Forum Regular
Jan 10, 2012
Cleveland, Ohio
Just In Time For Halloween
by Steve Geary

Brad pulled a small pocket mirror out of his briefcase and bared his teeth. Good, no food caught in the front gums. Calling unannounced on a potential customer is difficult enough without some food morsel calling attention to itself. A salesman needs to do everything he can to make a good impression.

What a nasty turn the day had taken! Having a car break down in the sticks sure was a pain in the ass. Now more than ever, Brad resolved to buy a cell phone.

Brad eyed his new suit. It was already due for a cleaning, and he’d only been walking along this dusty country road for half an hour. Oh, well -- to properly connect with strangers, they have to like and sympathize with you. Selling is hard work; This next customer might surely appreciate a salesman walking door-to-door, cold-calling in the country to make a sale.

The leaves were changing color, but America was enjoying a sunny and beautiful Indian summer. The sun reflected off his well-scrubbed, good-looking face. He breathed fresh autumn air into his lungs. “Unseasonably warm for October,” he said softly. Good, his voice seemed sure of itself. Maybe if he sounded confident enough, they wouldn’t laugh at him at this upcoming farmhouse after he closes the sale and asks to use a phone.

Brad approached the mailbox. 'MacDonald. How quaint,' he smiled. 'Wouldn't it be funny if there's an old guy who has this farm?' He grinned.

A dog looked at him curiously -- then got scared, barking ferociously and hiding behind a corner. “Aw, I won't bite,” Brad smiled. He approached the dog and patted it on the head. The animal smelled his hand and then recoiled. What an innocent pleasure, patting an animal. “Nothing like the simple country life.”

He knew this rural area well -- but never under these conditions. On the side of the old barn he saw an advertisement -- "Chew Mail Pouch Tobacco". He'd always wondered about this farm. Brad could hear male voices laughing just around the corner of the barn. Putting on his best friendly face, he walked around the corner of the building.

A shirtless, well-muscled young farmhand with blond hair was standing behind a fence, looking down and grinning at something. His hand was going through the hair behind his head, his bicep and hairy armpit fully exposed. When he looked to the side and saw Brad, he was startled. “Fuck, ya scared me, dude!” he said. Then his face relaxed. “Ah well, c'mon ‘round. Tell me this ain't jus' the purtiest thing ya ever saw!” He grinned.

“Okay,” Brad beamed as he walked around the fence. His eyes widened as he approached the young man from behind. The stud was buck naked... and it looked like there might be some chick kneeling in front of him giving him a blowjob. Brad stopped in his tracks and gulped.

“C’mon ‘round. He won't bite. Bet you'll like what ya see.”

Brad's pulse quickened as he warily inched his way around the beautiful, perfect body. Oh, man -- too much -- it was another handsome, naked dude! -- this one with brown hair and a deep farmer's tan -- making a meal of the blond guy’s cock, gobbling it down to the hairy root. Brad's mouth slowly dropped as he watched the beautiful dick get french-kissed with sticky saliva. He’d always fantasized about men sucking cock. His heart slammed against his rib cage. He stared, fascinated.

His mouth full of dick, the hunky cocksucker’s eyes took on a glint as he saw Brad’s hungry expression. Smiling, he temporarily freed the cock from his mouth, smacked his lips, grinned at Brad and held out his hand. “Hi, I'm Hunk. Glad ta meet ya,” he said.

Brad shook his hand, then looked at the blond. “I'm Brad. Hi there. Glad to meet you, too,” he said.

The blond clasped his hand. “I'm Zeke. My brother's quite a dick licker, ain't he?”

“I'll say,” Brad replied. His brother?! There was a long pause as the three young men stared at each other. Brad’s mind raced to come up with something to say. “So -- either of you guys know how to Madison?”

They stared at him blankly. ‘Damn. Neither guy had seen Rocky Horror Picture Show’. He stammered and shuffled his feet. “Um, who makes the insurance decisions around here? I've got a great offer I'd like to share.”

Hunk smiled. “Go to the door. The old man'll help you.” He turned back to his brother. “Toss that meat back down my neck, Zeke.” The naked studs laughed as Hunk's perfectly shaped head was grabbed. Both boys smiled at Brad longingly as the large penis was thrust back into the brother’s moist throat.

As Brad slowly approached the farmhouse, his thoughts trailed back to the sex scene. It was like some 3-D virtual reality porno film. Shit, if that's what incest looked like, brotherly love was hot as fuck.

“Hey, boy, want some hot dick up yer butt?” It was a new voice. Brad spun around to see yet another nude man leaning against the side of the house.

Brad’s eyes popped. “Are you the owner?” he asked.

“Nah, I'm Slim.”

Brad look at the naked stud's hefty penis and managed a laugh. “No, you’re not,” he said, proud of his joke. The guy didn't react, preferring to stroke his thick boner. Damn, not one guy on this farm had a sense of humor. Did anyone do any actual work? “Maybe later,” Brad said, his head swimming. As he came to the porch, the door slowly opened on its own.

A big, older gentleman wearing coveralls was at the entrance, eyeing the suited stranger warily. “You a salesman?” he asked suspiciously.

“Yes, sir!” Brad replied enthusiastically.

“Didn't ya see that sign back there sayin' 'No Solicitations'?” the man growled.

“Yes, sir. Absolutely, sir. But I'm so certain you'll want my product, I couldn't help but pay you a visit anyway, sir.”

The old-timer’s eyes looked up and down Brad’s body. When he broke into a half-smile, Brad noted that the man had few teeth. “I admire yer spunk,” the man said. “What're ya sellin'?”

“Life insurance, sir,” Brad said proudly. “Mighty fine life insurance. Rated A+ by A.M. Best. To protect your farm and family.”

“Hmmm.” The old geezer rubbed his whiskered chin. “Let me show ya my farm. Mebbe you can tell me how much ya think it's worth.”

The two men walked around the farmhouse. “The name's Hickory. Hickory MacDonald,” the old man said, spitting brown saliva into the ground.

“Glad to meet you, sir. I’m Brad. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“You don't sound like yer from here,” the old man said suspiciously.

“Well, I grew up here, went to school and came back,” Brad replied.

“Ya sound like a city boy now.”

The smell of chickens, pigs and cows permeated everything within a mile. Stalks of corn rose high in the air. “It's gettin' late in the corn season," Hickory said. "I usually keep some stalks up for the hayride.”

“Hayride, sir?”

“The Haunted Hayride. People come from all over these parts. We've got all kinds of fun stuff ta scare 'em with.” He smiled a toothless grin.
“Here, let me show ya. They're in the barn.”

The latch jingled and the big barn doors creaked. Old Man MacDonald turned on the dim barn light. “Don't look at 'em too close. They ain’t prepared yet. But we gots us some fine thrills here.”

Brad’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. A smashed car was in one corner, a bloody body inside, crushed against the windshield. “That's our James Dean exhibit,” the old man said proudly. “Over here we gots yer Elvis Presley, Marilyn Monroe, Chris Farley and River Phoenix showcases.”

Brad stared at the facsimiles of bloated, expressionless bodies surrounded by opened pill bottles. He could feel his stomach start to churn.

“Here in this corner, we've got yer darkies hangin’ by the neck. If you walk through the barn you’ll also see yer decapitated women, a buncha skeletons, yer raped and mutilated drag queens, all kinds of fun stuff. Too many to mention.” Old MacDonald grinned wickedly.

“And there's a market for this?” Brad asked.

“Sure is. I gots many acres here of farm and forest. We charge people a coupla bucks, put 'em on a hayride, and they spend an hour seein’ one grizzly sight after another. A Headless Horseman rides up to ’em on a white horse, acts like he's gonna chop their heads off.” The man could barely hide his glee. “People love it out here. Lotsa haunted legends in these parts. This place is spooky at night. They still talk of a wolfman comin’ ‘round and chomping his fangs into people’s necks.”

Brad laughed nervously. “Yeah,” he said. “Fun, scary stuff.”

“Yep, and tonight’s a full moon. C’mon into the house, boy.” The old man locked up the barn and limped his way back to the farm house. “Our first hayride's this weekend. So we gots a lotta work to do here. So why don't ya tell me now what you wanna sell me.” The old man gestured for him to sit at the kitchen table.

“Everyone should have life insurance,” Brad said.

“Well, let me interrupt you, boy,” came the reply. “I don't know that I’m one of 'em. All I gots me is two sons who's gonna inherit this farm, an’ that’s plenty for them. I doubt I’ll care about much else once the worms get me.”

Brad’s face was disappointed. “Oh. Okay. Well, guess I'd better go, then.” He started to rise from the table. “Oh, wait!” he said. “Can I use your phone?”

Old Man MacDonald couldn’t have looked angrier. “That’s it?!” he cried. “That’s your FUCKIN’ SALES PITCH?!”

“Well, uh, you told me you didn’t want it.” Brad’s eyes searched for something to say, but the words wouldn’t come.

“JESUS FUCKIN’ CHRIST!” Old MacDonald screamed. “Back in my day, we had to SELL the fuckin’ product. Are you just an order taker? You gave up much too easily, boy!” He rose from his chair. “I'm wastin' my time with you. Christ Almighty!” The man spat a wad of tobacco into the sink and threw open the kitchen window. “Hunk! Zeke! Stop yer fun for a sec and come in here.” He sat down again in his chair. “Sit down, boy.”

Slowly, awkwardly, Brad slipped back into his chair for the lecture.

“Yer supposed to try to talk me into it, boy. And after you’ve described your product, ya should try to close the sale. Now ya coulda said, ‘I could bring ya this policy on a Tuesday or a Thursday, which day would ya prefer?’ And as soon as I said Tuesday, you'd have closed yer damn sale! And if that didn't work, ya coulda kept tryin’ something else til I kicked you out!”

Zeke and Hunk came walking in as Hickory finished his last remark. They were still naked, their boners sticking straight up in the air and weeping with precum. “What’s up, Pa?” Hunk asked.

Old MacDonald looked at his son. “We've got us a damn stupid city slicker here.” He looked back at Brad. “Oh, maybe I didn't tell you Zeke and Hunk are my boys. I saw you ogling 'em... I know you want 'em.” He moved his head forward. “Mebbe I shoulda warned ya how I feels about that. I'm sure ya've heard the one about the traveling salesman and the farmer's daughter.”

Brad shook his head. “Yes, but -- I didn't do anything with them.”

Old MacDonald smiled. “Yeah -- but ya wanted to. I watched ya from my window. And ya probably would’ve tried sumthin’ on the way outa here, especially if you’d closed this sale, cuz you’d have felt so good an’ lucky! Well, I only want guys with balls goin’ after my boys.” His eyes took on an evil glint. “If ya ain't got balls, we go’s after them.”

“Maybe I'd better leave,” Brad said. “My car's broken down the road a piece. I can call a tow service from the next farm house.”

The old man's eyes seemed to take pleasure in their wicked expression. “Seems to me, you're the one who needs life insurance, boy. Especially with that bump on your head!” He gave Hunk a nod.

“Bump? I don't have a -- AWWGHHHH!”

Bewildered, he clumsily tried to stand up, but his feet gave out from under him. All three men watched him, fascinated and amused, as his head slammed itself down hard on the table and he fell to the floor, flat on his back. Zeke giggled.

Hunk nodded back at his smiling father and tossed the bloodied shovel to the side.


“What’d I miss?” Slim said lazily as he walked naked into the barn.

“Oh, nuthin,” the old man replied, “We’re jus’ workin’ on a new exhibit.”

Slowly, Brad was coming to. He was naked, hanging upside-down like a piece of meat, his arms hanging to the ground. His pits were fully exposed and his hands nearly touched the floor. He pulled his arms up before their weight caused them to fall. There was nowhere for his body to go.

“Sir,” Brad said hoarsely, “this is very uncomfortable. The blood’s rushing to my head. It hurts.”

“Oh, don’t worry! It won’ last too long.” Old MacDonald said. “Hey, boys, he’s back with us.”

Still naked, Zeke and Hunk came running back into the barn, tossing a football. Their big dicks flopped left to right as they ran in. “Great, Pa! How's it comin'?”

“Good,“ their father replied. “You boys did fine work puttin’ all those exhibits out there this afternoon. And all them crow feathers Slim gathered is gonna come in real handy. I’m mixin’ up the tar now -- it’s gonna be nice and hot.”

“TAR?!” Suddenly, Brad was wide awake.

“Yeah, boy. Remember that ‘No Solicitations’ sign? It warned you I didn’t take kindly to no travelin’ salesmen.” He put his hand to his chin. “Lessee, what do you prefer? We could make you into a scarecrow, or we could have my boys use you fo' their sexual gratification, or we could mebbe tar and feather ya.”

Brad’s lips trembled. “Look, I need to be home by sundown. I just want to use your phone. My car’s broken down -- I need to get it fixed!”

Slim leaned against the side of the barn and chuckled. “Don't worry 'bout your car, boy. We hooked it up to our truck. It’s right here in the barn. It ain’t goin’ nowheres.”

Hunk laughed. “Yeah, we wuz thinkin’ about makin’ it part of our Princess Grace exhibit! Ain’t you glad you came by to visit us? Just in time for Halloween!”

Zeke approached Brad’s sleek body. “Ya know, for a Geek, he’s hot. Look at this flat stomach -- and he’s got a cute, smooth ass. Just the right amounts of hair on his body -- right where we likes 'em!”

“I noticed the ass,” Slim said. “Wouldn’t mind havin’ me a piece.” He walked up to Brad’s asscheeks, wrenched open the butt and eyed Brad’s hole. It had a sexy-looking pucker. He gave the crack a long, sloppy lick -- real deep and right up the middle.

“There's plenty of the boy to go around,” the old man smiled as he stirred the hot tar. “After we’s all had our way with him, we'll dip 'im head first in this bubblin’ hot goo -- maybe hold him down in there for five minutes or so -- make 'im all chawklit-covered -- just like they do at Dairy Queen.”

“Oh, God!” Brad cried. “I don't deserve this. And I need to be home by tonight!”

“It is tonight,” Hunk replied. “You was out for a long time.”

“No!” Brad cried. Zeke noted that Brad's mouth was at precisely the right height for a good face fucking. “He's sho got a purdy mouth."

Old MacDonald smiled. “Yer overreacting, city slicker. Mebbe we’s just got warped senses of humor here. Mebbe we’s jus’ tryin’ to scare ya some.”

“UNTIE HIS ANKLES, BOYS,” the old man commanded with authority, smiling proudly. “We all knows who deserves this boy’s butt. I took me some Viagra a half-hour ago! That ass is mine.” The old man started pulling off his flannel shirt, “I noticed his hot body the second he walked up’n our driveway. It’s tha only reason I let him try ta give me that sales pitch. Cut 'im down.” All four men smiled as Brad was placed on his stomach. His face was deep in the floor.

Brad had done little to fight up until now. Yeah -- once he sensed the old man was naked, that would be his chance to live. He waited... felt the old man start to straddle him...

POW!! His foot slammed the old troll’s balls straight through the roof of his mouth.

“AIAIAIAEEYYEEE!” the old man shrieked, his voice as high as Walter Brennan's during his TV days on The Real McCoys. Brad leapt to his feet and ran through the barn doors, naked into the night. Astonished, it took the others a second to realize what had even happened.

“GET HIM, GET HIM!” the father shrieked.

They were all over him. One of them had a pitchfork. They tried to force Brad to the ground. He was so slippery with sweat he somehow managed to squeak through their grasp.

The night was pitch black. Where was the road? Maybe someone out there would hear him yell. “Help, help!” he cried. His heart thumped against his chest at a hundred miles an hour. His breathing was shallow. Time had stopped. Nothing mattered but the present.

“You guys get that fucker!” the old man screamed. “Gonna stuff him! Tar 'n feather him! KILL THAT SONOFABITCH!”

There may have been a full moon out, but it was covered with dark clouds. Brad ran straight into the darkness and was immediately enveloped by it. He was head-to-head with corn stalks. The stalks slapped his face repeatedly as he ran through the field. Halfway through the field, even with the men in hot pursuit, he stopped. What he’d thought had been a scarecrow earlier was -- something else. Before him, in scarecrow garb and crucified high in the air to a post was the decomposing body of a young man. The skull grinned at him. Sex with the boys, getting tarred and feathered, or this? Inches away from the horror, Brad’s jaw hit the ground.

There was no mistaking the sounds of the three young men yelling and running mere seconds behind him -- that crunching on the ground, the triple sets of hyperventilated breathing.

He started running again. All four men tore naked through the cornfield. Each young man screamed with pain as their private parts were slapped by hard husks of corn. The youths were getting closer to Brad, couldn’t have been more than five feet away, when suddenly he found himself on the other side of the field.

“Yer gonna get speared, fuckboy!” Slim yelled. Brad heard a whistling noise as a pitchfork was catapulted through the air. Three spikes slammed deep into his upper back.

“MMMMPHFF!” Brad yelled as he went down. Desperately, he groveled on the ground, struggling to crawl away from his perpetrators. “FUCK! Please, I have to get home!” He could barely get the words out.

All three guys surrounded him as Slim pulled his pitchfork out of the boy’s back. Brad felt his muscles get sucked upward as they were pulled into the air. Blood spurted out of each hole. “Yeah! Got the fucker!” Slim cried. “Look at that young blood spillin’ outa him! I get first crack at his butt hole!”

Hunk laughed. “Here, this'll help keep him in place.” Raising the pitchfork up high, he slammed it down hard into the boy’s shoulder blades, nailing Brad into the ground with a new set of three fresh wounds. Blood began to pour from Brad’s mouth.

Slim fell onto Brad’s body and straddled it. “YEAH!” he cried. “Wanted this all day!”

Brad screamed in agony. Slim wrapped his arms around Brad’s middle, pulling the slim waist up into his. “NO!” Brad screamed.

Gradually, the light behind Brad’s eyes disappeared. His face went lifeless. Darkness swallowed him up. His essence twinkled away.

The full moon came out from behind the clouds, giving Slim a better view of Brad’s sexy butt. Slim grinned as he looked at its beauty in wonder. Suddenly, something caught his eye. Was he imagining it, or was the butt changing its appearance? He looked closer.

Lots of little hairs sprouted around Brad's asshole. They gathered strength and spread up both sides of his asscheeks like ants. “Uh…guys,” Slim said, “something’s happenin’.”

The moon spilled its light over the entire cornfield. Brad's face looked up. His eyes saw the moonlight and turned blood red. His shoulders rippled with muscles.

Clenching his fists, Brad made a face and caused the pitch fork to shoot out of his back, high into the air. He flipped his body and glared angrily up at Slim. "I - TOLD - YOU - I - HAD - TO - GET - HOME!!" he snarled.

Hair boiled up from his pubes, shot up his body and down his legs, quickly spreading itself all over his face and arms as he bared his teeth. He howled. Long fangs appeared on either side of his mouth and his nose grew longer, turning black.

All three young men gasped and stood back as the animal made an otherworldly sound. It focused on Slim, snarling at him as it eyed the neck with a half-crazed expression. “Oh, my God,” Hunk cried. “It’s a werewolf!”

With blurring speed, the wolf's mouth flew at its perpetrator's neck. The jaws crunched down on Slim’s neck muscle, the fangs acting like daggers.

“HOLY FUCKING SHIT!” Slim screamed as half his neck was torn away.

“MOTHER FUCK!” Hunk yelled. Slim’s body shook and his mouth foamed with blood and saliva as the Beast’s bloodshot eyes glared into his face. Zeke screamed at his brother, “MOTHER FUCKER! RUN, bro, RUN LIKE HELL!”

Death started to creep over Slim’s face, which was etched in wide-eyed, horrified astonishment. The wolf eyed Slim’s body up and down. It stared at the young man’s crotch, snarled and threw its jaws into the large cock. Slim groaned as the fangs surrounded the base of the schlong, bit down and tugged hard, ripping the entire organ from Slim’s hairy pelvis.

The young stud fell backward to the ground, one leg folded behind him awkwardly. The creature growled ferociously and shook the penis with its jaws the way a dog would a rag doll. After biting it through, the wolf sent pieces of cock flying into the corn. Blood spurted thickly from Slim’s neck and groin as his life ended.

Old Man Hickory was holding ice to his balls. His sons scrambled to the farmhouse. “PA, PA! Your gun, your gun!” they yelled from outside the building.

“What? What fer?” the old man yelled from the window, alarmed.

“It's a damned Beast, pa! A werewolf! Yer gun, pa, yer gun!”

“HOLY SHIT!” The old man struggled, limping over to his rifle cabinet and grabbing a fistful of bullets just as Zeke flew through the front door, Hunk right behind him.

“He killed Slim! The fucker was holdin’ out on us, Pa!”

Old MacDonald swallowed hard. “I'll get him. I'm a good shot,” he said, his voice wavering.

With a loud, howling noise, the creature came crashing through the living room window. With Slim’s neck blood sliding down its mouth and into its heavy coating of chest fur, it roared at the old man. The old man’s fingers trembled as he pulled out his gun and nervously loaded it with bullets.

“No, pa! The silver bullets! The silver bullets, pa!”

The creature prepared to pounce. “Aw, Jesus!” the father cried, backing away from the monster. He pointed upstairs. “My tin canister! Grab it, boy! Over my bed! HOLY SHIT!” Zeke went racing up the stairs to find it. Downstairs, Hunk threw a table in the pathway of the Beast while Zeke desperately scrambled over his Dad’s bed to find the canister. Where the hell did the old man put it?

The creature picked up a table and threw it into an antique cabinet. Dishes clattered and smashed. It eyed the old man and bared its teeth. The mouth howled into the air as the red eyes went wild. Old MacDonald shot it once in the head. It absorbed the bullet, looked at him and hissed angrily. Window panes instantly exploded from the shrill noise.

The Beast's red eyes were the most evil things the old man had ever seen. “MOTHER FUCK!! Dammit, boy, THROW DOWN THE GODDAMN SILVER BULLETS!"

There was the canister. Zeke grabbed it, raced to the stairs, stumbled and threw the container at his father. It bounced off him, bullets spraying everywhere. “SHIT!” the old man screamed.

“Oh, God! Oh, God!” Hunk cried. He grabbed a lamp and hit the Beast in the face with it as Old Man Hickory scrambled for a bullet, placed it in the chamber, aimed and fired.

The wolf stared at the old man, blood trickling down its forehead. A look of peace came over it. It had never known this feeling. It almost looked serene as it fell flat on its face.

Within moments, the thing had slowly transformed back into Brad -- six separate drippings of blood oozing from pitchfork wounds in his back.

The old man slumped to the ground, staring forward at nothing. All was silent except for the men's heavy breathing.

“Oh, no.” It was Hunk talking. “Pa, when a werewolf bites somebody, don't the new guy also become a wolf?”

Old MacDonald listened to the words and after several moments gave out a long sigh. Slowly he looked up. “Gimme some more ‘a them bullets, boys,” he said with a determined expression.

Cautiously, the men went back to the cornfield to check on Slim.

Mother of God -- the body had disappeared.

There was nothing to do but start the slow walk back to the farmhouse.
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