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MIDNIGHT IN HOOTERVILLE

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Oliver slipped out of bed as quietly as he could manage; while Lisa generally slept like the dead, he still didn't want to take any chances. Faint moonlight washed in through one of the bedroom windows, allowing him to see well enough to avoid colliding with any furniture.

He tip-toed across the uneven wooden floor, charting a zig-zag path to avoid the loosest and creakiest floorboards. He opened the bedroom door with the utmost care, but the old hinges insisted on squeaking anyway.

Oliver froze as Lisa sighed and rustled under the sheets; he held his breath a moment, his heart racing.

Another minute passed, and when it became obvious that she was still asleep, he blew out the breath. It was a shame that he simply couldn't leave the house through their as yet unfinished walk-in closet, but the blasted sliding door couldn't be trusted to stay on its track.

Moving as carefully as ever, he continued into the living room, slowly pulling the door shut and ensuring that it latched properly.

These middle-of-the-night shenanigans simply had to stop. While he enjoyed such exploits immensely, skulking about in the dark simply presented far too many chances of being discovered. His chores tended to suffer on the days following, and tomorrow was probably going to be no exception. Mr. Haney was due in the morning, having promised to bring over the correct pore key so they could properly close the pores in the farmhouse siding in preparation for a much needed paint job.

Besides, he'd just discovered a new motel had been built on the highway between Hooterville and Pixley, and it promised to be the perfect alternative venue, what with its hourly rates and reinforced ceiling beams.

The old thrill had definitely returned, and its pull on him was undeniable. But the last thing he needed was for rank and file Hootervillians, let alone Lisa, to discover his secret.

That could get rather ugly, indeed.

Oliver moved into the kitchen and pulled open the bottom drawer next to the sink. He shrugged out of his nightshirt, carefully folded it, and placed it in the rear of the drawer. He then extracted the clothes that he'd hidden earlier that evening.

A quick glance at the clock embedded in the stove's control panel confirmed that he was several minutes early. He had plenty of time.

By the weak light cast by the night light over the stove, he pulled on the denims, struggling a bit to fasten them. They were rather tight fitting, and certainly not anything that he'd be caught dead wearing in the light of day...but they were a necessary, what? Evil?

Besides, the role he'd most likely playing this evening demanded these particular accouterments, and Oliver found that he rather enjoyed assuming different identities. It was, well, stimulating, to say the least.

He'd thought that he'd left this closely guarded aspect of his life far behind when they'd moved from the city; he'd since vowed to never underestimate what distinctly titillating services that rural enclaves had to offer!

He chuckled quietly as he put on the worn flannel shirt, buttoning it up as he went through the back door and onto the rickety porch.

The half-full moon provided plenty of light as he made his away around the corner of the house and toward the back of the barn. Crickets chirruped contentedly all around, but other than that, the night was quiet.

Dim light flickered through one of the barn's windows, and Oliver's heart beat faster in anticipation.

He'd no idea what was in store for him this night, but if previous encounters were any indication, he was in for a most exciting time.

With a final glance around the farmyard, Oliver unlatched the rear door to the barn and stepped inside. The wondrous aromas of freshly baled hay, motor oil and manure assaulted his nose immediately. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes as his right hand drifted down to stroke the firmness of his hardening member.

It was heavenly, and it was times like these that Oliver knew that he'd made the right decision to leave the city. Keep Manhattan, just give him more and more of that countryside!

A slight rustling from deeper inside the barn jostled him from his reverie.

The huge bulk of Oliver's beloved Hoyt-Clydewell tractor dominated the center, open area of the barn, the softly flickering light emanating from just behind it.

Oliver approached the tractor, the flush of excitement growing with each step. The soft crunch of his bare feet on the hay-covered dirt floor was incredibly arousing.

He rounded the rear end of the Hoyt-Clydewell to find an oil lantern perched on a bale of hay. A large, black duffel lay on the floor next to the bale. As Oliver pondered what treasures might be inside, a dark form emerged from the shadows of the milking stall.

“You're late,” the shadow said in a deep, come-hither voice.

Oliver whirled to face the shadow. “I don't think so-”

“Quiet!” the shadow barked. “You dare defy me?”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “As a matter of fact, yes, I do.” He tapped at his wristwatch. “It's clearly 11:55, and our rendezvous is scheduled for midnight, if I recall. Really, if we're going to do this, we're going to do it correctly.”

“Sorry, Mr. Douglas.” Eb emerged from the shadows, a clearly hangdog expression on his face. “I'm jus' tryin' to get into my role, ya know?” He sighed heavily, stepping into the circle of light cast by the lantern. “There's so much to learn. I haven't had so much trouble studyin' since all those state capitals in high school. Control, submission, safe words...it's a lot to take in.”

Oliver nodded appreciatively, his gaze drifting down Eb's long, lanky body. His farmhand could certainly dress the part, even if he wasn't completely at ease when playing it.

It was truly amazing how imposing Eb looked in his new wardrobe.

A rebellious lick of auburn hair peeked out from under his new leather cap: the studded brim, chain accents and shiny brass eagle were excellent finishing touches. He found the leather halter criss-crossing Eb's surprisingly broad and muscled chest to be especially attractive, but not nearly so as the skin-tight, ass-less chaps that emphasized Eb's large thighs and nicely sized package in front. And it would be scandalous to ignore Eb's deliciously exposed peel-and-eat ass.

But the thick soled, blockish motorcycle boots were a new addition. They added at least another three inches to Eb's already imposing height. When he stood up straight, anyway.

Oliver nodded. “Those are new, aren't they?” indicating the boots.

“Yeah, Mr. Haney brought 'em over from Pixley this afternoon. Pretty groovy, huh?”

Oliver took a step closer to Eb. “Yes, pretty groovy. Let's get back to it, shall we?”

Eb nodded vigorously. “Right, sure, Mr. Douglas. Still the same safe word?”

“Yes, Eb. It's still 'guernsey'”.

Eb nodded, his smile fading instantly. He drew himself up to his full height, planting both hands on his hips. “Take off the shirt.”

Oliver complied, his cock once again stirring in the overly tight denims.

Eb watched for a moment before bending down to root about in the duffel.

Oliver finished unbuttoning the flannel, shrugging out of it. He stared at the smooth skin of Eb's butt cheeks as he bent over the duffel. By God, but the boy had an ass on him! Not to mention an incredibly firm and nicely muscled body. All those years of hard work about the farm had certainly paid off.

His flannel fell to the floor as Eb stood up.

“Drop 'em.” Eb nodded to the denims.

Oliver released the button and slid the zip down, pushing the denims over his hips, careful to not take his boxers with them. While Eb placed the thick leather collar around his neck, he stepped out of the denims and Eb locked the collar in place.

“You like those tight, don't you?”

“Yes.”

Eb nodded, noting Oliver's erection straining against his undershorts. “Put out your wrists.”

Oliver complied, pleased at how quickly Eb was improving. The voice lessons in Pixley had been a wise investment.

He stood as still as possible as Eb fastened the wrist cuffs; the snug feel of the heavy leather was incredible. Looking down at Eb's crotch, he moaned softly, the swell of Eb's basket undeniable.

Eb followed Oliver's gaze. “You like that, do you?” He finished with the wrist cuffs, stepping closer.

Oliver nodded, licking his lips.

“Perhaps later you may have some.” Eb's staid expression faltered for only a second. He then extracted the ankle cuffs from the duffel.

Oliver groaned slightly as Eb buckled them on, clicking the heavy chain in place and locking the cuffs to it. The boy had a gorgeous back...perfect for riding. He could hardly wait to climb on top and-

“Turn around,” Eb commanded, standing up and not waiting for Oliver to comply. He whipped Oliver around to face the huge rear wheel of the Hoyt-Clydewell, both hands firmly gripping Oliver's shoulders.

Oliver grunted, holding both arms up over his head.

“That's good, farmer. I didn't have to tell you this time.”

Eb grabbed Oliver's right hand, clicking a short length of chain to the ring on the wrist cuff. He then attached it to the tire chain on the tractor's wheel, repeating the process with Oliver's left hand. When finished, Oliver leaned forward slightly, to accommodate his wrists and arms being stretched so far apart.

“Good,” Eb commented.

Even though Oliver couldn't see Eb any longer, the vision of his leather-clad farm hand was etched into his mind's eye: tall, strong, imposing. Oliver's fully hard cock twitched as he pictured Eb's own huge member straining against the crotch of the chaps.

Oliver heard Eb's footsteps as he came closer; the next instant, Eb's booted foot pushed his feet apart as far at the chains connecting the ankle cuff would allow.

“You're a very bad farmer, aren't you?” Eb said sternly.

“Yes, I'm a very bad farmer.”

“Your cultivation techniques leave much to be desired,” Eb breathed, moving closer.

Oliver could feel the heat of Eb's body. “Yes, they do.”

“You're the worst farmer ever.”

Oliver moaned as Eb leaned into him. “I'm the worst farmer ever.” He gasped as he felt the press of Eb's package against the crack of his ass.

“Your choice in crops doesn't promote sustainability.”

“No, no, it doesn't,” Oliver gasped as Eb ground into him more forcefully. “I'm a bad farmer,” he added, hopefully.

Eb's breath washed over the back of his neck. “You are, you really are a bad farmer.” Eb leaned against Oliver fully now, both hands reaching around to tweak Oliver's nipples. “What'll we do about this?” He twisted Oliver's nipples mercilessly.

Oliver yelped, bucking back into Eb. “I need to be taught a lesson.”

Eb twisted Oliver's right nipple even harder. Oliver yelped again, much louder this time.

“You do need a lesson, but I'm afraid you're far too loud, Mr. Bad Farmer.”

Oliver relaxed as Eb withdrew from him. He heard soft rustling as Eb searched the duffel. He lifted his head, knowing what was coming his way.

“We can't have you waking up Mrs.Douglas, now can we?” Eb stepped behind Oliver again. “Open that dirty pie-hole of yours.”

Oliver sighed with pleasure; Eb was really getting the hang of this. He opened his mouth as widely as he could, allowing Eb to fit the bit gag on him. He clamped down on the bit as Eb tightened it firmly.

“Bad farmers must be punished,” Eb growled into Oliver's ear.

Oliver nodded. He felt Eb step away, and the next moment, his undershorts were ripped from his body. He shivered slightly, goose flesh popping out all over.

Eb chuckled. “You really like this, don't you?”

Oliver groaned as Eb's fingers curled around his erection. He nodded, grunting his answer.

Eb pulled on his cock a few times with one hand, the fingers of his other gliding over Oliver's ass. “Not bad for an older guy,” Eb murmured. “Not bad at all.” He released Oliver's cock. “But poor farming should not be rewarded.”

Oliver braced himself as the first sting of leather warmed his ass. crack

“Sloppy seed rows!” crack

“Poor irrigation!” crack

“Inadequate crop rotation!” crack

“Insufficient composting!” crack

“Pesticide run-off into nearby groundwater!” crack

Oliver grunted around the bit, bobbing his head three times in quick succession.

Eb ceased his whipping, recognizing Oliver's non-verbal signal to stop. “And I was just gettin' into it, too.” He leaned in, licking the shell of Oliver's right ear. “But you've done pretty good tonight.”

Oliver moaned and leaned toward Eb's surprisingly skilled tongue. One of Eb's thick fingers slid down the channel between his butt cheeks, pausing for only a second before pushing inside his hole. Eb buried his finger to the knuckle, twisting and curling it around with abandon.

"You're so dirty, Mr. Bad Farmer," Eb murmured, withdrawing his shockingly talented digit.

Oliver then heard the telltale popping of heavy snaps, and the rich, delicious sound of the zipper on Eb's chaps being pulled. The next moment, the head of Eb's thick cock teased the crack of his ass.

“Don't know about you, but I'm ready for some plowing, Mr. Bad Farmer.”

Oliver groaned his agreement, spreading his legs as far as the chains would allow. He clenched his fists around the tire chains, as Eb's cock found his entrance. Oliver pushed his hole against Eb's thick member, bracing himself for the inevitable pain/pleasure to come.

Eb firmly shoved the head of his erection through Oliver's ring of muscle with a satisfied grunt, smoothly burying his entire length in Oliver's ass.

Oliver tensed, his entire body on fire, moaning as loudly as he dared against the bit gag. The pain of Eb's entry faded, and as if on cue, Eb smoothly began to thrust in and out, gradually increasing his speed.

“This is how we do it,” Eb breathed into Oliver's ear, one hand grasping Oliver's hip while the other fisted Oliver's cock.

Oliver felt the tension in his body morph into satisfaction. He matched the rhythm of Eb's thrusts perfectly, the blessed, welcome heat building from deep within him.

“Oh, yeah,” Eb whimpered, plowing into Oliver with increased fervor.

Oliver groaned and grunted as the whitehot grew, Eb riding him mercilessly to release.

Neither one of them, both lost in the throes of passion, were aware of the pair of porcine eyes that watched them from the shadows...

 

~~~~~ * ~~~~~~~~

 

Arnold Ziffel made his way through the light underbrush, heading directly home as fast as his short legs could carry him.

What he'd witnessed in the Douglas barn hadn't been all that surprising, really.

He'd seen many such goings on in Hooterville. What else was there to do to while away the time? He wondered idly if that's how they did things in the big city, too...

Arnold burst from the brambles lining the driveway leading to his farm.

There was a light on in the back shed, so he headed in that direction, sure that he'd find his mother there, despite the lateness of the hour. His mother was very popular with the townsfolk, and a good thing too, as without that added income, his family never would have been able to make it on the proceeds from the farm alone.

He made a mental note to speak to Eb the next day; his father was a worse farmer than Mr. Douglass was, so perhaps Eb could be of some help on that account.

He reached the shed, pushing through the small flap constructed especially for him. Sure enough, his mother was wide awake, and hard at work, to boot.

Doris Ziffel was resplendent in her dominatrix gear, the shiny black knee-high boots a recent addition to the outfit. She looked up from her instruments as Arnold bustled in. “Arnold! We've talked about interrupting Mother when she's with a client.”

Arnold ignored her, as he was fully aware of the rules. But he simply had to tell her about what he'd seen. He quickly snorted through the events that had just gone down over at the Douglas farm.

Doris was thoughtful for a moment, before nodding knowingly. “Well, I'll be dipped. Id've never thought Eb to be so inventive. Very interesting, Arnold.”

Arnold told her he'd been surprised too.

“Well, that's the problem with niche-marketing. Someone always tries to horn in on it.”

Arnold told her that he thought that Hooterville was big enough to support both his mother's and Eb's home businesses.

He reminded her that despite how skilled she was, there were some folks who just weren't comfortable with coming to her for their needs. Plus, some humans simply wanted a male's touch. Like Mr. Drucker. Arnold shivered slightly as he recalled the time he'd bustled into the store to find Mr. Drucker nude next to the pickle barrel...

“Mayhap, Arnold. Only time will tell. But that Mr. Douglas, though. I always knew he was a weird one.”

Ralph Monroe shifted about in the sling, struggling to look in Arnold's direction. Which was no mean feat, considering how well she was trussed up. “I hate to be a pain, but I'm payin', and the clock's ticking. Plus, that whipped cream's gonna separate if we jaw much longer.”

Doris nodded. “Oh, dear, I'm sorry, Ralph. But you know how impulsive our little Arnold is.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ralph replied. “Thanks for the news flash, pork chop. Now beat it.”

Doris shrugged, nodding toward the door. “Run along, sweetie. We'll talk some more in the morning. Sounds like I'll be payin' a visit to one Mr. Eb Dawson! ” She then returned her attentions to her tools, picking up a large, chrome spatula and stroking it gently.

Arnold said good night to his mother; he'd so wanted to say something to Ralph, but the skank wasn't worth it.

He trotted across the barnyard and into the house through the back door. Curling up on his blanket next to the wood stove, he closed his eyes, content that all was right with the world.

Green Acres truly was the place to be.

 

~~~~~~~ fin ~~~~~~~~