MY FILTHY WIFE -- PART 4
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.
Whilst I have relayed to you some of the promiscuous adventures of my darling wife Cherie in parts 1 to 3, what I have not told you is how I came to meet such a wanton slut.
Being a farmer, meeting members of the opposite sex is difficult to say the least. The hours are long and arduous and not that attractive for a meaningful relationship to blossom. Being up to your armpits in mud and manure is not a unique selling point. Smelling of farmyard and sporting a tired and ruddy complexion only gets you noticed at the cattle market.
At 39 years old, I was starting to panic that any sense of a close relationship was passing me by. I had supported both my parents through their old age, inherited their farm and was now somewhat on my lonesome.
So, a friend introduced me to a dating site explicitly for farmers. It gave us the chance to meet girls/ladies who were interested in the wild outdoors and our profession, with the possible chance of hitching up.
I applied and joined the website. It was not long before I was scrolling through the rather limited list of ladies who had joined and I felt somewhat cheated on the selection. That was until one caught my eye. She was about 5 years younger than myself, and looked fit. Quite well stacked at the top and a pretty face. It was worth a try. She had given her name as Juliette and her brief self-description appeared to make her sound as though she possessed a certain degree of higher intellect than myself but it was the physical attraction that sparked my interest, shallow as I was.
Days passed and we got texting about a meet. An arrangement; her suggestion, was made to meet at a local pub on a Sunday lunch time.
Sunday arrived and as arranged; she met me promptly at 1pm. It was somewhat crowded but we found the cosy slot by an open fireplace that Juliette had reserved. First impressions were good. We spoke of school days, travel (mine was very limited), sports and books. By all accounts she had worked on a cruise ship. Doing what, made my mind work overtime. It was hot by the fire and our coats were soon discarded. I was somewhat fixated by her full breasts that were thrust ever temptingly through her drop neck vest into my eyeline and I soon felt a gentle swelling in my trousers at the thought of hauling them out and cupping them with my roughened farmer's hands. She wore no bra and her nipples were hard and eye catching. She appeared somewhat ignorant of the fact I was looking at them; she only had to follow my gaze for a clue or glance down at my crotch. Or just maybe she had become immune to such attentions. It was a very revealing top to wear on a first meet and although I am no gigolo, I think it was supposed to send out a certain message. I snuggled in a little closer.
The barmaid came across and asked us if we wanted refills. I am sure even the barmaid could see my swollen crotch. She rested her hand gently on my shoulder. Looking at the table of empty glasses I could sense her eyes averting to my lap. I said yes to the refills and watched her blue jeaned butt sashay back behind the bar.
"Pretty isn't she!" Juliette observed, watching my distraction. I felt kind of guilty. My attention should have been focused solely on Juliette.
"She'll break some hearts," I replied. Yes, indeed she was pretty. My cock swelled some more and bulged further in my pants.
"And some zippers ..." Juliette replied, looking at my crotch. She rested a hand on my leg. Bingo!
I agreed to meet Juliette. No strings. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. My suggestion, I felt it would be better to sit side by side as it were; the cinema. The film was Basic Instinct, a film she had not heard of. I had! I had seen it. Nothing like a female seduction on an alpha randy copper to get her juices flowing maybe. I might even get a chance to get my hands on those beauties in the cinema that had provocatively swayed in front of my eyes back In the pub, if the film excited her.
I constantly asked myself what I wanted from a relationship. Was it romance? My line of work was long hours and 7 days a week, not much time for romancing there. The seasons dictated any available spare time.
Household chores? I employed a house keeper who also prepared my meals.
Children? I was not in the frame of mind to have any. The livestock was enough of a handful.
It basically came down to one thing; well two. Company and a healthy and fulfilling sex life. A woman that would satisfy my lusty ways, and mine hers, would be perfect.
Saturday evening arrived and I awaited patiently outside the cinema. It was dusk and the street lamps had just started their glow. I had scrubbed up, taken a shower and applied a reasonable cologne, not too heavy, not too liberal. Eau de Farmyard would not have been the right approach.
I waited and waited. I'd had no message of a delay and she was now 5 minutes late. I was about to phone her or abort and head off on my Jack Jones to drown my sorrows in a local pub, when an arm intertwined into mine and held my hand. The owner's chest pressed into my side and I could see tempting cleavage jutting out inside a silken top, the nipples sticking through the fabric below. She clearly had no bra on.
'It's your lucky fucking evening, 'she boasted.
'It is?'
'Oh yeah, you won't regret this, ' the strange girl implied
'Yes but...'
'No yes buts! I am afraid Juliette has been, shall we say ... Caught in flagrante!' Her eyes widened as she said this, her gaze darting across my face. She possessed a mischievous face that spelled excitement and possibly danger. She was full of self confidence.
'Her husband was not too keen on her 'spreading the love,' she continued, so shall we say I've come to spread it for you.' She winked. Her face was familiar to me now. The barmaid at the pub, the shapely one that knew how to sashay a sweet ass; how to tent a man firmly in their trousers without touching them.
