|
Farm Work (mm)
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Subject: Farm Work (M/m, no animals)
Date: Tue, 11 Jul 1995 08:53:17 UTC
Farmwork.txt
Craig woke up pissed. But then he'd been pissed when he went to
bed last night.
It wasn't so much that he had to work this summer; in fact, he'd
planned to look for a job anyway. But the way his dad had just
walked in yesterday afternoon, and said "You start working on the
Greenleaf farm tomorrow," had pissed him off royally. There'd
been lots said, but it all boiled down to, "I worked when I was
your age, you can work too. It'll make a man out of you."
Headed down the road to some lost-in-the-sticks place his dad has
bought just for the purpose of "making a man" out of Craig, he
started laughing. His memories of the drilling he'd given Susan
yesterday afternoon had his cock bucking against his jeans. If this
was to make him more of a man, he wasn't sure Susan could take
it. Maybe he should tell (or even show) his dad!
All he knew was he had about a 30 minute drive out into the
country, and then he'd have to find some old fart his dad had hired
to fix the place up. He'd probably sell the place at the end of the
summer, and make a mint. That was his dad's style, touching shit
and turning it into gold. That was what made Glenn Watts
famous, and that fame was all that he lived for.
He nearly ran the four-way stop, hardly recognizing the dirt road
crossing the highway as a route of transportation. It dawned on
him this was the dirt road he was looking for, and turned down it,
still lost in his thoughts of anger and desire. It seemed like the
road hadn't been traveled in ages, and some of the holes washed
out by the spring rains seemed more like gullies. He spotted an
old ramshackle house up ahead, and figured he'd made it. He
pulled in the "driveway", got out of the truck and walked up to the
house, knocked loudly and waited. Nothing happened. He
knocked again. Still nothing. He was getting more and more
pissed, standing there waiting when he heard "You must be Craig.
I'm Tom," and whirled around to look.
To say he was shocked was an understatement. His dad has said
the project manager was a guy named Tom Whitten. "Project
manager" sounded old, "Tom Whitten" sounded old, so Craig had
expected an older guy, probably a loser his dad hadn't had the
heart to fire. Instead, Tom was a young guy, in his early 20's,
brown hair and eyes, and a body that looked like he lived in the
gym. The guy was definitely hot, and Craig was shocked to find
himself checking out the crotch of the tight cut-offs Tom was
wearing. He was just reminding himself he wasn't a fag when he
realized Tom was waiting for a reply.
"Yeah. Dad says I'm supposed to work here this summer."
"We've got plenty to do, alright. I've been out checking the place
over. I think we'll work on clearing the fields and mending fence
in the mornings, and in the afternoons when it gets so hot, we'll
work on painting and fixing up this old house. How old are you?
Have you ever done this kind of work before?"
"I'm sixteen. I've mowed a few yards and stuff."
"Well mowing is a lot of what we'll be doing," Tom said grinning.
"But you're a little overdressed."
Craig was wearing Bugle Boy jeans, a $70 imported rugby shirt,
and a pair of $150 high tops. He always looked good, and it pissed
him off that Tom didn't approve. "This was all the Goodwill store
had," he said, the sarcasm biting deep.
"Ease up, guy. It's just you'll want something a lot cooler. You
look about my size, come on in and I'll get you some cutoffs, and
some more shoes. It'd be a shame to ruin more clothes on your
first day than you'll be able to buy with your first week's
paycheck," Tom said as he walked through the door into the hunk
of junk they were calling a house.
Craig followed, not really knowing how to take this guy. They
went down the hallway to the bedroom, and Tom rummaged
through a drawer, then pulled out a pair of cutoff jeans, clones of
the ones he was wearing. He threw them to Craig, and said, "I'll
be out on the porch when you get changed."
Craig stripped to his white bikinis, taking time to admire his body
in the mirror over the dresser. He was good looking, and he knew
it. He stood 5'10", and his body was a tight, smooth, 165 pounds
of man flesh, muscles toned from frequent tennis games at Oak
Hills Country Club, and swims in the club's indoor pool. He was
particularly pleased with the way his cock and balls bulged in the
bikinis, the hard-on from the morning's memories not quite gone.
He knew from the locker rooms he was bigger than the other guys,
and that seemed entirely appropriate. He'd always had all the best,
and he though it only fair that he had the long, thick dick with the
flaring head Susan liked so much. It was only right that his balls
were big, and hung low, just perfect to swing back and forth
against Susan's perfect little ass while he pumped her pussy.
Before he got himself too worked up, he slid on the cutoffs. They
weren't his style, but they were cut short, and when he bent over,
you could almost see the cheeks of his ass. Staring at his bod so
much while thinking of fucking Susan so mercilessly had him
more than a little turned on, and the nipples stuck out like BBs on
his hairless chest. Taking one last look in the mirror, he thought
"Not bad for farm rags, I guess," then walked out.
"Well, it's getting late so we better get started," Tom said when
Craig stepped out onto the porch. "I bushhogged the east field
Saturday; today we'll work on clearing the fence rows." With
nothing more said, he walked out to the shed, Craig following for
lack of anything else to do. After he rummaged in the tool room a
little while, he came out holding a pair of Kaiser blades. "Know
how to use one of these?"
"I don't even know what the fuck it is. I'm not Mr. Greenjeans,
Captain Kangaroo," Craig responded in his best smartass voice.
"It's called a Kaiser blade, I'll show you how to use it, and then
you can take your frustrations out on weeds and saplings instead of
me," was Tom's only response. He threw the blades in a rickety
old pickup, motioned Craig to get in on the passenger side and
climbed in. They drove across the fields in silence.
"Here we are. You see all the saplings and honeysuckle vines
growing along the fence? When we're done, they'll be gone."
Craig figured he had to do it, but he didn't have to like it, and
nothing said he had to be nice, so he just stayed quiet. "Watch me,
it's really not hard." Tom grasped the Kaiser blade and began
swinging it in long smooth motions, chopping saplings and vines
effortlessly, or so it seemed. Every motion spoke of the
confidence the other man had in himself, of the superiority he
knew his body possessed, of the power inherent in the well-defined
muscles. "Now you try it."
Craig took the blade offered him, and swung like Tom had just
done. The blade hit a sapling and bounced back, scraping bark,
but doing no other damage. "Put your body into it more, and keep
the blade level. Make the blade do the work. Try again."
After a few minutes, Craig had managed to chop a few weeds and
saplings, but it was clear this was definitely not effortless. "I think
you're getting the hang of it. You start here, I'll move on up and
get started."
With every swing of the blade, Craig wished he could be swinging
at his dad instead of little trees and vines. He was searching his
brain for a way out of this crap, but couldn't come up with
anything. After about an hour he looked toward Tom. He'd just
stood his blade by the fence, and was obviously about to take a
piss. He turned his back and opened his cutoffs, the back of the
pants sliding down to show the tops of two well rounded buns,
white in stark contrast to the bronzed body above.
The sight held Craig riveted to the spot, his dick hardening in
seconds, his mind reeling. He'd had lots of pussy, and he liked it,
and Susan sure thought he was the right kind of man; so why was
this guy's body getting to him? Why was his dick as hard (or
maybe even harder) as it got when he nuzzled that sweet cunt?
Tom pulled his shorts back up, and Craig started back to work,
confusion and horniness added to his anger. After another half
hour or so, Tom came back to inspect his work. "You're cutting
too high, swing lower to the ground so we won't have to do this
again so quick." In just a few minutes, he had turned the
haphazard job Craig had done into a neat, clean area just like the
ones he'd done. Craig was watching in fascination, watching the
muscles ripple across Tom's chest as he swung the blade. "Well,
let's take a break," signalled the end of the show.
They moved over by the pickup, and Tom pulled a battered old
water cooler -- the metal kind -- to the front. He leaned over and
put his mouth directly under the spigot, then let the cool water
flow into his mouth. While Tom was drinking deep, Craig was
checking out the body that was so prominently displayed in the
sweat-soaked shorts. It was obvious Tom was wearing no
underwear, and it was equally obvious that he had a big dick.
"Don't you want any?"
The sound of Tom's voice brought Craig back to reality, and he
leaned over to drink. They sat on the tailgate in silence, Craig
brooding over his peculiar thoughts about Tom, while Tom just
rested. After a bit, Tom broke the silence. "Look, I know you've
never done anything like this, and it doesn't take a genius to figure
out you're not very happy about it. Just remember, this was your
dad's idea, and I work for him. If Mr. Watts says to put you to
work, I've got to make you work. It's nothing personal, and it'll be
a lot easier on me and you if you just try to get along. If you don't
cooperate, I'll get fired, and whoever comes next will be a lot
rougher on you than I plan to be. If you'll try, after a day or two,
you won't think it's so bad."
"Now, let's get back to work, and after lunch, we'll paint some.
That's easier, and it'll give you a change."
When he started back to work, Craig realized his muscles were
aching, screaming for him to stop every time he swung the blade.
He tried not to think about it, and to block the pain, he let his mind
run wild as he looked up at Tom's hot body. There was no harm in
thinking weird stuff, right? Doing it was wrong, doing it was
queer, but thinking couldn't hurt anybody could it?
Lunch time finally came. They climbed in the truck and headed
toward the house. Craig was so lost in his own thoughts, he didn't
notice when the truck pulled to a stop.
"You could just sit there, but I think you'll find more to eat in the
house. Nobody delivers this far out," Tom chuckled.
They went in the house, and Tom rummaged around in the
refrigerator. "Hope you like chicken and dumplings. I bought 'em
at the Kroger deli last night." He produced a couple of Styrofoam
plates and a take-out container of dumplings. He mounded a plate
with the goop, then popped it in the microwave. When the buzzer
sounded, Tom took the dumplings out and started toward the table,
then hesitated.
"Here, you look out of it. There's coke and tea in the refrigerator.
Fix what you want to drink, and eat this. The world always looks
better on a full stomach," he rattled, fixing another plate.
The food didn't look like anything Craig wanted, but he was
hungry. He grabbed a Coke out of the refrigerator, and sat down
at the table. He surprised himself by cleaning his plate before
Tom had finished heating his. "I fixed the first plate. If you want
seconds, wait on yourself."
Craig fixed another plate and then joined Tom, who was eating
slowly and deliberately. The silence was comfortable, and the
contentment that came from eating when you're REALLY hungry
flooded over Craig. Tom seemed like a nice enough guy, and the
"queer" thoughts he'd been having would probably go away soon
enough.
"Why don't you rest a few minutes. I'm gonna grab a quick
shower and change before we start painting. Do you want to?"
"Nah. I'll do that later," Craig mumbled, realizing how tired he
was.
It seemed like no time before Tom was back in the room, wearing
a pair of loose-legged gym shorts, and saying "Well, let's get
started."
Craig drug himself outside, following Tom. "You want to work
high or low?"
"Huh?"
"One of us can do the high work on the ladder, the other can paint
from the ground. Which do you want?" Tom set a can of paint, a
brush, a roller and a tray in front of him. "Maybe I better do the
ladder work, you seem to be operating on autopilot. I'd probably
get a bonus if you fell and broke your neck, but Mr. Watts would
probably charge the medical bills to me if you only broke a leg,"
Tom chuckled.
He started Craig painting then moved down to the other end and
climbed on the ladder, painting the roofline, the trim, and down as
far as he could reach. Craig was moving like a zombie, too tired
to think, but he painted, rubbing the slick white stuff into the
hungry wood. They painted a couple hours in silence, Tom
moving the ladder occasionally, but nothing else distracting from
their work.
"Shit!"
Craig looked up. "Would you hand me another brush? Old
Fumble Fingers can't seem to hold on to that one. They're over
there by the paint cans."
Craig picked up a brush, then took a couple steps up the ladder,
handing the brush up to Tom. When he looked up, he got the
surprise of his life. He could see right up the legs of Tom's shorts,
and he had a clear view of a long, thick, cut dick hanging down the
left leg. Even as tired as he was, he felt himself harden. His eyes
locked on the site, revelling in the raw sexiness of his young
companions fuck tool, until Tom's voice brought him harshly back
to reality. "Well, you gonna hand me the brush or not?"
Craig felt his face redden as he handed the brush up to Tom.
"Guess I better get back to work."
After that, Craig found every excuse to pass by the ladder, so he
could look up at Tom's hot bod. The angle wasn't quite right,
though, and all he could get was a good look at hot, hard thighs,
and an occasional hint of the other, more thrilling sights. He
reminded himself that such desires were "queer," and he wasn't
queer. But despite the reminders, he felt himself drawn to those
buns, those thighs, that hot cock.
Around four o'clock, they finished the west wall. Tom climbed
down the ladder for the last time, and said, "I think we'll knock off
for today. It's your first day, and I guess we ought to start slow.
You want to rest or shower first?"
"I'll shower," Craig mumbled, suddenly realizing just how tired he
was.
"Well, the shower's at the end of the hall. You know where you
left your clothes."
Craig headed to the bathroom, stripped and started the water
running. He got in the shower, letting the hot spray relax the tired
muscles, just standing in the warm, comforting water for several
minutes. Finally, he started to wash, when he realized there was
no soap in the shower. He climbed out, grabbed the bar off the
sink, and was just starting back into the spray, when he glanced
toward the window. Tom was outside, walking toward a big oak
tree. He watched in curiosity, wondering what he was doing. In a
minute he saw Tom push the front of the gym shorts down and
saw the piss splashing against the oak bark. He watched, unable to
see the thick object of his newly discovered desires, incredibly
aroused by the sight of a hot young stud taking an ordinary piss.
When the flow stopped, Tom just stood there, making no move to
pull up his shorts. Craig was wondering what was going on when
he noticed the slow, even motions of Tom's right hand. The
bastard was beating his meat, right there in front of God and
anybody else who happened by. He watched as Tom slowly
jacked the cock Craig wanted so desperately to see, stared as
Tom's left hand moved to his chest to play with his nips. He
dreamed of substituting his hands for Tom's, transported in his
thoughts to stand naked beside this hot stud. Damn, this was
making him hot! Then, unexpectedly, Tom stopped, pulled up his
shorts and headed back toward the house, cutting the show short.
Craig got in the shower, washed, and thought of beating off his
rigid prick. Somehow, that would have been even queerer than his
thoughts, and he decided to skip the jerk off. He got out, towelled
off, and pulled his clothes on, hiding the hard evidence of his
"unnatural" desires. He headed to the living room, to find Tom
sitting in silence, the last signs of the hard-on from the yard still
evident to Craig's knowing eye. "Is there anything else you want
me to do before I go?"
"Just one."
Craig waited for instructions, but Tom didn't offer any. Tired of
the silence, and refreshed from the shower, the smart-assed attitude
returned. "Yeah, what is it?"
In a smooth, silken move Tom pushed his gym shorts down,
giving Craig the full view he'd wanted all day. "Suck this for
me..."
Riveted by the sight of Tom's half hard cock, laying long over big,
hairy balls, Craig spluttered, and cursed, turning on his most
macho routine "Look, you may be a queer son of a bitch, but I'm
not!"
The script called for him to stomp off in anger, but something in
him wouldn't let him turn away. Tom stood up, stepped out of the
gym shorts, and walked over beside Craig. He pushed his sweaty
body against Craig, pulled him against that throbbing dick,
devouring him with those sweaty arms, pulling him into an abyss
of delight as he kissed him deep. Craig knew he should resist, he
wanted to resist, but he couldn't. He realized his mouth was
opening, his tongue was searching, his buns were responding to the
wonderful feel of those big hands stroking his butt, his crotch was
wedging Tom's lovely meat closer and closer, every ounce of his
being was willing the denim between them to evaporate. It was
queer, it was faggoty, but he'd never been this worked up in his
life.
Tom broke the hold. "For the record, I'm not queer either. I get
more than my share of pussy, but I know you like the looks of my
dick. I saw you eyeing it. I know you want it, and it wants you.
You say you don't want it, even though your cock says otherwise,"
he said as he rubbed the hard bulging manness covered by Bugle
Boy jeans. "I don't do anybody who doesn't want it, so just forget
about this, and I'll see you tomorrow."
Tom started down the hall toward the shower, bare assed. The
sight of those hot, manly buns moving in synch with the world, the
glimpse of the balls and dick swinging between those manly legs
was working on Craig. He let Tom get nearly to the door of the
bathroom, nearly to the point of walking away, nearly to the point
of killing all the hopes building in Craig. He wanted to yell, but
could barely manage a whisper, "I do Tom. I do want it!"
In a flash, Tom was back beside him, his hands all over him,
easily, effortlessly shucking the boy's clothes. When only Craig's
distended bikinis remained, Tom dropped to the floor in front of
him, and began tonguing and licking the boy-man's balls through
the white cotton, his hands kneading the twin manly globes that
drove Susan so wild. As Tom moved up, began sucking on the
shaft through the white cotton, Craig was sure he was going to die
from the delight. He was sure the ground would open and swallow
him, but Tom's mouth on his balls and his cock, and Tom's hands
on his ass felt so good he didn't care. He was getting hotter and
hotter, and he felt the head of his dick pushing itself out of the
waistband of the tiny little bikinis. Tom's mouth moved from his
balls to the eager head of his naked dick, licking and tonguing and
bathing it in sheer delight. Craig had never felt anything so good.
"Ready for more partner?"
Craig just nodded his head, feeling himself led to the bedroom,
watched in the mirror as Tom pulled the last barrier between them
away. They were on the bed, bodies touching, naked skin to naked
skin, hot cock to hot cock, throbbing balls meeting throbbing balls.
He felt big, calloused hands working his butt cheeks, kneading and
twisting and fingering and teasing. He felt a big, hard, manly cock
rubbing itself back and forth on his own manhood. He felt the
slick feel of another man's precum juices mingling with his. He
revelled in wanting another man, and in having another man want
him. It felt so good! He wanted it to go on forever, but, then,
almost without warning Craig felt his balls spasm, his dick throb
and jerk, his mind scream with joy, as all the pent up excitement of
the day forced the jism from his loins, working its revenge for the
earlier denials, forcing his dick to begin spewing its man juice all
over Tom, himself, and the bed.
"Well, you made the mess, clean it up." Tom chuckled, gently
moving into position above Craig's mouth, his hard dick, still
dripping with his young partner's jizz, right beside the boy's lips.
Craig took a long hard look at what seemed like a huge dick,
realizing the beauty of this essence of manhood. It was long, but
not much longer than his own, though differently shaped. It was
extremely fat, and blunt, not blossoming into a plum shaped head
like Craig's. Everything about it evidenced pure, raw fuck power,
pure, unabridged sex, pure, complete desire. He was shocked to
feel his mouth open, shocked to realize how good the rigid flesh
felt in his mouth, shocked to find how good his own cum tasted
when it was blended with juices of another man's desire.
He gagged a little at first, but Tom persistently fed more and more
of his dick into the young boy's mouth. Slowly fucking his cock in
and out of the hot, wet hole that welcomed his every thrust, Tom
guided his young lover, teaching, coaching him into the joys of
expert cock sucking. Craig's eyes were closed, thinking only of
how good that big dick felt, thinking how complete he felt to feel
another man's meat fucking toward his tonsils. Thinking only of
the moment, he tried not to worry if he were queer, he tried to
focus on his and his partner's pleasure and nothing else.
When he felt Tom's lips on his own dick, felt the tongue swirling
around his cum-drenched head, felt his dick stiffening completely
again, he suddenly didn't care. He didn't give a fuck if it was
queer. It felt good, real good, better than anything he'd ever felt.
He tongued and licked and sucked for all he was worth, revelling
in this vilest of vile activities, rejoicing in his faggotry.
Tom grasped Craig's balls tight, pulling all the slack out of the skin
of his cock with one hand, while slowly jacking the shaft with the
other, bouncing the head of Craig's dick back and forth against his
teeth, thoughtfully covered by his lips. God, that felt good!
"I'm gonna cum kid... I'm gonna cum." Tom started to pull away,
but Craig held his buns, forcing the stud to continue fucking his
hot mouth. He heard Tom's breathing grow ragged, felt his dick
begin to tremble, felt it swell in that final way. Then he felt four
hot wads of man juice spewing their way into his mouth, Tom's
essence forcing its way over the boy's lips and tongue, seeking to
find admission to his very core. He wanted to take it all, tried to
take it all, but he couldn't, finally surrendering, allowing some of
the culminated desire to ooze out of his mouth. Feeling complete,
he revelled in the sensation of the slick, warm goo that signals a
man's deepest satisfaction, enjoying the texture, the taste, the smell
of this forbidden thing.
His thoughts were interrupted by the incredible feel of Tom's
mouth sliding up and down his cock shaft, the feel of his cockhead
bumping against he velvety tissues of his partners throat, the feel
of hot hands all over his balls at first, then stroking his ass. He felt
his partners lips tickling against the hairs of his groin, his boy dick
imbedded deep in the other man's throat. He was close, real close
to shooting his wad, when he felt a wet finger exploring his
bunghole, sliding it's way in, exciting new and unknown feelings.
He couldn't believe a wet, hot finger in this nastiest of all places
could feel so good, but it did. It felt wonderful to feel that finger
fucking in and out of his darker recesses, as his own dick fucked in
and out of a hot man's mouth. It all combined in an irresistible
way, a way that brought an eruption of man juice from deep in
Craig's balls. He felt his balls jerk, felt his dick throb, and felt his
cock spewing deep into the warmth of his partners mouth. He
groaned hard, then lay still, basking in the after glow, revelling in
the glory of it all. He felt Tom give his dick one last, loving pull,
then roll away.
Maybe farm work wasn't so bad after all!
|
|
