Midnight Farmhand

by Roland Graeme

  But he was wrong. Merle pulled his hand from beneath the farmhand’s chest and gripped him by his shoulders instead. Slowly, very slowly, he pulled back, the stretched lips of Jacob’s asshole puckering outward around his withdrawing cock. Then he pushed himself down against Jacob, driving the battering ram of his dick into him with his full weight behind it.

  “Oh, shit!” Jacob yelled. “I can’t take it! It’s just fucking big!”

  Merle was ramming into him so forcefully that Jacob’s entire body was being lifted forward along the bed. He could hardly breathe.

  Merle clamped his big hand over the lower part of Jacob’s face, pressing his sweaty palm against the farmhand’s mouth.

  “Shut up,” he warned Jacob, his voice rumbling deep within his chest. “You don’t want everybody in the house to hear us, do you?”

  All Jacob could manage by way of response was a muffled moan. Merle kept his hand over Jacob’s mouth, gagging him. Writhing within Merle’s strong grip, Jacob tried to pull his traumatized ass away from the man’s groin. But Merle held him firmly and went right on slamming his prick into him. If anything, Jacob’s futile struggles only seemed to excite him, and they undeniably had the opposite effect from what Jacob intended. The harder Jacob tried to get free, the deeper Merle’s cock ended up embedded in him. His arms and legs thrashed about on the bed as though he was a swimmer, trapped underwater and desperately trying to propel himself to the surface.

  “Stop resisting,” Merle growled. “Stop fighting me. Don’t make me hurt you, son. You just lie there, and you keep that sweet little hole of yours open, and you take my dick. Get fucked, boy. Get fucked!”

  Jacob let the man take him.

  No choice … you have no choice in the matter, Jacob told himself. He’s going to fuck you until he comes in your ass, whether you want him to or not. Even if you beg him to stop, he’s just going to keep on pounding your hole! His awareness of his plight, of his own helplessness, paradoxically only seemed to get him hotter, more eager to be held down on the bed and fucked—ostensibly against his will; although he now knew that his resistance was a sham. He wanted to be fucked, as roughly as Merle could do it to him.

  And Merle obliged him. He used Jacob’s hole, with savage glee and seemingly unflagging energy.

  Jacob could feel himself starting to come. He fought for control of his own shuddering body, but he lost it.

  His hard-on, trapped between his belly and the bed, quivered, convulsed, and then shot a hot jet of semen over his abdomen. The orgasm hit him like the flame from a blowtorch. Whimpering like an injured animal, Jacob pushed away from the slimy outpouring of his cum, a motion which once again succeeded only in driving Merle’s prick into him even deeper. Jacob could feel himself shaking from head to foot. The heat that enveloped him was so intense that he was afraid he was ejaculating not only sperm, but blood!

  Merle lifted his legs from the bed, his cock screwed tightly into the socket of Jacob’s ass, and he ground himself fiercely against the farmhand. Against the back of Jacob’s neck he was growling something incoherent, the words trapped deep within his throat. Without pulling back, he made several hard jabs into Jacob. At the same time, his teeth closed around the skin of Jacob’s neck, biting into it.

  Contracting against the incredible pain, Jacob’s ass was squeezing shut around him, trying to force the impaling length of that prick from his guts. The muscles of Jacob’s legs were knotted up and shuddering rigidly. HIs mouth opened wide against the palm of Merle’s hand in a soundless scream of agony as tears welled up in his eyes.

  When Merle finally pushed himself up from Jacob’s exhausted body, his cock was already softening. The sensation of it being withdrawn from Jacob’s sphincter was almost more intense that the initial penetration had been. When the glans popped free of his anus, Jacob felt an indescribable feeling of relief.

  It had been much more violent than any sex act he’d engaged in previously. His mouth and his ass had both been violated, filled with hard cock, initiated into the world of rough male-on-male sex. Somewhat to his surprise, Jacob had survived the experience. Even more astonishing—he realized that he had enjoyed it!

  Without speaking, Merle rose from the bed and stripped the semen-filled condom from his cock. He tossed the rubber onto the nightstand beside the bed.

  “Man, I’m beat,” he complained, although he sounded rather smug about it. “You know something, son? You’re not a bad fuck.”

  “Thanks,” Jacob managed to say. He was still having trouble catching his breath.

  “Give me a tight piece of man ass, instead of a pussy, any time.”

  Jacob didn’t know exactly what he had expected from Merle, in the aftermath of their sex. Some kissing and cuddling, he guessed. Some sort of a transition, certainly. But there he and Merle were, both of them still naked, breathing hard, their bodies wet with sweat—and carrying on an oddly matter-of-fact, even rather impersonal, conversation. It was as though nothing at all extraordinary had just taken place between them.

  Jacob felt obligated to keep up his end of the dialogue, such as it was.

  “Have you been with women, too?” he asked his boss.

  “Sure. I think that everybody’s basically bisexual,” Merle insisted. Now that they’d stopped fucking and sucking, now that he’d gotten his rocks off, he seemed to be in a talkative mood. And he wanted to talk about sex, instead of just indulging himself in it with his employee. “Some people just deny their true feelings. Others prefer it one way or the other. And some of us lucky bastards don’t care if we’re in bed with a man, or a woman, at any given moment, as long as we like the person. We can get off either way.” He paused, and gave Jacob a wry look. “But I’d much rather be with another guy. Broads can be so needy and possessive. And you don’t have to worry about getting a dude pregnant. Plus, a really hot cocksucker is always hotter than any damn woman. Once you get a guy like that going, he’ll do just about anything, no matter how dirty. I guess you just proved that, huh?”

  Jacob fell silent for a moment, trying to absorb what Merle had just said. He supposed that, in his crude way, Merle had just praised him for his performance. But talk about your backhanded compliments!

  So I’m dirty, am I? he thought. I’m a “really hot cocksucker,” a dirty whore, who’ll do anything? Gee, thanks!

  Jacob had no illusions about being bisexual, himself. He liked men. He was gay. He hadn’t had enough experience with other gay men to really be able to judge Merle’s performance, but so far he had no complaints. And he suspected that when it came to a sex partner, he could do much, much worse than the rugged, somewhat crude Texan.

  “You’re awfully fucking quiet. Penny for your thoughts,” Merle said.

  “Oh, I wasn’t thinking about anything in particular,” Jacob lied.

  “No? Not having second thoughts, are you? Regrets?”

  “No.”

  “You’re not going to tell anybody about this, are you? It’s going to be our secret, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good. How about a kiss?”

  “If you want,” Jacob said, feeling an inexplicable shyness and diffidence.

  Merle chuckled as he lowered his mouth toward Jacob’s.

  Jacob closed his eyes and parted his lips in anticipation of the kiss. He inhaled deeply, reveling in the proximity of another man’s naked body, in the delight of feeling another man’s mouth pressed tightly against his own lips. He was enjoying the tiny spasms of preliminary arousal he could feel in his groin. His cock and balls already pulsed hotly with obscene anticipation. Oh, there could be no doubt about it. He was gay, all right!

  Sex with Merle was better than Jacob had imagined sex with another man could be; even more exciting than he’d thought it might be in the days when he’d fantasized about man-on-man lovemaking as an ignorant male virgin. Suddenly greedy, and feeling miraculously reinvigorated, Jacob now wanted more.

  Moaning uncontrollably, Jacob put his arms around
Merle’s shoulders and knotted his trembling fingers together behind the man’s sturdy neck.

  Jacob could smell the musky, lingering aroma of Merle’s body, a blend of sweat and cheap cologne. He could feel the heat of Merle’s body—burning, it seemed, through Jacob’s own flesh, raising his temperature. And he knew that he wanted to have sex with Merle, even if it went submitting to him, and to hell with whether it was right or wrong. Jacob was gay and he was proud of it!

  Jacob almost screamed with excitement and impatience when Merle lowered his lips to the hollow of his throat, and the Texan’s mustache tickled him. The sensation of Merle’s lips, grazing along Jacob’s flesh like that, was demolishing the remnants of Jacob’s self-control. The farmhand felt his prickshaft stiffening, his testicles contracting with hot spasms of pure desire. His whole body was screaming silently for more.

  Jacob felt his nipples, swelling rapidly into stiff, inflexible cones, pressing out against the big, hard muscles of Merle’s chest—longing to be touched and stimulated.

  “Merle … please,” Jacob groaned feebly, as his boss’s hand reached down between their bodies and closed over the mass of Jacob’s overexcited genitals. “Please,” Jacob repeated, as he began to squirm against the other man. “Please make love to me again, before I go!”

  “Anything you say, buddy,” Merle murmured.

  When Merle’s hand closed over the swell of Jacob’s left buttock, the farmhand thought he was going to yell out loud with delight—and with frustration. Jacob wanted Merle badly. He needed to be satisfied, and he knew that Merle was just the man to do it.

  Suddenly, Merle’s mouth ground down hard over Jacob’s and his tongue plunged deep. Jacob squirmed with pleasurable agony as a million pinpricks of raw sensation began to prickle over his skin.

  Jacob sighed with relief when he felt Merle pressing his big body urgently against him. Automatically, Jacob’s hips began to revolve, moving slowly in the primitive tempo of desire. In another minute, they’d be back on the bed, he realized, and he felt his cheeks burn at the very idea of it. And in another minute after that, they’d be fucking!

  Jacob couldn’t remember when he’d wanted an orgasm, when he’d needed to ejaculate, more! It was like an actual, palpable physical pain, throbbing away deep inside his guts.

  Maybe I’m not such a late bloomer, or so closeted, after all, Jacob told himself. Maybe I’ve just never met the right man until now. I thought Camilo was a real stud—and he is. But this horny bastard makes Camilo look like a fucking choirboy, by comparison!

  Groaning with lust, Jacob let Merle push him back on top of the bed. Merle climbed on top of him, reaching for fresh condom to put on his dick, and got ready to mount him. Jacob could worry about his increasingly complicated sexual options later, the wayward Mennonite youth told himself. Right now, he had more urgent matters to attend to. Such as attending to his boss’s seemingly insatiable sexual needs!

  When—hours later—Jacob left Merle’s room, he felt like the most sexually satisfied young stud in all of rural Pennsylvania, if not in the whole world. In a daze of post-orgasmic disorientation, he went back to his own room and collapsed on the bed, fully clothed. Too worn out even to undress himself, he immediately fell asleep.

  Chapter Three: Clothes Make the Man

  There was work to be done on the farm seven days a week. The employees were allowed to amuse themselves as they chose at night. Even on Friday and Saturday nights, when many of the men liked to spend a few hours in town, there was not so much a formal curfew as an informal understanding. They could stay out as late as they wanted to, and could do as they pleased, so long as they were awake and in fit shape to take care of their duties the following morning. In the short time Jacob had been on the farm, no one had abused this privilege.

  In addition, the individual men were given regular whole days off, on a rotating basis. When Jacob found himself scheduled for such a break on a weekday, he made no definite plans, but decided to act on the spur of the moment. After treating himself to the luxury of sleeping late, he realized there was nothing in particular that he needed, or wanted, to do. Already bored by mid-morning, and almost envying his coworkers as they toiled in the fields, he drove into town.

  He stocked up on whiskey at the liquor store, and bought some personal items at the drugstore. There were few shopping opportunities in the town itself. To get to a decent-sized mall, Jacob would have to drive several miles. He decided against it.

  He was frugal, and had been saving his pay. With room and board provided at the farm, he had few expenses. He supposed he ought to be content with the fact that his needs were so few.

  As noon approached, he decided that he would at least treat himself to a good lunch. There was a diner on the outskirts of town, beside a truck stop. It was a popular place, not only with the locals, but with drivers who turned off the interstate highway to get gas, a bite to eat, or both.

  The lunchtime special that day was chicken and dumplings. Jacob sat at the counter and cleaned his plate. Then he had more coffee, along with a slice of apple pie.

  He was finishing up when a young police officer came through the door. Glancing instinctively at the newcomer, Jacob saw that he had parked his patrol car outside.

  The cop seated himself on the stool next to Jacob, exchanged greetings with the waitress, and ordered coffee, a bacon cheeseburger (well done), and fries.

  Jacob took advantage of their proximity to steal another glance at the man.

  He couldn’t help speculating that, whatever other qualifications the guy might possess, he had been hired by the local police force mainly because of his striking—and, indeed, rather intimidating—appearance. He was a big guy in his early twenties, probably no older than Jacob, with blue eyes and close-cropped blond hair. He carried himself ramrod-straight, and his snug-fitting uniform shirt and trousers did a good job of displaying what was obviously a weight-trained physique.

  One bulging bicep, protruding from the short sleeve of his shirt, was decorated with a tattoo. It was a Japanese-style design, of a plump salmon-colored koi swimming about in blue waves flecked with bits of white foam. Knowing Camilo had given Jacob an appreciation of body art, and he couldn’t help speculating whether any more ink was concealed by that uniform.

  Jacob also noticed that the young police officer had pierced ears. He wore a small surgical steel ball threaded through each of his earlobes. Jacob wasn’t yet accustomed to seeing earrings on men, let alone on a cop, so he found the jewelry quite fascinating.

  While he was waiting for his food, the blond cop took a long, appreciative sip of his coffee. As he set the cup back down on its saucer, he turned to Jacob.

  “Is that your pickup out front, by any chance?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir. Is something wrong?”

  “No, not at all. I just know most of the cars and trucks around here by sight. New in town? Or just passing through?” The police officer had the laconic way of talking that was so typical of small town residents. Jacob was aware that he fell into it occasionally, himself.

  “Neither,” Jacob replied. “I live here now. I’ve been here for the past couple of months. I have a job,” he volunteered, not wanting the cop to think he was some sort of a derelict.

  “No kidding. Where’s that—if you don’t mind my asking?”

  Jacob had the distinct impression that whether or not he minded being questioned didn’t matter all that much to the lawman. But being sexually active had bolstered Jacob’s self-confidence somewhat, and had made him more comfortable in the presence of other men. He wasn’t intimidated by the policeman, as he might have been had this encounter taken place when he’d first come to the town. Nor did he really resent his curiosity.

  Jacob named his employer.

  “Oh, that’s a fine outfit. One of the biggest farms in this area. You must enjoy working there. Don’t be offended if I seem inquisitive,” the cop went on, as though he could read Jacob’s thoughts. “It’s my job to keep tr
ack of what goes on around here. Except for the traffic coming off the interstate, we don’t see too many strangers, obviously. So when somebody new does come into town, it piques everybody’s interest. Mine especially—for purely professional reasons.”

  “That’s all right. I don’t mind talking about myself.”

  Jacob noticed that the name tag pinned on the front of the cop’s shirt read Mallory. He also noticed how the twin swells of the man’s big pecs filled out the shirt, pushing the name tag out in high relief.

  “My names Jacob, by the way. Jacob Stoltzfus.”

  “Now there’s a name that proves you must come from somewhere around here,” the cop said, easily. “I’m Duane Mallory.”

  “Pleased to meet you.”

  They shook hands. Mallory’s food was placed in front of him. He dug in, with undisguised relish. Jacob decided that he was in no hurry to leave the diner. He could indulge in yet another cup of coffee, although it might made a visit to the men’s room prudent before he departed. He was rather enjoying sitting next to the handsome cop, and watching him stuff his face.

  “The guys you work with,” Mallory mumbled, around a mouthful of burger. “They usually come into town on Friday or Saturday night, and hit the bars. Both of the bars. Sometimes they can get a little rowdy. But I haven’t seen you out drinking, or hanging out on the street.”

  “I guess that’s not my idea of what to do in my free time,” Jacob admitted.

  “What do you like to do?”

  Jacob shrugged. “Read. Watch TV. Listen to music. Check out the Internet.”

  “I didn’t know Mennonites were allowed to do the last three things.”

  “How’d you know I was a Mennonite?”

  “Just an educated guess. No offense, but for one thing, that haircut of yours is a dead giveaway. Cut straight across the bottom edge like that—no fancy hair stylist did that.”