Midnight Farmhand

by Roland Graeme

  “Fuck me, fuck me,” Jacob heard himself babbling, over and over again.

  “I don’t need your permission to fuck your ass, boy,” Duane retorted. “And you know what? You talk too much. I think I’m going to have to find some way to shut you up.”

  “You don’t have the balls to do that,” Jacob taunted him.

  “Oh, I don’t, huh? We’ll see. We’ll find out, one way or another, right now. You’re going to wish you hadn’t mouthed off to me, you arrogant little bitch!”

  Without missing a stroke, Duane leaned over, toward the edge of the bed, and reached downward with his arm. Even with Jacob’s head turned in that direction, Jacob couldn’t see what he fumbling for, on the floor. But then Duane straightened back up—still plowing away in and out of Jacob, nonstop!—and Jacob saw what he now had balled up in his hand. It was the pair of black over-the-calf socks which Duane had stripped off his feet when they’d gotten undressed. Jacob hadn’t taken any particular notice of them at the time, but now he saw that, although they looked like silk, they were really made out of some sort of a sheer synthetic blend of materials.

  “These ought to do the trick,” Duane said. “They’re good and sweaty and funky, from me wearing them inside my shoes all day. God, I hate the way my face sweat, inside those damn leather shoes the department makes us wear.”

  “What do you think you’re going to do with those dirty socks?”

  “Gag your cocksucking mouth with ‘em, and give you something to chew on that you’ll like.”

  “In your dreams, pig. You keep those stinking rags away from me.”

  “Shut the fuck up.”

  As he uttered that pleasantry, Duane folded up one of the socks and stuffed it into Jacob’s mouth.

  “There you go, farm boy. Bite down on this,” he commanded, using his hand under Jacob’s chin to push his jaw closed. “It might help to take your mind off the pain,” he jeered. “Not that I give a damn, if it doesn’t. Because there’s going to be pain, boy. That’s for damn sure. And you deserve it!”

  Jacob tried to protest; but Duane’s hand slid up over his chin and he pressed his palm against Jacob’s mouth, holding the improvised gag in place. Jacob had no choice but to bite down on the wadded-up cloth. It was damp from Duane’s sweat and tasted distinctly funky.

  Jacob grunted in disgust. Ignoring the sounds he was making, Duane stretched the other sock around his head to hold the gag in place in his mouth, pulling it taut and tying a knot in it behind his head.

  You fucker! Jacob tried to yell; but all that emerged from his sock-stuffed mouth was a strangulated groan.

  “There,” Duane said, with audible satisfaction. “That ought to keep you quiet. How’s that dirty, stinking sock taste, punk? It’s almost as good as licking and sucking on my sweaty feet, isn’t it?”

  Shaking his head violently from side to side, Jacob answered him only with a further series of stifled grunts and miscellaneous noises.

  “Can’t hear you too well,” Duane said, sarcastically. “Looks like we’ve found a way to shut you up, at last. Now, you be a good boy. You just stay there like you are and get fucked. Don’t move. Don’t resist. If you do, I swear to God I’ll take my belt and beat your ass until it’s black and blue. I’m going to finish fucking you, now. I’m going to fuck you until I’m ready to come in your ass, and then I’m going to do just that. And I want you to keep on squeezing your ass down on my dick and working it, the whole time. That feels good. You’re a good, hot fuck. I’ve got to say that much for you. That’s one hungry little hole you’re got there, bitch!”

  He screwed Jacob without letup or mercy after that.

  It was such a rough fuck that Jacob was afraid Duane might come quickly. And he didn’t want this brutal pleasure to end so soon. But the other man possessed an extraordinary stamina. He used Jacob’s hole for a long time. Both of their bodies were flushed red and wet with sweat from their exertions, as Duane continued to pound Jacob’s hole in a way that suggested he was more of a machine than a man.

  As he used Jacob, Duane poured out a steady stream of verbal abuse—which only inflamed both men the more, as their bodies pounded together in the unrelenting rhythms of anal intercourse.

  “Yeah, you like having that big, hard cop dick in your hole, don’t you, punk?” Duane gasped. “You’ve been a bad boy, and now you’re going to have to take your punishment like a man. God damn—I’m going to have to take you down to the police station some night, when I’m the only one on duty. I’ll take you into one of the holding cells. I’ll strip you down naked, boy, and then I’ll do a strip search on you. Put a rubber glove on my hand and shove it up your ass. Work my fingers around in there, make sure you’re not hiding anything. And then I’ll handcuff you and make you get down on your knees and suck my dick. I’ll make you deep-throat the motherfucker. I’ll beat your ass with my belt, if you slack off and you don’t go a good job. Hell, maybe I’ll beat your pretty ass anyway, just because I want to and we both know I can get away with it. And then I’ll gag you, just like you’re gagged now. And I’ll throw you on the bunk, belly down, and I’ll rape your ass. I’ll use that hole. You’ll love it, boy. You’ll beg me for more! You’ll beg to be my fucking sex prisoner, all night long—!”

  But even a stud like Duane had his breaking point.

  In the midst of one his harangues, Jacob heard him interrupt himself, and let out a cry of savage joy. He thrust harder, and Jacob knew that he must be ejaculating inside him. The cop’s cock seemed to swell even larger, which Jacob wouldn’t have thought was possible; and Duane’s strokes became shorter, but less controlled and fiercer, jabbing into him with a punishing force. It felt as though Duane was lifting Jacob right off the bed with the impaling strength of his cock! He was fucking Jacob so hard, in fact, that Jacob wouldn’t have been surprised if the brass bed, which was rocking violently back and forth under them, fell apart and dumped the mattress, with the two men on it, onto the floor!

  Duane growled his way through his orgasm, uttering a succession of breathless, guttural sounds. When he had finished, he collapsed and lay on top of Jacob, in a sweaty heap of limbs.

  There was silence in the bedroom for a long time, except for the sounds of the two men’s heavy breathing. Finally, Duane raised himself on one elbow. First, he yanked the gag down around Jacob’s neck, so that he was able to spit out the wadded-out sock he’d been chewing on. Jacob heard a faint metallic rattling sound. Duane had found the key to the handcuffs, and he was unfastening them. Relieved at being able to use his hands again, Jacob unknotted the second sock from around his neck and tossed it aside. Then he reached out and caressed Duane’s hot, sweaty body. Duane returned his caresses, kissed him on the mouth, and then he spoke softly to Jacob:

  “Man, that was fantastic! Some of the best sex I’ve ever had. Hey—I wasn’t too rough on you, was I?”

  “You weren’t rough enough. You got me so hot, so fucking turned on, that I wanted more. Tell me, Duane. Will you really take me to the station some night and lock me up in a cell and strip search me and work me over, the way you were talking about while you were fucking me?”

  Duane chuckled. “That was just a fantasy. But, come to think of, it probably could be arranged. And I bet we’d both get off on it. Yeah, we’re definitely going to do that, sometime soon. In the meanwhile, though—” He broke off, and yawned. “God, I’m fucking exhausted. First all day at work, and then this!” But his tone of voice was more exultant than weary. It sounded rich with contentment. “Are you tired, too, buddy?”

  “A little,” Jacob confessed, smiling happily. “But it was certainly worth it. And I’m not so tired that I’m not ready to do it all over again. All of it, Duane. Everything! Come on, fuck me again.”

  Duane let out a groan. “Jesus, you really are a power bottom! Not right now, please,” he pleaded. “Let’s get some sleep. I’m beat. I’ll fuck you again in the morning—okay?”

  “Okay, but I intend to hold you to that.�
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  “One of us has to get out of bed and blow out that lamp. And I’m so fucked out, I’m not sure I can move.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll do it.” Jacob got off the bed, went over and blew out the lamp, and then slid back onto the mattress next to Duane. He pulled the covers up over both their bodies, as far as their waists.

  Duane rolled over onto his side, facing Jacob, and put his arm around him, drawing him close. With their faces, chests, and thighs touching in the darkness, the two men could hear each other’s breathing—and feel each other’s heartbeats, the blood pulsing through their veins more slowly now that the fury of their orgasms had subsided.

  “Kiss me,” Duane mumbled, already sounding groggy with impending sleep.

  Their lips touched.

  “Goodnight,” Jacob whispered.

  “Goodnight. Sleep well.”

  Jacob knew that he would. Feeling warm and safe in his cop lover’s embrace, he drifted quickly off to sleep.

  Chapter Seven: Private Workouts

  During the next month, Jacob found himself subject to odd mood swings.

  He seemed to be getting plenty of sex lately, and every time he did get laid, he experienced an undeniable sense of euphoria during and immediately after the act. In between these encounters, though, when he was on his own and time lay heavy on his hands, he felt let down—almost depressed.

  What he really wanted was one of two things—and, perversely, he couldn’t decide which he wanted the more. He wanted a full reconciliation with Camilo, so that they could resume their sexual relationship. Camilo was friendly enough, but he’d seemed to have drawn an invisible line between him and Jacob, which he stubbornly refused to cross. He and Jacob just never seemed to end up in bed together, which was what Jacob so fervently desired. Too proud to throw himself at Camilo, Jacob was also still insufficiently skilled at seduction to try a more indirect, subtle approach.

  He was beginning to fear that Camilo had found himself a new fuck buddy. Of course, Jacob was hardly in a position to blame Camilo for that, if such was the case.

  But Jacob also entertained half-pornographic, half-romantic fantasies about winning Duane as a steady lover. He and the hot young cop were tricking on the average of once a week, either in Jacob’s room on the farm, or in Duane’s house in town. Jacob preferred the latter because it was more discreet.

  He enjoyed having sex with Duane, who was an energetic and inventive partner.

  One night, though, Jacob made the mistake of confiding in the police officer about his relationship with Merle.

  Duane seemed perturbed. “Why, that’s sexual harassment, pure and simple. You don’t have to put up with it.”

  Jacob shrugged. “It’s just sex.”

  “You could sue Greenley’s ass off. Hell, you could sue the farm owners’ asses off, if you filed a complaint with them and they didn’t do anything about it.”

  “I’d never do something like that.”

  “I can’t see why not.”

  “They’ve been good to me. I owe them.”

  “Okay, but that doesn’t excuse Greenley’s behavior, or make it right. Listen, do you want me to have a little talk with this boss of yours?”

  “Would you do that for me, Duane?”

  “You bet I would. I’d tell the motherfucker a thing or two, and put the fear of God in him.”

  “But Merle might make trouble for you.”

  “Ha! I’d like to see the bastard try.”

  Jacob was pleased by the protective instinct Duane showed toward him, but he was also frightened by the possible outcomes, should Duane intervene.

  “Let’s drop it, for the time being, Duane,” he pleaded. “Let’s forget about it. This is my problem. It’s something I’m going to have to work out for myself.”

  “Well … if that’s the way you really want it. But if you change your mind, I’m here for you, buddy.”

  That was how Jacob left it. Passively, he bided his time, hoping that something would happen—that something would change, without his having to do anything on his own initiative.

  He now had an ally in Duane, though, and that made him feel better.

  He was no longer quite as intimidated by Merle as he had once been. He knew better, now, than to expect anything from Merle but sex—and, for that matter, sex purely on Merle’s own selfish terms. But Jacob was still addicted to the man’s cock, and he feared that he might not be able to wean himself from it without going through some withdrawal symptoms.

  Jacob despised himself for backsliding, and allowing himself to be under Merle’s thumb again.

  As though Merle was a cruel urban pimp and Jacob was just another one of the male whores in his stable, the farm manager used his young employee unmercifully in the days and weeks that followed. There was one difference between Jacob and the typical street hustler, though. Jacob wasn’t even being paid for putting out.

  On some evenings, Merle would spend time with Hank, or with other guys in town, without feeling any need to inform Jacob of his whereabouts—while Jacob allowed himself to hope that his horny boss might already be tiring of him. But then Merle would finally show up at the farm without warning or explanation, and he’d order Jacob to come to his room. There, they’d both strip off their clothes, and Jacob would suck Merle’s cock, and Merle would fuck him. Several nights a week, Jacob would thrash and moan beneath the punishing impact of his boss’s plunging erection. It didn’t take Jacob long to get over any lingering inhibitions he may have still have had about the raunchier, more brutal side of gay sex. He was now ready and willing to give anything a try.

  Still afraid to do anything that might alienate Merle, Jacob catered to his every whim. He sucked Merle’s cock and licked his ass at his command. Only during the most frenzied moments of their sex play did the Texan forget himself for an instant and deign to kiss Jacob, or show him some other fleeting, token gesture of rough affection. Jacob had become his sex slave. He was there for Merle to use, for his own selfish satisfaction.

  Perversely, though, Jacob’s continuing obsession with Merle didn’t prevent the farmhand from lusting after other men. With Merle’s full knowledge and consent, Jacob was tricking with Hank, as well.

  On some of the nights when Merle wasn’t available, or wasn’t interested, Jacob fell back on his buddy, who was a more than adequate substitute.

  Ever since their threesome, Jacob had not only held onto the business card Hank had given him—he kept it out in his room in full view, like some sort of an erotic talisman.

  The next time Jacob had a day off, he drove into town and checked out Hank’s gym.

  Located on a side street off the town’s main drag, it was an unprepossessing place on the outside. A neon sign identified it as The Iron Pit.

  Hank had a muscular young number on his payroll, and this guy was manning the front desk at the moment. He introduced himself to Jacob as Mike. Then, at Jacob’s request, Mike summoned his boss, who greeted Jacob warmly and gave him a tour of the facility.

  Out on the gym’s main floor, there were free weights and exercise machines. It was an all-male establishment. Behind closed doors, were a locker room, a shower area, a whirlpool tub, a dry sauna, and a wet steam room. Everything had an unpretentious, utilitarian look to it; but at least the premises were kept scrupulously clean.

  Hank was in business to make money, but he didn’t subject Jacob to a high-pressure sales pitch.

  “Why don’t you think about signing up for a month’s trial membership?” he suggested. “Even if you only come here to work out once or twice a week, it ought to be worth it. Because you know Merle, I’ll give you a discount. And you can always cancel at the end of the month. What’ve you got to lose?”

  Jacob found these arguments persuasive. He signed the contract that Hank printed out for him on his computer, and he paid the month’s membership fee.

  He got into the habit of driving into town for a workout on his days off, and also on evenings when he had no
thing else planned, and wasn’t too tired from work. He discovered that pumping some iron, followed by a sit in the sauna, the steam room, or the whirlpool bath, and a nice long hot shower, was relaxing—and even more conducive to a good night’s sleep than sex.

  Jacob also quickly observed that the gym was an active, though discreet, cruising spot—probably the most popular cruising location in town, and a viable alternative to the bars. The Iron Pit wasn’t officially a men-only gym. But it had no women members, which Jacob guessed was no coincidence. No doubt the no-frills ambience turned them off. Women in the town who wanted to work out patronized a more upscale, coed fitness center in the next community, a short drive away.

  Because a visit to the gym amounted to a “boys’ night out,” the members felt free to wear a minimum of clothing while they worked out. They didn’t censor their language. They also wandered about the locker room, the steam room, and the other back room amenities in various states of nudity.

  Hank and his employees turned a blind eye on any sexual activities which took place on the premises—when they weren’t joining in. At times, Jacob suspected that the real reason Hank had gotten into this business in the first place was to provide himself with his own personal sexual domain, along with a steady turnover of men to trick with.

  Jacob made the acquaintance of some of the regulars. One of them was a handsome man about thirty, who stood out because of his shock of flaming red hair. His name was Reuben. He lived and worked in town, and Jacob assumed that he was married, because he always wore a plain gold ring on the third finger of his left hand.

  But Reuben seemed to devote a lot of his time at the gym to cruising the other members. He didn’t neglect his workouts: Jacob had to admit that the guy had a good physique. He’d seen Reuben naked in the locker room and the showers, and he liked what he saw. Judging by the way Reuben kept staring at him, Jacob was confident that the man felt the same way about him.