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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