Return to Hogshead Farm Pt. 01

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Tomorrow Never Comes


The last time Mark saw Jenny, she had blown his mind… completely and utterly. He had never expected the chance to share his darkest fantasies with anyone, well ever, certainly not so soon after meeting someone, and definitely not with an attractive female he would normally consider to be way out of his league. But somehow, Jenny had managed to give him all the right encouragement, support, and the perfect environment to make their first date the dirtiest and horniest night of his life so far. Being honest with himself, he knew that he would have tried to make his fantasies happen eventually, but also knew that he would have gotten spooked by the risk of getting caught, lost his nerve, and bailed much cleaner and more fully dressed than his fantasies demanded.

Also, performing his fantasies in front of anyone not totally enjoying the show, its glorious palette of browns and “rich” aromas, would have dampened his excitement: he’d have gotten more concerned about their being okay with it than the task, literally, in hand. Luckily, Jenny had proven to be the perfect muse, almost to the point of being almost too good to be true.

The following evening was to be just as important, as Jenny wanted Mark’s help to try his fantasies for herself, the last thing he expected an attractive female would want to try, being extremely dirty in the truest sense of the word. However, Mark’s manager, a plump man in a badly fitting suit – it may have fitted him at some point, but was now too tight so its shiny material pulled and creased in all the wrong places – called Mark into his office to break the news that he needed him to work late this evening to help fix an urgent issue. His plans, and perhaps his lovelife, lay in tatters! Luckily for Mark, his boss took his look of devastation as concern for the business, which he wasn’t really bothered about, to be honest, compared to the blow that had just been dealt to his sex life.

Stopping mid sentence, unusual as he loved the sound of his own voice, Mark’s boss turned to him and asked: “what on earth is that awful smell?” catching Mark off guard.

Mark stared at him fearful that he somehow knew what he had been up to the night before, but how could he? Saying the first thing that jumped to mind, Mark feebly suggested that he had spread fertiliser on his garden “to give his roses a boost,” and now the smell was following him around like a bad penny. He cringed inside, not feeling that he had delivered the stellar performance required to sell this lie. However, his boss resumed his monologue, unabated, signalling that a more awkward explanation had been averted nonetheless.

Worried that Jenny might take this news as a brush off, he already having gotten what he wanted, Mark made the call to Jenny in his lunch hour.

To Mark’s relief, Jenny sounded suitably sympathetic, probably because she could hear the crushing disappointment in his voice, and agreed that he could see her the following Saturday, as she was away visiting friends the weekend coming, but only on the proviso he brings something to cook for dinner with him after the travesty that was their previous attempt at eating out. Mark, whilst happy that their date was still on, hadn’t expected a nearly two week rain-check!

He wasn’t sure that their fledgling relationship would survive such a long hiatus: she might forget what she saw in him or move on to explore someone else’s kinks, perhaps that was her thing. However, Jenny concluded, near the end of their conversation, that they’d have ended up at her cottage regardless, having drunk far too much and wanting to see if she was equal to the filth. Again, Mark felt a wave of relief wash over him, as he hadn’t needed to mention it, Jenny had clearly remembered so hadn’t assigned it to the ‘better forgotten about’ pile, now that the heat of the moment had passed. Even better: was she reminding Mark?

The Cottage in the Country


What felt like a lifetime had finally passed and Mark was directing his grey Mondeo around the winding country lanes that led to Jenny’s cottage, the odd detail looking vaguely familiar here and there assuring him that he was going in the right direction and that his sat nav wasn’t part of a secret conspiracy to keep them apart. The sky was dark and ominous, having chucked it down shortly before he set off. Mist hung in the air, whilst large puddles and water swept down either side of the road, but, mericfully, it had stopped raining. Whilst rain would make the ground moist, which is definitely good for what he imagined them doing, it actually raining would definitely put a damper on their fun, so Mark had everything crossed that it would be the last rain they’d see this evening. This was only the second time Mark had made this journey, but Jenny’s cottage was already up there as one of his favourite places in the world. The smell of the countryside, the feel of grass in the paddock, istanbul travesti the sound of the pigsties and everything in between now etched onto his psyche.

The roads had gotten narrow and uneven, the norm for country roads in Mark’s experience. Every now and then, Mark received a violent jolt as one of his car wheels plunged down a pothole, hiding beneath the surface of one of the many puddles that lined the road, making water cascade over the windscreen temporarily blocking his view, causing him to curse and concentrate. But as he rounded the next corner Mark saw the cottage on the hill, nestled between trees, bushes, and next an old faded blue sign, signalling his arrival at Jenny’s cottage next to Hogshead Farm.

The front door swung inward as Mark approached, and Jenny stood in the open doorway as Mark’s car pulled up her gravel driveway before crunching to a halt next to her beat up car, which was night and day in both looks and practicality. But nice cars have a habit of being murdered by the countryside, whereas old cars, like the undead, go on forever.

Jenny was petite but athletic, and in very good shape for her thirty-something years. Mark liked to imagine that her physique was due to working on the farm next door rather than attending ordinary keep fit classes. This fitted his mental image of why she had been comfortable getting dirty a few weeks ago, which he found to be a huge turn on, even if it wasn’t true. She wore her dirty-blond hair down, an errant lock falling in front of her eye and across her cheek, and a flowery summer dress that showed off her curves and the golden tan on her bare legs and feet, as she leaned against the door frame waiting for Mark to gather his bags, thoughts, hopes and fears.

This was the first time Mark had seen her in a dress. He usually prefers casual clothes like jeans and t-shirts, all sort of tom-boyish but making the wearer look comfortable and accessible, but tonight she looked beautiful and feminine, which made him blush slightly as he walked up the drive to greet her.

Green Peppers and Red Tomatoes


With both of Mark’s hands full, as he was holding brimming carrier bags in each, Jenny led the welcome, reaching her arms up and around his neck and planting a kiss on his lips.

Mark’s face, which had looked a little apprehensive, broke out in a broad smile as her lips were soft and inviting. “That’s some greeting, not that I’m complaining. And you look amazing… were you expecting someone else?” he quipped.

“Well, yes, now you mention it. You might know him: shy, a bit nerdy. A bit, who am I kidding!?! Complete nerd, townie, not at all practical… and a monumental filth craved pervert,” retorted Jenny. “What’s with all the bags?”

“Well, one has all the ingredients for making pizza bases and the other toppings, and I may have smuggled a bottle of wine or three in there too,” Mark replied, “homemade pizza and wine okay for supper?”

“Ooooh. Supper and homemade wine, aren’t you the posh one. I hope you washed your feet?” asked Jenny, trying to pretend it was a serious question.

“Course I didn’t, those cheesy overtones gotta come from somewhere! It’s all in the bouquet after all. And I’m sure I have a verruca coming up on my big toe,” Mark replied, feeling that he’d won this exchange as Jenny’s face clearly didn’t prefer her wine with an eau de cheesy foot bouquet.

Ushering him inside, they made their way across the hall and into her spacious kitchen. Mark put the carrier bags on the large wooden kitchen table and started to pull the contents out one at a time, lining them up neatly in the order in which they would be called into service.

“Anal, check,” remarked Jenny.

“A bit early for me, thanks, but maybe later,” Mark shot straight back.

Jenny rolled her eyes and spotted the tomatoes and green peppers and asked, “have you come over all Ainsley Harriott?”

“What do you think I am?” exclaimed mark, feigning shock at the suggestion.

Jenny pointed at the food he had lined up. “Red tomatoes and green peppers, you know what I meant!” she snapped, slightly disgruntled that he hadn’t picked up what she thought was an obvious reference.

“God, that’s not been on TV since… 2010!” said Mark, after a short pause to consult Wikipedia on his phone.

Sensing how the evening was going to pan out, Jenny felt it was time already to open one of the bottles of wine.

Mark beavered away in the kitchen making two pizzas, which took much longer than just peeling off the cellophane from a shop bought one. This provided time for them to both consume more of the wine he had brought with him while they waited for dinner, as Jenny liked to call it, to finish cooking. When they were finally ready, they did resemble pizzas but had an irregular shape and he’d gotten a bit carried away with the number of toppings. Mark decided that they were “rustic, country pizzas” in honour of his surroundings istanbul travestileri and company, which earned him smack on the bum from Jenny, which he pretended to thoroughly enjoy.

“Cheers,” he said, feeling the need to divert attention away from his odd looking pizzas.

By the time they had finished eating and polished off a second bottle of wine between them, which the supermarket proclaimed to be a quality prosecco, Jenny’s cheeks were a little flushed and they were both a little giggly.

Mark’s subtlety impared by the wine, said with mischief written across his face: “So, is it time to repay the favour? You know, enough mud to make a hippo blush, and the sweetest smelling animal waste Hogshead Farm has to offer… providing you like it up close and very personal from the example you set: rubbed into every orifice to enjoy its luxurious texture, aroma and taste for days to come?”

Jenny looked back at him, Mark trying to read her body language, wondering whether he had pushed too hard too early.

“I need to get changed, this is my only good dress,” replied Jenny, wandering off to her bedroom.

“Here we go,” Mark muttered to himself. He didn’t find it easy when he wanted something this badly, he worried about messing it up somehow. He had enjoyed everything about Jenny and their time together so far, so desperately didn’t want to mess that up, metaphorically, as he already had strong feelings for her. But on a physical level he wanted Jenny to get as messy as humanly possible, and all the signs were: ‘Huston, we have a go for liftoff’.

Jenny poddled back into the room a few minutes later, her feet slapping barefoot against the cold stone floor. The dress was replaced by a pair of grey jogging shorts and a faded red hoodie, the type that you pull over your head, that once had writing across the front but had cracked and peeled off in places just leaving remnants of white letters. Her shorts were by no means hot pants but were shorter than they were long, showing off her toned legs all the way to her mid thighs. To Mark, as well as still looking petite, feminine, and beautiful, Jenny looked a bit vulnerable knowing what was in store for her. Lost in his thoughts, Mark didn’t realise he was staring at her.

Reading the look on Mark’s face, Jenny said, “I’ve been looking forward to this for weeks, so don’t be so concerned about me that you forget to enjoy it,” snapping him out of his trance. “I may be soft, small… an incredible fuck, not that you’ve had that pleasure yet, but I’m not made of glass. I reckon I’ll be either brave or stubborn enough to do this right,” she added, smiling reassuringly and passing him a pair of size 9 wellington boots.

Mark looked at the boots, “How did you know my size?”

“Well, they say you can tell the size of a man’s penis by the size of his feet. So, I just did it the other way around. There, size 6, they’re upside down,” Jenny said, smirking.

“Very funny,” Mark said sarcastically, but feeling the need to double check. They were definitely size 9, the same size as the trainers Jenny had packed in her bag for him a fortnight ago.

The Paddock


Roles reversed, it was Mark’s turn to lead Jenny out through the kitchen door and between the bushes that lead to the rear gate at the end of her garden. Jenny followed slowly, avoiding stepping on any sharp stones by hopping between the grassy patches on either side of the path. Jenny’s garden gate creaked open with a reluctant groan and they stepped down into the moist grass of the paddock. Jenny could now walk more freely, her feet and ankles instantly glistening from the wetness of the longer patches of grass. Jenny was well accustomed to walking barefoot, especially in summer, and didn’t mind its coolness and wetness against her skin. Jenny’s toenails weren’t painted so they looked pink and natural, which is another thing Mark found attractive about her – this little piggy didn’t need a painted face to be beautiful.

“Ah, got to love the smell of the country,” chirped Mark joyfully, as the smell from the farm greeted their noses.

“That’s just normal for the country, getting aroused by its smell is the odd bit!” said Jenny, actually feeling more excited and nervous about what was potentially in store for her than she wanted to let on. Everyone knows the rhyme: boys are made from slugs and snails and puppy dog tails, so yucky is practically baked into their dictionary definition. But girls are supposed to be: sugar and spice and all things nice, if you believe the stereotype. They shouldn’t enjoy someone rubbing filthy shit being into their face, and certainly shouldn’t roll around in it until they climax! This was a stereotype Jenny was keen to disprove, whilst also being uncertain whether she’d be able to enjoy herself as much as Mark had. It was his “thing” after all

Jenny let her thoughts wander to her feet as her toes and heels started to dig into the soft earth beneath the travesti istanbul grass and churn it slightly as she walked. The ground was getting softer the further they descended down the slope. It levelled out at the bottom before gently rising again towards a gate at the end of the field, creating a natural hollow. A large animal trough sat in the middle of the hollow surrounded by a sea of mud that had been churned up by the countless hooves of cows taking a drink over a significant period of time. The mud, where the grass of the paddock first started to concede to it, was dark brown, thick and claggy. But as they neared the hollow, the deep ruts of a tractor could be seen and the hoove marks sank much deeper into the wetter soil. Every step Jenny now took encased her feet in a heavy brown layer of mud, like a very thick pair of ankle socks. It felt cool, wet and squished between her toes, which she quite enjoyed the feel of – being a country girl, it’s not the first time she’d walked barefoot in mud after all. However, the mud closer to the trough looked a lighter shade of brown and had a shinier surface, so was clearly considerably wetter and looked much deeper there, and an abundance of greeny-brown patches of cowshit peppered almost everywhere Jenny’s eyes fell.

“They’ve moved the trough!” Mark gasped, half in shock, half in awe. “That’s not a good place for it, look at the mess!” he shouted, probably more excited than most delivering such news.

Jenny looked on, horrified and wide eyed, her confidence starting to slip away, despite the wine, and her bravado abandoning her from the stark reality of it being much dirtier than she had ever imagined. She decided not to tell Mark that she’d had it placed there deliberately.

Baptism Of Mud


Whilst Jenny’s mind was occupied by the predicament of her own creation, Mark was thinking about something else, and shouted over to Jenny, “Look at your feet, how are you going to keep your shorts clean?”

The distraction was welcome, and she retorted, “Typical man, always trying to get me out of my clothes.”

But Mark was right, she had reached the point of no return, fight or flight, in or chicken out. Jenny couldn’t bear to be beaten so easily, so mind made up, she wanted in.

Jenny reached down to the hem of her red hoodie, gripped it with both hands, crossing her arms in front of her, and started to pull it up over her head. The hem travelled up her tanned stomach, showing off her belly button and then revealing her bare breasts as she pulled it higher. Mark hadn’t realised that she hadn’t been wearing anything under her hoodie since getting changed back at the cottage.

“You horny little minx,” Mark uttered under his breath but loud enough for Jenny to hear.

Jenny smiled back at him, then gave a little shudder as she felt the cool evening breeze on her skin, which broke out in goose bumps and made her nipples erect. Her naked skin looked out of place against the backdrop of the dirty field – seldom is such a display of nakedness seen outside the confines of the bedroom, making it special. Jenny’s breasts were small and perfectly complimented her slim frame. Mark could not avert his gaze, his cock now hard and throbbing against the fly of his jeans, wanting to fuck. If Jenny looks this hot when clean, Mark worried how he’d be able to control himself if she was as dirty as she was beautiful.

Jenny took a few determined steps towards the deeper mud and, for a moment, Mark’s heart dropped a little as he thought that she was going in with her shorts on. However, Jenny crouched forward, bent her knees, put her hands either side of her shorts, and then slid them down over her round bum and down her thighs, holding them in one hand whilst she stepped a very muddy foot out of each leg one at a time. Just as with the hoodie, Jenny had not been wearing anything underneath. Mark was standing directly behind Jenny whilst she removed her shorts, so got the perfect view of her backside, the puckered pink skin around her anus, as well as the perfect view of what her pussy, in all its glory, looked like from behind. Maybe that had been Jenny’s plan all along.

“Whoa,” escaped Mark’s mouth, proper words failing him.

Jenny turned to face him, caught Mark’s eye, and then threw her shorts for him to catch. Mark’s eyes wandered down to her crotch. There was a patch of dark, well trimmed hair, with flecks of ginger, that started just above her clitoris and thinned out in a small V shape up her lower groin, and the small tip of her inner labia was just visible between its outer lips.

“I’m glad you’re liking the show,” Jenny said in reply, feeling somewhat relieved that his reaction was to her and not the mud.

Mark took a step towards Jenny, his boot sinking deeper into the mud, it was sloppier closer to where she was standing.

Jenny held her hand up. “Hold up mister, tonight’s about my limits and working out if it’s something we can share. You don’t need to prove how much you want me right now, I can see that you do!” she said, drawing attention to the bulge in his jeans with her eyes.

Mark nodded to show that he understood and retreated back to relative firmness a metre or so further out.

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