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Christiane Honeymoons in a Corn Field

I was married once. Not many people know that, and I usually don’t want to talk about it. Doug and I were really alike, the perfect couple. After a one year romance we married, and were set to go on our honeymoon in London. Unfortunately Doug had a crisis at the dirndl factory that he managed, and we simply took an afternoon off for a picnic. Driving south from our new home in North Washington, Iowa we spotted a picnic table next to a cornfield. It was a perfect, peaceful setting on a pleasant late summer day.

We sat quietly, gazing into each other’s eyes, and soaked up the feelings of love that flowed between us. When we finished eating we took a blanket from the car, and walked into the cornfield. Finding a wide space between the corn rows we spread the blanket and lay down. We sipped some of our May wine, and cuddled together. He stroked my back and thighs with such a light touch that it could well have been done by the light breeze that cooled us. I wished that this moment could be frozen in time, our feelings permanently engraved in some part of the brain set aside for one’s most beautiful experiences. The sun and the wine made us physically drowsy, yet sensually awake. “Make love to me Doug,” I whispered. Without waiting for an answer I pulled down my shorts, and pulled off my tee shirt. Doug quickly followed suit, and our fresh, young, naked bodies sprawled happily on the blanket. Doug lay aside of and behind me, and started doing one of my favorite things. He airily caressed my pearly white butt cheeks (I have dark red hair, and my complexion is very white). “My china doll,” Doug calls me.

I don’t know about you, but butt stroking is a good way to get me aroused. While Doug was ministering to my rear my left hand fluttered down my tummy, and paused finally at the entrance to my red, red bush. Slowly I walked my fingers through the jungle until they reached the cave opening. My clitoris laid waiting for them, eager to snuggle up to those gently stroking digits that often came to visit. The fingers voted on who would get the first shot. The index finger won, as usual, and entered my moist, warm sex pit. Oh, I feel so happy doing this. I love it when Doug watches me stroke myself, and evidently he enjoys watching as he is looking closely at what I am doing. He is rubbing his hardened prick up against my back. Suddenly he lies down fully against the back of my body, and humps up and down my back side. My vagina penetrating finger matches his rhythm, and our state of arousal is quickly escalating.

Now I am lying on my back, and Doug is sitting facing me, holding one of my legs on each shoulder. His tongue has evicted my finger, and it is busily trying to make my clit swell to an enormous size. I look between my twin titty peaks, down at my flat stomach that gently climbs to my red patch. Beyond that my smooth thighs branch out from my pubis, with my calves and feet reaching for the sky. One hand is around one of my milky thighs, and the other is out of sight, but certainly not out of mind. That tickling feeling in my butt crack may be an ant, but I bet that it is really some curious fingers approaching the hole in my rear. Sure enough I feel something circling about; something barely brushing my anus. “Put it in, put it in,” I plead. I want to be invaded front and rear. Doug obliges; his tongue fucks my pussy, and his fingers fuck my ass. I watch the action. I see my hips begin to sway and wiggle. My bottom is fully awake now, and the rest of my body feels suffused with a raw energy. I am on top of the world right now, empress of the universe, queen of sex, mother of all love. Whenever Doug does this I often fantasize that two men have entered me, front and rear. If there were two of Doug I could really get off if they fucked me together. Fuck: I love that word. It’s not crude to me; it totally arouses me to grunt out that word, and I repeat it now over and over. It has its effect. I am filled with a delicious lust. I am a female animal who wants to rut with my mate.

Doug’s face is flushed. He entertains and arouses me by making loud slurpy sounds as he tongues me. This is too much. I can’t lie here passively any longer. I inch my happy bottom away from Doug’s face, and before he knows it I have pounced on his distended dong and have filled my face with it. I have knocked the poor man on his back, and I sit on his face while feasting on his sausage. I wriggle my ass on Dougs face, but he seems to enjoy it. He moans, and slurps, and moves his head up and down, side to side. I am trying to outdo him in making the sloshy, mushy sounds. We’re like pigs slopping our supper. My head is making large up and down movements. My mouth is impaled on this giant fleshy pole. I want that fat, mushroom head to move down into my throat. A silly thought ran through my mind. What if that giant dick got wedged in my throat? Would I need the Heimlich maneuver to dislodge it? My tongue presses against the thick veins of his prick; it licks around the edges of that beautiful spade head.

Again we switch positions. I pull myself off his face, hoping that Doug hasn’t been asphyxiated, but he seems to be alive and well. “Let’s you and I fuck,” I growl sexily at him. He has no chance to respond. I throw my 5’10” frame on his body, my descent perfectly placed so that my startled twat swallows 7 inches of dick before it knows what hit it. Ahhh, this is where I belong; where we belong. I push down hard so that my sex feels every swollen inch of him. He grabs me and pulls my face down to his. Our lips lock; our tongues invade and suck and slurp. My body is so tight against his. The movements of skin against skin, muscle rubbing on muscle are an unbelievable aphrodisiac. Huhhh, huhhh sounds fill the corn patch as our body slamming and writhing forces the air from our lungs. We like to be gentle and we also like to be rough. Now is the time for rough. “You fucking bitch, pound yourself into me,” Doug yells. I oblige. I am a fearless, fucking female, and I am humping the shit out of this guy. We twist and roll on the blanket, never missing a stroke. I feel the end coming, and Doug feels the end coming. We pound our pubes together, and scream in unison as we both erupt internally.
We continue to shriek and wail as our bodies go out of control during a space distorting, mind warping, world expanding simultaneous orgasm.

So much noise emanated from our lungs that we never heard the old Farmall corn picker burst through the next row of corn and impale Doug on its prow. That’s why I never talk much about my marriage. All in all it was a very bad day.

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