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***** ***** ***** Rural Revenge 1 by Dick Jacker
"Way to go, McCurry, great idea...dipshit."
Brad McCurry smacked the steering wheel hard, angrily addressing his reflection in his car's rearview mirror. The vehicle had come to a shuddering, clattering stop along the side of an isolated rural highway just north of the Kentucky/Tennessee border. On the gravel shoulder, he turned the key in the ignition a few times, with nothing but a grinding sound from under the hood. He grabbed his cell phone from the seat beside him as he opened the door and stepped out into the bright sunshine. The phone indicated it was just after 10AM, and despite the fresh mountain breeze, the air was already warming up. He began to feel the first drops of sweat rolling down the back of his neck.
"Dammit." Brad swore as he began restlessly pacing back and forth along the side of the road. Again he spoke to himself, ridiculing his choice to take the more scenic route.
"Had to get off the interstate, didn't ya? Figured you had plenty of time to get home. Now you're stuck in the middle of god-knows-where and not even a fucking signal on your phone so you can call for help!" He grunted and kicked a rock near the car's front tire but misjudged, and kicked the wheel itself, his howl of pain echoing through the forest valley. Brad hopped over to the open car door and sat heavily in the driver's seat, massaging his sore foot.
The thick forest stretching below the roadway was silent, except for a few birds. Within ten minutes of Brad's breakdown, he heard the distinct sound of a truck engine, probably an older truck. He stepped out into the roadway and saw a very old pickup come around the hillside toward him. He waved his arms and called out, "Hey, there! I need some help!"
The battered red Ford pickup came to a stop beside Brad. The driver was an older man, probably between 60 and 70 years old. A fringe of white hair encircled the back of his head. He had a full beard, mostly gray also. He was wearing blue denim bib coveralls, but no shirt, displaying broad muscular shoulders, chest and arms, all covered with thick silver hair.
"Havin' some car trouble there, young fella?" the driver asked. His accent suggested his roots in this region, and brought a hint of a memory to Brad. A memory of childhood, and time spent in deep forested hills like these. The memory was gone as quickly as the smoke from the old man's cigar.
"I'm so glad you came by. Yes, my car broke down, and I'm not sure what's wrong. And I can't get a cell phone signal here to call anyone. Is there a town near here where I might find a mechanic?"
The old man puffed on his cigar as he smiled broadly. "Climb in, friend. I'm headed home to Pine Knot, 'bout 20 miles from here. And it just so happens that the only garage in our little hamlet is owned by my three boys."
Brad thanked the man profusely and went back to quickly secure his car. He slid into the passenger side of the truck, closing the door with a creaking thud. He exhaled, thanking the man again.
As the truck accelerated, with a few sputters, the old man behind the wheel chuckled again, "No problem, my friend. Always glad to help a fellow man in need." He extended his right hand across the seat, adding, "Name's Tiller. Delmer Tiller."
Brad looked briefly at the large, rough, grease-stained paw, and quickly took hold of it in his own right hand, shaking it firmly. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Tiller. I'm Brad McCurry."
Delmer's hand halted, but he didn't release his grip on Brad's. He looked over at Brad, who was looking rather confused, then concerned, as his eyes moved from Tiller's meaty, hairy paw to the intense look on the old man's face. He pulled his hand loose from Tiller's grip and asked, as he massaged his sore fingers that had been squeezed painfully when he told Delmer his name.
"Is...is there something wrong?" Brad asked, disturbed as Delmer continued to stare at him, turning his attention to the road only briefly. Brad felt like the old man was trying to see into his soul, as if there was some secret locked away there.
Delmer shook his head slightly and faced forward again. "No, no. Nothin's wrong. But can I ask if you got any kin 'round these parts?"
Again Brad felt a memory stirring in a dim corner of his mind. Running through deep woods as a child, laughing and chasing other children. A large stone house, a tall, slender woman with long white hair waving in the breeze. He couldn't attach a name to the woman or the children. Were these memories, or fragments of dreams? Brad shook his head, unsure.
"No, sir, I don't think so. I was born and raised in Louisville. My folks are still there. My father's family lived in Cleveland, and my mother's family were from Boston, I think."
Delmer seemed to consider these facts, commenting only with a nod and a quiet "Mmm-hmm." Then after a moment, he continued, asking, "So what brings you 'round here," he paused briefly, then added, "Mr. McCurry?"
Brad wasn't sure if Tiller's questions were just idle chat to pass the time, or if he was looking to find out more about Brad's past. He decided to suppress any suspicions he had, and explained how he wound up in the predicament Tiller found him in.
"I live and work in Indianapolis. I'm a senior research analyst in the Chemistry department at Indiana State. I was sent to Knoxville to meet with a group of scientists visiting from Europe who are working on similar research. I was headed home this morning when I decided to take a more relaxing route. Something more scenic. The interstate is so monotonous. I didn't think my car would have any trouble on these mountain roads. Guess I thought wrong."
Delmer chuckled, making his cigar jump in his clenched teeth. A few bright sparks fell from the cigar's tip, landing in Delmer's lap. Delmer and Brad both gasped, and the old man quickly brushed the glowing ashes off the space between his beefy thighs, as well as his ample basket. The truck swerved slightly, but he regained control quickly. Brad noticed that Delmer gave his crotch a couple extra squeezes, adjusting his posture in the driver's seat. He also noticed that the old man had the button on the side of his coveralls near his waist unfastened, and it was easy to see that he was currently going commando. Brad had been able to hold off any sexual urges toward Tiller, even though he normally found beefy, hairy, masculine men like him very enticing. But now that he had gotten a look at the older man's basket, and a glimpse at his bare hip and upper thigh, as well as taking a second look at the firm biceps, rounded thick pecs and erect nipples, all covered in soft silver fur, his sexual desires began to rise up and assert their will. He felt his manhood tingle and throb, forcing him to swivel his butt slightly to find a more comfortable spot.
Luckily, as the truck rounded another curve and began to descend down a long hill, he saw a brightly painted sign that read 'Pine Knot - founded 1828'. The highway was also the town's main street, with several smaller streets crossing its way. Brad noted a state bank, three churches, a Piggly-Wiggly and an IFC grocery store. There was a Woolworth's and a small local diner. Near the end of the main business district, Brad saw a gas station with two pumps, and a large garage with four service bays. A pole with a revolving sign stood on the roof over the main entrance. Neon letters of bright red and blue read 'Tiller's Auto Repair'.
"Here we are." Delmer announced as he swung the truck to a parking spot off to the side of the station. He exited the truck, and walked toward the front door, as Brad quickly followed.
"I'll introduce you to the boys, and we'll see what we can do about getting your car fixed up." Brad was mesmerised as he watched Delmer walk ahead of him. The coveralls clung to the man's thick thighs and displayed a pair of round firm asscheeks. He found himself excited to see what Delmer's offspring looked like.
A local country music station echoed through the garage, accented by the occasional sound of metal clanging on metal, and a muttered curse word. Brad could see one man bent over the engine of a white Ford Focus, the raised hood hiding his face. But the dark blue coveralls he wore were snug enough to display a pair of muscled thighs and a muscled ass. Another man stood under a blue Chevy Silverado, raised on a lift, his face obscured by the wheel. He was wearing worn, greasy jeans that hung low on his slender hips, exposing a patch of light brown fur around and below his navel. He had an inviting bulge between his thighs. His t-shirt rode up as he reached up to the car's undercarriage. His stomach was tight, his abs covered in the same light brown hair.
"Duncan! Dwight!" Delmer barked as he entered the repair bays. Both men moved to see who was calling them. They both looked at Delmer, and then at Brad with questioning looks.
"Git yer asses over here, I got a customer who needs our help." Both men hurried toward Delmer and Brad, wiping their hands on dingy rags stuffed into their back pockets. Brad gave both men a critical, although quick, assesment. The mechanic bent over the Ford was a few inches taller than Delmer, perhaps just over six feet tall. He looked to be about 40, with a thick build and rounded belly. His blue coveralls were unzipped below his chest, revealing thick dark hair covering his round, firm pecs and stomach. He had the beginnings of a full beard on his broad face. The other mechanic looked much younger, and he was about the same height as Delmer. He was also more muscular than either man, even though he was more slender. He kept his facial hair trimmed, with a thin strip along his jawline, connecting to a thick moustache that grew down both sides of his sensuous mouth, and a clean-shaven chin with a decidedly sexy dimple in the middle. Brad noticed his eyes were a stunning deep blue, with long sexy lashes, unlike Delmer's and the other man's rich brown eyes. They both looked expectantly from Delmer to Brad.
Delmer indicated the taller, older mechanic, saying, "This is my oldest son, Duncan." Duncan extended his hand, which Brad grasped and shook firmly, making eye contact and exchanging plesant smiles. Delmer pointed to the younger man, and introduced him. "This is my middle boy, Dwight." Brad and Dwight exchanged greetings and handshakes. Brad found himself rather charmed by the deep resonant voices and friendly backwoods accents of the three Tiller men.
Delmer looked around, and asked his two sons, "Where the hell is Dewey?" Turning to Brad, he added, "Dewey's my youngest. Not the brightest of the bunch, but a hard worker, just like his big brothers."
Both Dwight and Duncan looked at each other, and then uncomfortably down at their feet, afraid to answer. Dwight looked at his father and said, almost apologetically, "Hank Stowe said he was having trouble with his tractor again, and wanted Dewey to come help him fix it." After a moment, he added, "Sorry, Pa."
Delmer swore, tossing the stub of his cigar on the ground and stamping it out angrily.
"Damm you, boys. You know what Ol' Hank's wantin' Dewey to 'help' him with. And that boy ain't got enough sense to say no to that ol' perv. An' I need him to take the tow truck down the highway and get this man's car back here so's you can get it fixed and get him on his way."
Just then a dark blue tow truck with "Tiller's Auto Repair" and a local phone number painted on the door rumbled around the corner of the county road leading west from the main highway. The truck honked twice, turning into the gas station, where it stopped near the front door.
Delmer shouted across the parking lot, "Dewey Tiller, git your stupid ass outta that truck 'afore I drag you out by your nuts!"
The driver's side door opened and a tall, skinny kid with a mop of uncombed dark hair on his head and a shamed look on his face stepped out. He was wearing denim overalls and no shirt like his father, with one side unhooked, exposing his mostly smooth, pale torso, and dark pink nipples. A sparse bit of chest hair sprouted in a triangle on his upper chest, and dark fur poked from his armpits. He also wore a trimmed beard. His ears stuck out from the sides of his head, and he had large brown eyes. As he approached the group, Brad couldn't help but stare at the substantial bulge of an impressive cock pressing against the fabric along the inside of Dewey's right thigh. He stood beside his brothers, keeping his eyes downcast. Dwight and Duncan tried looking anywhere but at their guilty brother or their annoyed father. Delmer waved dismissively toward his youngest offspring, saying, "This is Dewey." Brad extended his hand, but Dewey was still looking at his feet. Delmer snapped at his son, "Dewey! Show some fuckin' manners and shake Mr. McCurry's hand!"
At the sound of Brad's last name, all three Tiller brothers snapped their heads up, their eyes wide and staring, shifting between Brad and their father.
Dwight said, glancing at Brad with open contempt, "The hell you say!" Duncan took a step back, looking as if he almost stepped in a pile of cow manure.
Delmer spoke, his voice firm, "The hell I DO say, boy! Mr. McCurry here had his car break down on the road south of here. But good fortune smiled on him, and us, when I came upon him, stranded and in need of help, and offered him our services. Now you boys are gonna git his car, tow it back to this here garage, and fix what's wrong with it. The same as you'd do with any other person's vehicle. Y'all hear me, now?"
The three men were still hesitant and mumbling, when Duncan spoke up. "But, Pa...we got a lot of work to do already. I mean, Larry Carter's truck shoulda been outta here yesterday, an' Doc Waller needs his car in case there's a medical emergency..."
Then Dwight spoke up, "An' I just got the right part for Linnette Hollis's car. I promised her I'd have it done by..."
"Shut UP!" Delmer bellowed. All three men stood frozen in place, shocked by their father's outburst. "You three will do what I said, and that's it!" He stepped over to Dewey, who looked worried that his father might smack him. "Dewey, git back in the truck and take the highway south about 20 miles. You'll see Mr. McCurry's car there. Bring it here...NOW!" Dewey jumped, replying "Yes, Pa." He ran to the tow truck and started the engine, driving from the garage quickly. Delmer stomped into the front entrance, followed by Dwight and Duncan. Brad followed a few feet behind, still utterly confused at the odd reaction to his name. He heard Dwight whisper to his father, "Pa, is he really a McCurry?" Duncan asked, "We ain't really...I mean...McCurry..."
When all four men were in the front area of the repair shop, Delmer and his two sons went behind the counter. Brad stood on the other side and spoke up.
"Delmer, is there some sort of problem here? Because if there is, maybe I can find another garage to look at my car." He was beginning to feel rather annoyed at the Tiller boys sudden negative attitude toward him. Delmer looked at Dwight and Duncan and growled "Hush." Then he looked at Brad, his expression relaxing, and said, "There's no problem at all, Brad. But I'm thinkin' it's gonna take some time this morning to get your car back here, and get us a good idea of what the problem is. I think the best thing for you is to leave your keys with us, take a stroll through Pine Knot, maybe get you some biscuits and gravy over at Nick's Diner, and check back with us about noon. I'm sure by then we'll know just what to do to get everything taken care of."
Brad considered Delmer's suggestion, feeling the intense stares from Dwight and Duncan. He nodded, saying, "Sounds like as good a plan as any." He laid his keys on the counter, and turned to leave the office.
Delmar said, pointing south on the main street, "Nick's is just the next block down thataway. Tell him we sent you, and he'll probably give you a free slice of pie."
Brad set off down the main street of Pine Knot, and turned to wave at the Tillers, smiling brightly. But he was still very uneasy, and knew he needed to find out more about Pine Knot, and his family's ties to it.
When Brad McCurry was out of sight, Dwight and Duncan turned to their father, silently demanding an explaination.
"I know what you're thinkin' boys. There ain't been a McCurry around here in over 30 years. An' ain't been a Tiller shook the hand of one of them low life cocksuckin' swine in nearly a hundred. But I figure we take a look at the son of a whore's car, and find out the trouble, then just charge him triple what it normally cost, and get his cheatin', lyin' pig-fuckin' ass outta here." Delmer looked at both sons for their advice.
"Well," Duncan commented, "It won't make us real even, but it's a step in the right direction."
Dwight nodded, adding, "I think great granddad Morris would be okay with it."
As Brad walked down the main street of Pine Knot, he looked around at the various buildings, businesses and landmarks that gave this place it's life and it's history. He felt again that he had known this area as a child, and he again saw in his memory the white haired woman standing on the porch of a large stone cabin in the woods. And a name rose from the depths of his memory also...Granny Annie. He approached Nick's Diner, and took a look at his cell phone, frustrated that he still was unable to get any signal. There were four pickup trucks in the parking lot of the diner, and one large black and chrome Harley motorcycle. Outside the front door was a newspaper box. Brad dropped in a quarter and grabbed a copy of the local weekly newspaper from inside. As he stepped into the restaurant, he saw that all the customers, six men and one woman were watching him with open fascination. He also saw the waitress, a middle age woman with jet black hair and bright red lipstick, scrutinizing him behind red framed glasses. The cook behind the pass-through window gave Brad a cold assesment. He was a large beefy man , probably 45 years old, wearing a sweat-stained white t-shirt under a greasy white apron. He was unshaven, and both thick biceps and forearms were hairy, and marked with intricate tribal tattoos extending down past his elbows. Even the Mexican dishwasher was giving him an uneasy stare. Brad paused a moment, then walked casually to an empty booth in the corner. The customers returned to their prior conversations and the waitress soon approached Brad's booth with a pot of coffee, a menu, and a wide, insincere smile.
"Coffee, hon?" she asked, setting the menu in front of him. Brad thanked her and said he'd been sent here by the Tillers.
"Oh, we already heard about you, hon." She said, quietly. She leaned closer to Brad and he noticed her nametag read 'Crystal'. Her perfume was thick and probably came in quart bottles at Dollar General. She whispered, "It's a small town. With some small minds. But we're not all like that." She stood back up and gave Brad a knowing wink.
"Um...okay. Could I have the biscuits and gravy, and a couple of eggs, overeasy?" He wasn't surprised that Crystal's whispered comment didn't make him feel more relaxed.
"Sure thing, hon." She indicated the tattooed bruiser manning the grill, saying, "Leon back there made a couple kick-ass cherry pies this morning. Make sure you save room for a piece. On the house." She winked at Brad again, and slipped his order on the metal wheel, spinning it to Leon the grill cook.
The cook took the order ticket, looked at it, then back at Brad, who smiled nervously, raising his coffee cup.
"Yeah," Leon said, his voice deep and rough, the type of voice resulting from a steady diet of cigarettes and cheap whiskey.
"He don't look like he's man enough to get my piece o' cherry, but he's welcome to try." This elicited raucous laughter from all the customers, even Crystal. But she replied, after the laughter ebbed, "Leon, your cherry's so old, it's more like a raisin!" More laughter, and Leon playfully chucked an old greasy rag through the window at Crystal.
Brad hid his blushing face behind the local paper, finding nothing of real interest. Crystal refilled his coffee and delivered his order. The biscuits and gravy were very good, and he gave Leon a 'thumbs up' when he caught his attention. Leon replied by flipping him the bird, then sliding his uppraised middle finger all the way in his mouth, then back out, chuckling and winking. Brad was at a loss as to how to interpret that message, but he couldn't deny it got his dick to wake up, and deliver a welcome tickle near his taint.
When Crystal came to remove the dishes from his table and refill his coffee for the fourth time, Brad asked her, "What do you know about the history of this town? I got the feeling there's some folks here who aren't too fond of me, or people named McCurry."
Crystal gave a quick look around the diner. There were only two other customers left, and Leon and the mexican dishwasher were nowhere to be seen in the kitchen. Brad assumed they were out in back, having a cigarette.
She spoke quietly, but quickly, as if she needed to share what she knew before she was caught. "I only moved here in '98, so I'm not really a part of any of the families 'round here, but I have learned a few things over the years. Some of the old families 'round here kin be mean...wicked and mean. My advice is to just leave. But if you're hellbent on digging up the past, you need to go to the Pine Knot public library, a block west of here on Bryant Street. They probably have all the answers you're looking for. But sometimes knowing things only makes things worse." With that, she returned to her spot behind the long Formica lunch counter, its round red vinyl seats all empty now. "You ready for that piece of Leon's cherry?" She asked, chuckling at her own wit. Brad smiled, sliding out from the booth and replied, "I'm gonna visit the men's room, first." Crystal nodded, and Brad followed the sign to the back hallway of the diner
The men's room was very basic. A toilet, with handicap rails on either side, sat on one side of the far wall. A large white porcelien urinal took up the other half of that wall. A sink, mirror and paper towel dispenser was next to the door. Brad stood riveted to the spot just inside the bathroom, as the door closed quietly behind him. He was stunned to discover he was not alone in the room.
Leon, the fry cook, was sitting on the toilet, the lid down. His tshirt was shoved up, exposing his hairy pecs and belly. He was currently pulling and twisting his large nips with one hand. His apron was tossed in a corner with his tan cargo shorts. I never would have pegged Leon as a cargo shorts kind of man, Brad thought. Leon's legs were spread wide, his muscular calves resting on the handicap rails. He had kept his hiking boots and big wool socks on. On his knees between Leon's meaty thighs was the Mexican dishwasher, currently swallowing Leon's thick erection, his chin slick with spit and precum.
Leon looked at Brad, surprised, then smacked the dishwasher's head, who quickly stopped sucking Leon's dripping, cut dick.
"You stupid beaner. You forgot to lock the door again." Then he turned his attention to Brad, and said casually, as the mexican resumed sucking his dick, "You're welcome to stay and blow your load, buddy. Hector here has an awesome mouth and a big appetite. And when he gets his tongue on your pucker, you'll see stars." Leon playfully ruffled the dishwasher's dark hair, then pushed his head down to his thick pubic hair and held him there for a second or two before releasing him.
Brad grabbed his growing basket, and shrugged his shoulders. "What the hell, sounds good to me." He turned back briefly to flip the lock on the bathroom door. Leon gave him a thumbs up, and then motioned him over to his side.
"Get over here and let's see what you brought to the party." Brad walked to stand beside Leon, unzipping his jeans, and displaying his quickly hardening cock. His hardon was just over six inches long, cut, average thickness, with a slight upward curve, and a prominent shiny mushroom head. He extracted his large balls, hanging low in a hairy sac. He was unbuttoning his shirt to expose the abundant pelt of dark fur that covered his chest and belly when Leon reached over and wrapped his fist around Brad's cock, stroking it firmly. Brad let out a slight gasp, while Leon gave a low murmur of approval. Hector lifted Leon's legs up, letting his cock pop out of his mouth, and clamped his mouth against the cook's hairy, sweaty butthole. Leon's body slid down, and with his eyes closed tight, said in a gruff whisper, "Hell yeah, you little wetback motherfucker, work my fuckin' hole!" He grunted, pulling Brad closer to him. He turned his head, moving his hand from Brad's dick to his firm, hairy ass, and pulled him forward, sliding Brad's engorged cock into his open mouth. Brad automatically put one hand behind Leon's head, thrusting his crotch forward, feeling his balls rubbing against the cook's beard growth. His other hand landed on Leon's broad hairy chest. He raked his fingers back and forth across the thick patch, until he came to Leon's protruding nipple. Brad flicked a finger across one, then the other, eliciting a deep animal grunt, as well as a twitch of Leon's hardon. Brad gave the left nipple a firm pinch and twist, while beginning to piston his aching cock in and out of Leon's slobbering mouth. Leon moaned his consent, and wiggled his thick finger between Brad's asscheeks, expertly locating the eager entrance to his fuck tunnel. Brad pushed back against the intruding digit, and Leon pressed forward, his finger sliding in to the knuckle. Brad hissed and grunted and swore as he pumped his dick into the beefy cook's hot mouth, feeling the thick finger in his ass rubbing back and forth against his prostate.
Leon steadily beat his thick cock, shiny with his precum and Hector's spit. He moaned as Brad fucked his face, and Hector greedily tongue-fucked his hairy pucker. Within a couple minutes, Brad could tell he was getting close to cumming, and it seemed Leon was close to the edge also. Brad looked down at Leon, who met his gaze. With a dirty smile, Brad said simply, "You swallow?" Leon nodded emphatically, giving Brad's pulsing prostate a firm push with his finger.
Brad shoved the cook's face against his crotch and let out a protracted, "Fuuuuuuck Yeaaaaaaah" as he pumped several thick wads of hot cum down Leon's throat.
Hector detached himself from Leon's dripping, flexing fuckhole, and moved his face upward, his mouth open and glistening. Leon gave his swollen red cock a few more hard strokes and moaned, his mouth still full of Brad's cock and cum. With each stroke, a thick volley of jizz shot out, landing across Hector's face, lips and tongue. The few last drops that oozed from Leon's piss slit were quickly lapped up by Hector, as Leon released Brad's softening dick from his mouth, laying his head back against the bathroom wall.
Leon said, still catching his breath, "Yessiree, the McCleary seed is some of the tastiest I've had. I'd know that sweet spunk anywhere."
Brad was pulling his clothes back together, but stopped to look at Leon questioningly. "Huh? Wha...my name's not McCleary, it's McCurry."
Leon sat up, grabbing his shorts and apron. As he slid the cargo shorts on, he said, "It used to be McCleary. As in McCleary County, where Pine Knot is located." He gave Brad a serious look and said, "Whether you know it or not, buddy, you're kin to some historically memorable folks. At least in these parts."
"What about your kin?" Brad asked. Hector had licked what cum he could off his face, and was cleaning himself up at the sink. As he left the bathroom, Leon said, "My kin never had nothin' 'gainst any McCleary folk. But Delmer an' his boys..." he left the rest of the statement unspoken. Brad grabbed Leon's thick hairy arm, making the cook stop and turn back.
"Do you know what that's all about?" Brad asked. "Delmer, the old man, seemed totally okay with me. But his three sons, they were looking at me like I was caught fucking their favorite blue tick hound."
Leon chuckled as the two men returned to the dining area. "Yet not too far off, buddy, but I'm not the one to teach you 'bout the history of these parts. You really need to go down to the library and set down with Nathan Porter. He's spent a long time diggin' up all the secrets and stories of Pine Knot, all the way back to before the Civil War."
End of Part One