The Great Depression

Back in the nineteen-thirties, the Great Depression hit hard. Like so many young men, I found myself on the bones of my arse. One afternoon as I passed by a farm, I was starving. Unable to resist, I soon found myself knocking at the front door. Over the previous few days, I had consumed a few slices of stale bread and it felt like my gut was attacking my mouth in a constant state of tumult. , as I constantly salivated with hunger pangs.

‘Jesus… I have to have some food,’ I desperately thought.

As the front door opened, a bulky farmer glared at me.

“Please, sir… I am starving,” I pleaded. “I am really, very hungry.”

The eyes observed me with an angry expression before somewhat softening. After a few moments of silence, the man smiled and said, “Come inside, boy.”

After moving his body aside, I sheepishly entered.

“Sit down at the kitchen table,” he commanded. After placing my shoulder bag next to the chair he ushered me to, my olfactory senses went into overdrive with the smell of cooking food. It smelt like meat, and I couldn’t remember the last time I had tasted that delicacy. I began frantically swallowing my spit as my mouth started to drool, as my entire body trembled in anticipation. 

When the plate got put before me, I had to restrain myself as never before, from simply sticking my head directly into the dish and sucking up the food.

After a brief thank the lord prayer, he invited me to dig in. It took every fibre of my being not to lift the plate and slurp the contents down my gullet.

‘Food… fuckin’ glorious food,’ I thought. ‘Oh, Jesus… thank you, thank you, thank you,’ my mind concluded.

With great restraint, I tried to eat in a controlled fashion.

“Times are hard,” the farmer finally said, before continuing, “Thank goodness Roosevelt is in the White House and trying to get the country back on its feet,” he concluded.

I couldn’t give a fuck about politics; all I could think about was the glorious food I was enjoying.

“Yes sir, you are right, sir,” I replied. Truthfully, my starving stomach had no allegiances.  

After I had consumed my food, he said, “You stink, boy, we need to get yer cleaned up.”

“Sorry, sir,” was all I could offer in reply.

“Not yer fault. But in this house, we bathe once a week. On Sundays,” he proclaimed.

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir,” I replied.

“What’s yer name?” he inquired.

“Maurice, sir,” I answered.

“No ‘sir’s here, buddy, name’s Mac. My surname’s McDonald, but everyone calls me Mac,” he explained.

“Should I call you Mr. McDonald, sir?” I questioned.

“Nah… Mac will do,” he concluded. 

After supper, two large pots of hot water got poured into a tub that he had placed in the kitchen.

After adding cold water, he handed me a towel and soap.

“Well… Strip and get in the tub,” Mac ordered.

After doing as I got told, he collected my clothing before emptying the contents of my bag.

“I had better wash all your clothes. They sure need to be cleaned,” Mac announced before busying himself with the task.

“Thank you, sir… I mean Mac. I honestly appreciate what you are doing for me,” I said before I vigorously commenced washing my body. As I did so, Mac’s eyes studied me intently.  

“You can stay with me, and after we get yer strength up in a day or two, you can do some hard work on the farm,” Mac proclaimed.

“Anything, sir, I mean Mac… I’m a hard worker, I promise you,” I replied.

“Good,” Mac replied with authority.     

Judging Mac to be in his forties, I asked, “Were you ever married, Mac?”

“Nah, never had time for women… They’re just too much trouble, boy,” he answered.

After finishing in the tub, I got out and towelled myself dry, before putting on a shirt he supplied.

As I helped to dispose of the water in the tub, Mac said, “Toilet’s outback boy.”

After assisting Mac in hanging my washing, he said, “Only got one room and one bed in the house, so you’ll be sleeping with me, boy.”

“I am happy to sleep on the floor, Mac. That’s no problem for me,” I confirmed.

“Nah… That won’t be necessary,” Mac stated assertively.  

Finally arriving in the bedroom, I was blown away by Mac’s huge bed. Noticing my expression, he laughed and then asked, “Yer think there’s enough room for yer on this bed?”

Smiling ecstatically, I felt like I had just won a jackpot. I had food, a job, and a decent warm bed. Life couldn’t be any better.

“I sleep naked, boy, hope that doesn’t affect yer sensitivities?” he reported.

“No… No problem, sir,” I replied.

Mac was big and hairy. He did not have much body fat but was solidly built. When his underpants were removed I was amazed by the size of his dick. It was thickly voluptuous.

Shortly, we were both in bed. Before Mac extinguished the candle, he gave me a benevolent look before saying, “It’s all going to be okay, boy.”

“Thank you, Mac,” I replied.

I slept like a baby that night. An earthquake would not have awoken me.

The following morning we ate porridge, hot, glorious porridge. Before I could help myself, I began to cry. Mac then took me in his arms and gently began rubbing my back. As he rocked my body in his arms, the floodgates opened as I commenced sobbing.

“Yer going to be safe, boy, let it out. Mac will take care of you,” he intoned.

Blubbering like a baby, I kept blabbering, “Thank you,” repeatedly. Having grown up with a callous father and I had never enjoyed male affection. Wrapped in Mac’s caressing arms was breathtaking.    

After breakfast, Mac worked his farm as I tidied around the house. At lunchtime, we ate the leftovers from the previous night.

That evening we had a hearty beef and vegetable soup that Mac had prepped at lunchtime. After dinner, we went to bed at around nine p.m.

After settling on the bed, Mac looked at me with his head propped up on one arm. “I’m happy that yer has come into my life, Maurice,” he said, using my name for the very first time.

“Thank you for saving my life, Mac,” I countered.

“How old are yer?” he asked.

“Seventeen,” I replied.

“I’m forty-four,” he replied, chuckling. “Yer could’ve been my son.”   

“What I really want from yer is more than just companionship and work,” he stated, before continuing, “I want loving. Like the loving between a man and woman,” he explained. With an intense gaze, he then resumed, “Are yer following me?”

As Mac moved closer to me, I could feel a distinct hardness against my leg. “Yes, I understand, Mac,” I replied.

“Do yer fully understand, boy?” he countered, with a lustful look on his face.

“Yes, Mac,” I responded. “I’m willing to be your woman.”

I could no longer restrain myself and slid my hand down to his knob.

“Do you realize where I’ll be putting that thing?” he inquired.    

“Yes, Mac, I’m willing to be your bitch,” I retorted.

Sodomy was virtually a heresy in those days. Much as I had often been hard-pressed by other males, fear of getting exposed as a sodomite was always a deterrent.

Mac now leaned over and began kissing me. It was very gentle, loving, and above all, liberating.

Next, lifting his head, he looked at me and said, “Now I’m the one who’s starving… Starving for you, boy.”

“Then feed on me, Mac,” I replied.

Mac moved onto me before placing his arms under my arms and taking hold of my head. Mac’s kissing intensified as he began licking my eyes, nose, lips, and ears. I loved his domination and could not believe how good my life had become as I imbibed his strong masculinity. His mastery over me was an honour and I was willing to go to hell and back for him. My reciprocal actions were nothing compared to the last twenty-four hours of bliss that I had come to know. Hell had turned into a heaven for me, and I felt like the luckiest person on the planet.

The torment I had endured in my parental home and the ensuing hardship I had endured evaporated by the second. As Mac took complete control of me, I had never felt more loved or contented. Perhaps the affection I had always yearned for from my indifferent father had finally come to pass. I willingly gave my body to my new, compassionate benefactor, and he could use me as he saw fit.

After our lengthy make-out session, Mac lifted his body and asked me to turn onto my stomach. After hearing him spit repeatedly, I felt his warm cock slither between my butt cheeks. As his fat knob began to slide between my mounds, I knew that the day I had always anticipated had arrived. I tried to relax with all my might as his huge cockhead began to tease my virgin arse.

“Just relax, baby,” he said as the annexation of my man-hole got underway. “This will hurt a bit at first.”

I wanted him in me. I craved the pain and pleasure that I knew would follow. “Fuck me, daddy,” I implored.

As his excavation became more urgent, I broke into a cold sweat. I was sore, but it was awesome.

“Yes,” I cried, “Fuck me, daddy, make me your woman.”

Grunting, Mac began vigorously spearing into me. I wanted the conquest and begged him to show me no mercy. My panting groans further invited his onslaught as I encouraged his pounding. Grunting, he hammered into me with horny growls. Pleasure and pain had never felt this good. After an era of thumping, his body convulsed as he unloaded into me. We had become one, and I would be the partner for whom he had always yearned. The sheet beneath me bore witness to the pleasure he had given me.

I never had to take myself in hand when Mac fucked me. The stimulation of his monstrous dick always took me over the edge. To my delight, I also learned that his libido was epic, and we always had more sex in a week than most people had in a month.   

Mac and I lived together for thirty happy years.

Two years after he passed, I heard a knock at my front door. As I opened the door, a dishevelled and good-looking young man asked me, “Please, sir, don’t you have work for me?”

Smiling, I invited him in.  

“Sit at the table, boy,” I said, before serving him lunch and offering him a job.   

The next chapter in my blissful sex life had just begun.