SRU The Lust Charm
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Farm Charm free porn video
Farm Charm
By Gingerfred Man
It was a dark and stormy night.
The kind in which travelling salesmen's cars break down outside remote
farm houses.
Which was exactly what travelling salesman Fuller Brushman was
thinking as he stood in the incessant rain that miserable evening,
trying in vain to start his car's engine.
Such breakdowns were an occupational hazard for the travelling
salesman. And most unpleasant. Though, in Fuller's experience, they
inevitably occurred outside a farmhouse where sleeping quarters were
limited and eager, buxom, farmer's daughters were prolific.
Seventeen times so far for Fuller. Seventeen spectacular, fuck-filled
nights of rural passion. The salesman's cock twitched at the thought
of an eighteenth.
Had Fuller noticed the second disabled car 100 feet farther down the
road, perhaps he would have realized that this night would be quite
different.
And far better.
With great anticipation, Fuller knocked on the farmhouse door.
Waited, heard steps, then saw the door open to reveal the requisite
farmer.
Good so far.
"Come on in out of that rain, young feller," the farmer said. "The
night ain't fit for man nor beast."
Still good.
"My name's Rube Hayseed," the farmer said. "I live here with my 22-
year-old, new wife Peggy Sue; my busty, horny-as-all-get-out, 20-year-
old daughter, Mary Lou; and my 18-year-old son Leslie. This is a
small farmhouse, only three beds..."
Fuller's cock swelled at what he just KNEW the farmer would say
next...
But he was wrong.
"...and if you had been here 20 minutes earlier, you would be in my
daughter's bedroom right now. Sleeping, of course. Instead of that
encyclopedia-salesman feller."
Oh no! Missed it by THAT much!
Fuller was crushed. Then he was disgusted. Sort of. When he heard
what the farmer said next... "...so you'll have to sleep with my son
Leslie. He's a good boy. Very affectionate. And as pretty as his
sister and my wife."
Fuller was sick to his stomach. He couldn't go back to his dead car.
In the rain. Rejecting the farmer's hospitality. What if the word
got around to other farmers? And Fuller wasn't welcome at farmhouses
any more?
Unacceptable!
Maybe he could just "sleep" with the boy without doing anything gay?
That would be OK.
Perfect, in fact.
Except that option wasn't in young Leslie's plans for the evening. In
fact, the pretty pantyboy was thinking only, "At last! One for me,
instead of that greedy Mary Lou. And my sexpot, hog-Daddy-all-to-
herself stepmother, Peggy Sue."
Leslie had had "feelings" about men for as long as he could remember.
But all the salesmen whose cars broke down on dark and stormy nights
got to "sleep" with his sister Mary Lou.
Such a shame too, since Leslie had hoped Daddy would some of the
legions of travelling salesmen who stayed overnight to Leslie's bed,
not Mary Lou's. After Mama ran off with that bible salesman last
year, Leslie thought maybe he was making progress with Daddy until
that night that Peggy Sue took up with Daddy and the man was
"pussystruck" ever since. Leslie knew that Daddy would be in for some
major nagging, manipulation and emasculation from Peggy Sue soon
enough. So did Daddy. But he was enjoying the all-you-can-eat pussy
while he could.
Unfortunately for the pretty, young Leslie, his rural school's
teachers were all female and he had had virtually no "private time"
with his boyclassmates.
So, Leslie was tenderly young, heartbreakingly beautiful, feverishly
randy and [sigh] spotlessly untouched by man.
That didn't stop Leslie from femming up every stormy night, in hopes
that at least two salesmen's cars would give out in front of the
Hayseed residence. The lad became quite expert with the cosmetics and
lingerie that Mama left behind when she ran off with that encyclopedia
city dude.
Poor Leslie would pose this way and that in front of his full-length
mirror. Showing the looking-glass a pretty boy wearing pretty
babydolls, stockings and garter belts. He even learned to walk in
big, spiky heels.
Of course, looking at his femmy self and imagining submission to a
salesman's "sales pitch" had the lovely lad spurting his creamies
again and again.
With the arrival of Fuller, had Leslie's panty prayers been answered?
Was much spunk was about to fly?
Farmer Hayseed ran off to his night of domestic, carnal delights,
leaving Fuller and Leslie alone to theirs.
If Fuller were willing to "try pantyboys."
Though the man's instincts told him that man-boy sex was unnatural,
illegal and icky.
Instincts can be very deceiving.
Despite his reservations, Fuller Brushman took his first discerning
look at Leslie Hayseed.
And liked what he saw -- very much.
The boy was dressed for bed. Or sex. Or both. A tiny, pale-pink,
shortie nightie that exposed his long, doe-like legs; smooth, creamy
arms; and perfect, tiny feet. The boy was even wearing pink stay-up
stockings for goodness sake. And matching panties. Obviously
collected from the other female residents of Hayseed Manor.
At first, Fuller thought that Leslie might be a girl. But then...oh
my! Was that a little "tent" in the boy's panties?
It was.
Was the tent for Fuller?
It was.
Fuller's penis stirred. The man may not have known what he wanted,
but his penis had already made up its mind.
Fuller hadn't really looked at Leslie from the neck up yet. Or
considered the glories of Leslie's bottom.
Leslie's neck invited soft kisses that would draw sissy moans of
girlish pleasure. As did his plump, gently swaying bottom, as the
pantied angel led Fuller up the stairs to Leslie's bedroom.
The boy's facial features struck at the core of Fuller's idea of
beauty.
Wide, deep-blue eyes that communicated an innocence of experience and
a lust to lose that innocence as soon as possible. Plump, pink lips
that could make a man instantly erect if they brushed against his
cock. Cheeks that could only be improved by a mask of man's cream
spread across their pink glory.
Oh my.
Why was Fuller Brushman, lifelong heterosexual, contemplating such gay
atrocities with this spectacular pantyboy? And why was his cock
harder than it had been when he spent the previous Thursday's dark and
storminess with Jenny Alfalfa, a young lady with 42DD's and a giving
nature?
Why did Fuller follow Leslie into his room instead of running down the
stairs, out the door and into a safe, non-gay zone -- his disabled
car?
Did the lifelong heterosexual Fuller Brushman really want to fuck
Leslie?
Preposterous!
Unless...
What if Leslie wanted Fuller to fuck him? And the man spurned the boy
instead of sperming him?
How would that affect Fuller's standing among his travelling salesman
peers? How would his colleagues, such as his best friend, Willie
Loman, for instance, take that? If farmers couldn't count on getting
stranded salesmen to "perform" for their kin, wouldn't that upset a
delicate ecology?
Fuller's deliberations would soon be moot. His cock would soon make
non-negotiable demands, because Leslie was beginning to display some
of his latent sexuality to his soon-to-be-willing prey.
Teasing.
As a prelude to pleasing.
"I'm sorry I only have a small, single bed, Mister," the boy said with
a smile that suggested he wasn't at all sorry. "We'll be very close
all night."
Then he batted his eyes at Fuller in a way that made the man's
hardening penis twitch violently.
Then Leslie improvised "Phase two" of tease-a-palooza. "Daddy says
it's not healthy to sleep with any clothes on. Your body needs to be
`free' at night."
Leslie's Daddy had never said that. Or thought it. But it sounded
right. And it served Leslie's carnal purposes.
As the last phrase, "free at night," escaped Leslie's lips, the boy
began to lift his nightie. Slowly.
Exposing his flat, downy-smooth tummy. And his little "cum-catcher"
of an innie belly button.
Then a pair of nipples fully worthy of Fuller's startled gasp.
The 18-year-old beauty's "little puffies" were spectacular! Outsized.
Perky with Leslie's arousal.
For a drooling Fuller Brushman, resistance appeared to be futile. And
stupid.
A wide-eyed Fuller awaited the full inspection of Leslie's below-the-
waist delights.
But no.
Leslie gave Fuller a full, gorgeous pouty-face and said, "Aren't you
getting undressed. Mister? I would be so embarrassed if you didn't."
The smitten vendor ripped his shirt from his hairy chest and showed
the randy boy an excellent torso -- firm and manly.
It was Leslie's turn to gasp and the boy did just that.
Leslie trembled as he began to feel the full weight of his imminent
"predicament." He was alone with a man. Both he and the snorting,
rampant man were half-naked and about to make that fully naked (except
for Leslie's stockings, of course). No one would come to his "rescue"
if he screamed! When Mary Lou's pussy was stuffed with travelling
salesman cock, she didn't hear nuthin'. And once Daddy got into bed
with Peggy Sue, he wouldn't leave it to avoid a tidal wave.
Leslie was a mere pantyboy. Tiny and helpless to resist the man's
virile ferocity!
All of which excited Leslie so much that he nearly emptied his itsy-
bitsy balls right then and there.
And neither he nor Fuller were even naked yet.
An easy fix.
Fuller looked with wide eyes as Leslie "shyly" turned his back to his
drooling "roommate" and slowly slid his skimpy panties over the twin
peaks of his glorious, boyish bottom. Baring it for Fuller's visual
ecstasy.
What a posterior!
Better than Jenny Alfalfa's by a country mile.
And apparently "unused" by man.
Fuller had just begun to form fantasies about how to give Leslie's
bottom proper "usage," when the fiercely blushing boy abruptly turned
around and showed Fuller his "boy's things."
Oh my!!
Leslie was severely excited. As demonstrated by the full splendor of
his 2.68-inch penis in complete, rock-hard arousal.
The sight of Leslie's deliciously stiff, gorgeous pricklet and
dangling sissyballs dazzled the world's luckiest travelling salesman.
And, as we know, erections are contagious.
Fuller sported his own massive boner when he shucked off his own
pants, shoes and underpants.
That was Leslie's turn to be dazzled.
Fuller's cock was almost exactly three times the length of Leslie's
pretty tinkler. And 2.5 times as thick!
An icepick of fear stabbed Leslie's virgin anus. How could his micro-
pooper ever accommodate such a monster?!?!?!?!
It would kill the boy! Turn him into fertilizer for his Daddy's farm!
Leslie was terrified, but the pretty boy knew that a pantyboy must not
think of his own meager needs first. He must surrender to the needs,
no matter how painful and/or disgusting, of his man. He must give
himself to his man -- even under threat of bodily demise.
It's in the Pantyboy Code. You could look it up.
It's not in the Heterosexual Woman's Code, so don't look there.
See, I told you it's there -- paragraph 3a.
Anyway, Leslie forgot about self-preservation and began to revel in
his man's open admiration of Leslie's luscious body.
Time to stop looking and get cooking!
Leslie pulled back the sheets and got into bed. On his left side.
Covered by only a sheet. Facing away from Fuller.
Fuller brushed away his bothersome heterosexuality and spooned behind
Leslie in the narrow bed. His manly cock planted firmly against
Leslie's smooth, creamy back.
Leslie gasped at the sexual contact -- the first time he had "been
naked" with anyone.
Fuller put his right arm around Leslie and held him. So they wouldn't
fall out of the narrow bed. Somehow, the man's hand ended up on
Leslie's tummy, with the middle finger tickling Leslie's "innie"
until Leslie giggled sweetly.
Fuller's cock swelled and his balls ached for release.
It was time to cross the last line.
Fuller brushed his lips against Leslie's sweet neck, drawing a sharp
gasp, then a satisfied purr as the man escalated to soft neck kisses.
His huge hand migrated to a new habitat -- Leslie's boy's things --
each of which the man fondled with respectful awe.
The boy's tiny prick was blazing hot and twitched with lust when
Fuller caressed its shaft. Saving the knob for dessert, Fuller rolled
each perfect pearl between his callused, gentle fingers, making Leslie
gasp and pant.
By the time Fuller pulled back Leslie's foreskin, then held the tender
prickhead between his thumb and forefinger, Leslie was groaning
openly. The boy turned his head back toward Fuller, silently begging
for a kiss as he shifted position to lie on his back as the man
fondled and kissed him.
It was incredibly delicious.
Kissing. Skinning. Caressing the boy's most tender parts as their
tongues introduced themselves to each other.
Poor Leslie.
He wanted to save his first "girlish cream" for later. Maybe when the
man was fucking him for realsies. An orgasm which could punctuate his
life even as the huge cock was bisecting him.
But when playing well with others, we rarely choose the timing of our
pleasure.
Leslie cried out in a sissy squeal and heaved out six healthy strands
of sissy goo. All over Fuller's hand, as well as his own tummy, chest
and even his boyish chin.
Fuller felt a small stab of fear. Would the farmer break down
Leslie's door, brandishing a shotgun? Protecting his son's tender
virtue while filling the vile defiler with buckshot?
Not bloody likely.
He held his breath for a five count and listened to the sounds of the
house. Women, presumably Mary Lou and Peggy Sue, were squeaking and
squealing their way to orgasm. One mattress, no...make that two, were
squeaking as people fucked frantically.
Fuller was eager to make it three squeaking mattresses and one
squeaking pantyboy.
Seized by an impulse of passion, Fuller scooped up Leslie's cummies
with his middle- and forefinger and used it to gain entry to the boy's
bottom hole. Leslie didn't resist; in fact, he raised his knees to
make entry easier.
Fuller had never fingered a bottomhole before. And Leslie had never
had his fingered.
Both were deeply enriched by the experience.
Fuller had never thought much about prostates, but when he brushed
against Leslie's -- almost by accident -- he liked what happened.
Leslie's pretty eyes got wide and he cried out in delicious agony.
His eyes filled with tears as he looked pitifully at Fuller for
further prostate abuse.
Though math wasn't his thing, Fuller could add two and two. The boy
LOVED having his prostate massaged. And Fuller LOVED pleasing the
boy. So the man not only continued his ultra-erotic manipulation, he
also, much to his surprise, took Leslie's knob into his mouth and
began to lick and suck it. A combination that drove the boy half-mad
with lust, until...
"Oh, Mister!" sweet Leslie screamed as he enjoyed/suffered through his
very first anal orgasm.
Everything went dark for Leslie and he felt his guts hurled against
the ceiling. Metaphorically. Otherwise, the story's over, right
here. And it all becomes a crime scene.
Fuller was the oral beneficiary of a moderately creamy load of
pantyboy nectar. The first of his life, though he vowed it would not
be his last. He swallowed every savory drop.
And considered the urgency of his own need. He had endured an
unrequited erection for the past 93 minutes -- beginning with the
first raindrop that foreshadowed the inevitable "remote farmhouse"
scenario.
Should he lie back and let this lovely boy suck his cock? Or show the
boy who the master was by fucking his tiny asspussy?
Fuller wanted to be the master!
But he had never, sad to say, done anal fucking before. A common
lament among hetero males, since women think it's "icky."
Mary Lou and Peggy Sue Hayseed were, as it turned out to the man-boy
lovers' good fortune, two rare exceptions. Which meant that the
farmhouse was always well-stocked with Spermbutt anal lubricant.
A bottle of which young Leslie produced for Fuller's use, accompanied
by those words we all long to hear: "Oh, please sir! Please fuck me!"
That settled that.
Leslie, though a virgin, was computer literate. He had been reading
about bumfucking most of his life. Had pictured this moment. Ached
for it. Fuller was the last piece of the puzzle.
So at least one of them knew what to do.
Leslie stood at the end of his bed, placed his chest on the bed and
held his bottomcheeks wide open. "Please, sir!" the boy grunted.
"Lube me up. I don't want to die."
Fuller's swollen cock twitched again at the thought of his "monster"
putting this lovely lad in mortal peril.
What a brave young pantyboy, Fuller thought as he smeared Spermbutt on
his fingers and entered the boy's sweet pootie with them once again.
Finding Leslie's prostate and giving it a full measure of sweet
torment.
But even an anal illiterate like Fuller knew this was about
lubrication and dilation. So he lubricated and dilated.
Which, though somewhat workmanlike, was still darned pleasurable for
them both.
Leslie's "little pickle" wasn't even hard, but from all the gasping
and panting, Fuller was pretty sure that the boy would be drooling out
the dregs of his testicles if he didn't stop his archeology. So he
stopped.
Fuller wanted Leslie's next cum to be cock-induced.
So he slathered more Spermbutt than he needed -- just to be sure - all
o over his "code red" cock, sighed at his unexpected good fortune,
stood behind Leslie's perfect bottom, lined up his shot and pushed.
Oh my.
Despite some excellent dilation and lubrication, the lovers were
unable to alter the basic law of the universe which says that two
objects cannot co-exist in the same space.
Said unscientifically, Fuller's cock was too big for Leslie's asshole.
We know that for a fact because 1) Leslie screamed as if he had just
been hurled to his death from a thousand-foot cliff and 2) the boy's
"dying" scream-words were, "It's too big!!!!!!!"
But don't they always say that?
Or don't we wish they did?
Leslie fully expected to be walking toward the light. Watching people
gather for his funeral. Hearing them say, "He was a good boy. Not
much use around the farm though. Kind of a pantyboy. His Daddy said
that he fell on a machete and cut himself in half -- the long way."
But no.
He didn't die.
Though the pain was pretty bad.
And then it wasn't.
Was Fuller "all in?"
"Are you all right, Sweetie?" the considerate man, who didn't want to
get the electric chair for murder, asked. "If you wait a minute the
pain will pass. Then I'll put the rest of it in."
"THE REST OF IT?!?!?!?!?"
Leslie almost made a run for it when he heard that.
But darn it, he was a pantyboy -- not a wimp. He set out to be fucked
and that's what he would be.
Leslie bit his lip, then mumbled out a scared, "OK, Mister."
Fuller shoved the last four inches in. Drawing another agonized
scream from Leslie. Slightly less soul-wrenching than the last
agonized scream.
Another pause. Longer this time. With lots of whimpers.
Fuller's cock felt VERY happy in Leslie's scorchingly hot, vise-tight
bottomhole. Truth be told, he didn't like hurting the boy, but he
loved dominating him. Making him beg to be fucked. Watching him
submit through his pain. You just don't get that from women now, do
you?
Fully seated, Fuller moved slightly, letting his large ballsack slap
against the rear parts of Leslie's dangling "pink purse."
Leslie stopped whimpering and gasped a little as lust replaced pain.
Fuller smiled. It was time to fuck. And relieve what had become a
terribly urgent need to "empty himself" inside this beautiful boy.
The first stroke was long and accurate. Rubbing Leslie's prostate in
a way that widened his eyes and made him squeal with delight.
Pleased with himself, Fuller repeated Leslie's "prostate therapy."
Pleasing the boy as he pleasured himself.
Ten long, grunting strokes. Then twenty.
Heaven.
Then Leslie cried out again and, while no thin milky stream issued
from a semi-hard mini-cock could be called "spurting," the boy
orgasmed magnificently.
Emptying his balls completely with the last drops of three cums in one
hour.
His cries and contractions drove Fuller to his own completion. Making
the man heave a pint of hot, thick, man's cream into the boy's bowels.
It was, hands-down, the best orgasm of Fuller's life. And Leslie's.
When Leslie's world-class bottom involuntarily rejected Fuller's spent
cock, a flood of mansperm followed its exit.
Messy.
But awesome.
The lovers kissed and made all sorts of seemingly unkeepable promises,
like, "As soon as I get my car fixed, Leslie, I'm coming back for you
and we're running away together."
Leslie didn't think Fuller meant that, but he was grateful enough to
suck Fuller's poop-stained cock to a second stand, which led to a
second fuck. Slower this time. With two head-blasting, dry orgasms
for Leslie and a three-spurt sinus clearer for Fuller.
And you know what?
The very next day, Fuller got his car fixed, came back to the house
when Farmer Hayseed and his womenfolk were in the fields, gathered up
Leslie, and took him away from all that.
And they lived happily ever after.
Because Fuller's wife never found out that he had married Leslie in
another state and made him a "kept" pantyboy. Kept and well-fucked.
With his own "new friends" when hubby was on the road selling widgets.
Please tell me what you think at [email protected]
Rowan
- 24.01.2021
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