Harvest of Change

by Darragha Foster

  Hay shook his head. “I am from a traditionalist community. And you, sir…are clearly not.”

  “Ah, the woods are full of surprises today. But you should not assume so much as to call me progressive, though I do readily admit this book is mine.” The stranger glanced at Hay’s penis. “I see you found something within its pages that intrigues you.”

  Hay fumbled to tuck away his engorged member.

  “Oh, no…don’t do that. You have a lovely penis. But tell me, you are quite uncomfortable now, aren’t you? I interrupted you at the height of stimulation, and I see that even my untimely appearance has not diminished your length and girth one bit. That’s excellent. Indeed.”

  Hay opened his mouth, but no words came out. I have lost the power of speech before this man.

  “The page which fascinated you so…I like it, too. Mouth to genitals. It is a wonderful experience. When your woman strokes your penis into her mouth, do you not find it quite satisfying?”

  Hay forced a response. “I-I have not…I have no woman. At least not yet.”

  “I see.” The stranger pulled his loose-fitting tunic over his head and pulled open a knot at his waist. His breeches fell, exposing his own cock, hard and thick.

  Hay noticed a large scar on the man’s left hip. “You had an accident.”

  “It is of no consequence.” The stranger continued. “Do you prefer men?”

  Hay shook his head. “I…” Gobsmacked, he could do nothing but stare at the most startling physical attribute of stranger. “I…”

  “I see. You would like to enjoy the touch of another man but have not yet had the opportunity. I can tell you, from first-hand experience, of course, that tasting the sweet flesh of a woman is nothing compared to the euphoria found when you caress the erection of another man and feel the weight of his balls in your palm.”

  Judah couldn’t speak.

  “It’s all right. I know what you need.” The stranger reached out and encircled his fingers around Hay’s shaft. “I will not harm you. I wish to help you.” He dropped to his knees. “Let me free you from your lot, if only for a few moments.” He kissed Hay’s cock, almost reverently. “What’s your name?”

  “Judah Hayaam El-Bara.”

  He ran his tongue along the shaft. “Ah, you are a Harvester. El-Bara is a strong family name in your community.”

  “Please…” Hay sighed.

  “Please, stop? Or please, suck you until you explode in orgasm? Do you want me to suck your cock, Judah Hayaam El-Bara? Which is it now?”

  “The latter.” Said without hesitation. Said in desperation. Hay couldn’t believe the reply came from his mouth.

  “I am Beck Nazari. I am commonly known as Buck because of the work I do with ill-behaved horses. I train them and help them come into their own. I know a stallion when I see one. You are a fine stallion. I shall break you, and train you, and see you achieve greatness beyond your wildest dreams. Judah, I claim you, with this kiss.” Beck slid his mouth around his penis, slowly drawing forward until it was completely encased in Beck’s mouth. Hay felt his shaft bump the barrier of Beck’s throat while strong hands played and squeezed his testicles.

  Judah couldn’t breathe.

  Every nerve tingled and every muscle tightened. He thought he might pass out. His eyes failed him. Nothing mattered except each pass of Buck’s tongue along his shaft. Even the guilt of sin failed to turn him away. This was what he wanted. This had been all he wanted for as long as he could remember. Another man.

  “I am going to spill my seed, Buck. I am going to spill my seed down your throat.”

  “Come for me, Judah,” Buck uttered.

  Judah clenched his fists and held them up as if boxing as he climaxed. The muscles of his throat constricted. His penis pulsed with energy, spreading from tip to balls to legs, arms, and heart. No release had ever been sweeter. Not those unbidden while he slept, or those he stole in the rare moments he was alone.

  As the last throb of orgasm flowed out of him, Buck pulled away. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Your seed tastes like spring rain.”

  Hay absent-mindedly stroked his semi-erect penis. “I have never experienced anything like this before.”

  Buck held out his cock. “I would experience you further. I want to fuck your ass.”

  Judah shuddered, still electric with climax. “I don’t know how to do that.”

  Buck laughed. “Let me show you.” He pulled Judah to the forest floor and positioned him, rear-end up, head down, knees and elbows firmly planted.

  Buck grasped Hay’s hair. “This may hurt. We have no oil to ease our way and saliva only offers so much in lubrication.”

  “The sap of this tree is used to grease machines. Break off the bark and—”

  “Yes. I know this tree. I am so blinded by my desire for you I failed to recognize it. Oh, dearest Judah, I would have ripped you open to have my way with you. This,” he pulled a piece of loose bark from the tree trunk, “this will make it as pleasurable for you as it is for me.” Buck palmed the oily sap of the tree and slicked his penis. “Is this really what you want?”

  Hay nodded. “More than anything.”

  “Even though I am a stranger?”

  “Because you are a stranger. A sweet stranger whom I must allow access to my body and soul.”

  “I am ready. Are you?”

  Hay laughed. “I have been ready for years.”

  With one quick thrust Beck broke through his tight sphincter muscle.

  Hay lurched forward and gasped. “It is too big!” he cried.

  “No, my little one…it is just right.”

  Hay had never experienced anything so soul-penetrating. Physically, it burned. Spiritually, it exhilarated more than an ice-water bath. Every fiber of his being felt alive. His mind whirred with conflicted emotions—joy, rapture, shame. Shame overshadowed by an intense sense of freedom. From the depths of his being a long, slow moan forced its way out from between his lips. It was foreign, this deep guttural call to rut echoing within him with juggernaut force. It seemed to entice Beck, who yanked his hair and forced his chin up. Through a sweaty fog he heard Buck coo.

  “You shall be my prize stallion. And I shall ride you often. It is said that the wind of heaven is that which blows between a horse's ears. I promise you, we shall find heaven together.”

  His long hair pulled tightly by Buck, his face lifted to the sky, and throat exposed like a pig’s for a blade, he flushed as he realized Buck wanted him to round up. Round up pretty like a show horse in an arena. He was being ridden. And he loved it, the sweet discomfort of the position, the thrill of Buck’s thrusts, the slick sensation deep within. Truly, this is my destiny. His hair became reins, and his body moved in the ages-old rhythm. The tug against his scalp felt both painful and exhilarating. Debris from the forest floor broke the skin of his knees. He knew he bled. So be it. He had bled for his parents, the harvest, his community, the mission to which he’d been born. This blood—from rent knees to earth—was his first true sacrifice to the only one who really mattered. Himself.

  He giggled as Buck’s fingers traced the outline of the birthmark on the back of his neck and shuddered as Buck filled him with hot seed.

  He fell forward, breathless.

  Buck pulled out. “You bare the mark of the Chosen One. You are the bridegroom. Well, certainly the spirit of creation has a sense of humor.”

  Hay fought through a flood of emotion. “At least I shall have this memory to take with me when I walk into the arms of the goddess.”

  “Let me be your comforting thought. You desire the warmth and comfort of another man’s arms holding you in the night. To crawl atop the goddess and seed her would constitute a falsehood. You cannot seed harvest. It would be a lie. In your belief system, does not your mating with the goddess prevent the Everlasting Winter from taking hold?”

  Judah nodded. “Truthfully, I am not desirous of marriage to the spirit of the fields, nor am I attracted to any l
ocal girls. I-I am man/man. I must be.”

  “And I must have you. Come away with me.” Buck stood and helped him to his feet.

  “My family lives only to serve the harvest. They have waited nineteen years to send their prized lamb to slaughter.”

  “You make it sound as if you shall be sacrificed.”

  “My life will no longer be my own. Is that not death? Every part of me shall be hers. She exacts a heavy toll from her lovers.”

  “Fucked to death, eh?”

  Hay nodded. “Perhaps. No one has returned from her chamber to tell the tale.”

  “So the stories say—but they are stories. I have heard them all. Tell me, Judah Hayaam El-Bara, what will happen when your member fails to pleasure the goddess because you would rather have a cock?”

  “I will be exiled. Definitely castrated. Probably hanged.” Hay paused thoughtfully. “But I must continue this charade, for I see no way out.”

  Buck pulled on his chin, still nude, still dripping. “I must have you. Men such as us, we belong together.”

  “Join our community. Say you are a traditionalist from another county. I will have my father give you a room at our house. We can work the fields side-by-side. When I travel to the Farm, I shall request you as escort.”

  “Ritualistic tilling? Prayers seven times a day? Being flogged if caught masturbating? There must be a better way for us to be together. I foresee us having a long relationship.”

  “Foresee? Are you a seer? Scrying is forbidden.”

  “I am many things. And nothing should be forbidden. Everything should be a matter of choice and acceptance of any consequences therein. It is cause and effect, not adherence to ritual that brings about the change of seasons in men and nature. But in simple terms, yes. I am a seer. That is why I am so good with horses. They are magnificent, sensitive creatures. And so, Judah Hayaam El-Bara, are you.”

  “I need to return to the field. When…how can I see you again?” Judah asked.

  “Ah, my little seedpod has tasted blood and wants more, heh?” Buck teased.

  “I’ve always hated being called that. Please, use my name.”

  “I’m sorry, Judah—”

  He cut Buck off. “Call me Hay. Everyone does.”

  “I’m sorry, Hay. Can you escape tonight? I shall be here, waiting.”

  Hay nodded. “I can try. Why are you in the forest today, Buck? I’m sure I would have noticed you if our paths had crossed before.”

  “I am following my destiny.” Buck swept him into his arms. “I left my stable to collect plants to make a salve for an ailing foal, but in truth, I have found you, and you are a greater poultice than any herb I can gather and press into a healing tincture.” Buck pulled him into a hard embrace, mouths crushed together and bodies barely separated.

  Hay had never experienced a kiss such as the one Buck gave him now, much less the other activities to which he had been introduced. He couldn’t concentrate on any one sensation—they were too powerful. He gave in to them, instead. He opened his mouth a little, relaxed his jaw, and allowed his tongue to explore where it wished. Buck sucked his tongue as he had his cock. Hay grew tight and hard. He pressed his bulge against Buck’s thighs, moving his hips to the oldest of rhythms. He protested against Buck’s lips as Buck’s large hand stroked his shaft through the fabric of his sedate traditionalist pants.

  “Do you want to fuck my ass? Let me rephrase that. Shall we make love, Hay?”

  Judah rested his lips against Buck’s chin. “I need to do something, or I will explode before I return to the fields.”

  Buck turned. “Do it.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “That would be one of the best things about it. The command to canter has been given. My stallion needs to follow all commands.”

  “The sap—”

  “Do it!” Buck demanded.

  Judah pushed Buck slightly forward and positioned himself to take him from behind. His hard member in his hand, he guided it toward Buck’s hole.

  The sensation was unlike anything he had ever felt.

  Buck’s ass consumed his cock with heat and enveloped it so tightly he thought he might climax before making a second stroke. “Hot,” he whispered through his teeth as he clenched and pushed again.

  His dick slid inside Buck, who moved his hips backward to meet each thrust. Three strokes. Three deep strokes in and three smooth glides out. The fourth plunge brought culmination. Judah quivered and moaned and wept as he spewed hot inside Buck’s ass.

  “That’s it. That’s it. Enjoy it, yes…feel the connection of man to man. There is nothing sweeter.”

  “I cannot speak.” The last vestiges of his semen poured out. “The pleasure is too great.”

  “Reach around me and help me now,” Buck commanded.

  “I would do better than bring you to climax with my hand. Teach me how to pleasure you with my mouth.”

  Buck laughed. “Lesson for today…never ass to mouth without first having washed.”

  “Have you water?” Hay asked.

  Buck nodded. “I do.” He moved away from Hay and retrieved a small pack tucked behind a rocky outcropping. He rinsed his cock with tepid water from an earthenware jar, recorked it, and tossed it aside. “Now, let me instruct you in the art of fellatio.”

  His voice rang through the trees and vibrated off the trunks and canopy until hundreds of leaves floated down like a green snow. “We shall ride, Judah. I shall sing to you like I sing to my horses and we shall ride.” Judah gave over to the pressure of Buck’s hands against his head. He opened his mouth and relaxed his jaw. His head bobbed to and fro as Buck forced him to swallow cock then free it of its hiding place again and again. “Yes, let me teach you these things. I shall put you through your paces until you are the finest stallion in the stable.” Buck pushed Judah’s face away. “I’m going to come against your lips. Taste my seed, feel its warmth on your face.” He stroked his member, the head striking Judah’s chin.

  “I would swallow it.”

  “In time, in time. Today, only a taste. Watch how my cock throbs as I stroke my hand, pulling sheathe over head.” He paused. “Tilt your head back. It is time.”

  Hay opened his mouth to catch a few spurts of Buck’s cum. Warm, powerful, salty. Invigorating.

  He wiped his face with the back of his hand. “I will find a way to meet you tonight.” He turned toward home. “One question?”

  Buck chuckled. “Ask me anything.”

  “Why would a progressive be scavenging on traditionalist lands?”

  “Who said I was a progressive?”

  Hay shivered. “The book…our encounter…such things are not traditionalist behaviors.”

  Buck straightened his clothing. “Oh, really? They are now.”

  Chapter 3

  Hay ran.

  Ran faster than he had getting away from the heat of the day and the toil of needless tilling. If he did not, he would surely stay in the arms of the stranger who had, with a kiss, changed his life.

  I was his horse and ridden well. I have been mounted by a man and it was magnificent. Magnificent, indeed. Does it show? Is my pleasure well-hidden under my work clothes? Do I smell of his breath and sweat and seed? I must remove his scent from my body. He waved to a group of workmates as he dashed straight to the pond and dove in off the deep-end dock.

  His thoughts could not turn from the clandestine moments he shared with Beck Nazari. In a very short period of time, he had known more emotion than he had in nineteen years. The experience has changed me. I am no longer the dutiful son. I am desirous of so much more. Of Beck. Of a life away from the smothering traditions of my people.

  “Do you wish to launder your clothing while you wash the good soil from your body, my son?”

  Hay turned, making a water spout with his mouth. The figure at the edge of the pool blocked the sun and looked like a silhouette cut-out. But he knew the voice well.

  “Yes, Father. I am saving time by ri
nsing my clothes and my body at the same time. Is this not a wonderful idea?” He reached a hand up for his father’s assistance in leaving the pool.

  “When I was a lad, the only time I took a dip in my work clothes was when I’d stolen a tart from the baker’s window and spilled blueberry down my shirt. It was a feeble attempt to hide my theft; for though I washed out the stain on the shirt, the stain on my teeth remained, and I had blueberry bits here.” He pointed to a small gap between his two front teeth. “The truth was revealed though I tried to pocket a lie.”

  “I’ve not heard this story before, Father,” Hay replied.

  “Nor have I known you to escape your chores only to be found bathing while fully clothed before, my son.”

  Hay hung his head. “It is hot. I was weary.”

  “You, of all in the community, should rejoice at the labors of the harvest and not fall into laziness. Your wedding day approaches. You shall be crowned king and made consort to the Harvest Goddess, and by your union, you shall protect our community from the Everlasting Winter.”

  “It is that fact that oft-times makes me weary, sir. It is not easy to accept I have a fate no other male born in our community shares.”

  Hay’s father put a protective arm around his shoulders. “You are nineteen and at the peak of manhood. Soon enough the fears of childhood shall dissipate as you fill the belly of the goddess with your seed. Are you afraid you will not know how to pleasure her? I wed your mother at twenty, and you were born less than a year later. We figured things out—so will you.”

  Not know how to pleasure her? What instruction have I received? Put tab A into slot B and push? I must escape this place. I want to fuck men, Father. I love the taste of a man, his scent, his touch. “I know little of women, Father. Perhaps—”

  “Perhaps?”

  “There are women in the north of the county who are said to introduce young men to the ways of women before they are wed.”

  “And you would visit one of them?”

  Hay nodded. “It would seem a prudent lesson, sir.”

  “Your wife—and might I add, the physical host of a goddess, will teach you what you need to know. Know this, the Aspector of Harvest could be a woman of forty with seven children or a fourteen-year-old virgin. We do not choose the embodiment. You will be fortunate should your wife be slightly older and more experienced in marital relations. Someone married—whose husband is a true believer and will be a willing participant in rearing up your child.”