What the Farmhand Did to Me on Ralf’s Farm

I’m going to tell this exactly as it happened, because I need to get it out of me and because, if I’m honest, I’m still masturbating to the memory. I’m over sixty. My wife, Marisa, is in her late fifties. For more than two decades we’ve lived in an open relationship in which she, above all, sees other men. I sometimes join in. I like watching, I like serving, and when her latest lover shows up I usually get on my knees and give them both oral sex.

For the last year the regular lover was Ralf, a big guy who came by a couple of weekends a month. Ralf liked having me lick him while he and Marisa laughed at me. I enjoyed that measured humiliation, within rules the three of us knew: the game began and the game ended, and after a while we were three adults having dinner as if nothing had happened.

Until I met Bruno, and those rules stopped meaning anything.

***

It happened because Ralf invited me to go with him to his farm, about fifty kilometers from the city. He has a farmhand who takes care of the land and does the field work. We went in his pickup, just the two of us, and when we got there he introduced me to the man who worked for him.

Bruno was medium height, sturdy, broad-shouldered, dark-skinned, with thick, hairy arms. You could tell he had little schooling and a hard character, the kind of man who doesn’t ask twice. And you could tell something else: a huge bulge under his work pants, which I managed to see when he went to piss against a tree and didn’t bother to hide it.

I didn’t think much more about it that day. But on the way home I couldn’t get the image out of my head. It wasn’t Bruno himself that obsessed me, it was his cock: I imagined it thick, hard, too big for my mouth. I’ve always liked them like that, thick, difficult to take in, something you have to strain to swallow whole. Several nights I masturbated thinking about Ralf’s farmhand.

***

Until one day I made up my mind. I took the bus to the town nearest the farm and from the terminal I called Bruno to come get me. I didn’t give him much explanation. I don’t think one was needed.

He came in the pickup and we drove about half an hour on dirt roads. Before going into the house he took me to a shed where he kept the straw bales. Bruno had realized that his presence made me nervous in a way he understood perfectly. He didn’t beat around the bush. He pushed me against the back wall, where the rolls were stacked to the ceiling.

His body smelled strong, of sweat and the countryside. He put one hand on my shoulder and kept pushing me down while with the other he loosened his belt.

—Stay still —he said—. Today you’re going to learn what a real man is.

I tried to say something, not out of real fear but because of that stupid resistance one puts up at the beginning. He pressed me harder downward until my face was level with his fly. Through the fabric of his pants everything was already obvious.

He yanked his pants down. He had thick legs, dark and covered in hair, and worn white briefs. I was confused. Something about that man intimidated me and at the same time that rough, rustic body, that bulk showing under his underwear, had me hard as a rock. He laughed when he noticed.

With one hand he grabbed the back of my neck and rubbed my face against the bulge, still covered. Through the fabric I could feel the hot, tense cock, throbbing. Bruno was laughing as he ordered me to bite the cloth, right where the head was outlined.

—Let’s see if you really like it or if it’s just talk —he said.

—I like it —it slipped out of me—. I want you to use my mouth for whatever you want. Please, let me.

***

He pulled his briefs down. He grabbed my hair and forced me first to smell it, to have it close to my face before giving it to me. The cock was exactly as I had imagined: thick, veined, with a purple, shiny head, not too long but as thick as a fist. It smelled like a man, like skin, like a whole day’s sweat from work.

—Open your mouth.

I obeyed, but I barely parted my lips and only the tip went in. He slapped me sharply on the cheek, not to hurt me but to make it clear who was in charge.

—I told you to open it wide.

I opened it. He shoved it all the way in. I choked, my eyes filled with tears, and he growled with pleasure at feeling me gag. He started moving slowly, each thrust forcing me to work my throat, to open wider, until the corners of my mouth hurt. Saliva ran down my chin and neck, and that, instead of disgusting me, drove me wild.

He realized it right away. He pulled his cock out of my mouth and slapped my face with it, from one side to the other.

—Look at the little faggot —he laughed—. He already likes it. You’re going to suck every time I want.

I wrapped both arms around his thighs while he held me by the hair and worked my head however he pleased. He picked up speed. I felt the back-and-forth, the strong taste, and with every passing second I cared less and less about anything except having it inside my mouth.

When he came, he did it in my mouth, hot, thick, with that sour, salty taste that stayed stuck to my tongue. I swallowed what I could. The rest dripped from my lips. He lifted me by the hair and put his cock in front of me again.

—Clean it with your tongue.

I obeyed. I licked it until it was clean while he watched me with a master’s smile.

—That’s how I like it.

***

He sat naked and smoked a cigarette. I took the opportunity to explain, still breathless, that mine had always been a role-play game with rules, that when the act ended the game ended too. Bruno listened without rushing, took a long drag, and looked straight at me.

—That may be with other people —he said—. With me you’ll be whatever I say, whenever I say it. When you come to this farm, or when I send for you, your role is just one.

He didn’t ask me. He informed me. And the most disturbing thing is that something inside me loosened at hearing him, as if I’d spent years waiting for someone to take the decision out of my hands.

He put me on my knees again.

—Now you’ll suck until I get hard again. And meanwhile you’ll jerk me off with your hand. I’ll tell you what to do.

And that’s how it went. Hours passed. He used my mouth so many times I lost count. Every time he felt like it he grabbed me by the hair and started over. I kissed his cock, his testicles, ran my tongue along the base where the hair began. At one point I begged him to stop, but when he stopped my mouth missed him immediately.

—Say you’re mine —he ordered.

—I don’t know... —I said, more for the game than out of doubt.

He gave me a gentle slap on the face.

—Say you’re my faggot. That you’re going to come when I order you.

—I’m yours —I finally said, and my voice came out firmer than I expected—. I come when you order me. You use my mouth, my hands, my tongue.

He smiled like a man signing a deal.

***

When night fell we went to his room. Bruno lay down on the bed, naked, and I settled between his legs. I devoted myself to tracing him all over with my tongue, from the testicles to the tip. At one point I stopped to look at it calmly: thick, dark, covered in wide veins, with a head that looked like a plum. He let me measure it. It wasn’t quite sixteen centimeters, but it was as thick as a deodorant stick, and when it got hard it curved upward.

I liked it exactly like that: short and thick. The thickness forced me to work for it, and because it wasn’t long I could eat all of it and play with my tongue on that huge head once it was inside. I pulled back the skin and concentrated on licking it while telling him things I didn’t even know I’d had inside me.

—You have an incredible cock —I murmured between licks—. I’d eat it every day. I want to be your mouth slave.

I started sucking it eagerly, pulling off now and then to kiss it. I felt when he was about to finish: his legs tensed, he gripped my head, let out a rough groan, and came. I swallowed almost all of it. Then he ordered me to clean him with my tongue down to the last drop, and I obeyed as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

***

That night he woke me twice more. And at dawn, in the shower, he made me kneel and open my mouth, and let himself piss over me while I looked up at him from below. I felt the warm stream on my face, on my tongue, running down my throat, and instead of rejection I felt total surrender, that humiliation that turned me on so much. I wanted to feel like I was his, marked, used by that man who didn’t ask my permission for anything.

The next morning he used me again in the same shower, with the water falling over us, and came on my face. I stuck out my tongue to receive him and then gathered everything up with my fingers. When he finished, he braced both hands against the wall and, without saying a word, made me understand the last thing that was still missing. I spread his ass cheeks and ran my tongue all along the crease, right where the sweat from work mixed with the water, until he decided it had been enough.

***

Close to noon he took me back to town so I could catch the bus. On the way he stopped to pee and made me get out with him. I held his cock while he pissed, opened his ass cheeks again, and then, back in the cab, I sucked it all the way while he drove along that nearly deserted dirt road. He came twice before we got there.

—You’ve got a cock I’m going to dream about —I told him with it still in my hand—. I love that you give the orders, that you use me, that you don’t ask me anything.

—Next time I’ll leave my mark in your mouth —he answered without looking at me—. You’re going to be my cock-sucking fag every time I feel like it.

I didn’t answer. There was no need. It wasn’t a game with rules anymore, nor a role you put on and took off. Every new thing he did to me broke me a little more, and every time I broke, I got more turned on.

***

I have mixed feelings, I won’t deny it. On one hand I love it. On the other hand it scares me, because I sense this doesn’t have the comfortable limits of before and I don’t know how far it can go. I feel like I won’t be able to refuse anything Bruno asks of me.

But then I think of his cock and the heat comes back all at once. I masturbate imagining the most extreme acts, and the next day I end up taking the bus back to the farm to spend the whole day on my knees between his legs. I wanted to say it out loud, even like this, to understand it myself. And the truth is, after writing it down, the only thing I’m clear about is that I’m going back.