So I tentatively said to Morris, "there�s a zipper at the bottom of my dress, if you�re careful you can unzip my dress, up to my knees, and then I might be able to climb the gate if you can steady me."

"Why didn�t you say that before, we could have had you over there by now?" Said Morris, as he bent down and moved a sheep out of the way. It was then, that I remembered that it was not the big rough type of zip that Morris would be used to, and took very gentle handling if you wanted to avoid the zip runner coming adrift, as I had found out once before when trying to unzip it in a hurry one day. If the runner did come adrift, the zip would gradually peel open without hardly any force at all.

Morris had big hands and big fat fingers like pork sausages, and as he fumbled with the zipper, it undid about six inches before sticking. "Don�t force it," I shrieked, "pull it down gently and start again." He did as instructed, but his gentle was not gentle enough for the zip. "Oh! I�m sorry," he said as he stood up with the zip runner in his hand, "now how will we get it unzipped?"

Before I could reply, his brother Bryan, who was standing in front of me at the other side of the gate, bent down and peeled me open to the thigh!

Morris said, "Oh that's good. I thought I had broken it."

I was stood there still clutching this dam jar, holding onto the gate with my left hand, my right leg now exposed up to about crotch level. Morris said, "put your foot on the next rail," as he supported my bottom with one hand and with the other hand on my ankle lifted my foot gently. As my knee rose, my zip slid another few inches, and my dress opened up and slipped from my side, across my front showing my leg to within inches of my crotch. Bryan looked eagerly, knowing that the higher I got up the gate the more I would be displaying.

"Are you alright?" Morris said. "I�m just going to lift the other foot now." My dress swung back slightly, but still left the outside of my leg exposed.

"Next step," said Morris, as my foot went up one more rail, but this time my foot was not placed directly above where it had came from, but somewhat carelessly at least a foot to the right, I was now (with the difference in height of the rails, and this extra foot), quite well spread open.

My dress hung across to my left hand side, uncovering my crotch completely, which was obvious from Bryan�s leering look, he was almost dribbling. At this point I noticed three men appearing from the barn and sauntering their way over towards us, presumably to get a better look. They formed a small semi-circle the other side of the gate and didn�t hide the fact that they were all admiring my crotch.

"They�s real fancy knickers she�s wearing," said one.

"I bet it�s a real tasty cunt inside them," said another.

"Hey watch your mouths," said Morris, "that�s no way to talk in front of a lady."

"No offence Morris," the first man said, "but I can�t wait to get stuck into that pussy."

I was still standing there on show, when I felt Morris helping the other leg to the next rail bringing my feet level and my dress gave a little more cover. I was now two rails from the top, my balance was very unsteady, as I waited for Morris to move my foot up once more. He was climbing up the gate alongside me, holding onto the top of the gate using his chest to support me and stop me falling.

"We�ll need to get your leg right over the gate this time, cuz you won�t be able to balance on the next rail."

As he was speaking I noticed Bryan bending down and rubbing his fingers through a fresh fly covered cow pat (cow shit) on the floor, I was fascinated watching him swirl his hand slowly through the air with a swarm of flies in hot pursuit. My concentration was broken by Morris using his free hand on my right ankle, and lifting it up past the next rail, higher and higher and I had to lean across and along the gate.

As my leg went over the top of the gate Bryan took hold of my ankle, with his wet cow muck hand, and instead of returning my foot down the other side of the gates to one of the rails, it carried on its journey sideways until I was stretched almost to full splits.

"Please don�t," I cried.

"Don�t worry we ain�t going to do anything, were just looking," he said.

As I was facing down towards the gate I couldn�t see clearly where everyone was standing, but I knew that they had all gathered in for a close look.

"Jesus them�s the smallest knickers I�ve ever seen," said one of the men.

"Them�s called panties, not knickers," said another.

The panties I had on were another mistake, they were no more than half an inch wide at the gusset, and tapered to a single narrow ribbon which disappeared in the crease of my bottom. When I put them on I was thinking that with a skirt down to my ankles nobody is going to get the slightest glimpse, they felt pretty, and would keep things cool on a hot day. As it turned out, with my legs spread wide open the gusset was following the line of my slot, with the lips of my cunt bulging for all to see.

Morris brought them all to a halt with a, "Come on you lot, stop mucking about, put her foot down onto the gate."

They obviously knew that he meant what he said and my foot was brought down on the other side of the gate, but not before Bryan had wiped his muck lined fingers across the exposed lips of my cunt and inner thigh. This had what was obviously the desired effect of attracting its own swarm of flies, they made there presence known, and amused the onlookers. Morris could tell that I was not comfortable, and he rapidly started lifting my other foot up and across the gate, so that I could at least stand upright.

As he lifted my foot, my silly shoe fell, "I�ll get that a soon as I get your leg over," he said. Bryan obligingly took my ankle (with his mucky hand) and placed my foot on the rail, with my legs astride about two foot wide. I was now on the other side, leaning over the gate for balance, facing back to our house. My legs were apart and my dress, which was now unzipped completely to my arm pit, was still draped on the house side of the gate. They were in no hurry for Morris to find my shoe, as they took it in turns to kiss and lick the cheeks of my bottom.

I struggled to slide my feet closer along the rail, but he had positioned each foot on the outside of an upright gate rail. I was holding on with one hand, and at that height, I dare not try to lift my feet off the rails, so I had to stand there and endure there tormenting, until Morris stood up jubilantly with my shoe. He quickly climbed over the gate, wiped my foot and put my shoe on. Now I thought would be the long drawn out reverse procedure to climb down, I was totally surprised when Morris reached to my bare waist with ease and with equal ease lifted me down to the ground.

If he could lift me down that easy, why did I have to struggle and expose myself on the way up?

He had put me down on a relatively clean patch of ground, but the yard was inches deep in cow muck, and the only way I could have walked across would have been bare foot. I was just about to remove my shoes when one of the watching men suggested, "don�t take your shoes off again, me and bill will carry you."

I said, "No, that�s all right."

But Morris said, "Yes, it�s about time you pair did something useful." Without even considering the fact I had said no, I had a man either side of me, with an arm around my back, inside my dress (which was now hanging from my neck like a scarf), and their other hand under my knee. I was carried almost horizontal, jam pot clutched to my chest, legs akimbo, and an attentive swarm of flies you know where.

I was planted on my feet at the door to a shed, on the end of the barn, the door was opened and I was ushered in. It was a small wooden shed about eight feet by six, dimly lit by a single bulb on one side wall. I had tried to pull my dress around myself to look as presentable as possible, and I stood there clutching my jar. Old Mr. Jones stood up from the chair at the other side of the room, he looked me up and down, and finally he spoke.

"Looks like you couldn�t be bothered to dress up to come and see me, that dress looks a mess," he grunted.

"I... I had a little accident with the dress trying to climb the gate," I stammered meekly.

"That�s as maybe, come and sit, and lets hear what you have to say," he replied, pointing to a chair.

The chair was not a usual chair; the seat was only six inches off the floor, the back fixed in a reclining position.

I suddenly remembered what the boys had told me earlier, the phrase, �lets here what you have to say� was my queue to come out with my speech, I was then to wait for his reply, sit down and make my reply. So I plucked up my courage, held out my jar at full arms length with both hands (ignoring the dress floating across to uncover my legs), and with as much conviction as I could muster.

"Good day Mr. Jones, I�ve come to introduce myself my name is Margaret. I want to show you my jam pot; I�ll open it wide so you can sample my fruit."

I waited nervously, he replied. "Your very welcome to my humble shack, I hope you will accept this lowly milking chair to sit yourself down on. Lay back in the traditional manner and we�ll see what you�ve got to offer." The boys had explained that this was my queue to sit down, and as with the words, this must also be done correctly. They had explained that I should sit down in a laid back position holding my pot of preserves in front of me. This pose was supposed to have some meaning, and at the time seemed quite innocent, but now leaning back like this was a major ordeal.

Morris and Bryan took hold of an elbow apiece and they helped me down into the chair, still clutching my preserves to my chest. Bryan making sure that my dress was pulled completely sideways, so it just draped down my side. They leaned me back, till I made contact with the back of the chair,

"That�ll be more comfortable," Morris said. I was about to start my reply, when a shake of the head from Morris reminded me that I should wait till Mr. Jones had sat down first.

I waited nervously, my hands clenched onto my jar which rested under my bust. The low chair meant my legs were stretched out in front of me and under the facing chair (which was of normal height). This was the chair that Mr. Jones had been sitting on when I arrived. He walked back towards his chair, and beckoned to the two boys, his arms where hanging low in front of him, he waved them outwards, without saying a word they knew what he meant.

The boys, one either side of me, bent down and took hold of my legs under the knee, they lifted my feet from under the chair, and placed them on a small sack either side of the chair.

Mr. Jones stepped in between my legs and sat down. This was my next queue, so laid back with my legs spread open, I stretched out my arms pushing my jar of fruit towards Mr. Jones, smiled and said, "if you like what you see, don�t wait to be asked, just help yourself. You can share it with your friends there�s plenty for all."

Well I thought, they would soon be digging into the preserved raspberries and I would soon be on my way home. In hind sight, I now realize just how naive that was.

"They tell me you bottle all your own fruit?" He said.

"Yes, that�s what I�ve brought for you."

"Do you expect me to eat any of that old jar of preserves?"

Suddenly I was frightened again (this man could send shivers down your spine with just a look), "That� that�s what I thought you wanted, I bottled that jar myself."

"But me and my boys have been pissing in your water tank, and you expect me to taste my own piss."

"I� I never thought of that," I stammered.

"That�s only fit for the dogs," he said as he wrenched the jar from my hands and pulled off the paper wrapper, "let the dogs in Morris," he said.

Within seconds, the door was open, and there were three excited dogs jumping around licking his raspberry covered figures. As Morris knelt down alongside me again, Mr. Jones said, "Come on boys, let the dogs see the rabbit," the boys quickly took hold my wrists, and lifted my legs wide.

The door was still open; with the sunlight making sure that not only the dogs could see! Mr. Jones smeared jam all over the top of my legs and the crotch of my panties. The boys turned me slightly to give all three dogs access, they were licking furiously.

I protested loudly, but nobody took any notice. My legs were soon clean, and one of the dogs had managed to edge my panties slightly over to one side. I could feel his tongue licking from the hole of my arse across my cunt, deep into my slot and up across my clit. There was nothing I could do to stop him, but more embarrassing was that I could not stop myself from lifting with each stroke of his tongue.

Old Mr. Jones turned to call to the men from the yard, who by now, were standing in the open doorway watching the show.

"Come and get these two dogs out of the way, and let Patch have a clear go at her."

Without any hesitation two of the men ran in and grabbed a dog apiece, and dragged them out. Patch (as I now realized was the dogs name), was licking away furiously, and my cunt was responding to every stroke, no matter how much I tried to stop it. He suddenly decided that licking wasn�t enough, and started to try to mount.

"Hey! Stop that, patch." Shouted Mr. Jones very loudly.

The dog backed off instantly, and cowered with fear at the sharp sound of his master�s voice.

"Get him out of here," he shouted to one of the men, who were still watching at the door. The dog was removed, and the boys turned me back to face directly towards Mr. Jones, still holding my legs open and my hands out of the way.

Turning to the men in the doorway, Mr. Jones shouted, "ain�t you lot got some work to do, Mrs. king don�t need you lot leering at her," then turning to face me, he gently said, "does that feel better, they�ve got rid of that nasty cow shit from the top of your legs?" As if he�d done me a favour letting the dogs lick me.

Looking up at Morris he said, "let go of her hands now boys, so that she can straighten up them pretty panties." My hands were released, but they made sure my legs remained spread. They leaned me forward, so that I could see what I was doing. The sunlight did indeed give a shaft of light in the right direction, as if the chair had been placed there with that in mind. I was now looking at the same view that the rest of them had been concentrating on for the last ten minutes. What a view!

I have already said how narrow the gusset of my panties were, but they were now rolled into a crevice at one side of the top of my thigh. My cunt was fully exposed; it glistened, as the juices from inside, slowly dribbled out and down to my arse. I quickly got my fingers to work straightening, and trying to stretch the gusset, to cover up as much flesh as possible. When this was done I left my hands in a cupped position in between my legs to keep out the prying eyes.

Looking back at me Mr. Jones repeated loudly, "I said. Does that feel better, now that they�ve got rid of that nasty cow shit from the top of your legs?"

"Yes, I think so," I meekly replied. "Please can I close my legs now?"

"I think if you look again, you�ll find that you haven�t got all the muck off yet," he said, pulling a grubby looking hanky out of his pocket. "Morris, go and wet this."

Morris dutifully took the hanky and went out of the door, soon to return with the hanky dripping with water. He handed it to me; I took the hanky, and had to use both hands to wring out the surplus water.

Mr. Jones leant forward, and with his finger only inches away from my cunt, he pointed to a thin black line of muck at the top of my thigh, that had been covered by the rolled up gusset of my panties, "There, I knew the dogs had missed some by the number of flies still buzzing around."

I wiped away the line of muck, and then continued along the top of both my inner thighs, the cold water felt good, and such a relief from those dam flies. As I stopped, and handed back his hanky, he lightly took both my hands, lifted them up, so as to get a good view.

He said, "There, that looks much cooler now, but there still seems to be something on your panties that interests those flies."

He was right; there was a small cluster of flies on the centre of the gusset, attracted by the juice that had dribbled out of my cunt. He gently brushed them away with the backs of his fingers lightly brushing my crotch.

This sent a cold shiver straight up my back that made him ask, "What�s up, are you cold love?"

"No, I just don�t like being touched down there."

"Well that�s not very friendly to me, you seemed to enjoy every minute that Patch was licking you."

"That�s not fair, you were holding me, and there was nothing that I could do."

"That�s as maybe, but you were still enjoying his attention."

I could feel that I was blushing, "please, can I close my legs now?"

"You�ve not really introduced yourself to us properly yet, and there's lots about you I want to know. Let�s compromise. Morris shut the door."