Date: Sun, 25 Oct 2015 13:53:43 +0000 (UTC)
From: a4f101@yahoo.com
Subject: The Old Workhouse

I've been writing dirty stories on my Tumblr – a4f101.tumblr.com –
for a while now, and I'm sharing them here with you too. There's more on my
Tumblr – more stories, from me and my likeminded buds – so come check
it out.  You can see this story, and the pic that inspired it, here:
http://a4f101.tumblr.com/post/110385529840/

This story is an original work of fiction, copyright me 2015. I own it, and
all legal rights to it. If you're not of legal age in your jurisdiction to
be reading it, do us both a favor and come back to it when you are. This is
strictly a work of fantasy.

Love to hear from you guys. a4f101@yahoo.com. And hey – Nifty is an
incredible, free resource. Changed my life, and probably did the same for
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once. Let's keep it going, for them and for us.

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*****

The old workhouse had stood on the farm for the better part of a century,
housing for the workers who'd lived here seasonally, back before the
machines had gotten automated and the science of farming had so radically
improved, made things more efficient, gradually phased out the need for
them. It was a functional building, but kind of a beautiful one, and I'd
resisted knocking it down as much for the sense of history in its old
walls, as the expense and effort it would take.

Caleb loved the old building as much as I did, exploring it as a kid with
his buddies, camping out there in the warmer months. And as he grew, as we
grew closer, just him and me on this big piece of farmland that my family
had worked for generations, it became our place. The first place we'd
kissed, when he was 15 and just starting to get big like he was now, my
big, handsome, farm-muscled blond son. We'd been sheltering from a sudden
downpour together, watching the rain roll off the old roof, when we'd
turned and smiled at each other, and somehow the romance of the steady hard
rain, the old building behind us, the slow-building feelings between us the
previous few years, had led to a kiss, then a deeper one, and finally to my
big boy straddling my lap, hungrily searching my mouth with his tongue as
we took our first step beyond father and son, and into the bond of lovers,
while the rain roared on the old iron roof over our heads.

That was a decade ago, and he'd long moved into my big bed in the house,
coming back from college with his Ag degree, an even stronger, handsomer
body, and a fiercer, deeper love for me. The love of a son for his father,
the love of a man, the beautiful, heated taboo of our incestuous bond. Two
men, farming and loving, bonded by blood and passion. Living as partners,
lovers and family. We made love long and sweet up in the big old farmhouse,
but it was the workhouse that really felt like our playground, the place
where it had all began, and the electricity of our sweet, forbidden bond
felt even stronger here.

We'd moved the big mattress from his old bed, before my bed had become our
bed, out here, and when the heavy dark clouds of the storm we'd been
anticipating began rolling close, we'd wrapped up our tasks for the day,
parked the tractor, then shot each other a horny, excited grin. The rain
drops were just starting as we ran across the drive from the barn to the
old place, hand in hand, grinning like lovestruck young kids about to go
all the way for the first time. Christ, we almost always had that energy,
and it was perfect and amazing. And so very, very hot.

The rain began in earnest as we slowly stripped out of our dusty, sweaty
clothes, kissing with an unhurried, passionate heat. Long, slow,
lip-smacking kisses with my big handsome son, slowly exposing our big,
farm-hardened bodies to each other. Yeah, I was 20 years older than him,
but even heading into middle age, I cut a solid, muscled figure, naturally
hairy, and I knew I could stand big and proud next to the big young hunk
I'd created, our thick muscles so similar, his body and face strikingly
like mine was at his age. Seeing his eyes widen appreciatively, lustfully,
the soft, moist press of his lips and tongue to the big hard muscles of my
chest, never failed to fill me with pride, and love, and pure happiness
that we'd discovered this intense bond between us - discovered and explored
and built it, into true love between men.

As I lowered him to his old mattress, stroking the big, furred muscles all
over him, kissing all the while, thunder boomed in the distance, and the
rain began to pelt, as our bodies wrapped together. I slipped my big, bare
father cock up inside him, with love and heat, with passion for my big,
sexy son, loving the familiar but endlessly exciting way he moaned, his
eyes rolling up, as he felt every thick one of my seven uncut inches plant
inside him, and slowly begin to fuck him. To make love to him.

The old iron roof roared under the ceaseless drum of the storm, but I could
still hear his moans, mine, the way he moaned "Daddy" in his booming young
voice, loving the intense spark in his as I called him "Son", building the
intensity of my cockthrusts as the storm intensified overhead, our deep
masculine lovemaking feeling like a force of nature in itself.

His orgasm sparked mine, powerful thick bursts of hot, salty cum blasting
up his muscled, writhing torso, as mine filled his insides. He tasted as
salty and manly as ever, as I lapped up the thick warm pools of young
farmer's seed, dripping it into his panting, hungry young mouth, before
following it with my tongue. Sharing it, trading it, loving it, loving each
other.

Maybe it was the storm, maybe it was just one of those incredibly intense
moments between us, but as I slipped my half-hard father cock from the
cleft of his big, firm ass, I slid down, nuzzling my stubbled face up and
down his sweaty, sticky glutes, eyes locking with his as I leaned in to
lick his creamy hole, dripping with my son-making cum, making him moan for
me again. My brother had done this to me when we were playful farmboys
ourselves, and I'd always remembered it, remembered the lusty way he'd
lapped his thick teenage cum from my dripping hole, then fed it to me
intently, as hungry to share it as I was. And now I shared it with my boy,
like I'd done many times before, but just as intense for us both as when he
was 17 and experiencing it for the first time, right in this very room. If
my big brother could see his nephew now, well... Andrew lived two thousand
miles away, was one of the only people who knew how close me and Caleb
were, and we were already marking down the days until he could visit over
summer, the three of us itching to get naked and explore together.

But until then, Caleb was my focus, my son, my man, my lover. As we
swallowed my seed together, fresh and warm from his tight, hairy young
hole, he smiled at me, and I knew it was time to do what I'd been thinking
of for the past year. I pulled him to his feet, into an easy, deep kiss,
and we stepped into the old communal bathroom to clean up a little.

Fuck, he was so beautiful, I thought to myself, feeling an easy, loving
throb throughout me for my boy. He turned off the faucets, looked over at
me and smiled, and that's when I pulled the ring from the pocket of my
jeans. A simple one, masculine, one I'd had for a while now, contemplating
its meaning, the implications. But we'd had a damn good harvest last year,
and I'd bought it immediately, acting on some deep instinct, that of a
father and of a partner.

Caleb looked at me, not quite getting it at first, but watching the
realization sweep across his tanned, handsome face, the look of intense
love that followed it, filled me with joy. We hugged, naked, kissing
tenderly, and then he let me slip it onto his thick ring finger. The
tenderness between us at that moment bonded with the incredible physical
heat we'd always had, and with the rain drumming on the roof as hard as
ever, it felt just like that first kiss a decade ago, all over again. This
time, I let my big, beautiful son guide me to the mattress, and slowly,
easily, naturally, we came together again.