Farm Heat

Tim arrived at uncle Bill's farm in the morning, for a short visit, during a scalding summer. He wanted to get away from college for a few days, and his parents convinced him to visit the farm. He hadn't seen his uncle since he was little, and he didn't know what to expect.

The strongest memory he had of that man was when Bill had showed up to his mom's birthday party, and called him a princess in front of his father. Tim remembered being upset for days, but he was used to being called names, growing up in a conservative neighborhood. The boys would call him a faggot, a pussy and a fruitcake, and give him wedgies and pull down his pants to humiliate him for not being manly enough.

Things got better when Tim went to college and met many smart, open-minded people from the metropolitan area. Meeting new people and having new experiences taught him that not every man was a bully or an asshole, but the fear remained, deep down.

This is why he felt intimidated while driving all the way to the country side to spend time with a conservative man. He knew that his uncle was a big, macho man through pictures of his family, and that Bill was always described as the tough guy, or the guy who would say inappropriate things.

"Don't worry, Tim. Bill is not a bad man," mom had said on the phone. "He's just a little tough, but he has a good heart. Just try not to upset him with modern stuff."

As Tim reflected about things, he almost turned around and drove back to the city, but when he thought about the problems he was facing in the college, and the conceited, rich boys he had to deal with all the time, the simple brute he had for an uncle suddenly seemed more attractive. Besides, Bill lived with his wife, aunt Jane - a sweet woman who liked to send him gifts every year.

As soon as he arrived and walked out of the car, he heard a deep grunt coming from behind him.

"Ah! How's my nephew doing?" belted Bill. His voice was raspier and thicker than Tim remembered.

"Hey, uncle Bill! It's good to see you," said Tim, shaking the man's big, warm hand.

Uncle Bill looked stronger and sturdier than ever. He was a dad in his fifties, with a big, balding head and bright, blue eyes, a big nose and a thick neck. He was overweight, but Tim could still spot some muscle behind his robust chest and juicy belly. His skin was red under the punishing sun, and his body emanated a hint of masculine sweat. He couldn't look more different than Tim and his slim body of a 22-year-old college boy.

"Still running around like a fairy?" asked Bill, while smiling and patting Tim on the shoulder.

"N-no, sir. I have new occupations," replied Tim, feeling immediately embarrassed.

His uncle laughed like a beast at his self-deprecation.

"Don't worry, kid. I don't mind having a gay boy in the family," said Bill, as he inspected Tim's modern appearance from top to bottom.

"Oh, thank God. I was concerned for a second," said Tim, sarcastically.

Bill didn't seem to be affected by his sarcasm, and laughed harder in his face.

"Let me help you with your stuff," said Bill, walking toward his car and grabbing his backpack for him. "Follow me, Timmy."

Tim reluctantly walked behind his uncle, observing the way the man stomped the ground confidently, like the world belonged to him - well, the farm did, he remembered.

"Where's aunt Jane?" asked Tim, when he walked inside the spacious living room.

"She's visiting her sister. The poor thing suffered a hip injury last night and Jane had to fly to the hospital," explained uncle Bill, calmly. "She won't be back this week, I believe. So it's just us, Timmy," the man looked him in the eye and winked.

Tim felt immediately uncomfortable with that information. He tried to be tranquil and respectful, as uncle Bill showed him around and described his life to him. Bill bragged about his two sons, who were both married now, and described the success of his bloodline. Tim just wanted to make an excuse to walk away and drive, but he was able to control himself.

"So, Timmy boy," barked Bill, when they got into the kitchen. "Do you know how to cook?"

"Yes, sir... I cook a lot."

"I figured," the man smirked. "Y'know, I haven't had a proper meal since Jane left. Why don't you make us some coffee while I take your stuff to your room?"

"Sure, no problem," said Tim.

When he was left alone, Tim prepared the best coffee he could, in order to impress his asshole of an uncle. He heard the man walk back into the living room and turn on the TV. He found two mugs and filled them on a tray, and then went to the living room and served the man.

Bill was sitting comfortably on the couch, his thick, long legs spread wide. Tim noticed how big his uncle's boots were - his feet were probably huge.

"What took you so long?" asked Bill.

"Sorry, uncle," said Tim.

For the rest of the morning, the man told him more stories and made many questions about his college life and his personal affairs. Tim felt extremely embarrassed to answer some of those questions, as he noticed his life wasn't that impressive. He didn't have a wife or a girlfriend, and he didn't own anything in particular, and the more he talked, the more Bill squinted his eyes and raised his eyebrows smugly.

Bill showed him around the farm, introducing him to some of his colleagues and employees - a bunch of virile hillbillies who gazed at him from top to bottom, and made him feel like a fancy city boy, and a few submissive wives with big smiles and large breasts.

Bill talked about Tim's father in great detail, describing their past adventures with women, always portraying himself as the leader of the pack, because he was the oldest brother. Tim learned that he wasn't required to talk much, and he just listened to his uncle's hoarse voice for hours.

Later that day, Tim was invited to eat dinner at a nearby house, but he insisted he could make dinner himself, and Bill seemed to entertain the idea.

"Well, then be a good girl and cook dinner for us. I'll be working outside," said Bill, with a mean smirk on his face.

Tim felt oppressed and upset, but for some strange reason he decided to play along. He used his aunt's kitchen to prepare the best meal he could, in order to impress his uncle somehow.

"Damn, boy. You cook like a woman," observed Bill, as they sat down at the table.

Unsurprisingly, the man ate the food like a hungry beast, taking good chunks of his chicken and devouring his rice in a few minutes. Tim didn't eat much - all the toxic energy had left him dispirited. He could also smell his uncle's sweaty body in the room - Bill was working under the sun and didn't bother to take a shower.

"Great food. Thank you for that, Timmy," the man noted, when he finished.

"Thank you, sir."

Tim couldn't help but feel a little better. He had finally pleased Bill, in a way.

"Now, why don't we watch something on the TV? Grab a beer from the fridge," Bill stood up and casually walked to the living room.

"Yes, sir... I guess..." Tim thought.

He didn't drink, so he grabbed a beer bottle for his uncle and followed him.

The man was already lying on the big couch, crossing his legs and pressing buttons on the remote control. He then grabbed the beer from Tim's hand and took a big sip.

"Sit, boy," commanded Bill, pointing to the couch next to him.

Tim obeyed, sitting next to his uncle's big boots. The man lazily moved his legs.

"Ah..." grunted Bill, removing the boots by his own, nonchalantly.

They made a wet sound and fell loudly on the floor, revealing a pair of massive, sweaty feet inside black socks.

"Better," said the man, wiggling his toes comfortably. "Don't mind the smell, Timmy. It's been a hot day."

"It doesn't bother me, sir," lied Tim, as he felt the strong scent of sweaty feet invade his nostrils.

He tried not to look at those big dogs too much, as they watched the news, but they were quite distracting - so massive and stinky - and uncle Bill kept moving his toes, casually. Tim felt a magnetic energy coming from them.

"Help me take these off. You're much closer to them," said Bill, after a while. He lay comfortably with one hand behind his head, and a portion of his hairy belly was exposed.

Tim hesitated, but when he stared at his uncle's intimidating gaze, he broke in a few seconds. He held his breath quietly and reached for the cuffs. His fingers peeled off the left sock, revealing a meaty, red sole and some long toes. Then he pulled the right sock, and he couldn't help but be impressed by how massive and masculine uncle Bill's feet were - veined and meaty, arched and vulgar, with thick toenails at the top. Some sock lint and a few calluses were spread on the sweaty surface.

"Don't be a pussy. Take a whiff of my big dogs," said Bill, as he wiggled his toes right in front of Tim's face.

"Sir?" asked Tim, with a faint voice.

"Feel the smell, Timmy. I know what fags like," Bill laughed like a bastard.

Tim's boner throbbed inside his pants. He stared at his uncle's big stompers and couldn't hold his breath any longer, reluctantly inhaling the air in front of him. A strange energy took hold of his body.

"How's that smell?" asked Bill, a big grin on his face.

"It's... pretty strong."

"Damn right. That's how a man smells."

"I don't know..." mumbled Tim, as he inhaled more of that rich scent of masculine sweat.

"Do you like it, princess?" provoked Bill.

"What do you mean, sir?"

"Do you like the smell of a real man? C'mon, say it! Or I'll make you regret coming here!"

Tim opened his mouth silently, several times, but nothing came out. He felt threatened - he knew that Bill had the strength to beat him into a pulp.

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?!" the man shouted.

"Y-your feet are so big, sir..." said Tim, timidly.

Uncle Bill chuckled savagely, deep diving into heavy mockery.

"I knew you were a fucking faggot," the man noted, waving his big dogs in Tim's face. "Tell me, boy. Tell me what I want to hear!"

"I like the s-smell of a real man..."

"Yeah! Say you're a faggot! Say it or I'll beat you up."

"I'm a faggot, sir."

"Bahahaha," Bill laughed with pleasure. "Just like your father."

The man moved his right foot and smacked Tim on the face. The slap echoed in the room.

"Here, kiss my big toe, you fruitcake," he waved his dirty big toe right in front of Tim's nose.

Tim planted a big kiss at the top of the toe, prompting the man to laugh harder at his stupefied face.

"Start massaging them. And you better do it right," threatened Bill.

Tim reluctantly went to work on his uncle's meaty stompers. His hands looked small and feminine on Bill's tough skin. He felt the warmth and the dampness, as his fingers massaged the balls of each feet, the long arches and the hairy tops. He used his knuckles to massage the thick skin on the heels. He softly went over the callouses as well.

"Slide your fingers between my toes," ordered Bill. "Ahhh... that's it. That feels good."

Tim felt the warm toe jam as he slid each finger between Bill's toes, on both feet, over and over again, making his uncle breathe deeper in relaxation.

"Make my feet feel good, you fucking faggot," purred Bill, like a big lion.

Tim let himself go into an obedient trance, devoting his hands to make his uncle feel good. After a while, his hands started to hurt, but he kept going, as the man watched TV for a whole hour. He took advantage of Bill's distraction to observe his manly body.

His uncle wore old jeans and a sweaty white shirt, which were both stretched by his meaty thighs and juicy pecs underneath. His big man belly looked indecent, partially exposed, and a hairy trail went down his deep belly button and into his crotch. His bulge looked heavy and Tim could make out the outline of his fat balls.

Tim couldn't deny his uncle was a stud. He was a bastard, but a hot bastard. And the man knew Tim was a fag before Tim even knew himself. He felt broken, but there was no turning back now. When he tried to stop, his uncle would give him an angry gaze and he kept going.

"Ya gotta learn your place, Timmy," commented Bill, while shaking his toes casually. "Kiss my damn feet. Do it, faggot. Do it now or I'll smack you."

"Please, uncle Bill, this is going too far..." begged Tim.

Thwack. Bill's right foot smacked him in the face, harder this time.

"Obey your uncle!" barked the man, with a hoarse voice.

Tim lowered his head and started to plant kisses on the ball of Bill's foot.

"Thaaat's it, kiss my fuckin' feet. Kiss them both, all the way, boy, all the way. Kiss my fuckin' heel. Damn right. Now kiss my toes, pussy."

Tim lost count of how many kisses he planted on his uncle's feet.

"Learn your place, Timmy, learn your place around me," whispered Bill. "Now stick out your tongue and have a taste."

"Please, uncle, please..." begged Tim.

"Nah. Start licking, fruitcake."

Tim opened his mouth and lapped the sweat off the right sole. It was salty and earthy. Uncle Bill chuckled loudly as he slid his tongue over and over again on the right foot, from the heel to the toes. Then he waved his left foot and Tim repeated the process and kept cleaning with his tongue. The more he licked, the more he got used to the taste. He started to lick longer and faster, and his uncle's soles started to look cleaner.

"Clean that toe jam between my toes," ordered Bill, with a cruel grin.

Tim slid his tongue gently between his uncles toes. The taste was saltier. He licked all the sweaty gunk and the sock lint that was stuck in there. Bill grunted and seemed to enjoy the deep cleaning.

"You see that big toe, Timmy? Suck on it like a cock," mocked Bill, waving his hairy big toe in front of Tim's eyes.

Tim thought it really looked like a cock - it was fat, thick and hairy. He embraced the big toe with his hot mouth and swirled his tongue around it, and started to suck it gently. He felt the rough skin against his tongue.

"That's it, bob on it! Bob on it, pussy!" barked Bill.

Tim started to suck faster - up and down - unintentionally creating wet sounds that prompted more laughs from his uncle.

"Yeah! Bob on my big toe, pussy boy. Pretend it's my cock!"

Tim rolled his eyes like a dumb slut, and his dick pulsed in his pants.

"Now the other one!" commanded Bill, shoving his other big toe in Tim's face.

Tim sucked and sucked as fast as he could without hurting his uncle, and the bastard enjoyed every second of his humiliation.

"Hell yeah, suck on that big fucking toe, bitch. Tell me, who's the man in the room?"

"You, sir."

"Damn right!" Bill smacked his cheeks three times.

"Now swallow my foot, go down on it," his uncle waved the right foot in his face.

Tim opened his mouth as wide as he could, swallowing all five toes and going down on his uncle's meaty stomper. He must've looked ridiculous with his lips stretched around it, and when he felt the toes at the back of his throat, he started to gag and choke.

"Don't you dare take it out of your mouth, boy," threatened Bill, now using his strong leg to start fucking Tim's mouth. "Keep it in your mouth, that's it, keep sucking on it, keep sucking while I fuck your face."

The mouth fucking intensified slowly as Tim's jaw stretched wider. He was only able to swallow a fourth of the length - it was too big and wide for his mouth - but his uncle kept pounding his way in.

"Go deeper, faggot. C'mon, gag on it," ordered Bill, between chuckles.

Tim wasn't gagging on purpose - the foot was simply too strong for his delicate mouth. Bill kept banging his face nonstop and watching him tear up a bit.

The man kept going at it for an eternity, until he decided he had humbled Tim enough. His foot came out with a wet sound and he stood up casually.

"Now take care of my boots and clean them for me. Night, Timmy."

"Good night, sir."

Uncle Bill went to his room and quickly fell asleep - Tim was able to hear the deep snoring in the distance, as he cleaned the big boots with a cloth he found in the laundry room.

Later that night, Tim lay in bed and masturbated in silence.