J. Bradley: The hog wives

She hurried into the bathroom, and Dean went to the kitchen. He got out a bottle of bourbon, splashed it generously over ice cubes in two of their largest glasses, then watered it down a little. He grabbed up a pair of large coasters and took them into the living room with the drinks.

He was settled in his favorite chair, sipping appreciatively at the mellow drink, when Phyllis pined him. She saw that he had slipped into a cool seersucker robe.

"Now, sly one," she said, curling up in the comer of the sofa where she could get a close look at his face, "you cam tell me why you're exempted from Mary Margaret's gossip list."

Dean chuckled devilishly, took another sip of his drink, then stared at his wife with a grin, enjoying the jocularity of the situation. Usually it was Phyllis who filled him in on the local news; she was not prone to gossip, but she seemed to hear a lot from those who were. He stared at her lovely legs; the short cotton frock that she had reclaimed from the bedroom floor was hiked up to her crotch.

"We had a breakdown Monday," he told her. "Thought we'd have to wait for someone to drive over to Spencer for parts. But Hank Van Zant remembered that when he was doing some work for Mary Margaret, he saw quite a few spare parts in the machine shed. Whoever bought Old Man Siebenthaler's equipment after he died must have missed it when they took the threshing machine. I seemed to be the only one around who'd ever spoken more than a good morning to her, so l got elected to go check out the parts she had lying around."

"Hank's driving license is still suspended?" Phyllis asked.

"Yes," Dean said. "But that's not the only reason he didn't go instead of me, even if he does know her better… or did. Seems Mary Margaret caught him pissing behind the barn; told him a man who was too lazy to go to the outhouse was too lazy to work for her. She paid him off and told him not to come back."

"That's funny!" Phyllis said, howling with laughter.

"It's even funnier when you hear what I know about her," Dean promised. "I cut off the ignition and coasted down Siebenthaler Hill and into her lane, so I guess my arrival was pretty silent. When I didn't see or hear that Great Dane of hers, I was afraid he might sneak up from someplace before I got to the door, so I eased the pickup door shut quietly and tiptoed up to the back porch.

"When I looked in through the screen door, I saw why the dog hadn't come out to bark at me. He was fucking Miss Mary Margaret Siebenthaler for all he was worth-right on the dining room floor!"

"I don't believe it!" Phyllis cried. "Not her!" But it was obvious that she did believe. "And you kept quiet about it until now? For three days you kept it to yourself?"

"I've been too tired to talk, if you remember," he said. "But anyhow, I watched until she'd come – moaning and crying like a cat losing its cherry – then I sneaked back to the pickup and eased the door open and slammed it – loud!

"I've never heard such a commotion as went on in that house when I walked up to the porch again. I don't know if those two had gotten hung up or what. But she finally came to the door, hanging onto the dog's collar while he growled at me – maybe because I'd spoiled his fucking – and she was as white as a sheet.

"I told her what I wanted and she said, 'Take 'em; take 'em.' I thanked her and went to the machine shed. I got what we needed and started across the barnyard. There she was, standing on the porch and peering in through the screen door, trying to find out just how much I might have been able to see. She must have seen the way the sun comes in that bay window and lights up the dining room; she was even whiter than before, when she turned to see me standing there. I asked her how much she wanted for the parts.

"'They're yours,' she said. 'I have no need for them.' She was ready straining to see if she could read anything in my face. I guess she must have seen something I couldn't hide. 'You Palmers,' she said. You're not much for talking about people, are you? I know the reputation I have… it's my one weakness… gossip… but I've never talked about you people any. And I'm not malicious in my talking…'

"'Live and let live,' I told her. 'It's a good way to keep it; you don't talk about us, and we don't talk about you. But I do think, Mary Margaret, that you should close your door when you're in need of privacy.'

"'Oh, I will! I will!' she said. 'I didn't realize…' 'Besides,' I said, 'that dog could bust out through this screen if he was really upset. It'd be a shame if someone had to kill him in self-defense; I imagine you think a lot of him. He'd be hard to replace!'

"I could tell by the way she looked at me that she'd gotten the message. As much as that dog means to her, for obvious reasons, she very definitely is not going to do or say anything to make me at all unhappy, even if she thought she could deny anything I might tell about what I saw."

"She must be terrified!" Phyllis said. "You know, I think she must not have left her house since then. Now that I think back, she wasn't at the market Tuesday; I almost always see her there. And she didn't drive past here this morning on her way to the post office, either… I was working in the yard, and I would have seen her."

"It'll do her soul good for a change," Dean told her. "Let her think about what gossip can do. Maybe it'll tone her down a little bit."

Phyllis thought about it all through the meal. Before they left the table, she had made up her mind to call on Mary Margaret in the morning. She told herself that she wanted to assure the poor spinster that her secret was safe; the frightened woman might even commit suicide, not knowing whether she really dared show her face in town.

But subconsciously, Phyllis knew that her strongest motivation for the visit would be another thing entirely. Ever since she had read about the existence of sex-trained dogs, she had been highly intrigued by the idea.

She had even eyed Laddie, their collie, on several occasions when Dean had been too busy to take care of her needs. But she had lacked the nerve to try anything, and she had no idea what might happen, since she had little knowledge about how the training was accomplished.

With the hold she would have on Mary Margaret, there was a good chance that she might be able to wangle a free trial with a dog that was already trained!

She grew more and more excited, anticipating what the novel experience might be like. By the time they went to bed, she was so tingly she knew she would not be able to sleep. Her cunt was pulsating with excitement and its ooze was dampening her thighs; she could not lie still in bed, and she kept twisting and turning.

Dean was not yet asleep; his meal was still not completely digested, and she might be able to stir him up if she hurried. They were uncovered, due to the hot, humid air, so she merely got up and reversed her position in bed.

She began kissing his cock as she lowered her crotch over his face. A grateful thrill rippled through her as his prick grew hard and rose up to her lips. She sucked the head into her mouth and began bobbing over his groin, feeling the knob slide over her tongue smoothly as she stroked.

Dean lay there, enjoying the rising sensations. He inhaled the stimulating fragrance of her cunt juices; the swollen lips were only am inch above his nose. He knew how badly she wanted to be eaten, but he teased her by pretending to be unaware of it.

He knew that his earlier ejaculation would give him greater staying power now, so he could afford to wait for a while. But the exciting woman-smell filled his nostrils, and he grew more eager every second. He licked his lips, and the saliva flowed as he anticipated the taste of her musky cunt juices.

"Hm-m-m… what have we here?" he asked, his voice filled with wonder. "Dessert?"