Heather Brown: Hitchhike wife

"Well, what are they?" I blurted, my anxiety over being lost surfacing in the way I asked the question.

"Rubber pricks. Plastic cunts. Like that," he said breezily like a plunging supplies dealer discussing his inventory. "Films and magazines of people screwing. Haven't you ever been inside an adult bookstore?"

"No," I confessed.

"They're a trip," he said brightly, his foot to the floor as the car did well over a hundred. We were shouting to be heard over the wind. And every word moved me a couple of hundred yards away from home. "Wanna see some?" he yelled.

If it would stop the car so I could get my bearings, I was for it. "Sure!" I shouted.

He handled the car like a race driver, braking down and sliding over from the fast lane until he was rolling on the side of the road, finally going off it. The dust kicked up in the air as we rumbled along, two tires on the pavement, two on the dirt, as he looked for a place to pull over.

Suddenly he lurched the car to the right and a big field loomed in front of us, bigger than five football stadiums. He drove all the way to the outer edge of it, the dust from the spinning tires filling the air like a plague of locusts. Then, as abruptly as he had turned into the field, he was standing on the brakes as we careened towards an infinity of six-feet-tall corn stalks. Just as I thought we were going to plow into the corn, the car slammed to a stop, the dust swirling around us like a tornado.

He jumped out of the car and ran around to the rear. Opening the trunk, he pulled out a valise. "Now, if you care to adjourn to the corn patch," he said with a big smile, "I'll show you my etchings."

Before I answered, I took stock of the situation. It had turned into a beautiful day. The sky was cloudless turquoise. The sun was shining gloriously. After day's and days of constant boredom and loneliness it seemed like it was the first time the sun had shined for me in ages. I couldn't help but think that back in the city it was probably still raining.

And the man I was with was gorgeous. Who needed to know his name? I'd never seen him before, and I would probably never see him again – but right now I had to admit that I was thrilled to be with him. Why worry about getting home to more frustration and loneliness when I felt so good! Home only meant heartache. Going into the corn patch with this dude and looking at his adult novelties meant… who knew?

"Well?"

"Sure," I said. "Lead the way."

His sample case swinging in his hand, he plowed a path through the corn patch. Dutifully I got out of the car and followed him, feeling the corn stalks snap against my body while I made my way through their gauntlet.

Finally we came to a clearing. Hidden from the mad and any nearby farmhouse by the surrounding corn, we sat down on the pound with only his sample case between us.

"What do you want to see first?" he asked.

"I don't understand what you mean."

"Well, I have things… you know, stuff… appliances you might say… and I have pictures. Samples of the latest adult magazines."

"What kind of magazines?" I asked. "Maybe I've read some of them. What are their titles?"

He grinned. "You sure you want to hear?"

I nodded my head yes.

He grinned again. "Cunt-Lapping is a popular one. Then there's High-Class Screwing. Twin Pussies. Rear-Entry Coming. Sweet Blow-Job. Animal Fucking."

I blushed.

"You were expecting Playboy and Penthouse?" he laughed. "My stuff makes them look like Little Golden Books. Let me show you."

Before I could say anything he had opened his sample case, pulling out a handful of brightly colored magazines.

"Now here's an interesting one," he said. "Farm Fucking. Look at this shot of the horse's cock splitting the woman's pussy. You can't believe the quality of the color they get in these pictures. Those Danes are geniuses with the camera." He thrust the magazine in my face so I had no choice but to look. What he said was true. Before my eyes was a two-page spread of the fleshy haunches of a nude woman, spread to the ultimate as photographed from the rear. Her hairy, glistening pussy was almost a foot high in the picture. Its pink lips were split apart, engorged by a long, black disembodied tube. The white milk of cum was drooling from her outer cunt-folds, its stickiness catching the rays of the sun in the camera's lens.

"Where's the horse?" I said.

"In her pussy, like I said."

"That could be anything."

"It could," he said, "but it's a horse." He flipped the glossy pages so I could see the smaller pictures of the home mounting the open-cunted woman, and before that pictures of her actually sucking the animal's erect prick.

I was shocked by the magazine. But, at the same time, although I knew I should be sick to my stomach with revulsion at the depiction of such an unnatural act, I felt oddly excited. I squirmed around on the ground, trying to get ahold of myself.

"How about this?" he said, flipping to the back of the book. I couldn't believe my eyes as they stared straight at a color picture of the same woman's pussy being split by the pink meat of an enormous hog's curlicued cock. She was kneeling on some hay and he was mounted over the back of her like he was fucking another pig. Rolls of his bristly fat slopped her sides, engulfing her in pinkish corpulence.

I wanted to show my distaste. But instead of an "ugh" emitting from my mouth, my tongue emerged, running wetly over my lips like I was hungry. Down below, without warning, I felt my pussy start to spasm.

"Turn you on?" the salesman grinned, moving around the sample case towards me.

"No, I think it's disgusting," I started to say. Then something forced me to change the last word to "interesting. It's very interesting," I repeated.

"What kind of people buy that sort of thing?"

"Horny people," he said.

"I hope you don't think that includes me," I said, fighting to stay in control of myself.

"Well, if you're not now, you will be when you see what else is in my case," he said confidently, reaching over to flip open its contents before my eyes.

I couldn't believe it. Never had I seen such a display of pure, unadulterated sex. Every picture in every magazine was utterly filthy, a battalion of cocks and pussies and assholes and tits staring me in the face.

But the dirty pictures were just the beginning. A forest of plastic and rubber devices poked out of the case. I didn't know what they were called, but I knew what they were supposed to represent. Latex cocks of various, sizes loomed out of the open case. Spongy artificial pussies grinned lewdly at me. In addition, there were other items which I couldn't identify, but which reeked of sex and perversion. When he told me what he did for a living, I hadn't been that shocked by it. But when I saw his wares, I was more than shocked. In spite of myself, I was hopelessly aroused! My pussy instantaneously bubbled.

Why deny it? I thought. Here I was on a beautiful day all by myself with a beautiful man and a suitcase full of goodies. At home it was probably still raining. There was no reason not to take advantage of being here unless I wanted to punish myself. Why should I worry about it? Besides, with this suitcase full of treasures in front of me, who knew, I might learn something.

"What's this?" I said, picking up something that looked like an egg.

"A Vibro-E," he said, then proceeded to give me what must have been his standard sales spiel. "It's based on a principle that Oriental women have been using to sexually satisfy themselves with for centuries. The sex-egg. See, you stick it up your pussy and then it gives your orgasms all day while you're walking around. Only this one is better because it's got a vibrator inside of it. Not only does it fit inside your cunt, it wiggles around in there. Put one of these babies up your snatch and you'll never forget it. How about an absolutely free sales demonstration? No obligation, ma'am. But I know you'll be completely satisfied. Plus, it comes with a ninety-day guarantee."