“God, you’re beautiful.” His warm palms caressed the hard planes of my chest and my tightly ridged abs. “You’ve grown so much.”
The slow, intimate touch sent delicious shivers down my spine and made the hairs on my arms rise. He pushed my jeans lower so I could step out. I kicked off my shoes and moved closer between his legs. I could feel the heat of his thighs against my skin. His legs were as hairy as the rest of his body, making my flesh prickle where they rasped against my skin.
“I missed you so much, boy,” Bruce said softly. Enveloping me in his big bear arms, he gave me another soul-wrenching kiss. When he let me go, I nibbled down his body until my lips touched his groin. I moved lower, licking his balls, breathing deeply the mingled odors of soap and sweat and sex. I tried to swallow his ’nads, but they were too big. I mouthed them, laving them with my tongue, and soaked the hair with my saliva. I loved the feel of them, rolling like ripe plums under velvet. His cock jerked, and a large crystal bead of precum cascaded down my nose. The heady male fragrance drew me to his cock. The purple glans budded through his foreskin as I slowly licked my way upwards.
He groaned, grabbed my head, and pushed me away. “No! Don’t.”
I was puzzled. “Didn’t you like that?”
“It was incredible, but we can’t; I’m out.”
“Out?”
“Out of condoms.”
“No problem. It doesn’t matter,” I said.
“Like hell it doesn’t. Without protection, we can’t do anything but touch. Damn!”
“That’s not going to be enough, Bruce. Look in my pocket.”
He reached down and snagged my jeans. “I hope you haven’t been carrying this around for three years,” he said as he pulled a condom out of my wallet.
“Not that one. Look in the other pocket.”
“I can’t believe this! You brought the whole fucking box!” He laughed and fell back on the bed, pulling me on top of him.
“K-Y too.” I was planning on staying awhile.
“You get extra credit for this, kid.” He kissed me hungrily while his hands fumbled the box. He ripped it open, spilling foil packets. They flashed in the moonlight as they fell like silver rain over our naked bodies.
Sharp edges of foil pressed into my skin as his hands urged my hips forward. I scooted up, dragging my balls over the sweat-matted hair on his chest. “Closer.” He guided me until my balls grazed his lips. His mouth opened and sucked them in. He drew on them steadily, holding them in place when they shifted and tried to rise.
His hand encircled my cock, stroking it, rubbing it against his face, dipping his thumb in the open slit and greasing the wide-flanged head. Head thrown back, muscles taut, I struggled not to come from the sheer pleasure of his touch.
He released my aching cock to rip open the packet. His hands shook as he slid the latex over my dripping dick. Impaling himself on the throbbing length, he swallowed my cock all the way. His lips brushed my pubic hair, kissing me as his tongue slithered around, stroking the sides and bottom of my cock. I reached for his rod to return some of the pleasure that he was giving me, but he pinned my hands at my hips. “Later,” he mumbled around my meat, and drove himself back down on me.
Then I forgot everything except the feeling of his hot, slick mouth around my cock. I squirmed, struggling to free my hands and control the unbearable sensations. He moved my hands to his head and let me go. I sank my fingers deep into his thick hair and pushed him away. My spasms eased, and I thought I could hold back. I was wrong. His tongue flickered over my cockhead, pushing the latex into my slit. With a growl, I drove my hips forward and slammed my cock down his throat. One thrust, two, and the juice boiled in my balls. I couldn’t hold it, or my screams, as the first blast tore through my cock. I couldn’t stop. I had never cum so hard. Six, seven times, I felt the thick strings of cream bolt into the reservoir.
His hands locked my hips in place. I gasped for air, aware of every tiny movement of his mouth. My cock was so hypersensitive that I would have screamed again if he had tried to touch it. He let it rest easily in the heat of his mouth, cushioned on his tongue. When it finally softened, he let it slip between his lips.
Carefully, he slid the condom off my flaccid dick. To my astonishment, he tipped the whole glistening mass over his chest, massaging it into his hair. “I may not be able to taste it, but at least I can enjoy the feel.”
The smell of my own cum spiced with the clean sweat of his body made my mouth water. I leaned forward to slurp the hot, sticky fluid. It was incredibly erotic; I found myself getting hard sooner that I’d thought possible.
His hands skated over my sweat-slick ass. His powerful fingers kneaded the round globes, making me grind my groin against his hard cock. His fingers teased the sparse hairs lining my crease. My tongue lashed his nipple, making it swell and harden. I wanted to taste every inch of his body, but there was something I wanted even more. He worked one cum-slick finger through my tight hole. I tried to open to him, but my sphincter resisted. He was patient, teasing and coaxing my anal ring to relax and permit full penetration. I loved the feel of him inside me, but it wasn’t enough. I wanted all of him, every inch of that beautiful cock.
Searching through the tangle of silk sheets, my hand closed on the K-Y. I sat up and dropped the tube in his hand, closing my fingers over it. “I think I’m ready for advanced lessons.”
He hesitated. “Are you sure about this? You’re pretty tight.”
“There’s a first time for everything.” I smiled at the look of surprise and pleasure on his face. He hadn’t expected me to be cherry. “Right now, there’s nothing I want more.” I started to get on my hands and knees, but he gently pushed me on my back.
“No. I want to see you when I take you. I want to watch your face as I come inside you the first time.”
Kneeling between my legs, he cradled my butt on his powerful thighs. He held our cocks together and slathered them with lube. I could feel his heart beating where his dick pressed against mine. His cock towered over mine. I shivered at the size of the monster that was going to invade my ass. I wasn’t sure if I could take it, but I was damned well going to try.
My cockhead snuggled the soft folds of skin gathered around his crown. When he released his grip, my cock snapped against my belly.
He drove his slippery cock up and down my crack, teasing me with its heat and firmness. He thumped the head against my tight hole, slid it down my sweat-slick channel, and thumped me again. It was so close to where I wanted it to be, I whimpered when he stopped to roll on a rubber and lube my hole.
He spent a long time working the lube inside me. His fingers circled, then zeroed in and pushed gently against my quivering hole. I gasped as his fingertip slid inside and bumped my prostate. He stroked it gently. I wiggled and squirmed in delight.
Bruce laughed. “You like that, huh?”
“Oh yeah,” I sighed. It felt so good, I scarcely noticed when he slipped a second finger inside. He worked them in and out, breaking down my resistance and preparing me for himself. As wonderful as his fingers felt pistoning my ass, it wasn’t enough. I wanted more.
“Please,” I begged. “I want all of you inside me.”
He whipped his fingers out and placed his cock against me. He hesitated. I could see the worry in his eyes. I hooked my legs over his shoulders and pushed out, trying to show him how much I wanted him. I closed my eyes against the pain as the broad helmet spread me open. I felt like I was being split apart. He eased back.
“No, don’t stop,” I gasped, pushing against him, inviting the pain. Slowly my sphincter dilated, then clamped around his ridge. The head of his cock was in.
He let me get used to the incredible feeling of a man’s cockhead buried in my ass. He leaned down and kissed me before he continued the delicious invasion of my body. Inch by inch, his cock conquered the hidden recesses of my body.
He tried to be gentle. It hurt, but I didn’t care. I wanted him deeper inside me; I wan
ted to hold him so hard and so deep that he would never let me go.
I couldn’t believe it when I felt the rough hairs of his pubes against me. Amazed, I touched the thick base of his cock pressed tight against me.
“You took it, every inch,” Bruce said proudly.
He rocked his hips, pumping me slowly. I rolled my cock in the lake of precum on my belly. Shivers of pleasure tingled down my spine. He growled low in his throat when I tugged on his hard nipples. His hips undulated as he increased the pace. He drove his cock into every hungry corner of my bowels. He gave a series of hard thrusts, spiking against my prostate.
I couldn’t hold it anymore. My body spasmed. Screams tore my throat as my cock lashed his chest with ropes of hot cream. He came when I did. Shadows hooded the face of the man gasping above me. He locked his arms around me and shuddered his pleasure against me, bruising me with the strength of his arms. I didn’t mind. I think I left a few bruises of my own—my arms and legs were clamped so tightly around him.
He collapsed against me, his body draped over mine like a dark cape. Gradually, his grip eased. As he gently kissed me, I watched the lust fade from his eyes, leaving only the love.
I was home.
THE FARMER’S SON
Karl Taggart
The motorcycle broke down without warning, just crapped out like the engine had been snuffed, so I coasted to the shoulder and thought, What the hell? I’d roared out of L.A. after a shitty week at work, heading north and cutting over to Highway 99 and the central valley because I wanted away from the monotony of I-5 and the familiarity of coastal 101. So that’s how this city boy ended up stranded in farm country, far short of a motel in Visalia, the nearest burg. Fields surrounded me, rows of cabbage that had taken over when rows of onions ran out. I’d enjoyed riding along with the wind in my face, sucking in the various vegetable smells, the vastness of it all reminding me just how big California is and how easily we coastal city dwellers forget it’s an agricultural state. But then the bike quit and everything changed.
I got off and looked at the thing. I knew enough to determine the engine wasn’t getting any gas, which probably meant a clogged fuel line, so with the help of a tiny tool kit extracted from its hidey-hole under the seat, I managed to unhook the fuel lines and blow them out, none of which helped. The thing would not run. “Fuck,” I said aloud, then again, and again, finally exploding into a string of profanity until a car honked its horn as it zoomed by and I realized I’d taken on the look of a madman. So I sat on the bike, trying to decide my next move.
Part of the upset was that I had, in my hasty exit, tossed aside my cell phone as some kind of statement that I needed no connection to anyone. Now I wondered if this reckless move hadn’t created some awful karma. It was as I accepted my own contribution to the situation that I looked across the fields on the opposite side of the highway and saw a farmhouse in the distance. It was small and gray, and I wondered if it was even inhabited. But as dusk was fast upon me, I locked the bike and started walking. Soon I stepped onto a rickety porch and knocked at a door sorely in need of paint. A grizzled old man in overalls with a paper napkin tucked into the bib answered.
“Sorry to bother you,” I began, “but I’ve broken down on the highway. Can I use your phone to call a tow?”
“Murphy’s Garage,” the man said, “’cept he’ll be closed now. C’mon in, we can help you out, but supper’s on.”
The house had the cramped feel of a place built a couple centuries back, and the furniture looked that period, faded velvet sofa and chairs in an awful dark green. The family sat around an oval table in the dining room, two young men and one young woman.
“Fella broke down,” the old man announced.
The others nodded and went back to their chicken, which smelled good and made me realize how hungry I was.
“That’s Tom,” the old man said, “and his wife June and over there’s Billy, my other son who ain’t got a wife. My name’s Bob Stremple.”
“Scott Raynes,” I said. “I really appreciate this.”
There was little talk beyond Bob telling me Billy was good with motors and might be able to fix my car.
“Actually, it’s a motorcycle.”
Bob nodded and Billy’s mouth dropped open. He was big and blond, handsome in a bearish way. “What kind?” he asked.
“Triumph six-fifty. Ran fine until now.”
He nodded, taking this in, then Bob said it was too late to fix it tonight so I should stay over. When supper was finished June cleared the dishes while we men went to watch TV. Around nine, when June had settled beside Tom and he’d begun to rub her thigh, they said goodnight and went down the hall. When they’d gone Bob reminded Billy there was much to do the next day and Billy rose and left us. Then Bob turned to me.
“You’ll bunk in with Billy but I don’t want no foolin’ around, you hear? Billy gets up to things sometimes and I get after him about it so don’t you go and let him fuck you.”
The next second dissolved into a long, surreal moment in which I realized I’d stepped into a cliché, and, further, that it was going to play out. Maybe not the traditional way because that story was a farmer’s daughter, but still, it was happening pretty much as written. And I wondered in the next long moment if maybe this wasn’t even real, if maybe it was a dream and I was asleep in a motel in Visalia with my dick in my hand and the bike had never broken down at all. But I found myself nodding to Bob, unable to form words, and he stood and said, “I’ll turn in too. Billy’s room is second door down the hall, next to the bath.”
I followed him into the hall and as his door closed behind him the bathroom door opened and out stepped darling Billy, stark naked. A jolt ran through me, radiating from my dick, while Billy just stood smiling as if nakedness in the family hallway was perfectly natural. He was over six feet tall, thick, solid, and furred with more of the blond that curled so beautifully on his head. Without a word he opened his bedroom door and as I entered I noticed his hand on his dick almost absently, as if that was also perfectly natural.
He was in proportion down there, big dick for a big man, and as he hardened I noted the blond thicket where the cock grew. Bob’s words echoed in my head, “Don’t you go and let him fuck you,” and I almost laughed at how futile the request was. I began to undress.
As Billy pulled back the covers, I thought of him dutifully making his bed each morning, which gave him a certain innocent appeal—farm boy schooled in the basics but little more. His life centered on crops and animals and family; he was earthiness incarnate, and when I stood bare before him, he grinned almost shyly. His cock pointed at me now and he pulled on it slowly, gently, as he eyed me up and down.
“I can fix your bike,” he said, which surprised me.
“You have experience with motorcycles?”
“No but it’s an engine and I’m good with ’em, keep everything on the farm running.”
“It’s not getting gas,” I said as he approached.
“Carburetor, maybe, or a fuel line,” he replied.
“No, I checked it all.” He put a hand on my cock, thumbed the tip.
“I’ll figure it out,” he said as he knelt and then I was in his mouth and nothing on wheels mattered.
In seconds I was frantic, thrusting at him while he sucked me. I ran my fingers into his wet curls and when I started to come I held the yell to a muffled grunt, mindful of Bob’s admonishment.
It was an exquisite long climax, possibly because this gorgeous bear of a man was expertly pulling it out of me and also because I hadn’t been sucked or fucked in weeks, which was part of the reason I’d fled L.A. in the first place. Billy sucked until I ran dry and even then kept at me, playing with my soft morsel. Finally he let go, looked up and smiled. I thought about Bob as I climbed into bed.
Billy stood holding himself and eyeing me like he was deciding which piece to eat first. He even licked his lips. Then he crawled onto the bed and began to explore the whole of me with his big r
ough hands, finally turning me over and parting my buttcheeks, which caused him to suck in a long breath before getting down between my legs. As he held me open, I felt hot breath in my crack, then a tongue. Bob had every reason to worry.
I had never before been devoured so completely and as I shuddered with delight I wondered if country living had encouraged this big bear to simply do what came naturally, to feed his desires, literally, never mind the limits of society—or his father.
His tongue was a marvel, pushing in deeply then poking around like some snake in search of prey. Mouth plastered to me, Billy crawled around in my chute until he had me squirming and then, as if he hadn’t done enough, he began a tongue-fuck unlike anything I’d ever known. As he went at me, a corner of my mind—the tiny part still able to form coherent thoughts—wondered where he’d learned all this, because it was too good to simply be something he’d fallen into. He was expert, beyond a doubt. What on earth went on out here in the middle of nowhere? But then he withdrew and sat back and I rolled over to look at him licking his lips with that tongue and then he was on me, pinning me in a full body press as he shoved his tongue into my mouth.
I passed a moment in which I considered that it had just been up my butt but this quickly faded as his tongue set up a dance with mine. He began to grind his big hard wet dick against my belly while he kissed me hard and he kept on for several minutes, then pulled off, grinned, and said with a sort of childish glee, “Let’s fuck.”
Turned out he was well prepared, and I discarded his innocence as mere illusion. He got off the bed, opened a dresser drawer and took out several condoms, a tube of lube, a dildo and a handful of other stuff that looked to be tangled with a long string of anal beads. He suited up, greased himself, and told me to get on my back. His commands had the ring of Bob Stremple; I did as told.
He ran a gob of lube into me and I sucked in a breath as he poked his big cock at my rim. His eyes were on mine, sparkling now, I swear, his face flushed, his mouth open, tongue out like it wanted to fuck again. And then he pushed in, not easily, not with care but with the thrust of the animal he was and he set off on a slamming stroke that set the bed creaking and I thought of Bob across the hall and hoped he was a heavy sleeper.
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