The Fence

5pm is usually the best time of the day for me. Mondays to Thursdays. I park my SUV in the front yard, take off my shoes, get all comfy and head out to our backyard to chill out.

Unlike the other spouses of the of the President's board of directors at University, I chose not to have a job in campus. I really dislike those endogamic circles. And enough of a hassle it is already to have to use University resources such as the Postal service or the Internet connection, preventing me from searching privately for my favorite erotica reads or toys.

The Local Development Office is not the most exciting of the jobs, but nobody watches my steps because of my husband. I am independent and it pays ok.

We live by the north corner of campus, in the community members neighborhood. My husband is one of the many vice-presidents. It's funny how a young nutcase like me ended up with such a respectable man.

I worked hard to finish my degree back in my times, but I also had my share of fun. Alternative fun, I like to call it. I didn't socialize with frat or sorority mates much; I used to hang out with hippyish guys or odd exchange students. Like that one with crazy hairs and untidy looks that was so much into research. I was a good student but the truth is that my grades resented while, during one remarkable semester, he and I almost fucked the dorms down to rubble.

I wanted to finish my studies, fly away, and get my kicks all around the country, like my beloved literary friend Kerouac. However, like for most, the dream vanished when I had to face the mortgage debt I had for all those overpriced tuition costs.

This is the backstory of why I never left. I'm all tied up to the wealthier side of college life, as my hubby's portrait in our kitchen proves. Suit, tie, professional smile and a lean haircut that never moves. The same boring CEO-like photo than the one in the leadership page of the university website.

One of the things I like the most during these alone moments of mine is to lie down on my sun bed. I bring a big wineglass, some juicy fruit, sometimes my low introspective music or a book. I get in some summer dress, sunglasses... and hide my head under a pamela hat.

Our home backyard is delimited by a state park right next to campus; so endless rows of leafy oaks, beeches, and maple trees behind our chain-link fence keep my intimacy safe. Only deers and squirrels venture nearby.

In no time the weight of daily troubles is gone. When I'm relaxed halfway through my wine, I take out my sex toy and let my inner pleasure blossom out.

Since I moved from vibration to suction it's just a matter of counting. 1, 2, 3... I open my panties under my skirt with one hand, while I place my device at the right spot. From the distance you could only tell there's something going on when I shake, buckle, or quiver. 4, 5... I still tell my husband that his cock is much better, and there's some truth in that: nothing beats skin to skin. 6... But dude... this suction in vacuum on my clit is so intense that I have a hard time not squirming and falling down. 7... 8.

Right after that I go upstairs and take a shower. I love to soap and rinse when my skin and nipples are still sensitive. I dry up, get in pajamas and meet my husband, who'd be right back home after his post-work socializing events.

It doesn't happen often, at least not enough for me, but if later in bed we make love, I can still orgasm an extra time before falling asleep.

One afternoon my bluetooth speaker battery died when my first orgasm was building up. I had just come when I heard something weird down in the wilderness.

You can usually identify deer or squirrel steps. Like a stalker, they're sneaky and light. Their survival instincts make them stop if you move; keeping them quiet, assessing your movements to choose which direction to take to avoid danger.

But these ones sounded like a real stalker. Heavy, steady, clumsily stepping and breaking little branches.

My heart skipped a beat but I told myself that I was safe behind the tall fence. The steps faded and I ventured closer. I couldn't see anything.

The following day I decided to be more careful, so I simply lied there. Again I heard the steps. After a safe while I got closer. I looked away and I just saw forest. Then I squatted trying to find clues, which I did. I pinched some stained grass, brought my index and thumb to my nose and smelled an unmistakable scent.

Like an Indian following footprints, I followed the stain traces down to the fence, looked back, and I could clearly see the trajectory of all that semen. A huge load of cum proved that I had not been alone.

I took a little walk outside and got behind our property. There was a good distance from there, but also a front row view of my relaxing spot. I checked around for clues but I found nothing. I went back home a bit anxious. In the shower I got off under the hot water stream. That calmed me down.

That night there wasn't much talking with my husband. I was thinking over the recent events and he was, as usually, mentally absent in his University affairs.

In bed, when he spooned me and grabbed my breasts I could notice his erection against me. That was expected, as it helped him relieve tension. I wasn't very focused but I easily indulged. As it was a risky day and he got inside me with a condom so he was having more trouble finishing than usual. But any good wife knows how to get that fixed.

I knew what was on his mind: That everlasting feeling that real jobs are outside uni. Teaching staff looking down on former members who move into administrative positions; as some sort of traitors who weren't valid for the real stuff. I can't tell him, but I think they're right. What I could do, and I did, was to bring my breasts up to rest under his chest. I instantly felt how he got harder. Then I caressed the back part of his balls and, in no time, a groan signaled his release.

When the twitching ended, I took the condom off his shrinking penis, tied a knot at the open end, and the white little balloon at the tip made me think about my voyeur admirer's clues that afternoon.

I never considered changing my habits -- damn, I was home -- but the rest of the week I decided to be cautious.

The birds chirping, sometimes traffic noise outside. I felt observed but I could never be sure because the forest line acted like a camouflage curtain. Only when I walked by and saw the dripping remains of follower's jollies I could be certain.

Feel free to judge, but I went very quickly from thinking "what a moron" to start feeling very aroused. Weird as it sounds, the thought of a man not being able to abstain because a woman's influence, in this case me, really turned me on and, surprisingly, made me feel powerful. In the end I must be the secret desire of some lonely college guy, I told myself.

I started touching myself again the following week. There must be some exhibitionist streak in me I didn't know about because I got more uninhibited. I undid my top, exposing my bare breasts, and, with my legs wide open, moved my skirt away. Oh my, how intensely I came those days knowing that someone was feasting on me.

As a ritual, when I heard him leave, I covered myself before getting closer to see his tribute scattered on the ground. It was so lewd, and how proud I felt when the load was plentiful.

I didn't give it much importance but mid-week I noticed that there were two traces originating at different positions.

What started troubling me happened the following week.

My sight is not so great anymore and I squinted under my pamela to find that the trees weren't able to hide a full row of guys that held the fence with one hand while they stroked their cocks with the other.

It clinked frantically with their shaking. I stayed still and gave no show. The fading steps were numerous and they cheered and laughed on their way back. This wasn't a discrete rendezvous anymore, it was totally unnerving.

I didn't know what to do, but I sure didn't want this to get out of hands.

The following day I observed from inside the house through an open window and I heard the gang clumsily approaching my backyard.

"D-FENS!, D-FENS!" they chanted as if heading towards football game.

I started worrying about this turning into a scandal affecting our family. I didn't tease them but they got plain nasty anyway. The clinking sound was very high, and some of them would shamelessly yell really rude stuff. "Show us that slit bitch!" or "Squeeze those mommy milkers!!" and much worse things. Cunt, slut... I especially hated their disgusting mommy talk.

They left after a lot of grunting and shouting with their "D-FENS, D-FENS, D-FENS..." I guess they thought it was a funny pun.

I got closer covering myself cautiously when I was sure they were far. The grass was a poem: There was cum everywhere on our side. Piles of beer cans outside. That mischievous fun between two strangers now felt overwhelmingly wrong. I was totally shocked by how the pattern had changed so suddenly.

This happened for two more days and I started fearing they would jump in and get violent. At the same time I feared that if I didn't appear they'd go worse; throwing stuff or spraying our walls with insults.

If this went public, my husband would lose his job and there'd be no campus in the country who'd hire someone with such background. These thoughts had me so restless that I hardly slept for two nights.

I woke up pretty beaten on a Thursday morning and, without telling my husband, I called my office to say that I was unwell and got a sick absence permit for the day. This gave time to prepare for my afternoon relax.

The moment came announced by the rising chants from that horde of thugs in the depths of the forest. Again, as during the previous days, I dressed casually. I decided not to show my body much to prevent photos that immortalized my secret pastime in social media. If they were stupid enough to post, they'd be punishable at least.

I could see them all lining up and starting their beating. I took a long sip of wine and got comfortable. One hand behind my head, the other holding a book.

The fence started rocking. When they started cursing and calling me dirty things, I swapped the book for a remote.

My groin and lower belly were tingling.

I took a deep breath.

I pressed the remote button.

The fence, which I had ordered getting fixed during the morning, went fully electrified.

The obscene shouting receded. Everything went silent except for the sound of the alloy shaking like the loud background noise of an earthquake. No birds chirped. This was just a reprimand so, after some seconds that lasted an eternity for them, I let the button go.

That's when, after a second, the screaming, whining and crying started. They didn't feel violent to me anymore, but pitiful and pathetic. All those wounded beasts jumped up and down or rolled down on the ground.

I left the remote on top of the electricity warning badge I still had on my table and stood up calmly. In order to find courage, I grabbed my garden pruners and walked by. They started running away; some limping, others carrying their mates...

"I know who you are!" I didn't, but I wanted to sound menacing and I shouted pointing back at them with the pruners.

There was a mild scorching odor. "I better don't see any of you wankers around here anymore! Otherwise..."

They kept retreating and never looked back. I looked down to the floor to see where the smell of pee and come came from.

I didn't get visits anymore.

That Saturday my husband came back home all gloomy.

"We lost. The most important game of the year and we lost." He sat on the couch, turned the TV on, and tuned to the sports channel.

I must be the only one in the whole state that forgot that the university football team had a decisive game to make it to the Orange Bowl.

"Look at that," he said.

The analysts were still debating why the coach had not used his key players in such a game. The TV showed the fans leaving the stadium with tears smearing their face-paints. And then the team leaving the field all dejected. The starting quarterback, who stayed all game on the bench, limped. Two huge linebackers walked by him with their bandaged hands.

Well... serves you right D-FENS, I thought to myself.

I turned back to my husband and got on my knees between his legs. I put my hair in a bun, unzipped his pants and took them down. And I started to suck his sad dick.

He stayed motionless, changing channels with the remote while he grew harder and harder inside my mouth. Not only his alma mater team had been beaten, but also this was a hard blow for an institution that bases its prestige on a powerful college football division team. Lots of donations and admission requests depend on sport results.

I'm pretty good at this. It didn't take me long to get him push my head down and feel his hot semen flowing in my mouth. When the spurts finished, I imagined all his sperm like a wave ogling me from behind the fence. Then I swallowed it all.

On Sunday we stayed home and did nothing. I craved for more come. I was horny. Late that night I got him hard as a flag pole again. We went to bed and he fucked my brains out and his worries away.

I felt like I transcended my body while he did. Like in a dream, I could see us from above. He moved like a rigid wood bar while my legs all wide open and my hands grabbing his butt or dancing in the air moved around him. I was graceful like harmonious ballerinas. He thought that he was in control even though he was trapped in my spider web. Between the petals of my flower is my own universe. A powerful orgasm washed my whole body away. Pleasure waves navigated my skin in growing concentric circles cooked up in my pussy.

That whole experience still had me all troubled. I needed a mental rest and decided to take a break from my relaxing routine.

A couple of days after the game, I was strolling around our backyard after watering a bunch of flowers my husband gave me the day before.

The campus was almost empty due to Christmas break. I felt secure behind my electrified high fence.

I'll never know what the story was, but I'll always believe that what I found that autumn afternoon by the fence was a farewell note from my original secret admirer. In my imagination, he had been deceived and couldn't stop those jerks from taking over and pushing him away. A loner who spent his uni years learning and not engaging in absurd college rituals. Like that boyfriend I once had.

An orange tulip with a tied note on a blank paper simply read: THANK YOU.