The Farmer's Boy

Jake watched that mouthy bastard mowing his yard. Shirtless, revealing the tattoo on the left shoulder and a lean smooth body that never saw a weight room or any physical labor. It was a shame that body belonged to Clayton Phillips. Four years younger and destined for the state prison if the son of bitch didn’t get his act together. Sheriff Anderson had asked if he would hire Clay, seeking what he called a stable environment for him. A stable environment must’ve been a joke, and he had said so to the sheriff.

“Jake, look, I know you run this place by yourself. Everyone knows how your father had to stop farming, and now he and your mother live down in Florida near your sister. But Clay comes out of a situation you can’t begin to understand,” the sheriff had said.

“What is Clay to you?” Jake had asked. He remembered the look, how the sheriff shook his head, sighing before answering. “He’s my nephew. His mother is my sister.”

So, Clayton Phillips was now his responsibility. Clay was mouthy, defiant at times, and slow as shit doing his tasks. He would break the bastard or send him packing. He didn’t have time for Clay’s shit. He went inside to change the task list. It had been easy chores, such as hoeing the garden, picking the beans, tomatoes, and squash, or gathering the eggs from the chicken coup each morning when he first arrived on that crappy motorcycle. Tomorrow morning Clayton will be cleaning out the storage room in the barn. His father had packed it solid, nothing but junk as far as he could tell, and mouthy Clayton Phillips would take care of it for him. Then he would make him wash the tractors and combine, the latter a real pain in the ass to do, requiring a ladder and a mop to reach some sections.

It was near dark when Clay finally finished mowing and pulled the mower into the barn. Jake met him at the door seeing him stretch that lean body, twisting the back and stretching arms up over his head. If it had been anybody else, he would have been tempted to try something. He felt his cock stir reflecting how he was responding to Clay despite how he felt about him, or at least how he told himself to think of him. He was tempted, but feared what kind of hassle Clay would be, but given a few days working on his farm, he might just break that wild animal and make a man out of him. A man he would want to fuck.

“Can you get here by seven in the morning?” asked Jake.

“Seven? You’re shitting me.”

“No, I’m serious. I got something for you to do and it’ll probably take all day, if not longer.”

“You’re paying me by the hour, right?”

“Yes, and I’ll pay you for all the time you work.”

“Okay, I’ll get here at seven.”

Jake started back to his house as he heard Clayton close the barn door and latch it. He was about forty feet from the barn when Clayton called out.

“Hey, Jake, do you have some clothes that would fit me? I’d like to shower before riding home.”

“I doubt I got anything your skinny ass could wear,” Jake replied, then he grimaced and looked back. “Come up to the house and I’ll see if some of my old clothes from ninth or tenth grade will fit you.”

 

 

Jake tossed a pair of cargo shorts and a T-shirt to Clay. “See if this will fit.”

Clay looked at the size of the shorts, “yeah, these will work. You got some boxers I can wear?” he asked with a smile.

“Go commando,” said Jake as he closed the drawer to the dresser.

“Commando!” Clay exclaimed, then crossed the hall to the bathroom. He left the door open wondering if Jake would look. He had seen Jake look at him in a way that made him wonder if he would suck cock. He knew he wasn’t the only one, for there had been Jordan back in high school and that pharmacist in town who had loved to swing on his dick. But was the sanctimonious Jake McCullough too straight to put a guy’s cock into his mouth? A part of him didn’t give a shit, but another part, the part that found the physical Jake enticing wondered what it would be like to fuck around with him. Despite the uptight nature, Jake McCullough was all man. Six foot two and probably damn near two hundred pounds of muscle. He wondered about the muscle in the tight jeans Jake wore, for he had looked more than once at the bulge trying to picture what was creating it.

“Hurry up and get changed. I’m going into town to meet friends for dinner and need to leave soon,” said Jake, who stood in the door of the bathroom.

Clay let his sweat soaked jeans fall down his legs revealing the near transparent boxers beneath. “Yeah, sure, I won’t be long.” Clay smiled at Jake as he pushed the boxers down until they fell on top of the jeans. Jake had looked, then frowned as he moved away. “Uptight bastard,” Clay uttered as he pulled each foot free. He knew he was skinny, only one forty in weight. But he was five eight in height which seemed short next to Jake, but he also knew his cock was nice, a good eight inches when hard, as he tugged on it wondering if Jake would come back to say something and see him manipulating it. He imagined it, stroking his cock in front of Jake. God, it would take so little to get rock hard.

The shorts barely stayed up and Clay let them ride low on his waist. He came into the kitchen with the T-shirt in hand for he would put it on in front of Jake after letting him see how low the shorts sat on his waist. Pubic hair was barely concealed, and it felt like the shorts could slide down his legs with the slightest push down. He saw Jake’s eyes cut toward him then looked away. Look, ya bastard. Look at me, he thought as he finally pulled the too large T-shirt over his head.

“I’m heading out. Enjoy your dinner,” said Clay as he headed toward the door. He knew he sounded too sarcastic, but Jake didn’t react to him the way he hoped and in a moment of honesty, he felt hurt by it.

 

 

Jake worked Clay’s ass off. For three days, he made him clean out the barn then wash the equipment, the combine taking half over two hours. He made him clean the house, sweeping, mopping, and cleaning toilets. He knew it got to Clay, being treated like some maid or servant. He saw the looks, a pure fury in them at times. But there were other times he wondered what Clay was thinking. When he had come out of the bathroom with towel wrapped around his waist, there was a look he swore was desire. Or maybe he was just projecting. Maybe he just like the fantasy of making Clay suck his cock as some final humiliating chore. Then he wondered if he considered it for other reasons.

Friday arrived hot as fuck, over ninety by noon with a prediction of a hundred by the afternoon. The humidity was stifling, the air so thick it was hard to breathe. Clay was coming back to the house with a pail filled with eggs from the chicken coup, shirtless as usual, skin glistening in the hot sun.

Did the bastard know he was being a temptation. Jake wondered if Clay had any idea. Had he heard some rumor about him meeting guys down in Mobile or Pensacola or staying in Atlanta for a long weekend fucking one city boy or another. But would Clay parade around half naked if he had heard a rumor about him being gay? Jake doubted it. But there were those looks, eyes that seemed to survey him, up and down, getting the measure of his body.

He had been repairing a fence around the pasture at the back of the property. He had a few cows, and one was constantly looking for a way out, sometimes making one themselves. Now he stood on the screen porch, using his shirt to wipe the sweat off that kept beading up, as he watched Clay approach. The chest and stomach were smooth, shiny in the bright light, and the ratty jeans hung low on the waist. Both knees were visible through the blown out knees. And the crotch bulged enticingly.

Clay entered through the screen door and stopped before him. The eyes looked down, then back up, and Jake deliberately, as slowly as he dared, wiped his wet shirt over his chest, seeing the eyes follow it. You want it, don’t ya he thought as Clay stood there for too long.

“Take them inside and I’ll put them away later. I want you to wash the pickups, even cleaning them out, then you can take off for the day.”

Clay looked up at him as if he was going to say something, then he looked outside at the old farm truck and the Dodge that was Jake’s daily driver. They were parked side by side on the grass ready to be washed. Jake saw him smile, one that looked full of mischief.

“Sure thing. You got some shorts I can wear? I don’t want my jeans to get soaked,” said Clay in response.

“Yeah, I got some shorts you can wear. I’ll get them while you put the eggs in the kitchen.

Jake slid open a drawer and looked at the old shorts within it. They were from his grade school years, ninth and tenth grade if he remembered right. On the left side were cargo shorts and hiking shorts, any pair would have worked, but he looked along the right side. Gym shorts, nylon and cotton, one pair of sweatpants he had cut off, the legs a bit short. He reached for a nylon pair but picked up the light gray cotton shorts cut from sweatpants. They were a cheap pair, fabric thin, and the waist band loose and missing the draw string. He smiled at the thought of Clay in them.

When he came into the hall Clay was leaning against the wall, skin shinny with sweat and he wanted to touch him, to run his hand over the hot skin. Instead, he tossed the gym shorts into his face. “You can wear these.”

He saw how Clay looked at the shorts, then smiled. He kept moving, swinging through the kitchen for a beer, then outside where he sat in one of the Adirondack chairs ready for the show. He smiled when he saw Clay come out in just the shorts. He was even barefoot. Jake looked at the way the gym shorts hung loose on the narrow waist, threatening to slide off, and how cock seemed to be so noticeable. He realized the bastard put them on without underwear. Yeah, he is definitely fucking with you, he thought as Clay pulled the garden hose across the yard where the two trucks sat waiting to be washed.

Clay started with the old farm truck, rinsing off the worst of the dirt and mud, then working his way around it with a soapy sponge. By the time he finished the farm truck, he was wet.

Jake watched, sipping his beer, admitting to himself how much he enjoyed the little show. How Clay would lean against the wet truck, getting suds on his chest, stomach, and the shorts. How they hung lower and lower as they got wet until the top of the ass was visible, and Jake swore pubic hair was visible at front. He swallowed hard as Clay moved to the Dodge, rinsing it, then starting to soap it up. Standing in the bed, Clay leaned against the cab, soaping the top. He bent over to do the back window, and when he stood up the shorts rode so low Jake knew he could see pubic hair and a cock that was getting hard, pressing outward on the front of the shorts.

“Dammit,” Jake uttered as he watched Clay jump down off the tailgate. The shorts slipped own below the ass, and Clay looked over his left shoulder back at him.

“These shorts are worn out and won’t stay up,” Clay exclaimed.

“Tie the waist,” Jake replied, knowing it was missing.

“Very funny. You know the string is missing,” Clay replied, and he let the shorts fall around his ankles. He stepped out of them and turned to face Jake, cock angling out half hard, thicker, and longer than Jake expected on the Clay’s frame. “I’ll just go without, unless you have a problem with it,” Clay taunted as he moved to the bucket.

“I don’t care,” Jake replied, and he heard it, a slight change in his tone, his voice a bit too high. The bastard was getting to him and knew it.

Jake watched Clay work his way around the Dodge. He found his eyes going to that cock time and time again. He saw it getting harder, thicker, until it stuck straight out. And Clay did nothing to conceal it. In fact, he seemed to be parading around a bit more than needed, letting it flop around in front of him, most of the time where Jake could see it.

Clay rinsed the tailgate, finally finished, and he pulled the hose around the truck until standing between it and Jake.

“You need a wash?” Clay exclaimed, spraying Jake with the hose.

“Watch it,” Jake replied, making his tone as threatening as he could manage.

Clay sprayed him again, aiming at his crotch, soaking his jeans. Jake dropped the empty bottle and jumped up. He was on Clay quickly, grabbing the hose and spraying him in the face, then over the head as Clay bent over trying to twist out of his grasp.

“Okay, okay, I give,” Clay cried out, trying to twist away, but Jake held the right wrist firmly as he sprayed him.

“Say uncle,” Jake taunted.

“Fuck you,” Clay replied.

“Fuck you?” Jake repeated, and he dropped the hose and quickly wrestled Clay to the wet ground, pinning him on his stomach. “Say uncle.”

“No.”

Jake couldn’t help it. Clay was pushing that round ass upward, pressing it against his cock. He was rock hard, and he pushed down, pinning Clay’s ass to the ground.

“Boy, say uncle.”

“No.”

Jake bearhugged Clay around the neck pulling the head up. He put his mouth to the right ear, lips grazing it as he whispered into it.

“You want it,” Jake uttered as he pushed down on the bare ass.

“No,” Clay whispered, and it sounded weak, like there was no meaning behind it, just a repeating of the word.

“You want me to stop?”

A hesitation, then a whispered reply. “No.” This time it sounded like he meant it.

Jake got on his knees working his jeans undone. He watched Clay get on his hands and knees, staying in place instead of crawling away. Clay rocked back and forth, each push back causing the ass to spread before him. He fumbled with his jeans and boxers, getting them down to his knees. He knee-walked up to Clay, rubbed his cock over that round ass, then smacked it against one cheek then the other.

“Tell me to stop and I’ll stop,” whispered Jake.

“No; keep going.” No hesitation this time. Just a push back against his cock. The head angled down. “Do it, put it in me.”

Jake smiled as he ran a hand up the back feeling the spine and smooth skin and how it shivered with his touch. He pushed his cock down until it pointed at the ass. “Spread your ass for me. Show me that hole.”

Jake watched as Clay lay his shoulders on the wet ground and reached back, spreading the ass cheeks revealing his opening to Jake. Jake put his cock to it and pushed, then rubbed up and down until his slick was smeared over it. “You want it, don’t’ you?”

“Yes…do it. Don’t make me beg. Please, you fuck, do it.”

Jake shoved forward, breaching that tight opening. He sank the head and a couple of inches of the shaft into him, then he held the waist and waited for Clay to loosen to this penetration. He felt the shuddering, then a slow push back, and he knew the bastard wanted it.

“Goddamn,” Clay uttered, breathlessly.

Jake tightened his hold on the waist and tugged outward until only the head remained inside Clay. Then he pushed, slowly, letting him feel every goddamn inch. He built up a slow fuck, sinking deeper and deeper until pressing against the ass.

“Tell me. Tell me what you want,” Jake uttered with his cock buried all the way into Clay. He was going to make the cocky bastard tell him.

Clay turned his head, looking over the left shoulder. “Fuck me. Fuck me, you bastard.”

The cockiness was still there, but it was different. Sexual in nature, devious and sinfully tempting. Jake held the waist and began to fuck. To fuck with a steady rhythm, speeding up and slowing down to make it last. And below him he heard Clay moaning and grunting and uttering obscenities as he pushed back, wanting it. As he hammered his cock inside Clay, he watched him reach out and grab at the ground, fingers digging into the mud. It looked desperate, someone clinging to anything they could reach. He dug his fingers into the waist and increased his pace.

“Fuck…you tight bastard…take me.”

Jake wanted to see the bastard’s eyes, to see the lust and desire, and he pulled out. “Roll over,” he barked like he was talking to a disobedient dog, and Clay rolled quickly to his back, holding up his legs, submissive, ready for Jake’s fuck. Taking the legs behind the knees, he pushed each one into the wet ground by the torso as he sank his cock back into Clay’s ass. He shoved every inch into him, then he fucked. Hard. Fast. Just hammering Clay’s ass into the ground. He felt fingers dig into his thighs as he kept up a relentless pace, thrusting into Clay’s depths over and over and over.

His need for release built. His body tensed up tight and his rhythm became ragged. He shoved into Clay, hard, all the way, then shuddered as he filled Clay’s ass with cum.

Jake staggered to his feet, drunk on his sexual release, but still aroused. His dripping cock stuck straight out rock hard. He moved to the old farm truck and lowered the tailgate to sit down before he fell down. He leaned back on his hands and watched his hard cock flex and drool, then he watched Clay come to him, slowly stroking his own cock.

 

 

Clay watched Jake lower the tailgate and sit down. He was on his feet, stroking his cock. He felt the mud and grass on his back and Jake’s cum trickling down his thigh and he never felt more sexually alive. He moved to the tailgate and climbed into truck bed. He turned his back to Jake and sat down on the cock held up for him. His ass slipped down on it with such ease he smiled. He lay back until against Jake’s chest and worked his ass. Up and down, he moved it on that cock, feeling how it kept his hole stretched and a sense of fullness. He craved it, Jake’s fucking big cock in his ass, had ever since he saw him ride the bus back in the eighth grade. He never expected Jake would be available, and when his uncle brought him by that night after getting caught selling Emily Anderson a couple of joints, he saw a Jake not of his fantasies. He kept up the persona he had to create for himself, and after a couple of days, he began to wonder if he read Jake wrong. He had hoped so.

Now he was so hard he was going to cum. But not before he got Jake McCullough to pump another load in his ass. The bastard wanted it as bad as he did and he worked his ass on that cock, increasing his pace until he felt the truck rock beneath them. Jake held his waist, fingers digging into the flesh to the point of almost being painful, and it spurred him to keep fucking.

“Jesus…I’m going to cum,” Jake uttered as he began to pull down on Clay’s waist as if he could sink deeper into his ass.

“Yeah, pump that shit in me…do it…do it,” Clay uttered as he kept up his pace, while stroking his own cock. He felt his own building release, how it made him feel his masculine nature. His muscles tightened and his breathing grew more labored. Jake pulled his ass down and held him down as cock filled him with cum. It was too much, taking a second load from Jake McCullough, and he slammed his fist down his cock and came. Thick wads hit Jake and him in the face, then rained down on his stomach. He kept stroking his cock until the last of his load just beaded up at the slit, and he smeared it down the shaft, then fell still.

“Damn,” Jake uttered.

“Yeah, damn,” Clay uttered in a breathless voice.

Jake smeared his cum over his stomach, then brought the wet fingers to his mouth. He didn’t need to be told what to do. He licked those fingers clean, then sucked them into his mouth.

“Whore,” Jake uttered, but now his voice sounded playful.

Clay raked fingers across his stomach then held them out to Jake. “Well, go on, you know you want to eat my cum.” It was a taunt, a dare, and Clay watched Jake take the fingers into his mouth and suck the cum from them.

After laying still for too long, cocks finally flaccid and the sun hot on their bare skin, Jake guided Clay to slip off and down to the ground. He sat up and Clay saw the look. It was different. Less severe.

“Can I shower off before going home?” Clay asked, wondering how far he could push it with Jake.

“Do you need to go home,” Jake replied.

Clay smiled, then shook his head. “No.”