Story: Farm Voyeur

I see you staring through that small gap in the hedge. The amount of time you spend peering into my farm from the colourful garden of your secluded rural cottage, while your rich husband works all hours in the city must lead to so many muddy knees. Maybe you like that, maybe that’s your thrill along with the voyeurism. I guess so, getting dirty appears to be your thing too.

It’s not the first time I’ve been naked for us. I know you like to see me au-naturel, the movement of the foliage as your fingers fiddle with the unwelcoming fastening on your clothing tells me so. I like to imagine that you are spellbound in anticipation, lust dripping from your eyes as I walk naked through the yard of my smallholding. I want to believe your fingers are itching to plunge into your waistband as I stride confidently towards our spot, a few feet away from you.

I can see the twitching of the branches. I can feel your arousal, stoked by expectation. I can sense your desperation, eager to stare open mouthed as I complete my sordid fun. The ground is cold on my bare feet: slippery and muddy in places. The wind swirls lightly around me but I’m used to it. We’ve been here many times before.

I pull the cover back from the metal trough. We’re old friends, all three of us. The brown, gloopy mixture is slick and earthy. Freezing to the touch, yet exhilarating. I adjust my body position for you, I know you like to see the jut of my erection moments before I spoil my body with the muddy earth I keep for our games.

The first step into the swirling mixtures has us both gasping. It’s a cold feeling for me, it’s a hot sight for you. The mud clings to my naked leg, squeezing between my toes as I lower my knee into the mixture, my balls resting on the painfully algid lip of the metal container. You love it when I flinch, but it’s been awhile since I’ve bared nothing but my skin in the trough and I forgot how cold it is.

My black rubber outfit needs repairing. Our last session was rough and I tore the pants. The slick, shiny clothing always has you groaning. I can always hear your lust from my farm as I prepare to slide into the thick mud and coat my second skin with the brown goo.

You always mew delightfully as my waders sink into the ooze, breaking the smooth surface of the slippery earth and sending ripples to the edge of the trough. You groan as my body slides into the mud, your mind swimming with arousal as I let myself fall, splashing the thick mixture from the giant pit.

The slick glissade of my torso as I submerge into the dirt sends makes you feverishly wild; I’ve seen the bush shake to your lustful rhythm, savouring the graceful slipping and sliding of my body as I move around my trough, coating every last inch of my rubber catsuit in the earthy mixture.

It feels delightful for me, cold slime sliding against my suit as I inhale the intensely disgusting smell. I know what you want to see me do, I’ve always known what voyeurs lust for. I take a deep breath as I slip under the water line, closing my eyes as my body is submerged for a few moments before returning to the surface, wiping my vision free to look directly at the bush. I can feel the cold, wetness sliding down my face, looking like a warrior from battle. I know I look filthy but it makes me horny.

I can resist no longer, lying back in the tub, I fumble around the neck of my rubber catsuit, sliding the zip downwards to my crotch, exposing my milky skin to you.

It contrasts: the dark sludge and the black latex against my unsullied white chest. My muddy hands fish for my cock, exhibiting my tumescent manhood for your inspection. I can feel the white heat of your stare, watching every movement as I lie back and play.

My slippery hands gliding over my cock, dirtying it and slapping it furiously against the wet mud. It feels amazing: the cold earth wrapping around my skin as the flustered audience masturbates to the decadent sight in front of her. My dirty cock bobs against the water line as my climax creeps from within.

It’s quick, but I can’t resist, holding onto my soiled suit as I groan and grunt in release, sending shots of white cum into the mess below. I only hope it was as good for you as it was for me, slipping in the cold mixture as I tentatively climb out of the trough and leave muddy footprints across my yard as I walk towards my outside shower.

Only this time, I’m not wearing my rubber. You’re still there, entranced by my fetish. I see a splash of flesh from within the greenery. Why can’t you reveal yourself? Do you think I will object? My heart pounds faster knowing you are there. My arousal swarms to new heights because you are watching. I adore your voyeurism, I need it. I want you to have a front row seat, staring at my disgustingly soiled body as your fingers dance lightly over your maidenhood. Why won’t you? Is it because you love the forbidden nature of your games?

It’s a shame. I’d want you to join in. I always fantasise as I play, dreaming of a day when you could walk from the hedge, and down the small embankment to the foot of the trough. I’d be waiting for you, desperate to touch you and ensnare you with my depravity.

Your deliciously hot white blouse and ruffled skirt are fated for destruction; there is no way you’d get them clean after I pull you into my play-pit. I know you won’t refuse as you can’t resist me, this is your fantasy too. Your hands paw at my mud-covered body and slide over my filthy muscles.

Your blouse and skirt tears easily, the stained cotton sticking to your skin as I plant my first kiss on your body. Your golden hair hangs into the mud, waiting to be dirtied by our games. You want it, I can feel your heartbeat as I lie next to you. I can feel your breathing, panting in expectation at what I plan to do.

But you know what I plan to do. I plan to ravish you in the mud, for us to fuck like filthy pigs until you body can take not a single thrust more. This is your fantasy, I can see it in your twinkling eyes as your body sinks further into the darkness.

Your breasts are sodden, the rags of your garments hanging limp and lifeless to hide the gorgeousness underneath. I want it. I want to plant delicate kisses on your dirty skin, rolling your wet nipple around my tongue as I savour the earthy taste of our mess. I’ll blow on it too, sending shivers to the very core of your body as the faint whistle of air hardens your points into an invitation.

I love how the last of your shreds tears under the slightest of pulls, the effortless glide of my hands against your skin as my touch wanders: floating over your stained flesh and coating every last white patch with a generous helping of mud.

It makes me hard, but you can see that: my erection poking above the line of the liquid as I move. You lick your lips at the prospect, but your face is still too peachy; it is not defiled or soiled and as I plant my hands on your ears, you look worried.

You’ve never been here before, but I return your fearful look with a smile. It’ll be fine, it’s a rush like little else. Close your eyes, and your mouth. I can feel a slight panic in your body, a flush of a heartbeat, a tense of the muscle. The involuntary signs are there, but you’ve no reason to be scared at all.

Go with it, and you do. Lowering your head backwards as the mud circles around you and the mud covers your cheekbone. I can feel you taking a deep breath, your body squirming with uncertainty and lust; it’s exciting.

A final push and your face is submerged; returning to the air covered in brown goo. I wipe your eyes: not scared just excited now. A slide of your hand through your hair wipes it free of excess mud, but it still clings to your head, smothered in dirt and filth.

A squeeze of my cock says you’re ready; your slippery hand sliding frictionlessly over my shaft sends my arousal soaring. The final remains of your ruined clothes are torn from your waist, allowing access to your forbidden pleasures.

Of course you’re wet; my filthy finger slides over your thighs easily, waiting for you to mew in gentle expectation as I touch the cleave. I listen for your rasping sighs and murmured fever, groaning as my fingers brush through your matted pubic hair, pressed against your mons and coated with slime. It’s sexy.

All of you is, sizzling hot and disgustingly filthy. I want you, and only you. A slight murmur as my fingers find your pearl is all the encouragement I need. Your legs part the moment our chests touch, our bodies sliding against each other as my erect cock pokes at your slickness.

Our lips meet, the earthy taste of the mud fills my consciousness as we kiss, barely stopping as my dirty prick glides effortlessly into you. It’s heaven: the repellent filth that surrounds us drives my arousal to new heights: my horniness is ablaze as I rock in-and-out.

It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt; the coldness of the thrashing mud a mere afterthought as I feel your body heat rising through mine. I taste the dirt on your skin and savour the disgusting game we’re playing. Pigs, that’s what we are, filthy, disgusting pigs: wallowing in filth and fucking in mud.

But I love the taboo, forbidden nature of our play: it’s sheer degradation and I know I’m the nastiest of the nasty. I’ve tainted you too, bringing you down to my level with my perverted machinations. But you want it, every thrust of my prick causes a faint groan to escape from your mouth, every slide of my body against your pointed nipples makes that groan into a cry.

It’s been awhile since your husband made you feel like this, perhaps he never has. Is it that you don’t feel able to confess your feelings of perverted lust to him? Am I the only outlet for your desperate fantasies?

But it’s my pleasure too: the electrifying sensations of your skin slide against mine is sinful hedonism. I feel alive. I feel dirty. I feel incredible, savouring every last quiver your muscles make against my prick.

It’s taking me to that point; I close my eyes and pound into you, my legs pushing against the edge of the trough. You can see that lust in my eyes, pushing you deeper and deeper into the mud as my orgasm becomes inevitable.

A hundred fireworks detonate; I can’t control my continual waves of ecstasy as my loins burn with sated release. But we’re not done. As I savour the aftershocks from my release, I lean backwards and pull your legs; you gasp as your body floats on the mud, crying as I smear your cleave free of dirt.

My cum is there, mixed with the dirtiness and waiting for me. You whimper. I push my tongue deep inside to taste you and float a flickering sparkle on your clit.

But that’s what I want. That’s what I dream of: my invitation to you. I am desperate for you to join me, and partake in our games. But alas, you don’t, preferring to stay in that bush as my naked body drops into that pit of filth. Watching from a few feet away as my pasty skin is bespoiled for our mutual enjoyment and gasp as the coldness of the liquid sends shivers down my spine.

The frigidity causes tingles throughout my body, the sensual nature of the mud stokes my lust. I grab hold of my shaft to work myself into a full erection, staring at your vantage point as I do. I don’t want you to miss the fiery sparkle of lust in my eyes, the orgasmic expression on my face or my ragged breathing. I want you to see the mud caked to my skin as my body thrashes to the overflow of carnal sensations.

You know what I fantasise about; I want to see your golden hair plunged into the mud. I want to rip your stained clothing from your body and I want to plunge my cock into you. But if you won’t do that, I want you to have the best seat in the house, as my body convulses and rocks, firing me to an orgasm as another shot of my creamy mess is added to the huge trough.

I can see you staring in awe through the bush, waiting for me to climb out of the mud and walk bare-arsed back to the house while you admire my naked body one last time.

How about, same time tomorrow?

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