NOTE: There are NO KIDS in the story; Babe is the name of an adult character. I didn't want you reading all the way through only to be disappointed.
This story and its characters are fiction. It is a personal fantasy which I am sharing with you. If any character resembles you or someone you know, I WANT DETAILS, you lucky fucker, preferably with photos! It is, of course, copyrighted by the author with all rights reserved and very, very negotiable. Also, keep the cum coming -- Donate to Nifty TODAY at donate.nifty.org/donate.html! I'm an old guy (>30). I know what it was like when you had to BUY porn. Five miles uphill both ways in the snow just to GET to the XXX store. You whippersnapper don't know how good you've got it.
This involves sex between consenting adult males; if that is illegal for who/where you may be right now, fuck off and get thee to a monastery (where you might just find scenes similar to some below). Also, please note that all my stories exist in a world where STDs are neither common nor deadly. Don't be a fucking idiot; use protection. 'To die for' sex should never lead to your actual death.
I like hearing from people but I also hate spam. If you get off on flaming people, please know that you will HATE the results. I will read your missive and weave you and your comments into my next story to the point that you cry like a little girl. Bullies get as bullies give.
***** Babe in the Woods 1: Zeke & Jez Part I
By Bear Pup
M/M; oral
Babe was, well, a very big boy in several senses. First, he was physically BIG. He towered over most of the family are around six and half feet, and the width of his shoulders cast a definite shadow when he stood up straight. Something he rarely did because in addition to being big, he was a boy at heart. Even at 19, he would blush at any attention and would never draw any notice to himself for praise or blame. He was especially shy about his body. Big and thick and brawny as he was, he felt that his mismatched bull-balls and small pizzle needed to be kept from his playmates and family.
Like most families in the vales and valleys off the Virginia's German River before the War of Northern Aggression, the Odells were a large and rangy group. Paint Lick Hallow had been colonized by the family in time immemorial; the current crop included seven boys (Babe was the last) and five girls (two of those were younger). One problem arises with too many kids and too little education: what do you name all the little buggers? In a place where the Bible is often the only printed book in the family, the first few are easy: Matthew, Mark, Luke and John; Mary, Anne, Ruth and Ester; Um... Peter and, well, Paul? By the time you get past that, you might as well let the Good Book do the naming. Babe was actually Abednego (lucky as Daniel 3:13 was split on two pages as the next name was Nebuchadnezzar, something the whole family agreed they could never remember or pronounce. They got luckier with the last girl; the Book fell open to Genesis 29. Since no one knew if "Nahor" was a guy or gal, Rachel was the next name in the Holy Writ.
The Odells had cordial and often profitable relationships with German River clans and the "over the ridge" families of the Cold Spring River basin. It was likely that the oldest of the boys (Matthew) would take over when Pa either died or, like his own Pappy, retired. The girls would be married off around the two basins and the boys would fend for themselves (as it happens, Luke and Paul both went on to have truly exciting (if by no means Christian) adventures in the dens of iniquity of (respectably) New Orleans and Nashville, but those are other tales. As the seventh son, Babe was unlikely to have many prospects.
Except... Babe was a SEVENTH son, something that the folk wisdom and root-working elders knew held power. Yes, he was way too big. Yes, he was less mature than his own nephews. Yes, he was thick as a yard of lard. Yes, he had a goofy grin that made even the kindest think "touched by God" and lesser mortals think, "a whole LOT a bricks shy of a load." That only made the root-workers and widder-wimmen narrow their eyes and nod mysteriously. They all had the same message for the increasingly-despairing parent: Wait. It'll come.
"It" came as the last leaves fell in Babe's 19th year. The cooling of the mountain had been matched with the cooling of the "marital flames" of Zeke (Ezekiel) Hatcher and his wife, Jez (Jezebel, durn that Good Book; it would end up in Kings!). They were a young couple of 24 and 18 respectively with only three children (all girls). Zeke had consulted the root-workers across four river basins and Jez had pled with the widder-wimmen, all to no avail. The last root-master Zeke met with (and for whom he brought a wee dram of the famed Odell `medicinal cider') had seen the shadow of a skeletal autumn leaf and beneath it (protected by it) three acorns clearly outlined. His first thought was the protection by Daniel of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego. He promptly sent Zeke back to the cider-master Isaiah, Babe's Pa and the scion of the Odell clan.
Both were sceptical in the extreme, but one brooked the statement of a root-worker at one's personal and family peril, so Isaiah sent Babe home with the bemused and befuddled Zeke.
The two arrived home to find Jez in a dither. The chicken had escaped into the yard through a gap that she KNEW she'd told Zeke a HUNDRED times to repair and she'd spent the whole day cajoling them back into the coop. Zeke stomped off in a huff; she had never said anything to HIM about the gall durned coop and he'd be [bad word] if he'd stay for the unwarranted abuse.
Babe set about to mend the fence in his simple but effective manner. The chickens, even the ornery rooster, settled around him and stared as if bewitched as his hands bent cheap wire into a stitch for the coop. Whenever Jez tried to take out her frustration on this humming, impenetrable and obviously feeble stranger (amongst the sudden complaint of a dozen chickens), Babe turned that angelic and rather vacant smile on her and she relented, confused but strangely mollified.
Within an hour, the rooster was the Master of His (much smaller and well-fenced) Domain and the hens were clucking and scratching contentedly. Jez kept fighting the urge to sing along with the atonal but compelling tune that the simpleton hummed.
Zeke returned an hour later with a brace of rabbits who had not been fast enough and he dumped them unceremoniously on the table and stomped to the barn. Babe smiled at the feathers rising indignantly on Jez's neck and said, "I do that," before following the fuming Zeke. Babe found him berating the donkey as he mucked the stall and laid fresh straw (the donkey, well-versed in the inanity of human antics, didn't even bother to kick him very hard). Babe walked up without a word and pulled Zeke into a hug, petting his flyaway straw hair.
Zeke went mental, flailing and punching the useless boy he'd collected earlier that day against his better judgement. He might as well have been hitting a ball of dough. Each blow was lost in Babe's thick body and Babe just hugged tighter, petting with long strokes on Zeke's back and crooning a seemingly-random lullaby.
Eventually the blows gave way to sobs and Babe lowered them both to the dirt floor as Zeke's knees gave way. For the first time since he was a bairn in his mother's arms, overwhelmed by some childhood iniquity inflicted by older and strong boys, Zeke let everything go. The umble-rumble of Babe's crooning and the incongruity of his vise-like hug and soft caresses undid this man of the mountains.
It all came out in an unintelligible rush. Something about the fact that the simple giant could never stitch together the madcap fragments of guilts and fears and hopes and longings made it easy for Zeke to unload. Babe's constant rocking and acceptance simply drained the hurt away. Zeke poured out his fear of being unworthy for Jez. Of being an inadequate lover that Jez would scorn and run from when she found a 'real man'. Of being useless and hopeless and stupid and sinful. Of being constantly scared and worried and uncertain and desperate. Of being... a man.
Babe never stopped his petting, never stopped his cooing and soothing voice. Zeke finally subsumed into deep and wracking sobs, and again Babe simply gave comfort. When he'd cried himself out, Babe simply looked down as the puffy red eyes and said, "Better."
Babe left a baffled Zeke in the barn and returned to the kitchen. Jezebel was on full boil, furiously cleaning the bunnies that Zeke had dumped upon her. Babe just walked up and reached around her, ignoring her spitting rage. Eventually, he worked the knives out of her hands and took over carefully, lovingly cleaning the two small, fat critters. "Makin a Fricassee?"
With a scowl mixed between utter confusion and fury thwarted, Jez started assembling the dredge and veggies required. Babe passed her the pieces and she began to fry up the rabbit in small batches, moving them to a cloth-covered platter until all were crispy-brown. While she did, Babe silently put grits on to boil, immune to the cross looks and glares from his co-chef.
Zeke came in and Jez rounded on his like a snake, ready to bite his head of (again). Babe stepped into her line of sight and, in his soft and quiet rumble said, "Wash." Zeke started to object and Babe simply lost the beatific smile and repeated, "Wash." Zeke out. Jez could never get him to wash before dinner, so she looked at this simpleton with curiosity and, perhaps, respect. Veggies into the roux with broth, rabbit braising, grits bubbling happily, Jez calmly tending them all.
Babe found Zeke leaning against the rain-barrel, face red with rage and shame. He rounded on Babe who simply walked up and looked at his hands before Zeke could wrench them away. Babe frowned and then moved to sniff the man, wrinkling his nose in disgust. Treating the man like a doll and ignoring any protest or struggle as if it didn't exist. Babe gently unbuttoned the man's shirt and used a wet cloth to wipe the day's (well, week's) sweat away. As his hands moved around the torso to wash the man's back, Zeke sucked in a breath when he felt the gentle giant's lips and tongue caressing his nipples.
No one, ever, had touched him there. Zeke threw his head back and groaned at the sensation, almost crying when Babe finished washing and turned back to the barrel. Babe use the bucket to ladle out some water then rinsed out the cloth. Zeke blushed at the sudden greying of the previous-clear water. His distraction was short-lived as he felt his belt fall away and Babe pulling down pants and drawers at once, piling them at his ankles. Zeke was mortified to realise that the tit work had left him randy... very, very randy, something the giant would be sure to notice.
Babe made no comment at all, but turned Zeke away. The older man was at a complete loss. No one, not even his mother, had seen him like this or washed him since he was a bairn, but Babe treated this as a simple, perhaps even enjoyable task. The man hummed as moved Zeke's body effortlessly and simply ignored and overpowered any attempt to take back control. Zeke let out a yelp as he felt his ass cheeks pried apart and the cool cloth begin to clean him.
The sensation was... beyond. He wiped himself back there every day, but had never felt the explosion of pleasure from Babe's gentle cleansing. The cloth made several trips to the bucket and Zeke was horrified at how muddy the water became. Babe didn't seem to care at all, humming or mumbling wordlessly as he worked. Zeke was beginning to relax when he squeaked in shock that the cool cloth was suddenly replace with a warm, wet, stroking tongue.
These were feeling that he had never even considered. In addition to being unspeakably dirty, that was one place that no other man, ever, even saw much less touched. But the feeling rocked through his body, re-exciting his nipples, making his chest redden with lust and his cock begin to leak. When the tongue actually plunged past his defenceless sphincter, Zeke cried out in pleasure. And just as with the nipples, the pleasure was suddenly... gone. Zeke felt his hole twitching in a desperate search to re-attract that tempting, teasing tongue.
Zeke slowly rolled back to consciousness and realised Babe had emptied and refilled the bucket. The soft cloth swiped up his strong, hairy legs, massaging as much as cleaning, a sensation that sent waves of relief through this frame. As the cloth climbed, so did Zeke's need. His cock had never been this hard, this desperate for release... until Babe began to clean that seam of flesh where his legs met. It was like everything else had been stringing a fuse that Babe now lit.
Taint cleansed and ready and Zeke near to vibrating with hunger, Babe began to wash and caress Zeke's balls and cock, sending the desperate man's voice into high squeals and moans and soft cries. Babe washed and washed the area until even Zeke know he no longer stunk (much). Babe's thorough cleaning of the area under his foreskin nearly undid Zeke. It certainly shattered whatever might have been left of his calm reserve.
The man was absolutely lust-drenched, desperate for the gentle giant to finish so he could blow a load onto the cabin wall. His distraction was so complete and he was so lost in his fantasy wank that he nearly screamed when his member was swallowed into a warm, wet tunnel of licking, stroking, teasing mouth.
Zeke did cry out, though, when he felt himself enter Babe's throat, and Babe began to swallow around his shaft and head. Nothing in sleeping dreams or waking fantasy prepared Zeke for the sensations. Every nerve of his insanely-sensitised cockhead screamed in pleasure. His balls tightened, caressed by Babe massive paws. He unconsciously started to thrust, but Babe was running the show. Babe teased him to the edge again and again until Zeke thought he would literally lose his mind before...
The orgasm was shocking, stunning, like being bashed over the head with ecstasy. Zeke left his mind wherever it wanted to run off to and wallowed in the sexual release. His entire body screamed in rapture. It was unlike sex, it was beyond mere sex. I was the ultimate release.
Zeke realised that Babe was literally holding him up as he came back into himself. His legs shook beyond their ability to support a kitten, much less a full-grown man. Zeke was weeping, pouring tears of pleasure and release. Throughout, Babe licked and cleaned and crooned that soft, deep, rich toneless melody he used to calm and settle people in need. Zeke's blissful contentment evaporated like mist when he looked up and saw Jez's face in the door, hawk-eyes watching, face a solid and emotionless mask. She turned and went back into the kitchen as Babe gently reassembled Zeke's cloths, petting and patting and soothing as he did so.
This may or may not become a series; that's up to you. If you think it should continue, or have ideas that would make it better and thus a good series candidate, please let me know.
Active storelines, all at www.nifty.org/nifty/gay... Karl & Greg: 16 chapters .../incest/karl-and-greg/ Canvas Hell: 13 chapters .../camping/canvas-hell/ Beaux Thibodaux: 5 chapters .../adult-youth/beaux-thibodaux/ The Heathens: 6 chapters .../historical/the-heathens/ Mud Lark Holler: 4 chapters .../rural/mud-lark-holler/ Turntable Rehab: 5 chapter .../authoritarian/turntable-rehabilitation-services/
New One-Off: .../historical/that-lion