Law of the Farm

This story has a long build up. Patience is necessary.

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It was my third week at the farm, and I had built plenty of trust. The owner was an old Swedish-American, a second generation immigrant's daughter. She and her new boyfriend, an engineer from La Crosse, lived on a small 40 acre plot in St. Croix Falls, Wisconsin. As a WWOOF volunteer, I provided manual labor and they offered room and board in the ancient, three generation farmhouse.

Life was fun. I was between jobs and took a long summer off to reconnect with the Earth. The couple was in their early seventies and while they were fit and trim -- I could hear them screwing every night in the main bedroom below mine --they needed a younger body to do some of the more challenging chores. I mulched, weeded, ran the mower and splitter, pruned, tilled the soft earth, and as a treat picked plums and aronia berries. I felt far away from the hospital where I had spent most of my waking hours for the past few years.

"Asher, come look at the pheasants" called out Gerianne from the main room. She wore a sweeping summer dress that twirled as she turned around and handed me binoculars.

"I didn't know we had these," I replied.

"I keep them in the cabinet next to the mantle here. Always fun to spy on all the creatures."

"Very beautiful birds," I exclaimed before they ran into the thick blue grass prairie.

"That praire is ripe for a burning this year. But I'll probably get to it next year," she nodded. Soon after Bill bumbled out of the study with an empty cup of coffee. It was time to work.

The farm was a well-oiled operation. North of the house stood a large plot of garden vegetables while north of that was the old chicken coop-turned-Airbnb property. To the east was the one-room artist retreat. This lodge was a vision Gerianne had in the 90s that she built with the help of an Australian architect. Neither building had any septic tank so between these two rentals stood a thick plot of hedge where the latrine and bucket shower for the two buildings stood. In addition she had installed a plunge trough for icy dips on hot days.

In theory, the hedge provided some additional privacy for bathing guests. But with a bad plague of Japanese beetles in the county, the barrier was getting thin and leafless. After working all morning, we went back to the farmhouse for lunch. Gerrianne provided an outline for the next few days. She and Bob were going to a weekend conference on Friday afternoon; I would manage the farm by myself. Tomorrow morning I would clean out the chicken coop rental after the current guests left. Then I would pick fruit in the orchard. Gerianne would prepare the artist's lodge for her friend who would be staying the weekend as well. Then she and Bob would leave for the airport after lunch.

"Angela," that was the friend's name, "is quite independent. She needs some time off, alone, she told me." I nodded along while tossing sliced onions into the sizzling pan. "And Asher, you don't have to cook for her or anything, just keep an eye on the farm. Take whatever you want for your own dinners from the garden and the larder."

I asked a few questions and Gerianne answered. It seemed Angela was a lawyer who had been also taking Gerianne's advice on gardening. "Divorce law, I'm told, can be very stressful. Especially in such a small community." I started to imagine I would be spending the weekend with a grandmother like Laura Dern from Marriage Story.

"Now, when you're ready I'll show you how I need the salsa organized," said Gerianne.

After lunch and a few more chores I started to read on the back patio. The two farmers came back out in their bathing suits and drove off to the lake for a swim. After an hour or so, the couple renting the chicken coop returned from their excursion and drove up the driveway. They looked young, maybe college sweethearts traveling before starting their last year at the university. I could see them counting the cars in the driveway, and realizing they were almost alone. The young man nodded at me and held his girlfriend as she kissed his cheek. They had already kicked off their hiking shoes in the car and were walking back to their rental barefoot in the grass.

I'm not the jealous type; I'm still young, just thirty two. But I started to feel hot and tingly. Seeing this couple made me yearn for some action. I hadn't been on a date in several months. Hadn't been laid in several more. I was below-average height with a penis bigger than most women suspected which was a fun surprise to reveal. No matter how much I lifted I stayed lean and sinewy with a tiny butt. A travel nurse from Duluth who was the last woman I had the pleasure of spending a night with had told me it was a good ass for thrusting-- a cute complement. She had been a bit of a pillow princess who loved to caress my chest. While we cuddled afterwards, she called me an otter before purring to sleep. See, I never took any interest in shaving. My hair went from chest to crotch, with a happy highway rather than a happy trail. I thought about her hands sliding down that path in bed. God, any hands would be nice right now.

When the couple came back out of the rental, they were wrapped in brightly colored bathrobes that look silky and shiny in the afternoon light. They were far enough away that I couldn't hear them but they looked plenty horny as they felt each other up before disappearing behind the hedges. By now I was too distracted and couldn't get back to reading. Between my legs, I started to get that kind of soft hardness that you can't really ignore. Maybe I'll take a shower too, I thought. But ten minutes later, the cool farm water did nothing for me. Wrapped in a towel I climbed up the farm house stairs into my attic bedroom and when I looked out the window I saw something that made my prick turn into a brick.

I never realized it before, but from this angle, I could see over the crest of receding hedge into the area with the latrine and bucket shower. Out on the grass, the two had tossed off their robes and started to rut. It was just movement that I could see first. The shape of two bodies. But then I remembered the binoculars.

When I got back to the room, my towel had fallen to the floor leaving me naked with one hand holding the binoculars and the other stroking. Up close, I could see them in doggy style. The boy had a fresh looking tattoo on his shoulder and was otherwise hairless. The girl was turned up and looking back to make eye contact as he drilled her. She had washboard abs. No hips. I could see her flat chest and two silver bars piercing her nipples. Her whole body rocked as he kept driving deeper. Before long I felt an effortless pressure and looked down. Thick strings of cum shot out of me onto the window screen. Orgasm hit and I shook. I moaned. My hips thrust into my hand as if they had a mind of their own and again my whole body jolted. Another shot came out. Then two more. On the screen, it looked like a drunk spider had laid a web.

When I caught my breath and looked again with the binoculars, the two were also done. They had splayed out on the grass. He was already soft. She was still panting. I felt guilty and sat down on the bed. I had never been a voyeur before.

I finished my shower routine by cleansing in thick lotions. Around my arms, shoulders, neck, then diving down along my hips and inner thighs. Farm skin needs attention. My room didn't have a mirror but I could feel my balls hanging low in the August heat. My fingers naturally curled right up at the base of my cock. I massaged in the last of the lotion. Then I heard another car come up the driveway. They were back. It was time to make dinner.

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