The Four Hour Erection

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5-10 Available On

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Chapter Two

Angela was again sitting on the metal stool. Holly was swabbing her face with gauze and paper towels. Dub had been told to "put that thing away!" and was standing next to the two women, wringing his hands.

"I'm sorry," he said for perhaps the tenth time. "I didn't know that was gonna happen."

"I know," said Angela. She licked her lips and realized his semen was both on them and had gotten in her mouth. Her education went on as she then realized that the taste was not going to make her throw up. She'd always been sure that, if anything like that ever got in her mouth (which she was QUITE sure she would never allow) that she'd simply puke her guts out. Instead, she was shocked to find that the taste, though indescribable, was not offensive at all.

"It's all right, Dub. I didn't quite know what to expect either, apparently."

"Are you SURE you're okay?" he moaned. "My ma will KILL me if I hurt you."

"There," said Holly standing back. "The worst of it is taken care of." She surveyed the woman and saw a blob of semen in her hair. She dabbed at that with the paper towel. "Your blouse is stained, though," said Holly. "You need to go home and change."

"Sure," said Angela, sounding defeated.

"Hey, come on," said Holly. "It's not the end of the world. A year from now we'll be laughing about this."

"If you mention this a year from now you're fired!" snapped Angela.

"I'm REALLY sorry!" moaned Dub, unhappy with the sound of discord.

Angela whirled to face him. "Whenever you get a damn boner, just do that to make it go away! Got it?"

"Yes Ma'am," he said, ducking his head. "Can I go now?"

"Oh yes," said Angela. "We are VERY finished."

"Go on home yourself," said Holly to Angela. "You don't have any more appointments today and it's only an hour from closing time anyhow. If there are any emergencies I'll call you. Get cleaned up and relax and you'll feel much better," she finished.

Angela looked down at the semen stains on her front. She couldn't help licking her lips again, feeling like she should cringe. She didn't taste anything this time. She'd never thought about what it would be like the first time she did anything sexual. Well that wasn't technically correct. Rather, her thoughts about sex had been misty and lacked detail. She certainly hadn't thought her first experience with semen would be to get it all over her. She sighed.

"Yeah, I could use a bath right now," she said.

=============================

Angela opened the door of the house and went in, glad, for once, that Bob wasn't there. When she had interviewed for the job and he had offered it to her, he also offered to let her stay in a spare room at his house until she found her own place. He still lived in the big old two story house he'd raised his family in. His kids were all grown and gone, and he said he'd never gotten around to getting a smaller place after his wife had died. She was looking forward to a quiet evening so she could recover from her day.

She groaned as she slid into the hot water, looking forward to the relaxation she knew a hot soak in the tub would provide. She let her head slide under the water until her hair was floating beside her face, and then pushed with her feet to make her head and neck slide back up out of the water.

She lay there, just vegging out. What a day. Nobody would believe it ... not that she ever intended on telling anyone about it. THAT little fiasco was the last thing in the world she'd ever share with anyone.

She lay there until the water began to cool, and then quickly and efficiently washed her body. She decided to wash her hair later. She was suddenly hungry.

She drained the tub while she dried off. The cool air on her skin felt wonderful after the heat, so she just stayed naked while she padded to the kitchen. It was another plus to her mentor being gone.

Opening the fridge, she looked for something to snack on while she put leftovers in the microwave for supper. She saw a box of Velveeta sitting next to a tube of summer sausage and pulled both out.

As her hand poised, holding the knife over the thick tube of sausage, an image of Dub Fisher's penis flashed into her mind. She snorted. He was big, but he wasn't THAT big. Still, she couldn't help but wince as she cut into the meat. Feeling silly, she picked up the tube to re-wrap the end, and found herself staring at it. She felt her nipples crinkle and tingle, and looked down to see they were erect. While she had no real experience with sex, that didn't mean she was uneducated about the things people did while they were engaged in it.

"This is ridiculous," she said out loud.

Her hand squeezed the firm tube of meat and she licked her lips. She couldn't believe she was thinking about trying to put the round end of the sausage in her mouth. It was horrifying! It wouldn't fit! What was even more confusing was that she had never in her life contemplated putting her mouth on any penis, real or imagined!

She was standing no more than six feet from the door in the outside wall of the kitchen, which let out of the side of the house, when someone thumped on it repeatedly. She was so startled that the slippery summer sausage flew up into the air. She squawked and tried to catch it, but it evaded her and bounced to the floor. The thumping came again and she looked at the door.

Then, to her horror, she saw movement in the window beside the door. A face pressed to the window, and two hands formed brackets around the face as Dub Fisher peered into her kitchen.

"Doc?" he called. "Are you home?"

She saw his eyes move around the room and find her. She saw them fix on her. She saw his eyes widen and his mouth drop open as he realized she was stark naked. Her hands fluttered in a vain attempt to cover three things with only two obstructions.

"Dub!" she squealed, turning around. She looked over her shoulder to see him still there ... still looking at her through the window.

"Good!" he called out. "You ARE home!"

Angela ran from the kitchen. Thoroughly flustered, she slipped into her robe and then returned. She opened the door two inches.

"What are you doing here, Dub?" she asked.

"Mamma sent me with your pay," he said. He stepped back and held out two chickens. He was holding them by the neck and they were both very dead. "I'm supposed to help you get them ready for the pot or freezer, whichever you want."

"I just got out of the bathtub, Dub," she said.

"That's nice," he said, smiling widely.

"I don't have anything on," she tried again.

"I kind of saw that. Sorry. I was just tryin' to see if you was here."

She looked at the tall young man, holding two dead chickens, and decided her life HAD entered the realm of science fiction.

"You can't pay me with chickens, Dub," she sighed.

"It's all we got," he said, looking worried. "An I wasn't s'posed to kill 'em until I got here, but they was peckin' at me, so I carried em by the neck an I guess I squeezed too hard, so we need to get 'em cleaned right quick."

"I don't know how to clean a chicken!" she yelped.

"It's okay. I do," he smiled. "You just get a big pot about half full of boiling water and I'll show you."

Angela found herself backpedaling as he put a shoulder into the door and pushed it open. She instinctively pulled the upper part of the short robe together to cover her cleavage.

"How big a pot?" she asked, slightly dazed.

"Big enough go dunk a whole bird," he said, laying the chickens on the counter.

"I don't think we have a pot that big," she said.

"Then a bucket will do. You prob'ly don't have a hatchet either, huh? How about a butcher knife?"

She handed him the biggest knife she could find and watched in horror as he held each carcass over the sink and casually lopped the heads off. He held the birds up while blood drained into the sink, and then left them there as he washed his hands. He turned around.

"The water?"

Angela looked at the two chickens with something like awe. They looked just like the ones in the store now, except they were fuller, plumper somehow. She wrinkled her nose at the lingering smell of wet feathers, remembering how he had dunked each bird into the bucket of boiling water and then, like magic, stroked them in some magical way that made the feathers just fall off into the trash can.

She had seen in his hands the same skill a surgeon had then, as he quickly and efficiently butchered the now bald carcasses. The whole process had taken no more than ten minutes per bird once the water was boiling.

She watched him bundle one chiken up in plastic wrap and put it in the freezer. He had already offered to cook the other one for her and, at a loss for words, she had simply nodded. He called for things and she supplied them, until there were suddenly browning pieces of chicken in a pan of hot oil.

"You got any taters?"

She looked up at his face to find he was staring at her cleavage. She looked down. The robe had loosened as she moved around and he was getting a good view.

"I need to put something on," she said.

"I wish you wouldn't," he said.

"What?" she asked, startled.

"It's just that you're so pretty that way," he said. "Almost as pretty as when I saw you through the window."

"Dub!" she yipped.

"What" He asked.

"You're not supposed to say things like that to a woman!" she barked.

"Why not?" he asked. "It's true."

"Yes, but you can't just tell a woman you like looking at her naked," moaned Angela, frustrated with his innocence.

"Oh," he said. "Okay. How about them taters?"

She found half a bag of potatoes in the pantry and then somehow found herself in conversation with her "guest" as he boiled some potatoes and then mashed them, adding milk and butter he found in the fridge. He poked through the cupboards until he found spices, and started adding them too.

He asked her where she came from, and about her family. She found out he worked at the feed mill in town, unloading trucks and then loading others. He wanted to know what medical school had been like. Despite the gap in their educational and social status, she found herself quite comfortable with him. He was innocent, but he wasn't stupid in the least. Eventually he asked about her boyfriend, who he referred to as "manfriend."

"I don’t have one, Dub," she said.

He looked astonished. "I don't know all that much about courtin' and all that, cause I ain't never got to do any. I danced with some girls at the ice cream social and all, but that was different. But you're so beautiful. I can't just hardly believe no man has chased after you."

"Thank you," said Angela softly, remembering Holly saying the same thing, and finally realizing why she had smiled when she said it. As a compliment it was a little rough, but it was obviously from the heart. "I can't believe you don't have a lady friend of your own either."

"Oh, Mamma says we got enough mouths to feed at home," he said dismissively. "And she says she don't need some girl movin' in trying to take over her house."

"Well I think you're supposed to move into your own house when you get married," said Angela, smiling.

"They need me there," he said. "They'd starve without me to take care of them. Mamma takes in wash, but she cain't do much because of her arthritis. There ain't no work for my sisters. Jed Turnbull is sparkin' Lula Mae, and she's sweet on him, but Mamma says she cain't do nothing about it until they graduate. She feels bad that I had to drop out. It's Lula Mae that won't leave me alone whenever I get all stiff, like you cured me of today."

"I didn't cure you, Dub," said Angela hiding her smile behind her hand. "You'll get erections for the rest of your life."

"Yeah," he sighed. "I know. I got one when I saw you nekkid through the window." Angela's jaw dropped at his casual reference and then he threw her for another loop by looking around and saying "I didn't find any fresh snap beans, so I s'pose we'll have to do with some from a can. You got any in the pantry? I need to keep turning this chicken or it'll burn."

Angela leaned back in her chair and sighed. She'd felt odd, sitting at Doc Kimble's kitchen table in nothing more than a short robe, but only until she'd taken her first bite of fried chicken. It was astounding.

She was quite sure she'd eaten fried chicken before. She even remembered doing it, but it had never been like this. And the potatoes just melted in her mouth. She was in heaven by her fourth forkful, moaning with joy at the sensations in her mouth.

She didn't even care about her fingers getting greasy as she tore off a chunk of chicken with her teeth and chewed. "You're a good cook!" she mumbled.

He shrugged. "Been cookin' since Mamma's arthritis got bad," he said. You do it a lot and it gets to be a habit I guess. This ain't nothing special."

"You can cook for me any time," she moaned.

"Okay," he said, and she realized he had accepted an offer that was made rhetorically.

Now she felt like she had eaten too much and was sure she must look like she had a beer belly. She watched as he basically destroyed the rest of the chicken. She'd eaten two pieces, and he'd eaten the rest. There wasn't much left in the bowl of potatoes either and if she'd have opened a second can of green beans she was sure they'd be gone too.

She looked down and saw crumbs from the breaded chicken on the lapels of her robe. Her fingers were greasy, but she just didn't feel like moving to go wash them.

"I ate like a pig," she sighed.

"No you didn't," he said, as usual taking her literally.

"I LOOK like I ate like a pig," she argued.

"No you don't," he said firmly.

She held up her hands. "Look at me!" she complained.

He got up, grabbed the towel hanging from the oven handle, ran hot water on it, and then came around to her side of the table. He took the chair next to her and sat in it, facing her. He reached for a hand and began to clean it with the hot towel.

Astonished, she turned automatically to face him and, in the process, somehow ended up with her knees on either side of his right one. She was painfully aware that the short robe might be displaying parts of her he'd only seen through the window, but she wouldn’t look down to assess the damage. His eyes were on the hand he was cleaning.

It was while he was on her other hand, carefully cleaning each greasy finger, that she found herself staring at the lump in the front of his pants.

"You're still hard," she said and then realized she'd said it out loud.

"Yeah," he said carelessly.

Her embarrassment drifted away. HE wasn't embarrassed. Why should she be?

"Have you been hard the whole time you were here?" she asked.

"Uh huh," he said. He was finally happy with the last finger and put her hand down. It landed on one of her bare thighs.

She looked down then, and saw a tuft of blond hair plainly visible beneath the front of her robe. His knee was only an inch from that hair.

Warmth flooded her groin, and Angela realized with academic detachment that she was aroused. She accepted the fact calmly, and was briefly surprised that she was so calm. She was even more surprised at how calmly she said the next thing.

"It's been that way quite a while. I suppose you should do something about it."

"You think so?" he asked. "Can I do it here?"

"Here?"

"Well, I ain't the smartest man around," he said. "but if I do this at home, with the girls watchin' I 'spect that's not gonna go over too good."

"You do it in private," said Angela, imagining this tall brawny man surrounded by teenage girls, watching him masturbate. She shivered. "Like in the bathroom."

"Oh," he said.

Warning bells went off in Angela's head, but she spoke anyway.

"But you can do it here if you like."

"I'd like that," he said. "I like doin' it with you watching." He frowned. "I don't know why, but I just do." He looked startled. "Unless you want me to do it in the bathroom here," he amended.

She felt more waves of warmth spread through her body. He was so honest and open. There was nothing fake or contrived about him. It was astonishing how much that attracted her. And his innocence was genuine. She just knew that. She didn't feel any fear of him in the slightest.

"That won't be necessary," she said.

True to form Dub had stood, ready to drop his drawers and beat off right there in the kitchen. Remembering his face at the window, though, she took him into the bedroom instead. More warning klaxons sounded in her mind, but she ignored them. She had never felt like this around a man, and it was intoxicating.

She had astounded herself by suggesting that he'd be more comfortable if he took his clothes off, rather than just pushing his pants down. When he stood before her naked, in all his masculine glory, she knew she'd made a mistake.

She stared at his broad chest, with its underlying muscles. He didn't have an ounce of fat on him, and his biceps were enormous. Standing there like that, his penis looked strangely normal, compared with the rest of him. He was simply a giant of a man ... everywhere.

"You can lie on the bed," she said, her voice quivering. "I'll get a towel to catch your ..." She was unable to finish, and went into the bathroom, where she grabbed the towel she had dried off with. She had an errant thought that with this towel, in a manner of speaking, she had cleaned his last ejaculation off of her body. Now it was going to get a full dose straight from the source.

He was lying on his side, his head propped on one hand, while his other hand idly stroked his rampant rod.

"I wish I'd learned to do this a long time ago," he said. "It feels so good."

She sat on the edge of the bed to arrange the towel where she thought it would do the best job and then, for some reason she didn't think too much about, just stayed there to watch.

"I won't get it on you tonight," he promised, his voice serious.

"It didn't hurt me, she said.

"It knocked you over!" he objected.

"I was just surprised. I lost my balance."

"Oh, that makes me feel better. It came out awful hard."

"That's true," she said, smiling. "You're a very healthy man, Dub."

She watched him watching his hand as he stroked his cock.

"It feels so good to do this that I kind of hate to get to the end," he commented.

"Getting to the end is the whole point," she said. Her nipples were painfully hard and she resisted the urge to reach for them and squeeze them.

"Yeah, but it feels so good!" he argued. "The only thing that felt better was when you were doing it."

"Do you want me to do it now?"

It had just slipped out. She hadn't meant to say it. She held her breath.

"Would you?" His anticipation and excitement were so genuine that the warning voice screeching in her mind suddenly dimmed as she ignored it.

"I guess I could," she whispered.

Somehow he knew that it would be awkward for her to reach across the bed to touch him. He bounced, somehow, landing on his back right beside her while reaching for the pillow with both big hands and stuffing it behind his head. He put his hands beside his hips, and his right one landed on her thigh.

All she had to do was reach for it, and then there it was, in her hand, throbbing like it had earlier, feeling so very normal for such an abnormal thing. Her hand slid loosely up, tightened, and then pushed downward. She watched the foreskin slide effortlessly off the big purple knob of the tip. As her hand rode back up, the knob disappeared, almost as if by magic.

"Oh yeah," he sighed. "I don't know why it feels so different, or so much better, but it does."

"Yes it does," she said, her voice a little dazed.

As she thought about it later, Angela was sure it would have all worked out flawlessly but for one small problem. Never having done this before, she didn't know HOW to do it properly, or at least efficiently. That became clear when, after five ... then ten ... and finally an exhausting fifteen minutes, it simply didn't erupt like it was supposed to.

Not that he complained. He wasn't unhappy. That much was obvious too. He wiggled and squirmed and told her many times how wonderful she was making him feel.

Another thing she was figured out later was what small pebble moved that resulted in the avalanche she suddenly found herself buried in. It was his comment "I wish there was something I could do to make you feel this good too!"

What happened after that was something that had transpired so quickly that she could scarcely parse out the individual parts. Somehow she had ended up lying beside him, her robe open and her hand on his, guiding it between her legs. She was quite sure she had told him what to do, but could not, for the life of her, remember actually saying the words. What she COULD remember was his thick finger penetrating her, and the insane joy that caused. It would not be until much later that they would discover that, in the excitement of her own orgasm, her hand on his prick sped up, and finally coaxed his gift from his balls.

The outcome was as spectacular as the one earlier that had caused so much embarrassment. But it was memorable in different ways that would resonate with them both for a long, long time. He was lying on the towel that was supposed to catch his issue. When he spurted, his prick was between them, and he painted her breasts, abdomen and chin with his thick spunk. She felt the heat of it, but the zings of her own completion were more important at the moment.

It wasn't until they had slowed, both spent, and were catching their breath, that she regained her senses.

Her feelings then were a complicated mixture of acknowledgement that something important had happened, mixed with horror, embarrassment, gratitude and even sadness that it had happened so fast that she couldn't remember nearly as much of it as she wanted to.

Unable to cope, she simply got up and ran to the bathroom, turning on the shower and jumping in to wash his fluids off her body.

In her defense, it is unlikely that anyone in her situation would be likely to remember the fact that this man was both used to and perfectly comfortable bathing with a member of the opposite sex.

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