Heather Brown: Hitchhike wife

"God, you can fuck," the guy said after we had started to grind away in earnest. "I've only ever had one as good."

"Who?" I answered with mock jealousy.

"My old lady."

"You mean your wife?"

"That's what my husband calls me," I said without thinking.

"You married?" he said incredulously. "Does your husband know what you do in your spare time?"

"He's a trucker, too," I confessed. "He's gone a lot, and I…"

"Say no more," he said understandingly. "I'm gone so much myself sometimes I think I wouldn't blame my wife if she…"

"Played around?"

"Yeah," he said sheepishly. "Now let's stop all this family talk and just shut up and do what we came here to do. Fuck!"

I was only too glad to oblige. His surging cock up my cunt made further conversation impossible, anyway, as he began fucking me with a fury. I replied with equal passion, swallowing his full prick with my sucking cunt.

While we fucked, my hands grappled with everything I could get them on between his legs. His balls were slick with sweat and his ass was even stickier, steaming with the passion of animalistic sex after a long hot day on the road.

I plunged my finger into his tight asshole, thrilling as the strong muscles closed around my knuckle.

"Stick it further in my ass," he groaned. "Finger-fuck me until you can feel shit. Then pull out when I come."

I knew just what he was talking about. That was just what Phil liked when we were fucking at home. I knew all about the prostate gland inside a man's ass, and how if I jabbed and tickled it enough, his balls would produce twice as much precious sperm.

"Ahhhh, that's it," he sighed as I slid not one, but two fingers up his bunghole to the limit. I started finger-fucking him, feeling the chunks of shit at the end of his rectum brushing against my fingertips.

In my cunt his cock was tilling me to the pit of my stomach, it seemed. It felt as though he would continue tearing through my body until the head of his prick rubbed against my spine.

My two fingers angled downward in his ass, feeling the pulsing stone of his prostate throb back at them. Through the thin membrane I kneaded the essence of his masculinity until I thought it would melt his flesh.

"Oh, God," I whimpered, "when you finally come, it's going to drown me. I can feel your cock ready to explode."

"SO can I," he grunted.

When his cock lurched that tell-tale fractional inch within me, I screamed, "Explode! Explode! Explode!"

He did. The cum gushed from his prick, instantly filling my pussy.

As he ejaculated, I pulled my fingers abruptly from his ass, bending them at the knuckles as I did so. The two-pronged claw popped juicily out of his asshole, followed by a long, loud, sweet-smelling fart and another spurt of hot rich jizz in my cunt.

While he came, he nibbled on my tits like a starving rat. I felt like raw meat lying in the middle of the jungle, fair game for any hungry animal.

Coming uncontrollably, I met his every spurt or jizz with a pelvic thrust and a new discharge of pussy-juice. There was no doubt about it, my cunt was wetter than it had ever been in my life with the combination of our two flows.

My thighs were coated with male and female fuck-juice. Both patches of pubic hair were covered with it. To make sure nothing would be left out, I smeared a glob all the way up to his ass, working it into his bung.

When he'd stopped spurting, I begged, "Nil out and let me lick off the rest."

As he did, I slid out from under him. Kneeling on the floor of the truck, I went down on him. I licked the cum off his dick. Then his balls. The sweaty seam between his balls and asshole. His asshole itself. Sweat and cum and pussy-juice intoxicated my senses. I thought I would never stop coming from it all.

Then, at last, we were finished, too exhausted to carry on. Even I had had enough. I nestled my face in his reeking, stopping crotch and closed my eyes, my tongue lolling limply over his wilting cock.

We must have rested about fifteen minutes. Finally he brake the silence.

"How much do I owe you?" he said, sitting up on the couch.

"Forget it. I'd feel cheap accepting money for something so beautiful," I said. I felt all the payment I could possibly want still swamping my pussy and pooling in the pit of my stomach.

"There must be some way I can repay you," he insisted.

"Are you going into town?"

"Sure. That's the end of the line for me," he said. "That's where I live."

"Great," I said. "How about a lift? That's where I live, too."

"Fantastic," he said, obviously pleased to honor what he felt was an obligation to me. "Get your dress on and go around and jump in the cab. I'll meet you there in a second. I've got to straighten up this cargo."

In the cab I decided to have a cigarette while I was waiting. There was a pack on the dash. Marlboros – the same kind Phil smokes.

In fact, almost everything about the truck was familiar. Blue interior. Plaid seatcovers. A radio with a knob missing.

When the guy came around from the back and started to get in, I saw why.

"Phil!" I blurted as he hoisted himself inside, the door still dangling open.

"Sherry!" His face was like he'd seen a ghost. He shuddered, swaying precariously between the cab and the open door.

"Phil, be careful, you're going to fall out."

"What are you doing here?" he said between tight lips. "What were you doing in that club hustling guys?"

I thought about it a minute. I racked my brain for a logical reason. Then I realized what the only psychologically sound answer was. "Maybe I was looking for you," I said matter of factly.

I watched his face as the content of the conversation we'd had while fucking in the dark came back to him. It was obvious, from what we'd both said, that in a yew real way we had both been looking for each other.

My heart stopped pounding as a grin suddenly split across Phil's handsome face. "I see what you mean, honey," he said, getting inside and slamming the door. "Let's go home."

"And…" I asked coyly.

"Fuck," he said with an obscene leer.

"Are you sure…"

"It's forty miles. By the time we get home, I'll be as horny as I was when I picked you up in that bar. Just from looking at you. And remembering."

"Home sweet home," I sighed and leaned back and smiled like the cat who'd just swallowed the canary, anxious to start all over again.