This erotic story is the third chapter of an original series that I wrote for an e-mail friend based on his tastes. I lost the first two parts in a computer crash.
The Ridge Family Chapter 3: Lunch at the Big House
After our erotic sojourn on the banks of the Senedo, my brother and his young friend departed to head upstream to fish. Aglow with satisfaction, I lay back on the one of the big flat limestones near the water, watching sunlight glint in bright dapples on the dark blue-green of the swimming hole. I was still naked and used my clothing as a pillow under my head.
My eyes closed, I daydreamed about the life that awaited outside these isolated hills when I finished high school this year. I knew that I could not remain here, as much as I loved the wild beauty of the Appalachian ridges and the simple people I had grown up around.
Maybe the city. D.C. was just a hundred miles away and Richmond only a little further. I wanted to write or act in plays or do something that takes more than a strong body. Of course, I did have a strong body, my muscles built by hard work on the scraggly bit of property on which I lived with my mother and ten-year-old brother and on the neighboring lands of the Ridge family.
I rubbed my hand down across my smooth chest and outlined the solid pectorals, pressing a finger against one of my sensitive nipples. It sprang up in the light breeze that billowed suddenly from the river. My other hand found my long limp cock, still damp and sticky from its recent use with the two young fishing friends.
With a languid movement, I flopped the fleshy tube upward onto my abdomen and slid my fingers into the thick curls of my pubic bush. It was the only hair I had on my body except for the downy tracings on the interior of my buttocks. I fondled my big smooth balls which dangled loosely in their wrinkled sack, not a single hair on them. I liked my body. My belly was flat and smooth, my abdominal muscles well-formed and tight. My long legs were thick and sinewy with just a trace of downy hairiness on the calves.
I felt under my balls to the spot where the flesh joined my ass crevice. Hmm, I thought, there is a little bit of thicker hair there. It had sprung up only recently just above the anal entrance. I tickled the small patch of short coarse hairs and let my finger press against the puckered opening. It felt good. My cock began to lift from my abdomen and stretch upward. I could feel the uncut foreskin ease downward from the swelling glans.
"Hey!" A deep, growling voice broke into my reverie. I almost jumped out of my skin. Grabbing my clothes from under my head, I quickly covered my tumescing member.
I turned to face the towering frame of Jake Ridge, the father of young Sam Ridge, who so recently had been entwined in my erotic embrace.
"What're you doin' up here all nekkid, boy?" he demanded. There was a faint smile on his face and an almost pleasant timbre to his deeply masculine voice.
"Uh, oh, gee, I--I'm just getting some sun. I've been swimming," I stammered.
"Well, you better watch out or you'll get a good sunburn on that pretty little pecker of yourn," he said, chuckling.
I turned my back to him and quickly pulled on my jockey shorts, then the somewhat ragged jeans shorts I had with me.
"You got a right cute ass, too," Mr. Ridge commented. His voice was almost a whisper and a bit raspy. I felt a little afraid at his comment. He had never before said much more than "Howdy" except to mumble brief orders about how to cut the hay or which horse stalls to clean out.
I turned to face him again and saw that his face was bright red. He had embarrassed himself with his comment, I surmised.
He turned his eyes from my gaze to look down at his big clodhopper shoes.
"'Bout time fer lunch," he muttered. "I'm going down to the big house to eat now. You wanna come along?"
He looked up at me again and I surveyed his craggy face. His bright blue eyes were deepset above tanned cheeks and a thick dark beard, somewhat neatly trimmed for a mountain man. Jake Ridge was indeed handsome and powerfully built. He wore a white athletic shirt under his bib overalls. A mat of black hair spilled from the top of the shirt and more curled in sweaty loops from his armpits. Huge biceps surmounted sunbaked and hirsute forearms.
"Uh, I don't think so, Mr. Ridge," I said. "That would be too much trouble for your wife."
"Oh, she ain't home. Her and the daughter gone up to Forestville to do the canning with her mama and sisters. I got me some ham sandwiches and tater salad that she fixed before she left. Plenty enough for us and them two younguns, if they ever come back from fishin'," he responded, turning to begin the trek down the hill to the large frame home where the family resided.
"Well, okay, I'll just take you up on that offer," I said merrily. "My mom has gone into town, too, and I don't want to face another plate of beans!"
I followed him, watching his long strides and the movement of his overalls against his solidly built body.
When we reached the house, he held the screen door open for me.
"Come on in and make yourself to home," he said. He led the way into the kitchen and retrieved the food from the refrigerator. Country ham with mayonnaise on thick slices of homemade bread and creamy potato salad as only German descendants like Mrs. Ridge know how to make it.
"Can you drink a beer, boy?" he said, displaying a frosty brown bottle.
I never had before, but I said: "Sure, yeah, I'll take one."
I gobbled the food and sloshed it down with the chilled beer. It had a strange and bitter taste at first, but it quickly slaked my thirst. By the time I drained the bottle, I had developed a whole new taste for malty liquids.
"'Nother one?" Mr. Ridge asked, heading back to the refrigerator as he wiped a heavy paw across his crumb-filled beard.
"Yeah, that was good. I will have another one," I grinned. As he handed me the bottle his fingers touched against mine and seemed to press somewhat longer than necessary.
I sipped the cool amber more slowly this time. Already I was feeling a little light-headed.
"I gotta take a piss," Mr. Ridge announced suddenly. He headed to the back of the kitchen where I could clearly see into the small bathroom. With no sign of modesty, he unstrapped his overalls and let them fall to his knees. From the voluminous expanse of his white boxer shorts he extracted his peter. I almost gasped out loud. It was huge. It was long. It was thick. It was traversed by purple veins and its plum-sized head was fully exposed in a bright pink splendor. It was a sight that I would never forget.
I felt myself tremble with excitement as he began to piss -- a forceful yellow stream that splashed loudly in the toilet's bowl. I was mesmerized by the sight, but I forced myself to stop staring in case he should notice my interest.
Looking at the remains of my sandwich, I heard him pull up his clothing and snap the straps into place.
"Ah, that's much better," he said, rubbing his crotch as he walked toward me. "A good piss is almost like a good fuck."
I felt myself blush at his comment and I was sure he noticed.
"Um, I--I better be going, Mr. Ridge," I muttered, standing up and walking toward the hallway. "Thanks, thanks a lot for the lunch."
His big hand touched my bare shoulder.
"No need to rush off," he said, that strange raspiness in his voice again. "You must have to take a pee since you've had all that beer."
Indeed, I did have to pee. Badly.
"Well, yeah, I guess I could go before I go," I laughed, trying to sound nonchalant.
I headed for the small bathroom and pulled the door shut behind me. I dropped my jeans shorts and pulled my peter, which was still about half hard, out of my tight jockey shorts. Just as I pulled my long foreskin back and began to release the pent-up stream, the door opened.
Mr. Ridge stood there silently staring at my dick. I kept pissing and staring back at him.
"Something wrong?" I asked as he moved into the tight confines of the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind him.
Now, I really was scared. What was this man up to? He surely wasn't interested in my dick or balls or ass. He was a big macho man who liked to fuck women. He had a reputation for having lots of girlfriends.
Without a word, he stood behind me and reached around to take my cock, still streaming piss into the toilet, from my fingers. He held it gently as he pressed against my butt with his body. I could feel the hardness of his gigantic tool through the layers of clothing that separated it from my ass cheeks.
My piss subsided and the big hand began to fondle my hardening cock, sliding the foreskin all the way back from the pinkish head. I watched in silent awe as the hand slid under my balls and then moved up to grip the elastic of my jockey shorts. Still, Mr. Ridge said nothing. His breath was harsh and raspy against my neck.
He pulled my jockey shorts down to my knees and began to caress me from my chest to just above my cock in slow movements. His beard rubbed against my neck and caused shivers to course instinctively through my whole body. My rigid prick stood up against my smooth belly, catching errant touches from the light petting of his big hands.
"Ummmm," he groaned, pushing toward me from the rear, his giant tool wedging with its coarse denim covering into my ass crack. His right hand gripped my throbbing cock, sending shock waves of sensation upward and outward. His left hand gently lifted my balls.
I began to squirm uncontrollably, pumping my cock into his massive fist and feeling him mash himself against my back and buttocks. Within seconds, my orgasm began to build deep within my balls. The sensations became a blur of electrical shocks emanating from my groin to the top of my head and to the tips of my toes. My whole body went rigid -- as rigid as the boydick that was now pulsating in my attacker's stroking hand. Another big hand gripped my tightening ballsack, adding new impetus to the erotic explosion wracking my young body.
My dick spurted a shot of white fluid up across my smooth belly. "Aaaahhhhh, ooooh," I gasped. A second and third spasm produced little fluid, but multiplied the intensity of my climax.
"That's it, boy, that's it," said the deep, trembling voice in my ear. "Shoot it, shoot that cum, oh, yeah."
Then the big man's arms came around my stomach and he pulled me backward into his muscular body. His beard scraped against my shoulder and I felt his hot mouth near my neck. He was sucking on me. He jammed his covered cock between my buttocks roughly.
"Arrrghhhhhh!!!" he shouted, "Oh, God, yes, I'm cumming! I'm shootin' my load!"
Even through the layers of denim and cotton, I could feel his massive cock twitching and spurting against my young butt.
"Uh, uh, uh," he grunted, thrusting against me so that the fluid of his orgasm strained through his overalls into my ass crack.
Just as suddenly as he had grasped me, he let me go and I fell, almost crashing into the toilet bowl. I grabbed the tank to regain my balance and before I could turn around, he was out the door and gone.
I stood there in the hot, steamy bathroom, my underwear and shorts around my ankles, my still-pulsing peter dribbling the remains of my cum onto my leg. My body was dripping with sweat. The mingled aroma of sweat, piss and cum formed a strange, exotic perfume, an odor that implanted itself on my mind to mingle with the image of Mr. Ridge holding his big pissing cock.
It was just after 1 p.m. and I had enjoyed my third -- and most explosive -- orgasm of the day.