thought and simply staring into space. Whatever the reason, it was rather poor manners and quite unlike my wife.

She even needed to be snapped out of her reverie to cut the cake but having handed out the slices, quickly hurried back to her place. I was now hoping that when John had eaten his cake he would quickly leave, mainly because I had not abandoned my hopes of a romp in the woods but I was also growing uncomfortable at the increasing number of admiring glances he kept throwing in the direction of my lovely wife. Unfortunately, having licked his lips and fingers, he asked my opinion on a countryside topic, giving every sign of intending to stay much longer.

As I considered my answer, John suddenly switched his eyes from me to Anne and with a big grin said, "It is quite real, every bit." Without her gaze wavering my wife responded by moving her head slowly from side to side. "You can give it a squeeze to make sure if you want" he offered.

My wife immediately started to urgently scramble forward and in that instant I realised what had so fixedly grabbed her attention. If he was not wearing underwear then she must have an unfettered view of his penis through the gaping leg of his shorts. "Now, just a sodding minute," I said loudly.

John's voice was condescending. "Don't tell me that you are so insecure that you can't trust your wife to innocently satisfy her healthy curiosity?"

"No -- but" I stammered, hating the fact that he had somehow managed to put me in the wrong.

"Let me ask you this," he said calmly. "Suppose you were alone with a female who had such gorgeous tits that you couldn't stop looking at them and suppose she said you could check their authenticity. "Honestly, would you?" After glancing quickly at Anne I gave a truthful affirmative answer. "Now, same situation but this time your wife is there, would you still feel the ladies breasts?"

"Definitely not," I said firmly and from the look on the farmer's face I knew I had fallen into some kind of trap.

"I suggest that you have your answers completely the wrong way round," he purred. "To clarify: Suppose I had waited until you had gone to satisfy a call of nature in the woods before making my offer to your lovely wife. Wouldn't you think that underhand and devious and suspect me of an ulterior motive?"

I conceded the point and reluctantly nodded permission to continue. My expectantly waiting wife immediately launched forward and her hand disappeared between the farmer's bronzed legs but instead of snatching a quick squeeze and withdrawing, her other hand followed the first. This movement pushed back the material of his shorts to reveal his erect cock to my curious eyes and in that moment I understood her fascination because the thing seemed impossibly huge. I had seen plenty of large cocks during my private internet porn forays but this impressive organ seemed to belong to a different order of magnitude. Anne was sliding her grasping fingers hand over hand as if trying to pull him towards her. It was obvious that her fingers came nowhere near encompassing the girth and there was also plenty of room for plenty more hands along the long shaft.

I was unable to look away. I'm not sure how long this continued but it seemed like forever. Eventually I did manage to switch gaze to my wife's face and what I saw shocked me. Her mouth was hanging open with her tongue flicking out, probing the air, just like a snake. I felt a choking sensation and in the same instant John grasped her wrists to firmly move her hands away saying gently, "That's enough for now -- I'm afraid you're poor hubby is getting all hot and bothered."

With a look of disappointment on her face, Anne started to move back to her place, taking care to avoid looking in my direction but any possible awkwardness was distracted by a large raindrop hitting one of the plastic plates and a simultaneous crash of thunder from directly overhead. We all three looked up at the sky to see that a very large black cloud had advanced from behind the wood and the rest of the sky was clouding and darkening. John warned that we were about to have a downpour any second but, while quickly gathering up the picnic stuff, I said we could make it back to the car in time if we hurried. "You'd be better coming back to the farmhouse, it's only three minutes away," John invited. My main concern was getting my wife far away from the tempting python in the farmer's shorts so I stubbornly insisted that making a dash for the car was the best option.

"Don't be silly," Anne said, "It took more than fifteen minutes to get here, we're going to get absolutely soaked."

"Come with me, have a cup of tea, meet my wife and I'll run you round to your car when the rain eases," John suggested sensibly and the mention of a 'wife' effectively removed my big objection.

He started striding off, Anne running alongside him and with me following behind just out of earshot. Apart from a few odd drops the rain held off and on entering the farmyard they paused to let me catch up. Pointing to an empty parking space beside his large SUV, John said that it looked as if his wife had popped out but joked that he could still manage to put the kettle on. However once inside the kitchen he made the welcome suggestion that we might prefer iced homemade ginger beer instead. He filled a pint glass for me, a more ladylike tumbler for Anne, and tipped the remainder of the bottle into his own large glass. It was delicious and refreshing because I felt particularly parched, (I had first been conscious of my very dry mouth during Anne's adoration of his overlarge phallus).

We carried our glasses though to the lounge where Anne sat on a large settee and I was waved to a facing armchair. John joined my wife on the settee but taking care to sit at the opposite end to her. There followed some twenty minutes conversation but a reverse of before in that all his questions were directed to Anne while I was almost ignored.

I had emptied my glass and was wishing there was more when I became acutely aware of a busting bladder. There was no question of waiting till we were home so I had to mention my problem. "There's an en-suite upstairs but it's awkward to find," John told me. "It is easier if you use the one outside. It's through the kitchen and across the corner of the yard. You can't miss it and the rain seems to have stopped at the moment."

Outside, I immediately spotted the heavy looking door bearing the letters, 'WC". I lifted the latch, yanked the door open and urgently ran in, not noticing that the door had swung closed behind be until I was plunged into total darkness. Fortunately I had noted the position of the toilet so I pointed my painful penis in that direction and let go, to be reassured by the sound of urine hitting water. It was when I finished that my problem materialised because the door would not push open and my groping fingers could feel no indication of an opening mechanism.

At first I managed to control my panic but visions of my wife and the farmer left alone together soon had me hammering on the door and shouting at the top of my voice. Hurting my hand on a raised nail head quickly put an end to this and I resigned myself to waiting for release.

I spent over half an hour of mental torment in the black hell hole with the lewd images in my head constantly multiplying before John tapped on the door and enquired if I was in there. I yelled that I was and he opened the door saying, "I'm sorry, I should have realised what had happened to you." It was an apology but he was grinning and he didn't sound the least bit sorry. "I didn't know the light bulb had gone otherwise you would have spotted the bit of string that lifts the latch from the inside."

Somewhat mollified, I followed him back inside and was immensely relieved to find Anne sitting innocently exactly where I had left her. But on reflection she looked far too innocent with knees primly together and hands folded demurely on her lap.

I started to explain what had happened but John interrupted to say, "While you were out I promised your wife that I would show her round upstairs." I stood up but he said, "It's a bit cramped up there so I'll give you a separate tour later." I was uneasy but with no grounds to argue I stood until, as they started up the narrow stairs, I plainly saw his hand on my wife's bottom.

"I'm coming too," I said angrily.

He turned and looked at me with his previously affable face completely gone and in that moment I realised how little chance I would have in a physical confrontation. "I decide who goes upstairs, you wait here until I say," he said coldly. Rather shocked, I returned to my chair, desperately trying to convince myself that I was panicking over nothing.

When they had not returned after ten minutes, growing anxiety drew me to the bottom of the stairs where I started listening intently. For two or three minutes there was nothing and I started to relax but then I heard a noise that sounded very like a suppressed moan. When it was quickly followed by a couple more I found myself heading up the stairs. However, after two or three steps I stopped, halted by the thought of how foolish I would look if the sounds had been completely misinterpreted by my fevered imagination.

That particular noise repeated intermittently several times more before being replaced by the rhythmic sound of bedsprings but, in my new frame of mind I remained immobile, desperately trying to conjure alternative explanations for the obvious. After a while I forced myself back to the chair and sat concentrating on blanking out the now fainter sounds from overhead.

Suddenly there was a new noise -- it was the familiar sound of my wife of the verge of orgasm, but far far louder than any she had emitted when with me. Once started the sounds didn't stop, even growing in volume. I ran to the stairs and a quarter way up but no further. I stopped partly through fear of the larger man but mainly because I wasn't at all sure if I could handle what I knew I would find. Instead I sank to my knees and spent the next twenty minutes with my guts in a vice, crying and hyperventilating while listening to my wife's cries to God, her screams of how good it felt and the sounds of endless orgasms.