Part Five The major drove us to the show ground in his top of the range Mercedes, getting VIP treatment as he was waved through the crowds to park behind the caravan next to the stage. Fiona, my wife, rode in the front with the major because she would have more room to get out of the car in her tight yellow satin skirt. I could not help noticing that the major kept glancing down at my wife’s tight skirted lap and stocking clad knees as he made small talk with us. The small talk was actually quite embarrassing to both of us. Fiona kept glancing down at her lap, upon which her tiny hands were resting. The smell of her perfume made this perfect size 8 little blonde seem so much more vulnerable in her demure yellow satin suit that she had been wearing at the wedding when we met the old major. The show ground was in a big field, opposite some kind of big manor house. It was very crowded, with probably a thousand or more people. The major had the air conditioning on, but we could still hear an awful lot of noise coming from the noisy and excited gathering. There were lots of little stalls and attractions and people riding horses about, obviously being involved in the show jumping events. It was about 2.45pm when we arrived and there were already several hundred people crowded around the little stage and many more close by. Fiona played with her shoulder length blonde curls, nervously and giving me a glimpse of her pretty little neck, and a diamond earring. She looked very nervous as she turned to listen to the major saying: ‘Looks like you are a very popular girl Fiona look at all these people waiting to see your show. I think you are going to raise a lot of money for charity.’ My pretty young wife did not speak. She was wearing the matching yellow satin hat, with veil. Large designer sunglasses also hid her big blue made up eyes. But all of this and the pale face powder and light dusting of rouge on her high cheekbones could not hide her blushes. People recognised her straight away because of the large blown up image of her in her elegant clothes. It was posted on the stage, by the guardrails where Fiona was going to stand while her clothes were auctioned. Then she would have to strip to her expensive satin and lace lingerie. Our arrival had obviously been long awaited. From what I could see, most of the people crowding around to watch Fiona exit the major’s limousine, were men, most of them rather rough looking and moronic. There was quite an age range, including yobbish looking teenage boys, some of them rather menacing looking with skin head haircuts. I had Fiona’s sheer white dress in a bag next to me on the back seat, along with some white patent leather high heels. This was her change of clothing for after her clothes had been auctioned. Fiona had a little yellow satin handbag to match her skirt suit. It contained all the necessaries to touch up her make up and to spray on a little more perfume. The major had said what pretty full lips Fiona had and had asked me to encourage her to wear very bright red glossy lipstick. I told Fiona to make sure she touched up her lipstick before coming out of the caravan as it made her look so beautifully feminine. I got out of the car first holding the door open with one hand and her fresh clothes in the other. Looking down at her shapely legs and well-proportioned size 8 body, she looked the picture of perfection in her elegant tight yellow satin fitted skirt suit. She swung her black silk seamed stocking clad legs out of the car, holding them tightly together. She was a picture of erotic modesty. She stood up brushing her manicured and red nail painted little hands over her tight skirt. Her eyes were looking at the wooden walkway as she walked toward the caravan. Her skirt was quite tight and she rustled sexily as she took short little steps. As she walked by the crowds, there were some crude remarks. I heard one fat middle aged man say; ‘Fuck me, the little slut is wearing seamed stockings, an’ I can see her petticoat. It’s fuckin’ black. Reckon she’s some kind of posh whore the old major’s been fucking.’ An old bloke next to him mumbled something about wanting to kick her in the cunt and tittie whip her. My prick went rock hard. Hearing them say this and seeing my wife’s pert, defenceless 34d breasts pushing against the tight fitted yellow satin jacket just made me want to cum. My hands were shaking as I followed my teetering petite wife, and the major, along the wooden walkway to the caravan. I knew hundreds were staring at her pert little bottom, swaying seductively under her tight skirt, as she walked in mincing way to the steps up into the caravan. The major had to help her up. I went to follow, but the major said: ‘Rather cramped in here young fellow. I’ll take the bag off you. Have to give your wife a last minute briefing. You tell the steward chap who you are and he will make sure you get a front row position in the crowd.’ With that, the caravan door was closed in my face. Though I felt shut out, I also felt the excitement of what it would be like to be cuckolded. I was so aroused that I badly needed to masturbate, but I could not. So I found the steward and joined the seething masses of mainly men and a few ugly hags of various ages. They obviously came from council houses; flats and other hovels from round about these parts. As I stood there, I could not help overhearing some of the nasty things being said about my wife and hearing some of the vile and disgusting thoughts that these men had about her. It was impossible to resist putting my right hand into my trouser pocket and to touch myself surreptitiously. I had never been amongst such a gathering of foul mouthed and sweaty men. The major had warned me about the beer tent. There were men with baldheads, beer bellies and sweaty tee shirts and vests. Lots of them favoured those awful shell suit trousers. Shaving also did not seem to be a popular pastime amongst them and their sole topic of conversation was my wife and what they thought she was and what they wanted to do to her. Then I heard one voice rise above the rest. It was getting closer; pushing through the crowd until it was speaking to the guys nearest to me. To my amazement, I heard the heavily accented local voice say to his friends: ‘I am going to be the first to fuck the fanny off the stuck up bitch. I have been inside for five years and haven’t had cunt for a long time. I turned to look at him. I nearly fainted. He must have been six foot six, thick set and heavily built. His head seemed quite small for his body. His eyes were beady, his nose rather long and his mouth very big. I could see a row of rotten teeth and I could smell the sweat coming off of his heavily muscled upper body. He was wearing a sweaty vest and shell suit trousers. There was something domineering about him. He had an ugly sort of confidence. I realised that this was the man the major had been talking about. I could not believe that this man was probably going to fuck and fist my pretty wife’s bald little sex mound, then whip her tits- while other brutes watched and then joined in trying to make her pregnant. I knew at this very moment, the major had planned to have his hands up my wife’s skirt to get her in the mood. That is why I was not allowed into the caravan. He told me that if my wife had not been the sort to get rough fucked, she would never have agreed to do the striptease. He warned me that she would never be the same again after these men had finished with her. My prick grew rock hard with these thoughts and I felt myself cumming as the caravan door opened and I saw Fiona being helped down the step, in her shimmering yellow skirt suit, black seamed stockings and high heels. There were cheers from the crowd as the man on the public address announced that Mrs Fiona Hamilton was now approaching the stage, where her clothes would be auctioned for charity. The posh voice of the announcer said: ‘Fiona will remove each item of clothing when the highest bid is received. Block bids are acceptable, so please bid as much as you can. It is for a very worthy cause.’ I heard many more crude remarks, including the tick set man saying; ‘Yeh to relive the pain in my cock and balls, so lets get on with it. As my orgasm subsided, Fiona was taking small steps up on to the stage, holding the rails with one hand and her handbag with the other. Her breasts jutted hard against her satin jacket, her skirt pulling taut across her bottom and hips as she took tiny steps across the stage, in her yellow high heels, and turned in the centre to look down upon the lusty crowd that had come to see her elegant striptease and maybe hope for more. With my orgasm subsided, I felt humiliated by what I had let happen. I knew there was possibility things would go beyond my control- and they did. Fiona had taken off her sunglasses and I could see her big baby blue eyes looking out form under her veil. She looked for only a moment before tilting her blonde curled head to one side and then looked down at the stage. Her perfect black silk seam stocking clad legs were pressed primly together as the auctioneer announced that he was opening the bidding for my wife’s fitted yellow satin jacket. For a long moment there was silence. Then the offers came flooding in, with much ribald commentary.