Dumbo the Magnificent

The tines of the pitchfork rested on my chest, lightly dimpling two spots almost at my nipples. The center tine wouldn't reach, not unless he broke the skin with the other two. The bales of hay at my back were solid but scratchy and dusty making my back itch fiercely. I controlled my breathing, holding my chest still, letting my diaphragm work with my gut to inhale and exhale slowly, carefully.

"So, what'll it be, college boy? Going to give me a show, or not?" He poked, just a millimeter, and I pressed harder against the hay.

I got myself into this predicament. It looked like it was up to me to get myself out of it. There sure wasn't anyone else around to lend a helping hand. It was just that I didn't know if I could get myself out of this jam. I wasn't sure what he was wanting and damn sure didn't know if I was able or willing. Except, with that pitchfork ready to puncture me I guess if I was able he had guaranteed I would be willing. Reluctantly willing, maybe, but . . .

"Lookin' for a little blood, college boy?" he drew the pitchfork back just a few inches and jabbed. Oh, damn. It was just a small prick, but when I looked there was a drop of blood oozing. As it ran down, another seeped out.

I got frantic. "O.K. O.K. What've I got to do? Look, I'm sorry," I said, ready to admit I had made a mistake.

"Not as sorry as you're going to be if you don't shut the fuck up and get busy, Mr. High and Mighty." He was grinning, not a particularly evil grin. For him this was fun and he was enjoying my discomfort, my confusion. He knew I was scared.

"You, ass hole, are going to entertain this ol' farm boy, y' see. And, if I don't like the act -- any part of it -- you get the fork. Just like on the stage, college boy. Just like on the stage. Except I have this." He jabbed the pitchfork at me again. "Instead of that long hook to drag you off the stage we're going to use this and prod you into doing better. Get the picture?" He snorted and winked at me.

I nodded, letting him know I understood. Not that I did. I found out when he continued his explanation.

"Now, let's take off those fancy shoes. Now!!"

He backed up enough I could slid down on my ass and quickly untie and pull off my Adidas and ankle socks. I figured there was no need to take another poke by standing back up with the socks on, being a smart ass just because he had said to take off the shoes.

"That's better, ass hole. You're learning. Just follow instructions. Do a good job and you'll be on your way before you know it. Screw up and you may be here . . . longer than you want to be." He snorted again and started chuckling. "Strip. Drop those shorts and anything under them. Toss that shirt over here."

I stood, naked as he eyed me up and down, following the track of his eyes with the business end of that damn pitchfork. With the adrenaline rushing and my heart pounding I knew my prick wasn't shriveled up and hidden in my pubic hair. It was hanging out, halfway engorged hiding my balls which had contracted trying to protect themselves from the unknown.

There was a cool touch nudging, swinging my cock. Looking down in terror I saw that he had that fork sideways between my legs, the top tine playing, batting my cock back and forth. With each swing it involuntarily jumped and grew a little longer, a little harder. Then he was holding my prick out in front of me with the pitchfork, bouncing it firm with that weapon. One damn mistake on his part and I would have a tear in my scrotum. I was trembling, aroused and at the same time, fearful. The adrenaline and blood continued pumping.

"Like it? Squirm, smart ass." His eyes were slightly glazed. He was licking his lips and still grinning, but now it was more a leer as his breathing became heavy.

"Let's see you make love to yourself. Don't touch that dong, college boy, just all the rest of your lily white body. Love it for me."

Well, at least now I had an idea of where this was going. I might just end up with what I had wanted when I first saw Dumbo. Damn, I shouldn't even think that. Using that crazy nick name was why I was in this pickle. Do it, baby, I thought. Make him want you. And, with that in mind, I started wiggling, thrusting my pelvis at him, keeping as far away as possible from the tines of that pitchfork he still held pointed at me. I hugged myself, ran my hands across my chest, grabbed and pinched my nipples. Rubbing down my sides I rested my hands on the top of my thighs and worked my hips. All the time I kept my eyes locked on his face, watching his reactions.

His eyes were blazing. He kept swallowing, running his tongue over his hot lips as the air rushed in and out of his open mouth.

I was really getting into my act, and in the process turning myself on. My cock was straining with every move, hot, heavy and begging for attention. I rubbed up and down the inside of my thighs letting my thumbs lightly caress my balls. I went as close as I dared to the base of my aching rod. I was matching the movements of his tongue, running mine out and over my lips when he did, smiling at him with what I hoped was passion or a touch of provocativeness in my eyes.

"Do it, you slut. Beat it. Whack it. Whack it hard," he hissed.

He was now holding the handle of the pitchfork against his side with an elbow. His other hand was busy rubbing on his crotch. The dusty denim was stretched tight containing an enviable basket. When I put my hand on myself and started masturbating, as demanded, he popped the top two buttons on his jeans and thrust his hand down inside. He casually took a small step left and a small one right, spreading his legs, keeping his jeans from tumbling down.

I watched in amazement as after a few tugs he pulled his hand out bringing with it another weapon possibly more dangerous than that pitchfork. It reached inches above his belt line. As he continued tugging it grew even longer. In girth it appeared similar to my own puny offering, which I was just holding as I stared at his.

"Ya want another hole in your pretty skin? I told you to jack off. Now do it!!" He took a step forward holding the pitchfork steady, even as he wrapped his fist around that hose.

This was the strangest, most fearful and yet erotic experience of my young life. Here I was threatened with possible disfigurement or at least a few wicked wounds, pulling frantically on my cock and watching this angry, big eared, farm boy jerking on a dick which had to be over a foot long. From the moment I heeded his warning and started pumping my hand again, he had been matching me stroke for stroke. Now he was the one watching my face, judging my reactions, both to the pleasures I could not keep from feeling as I masturbated and to the awe at seeing that giant prong poking out of his jeans.

I guess I deserved this, and whatever follows, I was thinking as we stood there watching each other, our hands busy on our dicks. I should know better than to be such a wise ass. If I had kept my mouth shut this might be happening in a more pleasant, relaxed way. After all, I now knew I was right about Dumbo. Stop, that word got you into this mess. But, shit, now it wasn't just the ears, look at the size of the trunk on that critter. With that thought I laughed a little to myself. Watch it. He doesn't see this as humorous. I quickly covered my error by turning the sound that escaped into a sex moan Then I noticed he had let the pitchfork dip. Its tines pointed at the dirt floor between us as his concentration centered more on his own pleasures and less on me. If I hadn't been so damn close to cumming myself, I might have tried to jump him. Sure, knock the pitchfork out of the way and what? Streak naked across the barnyard, up the lane and down the highway to the car which still needed gas. Yeah, be an idiot.

But I was close, to cumming that is. Damn close. I still wanted to see if the worst was over even as I felt it building inside. I took a step toward him and that pitchfork flew up nearly catching me in the balls.

He just shook his head, grinned and kept on beating his meat. That little step cooled me off for a moment. Not for long, though, as it was less than ten strokes later when I found it impossible to keep the pace. I needed to cum. I could feel it. My hand started jacking frantically, whipping a blur as I cried out, threw back my head, thrust my hips at him and let it fly. My first shots always have had fantastic power. This one was no exception. It soared out and up following a trajectory that brought it down high on his left thigh. With just a little more umph it would have slid right into his pocket.

I saw that when I straightened up, still pumping, still grunting, still spurting. I also noticed that I had impressed my captor. He was looking from me down at that glob of cum as it soaked into his jeans and back at me, his eyes wide in wonderment. There were no remnants of the rest of my ejaculation. It had all fallen to the floor, lost in the dirt, dust, hay and who knows what else that lay down there. I was gasping to get my breath. He shuffled toward me, grinning. The pitchfork was lowered.

As he got closer he leaned it into the ground, right through my shorts and briefs. His grin got even wider when he saw the look on my face as I glanced down and realized he had just cut off any escape. Again, that was unless I felt like running around screaming for help in my birthday suit.

"Got something you want, college boy. Right here, college boy. Primed and ready."

He was chuckling, laughing at me, laughing at my stupidity in getting myself trapped in this situation. He was just standing there, legs spread, wiggling his dick at me. He knew I wanted it just as equally as I wanted somehow to get the hell out of there.

Well, I wasn't going anywhere, so. I reached out carefully and finished opening his fly, letting the monster free. His hand was now on my shoulder, pressing down. I sunk to my knees and he moved his hand to rest on my head mussing my hair, almost playful.

"This what you wanted? It's an easy way to pay for some gas, slut." His voice was softer, more controlled.

I looked up. His eyes were gray and steely. They didn't match with his voice or the grin that had also become softer, more a teasing smile. Maybe I was bringing him around, but there was still a way to go. Leaning into it I wrapped my lips around his cock's bare head and started slurping. This long one had received a full cut when it was circumcised. There wasn't a spare inch of skin to play with. Fearful of what could happen if either he or I got carried away I kept my attentions limited to that knob of spongy flesh and lined my hands up on the shaft. With that I knew my original guess on size had been an over reaction. Since my roommate's seven inches are just contained by my two fists, what I was now pumping between them and my mouth was closer to ten inches, not twelve. What the fuck did it matter. There was no way I was going to let more than four or five of it get humped down my throat.

Actually, when we got to going at it hot and heavy, I did take one hand away. After all I was well versed in taking in seven inches. It was just that extra three that scared the shit out of me. He didn't object to my approach. I'd bet he seldom got a blow job from someone who knew what they were doing, anyway. Then again, how do I know what farm boys do when they get together. I'd heard stories about horses and bulls.

I was really getting into working on this prick. It was clean, neat, slick with the early semen he had pumped out and smeared around. Except for the dust that tickled my nose he smelled good, a mix of fresh sweat and soap, manly. I kissed and licked along that ridge on the bottom, clear down to his balls, then back out. Taking my protective grasp on the base of his shaft I opened wide and sucked him in until I was kissing my own fist. Sliding off I kept his dick head in my mouth and twisted, left, right, then sucked him in again.

That was the action t hat got to him. As I worked away he was no longer harshly giving directions or calmly telling me what I was going to do. He was crying out, "Yes! Eat it, baby. Eat it!" And, every time I slowed down or paused to catch my breath he was begging me. "Don't stop now, college boy. Oh, please, don't stop. Do it do me. Eat my fucking dick."

It was only a short time and I felt his hand clinch, pulling hair. I let out a scream muffled by five inches of firm cock as I slid off. He was quivering. It was obvious that his climax was close, real close. Relaxing my grip I let my hand move out to encase the tip and then back down smacking on his taut flat abdomen, out, down again. Picking up speed with each stroke, I watched his dick swell and listened as he grunted, louder and louder.

Giving my head a shove he rocked me back on my heels in front of him. He grasped himself firmly, flexed his knees and bent over watching as he finished with a rapid piston action. A long moaning cry peaked as his cum spurted, once, twice and then dribbled. He let the first load shoot right up into his open mouth then lifted his head and creamed all over me.

Standing over me he heaved a sigh, caught his breath and then licked his lips. "M-m-m good. Sorry, college boy, I sorta got used to taking care of myself out here. Hope I didn't gross you out. Laying down I can, you know, get it in my own mouth. Not just the cum. My prick."

"Damn. That I would like to see."

He winked. "Maybe sometime you will."

"You all over your mad," I asked slowly getting to my feet.

"Hell," he snorted, "I'm all over that and all over you, right?" Chuckling he reached out and lifted a string dripping off my nose and flicked it on the floor. "Here. Use this," he said, pulling off his tee shirt and handing it to me.

Under that sloppy tee shirt this farm boy was looking fine. It was easy to see who did the heavy work around this place. Every muscle on his upper body and his arms were well defined, not over pumped but rippling with strength as he moved.

I cleaned up and slid back into my shorts, leaving my underwear stuck on the tines of that pitchfork. " Look, I had not right to poke fun. Not after you were kind enough to stop and then offer gas from your own supply." Getting back into my shoes and socks I continued my apology. "I was a shit head. But, man, you scared the piss out of me with that fuckin' pitchfork. I thought I was a goner."

"Pretty good act for a Dumbo, right?" he asked, chuckling again.

"Act? What the . . . "

"Didn't like the crack about my ears. Liked that pass you made in the pickup riding down here. Just decided to teach ya some manners, college boy. I'm really sorry about that one poke. It wasn't s'pose to break the skin. Honest, I'm not a barbarian."

"Lesson learned," I said and stuck out my hand. "Name's John. I go to college, but . . . " I shrugged.

His grip was firm. "Got'ch, John. My name's Paul. Ready to gas up?"

"Ready for a shower. That hay is scratchy and it's stuck all over my back. Can you help?" I was busy brushing off what I could reach.

"No hurry to get back on the road?"

I grinned at him. "Just running home for a quick visit to the folks. Looks like I found a better place to visit, if you'll have me."

"Well, we've got the place to ourselves for today and tonight. The folks'll be back early Sunday morning. How 'bout a dip in the pond for cleaning off that itching hay and dust? Or . . . we do have indoor plumbing, so there is a shower."

"Shit. I just wasted time getting dressed. Sorta stupid if we're going skinny dipping, right?"

"You call that being dressed? John, I got hot the minute you stepped out of the car back there. Anyway, getting to the pond it's best to have something on your feet. Cows shit big time, and that pasture has a lot of rocks and stubble that would be rough walking barefooted."

"Lead on. I want to see that monster when it's not all fired up." I pointed at his crotch.

"With you around, that may not happen," he replied and took off walking fast with me right behind.

The pond was larger than I expected, just over a low ridge behind the barn. A small pier ran out from one side and in the middle bobbed a floating platform build on a base of oil drums. We striped as we walked out on the pier. Paul had told the truth. When he turned telling me it was deep enough to dive off the end, he was hanging heavy, semi-erect. Turning back he dove in and surfaced halfway between the pier and the float, tossing his hair and calling me chicken for still standing there.

When I got to the float he was already stretched out on his back, his arms behind his head letting the sun kiss all over his nakedness. An idea that seemed worthy of emulating. I knew just where to start. Shaking my head, showering him, I sat beside him and dragged a hand lightly over him, teasing along his leg and onto his chest. I watched as he smiled and writhed sensually at my touch. Leaning over I propped myself with my other arm and lowered my head. My lips brushed along the length of that glorious cock. It leapt and pulsed, bouncing against my lips. As it lifted I rose with it letting my tongue join in, traveling up and down its length.

Paul was squirming now, grinning like that cat that ate the canary and purring like one, too. "You into other things, John," he asked softly. I looked. He was looking at me, his gray eyes now sparking, reflecting blue flashes from the sky.

"Well, depends, Paul. I don't just suck cock, if that's what you're asking. But, I sure get off on it. As you know."

"You were wanting to watch me suck myself, remember? What happens when I get going and my ass is in the air?" His voice was still low, sending shivers through me with that question's implications.

"What do you want to happen? Come on. Either you want me to kiss it, fuck it or you want me to leave you the hell alone. Which is it?" I held my breath waiting for an answer. My cock had already made its decision and was standing fully erect, throbbing in anticipation.

He reached out and touched it. His index finger moved from the head, under and down coming to rest on my ball sack. "Fuck is such an ugly word. Make love to me, John. Out here in the bright sunlight let me feel you become part of me, loose yourself in me." His voice was hypnotic, reaching into my very gut, making my chest constrict. Even if I wasn't into it I would have done it, just for him. A fucking poetic farmer.

"We've got to be careful. I didn't come out here prepared. There are condoms in the car. . . ."

He pressed that index finger to my lips. "Never underestimate the resourcefulness of an American farmer." The sides of his mouth turned up in a broad grin.

Rolling over twice, gingerly, he was at the edge of the float. Reaching out and under about halfway down the side he retrieved a small plastic box that must have been wedged in there. Snapping it open he tossed me a packet of rubbers.

"This take care of your problem?" He then held up a small tube, closed the box and returned it to its hiding place.

Now I know one thing farm boys do when they get together. Hot damn. I ripped open the foil and rolled latex down over my waiting rod. When I looked back up, Paul was lying on his back. His head was near the center of the float. His legs were in the air. As I watched he bend like a pretzel lowering his legs over his head. With his butt in the air he propped himself with his arms. He came to rest with his lips grasping firmly onto his own dick. It was an unbelievable sight.

He was able to bob his head, letting an extra inch slip in and out as he sucked himself. I almost lost a load right there just watching his performance. But, there was a hot ass waiving in the wind, waiting for me. Who am I to refuse the request of a man who knows how to work the business end of a pitchfork. Standing there smearing cool jell on his hole as it bounced, I understood one part of why Paul would enjoy my action. Just letting a finger slip into that puckered opening brought a body reaction that fed him another inch of his own cock. Once I got going, I would be fucking his ass and his mouth by proxy.

Got to remember, no Dumbo, no fuck, I thought. After all that was a small price to pay for the fun I had already had and was soon to experience. Leaning in I humped and with ease had him impaled on my dick. I didn't have to work hard on this. Clearly that ass was no stranger to a hard dick. As his body reacted to his own sucking action I just joined in riding along. I pushed in as he sucked, easing back as he drew up. We became a sex machine, humping, pumping, moaning, sucking, groaning.

A wild cry cam wailing out from under me. The muscles in his gut constricted as his sphincter grasped me tightly. He rocked with the pulsing release of his own cum, sucking it down hungrily. As he relaxed, he uncurled letting his legs rest on my shoulders. With my next lunge he crossed his ankles locking me down, tugging me into him, crying for me to drive deeper.

We were now both twitching and twisting our hips, searching for that perfect fit. I continued boring in, easing out. My voice urging him to take it joined with his insistent pleading for more. The sun was bright as the sweat poured dripping off my grimacing face onto his below.

We both shouted a resounding 'yes' out across the water when I leaned back just a fraction. The next shove sunk in clear to my brown curly dick hairs. Holding his hips steady I pumped again and again, frantic for release. With every stroke he was open for every inch, warm, waiting, clutching. Slowly the tingling built sending bolts of sexual electricity coursing down my legs, through my gut and burning out of my stiff erect nipples.

My eyes glazed over as it became harder and harder to get air down into my lungs. Then I was the sea, crashing, pounding, ripping away great chunks of drifting sand, smashing against a rock cliff and shooting high into the sky through a blow hole in the roof of a hidden cave, screaming out his name with each jolt that shook my body.

We lay, rocking in each other's arms as little after quakes of passion set us shivering until we were calm, spent, still.

"Wow!! Oh, wow," he whispered.

"As they say in all those trite novels and movies, was it as good for you as it was for me?" I said with a sigh. "And, yes . . . wow!"

We cooled off with a dip in the pond, got back to the barnyard and took a can of gas up to the car. I drove it down by the pickup. It didn't move until very early Sunday morning when I snuck out of bed after giving a gentle kiss to the slumbering giant, which actually was quite small when not all agitated.

After that I always dove between home and the university by that more scenic, restful and just slightly longer route I discovered the first August weekend my Sophomore year. Didn't make it home as often as I had before, but always found it a pleasure to visit the farm boy with the big ears and magnificently enormous trunk. I was very glad I had meet Du . . . must remember, Paul.