307 River Road

307 River Road

Out among the tall straight pines and sprawling ancient oaks trees that canopy the river and the many country roads, he lives, along with a few others on a desolate and long, lonely country road out among the pine barrens. He wants solitude and to commune in harmony with nature at his own leisure. And walk in the way that Adam intended.

The sound of barking dogs rouses him from his night of carnal slumber. He yanks back the sheet that is covering him. He pops up, in haste, and plants his bare feet firmly onto the small rug covering the wooden floor in front of his bedside. The cool air of his home wakes him instantly as the light from the digital clock atop the bedside table glares at him. The clock reads 3:17 a.m. It is the hour of the witch.

The barking dogs, his four, are getting louder and louder from the interior of the other room. But he is halted by his stiffness from his sleep. He stretches, briefly, trying to loosen his stiffened muscles from his broken sleep.

He rakes his right hand through the dense fur that blankets his chest. He can feel the definition of his hard-earned pectoral muscles. He tweaks his sensitive left nipple which sends a pulse throughout his body. He can feel his cock jump at the same time as he had fondled his bare nipple. It felt good. Damn good.

This same hand goes down to his naked hairy crotch. He is hard. Rock hard. Steel hard. Piercing hard. He lets his fingers glide along the length of this stiff erection. His erotic dream was interrupted; his cock was plunging deep into the tight backside of a local college quarterback. His hand once again goes to his aching erection. He needs relief from its glorious pangs. A mouth or a wet hole will suffice. He squeezes his cock as a droplet of his clear cream escapes from his piss-hole. But his relief will have to wait.

The dogs were still barking the seconds as he surveyed his naked nighttime body. He grabs for the cold steel of the double-barrel shotgun leaning against the wall next to his bedside table. And takes it into his hands. He does not turn on his lamp. He can see fine in the partial darkness. The moon glaring through the bedroom window illuminates his way.

He walks into the living room just off his bedroom. There is a light from a flashlight darting through the emptiness of the vacant room. It shines on the television set against the wall and then away from it and then back to the silent screen of the television.

The dogs are at the front door and the window closest to it. The same one in which the flashlight light bathed throughout the room. Two are in front of the window and two are at the closed front door. They are good dogs and are proving their worth at this very moment.

He massages his cock; this excitement and danger has fueled his erection even further into horniness. Drops of his healthy pre-cum are leaking like a spigot from his hard-on onto the floor. And the rifle in his hand has added another aspect to this existing situation. Protection. And erection. They rhyme. Gloriously. His cock throbs and pulses. With each heartbeat more blood feeds his raging erection. He is at the hardest he has been in a while.

He walks slowly to the door and within view of the window. The minutes are ticking away ever so quietly with each footstep he takes. Despite the dogs’ ongoing barking, he is at peace, in spite the of apparent danger that is presenting itself tonight.

The flashlight light continues to pierce the darkness of his living room, it seems to always return to the place of the silent television. He figures the burglar wants to steal his television set in the theft and is trying to figure out how to get to it.

He walks closer to the window; the dogs seem to quiet as he nears them. Panting quietly. There is an uneasy stillness. And the two of the dogs sit on the floor. At his closeness. The other two pant and wag their tails while they look to him for direction. He points the double-barrel shotgun towards the window and to the person outside of it. The next beam of light from the person outside the front window hits him in the face, and then, to his shotgun. And then to the hard-on which is pulsing and throbbing and bursting forth from his dense brown growth of his furry-filled groin. He can see a pistol drawn on him from the person outside the window. And from the face of the man who has drawn his revolver on him. He sees a patchwork of randomly placed freckles and a patch of red hair peeking out from underneath the person’s ballcap. The man is a ginger, the light from the moon reveals that much.

“Police! Police! Police!” yells the person standing on the front porch of his house. But he does not lower the revolver from the man yelling “police” at him, nor does he lower his shotgun. They are at a standstill. A draw. He does not feel safe enough to lower his rifle.

“Lower your rifle, sir. I told you I am the police.” The man yells from the outside. The police officer clearly means what he is saying. But he is hesitant to lower his shotgun, right away. He is unsure. It could be a trick.

He walks the few steps to the front door and opens it with one of his hands. “I am coming out. I am coming out.” He yells as he opens the door and steps over the threshold. The coolness of the night air sweeps over his bare-naked body. He can hear the dogs whimpering quietly, inside, behind him. He has not told them to “hush.” They did so on their own accord. He still has his rifle pointed out from his shoulders in case he needs to have it in such a way.

“Lower your rifle, sir. I’ve already told you I am the police. I am Deputy Howell. Deputy Vern Howell from the Sheriff’s Department.”

He can see the patrol car parked in his front yard. It is a sheriff’s deputy for his county. The man was not lying.

“Lower your pistol, Deputy.” He tells the man. “Lower yours and I’ll lower mine.”

Each man lowers their firearms in some sort of perverse exact timing. Deputy Howell holsters his pistol. And he lowers his double-barrel shotgun to his side while he keeps the barrels pointed downward.

“Would you mind putting on some clothes, sir.” Deputy Howell asks as he tries to look away, but he cannot, the man still has a loaded rifle nearby.

“You interrupted my dream. And this is my home. I’ll stay how I like.” He tells the deputy. He means it. This is his home. His castle. His domain.

His cock has not ceased leaking his pent-up juice. A steady stream of his pre-cum is puddling on the bare boards of the front porch in front of him. As it had done on his walk across his living room. His hard-on is aching more intensely now. He also notices the deputy is sporting quite an impressive bulge in his light brown deputy trousers.

“I see you are hard, too, officer. You got as excited as I did, didn’t you? It was the danger, wasn’t it?” He says to the deputy standing on the porch in the early morning hours. “My name is Mike Howard, by-the-way. Why are you here?”

Mike’s hand goes to his hard-on. He smears the leaking juice onto the engorged head of his cock. He leans the double-barrel shotgun against the side of the house behind the rocking chair closest to him and closes the front door of the house in one swift motion. The dogs are quiet. But the sense of danger has abated and something else is now happening.

“Sir, would you please stop doing that,” Deputy Howell says. “Now.”

“You interrupted my fucking dream. I was fucking a college boy’s tight little hole in my dream when you showed up, unexpectedly…,” Mike says. “Why doncha you take care of this?”

“Me?” Deputy Howell asks. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.” Mike says. “You are to service and protect, right?”

“That’s to serve and protect, sir.” Deputy Howell says as his hand goes to the bulge in his pants. He massages his hard-on with a free hand. The homeowner was right, the danger made him rock hard.

Howell unzips and fishes his cock out of his light brown trousers. He is as hard as Mike. And the ginger hairs encircle the younger man’s cock are in a fluff around his tool.

“That’s quite a cock, you have there, deputy. Now get your mouth over here and get onto this.” Mike squeezes and waves his cock about as his juices are flung from the pee-hole of his nine inches. Mike’s balls are achy and straining to contain all the man-juice inside both. He needs relief, now.

Deputy Howell takes Mike’s cock down to the hilt burying his nose in the dense fur at the homeowner’s root.

“Good boy! Good boy, you can take a man’s 9-inch tool, whole. Good…good boy!” Mike proclaims.

The deputy is frantic as he swallows him while he strokes his cock while he kneels in front of Mike on the darkened front porch. The deputy has knelt into the puddle of pre-cum that Mike had been leaking prior.

Mike places his hands, digging his fingers into the ginger curls on the deputy’s head as the county’s dark brown ballcap falls to the porch floor as Mike forces him down onto his cock. The deputy does not fight against Mike’s hold. He sucks harder.

“That’s right…that’s right. You are doing it, boy.” Mike continues and sighs as he is being swallowed.

The deputy begins to gag and sputter but does not cease with his sloppy slobbery blowjob. Mike can feel the pressure mounting in his cock and balls. It feels good.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Mike squeals as both of his balls are being emptied. Mike lifts his fingers from the curls of the deputy, but Deputy Howell does not move, he continues to take gulp after gulp of Mike’s seed down his throat. Deputy Howell drinks all Mike’s potent seed.

Mike shakes as his seed is delivered down the young deputy’s gullet.

“Now give me, yours.” Mikee orders. “I want it. All of it.”

The deputy rises. His cock stretching forth from the open zipper of his brown pants.

“I love the taste of ginger cum.” Mike says as he stoops down and the takes the many inches of the ginger-haired deputy into his mouth.

Mike’s nose is buried into the course fur around the young deputy’s cock.

It is not long. Minutes. Before the deputy explodes into Mike’s mouth. The sweetness of his load quenches Mike’s rabid lust for the moment. The deputy does not cry out but moans and groans, softly, as the seed expels from his ginger-furred cock. The young man can barely stand up, but he manages too, nonetheless.

Once the deputy has finished, Mike stands. Unaided. He wipes the few remaining drops of cum from the corner of his stubbled mouth.

“Waste not. Want not.” Mike proclaims. “You taste good, boy. Damn fucking good.”

The deputy leans against the wall, catching his balance, after such an outburst from his manhood.

It is Mike who breaks through the moment after the men’s carnal exchange and asks the pressing question.

“So, why are you here, Deputy? Tell me.”

“There was a report of a robbery at 703 River Road. This address. But I saw the TV inside. And all the dogs barking. You would have heard all the noise. The possible robbery. But I do not understand, this is the address the dispatcher gave me.” The deputy explains.

“First off, Deputy, this is 307 River Road. You have gone to the wrong address. You could have been killed tonight. And me too.” Mike says as anger wells within him, but he breathes in and out, calming himself.

“Sorry, ‘bout that. No harm done. Uhh.” The deputy exclaims nonchalantly as he begins to walk away. Hurriedly. He has made a grievous mistake.

“Deputy! Deputy!” Mike says loudly to the deputy now scurrying in the grass of his front yard.

“Yes, sir! Yes, sir!” The deputy pauses as he looks toward Mike on the porch. He must leave, go to the right place.

“You’d better put that wonderful cock away. And come back, anytime. I’ll gladly take care of that tool, again.” Mike tells him.

The deputy tucks his cock back into his light brown pants and zips them up as he opens the patrol car door.

“That was fun. And scary” Mike says as he begins to stroke his cock, once again. The vestiges of the deputy’s spittle fuel his jacking-off, again.

The deputy pulls away. The headlights from his car brushes across the naked homeowner Mike standing on the porch, who is steadily stroking his hard cock in the early morning air.

“That man tasted, good. I will be back.” The deputy says in the emptiness of the patrol car. He speeds away to 703 River Road. “My girlfriend does not suck as good as he does.”

Gravel and dirt are thrown up by the patrol car’s rear tires as Deputy Howell makes his way to the paved road and to the right address.