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I stopped, and whistled. Emily, even more alert, turned to me. I waved a red kerchief from behind my own tree.“Who are you, and what do you want?” This woman knew who she was, and what she was about. And, from the tone of her voice, she was not about to be trifled with.“It’s me, Mark. I’m back from my look see.”“Show yourself, hands empty, and away from your body!”No fool, I did so.“Oh, Mark! Thank God you’re back! I’ve been startled by every little noise! What did you find?”I turned to our guest. “Is she alright?”Emily considered. “Well, she is bruised, she is terrified, and I don’t know if she has been assaulted, or if that was the next on the dickheads’ plan, but other than that, she doesn’t seem too bad. She keeps crying about Martin. Any clues?”I knelt down next to the woman. “Ma’am? We’re friends. I’m Mark, this is Emily, and we’re trying to get home. Your captors picked our campsite to drop you.”She regarded me through red tearful eyes. “I’m Lucy Mortensen. Martin is my. " I asked what she was having and she said 'Glen' - then, amid general laughing, changed that to the dog and corn Glen wanted. I wondered if that meant anything unusual. When I pushed her legs onto her tiny tits, I saw her leaking nectar was filling the dimple of her tight, tiny asshole. Helen stood behind me, trying not to block anyone's view of my wife's splayed open pussy and star muscle, and watched as I dipped into her asshole with my tongue then lapped up the stream of ambrosia between her lips and deep into her sweet pussy depths.After moaning my delight, I said I knew where this beautiful little ass has been and what had been inside it, (at least I thought I did until her wanton public show today) so I was fine to be tasting its muskiness. As I said that, I pushed two fingers inside her damp depths then declared her fit for corn.I showed Helen how I wanted only one plastic corn holder screwed into one end of the hot corn, then how I used that to control dipping and twirling.
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