My Wife, the White Miniskirt, and the Plan at the Farm

This story happened to me a couple of months ago, when I had spent weeks fantasizing about something very specific: taking the road with my wife Carolina in the car, her in a miniskirt and no underwear, letting any man who came up to the window see what normally only I see. One Saturday morning, while we were packing for a trip to a hot-climate farm outside Pereira, I proposed the plan to her in a low voice. She laughed, bit her lip, and said yes.

We left early. Carolina was wearing a white miniskirt so short that when she sat in the passenger seat it rode up on its own to the middle of her thigh. Underneath, she had nothing on. I asked her to cross and uncross her legs a couple of times, just to make sure this was really happening. She did. And she was already wet before we even left the neighborhood. I slipped my hand between her legs before pulling out, ran two fingers through her cunt, and brought them out shining with slick. I took them to my mouth. She tasted like herself, like a hot female waiting to be used.

—You’re already wet, slut —I said, laughing.

—Shut up and drive —she answered, but she opened her legs a little wider.

The first test was the gas station. I asked her to open her legs a little just as the attendant came up to my window. He was a kid in his twenties, baseball cap backwards, hands dirty with oil. When I handed the bill over my lap, the boy’s eyes flew to her and stuck there. His mouth fell open and it took him a couple of seconds to look back at me. I had on dark glasses and watched him from the corner of my eye, pretending to check the odometer. Carolina’s cunt was shaved, the lips swollen and glossy with moisture. From the boy’s angle, everything was visible: the pink slit, the clit peeking out, even the little thread of discharge running down the crease of her thigh.

—Shall I clean your windshield, sir? —he asked, unable to tear his gaze from the passenger side.

—Yes, thanks —I told him.

He took twice as long as normal. He moved the rag back and forth, but his eyes never left the same spot. Carolina didn’t cover herself. On the contrary, she slowly uncrossed her legs as if it were nothing, and ran her hand over her thigh, very close to her cunt, without quite touching it. The boy had an erection so obvious it showed through his greasy jeans. When we pulled off, I took her hand and felt it trembling.

—I’m soaked —she told me, and giggled softly.

—I know. Everything’s showing. That poor bastard’s going to jerk off thinking about your cunt.

—Let him.

She slipped her hand between her legs and slowly caressed herself while I drove. She ran two fingers over her clit, shoved them into her cunt, pulled them out smeared, and painted my lips with them. I sucked them without taking my eyes off the road. Soft little moans escaped her, almost like a cat’s.

—Do you want me to pull over and fuck you? —I asked.

—Not yet. Hold on.

***

Half an hour from the farm we got lost. The road split in two and the GPS couldn’t make up its mind. I asked Carolina to roll down her window when I saw a man with a bundle at the side of the road. We stopped. He came over. He was a farmer in his forties, straw hat, shirt open to the chest. He asked what we were looking for and I explained. While I was talking, his eyes went the whole way over her: face, neck, cleavage, skirt. And they stayed on the skirt. Meanwhile I dragged my fingers slowly over Carolina’s thigh, right where the man could see if he looked. And he did look. I spread her thigh a little wider with my hand, lifted the hem of the miniskirt another inch, and the guy had to clear his throat twice before he could keep talking. You could see the bulge growing against his work pants.

The guy gave us directions almost stammering. We thanked him. When we drove off, Carolina slipped her hand between her legs for a second and brought it out shining.

—Taste —she told me.

I licked her fingers one by one, tasting the thick flavor of her soaked cunt. I had an erection that made it impossible to think, my cock hard against my zipper, a stain of pre-cum soaking my boxers. I was almost tempted to turn down a dirt road and fuck her right there, inside the car, with the windows down and the smell of the mountains coming in. But the plan was longer, and the good part had barely started.

***

We arrived at the farm around noon. It was a large property, with a pool, hammocks, and a common area where some friends were already there with their partners. I knew almost everyone, except for two: Mateo and Andrés, two guys a friend had brought from his office. Mateo was about twenty-eight, athletic build, kind face, good-boy smile. Andrés was more reserved, older, spoke little and watched a lot.

When Carolina got out of the car in that miniskirt, Mateo went rigid. Not scandalously so, but enough for me to notice from the other side of the parking area. Andrés looked too, but less. Mateo couldn’t tear his eyes from my wife’s legs. They didn’t know about the underwear. That would come later.

We said hello, left the bags in one of the cabins they’d assigned us, and went down to the common area. When I got close to Carolina, I whispered:

—Mateo’s been staring at you since you got out of the car.

—I noticed.

—And?

—And I like it —she said, without looking at me—. He has very pretty eyes. And arms I can imagine gripping my ass.

That turned me on. I wasn’t jealous. I felt something stranger, stronger. I wanted him to look at her more. I wanted him to get hard thinking about her. I wanted him to want her and know he couldn’t have her. And I wanted to be there when he realized it.

***

After lunch, someone suggested playing cards. Four couples sat down at the long dining table under the palm roof. Mateo didn’t sit down: he stayed in a hammock with a direct view of the table, rocking with a beer in his hand. As if he’d picked the best seat in the theater.

Carolina sat across from him, in the middle chair. I sat next to her. While they dealt the cards, I leaned in and whispered in her ear:

—Open your legs. Let him see your cunt.

She took a deep breath. And she did it. Slowly, millimeter by millimeter, until the skirt no longer covered anything. From my angle, I couldn’t see. But Mateo could. And Mateo went very still. From where I sat I could only see his face: the tight jaw, the Adam’s apple going up and down when he swallowed, the hand squeezing the beer bottle as if he were about to break it.

The first round passed. Then the second. Mateo kept staring, no longer even trying to hide it, the beer bottle forgotten in his hand. Carolina played her cards like nothing was happening, but every so often, when it was someone else’s turn, she would close her legs, shift in her seat, and open them a little wider again. Once she even ran her hand along the inside of her thigh, very close to her cunt, as if scratching a mosquito bite, then withdrew it slowly. She looked up and met Mateo’s eyes. She didn’t look away. She held his gaze for three, four seconds. Then she went back to the cards as if nothing had happened.

Under the table, I ran a finger up her thigh and brushed her cunt. She was drenched. I slid one whole finger inside her, very slowly, and she closed her eyes for half a second. When I pulled it out, I brought it to my mouth under the tablecloth and she sucked it clean, head bowed, pretending to fix her hair.

***

That afternoon, before sunset, we snuck off to the cabin. We didn’t talk. I pushed her against the door as soon as I closed it and yanked her skirt up. Her cunt was burning hot, the lips swollen, the inside of her thighs glossy with slick. I slid in two fingers and curled them, searching for that spot deep inside. Her knees buckled.

—Get on your knees —I told her.

She knelt down. She yanked my zipper open with both hands, pulled my cock out of my boxers, and had it in her mouth before I’d even finished taking off my pants. She sucked me all the way to the base, throat wide open, without gagging. Her eyes filled with water. She would pull my cock out, spit on it, spread the spit over her lips, and take me back in. She sucked my balls while stroking me with her hand. I grabbed her head and pushed her down to the hilt, and she let me use her, let me fuck her mouth with both hands, until her cheeks puffed out with air every time I thrust.

—Stand up —I told her.

I grabbed her hair, turned her against the door, and hiked her skirt up over her hips. I thrust into her in one hard stroke. She was so wet my cock went all the way in at once, and I felt the hard smack of her ass against my pelvis. I covered her mouth with my hand because the cabins weren’t as soundproof as they seemed. She bit my palm. I started fucking her hard, pulling my cock almost all the way out and driving it back in with force, making the door creak against its hinges. She bit my hand harder and harder, panting between her teeth, holding in her moans. I felt her come in less than two minutes: everything in her cunt tightened around my cock in spasms, and slick ran down the inside of her thigh to her knee.

—Finish inside me —she begged—. Inside, inside.

I drove my cock to the root and came right there in long spurts, feeling with each thrust how more semen came out of me and pushed deeper into her. She pressed herself against me, moving her ass in circles to squeeze every last drop out of me. Then we collapsed onto the bed and laughed like two teenagers, with semen dripping down her thighs, soaking the sheet.

—You’re crazy —she told me.

—So are you.

—Yeah. Me too.

***

We showered together and went back down to the common area for a drink. The couples were arriving from the river, others were starting the barbecue. Mateo was still there, with Andrés, both of them already a little tipsy. Carolina changed and put on a more decent blouse, short jeans, and sandals. Different clothes. But Mateo’s head was still in the white miniskirt.

We sat near them. My wife ordered a glass of wine and left it on the outdoor table beside her cellphone, which was charging. She placed it so anyone could see it was hers: there was a sticker on the back, one she had put there the month before. Mateo had seen it in the afternoon, when she sat next to him for a second to answer a message. That was part of the plan.

When a couple of hours had passed and the table had loosened up, I said to Carolina out loud, just loud enough to be heard:

—Honey, grab your phone so it doesn’t get left behind.

She made the motion of looking for it, glanced around, frowned.

—Did I leave it here?

—You left it here.

We looked for it. It wasn’t there. The people around us laughed, someone said it must have ended up somewhere else, someone else joked that a dog had taken it. I took the opportunity and, with the most worried face I could manage, announced to the group:

—If anyone finds it, please bring it to us at the cabin. We’re in the one in the back, by the hydrangeas.

Mateo, his eyes a little cloudy from aguardiente, nodded slowly. Andrés did too. We said goodbye and left.

***

The phone, of course, was in my pants pocket. I had taken it off the table myself under the pretense of looking for my lighter.

In the cabin, Carolina went into the shower. Then she put on a white blouse, sheer, with nothing underneath, that barely reached the middle of her stomach. You could see both breasts fully: the pink, hard nipples pressing through the fabric, the curve of her breasts, her navel. From the waist down, nothing. Her shaved cunt, still glossy from the lotion she’d put on after the bath.

—What if he doesn’t come? —she asked from the mirror.

—He’s coming.

—How do you know?

—Because he spent all afternoon looking at you like that.

An hour passed. Then an hour and a half. I went to the window every fifteen minutes, lifted the curtain a little, looked toward the path. Nothing. I thought we’d made it too complicated, that Andrés had taken him to bed, that Mateo wouldn’t dare. Until finally, almost two hours later, I saw him coming alone along the path, holding a flashlight and walking very slowly. He was carrying something else.

—He’s here —I told her.

Carolina adjusted her blouse, bit her lip, took a deep breath. I threw myself face-down on the bed and pretended to be asleep, leaving one eye half open and my cheek against the pillow. I was going to watch. I wasn’t going to miss a single second.

There was a knock on the door. Three soft knocks.

Carolina walked to the entrance. She opened it just a crack, just enough, and peeked out. The hallway light illuminated her back and the outline of the sheer blouse. Mateo, on the other side, lifted his head and went speechless.

—Hi, I just… —he began.

—You found my phone —she said.

—Yes, it was behind the… the…

He didn’t finish the sentence. Carolina opened the door a little wider. Just enough for him to see her fully. The blouse ended exactly where it was supposed to end, and underneath there was absolutely nothing. I watched Mateo’s eyes go down, then up, then down again. He looked at her breasts first, then her shaved cunt, then her face. I saw the bulge grow against his pants, so clearly it was almost funny. I saw the phone trembling in his hand.

—Give it to me.

He handed it over. Carolina brushed his fingers as she took it, and in the same motion left hers resting a second too long against his palm. They stayed there, looking at each other, for two or three long seconds. Her nipples were so hard they pushed into the fabric. Then she took a step back, smiled at him, and said:

—I owe you one. Thanks, Mateo.

She closed the door. Slowly. No slam. As if nothing had happened.

I wasn’t pretending to be asleep anymore. I was sitting on the bed, my cock hard against my pants, so tight it hurt. And she came straight over, climbed onto me, and kissed me as if she’d gone a month without seeing me. She ripped off my shorts, yanked my cock out, and took it in without even getting off me. She sat down in one push, all the way in, and threw her head back with a soft moan.

—He’s still out there —I whispered—. He’s jerking off thinking about you. He’s ten meters away with his cock in his hand, remembering your cunt.

—Keep going —she panted—. Tell me more.

—He remembered your tits. How your nipples showed. And your shaved cunt, all shiny. He’s coming in his hand right now thinking about what it would be like to put it in you.

Carolina moved on top of me like a madwoman, hands braced on my chest, going up and down, her cunt dripping over my cock. I grabbed her tits with both hands, squeezed them, pinched her nipples. She came like that, sitting on top of me, mouth open and voiceless. Then I turned her against the bed, face down, lifted her ass with my hand, and shoved into her from behind again. I fucked her hard, gripping her hair, fucking her without mercy, while I kept talking in her ear about Mateo, about what he would have done to her, about how he would have licked her cunt until she came in his mouth. She came again and again, moaning into the pillow, ass up in the air, squeezing my cock every time I pulled it out.

—Come inside me again —she begged—. Inside, so he knows it’s you, that it’s you and not him.

I came like an animal, driving short, deep thrusts, emptying myself inside her until I felt my legs stop responding. We stayed like that, one on top of the other, breathing hard, the sheets soaked and the room smelling of sex. The adrenaline of the moment, the image of Mateo in the doorway, knowing he was a few meters away thinking about what he had just seen: all of it kept us going for more than another hour. We fucked twice more before falling asleep. The last time I spilled semen over her stomach and tits, and she spread it with her fingers, smiling, before putting one finger in her mouth.

***

The next day, before we left, Mateo came over to say goodbye. Carolina shook his hand, drew him in, and kissed him beside the mouth, not on the cheek. Just enough for him to remember it. Then she asked for his phone under the pretense of sending him a group photo she had taken the previous afternoon. He handed it over without thinking. Carolina saved his number and gave the phone back. Mateo looked at it as if he had been handed a key.

In the car, on the way back to Pereira, she took out her cellphone and looked at the new contact. Mateo had already texted her. Five words: “When are we seeing each other again?”

Carolina looked at me. I smiled at her.

—That’s your problem —I told her—. Or ours.

What happened the next time we saw Mateo is another story. I’ll tell that one separately, another day.