Hitchhiers' Erotic Reward

ONE

As regularly as clockwork, once a year, Bette Medway and husband Sam have a fearful row, the tears flow from Bette as she races away in fury and within a couple of days the rains come, breaking several months of drought.

Bette returns home and she and Sam disappear into the bedroom for 24 hours, and so begins another annual cycle.

On this occasion, tears streaming down her sun-weathered face, Bette roared along their three-quarters of a mile private track to the highway where she paused, having to decide whether to turn left or right. Usually she turns right in the rugged 4WD vehicle and heads to the coast a day's drive away – one day to get there, one day to be there, one day to drive back home.

Boring!

She turned inland although having no intention of driving to the desert was more than a day's drive away, though where it really begins is a matter of speculation and drough patterns.

Her keen eyes spotted a figure perhaps a mile away – just a speck that had stood up waiting to thumb a lift. Company would be nice, but who can you trust these days? she thought. If it's a marooned motorist or someone injured she would stop, but not for a hitchhiker of dubious character and probably a foreigner as well.

She passed the figure on the roadside – it was a male, as to be expected, being solo. He'd thumbed but she ignored him and covered him with dust.

Looking in the rear vision mirror Bette saw the cheeky prick giving her the fingers. Right, mate, you're for for a tongue lashing. She braked to a stop on the road that continued on for another twenty seven miles, dead straight.

Let the cheeky sod come up to her, she'd give him a tongue lashing and be off. She locked the doors just in case he became nasty.

The traveller took his time walking the distance. Bette sighed and wondered why after her annual dust up with Sam it was she who took off – why couldn't that mean bastard of a husband take his turn and effect the necessary separation!

By the time the poor sod reached the 4WD vehicle, Bette had almost forgotten her reason for stopping. She unlocked the doors and told him to jump in, handing him a cool beer and unscrewing the cap off one for herself. It was hot, 92 deg inside the vehicle.

TW0

Hitchhiker Ewan Carson had spotted the dust plume rising above the road behind a speeding vehicle, the first vehicle to approach him since the last one dropped him off four hours ago.

Sun glinted on the windscreen of the vehicle as he rose to his feet, wishing for a ride with a very pleasant person who'd hand him a cold beer.

The vehicle flashed byand he caught the haughty look of the shelia who otherwise ignored him. So he stepped out on to the roadway, coughing dust, and gave the heartless bitch the fingers.

Unbelievably he saw the brake lights go on. She stopped, almost a quarter mile away, and made no effort to reverse towards him. The bitch!

Obviously she couldn't have seen his obscene gesture, otherwise she wouldn't have stopped. As he got nearer the vehicle the front passenger door opened so he went to that side.

"G'day," she said in a broad Aussie accent. "Going my way, which is straight ahead?"

"Well, I don't really know where I'm going, as I have yet to decide."

"Struth, join the club. Hop in."

Ewan had no idea which club he was about to join, but got into the vehicle and smiled gratefully at the angel, aged about forty, who'd stopped and handed him a dream cool beer. He could have kissed her.

"Thank's, my name is Ewan Carson."

"Hi, I'm Bette Medway off a station near here. Where are you from, Ewan?"

"New Zealand."

"Where's New Zealand?"

Oh shit, here he is miles from God knows where, and he has to meet the only female comedian in all of Australia.

"It's the land of intelligentsia when Australians go for their vacations and think they've arrived in Heaven."

"Oh, bless my luck, here I have picked up the only Kiwi alive with a humor," she giggled.

Ewan decided he liked this Aussie with her tear-stained face.

"Where would you like to be taken?" she asked. "I can offer Sydney, Brisbane, Adelaide Perth but not Tasmania."

"Dunno, I was hoping you could take me to some magical place in this part of your region."

Bette was about to deny such a place existed, when she thought of one she'd visited as a girl – a fabulous place, etched deep in her memory.

"There's one such place if you don't mind a bit of a drive; it's almost 250 miles bearing a little north of here."

"Oh, I can't let you do that – that's a long way away."

Bette slammed the vehicle into gear and set off.

"We're on our way mate, first turn on the right fifteen miles down this road.

"We're fully provisioned and the old girl is carrying a drum a diesel, we've got two radio handsets that work so we're free to go ride-about. I need something to cheer me up, this adventure should do it."

They belted along and in less than four hours arrived at an ancient upheaval in the monotonously flat terrain that they had been driving at for the past half hour. The up-rise is split by a canyon, Bette had said, as she nursed the bucking vehicle over the very rough terrain sparsely covered in saltbush.

They arrived at 'the place' as she called it, being just as Bette had described it: on the floor on both sides of the narrow lake in the canyon was a thriving box ironbark ecosystem of grey, yellow and long leaf gums with a scattering undergrowth of what Ewan thought comprised mainly cat's claw, grevillea and wattles.

"Are there snakes?"

"Probably."

"Er, crocodiles?"

"No, they're way up north?"

"Stingers?"

Bette looked at Ewan and grinned.

"You Kiwis are paranoid about our less than friendly critters. You fool, stingers are saltwater jellyfish and they're only found in northern waters way up the Queensland coast, across the top and down a bit into Western Australia."

"Why don't you explore and look for some 'roos – should be at least a couple of species here and try to identify some of the birds – the ones with long legs in the water are called waders and the ones that scream at you are called whatever. Watch out for spiders."

"Spiders," gulped Ewan.

"For fuck sake, Ewan. Go! Oh, don't drink the water."

As soon as he was out of sight the near-bursting Bette squatted behind the vehicle, urinated and felt very much more relaxed.

She grinned, thinking about her young man walking in trepidation through the only decent bit of bush for almost three hundred miles.

There was a lake surrounded by bush quite near where she picked up Ewan, but she'd not wanted to go east, and anyway other people would be around, some of whom probably knew her. When she'd driven by Ewan and then stopped, the thought of possibly making some use of him popped into mind and her crotch flexed in anticipation.

Ewan returned disappointed.

"I didn't see any 'roos hopping about."

"They would have seen you – they will be lying down in the shade at this time of day, resting."

"The water looks crystal clear."

"That's correct, Ewan, but it's likely to contain water-borne parasites that perhaps are best left in the water."

"Why is this place called McGinty Springs – is it named after the guy who found it?"

"Women also do more than cook and make beds, Ewan. A Mrs McGinty discovered this natural phenomenon in 1886.

"Very few people have visited here because it's so remote, the landscape too rugged to support any kind of farming. It is believed to be fed by an underground river draining flood plains which eventually resurfaces to feed into the Darling River."

Ewan smiled, and chirped: "The Darling River is 860 miles long and feeds into the Murray and that combined river systems drains and waters a basin covering more than 400,000 square miles - or about fourteen percent of Australia."

"Oh my, don't tell me they have schools in New Zealand," grinned Bette sarcastically.

Ewan chose to ignore that.

"I feel privileged to have being bought here, Bette. I guess there are no shops or accommodation within cooee, like for hundreds of miles."

"Well said, but I am carrying camping gear and food. You shall be my guest."

"That's very generous of you Bette."

Now that they were standing in the shade, relaxing, Ewan took a close look at his hostess, with her sun-bleached multi-colored fair hair and khaki shirt wet with sweat under her armpits and between her breasts. She was tall and a tad plump and overall she looked, um, sexy despite her baggy khaki shorts and sandals. He wondered why she was out here alone and with him with no apparent purpose.

Was she on the run?

THREE

Bette looked at the strongly built young man who was probably in his mid-twenties. She'd never been unfaithful to Sam and wondered if that was about to change, as the more she looked at Ewan's wide chest in his white polo shirt the more she felt aroused.

She'd taken a risk bringing a man she didn't know to such a remote place, she knew that, yet didn't feel afraid. He had a sensitive look about him. If she wanted something to happen it was up to her to make it happen.

"I'm changing into my bikini to go in and cool off," she said.

"Right."

Bette opened the back of the vehicle and changed into her bikini bottom, pushing the top in under the floor carpet.

"Oh damn."

"What's the problem?"

"I seem to have left my bikini top behind."

"You go for your swim, I'll go for another walk."

"We should go into the water together; it is unwise to swim alone. You won't be too embarrassed if I'm without a top, will you?"

"No, of course not. What you suggest makes sense. I'll only be in a bottom piece myself."

Bette rubbed her breasts, palming her nipples to get them up. She walked out from behind the vehicle, walking straight at Ewan. The look of admiration was on his face instantly, which pleased her. She decided to push her luck.

"What do you think?"

"You have beautiful breasts."

"I'm glad you think so, I was hoping you'd be interested."

"Interested?"

"Yes, sexually."

"Oh my God," Ewan said, his voice thickening.

"Come here," said Bette, holding out her arms.

He came forward quickly, showing little embarrassment.

"Are you happy to be consorting with a married woman, Ewan?"

He swallowed, and looked at her.

"Oh, yes, Bette, and I'll tell you this: I won't mind if this heats up. It's been my dream to make love to an older woman. I've thought about it a lot."

"Oh, Ewan," sighed, Bette, drawing him in tightly. They then went hand in hand to the water, not unlike excited teenagers.

Minutes later they were on a thick waterproof blanket that Bette had packed as a ground sheet. It being a comfortable base for a shafting though that had not been on Bette's mind when she'd put the roll in the back of the wagon.

She sat on her haunches, now with her bikini bottom removed. Ewan was off, having a pee. He returned carrying his swimming shorts. Bette licked her lips, looking at his trim figure. His penis was at half-mast, and looked not particularly long but was rather fat, which pleased her as she was not looking to be staked by the ground by eight inches or so of throbbing meat.

Ewan slid in to settle on his haunches, his left leg slipping in between Bette's knees, which brought him right up to her.

She'd expected him to lunge for a boob, but instead he stroked her drying hair on hanging over her shoulders and asked gently, "Do you have a fantasy?"

Of course she did, but there was no way she was going to tell him.

"No, I'm just a conventional housewife," she said, evasively, expecting to get away with it.

"I don't believe that for a minute," he said, nibbling her ear.

A tremor swept through Bette. Sam was a 'Bam, bam, thank you ma'am' thruster, she'd always wondered what it would be like draped in sheer silk finery and fed aphrodisiac-laced jelly sweets by a cruel looking sheik with the most sensitive fingers in the world, who wanted a single fuck to last all night. She'd drip just thinking about it.

"I-I..."

She halted midstream, it was too absurd. Take the 'bam, bam'; being young he'd be keen to demonstrate his virility so would want to sink it in repeatedly and eventually he'd slow down and perhaps then feel there was time to smell the flowers and do some cute things to her.

Ewan was not letting her off the hook.

"I-I?" That's not an answer."

Bette was unable to suppress it: she flushed heavily and felt the heat run down her neck and over her breasts. She was relieved that Ewan didn't comment, beyond a gentle "Hmmmmm."

A moist tongue flicked around her eye, arousing her. Then came the whisper she had to strain to hear: "Tell my about this innermost desire, my darling."

"My darling?" A series of gentle orgasms seemed to trickle out of Bette's backbone and seep through her belly and pelvic region and dissipate early into her thighs. She bit her lip to ensure she made no sound.

"I've often thought about being strummed out in a prolonged bout of erotic love-making. Do you have any idea what I'm talking about?"

Ewan's hazel eyes had turned dark brown and he stared straight at her, his tongue running along his top lip.

Bette quivered.

"Do you have a viabrator here, preferably a soft one?"

She nodded weakly, wondering how a young man of his age would know about such a thing.

"Fetch the small square make-up bag in the back of the wagon."

Ewan went to the vehicle where he immediately saw the string to a bikini top hanging out from under the carpet. He grinned and grabbed the make-up kit.

Bette had not moved and her eyes fixed on his dick which had softened a little and was swinging obscenely against his thighs.

"Oh my," she whispered.

"There are two in there – take your pick."

Ewan left the wand massager, choosing instead a simply soft jelly waterproof viabrator with a pointed head. He palmed the 5-inch device and moved back into position.

Ewan ran his lips over Bette's eyes in an unhurried manner, making little noises in his throat, which she chose to answer as if in mating mode.

Their lips met at last, just touching tantalizingly then she felt the tip of his tongue make an exploratory probe, sending a shiver down her back.

She yielded and his tongue penetrated gently and was met her hers.

Ewan grunted as they tongued and he worked the viabrator around the base of Bette's ear at the lowest setting, dulling for her the distant bawdiness of a gang of parrots in the tree-tops on the other side of the springs.

Their saliva dribbled and with her eyes closed Bette waved away at flies or any other insects on the hunt for moisture over warm flesh. She tried unsuccessfully to delicately suck the invading tongue to the back of her throat but it would not untwine from hers.

Just as she drew in a deeper breath to increase suction Ewan chose to pull back to look at her deeply, reaching out to part her fringe and dab her forehead with a soft kiss, that precipitated a tiny flow of moisture on to her lightly haired vulva. The vibrator was now just working idly on her spine, really doing nothing for her. It stopped.

Ewan reached down and drew up her left breast with both hands, licked the nipple and blew on it. She loved that, and looking down could see his engorged cock with its ugly red and purple head ready to slam between her thighs. More moisture leaked from her.

But she had to endure the wait of watching her lover administer to her right breast as if there were some rule about having to display parity in treatment when trying to rev her up by playing with her breasts. Her groin felt warm and tight, ready to be plundered.

Thank goodness, she thought that he was no longer playing with the viabrator like a third hand. More than likely she'd have ejaculated over his cock as soon as it reached the entrance of her vagina had the intensity of his assault continued at that level.

Now what was he doing?

The young man from New Zealand had his nose between her now very swollen 34s that drooped too much for her liking when unsupported – but that's what having two children (at boarding school) do for you, she sighed. Then she yelled, scaring the birds, when Ewan pushed her hangers between his cheeks. It wasn't the hair stubble that set her off; no, he was grunting and snorting and blowing like a rooting pig.

A tingling ran right to her toes and Bette could feel moisture running down her thighs to the blanket. Frantically she patted him on his shoulder blades, signaling him to hurry up. She sighed, expecting to be ignored – and she was.

Another two rounds of repulsive between-breasts snorting occurred and Bette knew her nipples had become rock hard; repulsive perhaps, but it had wound up her motor, she had to concede. If the fool only shoved it into her now he'd be given one of the best fucks of his life.

Bette realized he was looking at her again, smiling and he asked, "Is this to your likening my fair lady?"

She nodded dumbly but knew he could see passion etched into her face.

He raised an eyebrow, and she found her voice: "Keep going, my sweet prince."

A hot embarrassed flush hit Bette's upper body; she never talked stupidly like that to anyone, not even when husband Stan was licking her out and refusing to halt although she would be screaming, practically swinging off the rafters above their bed and appealing to him to stop.

She grinned and thought, well my girl, just let it all hang out – imagine you are on holiday in a strange distant land with sheiks and your silks flowing in the wind. Tears came to her eyes; she was s-o-o-o happy.

"Lay back my sweet," he said and strong arms lifted he as she freed her legs and felt herself being lowered.

She spread her knees and raised them, hoping the sight of her wet vulva that probably was showing slightly gaping pink would trigger his sex drive, causing him to lose this idiotic languorous foreplay that was driving her nuts and hopelessly sending her emotions and senses into a labyrinth of dead-ends.

She tried to imagine what he'd do now – lick her toes?

She had the insane thought that if he tried that one on her she'd grab the rifle from the wagon and force him to fuck her conventionally or else risk geting a bullet through his knee-cap.

This treatment of her was inhumane, she felt like weeping, she felt like laughing and she squeezed her left boob painfully and that was the test: at that instant she knew she'd been aroused like never before. She was on the verge of becoming a quivering, useless heap of femininity – but she didn't want that. She wanted to screw him wildly, to show him what a real country girl Australian could do for a man.

Better to unleash a deep and long moan to alert Ewan that she was fully primed. She unleashed a long, guttural moan and immediately felt his hands sweep over her forehead and down over her ears.

Obviously he curtailed his preamble because hanging right over her mouth was a sack containing two very fat testicles above which protruded the object of her desire. She licked at the sack just as she felt his tongue penetrate into the opening of her vagina.

Bette groaned and reaching up grasped his rigid dick and bent it into her mouth, moving gently avoid harming him; the flexible assembly of muscle, membrane, glans, blood entrapment cylinders and goodness knows what else bent obediently and entered her mouth like a pilotless aircraft.

"Mmmmmmm!" breathed Bette, accepting this time-wasting exercise as inevitable.

Her passion shaped her whole being; she was ready for everything Ewan threw at her, whether it be teeth, fists, tongue, fingers or a plummeting dick of widening proportions.

She got most of his dick into her throat then withdrew it slowing to flick her tongue around the head before removing it all together for an inspection then some more tongue-on-tip play.