Down On The Farm Ch 01 2

My name is (or was) Christopher James. My wife and I married when we were eighteen; we had some family money and we moved to this beautiful country to farm and to raise our two boys, who came along in the first years of our marriage. We wanted a place we could manage and work ourselves and we chose to live in what many thought of as wilderness but which we regarded as blessed solitude. The nearest settlement was an hour's drive away but we were not lonely. Irma and I had each other. We taught the boys at home but when Peter was ten and Larry nine we realised that they needed to learn to mix with children of their own age so we sent them to boarding school. To our relief they thrived; they loved the holidays at home but they also enjoyed school.

Physically they took after Irma's family. I am only five foot nine and slim and Irma is similar but all the other members of her family are six foot or more and the men are massively muscular. By the time our boys were sixteen they loomed over their mother and me and could pick either of us up off the floor with ease.

I had a secret life, unknown to any of my family. I loved woman's clothes and longed to wear them. Sometimes, when my wife and the boys were asleep, I would take my wife's panties and stockings into our bathroom and try them on. I shuddered with pleasure as the nylons slid up my legs and I loved the feeling when I pulled my cock and balls between my legs and secured them with the silk and lace of a pair of pretty panties. I would admire my silhouette in the mirror in our bathroom and would run my hands over my titties, tweaking my nipples into life and then pushing down my panties and stimulating my cock to shoot my sperm. After a while I learnt to gather my sperm in my hand and savour its taste and texture, licking it up fervently. But I wanted more, far more.

I made a den for myself in one of the outhouses and filled it with man stuff: bits of old machinery, broken agricultural equipment and so on and no one was allowed in but me. In fact I was not tinkering with wood and metal but with silk and lace and satin. I bought lovely panties, bras, suspender belts, stockings, slips, shoes, dresses and makeup on the internet and this was my wardrobe and the land where I became a woman.

Obviously, I was very restricted as to how often I could spend time there, but there was one two -week period each year when the boys were at school and my wife went to visit her sister abroad. Then I transferred some of my favourite clothes to a spare bedroom and it became my room as a woman and for two blessed weeks I lived as the woman I knew I really was. Ordinarily, no one except the post man ever came near the farm and he left the mail in a box half a mile down the drive from the house. So, when I had taken my wife to the airport and walked back through my front door, I immediately ceased to be Christopher, the husband, the father of two boys, and became Chrissie, the lovely woman who lived alone and dreamed of strong men.

One day I was returning from the hen house, where I had collected the day's eggs. I saw a man approaching along the drive. He had clearly seen me and I thought that to run away would be more suspicious than to brazen it out. I prayed that my attention to make-up and to walking like the lady I knew myself to be would make me a believable woman. As he drew closer I realised he was an itinerant who had come the year before asking for work. I hadn't liked the look of him and had refused.

'Is Mr James at home, ma'am?' he asked.

'No, I said. He isn't. I'm his sister.'

'I thought I saw a resemblance but, my, you're much prettier than him,' he said.

'Can I do anything for you, little lady?' he asked with just a hint of a leer.

'No thank you, I said. My brother does the hiring.'

'It seems a shame for him to leave a pretty lady like you all on her own.' He said. 'It's not safe.' He moved towards me and I saw lust in his eyes. I was delighted and terrified. A man thought I was a woman and he wanted me in the crudest, most powerful way.

I said, 'Oh, I'm not alone. Both my nephews are home from college and they're in the house.'

He pulled up short. Whether he believed me I don't know but he was sufficiently uncertain to desist.

'You sure are a beautiful lady, if you don't mind my saying so, ma'am.'

I replied, 'I don't mind. Thank you for the compliment.'

I watched him walk away and after he had walked about a hundred yards he turned his head and winked at me.

That night I lay on my bed, pleasuring myself. I had bought my first dildo and as I lubed up my mancunt I thought of the rough man who had come and, as I pushed deeper inside myself and the dildo found my prostate and I let out a cry of delight, I imagined it was the long, thick cock of just such a vagrant, which was shooting his baby-batter into my pussy and impregnating my longing womb.

***

After school the boys went to college and I continued to subsist on briefly snatched moments and my two weeks of delight each year. After college Peter travelled for a year and then both boys decided they wanted to live at home and develop the farm. This sounded to me like my doom. I should no longer be sure of any time when I could be myself for, certainly, I was Chrissie, not Christopher. I fell into the worst depression I have ever experienced and I could not tell anyone why. The boys took over the running of the farm because I became all but incapable of making decisions and they and their mother kept the show on the road. The boys' plans for development were put on hold. It must have been utterly frustrating for them.

My only successful decisions in two years were to grow my hair and, secretly, to begin a course of feminising tablets. My hair is strawberry blond with a natural wave to it. My wife's only comment as it started to frame my face with a soft curl was that she wished her hair was as attractive. She and I had ceased having sex years before; I had moved into a separate bedroom; we told ourselves we should sleep better like that; our marriage had become companionable, rather like brother and sister, except that we shared the parentage of our boys, who now were strapping men, each of them well over six feet tall and magnificently built.

The result of the tablets was that my breasts started to swell and become feminine with rosy nipples and a distinct aureole. My cock and balls had always been small to average and now they became rather smaller and easier to tuck away. I hid the changes with loose clothing, but, when my breasts enlarged to a C cup, I wore a restraining bodice below my shirt which looked like a sweat shirt to the casual observer.

I might have remained in this sexless and miserable limbo but, suddenly, when Peter was twenty- five and Larry twenty-four, like lightening from a clear sky, their mother died. She had been completely well except for worrying about my depression. She had a heart attack and she was no more. Of necessity I took over running the house, cooking and cleaning. It saved me, for in my mind I became the woman of the house, caring for my men who worked the farm. I let them make the decisions and I felt oddly happy.

A year after my wife died I decided to tell my boys I intended to live as a woman. I should keep my cock and balls but in all else I should be female.

They looked stunned, as though I had hit them over the head with a baseball bat.

I said, 'I know it's a shock but I hope in time you will be able to understand that the feeling that I am, and must be, a woman has been growing on me for many years. It was this, and the apparent impossibility of ever doing anything about it, which led to my breakdown. The only way I can avoid slipping back into that dark place is by becoming myself. I am now going to dress as me.'

I went to my workroom where I still kept my wardrobe. I made up carefully and did my hair. I put on a pair of tights, a pair of matching lace panties and bra, a delicate, but very simple, white blouse, which set my new cleavage off nicely, a knee-length skirt of indigo silk, rather full, which swayed as I walked, to emphasise the femininity of my hips, and a pair of Cuban- heeled shoes, which gave me a little more height. I hadn't time to paint my nails, because I didn't want to leave the boys too long between the initial shock and the revelation of dad as woman.

When I walked back into the living room Peter and Larry had their heads together, as though they had been discussing how to respond to my announcement, so I saw their expressions caught, next to each other, as though in a spotlight. Larry's mouth fell open in disbelief; Peter whistled and said, 'Daddy (he had never called me 'daddy' since he was a little boy) you are one sexy lady.' He gravely walked over to me, took me by the hand, led me to what had been his mother's chair, then kissed the hand he was still holding and I sat down, the lady of the house.

Peter accepted the change with remarkable ease. For Larry it was more difficult; he said little except to reply to questions and blushed furiously on the occasions when I caught him looking at me. I could not read his expression, had no idea what was passing in his mind, and was seriously worried about him. When I broached the subject with Peter he just said, 'Don't worry, Daddykins (his new name for me). He'll get over it.'

Before my announcement the boys had tended to do things together: they'd go to town to collect groceries or for a night out; sometimes they'd do the two- hour drive to the nearest city that had any real night- life and they might stay over. After I came out as a woman it seemed that they felt they needed to protect me, and at least one of them tried always to be with me. I was very touched and told them I was old enough to take care of myself. However, it made no difference and when one of them went to town shopping the other stayed with me.

Our relationships changed radically about six months into our new arrangement. One morning Larry set off to town and Peter stayed with me. We had finished breakfast and I was putting our plates into the dish washer they had bought me for my birthday the week before. I felt, rather than saw, that Peter was behind me. Then I felt his breath on my neck, his muscular arms came round me and he cupped my breasts in his hands. He kissed my ear and said, 'Daddykins, you are the sexiest girl with the most beautiful but and you make me into the randiest man. Feel what you do to me.'

He took one of my hands in his and placed it on the very impressive bulge on the front of his trousers.

'You're the only woman who does that for me and I want you so bad. Please, Daddykins, let my cock at least see the pussy he longs for.'

'Darling,' I said (Why did I call him that?) 'This is wrong. You are my son; I am your father.'

'No, my darling girl. You are Chrissie, a hot woman, and I am a very horny man, who needs to give you his seed. I need to breed you, my lovely Daddykins, Chrissie girl.'

He had hoisted up my dress and I felt his finger slide down inside my panties, following my crack until he reached my bud. He must have moistened his finger and, as he gently caressed my bud, she opened just a little, then closed again. He removed his hand and licked his fingers. He returned them to my bud and firmly inserted one, then two, and it felt so right, despite what I had said. I leant back onto that growing baton of meat in his trousers as he slowly inserted three of his fingers into my cunt. Then he turned me round to face him, picked me up in his arms, kissed me gently and said, 'Come my darling, my rosebud. Let me take you, let me make you my own. Will you be my wife?'

I could not speak. I knew that this was what I had wanted all my life: to be the wife of a loving, virile man. The fact that the man was my son somehow added to the sensual pleasure which I was now sure was about to wash over me for the first time in my life. I couldn't speak. I nodded and hid my face in his neck as he carried me to the main bedroom in the house, which had belonged to his mother and me in the early days of our marriage and would now belong to Peter and me as a sign of our new relationship.

When we got into the room he stood me on my feet and set about undressing me. He gasped as he undid my bra and my breasts emerged into his hands; then he suckled on my teats. He pushed down my panties and held my clitie in his powerful, caloused hands, then his mouth found its way down there and he took cock and balls together into his mouth. I thought I was going to come straight away but he backed off to tantalise me with what was in store. Then he turned me round and I heard another gasp.

'Darlingest girl,' he said, 'Your cunt is to die for. Let me worship her.'

He licked from her base to above my crack then played with his tongue tip inserting and withdrawing until I cried out for him to fuck me. He laid me on my back on the bed and took off his own clothes as I watched. His shirt fell to the ground and revealed his magnificent pecs, covered in a mat of rough black hair, he flexed his biceps for me to see the great veins which stood out as symbols of his strength. He dropped his trousers and the world stood still for me. His hips were narrow but he had perfect buttocks, arrogant in their masculinity; his thighs and calves were thick and rippling with muscle and between those thighs stood a perfect rod of commanding virility, twelve inches of pure man, royally purple, with a sculpted helmet head which promised to take any cunt by storm, and below this wonder hung two balls the size of grapefruit, clearly capable of making baby batter for the whole county, let alone for my little cunt.

'What do you want, little girl Daddykins? Do you want your son to fill your pussy with his baton. Do you want to feel this,' he took hold of his cock, 'deep inside your pretty little girl cunt? Do you want your son to sow his seed in your womb and make you pregnant with his babies?'

And I cried 'Yes, yes, breed me. My breasts, my clitie, my cunt belong to you. Use them all and make me your father, lover, wife, daughter, what you will.'

He reached into a drawer in the bedside table and took out a jar of lube.

I asked, 'What is that doing there?' and he replied. 'I have planned this ever since you dressed for us. I decided then that I should be your husband and you would be my wife. Come my darling bride; let your husband possess you fully.'

He spread the lube on his great, vein- engorged cock and pushed some as deep as a solitary finger could reach into my mancunt; he poised the head of his cock against my virgin rosebud (for my mancunt was still virgin except for my recent attempts with a dildo) and he pushed, slowly but inexorably, until I opened like a flower to the sunshine and he entered into his kingdom. That day he transformed my mancunt finally into a cunt and I became a woman and a wife. My son was my husband and his relentless cock ploughed me repeatedly for hours. I vaguely heard Larry returning and some time after I thought I heard sobbing outside our bedroom door, but decided it was only an odd noise made by the wind which was whistling around the house. Peter and I were lost in a fog of love-making, of declarations of love, of one telling the other when first he had intimations of desire for his father/son and how we had tried to crush them as inappropriate and impossible to bring to fruition. After each bout of love making, when Peter had taken me once again or had licked our juices from my ravaged hole or had swallowed my clitie cock and brought me to fresh orgasm, we lay in one another's arms and spoke our wonder that we had found each other in this way and that we felt no guilt, only a deep and wonderful delight. He was a man and I was a woman, we were husband and wife, enjoying each other as any couple should.

As we drifted off to sleep Peter whispered into my ear, 'Your balls made me, your pretty little cock shot me into my mother's womb. Now I want to shoot my sperm into your womb with my so much greater cock until you bear my children. You will be both grandfather and mother and I shall be father and brother to them and I shall set them in your velvet sheath where my penis now has taken up his habitation. Oh, my father, bride and wife, you are the woman of my dreams. I am the farmer and you are the field I plough and in which I sow my seed. I am the knight and you are the scabbard in which I sheathe my sword after the long day's travail.'

I replied, 'Rest in me, my lover, husband, son; set your seed and take your delight, then sleep.'

And that is what we did.

The next morning I got up to make breakfast, I was going to say 'as usual', but, of course, it wasn't as usual. All things had changed and I felt sore all over and particularly in my pussy from the loving Peter had given me. He and I sat and ate and, from time to time, he leant over to kiss me. We thought Larry must be having a lie in but, at ten o'clock, Peter went to his room to tell him that he would be too late for breakfast if he didn't come right away.

Peter took one look inside Larry's room and called for me. The room was empty; Larry had packed his best suit and some jackets and trousers, some shirts and a few changes of underclothing and was gone. Peter ran outside. The truck Larry had gone shopping in had also gone. An hour later we received a telephone call from the station- master in our little town. Our truck was parked at the station and had been there since the previous night. We knew that a train left for the city at 11.30 and we could only assume that Larry had boarded it. No one was on duty except for a guard who was known to sleep most of his time so nobody had seen my son go.

I put on my male gear, which now felt like a disguise to me, we went in the other car to collect our vehicle, and I put it about that Larry had gone travelling for a while.

I heard nothing of him for eleven years.

(to be continued)