Betsy’s husband went looking for her. There were only a few places he needed to look. Now that the kids were older she couldn’t just bend over the kitchen table or lay down on the dirty clothes in the laundry room. She had a bit of discretion, after all.
Their bedroom was reserved for copulating with him or invited guests in his presence. The rest of the time she could be found in the tack room of the barn or, more likely, in the farmhand quarters. If the 4-wheeler was gone she could be out in the fields or woods.
Wherever he found her, there would undoubtedly be an aroused male thrusting his erection into the eager sperm receptacle between his wife’s thighs. She almost always wore skirts to make vaginal access as quick and easy as possible without the extra effort and delay of undressing.
If she was in the tack room, then it would likely be any one, or occasionally more, of several neighbor boys or men who had stopped by for this very purpose. There were two farmhands in residence so one or both might be intimately involved if she were in their quarters.
This time he found her in the tack room since the farmhands were still out working. He entered to see an older man between Betsy’s spread legs in the classic position. Moments after he entered the small room, he saw the visitor’s ass tighten and heard the familiar wail of his wife receiving male seed. It was rarely the insertion and thrusting that released her orgasm. It was the feeling of hundreds of millions of fresh sperm bathing her cervix that set her off.
The man withdrew his cream covered penis, wiped it off with the small towel Betsy handed to him, hauled up his pants, shook hands with Fred and departed.
The still-prone wife beckoned and Fred unhooked his Big Smiths, stepping out of the coveralls as they hit the floor. Moments later he was reclaiming his spouse, pushing the foreign semen out with vigorous thrusts and sending his sperm to do battle with the previously deposited ones that remained.
He wiped off his cock with the same towel and said, simply, “Time to start dinner.”
Why was he so calm in a situation that might have caused another husband to commit murder? Therein lies the rest of our story.
It all began many generations earlier in Betsy’s family. The more recent parts involved her grandmother who had ten children by assorted biological fathers. At that time it was a community sport to guess which townsman each of the offspring looked like. Betsy’s mother delivered her as the oldest child when she was age fourteen. She had several more, again with uncertain certain paternity, before preventive surgery was available. This family line was rather matriarchal so technicalities like paternity didn’t matter much to them.
There was apparently a dominant genetic trait for the females to have an overpowering urge to breed. Betsy was true to form, being discovered by her mother engaged in coitus with two neighbor brothers and their cousin.
They were much older than her ten years. She could not say which one took her virginity because all three were present at the occasion and she was in the position used by the animals she had observed so couldn’t see whose parts were penetrating. Those barnyard events got her latent interest triggered it seems. Thus she could only feel the firm male flesh doing its thing in her lower regions and they never discussed who was actually first since all had emptied themselves inside as often as they could on that occasion.
Time for the rest of the sex-ed lecture from her female parent. The biggest admonishment was to let her mother know when the monthlies started so preventative measures could be taken.
By then she had a half-dozen regular sperm depositors and several occasional ones. Welcoming a cock between her legs was such a natural and enjoyable thing to do that even asking her politely might get you a ride if she was at all in the mood and had the time. Emotionally she was anxious to be pregnant but rationally realized it was not yet time. So just fucking a lot was her solution.
She was sixteen when the emotions took precedence and the birth control got less than diligently used. Although first pregnancy at that relatively late age was a family record, it still had to be dealt with.
Fortunately, Fred, a good ole farm boy neighbor, had been one of her regular crotch riders and had lately been thinking it was time for him to have a wife to help run his family farm. Since the chances of him being the actual provider of the lucky sperm were as good as anyone’s, and Betsy thought he had both good prospects and a decent pecker, she told him it was probably his.
Her mother and grandmother set him down for a serious talk before the deal was sealed. They wanted to make sure that, just like their husbands, he understood that Betsy would be a faithful wife in every way except sexually. It had been determined by doctors that the women in that family were hereditarily unable to restrict themselves to any one man and had an extremely strong urge to procreate. The two were surely linked. In fairness, he would not be required to be monogamous either,
They were married by the local preacher before her belly bulged too much. During the coffee and cake he had a chance to tell the bride that he’d miss the “prayer sessions” they had during her volunteer work at the church office. She had quickly learned the spiritual aspects of sex, uttering such things as, “Oh My God!”, “This is heavenly”, “Thank the Lord”, and other such praises when cock-inspired ecstasy had happened in the church office.
She looked him in the eye and said she’d probably resume her volunteer work as soon as they got settled. He got much happier at the news.
The newlyweds honeymooned at a budget beachside motel not too far away. She actually managed to be monogamous for the first four days of the week-long stay, mainly because she was always in her new husband’s presence.
On the fifth day they had gone separate ways for some reason and he had to go looking for her. He saw her across the courtyard coming out of the room of a young man who had paid her quite a bit of attention at the pool on previous days. They looked pretty friendly. He wasn’t seen so took a shortcut back to the room and stripped before she arrived.
When she walked in, he grabbed her and pushed her down on the bed, her skirt flying up showing a lack of the underwear she had left the room with.
Without a word he shoved his ready rod fully in her wet twat and began hammering. After a moment she began humping back at this surprise vaginal invasion. It wasn’t at all unwelcome, of course. He grunted, “Doesn’t feel like my seed from earlier.”
She caught on and shot right back, “It ain’t, but I hope you put yours in soon. I’m kinda sore.”
After he did his best to replace the young man’s fluids, he rose and dressed. He suggested she rest from her strenuous activities. He’d be back in a while.
It didn’t take him long to find the older woman who had made her interest in his attentions quite obvious. After a busy and enjoyable hour and a half in her room, he returned to his own with pleasant memories of big soft and floppy tits, and a juicy and hairy pussy that truly appreciated his cock after a long time without one. She had few in her lifetime, and none this skilled. The quick cum dump in his wife let him take his sweet time with the new and grateful friend.
During the actual coitus he had focused on the task, but lying by her side after his seed rushed out of his prick, which was still embedded, he was able to reflect on an observation. This female receptacle was wet and warm like the others he had entered, but it felt different somehow. As he moved a bit in it, he realized that the texture was not the same. While the others had been rather smooth and velvety feeling, this one was lined with tiny crossways ridges like corduroy. They were like hundreds of tiny massage rollers. He wanted, and took, another round, much to his new partner’s delight.
His bride was snoring when he returned so he slipped quietly into bed and got some needed rest. He was awakened by a warm mouth engulfing his resurrected pecker. He hadn’t wiped it off, so how would it taste? He didn’t care.
After getting a creamy mouthful, and swallowing it, his bride looked at him remorsefully and said, “I guess I’m not used to being married yet. He was so cute and my pussy just took over. I’m sorry.”
He looked at her and said, “I guess you don’t need to be. I knew what you were like and your mom warned me. You’re not the only one not used to being married. I couldn’t resist an offer either.”
She smiled, “I thought I tasted pussy. Ain’t I giving you enough?”
His simple response was, “You like variety. Why wouldn’t I?”
They came to a tacit understanding for the few days remaining of the honeymoon. After lunch they’d fuck, then go their separate ways. Back at the room in late afternoon, they both needed a nap before putting their recently-used parts together again before dinner. Nothing was said, or needed to be.
Back home there was an adjustment to being together all the time. Her mother and grandmother soon moved into the big family farmhouse from their own tiny apartment. There was little privacy and the two older women were rather casual about nudity. Bathrooms were rarely locked.
.... There is more of this story ...