Rural Raunch

The following is a work of erotic fiction meant to be enjoyed by a mature audience. Any similitary between these characters and a living (or dead) person is purely coincidental. Please respect the author's wishes and do not copy or distribute this story.

The old pick up with its rusted body, cracked windshield and overloaded bed kicked up a cloud of dust as it rolled off the two lane highway into the unpaved lot, depositing a film of silt on the vehicles parked there. Mac’s, as the establishment was named, was doing a fairly good business for happy hour. In fact, the past few weeks he’d driven by, business seemed to have picked up considerably. This was surprising, considering the fact that not much happened in this dot-on-the-map mid-western town. The old ramshackle structure looked as though the next strong wind might take it away into the flat plains, but Mac’s, like the rest of the shacks in this one horse town always somehow survived the elements of nature.

It was a long, rectangular structure. One side of the interior housed a good-ole boys bar; the other a restaurant serving fairly decent diner grub. Friday and Saturday nights brought out the locals from town just a short spell down the highway. By nine the restaurant business was non-existent while those end-of-week workers interested in getting their drink on claimed a stool---sometimes a table---in the smoky bar. Mac kept the place open until the last drunk had his fill, more than once allowing a local to sleep it off on the cot he kept in his back office.

Mac was born and raised in town, never venturing far from the county line. He’d taken over the business from his pop, Mac Sr., when the old man kicked off near ten years ago. Mac was an amiable sort, by now somewhere in his mid-to-late forties, who knew just about everybody in town. It wasn’t such a hard thing, since the population wasn’t all that grand. He was married once, a long time ago. Rumor had it Cara, the bride, wanted out of this shithole town and eventually packed herself a bag and boarded the bus, which stopped in town proper twice a week, without so much as a word to poor Mac.

Old Mac wasn’t a bad looking sort, even for a man of his years, and probably could easily have had himself some new pussy in no time at all. But, face it; there wasn’t much to choose from in this small hick town. He more or less resembled one of those cowboys on those old television westerns they received on channel 3. He still had a head of thick, salt and pepper hair parted dead center, falling down over his ears and to the nape of his neck. His face was weathered, but handsomely so, with some deep creases like any other cowboy who spent most of his life out on the range. Truth was Mac had never even been on a horse. But before Pops died he worked for years on the county road maintenance crew, toiling under the hot sun while stripped to the waist. The work had left him with a strong body. All these years later his arms were still strong, his forearms thick and corded and his gut curved outward but not flabby.

All eyes went to the door when it bounded inward to allow another patron, the driver of the old pick up. Mac nodded at the familiar figure that strode over to the beaten mahogany bar and sat his ass down on one patched swivel stool. Mac drew a draft from the tap into an icy mug and slid it on down to his customer.

“Done for the day?” he asked in his deep, gravelly voice.

“Ayup,” responded Delmont Ashford, taking a draw of the soothing brew. “Got damn but that surely do taste good.”

“Hard day at the plant?” Mac inquired good-naturedly as he leaned his weight on one hairy forearm on the nicked, but polished, bar.

“Ev’ry day’s a hard day down at the got damn plant,” Delmont told him, and certainly not for the first time. “An’ these young pissants they bring down from up north ain’t no help a’tall. I swear, Mac, this young gen’ration is dumber ‘n a box of worms.”

One corner of Mac’s lips turned up in a smirk. Delmont was always besmirching youth, regardless of their race, religion or gender. Truth of the matter, Delmont Ashford more than likely had an IQ lower than the entire lot. During his long winded tirades about the ignorance of youth he often forgot that he himself had a teen-age son at home.

Like Mac, Delmont was a life-long resident, born in the very same dilapidated shack where he still resided with his boy, Tucker. In fact, his Pappy and Grand Pappy lived just a short distance away in an eye sore of a trailer. And his no-account moonshinin' younger brothers bunked in an equally barely habitable place somewhere deep in the woods---when one, the other or both wasn't occupying the town's lone jail cell. Tucker’s mama, Earlyne, had taken off years ago with, as Delmont was quick to tell, “that got damned, long haired, tattooed biker,” appropriately named Snake for all the serpent art on his body.

Delmont Ashford was an old thirty-six, knocking up Earlyne when he was only eighteen, coincidentally the same age his boy was now. He was a big man who liked his beer, his cigars and his meals. No one would ever accuse him of being a looker with his big floppy ears, hound dog face and thick, drooping lower lip, but he wasn’t exactly butt ugly either. He carelessly combed his dark hair straight back from his brow and behind his ears, giving him a 60s greaser type of look. His big barreled belly was only offset by the strength of the rest of his body from years working at the steel mill three towns over. He embodied the stereotypical “hick” with bigoted attitudes, which he shared loudly, often resulting in a skirmish with an out-of-towner who had the misfortune of stopping at Bud’s for a piss and a bite to eat.

In contrast, Tucker was the complete opposite of his father. He had always been a good looking boy from the moment Earlyne popped him out of her oven, obviously inheriting his genes from mama’s side of the family. Whereas Del’s hair was nearly blue black, Tucker’s was sandy-colored, sheared short and close to the scalp as was the fashion these days with boys his age. His complexion was clear and creamy, not a dot on him, with a perfectly formed nose (unlike Del’s huge, alcoholic-red proboscis), soft sensual lips (unlike Del’s soup coolers) and eyes the color of a Spring sky. He excelled at athleticism in school, affording him a nice lean body with hints of teenage musculature on his 5’10” frame. While he certainly wasn’t the brightest student in his Senior class, he got by with average grades, which was a lot more than Del could ever claim.

A hearty slap on the back caused Del to look past Bud into the long, smoky mirror on the wall behind the bar. Swiveling on his stool he turned to face the newcomer and extended a big calloused paw.

“Owen Talbot, you old sum bitch,” he greeted boisterously. “What brings you down here with us common folk?”

The other man smiled widely, his eyes knowingly averting to Bud, then back again. “I could ask the same thing of you, Del. It’s unusual to see you here this time of day.”

“Could say the same thing of you, Talbot. Shouldn’t you be sittin’ up there behind your desk at the town hall figurin’ how you’re gonna save this shithole of a town?”

Owen continued to smile through the stinging remark. He slapped a hand on Delmont’s shoulder and squeezed good naturedly. “Same old cynical Del as in high school,” he quipped, and then added, “but, that’s right, you didn’t graduate, did you?”

“Some of us had to go off and make a livin’,” Del responded pointedly, well aware of the politician’s slight. “Some of us didn’t have a Mammy and Pappy to wipe our snot nose for us.”

Sensing potential trouble, Mac stood upright behind the bar. Owen certainly wasn’t the type to engage in physical contact but with Del one never knew. But Owen was smiling widely, that same shit-eating smile which had probably won him the mayoral election a few years back. Owen good naturedly slapped Del on his broad back once more, squeezed a strong shoulder and looked to Mac. “Get my buddy Del here another beer, Mac. On me.”

“Well, thank you kindly, Owen. Don’t mind if I do,” Del guffawed. “How ‘bout you join me.”

“No can do, Del. I’ve got some, um, business to attend to,” the other man replied. The look between the politician and barkeep was lost on Delmont.

Owen Talbot was only a year younger than Delmont, but the physical differences between them were vast. Owen was something of what they called a dandy, always neat in dress and appearance. Today he sported one of his favorite pin-striped suits, offset by a crisply starched white shirt and conservative tie, the jacket removed and resting across one forearm. His attractive face always seemed nicely tanned, his auburn hair parted to one side, cut short and rarely out of place and his teeth so even and pearly white they seemed to sparkle. If he hadn’t been a local politician he could easily have been a lucrative con man although, perhaps, the two were one and the same thing.

“Here’s to ya, Owen,” Delmont said loudly as he raised his frothy mug. “Lotsa luck come election time. Maybe I’ll be runnin’ against ya.”

Owen laughed good naturedly. “Now that would certainly make for an interesting ballot.” Glancing at his expensive gold watch he offered a manicured hand to Del, telling him, “Just about appointment time, Del. Always a pleasure to see you. Sit here and enjoy your beer. In fact,” throwing a few bills on the bar, “have another.”

“Well, that’s mighty nice of you, Owen,” Del bellowed while pumping Owen’s hand in his work worn paw. “See you around. Say hey to your wife and boys for me.”

“I’ll be sure to do that, Del.” But the Mayor’s eyes were locked with Macs. He turned on his shiny brown Oxfords, made for the vestibule separating bar from restaurant and, with a quick look over his shoulder, made an abrupt turn toward the rest rooms.

All this was lost on Del, who was well into his second beer and debating Owen’s successes---or failures---as town Mayor with a seemingly attentive Mac. Soon they were joined by Huck Weathers, a grizzly truck driver just in from a long haul. Mac had taken leave of the two to serve customers at the other end of the bar when his attention was drawn to the entrance door. The newcomer tarried not a moment in the vestibule, instead hurriedly making his way back to the toilets.

This new arrival, quick as he may have been, didn’t escape Del’s eye as he happened to glance into the long mirror behind the bar and spotted the sprinter. He jerked his head over to the vestibule which was now occupied by an exiting Mabel Thomson and her ugly-as-sin daughter Velma, who had just finished their late afternoon luncheon.

“Did you see that, Huck?” he asked, dumbfounded.

“See what, Del?”

“I could swear I just seen my boy, Tucker, right there in the mirror!” he exclaimed.

“Naw, I ain’t seen nothin’, Del,” the bushy-bearded trucker slowly drawled with a conspiratorial look at Mac, who had hastily rejoined them.

“Now what would young Tucker be doing all the way out here?” Mac asked convincingly while he drew another beer from the tap and laid it before Del. “Here, have yourself another, although if you’re seeing things, maybe this should be your last.” Still uncertain, Del glanced at the entry again before picking up the mug and taking a long, satisfying draw of the refreshing beverage. Mac and Huck did their best to engage the confused man into conversation but Del remained distracted.

He heard their unrelenting banter about sports, the crazy world of politics and local goings on, but he couldn’t get the image he’d seen in that smoky mirror out of his head. It hadn’t been some kind of a phantom image. For the briefest of moments he had seen his good looking, athletic only son. Cripes, he’d only had a fucking beer or two. He couldn’t have imagined Tucker being there. And he couldn’t imagine why Mac, Huck or anyone else would try to convince him otherwise. Suddenly seemed to him like they were doing all they could to distract him.

Absorbed with the compulsion to find that the boy was exactly where he was supposed to be on this fine afternoon, Del got up from the stool. Huck’s big hand was quickly on his shoulder, pushing him back down. But Del was not about to be detained.

“Del, ole’ buddy, where you goin’ in such a rush?” Mac was cajoling him. “Haven’t even finished your beer yet.”

“Gotta get on home,” Del replied distractedly. “Check on Tucker.”

Mac looked to Huck; Huck looked to Mac, who nodded agreement. Del hefted himself off the stool, said his good days, burped loudly and headed out of the establishment.

“Shee-it, that was fuckin’ close,” Huck whistled after the door closed behind Del.

“Closest we’ve come,” Mac agreed, clearing Del’s abandoned spot at the bar, glancing toward the vestibule and the rest rooms beyond.

Del trod down the few steps out into the parking lot, wondering again why in hell Mac didn’t ante up the cash to pave the got damned place. He hauled himself up into the worn seat of the old pick up, turned the key in the ignition and was about to set off for home when the sight hit him. There, leaning near the entrance of the clapboard establishment was a bicycle. Not just any bicycle. It was the Christmas present him, his Pa and Grandpa had given to Tucker two seasons ago. No matter what the other two said, it wasn’t his imagination. Indeed, he had seen Tucker go into the shithole place!

Filled now with a sense of rage at the proprietor and trucker Del plopped down out of the cab, angrily slamming the door behind him, sending bits of rust onto the dirt lot. Pulling up his jeans he determinedly trotted back to the place, yanked open the door looking first into the bar and then into the diner. No Tucker. Looking straight ahead at the johns, and thinking of no other place where his son might have gone, Del advanced on the men’s room.

Having seen Del’s return, Mac informed Huck, who worriedly got up off his stool and joined the other man in their pursuit. But it was too late. Del had already barged into the latrine.

The small bathroom with one stall, urinal, and sink, was dingy but surprisingly clean, despite the ever-present hint of urine which made Del’s hairy nostrils flare. But his eyes bulged even wider than his schnozzle as he witnessed young Tucker with his t-shirt pulled up under his armpits, shorts stretched around his wide-spread ankles, hands gripping the edges of the white porcelain sink while Owen Talbot fucked his firm young ass. Talbot was still wearing his lily white shirt, but his jacket had been tossed over a wall of the toilet stall and his expensive pin-striped slacks were pooled around his ankles. His manicured hands were holding Tucker by his youthful, dimpled hips while he speared his hard rod in and out of the kid’s tight butt hole.

They were too busy fucking like rabbits to have been aware of the intrusion but once the door swung back hard and hit the chipped tiled wall when Mac and Buck came bounding in, both Talbot and Tucker looked into the cracked mirror in front of them and saw their company. The newcomers grasped Del, one on each side, under an arm to hold the big man back. Although he’d been caught red-handed by the boy’s father, Talbot couldn’t seem to stop slamming his dick into the teen’s luscious asshole.

“Got damn it, Tucker!” Del bellowed, “With Owen Talbot, of all people?”

“S-sorry, Daddy,” the good looking boy grunted between Talbot’s fevered thrusts, his dreamy sky-blue eyes fixed on his struggling father in the mirror.

“What’s the matter, boy? Ain’t you been gettin’ enough at home?” Everyone in the small john froze. Even Talbot, although his dick remained lodged ball’s deep up the young athlete’s fuck hole.

“What are you saying, Del?” Mac managed incredulously. “Have you been fucking your boy?”

Del puffed up his chest proudly. “Ever since he was sixteen. And not jus’ me. My Pa and Grandpa, too. The boy’s just like his mama, a whore for cock. And afore any of you get any ideas about calling Sheriff Beaufort, it’s all legal so long as he----what did you call that, Tucker?”

“Consents,” Tucker replied sheepishly.

“That’s it!” Del shouted excitedly. “At sixteen he can consent. Consent, hell! It’s not like none of us asked him for it. That boy was so hot for a dick up his ass that he come after us!”

Mac looked at Huck, Huck at Mac and both shook their heads in disbelief. Talbot stood there, still in fuck position, with his jaw just about dropping to the floor. His dick pulsed excitedly in Tucker’s warm, juicy hole at the thought of a hillbilly oaf like Del banging a hot young thing like Tucker.

“Well, Tuck’s eighteen now, ain’t you boy?” the bushy-bearded Huck announced as he loosened his grip on Del. “Made darned sure of that a few months ago when I first fucked him in the back of my rig.”

“You fucked my boy, Huck?” Del asked, surprised. “Well, I’ll be a sumbitch!”

“Now don’t be getting yourself all worked up, Del,” Mac chided, releasing his arm. With a friendly squeeze to his big shoulder he added, “Owen and Huck ain’t the only ones. I’ve been fuckin’ the boy, myself.”

“Well, shee-it!” Del slapped a calloused paw to his forehead. “No wonder his cunt seems sloppy inside. I just figgered he was with one or t’other of his Grandpas before he crawled up all over me. But it was prob’ly one of you's three’s loads up in the boy.” Looking across at Tucker, who appeared as if he didn’t know where to turn, he asked, “Who in tarnation else have you been fuckin’ around with, boy?”

“Jeez, Del, really?” the frustrated teen sighed.

Del shook a fat finger at him. “Don’t you worry none. When we get home and you’re bouncin’ up ‘n down on Daddy’s meat you’re gonna tell me all about ‘em. Ev’ry last one, cos I’m sure these three ain’t the only ones. Now, what’s one of the lessons Daddy taught you?”

Tucker looked over his shoulder in exasperation. “Jeez, Del, I’m not really in a position to think about your lessons right now.”

Del looked from Mac to Huck. “I taught that boy early on that when he starts somethin’ he’s gotta finish it.” Then, to Tucker, “Well it looks like you done started somethin’ here, son, so you better got damned well finish!”

Owen’s slick seven inches lodged up inside him, throbbing against his sensitive prostate, caused the teen to whimper. Chewing on his lush lower lip, he managed, “Okay, Del. Go have yourself a beer.”

Del’s bushy eyebrows shot up and he shook his head from side to side. “Nuh uh, boy. I don’t trust this fast talkin’, no account politician. I got to keep my eye on him. Yes, I surely do.”

With one corner of his mouth turned up amusedly Owen leaned in over the boy’s smooth exposed back, nipped at one of Tucker’s ear lobes and whispered, but loud enough so the others could hear, “It’s alright. I want to fuck that sweet, tight ass of yours in front of your Daddy. Besides,” he added, purposely running his hands along the teen’s trim flanks and under his flat belly, “it’s kind of hot having an audience.”

Del clenched and unclenched his balled fists as he observed Talbot manhandle his son. And when the sharp dressing peacock dug his manicured hand in Tuck’s hair, pulled his head back and mashed their mouths together Del felt his blood pressure reach the boiling point. Owen kissed Tucker like they were lovers. And Tucker was kissing him back, actually moaning into Talbot’s open mouth. Owen’s free hand was riding up the boy’s torso, cupping the swell of his pecs and toying with those gum-drum titties Del so liked to suckle. And then his hips began to move, slowly pulling his rigid cock from deep in Tucker’s bowels and then gliding it back up again. As he fondled, fucked and tongue wrestled the sexed-up teen Owen purposely locked eyes with Del, satisfied by the furious reaction he saw.

If it had been Mac or Huck, or any of the other good ole boys in town, fucking his high school age son right there in front of him Del wouldn’t have minded near as much as he did a snake like Owen Talbot. The fucker had taunted him ever since they were young, always making Del aware of their drastically different status in life. In school, when we went, Talbot and his equally haughty group of friends poked fun at him every opportunity they got. Not that Del took it lightly. He was quick to fly off the handle and got in more than one skirmish with Talbot and Co. resulting in disciplinary action. Funny how he was always the one to get the blame and Talbot, as always, walked away unscathed. It was something of a wonder that here, in the next generation, Tucker was friends with Talbot’s twin sons, all of them teammates at one sport or another in the same school Del and Owen had attended two towns over. The young Talbots were fresh faced and good looking just like their damned father who now, at this very moment, was more aggressively driving his man cock in and out of Tucker’s juicy pussy. Despite his long standing resentment of the other man Del suddenly realized he was sporting an erection!

Owen bored into Tucker’s always-ravenous hole, thrilled by the sensations the teen’s ass guts brought to his swollen prick. For a relative novice young Tucker took to cock better than any Talbot had sampled before. With his looks and charm, there had been quite a few. Starting at fourteen, with the widow Brammer that summer afternoon while making collection for his newspaper run, Owen had known how to use his piece. In high school he’d done most of the cool girls and fucked his way through college before settling down in the old home town. He hadn’t really had much choice. Rebecca Carver was pregnant, he was the father and, in this small town, there was no getting away from his responsibility. Thankfully she wasn’t trash like the Ashford's, was pretty enough and came from a decent family. Although she adored him Owen didn’t really love her. But, at strong urging from both families, he did the right thing and married her before a Justice of the Peace. A few short months later she gave birth to not one, but two, bouncing baby boys. Marriage and fatherhood, however, did not stop Owen’s philandering ways. At home he played the devoted husband and father, but his dalliances were another thing, indeed. His small insurance business in a town slightly over an hour away provided him with ample opportunity for discretionary sex.

From early on Talbot had shown interest in a political career. He had taken all the right courses in college and envisioned himself one day as Senator, perhaps even President of these United States. But life in his small hometown didn’t offer much of a future for an aspiring politician. Rebecca stolidly refused to leave her parents when he suggested relocating to the big city. Not like they were loaded but, like his folks, the Carvers were financially quite comfortable. And Owen, who enjoyed living above his means, felt no compulsion to disrupt the potential cash flow.

So, with his forties and mid-life fast encroaching Talbot decided on the next best thing: local government. He was a shoo-in for the mayoral seat. The reigning incumbent was seventy-something and knocking at heaven’s door, whereas Owen was known and well-liked by most residents. He had just enough of what it took to make a big splash in a small town. In the beginning he seemed determined to raise their one-horse town out of the dust, tossing around a series of innovative ideas to bring industry and jobs into town. But he was dealing with stubborn and under-educated locals who resented change. In order to seek re-election for another term he had to outwardly play by their rules but secretly work behind the scenes at making their town, and lives, better. Owen was a master at duplicity.

He’d casually observed Delmont’s son when he attended his own son’s high school sport events. It was somewhat of a surprise that an oaf like Del had sired a boy who could rival his own sons. Yet it wasn’t until a few short months ago that he really took notice of young Tucker. All their friends from school attended Rick and Roy’s eighteenth birthday celebration in the family’s back yard, including Del’s handsome boy. Owen tended to the barbeque while Rebecca and one or two of the other mother’s dealt with catering and clean up. The young crowd frolicked in the in-ground pool, the only such one in town, or played horseshoes while they listened to their favorite tunes booming from the speakers around the yard.

At the pivotal point young Tucker, fresh from the pool, approached the barbeque for a burger. He was dripping wet, his swim trunks clinging to his trim, toned body and showing a healthy bulge. Owen found himself nervously appreciative of the sheer beauty and budding sexuality of the teen. Nevertheless, Owen good naturedly allowed how he had gone to school with the boy’s father. He was taken aback by the deep, rich baritone of Tucker’s voice when he responded, his tone reeking of teenage testosterone. Owen scraped a burger off the grill, deposited it on a bun and handed it to Tucker when he suddenly realized the boy was staring directly at his crotch! Tucker looked up into Owen’s eyes, took the meal offering and smiled. Owen had never seen eyes as blue and inviting as those of the boy. Then, just as he had decided he’d misinterpreted the teen’s actions, Tucker’s eyes raked down Owen’s bare-chested torso and rested on his crotch once again. His tongue snaked out along his lips; he looked back up at Owen, winked and trod off.

It was only a matter of days later he had Tucker spread out over the hood of his car in a secluded glen just barely within the town limits fucking his ass for the first time. In all his thirty five years Owen had never considered fucking around with another guy, let alone an eighteen year old boy. Cripes, it was almost like rutting ome of his sons! But Tucker had triggered something in his libido that day out by the pool and Owen hadn’t been able to stop thinking about that smooth contoured body, those cornflower-blue eyes and full, succulent lips since the day of the party. They were barely out of the car before Tucker was yanking down his fly, hauling out his cock and slurping it down his throat. Owen came a record three times on their first outing: less than three minutes into that initial blow job, up the kid’s ass during the fucking and again in his mouth when Tucker deigned to clean him off afterwards.

Since that time there had been no one else for Owen Talbot. He thought about the boy day and night. Tucker was the ultimate find. He had a mouth like a wet vacuum and an inexplicable asshole. Owen truly believed the boy’s hole was part pussy---soft warm and juicy--and part ass---tight and clenching. Knowing it was Delmont Ashford’s son he was fucking only added to his perverse pleasure. Until now it was a secret he’d kept, the same as the one he’d never revealed about Del’s wife.

Earlyne was a pretty thing before she married Del. Owen could never understand why she’d settled for a bumpkin like Delmont. Even after years of marriage she was still attractive enough, although somewhat hardened and a bit meatier in the hips. Once Tucker was in school and, with Del off to work all day, she became the town whore, a fact to which Delmont was not privy. She hung out at Mac’s most days picking up the casual trucker or two riding through town before high tailing it home to have dinner on the table for her husband. Owen was the ultimate prize when she managed to snare---and hold on to---him, at least for a little while. Earlyne had no qualms about taking it up the ass. And, despite their different statuses in life, Owen was entranced.

He’d fucked Del’s wife. He was fucking Del’s son. Right in front of him. He knew Del didn’t care much for him. It must be burning Del’s ass to witness Owen’s wet cock plunging in and out of Tucker’s delectable asshole. He was consumed with the desire to take things to a new level and really give Del something to seethe about. Owen wasn’t much afraid of Del getting physical on him. Mac and Huck were big, strong guys and would manage to hold him back from kicking Owen’s ass. Unless, of course, they had a beef with the sleazy Mayor and wanted to see him get his ass whooped. They would be hypocrites, of course, considering the other afternoon when all three of them gang banged the boy in the back room of Mac’s.

Directing a sinister smile at Del, Owen took Tucker by the hips, spun him around and lifted him onto the porcelain sink. Reaching under the boy’s thighs, he scooted him forward so his pretty ass was off the edge, his athletic legs lifted and parted and the back of his head resting against the cracked mirror. Reintroducing his perfectly arced meat to the boy’s pulsing hole Owen roughly slammed it home eliciting a painful whimper, not from Tucker but from Del. Owen began heaving back and forth, rudely punching his full length in and out of the lusty teen. His pendulous ball bag swung to and fro as he vigorously rammed the boy with real fervor. Tucker felt so good inside, unlike anything Owen had ever sunk his dick into before. His ass was gloriously warm and pleasurably moist, its interior a quivering mass of active membranes hungrily clutching Owen’s battering dick. Small grunts slipped from between the kid’s pretty pink lips each time Owen rammed him. Already noticeably handsome, his features were even more blissful, even angelic, as he took dick like a true pro. Those hands which had miraculously caught the long pass last season which had won a pivotal game were now running up under Owen’s starched shirt and toying with his man tits. Sighing heavily, Owen threw back his head and crushed his pubes against the boy’s smooth hind.

Del stood there stewing in his own juices watching his son’s hot young body being plundered by his nemesis, Owen Fucking Talbot. He would rather almost anyone else, even them Nigroids down at the filling station, than the slimy Mayor. Owen was movie star handsome with perfect hair, perfect teeth, perfect nose, perfectly toned body and, from what Del could tell, a perfect dick. He had always been a burr between Del’s ass cheeks. But, despite his loathing of the other man, Del stood there transfixed with a blazing erection tenting the crotch of his jeans. The way Owen positioned them he could easily see the boy’s face over the got damned Mayor’s shoulder. Del could read that same look of utter rapture every time he fucked the insatiable boy---or when they engaged in their standard Saturday night family foursome.

Owen was certainly fucking up a storm, his sweaty balls showing signs of tightening up between his thighs. Del’s eyes narrowed as he gazed at Talbot’s ass with its pair of, you guessed it, perfect butt cheeks. Del smacked his soup coolers together, thinking how he’d like to get up there, shove his cock up Talbot’s perfect ass and really show him what for. Taking out years of pent up anger on the man’s asshole would be a fitting revenge. Del’s cock pulsed excitedly at the thought.

Suddenly conscious of his tumescence Del turned his head from side to side to determine if Mac or Huck had noticed and discovered them in a similar state of arousal. Mac’s shaft clearly showed crawling up to the right under his pants. The hand buried deep in the pocket to that side was squeezing his excited erection. And Huck, that grizzled bear, had hauled his fat boy out into the open and was stroking it in his hairy knuckled fist. Huck’s dark meat was big around as a bottle of Bud with a huge, dripping snout atop. His cock sprouted out from a wealth of wiry, tangled crotch hair. It seemed all of them, himself included, were turned on by the spectacle of Tucker being power fucked.

The sudden sound of Talbot chugging like that locomotive that years ago used to run through town caused Del to refocus. From the sounds of him Del knew the despicable man was close to getting his nut. No longer so damned perfect, Owen glistened with his own sweat, droplets of it raining down on Tucker’s gyrating torso and the armpits of his dress shirt soiled with perspiration. His breathing came faster and faster from a mouth that was comically agape. He threw back his head and his eyes rolled upward. From the image in the mirror Del could have sworn the man was taking a heart attack!

Tucker was yanking on Talbot’s teats under his wrecked shirt and bucking himself up against the man’s still-pounding groin. “Gimme that fuckin’ load!” he demanded.

Del snapped to attention. “Don’t you be unloadin’ your nuts inside my boy, Owen Talbot!” he shouted as Mac and Huck once again held him back.

But it was too late anyway. With a deep, guttural cry Owen buried himself ball’s deep in Tucker’s rapidly milking pussy and unleashed his seed. His prick convulsed with one great spasm after another, flooding the teen’s insides with rich, thick jism. Tucker worked his fuck channel to caress and squeeze the heavily squirting member until he’d managed to siphon every last bit of cum from it. Totally spent, Talbot fell forward, smacking his hands up against the wall to either side of the mirror as he hovered over the boy. Their mouths met and they kissed hungrily, Owen breathing hot and heavy into Tucker’s maw.

“Lemme go! Lemme go!” Del commanded as he wrestled free of the other two. “I ain’t gonna do nuthin’. Just lemme go!”

With one last quick kiss and a wink at the boy Owen came up off Tucker, slowly withdrawing his cock from deep in the boy’s body in the process. Still mainly hard, as he often was after a session with the sexy teen, he went for a handful of paper towels to wipe clean his manhood. Tucker came up on his elbows to observe the goings on in the small bathroom with his legs still raised and wide open. It was a lewd scene, made even more so by the trickle of cum which lazily leaked from his still-pulsing ass lips.

“Got damn you, Talbot!” Del raged. “Now I’m gonna hafta give him a enema when we get home to wash your filthy load outta him!”

Owen smiled snidely as he tucked himself into his slacks and zipped up. “It’s not the first time Tucker’s gone home with my load up inside him. Just the first one that you know about. Isn’t that right, Tucker?”

Tucker nodded and looked at him through sex glazed eyes, almost making Talbot want to unzip and go at him again. Over the past few months he’d learned Tucker truly was insatiable. Only last week the boy had gotten him off multiple times down alongside Johnson’s Pond at midday right out in the open. If Old Man Johnson had caught them he’d have set his dog loose on them, then scored their hides with buckshot.

Talbot finished making himself as presentable as possible under the circumstances. “It’s been a pleasure gentlemen but I must take leave.” To Tucker, “See you soon, Tuck.”

Tucker smiled and nodded. Del fumed. Owen slung his suit jacket over one shoulder and sauntered towards the door but first stopped directly in front of Del. “Always a pleasure having your company, Del.” Suddenly his eyes caught sight of the protrusion in Del’s jeans. Smiling he reached out to squeeze the mound. His clean, sweet breath washed over Del’s face as he said, “Seems like you enjoyed watching, Del. You’re welcome to stop in for another show anytime.”

Del stood there flabbergasted by Owen’s bold move until after the man had departed. He looked to Mac, then Huck, swallowed hard and set his attentions on Tucker.

“G-get yourself dressed, boy. We’re goin’ home and havin’ ourselves a little talk.”

“Now hold on just one little minute there. “ It was Huck. “I drove my rig by this way for one reason and one reason only. It’s my turn to dick the boy.” With his junk already exposed Huck was determinedly yanking off his flannel shirt.

Del slapped a hand to his forehead. “Got damn! I’ve got me a true to life whore under my roof! Well, go on, Huck. Get you your nut.”

“Thanks Del,” the heavily bearded trucker smiled, revealing teeth stained by chewing tobacco and one missing molar. “But I was gonna get him one way or t'other.” Dropping trou and boxers he shuffled over to naked Tucker, who had his hands on his ass cheeks holding his dripping hole open for the newcomer’s entry.

The contrast between them was shocking. Tucker was a toned, smooth bodied youth and Huck was a beast. Big bodied, big bellied and abundantly hairy, he more resembled canine than human. Tufts of hair sprouted out from the neckline of the yellowed wife beater t-shirt stretched tight over a beer belly. His arms, back, legs, even his ass was a pelt of thick and dark swirling hairs. His eyebrows were grotesquely bushy and hairs even sprouted from thick nostrils and droopy ear lobes. A jungle grew over his crotch, coated the huge dangling nut sac and even grew half way up his super-thick cock shaft. Adding to the werewolf illusion was an abundantly large, apple-sized purplish cock head which, once inside pussy, knotted like a dog's and wouldn’t release until after he’d cum.

Tucker was positively shivering with excitement when the big, scary thing brushed against his wet anal lips. From past experience he knew the initial insertion would hurt like hell, but once the beastly thing was in him and rutting like an animal's it would get him off several times before Huck shot inside him, comingling the hound’s cum with Owen Talbot’s always-abundant load. Del watched awestruck as Huck worked his dong into a heavily panting, squealing Tucker. Unable to control himself any longer he yanked down his zip and hauled out his straining erection. Wrapping both fists around it he began to stroke.

Mac’s eyes bulged. “Holy fuck, Del! No wonder the kid’s so broken in! How much are you packin’ there?”

Del grinned proudly. “Little over a foot long, Mac. Same as my Pappy and same as his. Big and thick, that’s how the Ashford men grow. I guess Tucker there takes after his Mama’s side of the family. Unless he’s still growin’ into it.”

Dominant genes from Earlyne’s clan were a blessing for young Tucker, Mac thought. The Ashford's might be superbly hung, but they were an ugly bunch. And, like everything else about him, Tucker had a nicely sized appendage. Mac easily recalled the first time the boy had come on to him. It was just a few days after his eighteenth. Mac would never have thought the high school jock would swing on cock. But Tucker quickly proved him wrong. Tucker turned out to be an awesome fuck that first time on a cot in the back room. Since then the boy had been stopping by regularly. He was an adventurous sort. It was something of a kick when Tucker concealed himself under the bar and sucked Mac to orgasm with an unsuspecting room full of customers. Oh, the things Del didn’t know!

Huck was really giving it to the boy now. And Tucker was in pig heaven. Del was watching with drool leaking from the corners of his fat lips as he stroked his gigantic prick. Shrugging his shoulders Mac decided he might as well join in the fun. Releasing his nicely sized prick he took it in hand and began to massage his meat, just to keep it primed.

For, once Huck was finished, he planned to be next.