Hank climbed onto the bed and straddled Jacob’s chest, slapping him back and forth across the face, first with his erect cock, then with the palm of his hand. He struck Jacob’s cheek lightly, but still hard enough to sting a little.
“Fucking whore,” he grunted. “So Merle’s not enough to satisfy that ass of yours, huh? Oh, you like that, don’t you?” he added, referring to the slapping, without giving Jacob a chance to reply. “You like it when a guy slaps you around a little, and puts you in your place. Maybe you like it a little too much, huh? I’ll have to save it, as a special treat for when you’re a good boy and you do exactly what I tell you to do. Not that you have much of a choice in the matter. Either you do what I want, or you can go find yourself another dick to suck and take up your ass. And for a whore like you, that shouldn’t be a problem.”
Jacob’s inhibitions were numbed by the cocaine. Suddenly, he wanted to make Hank angry. He decided to insult Hank, to goad him on—to see what he would do. “Look who’s calling who a whore. You dirty cocksucker,” Jacob exclaimed, jeering at him.
Hank let him have it then—a real slap, which left Jacob’s cheek burning afterward.
“Watch your mouth,” he warned the farmhand. “And I think you’re the real cocksucker here—aren’t you, bitch?” Again, without allowing Jacob to respond in words, Hank raised himself a bit on his knees, directing his rapidly hardening dick toward Jacob’s mouth. He slapped his meat across Jacob’s chin, and then he demanded, “Open your mouth and start sucking!”
Jacob obeyed him without hesitation or question, unable to resist what the blond bodybuilder was offering him. Jacob’s hunger for cock outweighed every other consideration. He was willing, indeed eager, to humiliate himself, so long as his subservience would be rewarded with cock.
Throwing his body forward and supporting himself on the mattress with both hands, placed on either side of Jacob’s head, Hank reamed out his throat with the potent shaft of his cock. He fucked Jacob’s face as brutally as Merle had ever fucked his ass, but Jacob took the abuse without complaint. Hank’s heavy nuts swung like a pendulum against the underside of Jacob’s chin as Hank pumped his hips back and forth. Feeling his bulky prick slide over his tongue and stab toward his gullet, Jacob lay there passively, allowing Hank to dominate him completely. Jacob’s own neglected cock stood up from his groin, stiff and throbbing, leaking jism from its tip.
Hank’s physical abuse was accompanied by a steady stream of verbal abuse.
“Lousy cocksucking whore,” he panted, driving his hot piston relentlessly in and out of Jacob’s throat, pressing his pubic hair against Jacob’s bruised lips. “Take it, bitch. Choke on it! I like to hear you gag. It’s a real fucking turn-on.”
Jacob accepted the brutal barrage of Hank’s cock thrusts, his own subservience transforming Hank’s selfish use of him into a perverse kind of groveling sexual ecstasy.
It wasn’t long, though, before Hank decided he wanted Jacob’s ass. Hank and Merle certainly had that in common. They both got off on plowing Jacob’s butt.
He silently urged Jacob to get on his hands and knees on the bed. Kneeling behind Jacob, Hank put on a rubber, gave himself a swipe of lube, and then, with brisk efficiency, he drove his dick into his willing victim.
The hard ball of the cockhead burst through the muscular ring of Jacob’s ass. Hank didn’t take long strokes at first; he kept them short and even, pausing a moment each time before he forced the full length of his swollen cock back into the grip of Jacob’s narrow anal channel. The fact that he moved so slowly at first at least gave Jacob a chance to get used to the fullness of him in his anus. But then, little by little, Hank began to pick up momentum, until he was drilling that massive prick of his into Jacob’s bunghole with long, sure, demanding strokes.
Each time his dong reached a full penetration of Jacob’s ass, it throbbed within him, awesome in its power to inflict such painful ecstasy. The pleasure Jacob felt as Hank used his hole was almost unbearable. But Jacob knew it couldn’t last indefinitely. Several times, Hank paused, his breath beginning to catch in his throat, as he struggled to maintain control and postpone his orgasm. But each time, he would once again start to drive his dick into Jacob with fierce strokes. When he let out a sudden, hoarse cry of lustful excitement, Jacob knew he was nearing his climax, and—far from doing anything to stop Hank from achieving it—Jacob squeezed down on his shaft with every anal muscle he had at his disposal, providing the extra stimulation guaranteed to push his fucker over the edge.
Hank came in Jacob’s ass. Jacob came, too, all over the bed under him.
Afterward, they exchanged no more than a few banal words, bidding each other goodnight. Once again, Jacob had served his purpose, and it was time for him to get dressed and leave. He headed back to the farm, feeling physically sated, but also used and cheap.
It didn’t take Merle long to become bored with Jacob. He began making excuses, for why they couldn’t get together. Jacob suspected that he’d found some other dumb young number in the town, or on a neighboring farm, to amuse himself with—a guy who was no doubt thrilled by the fact that he’d been seduced and was having sex with the big, macho Texan. Knowing Merle, as Jacob now did, he probably had more than one such trick on his string. Everything that Jacob’s instincts had told him about Merle was correct. Now, belatedly, the farmhand regretted ever having given in to the man in the first place.
Ironically, Jacob’s sexual relationship with Hank, toward whom he was basically indifferent, lasted a little longer. But then Hank, too, lost interest in Jacob, and he moved on to other tricks.
But Jacob didn’t waste much time mourning the loss of any one sex partner. Nor did he intend to allow himself to be deprived of sexual satisfaction for very long. Any time he wanted to get laid, all he needed to do was go down to The Iron Pit, on some evening when he knew Reuben would be there, also working out. They could slip Mike a few bucks, and use the storage room for a quick, sordid tryst. Hank may have had his faults, but he turned a blind eye to such activities. As long as he was obtaining his own satisfaction, somewhere, with somebody, he didn’t really care what other men did.
Jacob was learning a hard, but invaluable lesson about gay life. It wasn’t all thoughtless, carefree pleasure and comradeship amongst men. It had its cynical, exploitative side, as well.
Like a dutiful son, Jacob wrote home to his family, once or twice a week. Unable to share what he was going through emotionally, he wrote in exhaustive detail about the day-to-day routine of the farm. He wondered how his parents would react if they knew what path their son had taken. Sooner or later, there might have to be a confrontation. For now, though, Jacob was grateful for the geographical separation. It would allow him to protect his secrets, for the time being.
As the summer wore on, the weather continued sunny and hot. There was plenty of work to be done on the farm. For one thing, the absence of rainfall made it vital for the fields to be properly irrigated.
At supper one evening, the conversation inevitably turned to that eternal subject of interest on a farm, the weather. The forecast called for thunderstorms, accompanied by steady, heavy rains. This was encouraging.
Some of the men then began talking about an ultimate fighting competition which would be shown on a cable TV channel later that night, and which they planned to watch.
Jacob had an inspiration. After the meal, as the men began to get up from the table, he made sure to get close enough to Camilo so that he could speak to him, without any of the others overhearing them.
“Maybe I’ll catch those fights on TV,” Jacob said, trying to sound casual. “They could be interesting. If you don’t have anything better to do, why don’t you come to my room, and we can watch them together? I’ve got plenty of beer in my fridge. Your favorite kind of beer,” he added, as a further enticement.
Camilo grunted. “I don’t know. You sure you don’t have other plans? You sure you wouldn’t rather be with one of your other boyfriends?”
<
br /> Jacob bit his lip. “Come on, Camilo,” he coaxed. “Don’t be like that. How long are you going to make me pay for—well, you know, for the words that passed between us. I’m sorry about that. I’ve been sorry, ever since it happened. Give me a break.”
Camilo seemed mollified. He was essentially too good-natured to hold a grudge for long.
“Well … if you insist,” he said, after leaving Jacob in suspense for a long moment. “I wouldn’t mind some company, tonight. I’ve been kind of bored—without you.” It sounded as though those last two words, without you, had slipped out of Camilo, without his having intended to say them aloud.
“And I’ve missed you. A lot.” And as he made that admission, Jacob could hear a warmth and sincerity in his voice that took him by surprise.
Camilo seemed to notice it, too. He was looking at Jacob, now, in a way that seemed to betray his own emotions. Jacob thought he detected real affection for him in the other man’s expression. But all Camilo said was, “Okay, then.”
They stood there and chatted for a few more minutes—about inconsequential things. They seemed to have reverted, at least for the time being, to their habitual mode of impersonal small talk.
“I’ll see you later, then,” Camilo finally said.
As usual, Jacob felt a little grubby after his long work day. When he got to his room, he stripped and treated himself to a long, hot shower. Camilo seemed to be in a reconciliatory mood. Jacob fervently hoped that the reconciliation would include a resumption of their sexual relation. And so he prepared himself for his visitor, for sex. At the very least, Camilo deserved to have a squeaky-clean bed partner.
Whatever post-work fatigue he may have experienced had begun to vanish, Jacob noticed. It was surprising, what an energizing effect sexual anticipation could have. As he turned off the shower, stepped out of the stall, and began to dry himself, he could see that he had developed a quite respectable hard-on. If Camilo indeed turned out to be in the mood, Jacob wasn’t going to have any difficulty performing for him—that much was for sure.
God, how I’ve missed Camilo, he thought, feverishly. I’d be embarrassed to let him know just how much I’ve missed him, how much he really means to me. I’ve got to get him back. No matter what it takes!
He heard a knock on the front door. “That you, Camilo?” Jacob called out.
“Yeah,” his friend answered.
“It’s not locked. Come on in. Turn on the TV and get yourself a beer.”
The fact that Camilo had shown up so soon was encouraging. Maybe he wants me as much as I want him, Jacob dared to speculate. Well, if he does, I won’t play hard to get. That’s for sure! I’ll be the easiest trick he’s ever had!
Eager, now, to get back into his usual routine with his fuck buddy, Jacob pulled on his standard at-home pre-sex uniform, consisting of nothing but a pair of sweatpants. With the towel slung around his neck, he went back into the other room.
Camilo had shed his boots and he was relaxing in the armchair, with his stocking feet propped up on the coffee table. Also set on the table were an open beer bottle and a glass filled with amber liquid. As Jacob joined him, Camilo gestured toward the glass.
“I made you a drink. Scotch with a little water, no ice, right?”
“Yes. Exactly what I need tonight. Thanks.”
Camilo looked at Jacob as he rubbed his damp hair with the towel; and suddenly the older man chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” Jacob asked.
“You looked so different, some nights, all dressed up in those fancy new clothes of yours. Now I recognize you. This is like old times.”
“Yes, it is. But there’s nothing fancy about me. It’s all a façade.”
“For some reason, the fewer clothes you have on, the better I like you.”
“That’s interesting. I feel the same way about you. But don’t get undressed, just yet. Assuming you’re planning on getting undressed, before the evening’s over—which I sure hope you are,” Jacob added, boldly. “I’d like to sit down and talk to you for a minute, first.”
“What about?”
“About us. That disagreement we had.”
“Aw, forget about it, kid.”
“But I don’t want to forget about it, Camilo. I don’t want you to be mad at me. I want it to be the way it was between us, before.”
“I was never really mad at you, Jacob. I was just a little disappointed in you—because of the way you let Greenley push you around.” Camilo glanced at his wristwatch. “It’s almost time for the fights to come on.”
“Are we actually going to watch them?”
“That’s what I thought you invited me here for,” Camilo said, teasing him. “What’d you do, lure me here under false pretenses? Let’s not be in such a rush, for once. Let’s take our time, for a change. We’ve got all night.”
Jacob turned the TV on.
With fresh drinks in their hands, he and Camilo were soon engrossed by the spectacle of pairs of muscular young men, naked except for trunks, punching, kicking, and grappling with each other. Although all of the combatants had fine physiques and agility in common, they were otherwise a quite diverse group. They were black, white, brown-skinned, and Asian. Some were heavily tattooed; others were not. They hailed not only from the United States, but from Canada, Mexico, and South American; one was Irish, and other came from Russia.
Camilo and Jacob amused themselves by trying to guess, as each match started, which of the fighters would win. They cheered when their man triumphed, and groaned (and complained that he’d been cheated) when he was defeated.
During one of the lengthy commercial breaks, they talked.
“Been cheating on the boss, have you?” Camilo said, with a feigned casualness.
“Huh? I don’t know what you mean.”
“The hell you don’t,” Camilo retorted, although he spoke without heat. “How come I’ve seen a cop car parked right out there, outside your front door—late at night, and overnight? You’ve been seeing that Duane Mallory, haven’t you?”
“He’s a friend.”
“More than a friend, from the looks of it. Not that I blame you. The guy’s hot.”
“All right, Camilo. I won’t deny it. Duane and I have tricked a few times.”
“Shit! I’m envious. So … tell me about this good-looking cop buddy of yours. Is he as much of a stud as he looks?”
“Duane’s all man,” Jacob admitted.
“So he’s pretty good in bed, huh? Let me guess. You’ve fallen in love with him.”
“Nothing like that,” Jacob assured Camilo, quickly. “We have tricked, though. More than once. He’s the only guy I’ve felt the least bit serious about, while you and I were taking our break from each other.”
“And you’re telling me this because—?”
“Because I want to be completely honest with you, Camilo. You and I—we’ve known each other long enough that I feel I owe that much to you.”
“Well, I appreciate that. And, as long as we’re on this honesty kick—I haven’t tricked with anybody worth speaking of, since you and I had our little tiff. Oh, I admit it, I’ve jerked off quite a few times, over a couple of favorite porn videos of mine. That doesn’t really count. And once or twice—okay, maybe more often than that!—I’ve gone out cruising, picked up a guy, and had a quickie with him. That doesn’t count, either. It was just sex—just scratching the itch, you know? Otherwise, I decided I’d save it up for you. The past few nights, I’ve even done without the porn—and I haven’t even jerked off. I didn’t know I had such will power,” he joked. He shifted in his seat, and rubbed the palm of his hand suggestively over the crotch of his pants, where there was a pronounced bulge. “Maybe I saved it up a little too long,” he added, with a leer. “I’m just about ready to burst.”
“So I see. And I appreciate that. Your saving your load for me, I mean. Because, you see—fooling around with Duane—”
“Yeah? What about it?”
“He’
s hot, I admit it. But being with him actually made me appreciate you more, in a way. I’ve been pretty stupid and selfish, taking you for granted, the way I have. You’re hot, too, Camilo. I always enjoy having sex with you. In fact, right now, I’m already looking forward to helping you unload your cum. But you’re not just a sex object to me, believe it or not. You’re also a really nice guy, and I really do like you—as a person, I mean. I know I have trouble showing it, let alone talking about it.”
“Yeah, usually you do. But now, for some reason, you seem to be doing all right, so far.”
“Well, I don’t want to bore you by making a lot of fancy speeches. The long and the short of it is, I don’t want to go on just treating you like a sex object. I’d like it a lot if we started to do some things besides just go to bed together.”
“Okay.”
Jacob was a bit nonplussed by Camilo’s laconic response. “Okay? Just ‘okay?’ Is that all you have to say about it?”
“I thought you were the one who didn’t want fancy speeches. From either of us. My answer is ‘okay, great, sure.’ That pretty well covers it, doesn’t it? What you’re suggesting sounds good to me. There’s only one thing that’s bothering me.”
“What’s that?”
“Are you saying you don’t want to go to bed with me now? Tonight? Because if you are, then I don’t mind telling you—I’m going to be really, really disappointed!” Camilo massaged the bulge in his crotch again.
Jacob had to laugh. “I think we can postpone the other activities for some other night. The next time we get together, though, we’re definitely going to have to try something different, if only to give ourselves a change of pace. Right now, I’d be awfully damn disappointed, too, if we don’t end up in the sack.”
“Good. Because this hard-on of mine is starting to drive me crazy. I think I’m actually developing a case of what they call ‘blue balls.’ Oh, look. The damn commercials are finally over. Let’s watch the rest of the fights. I think I can hold out that long. Barely.”
As the bouts resumed, Camilo suggested that they start betting on the outcomes.
Midnight Farmhand Page 20