Farmer in the Dell

Mopping at the sweat and dust on his face, Pete looked up into the hard, bright late morning sky. "Damn," he thought, "this ain't going to cut it today. Fuck the damn farm! When a guy don't feel right, he don't feel right. Should of stayed home from the office yesterday. But no-o-o, old mister tough nuts won't let a frigging cold keep him from the job. Damn it to hell! But there's nothing that HAS to be done this weekend. And I can leave the goddamn tractor out here overnight. Won't be the first night it's spent in the open. Won't be the last, either."

Giving the immobile tractor a nasty glance and the wheel a half-hearted kick the man turned and headed toward the white farmhouse, several hundred yards away.

He and Susan were living on the farm he'd picked up, cheap. His wife wanted to start a small business, making craft soaps and essences out of natural products. On their twenty acres he was growing strawberries, raspberries, lavender and a whole pot load of other herbs. During the growing season it took up most of Pete's time to keep it growing right. Susan did a lot during the week, but he didn't think it right or safe for her to do the heavy stuff.

Pete wasn't very big, 5 foot 7 and 160 lbs., but it was all solid muscle. A good thanks to that was from the farm. His wife of five years was 5 foot 3 and 100 lbs. after he fished her out of the creek. The brown haired lovely wasn't very big. And he had to admit she wasn't all that pretty, but DAMN she was sexy. Some women weren't classic beauties, but they just dripped sex appeal. Susan was one of them.

Cussing the upset stomach and headache that was driving him in, Pete trudged slowly back to the house, his boots sinking deep into the rich soil. He was feeling sorry for himself the whole time. The good part, if there was any, was the way Susan was going to fuss over him once he got back to the comfort of their home. She was good to him, and he was so lucky to have her.

Stepping around the end of the garage he was surprised and happy to see Randy's black sports truck parked up close to the door. He wasn't going anyplace today, but Randy already knew that. Still, they could watch a ball game while Susan was fussing. Maybe the day wasn't going to be so bad after all.

Pete pulled off his boots on the back porch before opening the door into the mudroom. After cleaning the muck off them he placed them neatly in their place in the corner. It was good to get the heavy things off. Padding barefoot into the bright yellow kitchen with its oak finished cupboards he was surprised Susan wasn't there. It was after 10:15 and late in the morning for her not to have her housework done. Usually he'd expect to find her sitting at the kitchen table with its bright floral printed tablecloth. Maybe she wasn't feeling so good, either. Or more likely she was chatting with Randy in the living room before his best buddy walked out into the field to see him where he had been driving that goddamn tractor. He was too bleary headed to come up with an answer. He'd find out in a moment anyway.

Unbuttoning his shirt as he went, he walked through the kitchen to the living room and on into the hall leading to the bedrooms. He was going to change clothes before he sat and rested. The way he was feeling, once he sat down he wouldn't be getting up again for a bit. His head was feeling full of cobwebs, and he wanted to be ready to just relax when he sat.

Randy and Susan weren't in the living room either. Not giving a thought to why, Pete continued down the hall past what was going to be the kids room, then past his den on his way to the master bedroom. The bedroom door was open and Pete walked in on his stocking feet before noticing the couple on the bed.

Well, that wasn't quite right. Susan was on the bed, her prized wedding bell quilt rucked up underneath her. She was kneeling on all fours, her ass in the air and buck-naked. Randy was standing next to the bed behind her. He was just unbuttoning the cuffs of his blue denim shirt, which now was open and hanging from his arms. His jeans and bright red jockey underpants were down around his ankles. His nice sized cock was buried in Pete's wife's quim.

Ol' Randy was working that quim pretty good, too, especially considering he was doing it while taking off his shirt. It looked like the couple had sprinted into the bedroom to get started. Susan's blouse was on the floor by the door, her bra half way to the bed, and her jeans and panties were in a tumbled pile on the floor beside the bed atop her shoes. She was still wearing her white ankle socks.

Pete froze in mid-stride. His shirt now was hanging from his hand and he dropped it on the floor. Standing stock-still, his mouth open, he watched that big old cock of Randy's pump in and out, back and forth, in his wife's cunt. Susan was moaning and whimpering, her ass shaking and pumping back, hard as she could, at his best friend's cock.

"Jesus," he thought, "a friend wouldn't be doing that. That's not my best friend. The son of a bitch isn't even a friend. He's treating me like a sucker. Wonder how I missed what was going on?"

Watching silently, unnoticed by the busy couple, Pete noted his cock wasn't trying to bust out of his britches. He'd never bought that crap he read on the Internet about ol' hubby getting a hard-on when he saw his wife getting it on with someone else. Instead, it felt like his big soldier was trying to hide. He could feel it shriveling as he watched.

"Fuck me, you big dicked fucker!" moaned Susan. "Deep, deeper darlin', the way I like it! Real hard, now!"

"Whose cunt is this, slut-babe? Who owns you now?" rasped Randy as he shoved himself into the woman kneeling before him, then held it still and deep for a moment while a little cum quivered its way through Susan's body.

"Yours, Randy. Always yours," she gasped. "You know that! Now give me another of those big cums, you nasty fucker!!"

"Your fucking wish is my command to fuck, whore-child," Randy ground out as he began jack hammering into the gash being split by his cock.

"Oh, God! Randy! If it wasn't for our Saturday morning fucks, sometimes I don't think life would be worth living."

"Hey, what's wrong with my buddy Pete. How come he doesn't take care of you?" asked Randy.

"He does, lover, he does. Just that I need your big cock, too." There was a short pause as Randy stirred his rod deep inside her. The two savored the big meat filling her hole. "Maybe if I didn't keep him so busy on the farm, he'd have time for some nookie on the weekend, but the poor fucker is usually too tired by Saturday night to give me what I need. Sure glad I got you to fill in."

"You keep telling me that, sweet cheeks. I just feel it hard to believe he wouldn't be spending all his time satisfying you."

Pete must have stood there at least ten minutes before Susan screamed, shoving her ass back against Randy's groin. At the same time, Randy shoved himself forward, standing on tiptoe to get more of himself into the woman kneeling before him. Pete watched as Randy's butt clenched rhythmically and he shot himself deep into Susan's body.

Susan fell forward onto the bed, sated from the cum, Randy collapsed atop her, his cock still buried inside Pete's wife. Pete wordlessly turned and walked out of the bedroom.

The first thing he did was head into the hall bathroom. There he closed the door before kneeling over the toilet and tossing his breakfast into the spotlessly clean porcelain bowl.

Kneeling there, his mouth tasting like vomit, he tried to piece together what he had just walked in on. This obviously wasn't the first time. It was a regular, planned Saturday morning occurrence.

How long had this been going on? Since the fields dried out enough for him to get into them, he had been spending every Saturday morning, usually until 2 or 3 PM out there. That was four months ago.

Busting his ass while Randy was busting Susan's ass! Son of a Bitch!

While his "good buddy" Randy was busting his wife's ass!

Bastard! He loved that woman, but she had been routinely fucking him over. This was something a good conversation couldn't fix. She had been cheating on him for months. She'd carefully planned it and until he got sick he had no inkling she didn't love him like she claimed. It might not be true, but it felt like she only wanted him for his paycheck.

She didn't give a fuck what the cheating would do to him. She was just interested in getting her rocks off and not letting him find out.

He was going to have to face them but he was afraid of Randy's temper. He was one big son of a bitch so he'd have to bring along an equalizer. Not only that, but he would have to take precautions. Call it prophelactic. If he waited for Randy to make his move he'd probably end up with a broken head. And damn if he didn't still feel like crap. Randy would be likely to kill him, he'd seen him in a rage before.

After wiping his face with a towel, he walked back out of the hall and into his den. Wondering how the two cheating bastards hadn't heard him yet, he pulled the digital camera out of his desk and, picking up his 'equalizer' from where he kept it on the table by the door, walked back into the hall.

The equalizer was an innocent appearing coil of spring-steel, eight inches long and just under an inch thick. As he walked back heading for the bedroom he gave it a flip with his wrist, and the rest of the spring steel weapon slid out silently and locked in place. Pete was now carrying a twenty-inch long baton made of very stiff, yet flexible steel. He'd never used it before, but now he was going to give it a test.

Walking back into the bedroom he saw his former friend, all 6 feet 2 inches and 230 lbs. of him, now standing spradle legged next to the bed, his back still to the door. Susan still knelt before him on the bed but now facing him and leaning over so her face was buried in Randy's groin. With her face buried in Randy's crotch she couldn't see Pete. From the bobbing head and slurping noises there was no doubt Randy was getting one of her better blowjobs.

As Pete watched, Randy grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her face back. Pete could now see her face; her eyes locked on Randy's, the tip of his cock still between her lips where she suckled on it.

"Well, slut! What do you say to that?" Randy growled at her.

"Honey, you know I love the taste of your bone. Don't think I'll ever get enough of it," she mumbled around the head of his dick, never letting it drop from her mouth. "This is the best part of Saturday morning, lover. You know I always look forward to it." Then she buried his shaft down her throat.

Pete took a picture, with the flash turned off, of the 'loving couple'. Noticing they were nicely framed in the mirror on the dresser beside the bed, he took another shot, this time including their reflection in it too. Goddamn, he even had an artistic shot of his cuckolding.

He had snapped about a dozen shots, when Randy reached down, hooked his hands just below Susan's arms, and lifted her into the air. Pete took another shot of this, noticing his wife had closed her eyes as she was lifted into the air.

She wrapped her legs around Randy's waist and pulled her hips in tight to his. Reaching down with one hand, she moved his cock into position. Once he felt the head beginning to pry apart her lips, Randy lowered her onto himself. Susan's arms came up around his neck and she began to hump him. That was when she opened her eyes and saw Pete. She opened her mouth to scream or shout, Pete never knew what because Randy covered her mouth with his at that moment and swallowed whatever sound she was going to make. Susan began frantically wriggling, trying to free herself from the big cock piercing her. All she succeeded in doing was to fuck herself hard up and down Randy's length.

Pete thought her eyes were going to pop out of her head when he took two more pictures. By the time he stepped up closer behind Randy she was beating Randy on the back and shoulders, making frantic noises, which were all being swallowed into his mouth. Randy was making chuckling noises deep in his throat. Pete figured Randy thought his wife was in some kind of immense orgasm.

Deciding it had gone on long enough, Pete flicked his left wrist holding the equalizer and the tip snapped up between Randy's legs and onto his drawn up balls.

Soundlessly Randy leaped forward before he collapsed onto the bed on top of Susan. He tried to scream but there was no air in his lungs. What small sound he managed pumped directly into Susan's open mouth. To Pete it looked like Randy had been a man-sized balloon that someone stuck with a pin.

Susan was trapped under him, her legs now waving wildly in the air on each side of his hips, their whiteness contrasting with the darker tones of Randy's skin. Her arms and fists were flailing away at Randy and her face was buried in his chest, which covered her mouth and nose. Unable to breathe she thought she was going to die.

Pete stepped up beside the couple on the bed. Randy was now trying to curl into a ball as he tried to get his hands to his balls. He desperately needed to cup but Susan was lying astraddle him and he couldn't reach past her to his balls. His once proud member, though still stuck up Susan, was shriveled and shrunk. As Pete watched, Randy began moaning and retching as his gasps finally managed bringing air into his lungs.

This time taking a full arm swing, Pete used a backhand motion to bring the equalizer down on Randy's right knee. There was a crackle sound as it hit, and Randy's head snapped up. He finally saw Pete standing calmly beside him.

The former friends looked at one another a long time, Pete quietly, Randy in agony.

Wordlessly, pitilessly, Pete kicked Randy off the woman lying beneath him and onto the floor. Susan shoved him the rest of the way off, then simultaneously tried to cover her nakedness, sit up, and hold a pleading hand out to Pete.

Inside Pete felt cold and empty, as empty as the stomach he had emptied into the toilet. As cold as the porcelain he had felt against his chest as he knelt there. All he felt, at this moment, toward the woman he had loved and married was contempt.

"Peter, this isn't like it looks!" she finally managed.

Pete just sneered at her. "I heard you tell him how you lived for Saturday mornings, Susan; Saturday mornings, when I'm out working my ass off on the farm. Trying to get you set up in business. This isn't a one-time thing Susan. I stood, watched and listened to you as you fucked me over. It's been going on awhile. That's all I need to know, that you need him or someone else's cock; that you won't be satisfied with just me.

"Pack up your goodies, and get out. Be out in an hour. You can call and make arrangements to get what you have to leave behind. I'm giving you the station wagon, so get your stuff, pack it into the wagon and get the hell out of here. With the pictures you and my buddy Randy gave me, don't even think of asking for more. Let me know where you're living and I'll have my attorney get in touch with you. I'm keeping all the credit cards, and will be canceling them Monday. Fact, I think I'll call them in stolen this afternoon, so don't try using any of them. There won't be any money in the bank accounts either. I'm transferring it today. Monday, I'll be closing all the accounts.

"If you make a "to do" out of this, try making me out the bad guy here, I have the pictures. I can get them out for others to see and they can never tie it to me. If you want to show your face in this town you should remember that.

"I'll give you $1,000 to live on until you let me know where you are living, and then you can talk to my attorney.

"I loved you, Susan. We were going to have kids. If you want to buy a farm, I have one available, cheap. Twenty good acres, just right to grow herbs and flowers for potpourri.

"Better yet, forget the station wagon now. Take this lying asshole with you. You can drive his truck and make arrangements to pick up the station wagon later.

"Have a good life."

Two hours later Pete watched them drive away, Susan driving the truck with Randy huddled in the passenger seat. He wondered if he would ever see her again. But that was nonsense. Her parents and friends lived in this town and he worked here. They would run into one another constantly.

He knew he still had feelings for her, but how could he ever trust her again?

Well, he had talked a good fight, and he'd stick to his guns unless she came to him. It was unlikely they could get back together; feeling as bruised as he did now it was impossible. But time would tell. For the time being he'd take it one day at a time. How did the guy say it in Sleepless in Seattle? Just keep on getting up every morning, taking one breath at a time? Something like that, and of course Susan wasn't dead, though the way he felt now it felt the same.

Pete locked up the house, climbed in his Ford Mustang and drove into town to spend the night in a Motel.

* * * * *

Like to hear from you. If you pat a dog he'll lick your hand, if you whip him he'll lick your hand.

Let me get my licks in.

And please, unless you just Can't give me a moniker. I like to talk, and it makes no never mind whether we talk about my many good points or my more numerous failures. How else can I get better?