Uncorked Pleasures

There are those prairie stories we all know from lore--and we can tell they’re passed down from before our grand-daddy’s time because they make reference to things like iceboxes or hitching posts or candlesticks--things most folks in suburbia will only know from stories.

I haven’t sat on this story long, but it seemed such an oddity that I forgot all about it until I heard another like it down in town. Things kinda being whispered about ghosts--which a modern man doesn’t really believe in until he’s seen it directly, I suspect.

For Jack Bascomb it apparently started with a tiny glass bottle.

Jack inherited his farm shortly before thirty when his father Don passed on. Don was a hard worker with a lot of acreage, but Jack was a quiet kid that didn’t change much when his daddy died--so he managed to keep most his help. I mean, he did a few years at least.

He married some pretty smart thing that sold real estate--and the woman could apparently work miracles, because it wasn’t long before her sales were augmenting Jack’s farm. They’d tack on 20 acres here, 40 there...all because she could sell ice water to an eskimo.

So the story goes that one day one of the old fellas is plowing up an acquired lot, and hits a lot of nasty soil. It’s rocks like grapefruit--animal bones, old wool and glass bottles--and the fella’s not going to go back to that field. Jack tries to get him to talk about it, but the old man goes home. Calls Jack the next morning and tells him he’s retired.

Jack goes down to see this new 20 acres on the ridge and decides it’s a ritual site. He curses himself for not thinking about that kind of thing with unfamiliar property, and what’s the guy do? He calls a priest and he goes down to the reservation. The priest basically blows him off, tells him to pray a couple rosaries for disturbing what ‘might be’ sacred ground, but the old man from the res…

Jack’s told that it’s nothing like a burial ground. Rather, because of its position on the ridge, it’s a place for ‘commuting with spirit’. The old man tells Jack to let the place lie fallow. Not the whole twenty acres, he says, but the thirty paces around all those torn up little cairns and delicate glass bottles. Jack does so, and he thinks nothing of it. Short of Lee Ferris quitting farming when his plow hit that site--and he’s still alive, I hear--things were quiet for years.

One day his wife Patty is wandering about the fallow area, and she picks up a corked bottle with some kind of writing on it. If they can’t farm on that half-acre, she’s going to collect its worth in curios. She brings it home, unties the string and the paper she can’t read...and she uncorks the tiny bottle to wash the thing out.

Apparently in the far east tradition, one could trap a spirit in some kind of vessel like a ceramic jar. Someone with knowhow would seal the jar with some kind of incantation or paper on the container, and that would be that until some poor fool opened the container up again years down the road. Think about as letting a genie out of the bottle, except you don’t really get to make the wishes.

Same morning Patty’s washing out that dirty old jar, wind whips up on the farm. These are the plains, and we’re used to this sorta thing coming out of nowhere, but the cloud cover's strange and localized. Spotty. Unnatural. I actually remember sitting in town and joking at Sal’s about how Jack made some kinda unholy deal with that reservation shaman--looked like the rain was only gonna hit his place that day.

By noontime, I see a boy pale as a ghost talking about the devil being real. He said it was let loose on Jack Bascomb’s farm, and that everyone needed to keep their distance and carry their scriptures close. I’m pretty sure I’d seen the same boy smoking and sneaking from a flask on the farm now and then--but whatever he saw pushed him well beyond his more’n likely firebrand great grandpappy that settled here.

“What the hell do you mean, the devil?” I asked him. He looked at me with burning eyes in a way that made me kinda sick.

“The devil in men’s hearts,” the kid said. “Things that should not be on this earth.”

I only got all of this together later, but we all figure now that it all hit at once. The born again got out with about four others--apparently all on break. Two more, one of them Jack’s best friend and right hand, hadn’t been heard from.

From here on out, I can’t expect you to believe what’s happened, exactly--but when you do finally see it for yourself, I guess maybe you’ll be a little more prepared to deal with it. The more I talk with people, the more I hear that it’s not a question of when it’s going to get to you--it’s a question of what the best way of getting to you is. If you insist on going up to the farmstead I can’t stop you, I can only tell you what I know, and hope you won’t go. The rest of us are too scared to make the trip alone.

Better order yourself another drink. The rest of what I’m about to say is how it was told to me, word for word.

The kid in the stable was apparently pitching straw in the horse barns. One of the hands getting water by the door was spooked when his hose started moving. You laugh, but I mean it--one of those long green garden-variety hoses started looping its own coils and moving like it had the strength of a python 5 times its diameter. When the hand realized the thing had the power to lift him off the ground, he would have none of it--he was running down the fenceline in no time, praying it would miss him and tangle if it tried to strike.

Apparently when he looked back, the hose and the buckets were all back at the barn, still hovering on their own as if invisible farmhands were holding them.

The kid pitching straw didn’t have it so lucky, at least, depending on who you ask I guess. His pitchfork forced itself out of his hands and leapt up on its end, menacing at him. When it lifted off the ground, he thought it might pierce him at any second, but it just held its points close as the stable boy instinctively stuck his hands in the air.

“Don’t kill me don’t kill me don’t…” The kid murmured to himself until he felt the straps of his overalls pulling him into the air. The pitchfork sailed past him and into the pile of straw, pulling another bunch and dropping it into the cart. The kid’s legs dangled, and he looked over his shoulders to see his overall straps held at least ten feet in the air by some invisible force. When he reached up to grab the arc of the straps, there was nothing there.

One by one the water buckets sailed into the stalls, and now the hose dragged itself a short distance into the barn, pointing itself at him. He made a face at the floating garden hose, finally building up enough steam to speak after his run-in with the pitchfork.

“What in the hell is going on here?” the kid said, incredulity coloring his voice.

The hose seemed to survey him suspended in mid-air. The opening was pointed directly at him, and it was swaying slightly from side to side, as if eyeing him up. the kid was watching with wary eyes, not sure what exactly was going on. Suddenly, the handle on the barn wall turned circles, and the kid could hear water gurgling up inside the hose.

“No, plea--” the kid tried to shout, only to be met with a faceful of rushing, cold water. It sprayed the kid from head to toe, soaking him and making his wet clothing cling to every muscle, ridge, and bump his lithe body provided.

The hose wasn’t content to just spray him and go, though. It got closer, inching slowly toward him and continuing to soak him up and down his body. Soon, his clothing couldn’t absorb anything more and water was splashing all along the ground.  

As suddenly as it had started, the hose kinked itself and stopped the flow of water. The kid looked down, only to see the opening of the hose sliding up and inside the opening of his denim, next to the leather of his boot. He could feel it slowly wiggling its way up his leg, up past the cuff of his sock, scratching against his leg and thigh hair. He could feel the elastic of his boxer-briefs lifting off his thigh by themselves to allow the hose to slide further up inside, stopping right at the tip of his cock. Violently, the hose unkinked itself, and a gush of water hit the kid’s cock.

He writhed and squirmed against the torrent of ever warming water that was assaulting him, but still his overalls kept him suspended in mid-air as he struggled against them. He tried grabbing at the hose, but no sooner had he moved to try and fight than a long rope shot up off the dirt floor of the barn, coiling itself around his arms and shoulders, restraining him as the hose continued its assault.

The ends of the rope kept sliding around his body, flying down his legs and wrapping itself around him, spreading out his limbs in all directions. A pair of hedge trimmers floated up off the nearby workbench, and the kid started screaming, praying to Jesus and thrashing himself madly inside the bonds of the rope holding him still. The steel cutter opened, slowly approaching him. His overalls unbuttoned themselves and slipped down, allowing the cold steel clippers access to his wet, white t-shirt clinging to his panting chest and stomach, and quickly sliced up, splitting his shirt in two and exposing his chest to the ever-increasing items surrounding him, seemingly intent on dominating him.

The cutter made a few more snips at his t-shirt fabric and soon, several long strips of white cotton were caressing his chest, sliding themselves around like fingers massaging his muscles. The wet, white fabric strips slapped at his chest, wiggling themselves around his abdomen as he twisted and turned in mid-air fighting against the assault.

He stared silent and wide-eyed at the activity and attention being paid to him. Although he couldn’t comprehend what was happening, he knew it to be the work of something unholy. He closed his eyes, and started saying one of the many prayers he’d learned over the years to try and dispel whatever was happening to him.

As soon as he started speaking, a leather workman’s glove flew off the workbench he’d been at and slapped him hard across the face. His rope bonds tightened up accordingly, and the cutter made a couple of menacing snips, close by his face.

The kid stared in fear, completely immobilized by the slap and the restraints. His naked chest was shaking, and his wide eyes never left the cutter which was hovering dangerously close to his chin. He watched still as the fabric shards started playing with his muscled chest again, sliding themselves over his abs, tickling his nipples and rolling wave-like over his pecs. His eyes were the only thing that moved, watching the ghostly, snake-like motions of his torn, cut-up t-shirt start to molest him again.

The glove’s mate hovered into the air, and now the two rawhide leather gloves pointed at his boots. He watched in terror as his steel toes untied themselves, effortlessly sliding off of his feet once their laces loosened themselves. The ropes around his ankles rolled around to let his wet socks off, and the overalls followed, leaving him suspended by a long tangle of rope clad in nothing but his soaked boxer-briefs clinging to an impressive outline.

The leather gloves clapped as his boots stomped around on the stable floor, their laces tightening and tying over thick invisible calves. Meanwhile, his wet socks took the shape of his big, broad feet and kicked the clippers out of the way, taking their place in front of his face and rubbing themselves together greedily -- their toes slipping over the wet fabric arches and soles of each other.

The clippers snipped at the rope a few times, and before long there were short lengths of rope for each limb, tied to nothing solid, but leaving him suspended all the same. One of the balls of his wet sock pressed against his cheek and forced his head back, insistently covering his nose. When he opened his mouth to breathe, the other sock stuffed itself in his mouth, forcing him to taste it.

His overalls had themselves completely pulled off his body now. The straps threw themselves over invisible shoulders as the legs and ass began to fill with empty space. He heard jingling from the tack chest and watched as a saddle hovered into the air on its own.

The saddle rose up and slapped itself hard against his wet, boxer-briefed ass. When it hit behind him, he felt a falling sensation for a moment before the ropes on his arms went slack, allowing him to grab the horn.

He instinctually balanced himself on the magically-suspended saddle without a second thought, but as soon as his free hands tried to reach up to the socks at his face, the ropes came to life once more--tying him directly to the saddle. He growled into the wiggling socks as the stirrups jumped onto his bare feet. The long leather billet straps coiled around his ankles, tucking into the stirrups and cinching his feet tightly inside of them. His legs relaxed into the familiar bow-legged position, and he gasped--sucking air through his socks and looking around him. It was as if he was riding an invisible horse without a gait.

As if the saddle understood his awe, it sent him flying through the air. He gripped the horn hard as he sailed through the barn, gagged, restrained and horrified. Leather bands of his own design--wide-strapped accessories--flew around his calves and his thighs, painfully tightening up against his skin and strapping him against the saddle securely. He’d rigged them so that it was easier to ride endurance without his legs not bouncing all over, but now they only served to confine him to a possessed leather saddle.

The saddle stopped abruptly in front of the living hose, pantomiming a buck that made his heart pound. The hose hovered in front of him, spraying his face with ice-cold water when the socks jumped away.

“Stop!” He shouted at the hose, trying to fix on its snake-like motion. “In the name of the Lord, I command you to--yahhh!” The hose opened up on his crotch, spraying against his boxer-briefs, and carving an arc up his abs and between his pecs. He jumped and fought against the rope, which earned him another mouthful of wet sock. He made muffled screaming noises against the writhing sock in his mouth as his body shivered against the cold water and the grip of damp leather.

Only now did he notice his overalls, slowly hovering down and settling atop his boots. His own clothes--minus the shredded-up shirt and the socks occupying themselves otherwise--were now filled out to his shape as if his own ghost was wearing them. The blue overalls and tan boots marched over to the pitchfork, and the rawhide gloves flew to either side of the overalls. He watched the outfit sync up with the gloves, see the wrist elastic bulge as invisible fingers wiggled inside. They pointed to the pitchfork hovering in mid-air, and suddenly the tool swung around and floated toward the kid, aiming at him points-down.

“God save me...god save me…” The saddle bucked and spun around, and the stablehand’s boxer-briefs pulled down just over his ass enough to give the pitchfork an open area. “No--no, no! Don’t hurt me!” The pitchfork turned sideways and slapped its tines against his ass hard, leaving pale red marks and a dull tone like a tuning fork.

The kid looked over one shoulder, then the other. Knowing that the demonic pitchfork didn’t break skin didn’t help his spirits much. When the floating saddle spun back around and showed the kid his own overalls, gloves and boots dancing as if they were laughing--that didn’t help much either.

He was the least bit intrigued, though, as he watched his overalls point at the pitchfork again, this time waving at the bail in the hold. The pitchfork dug into the pile and began pitching straw into the stable cart all by itself. He watched the tool doing his work for him and looked back at his living outfit.

The overalls approached, and the kid looked down in terror at his own negative space. The swell of the overalls seemed to match his own, but in this situation a match made him feel weaker. One of the rawhide gloves hovered up to his face, clutching his cheek.

“Let me go,” the kid whispered now. “In the name of the Lord--I command you to let me go.” The glove pulled back, and both of them shot into the air, wiggling. The overalls did the same for a second, and just when the kid thought the form was gonna collapse--

--the thing looked like it was laughing again.

A rawhide glove grabbed the kid’s cheek, pinching it red as the other glove slapped his other cheek playfully. Suddenly his chin was between a rawhide thumb-and-forefinger, and it pointed his face toward the workbench at the front of the stable. He could see handtools rising up off the workbench and flying slowly off of their spaces on the walls.

Some flew out into the open. The splitting maul caught his eye immediately, but instead of going anywhere near him, it sailed to the woodpile and unsplit half-cord near the barn. His jaw dropped as the fifteen-pound maul split logs with expert swings from nobody at all. Instead of making the distinctive ‘tink-tink’ of split maple, the halves either hovered over to the woodpile or reset themselves to be quartered. Just behind the maul, the double-bit axe began chopping at a stump in the yard.

His socks stood on his shoulders, wiggling their phantom toes and clinching their feet around his broad muscles.

“I--I don’t understand. You’re tying me up, torturing me--and doing the chores?” The rawhide gloves spun his head back to the workbench, where plenty of things hadn’t left the barn. A set of increasingly bigger handled screwdrivers, for instance, hovered over to his restrained, helpless body on the saddle.

As they flew near, the tips all pointed at him in unison, and he could see them getting close to his midsection. He started to struggle to get free of the saddle horn, and the same glove that slapped him earlier did so again--not so playfully. His head flung to the side, and his wet matted hair flew out due to the force of it, sticking to his face. He was utterly shamed, and closed his eyes as a tear slowly slid down his cheek as his own belongings demeaned him.

A sharp poke to his thigh made him fling open his eyes and look to see a screwdriver had poked his thigh, and was slowly dragging its tip up and down, sending shivers up and down his leg as it tickled his leg hair slightly. It was unnerving to see the tool, hovering on his thigh by itself with no one holding it as it worked itself over his leg with him restrained and powerless to do anything about it.

His overalls simply faced him silently, as if he was an exhibit for them. A pushbroom hovered out into the aisle and began sweeping the berber, and his eyes jumped from outfit to tool as he watched the whole barn come to life.

The kid jerked madly as another screwdriver point pricked his shoulder. It didn’t hurt at all--but they were unnerving--poking and raking just enough for him to notice. His body strained powerfully against the supernatural molestation, and spending growing seasons on the farm had paid off showing its power. His body was a sight to behold as it glistened in the sun shining through the open barn door. His muscles strained and fought against his restraints, thighs and biceps bulging as he rocked against the floating saddle, trying to pull himself free.

The saddle rose higher as if to put him on display, and the things gathered around him seemed to make an altar of his body. The screwdrivers and strips of cotton poked and swept carefully, gingerly--as if they felt honored to touch this muscular frame.

Before long, the whole set of other screwdrivers started to poke into him, rubbing their cold metal tips up and down his thighs, his calves, and his abs and chest, giving him goosebumps. His shirt straps worked in sync to lightly touch his soft, tanned skin, fondling him against his will. His cries and screams were subsiding to grunts--a more simplistic, animal reaction to his captivity.

His body still fought like a captured animal, trying to free his limbs and help him escape, but more and more his mind focused on the perfection of tools without a wielder--the pitchfork getting the straw; the maul splitting the wood; the saddle without a horse. His mind drifted, even as his body tensed. He was touched and prodded by his own tools come to life, intent on doing who knows what.

Just then, he heard a scream from across the way. A nicely-dressed lady burst out the front door of the house accompanied by series of objects. At first he couldn’t tell what they were, but as the lady ran he realized he was watching her own pink bag floating after her. Swarming around it were little tubes and pads, all diving around the woman as she ran to her car.

To her horror, and the kid’s own--her sedan started without her anywhere near it. The driverless car shifted into gear and turned in the huge driveway, easily pulling a 180 before the trunk popped open. The woman shrieked as her stock in kits and clothing samples leapt from the trunk...along with a tire iron, a blanket, and a spare bouncing right out along with them.

The car’s doors fanned open, and nothing was left inside. Sunglasses bobbed out with a pair of leather gloves. A light jacket danced to life and sailed out toward the field. Finally, a black canvas bag hovered out of the back seat and toward the house.

The woman turned back toward the house to see a disembodied apron, followed by a spatula, two wooden spoons and a pair of rubber kitchen gloves. She tried to dodge them, but the gloves were on her wrists in no time, dragging her back toward the door as other haunted clothing marched from the farmhouse.

Whatever had possessed these items and clothing, it had to be in the house too doing who knows what to Mr. Jack and his wife. The kid couldn’t save that poor woman from them--he couldn’t even save himself. There was nowhere to run. More importantly, there was no one who could save him.

The realization hit him hard, and he started to fight harder than he previously had. He said a prayer in his head as he thrashed his legs wildly inside the leather restraints of his saddle. For a second, he could feel himself starting to be released from the rope holding him to the saddle. If he squeezed out the right way, he could escape the stirrups too. He gave one last pull against his restraints and his bulging muscles pressed against his restraints, breaking free.

He let out a grunt as he landed hard on the dirt floor. An adrenaline rush made him immediately get up, but he was already surrounded by the hose, rope and saddle. His overalls and boots were standing over him, and even the pitchfork fetching hay and the broom sweeping the barn seemed to stop.

The rawhide gloves simply shrugged.

He looked around, standing crouched. A sock made a move to leap back inside his mouth, but he dodged it, spitting disgustedly when it reminded him of the taste in his mouth. The sock flew back over to its mate hovering nearby which wiggled its toes as if in greeting. Now the screwdrivers were all around him again, closer than the other items. Their pointed ends facing him menacingly, periodically stabbing at empty air in his direction. It made him jerk back reflexively.

“Wh-what do you want with me?” the kid asked apprehensively, surrounded by his clothing and his own tools hovering around him in mid-air. “I mean, what am I supposed to do?” The overalls and boots stepped closer to him, approaching the circle of rope, hose, socks and tools. The pitchfork’s handle sailed into an obscene position between the legs of the overalls as one of the legs stepped over it. Once it was in place, one of the rawhide gloves slid up and down the handle, as if they were jacking off the pitchfork.

As the kid watched the lewd activity happening in front of him, he became disgusted all over again. He closed his eyes and turned his head, attempting to plow through the items and toward the barn door.

He didn’t hit anything. He opened his eyes again when he realized he was allowed to run. As soon as he was out the door, though, he heard a familiar sound. The combine engine didn’t sound like anything else, and it immediately opened the eyes of the kid, who watched as the combine  rumbled to life. Inside the hulking machine, the clutch was engaged and the gear shifted all on its own, putting itself into gear. It pressed its own gas pedal, slowly moving forward as the thresher started rolling.

The kid’s eyes went wild. He started to make a run for it when the sales lady’s car roared to life again, tearing through the driveway and swinging back around again. He was trapped between an angry vehicle, a circle of living clothing and tools in the stable behind him, and a runaway combine slowly rolling towards him all on its own.

“Lord, save me now,” he whispered to himself as he closed his eyes. He kept his eyes closed as he heard the combine getting closer and closer, clenching his eyes tighter as he heard the demonic machine approaching.

Just as it was about to reach him, he felt himself grabbed and pulled skyward. The giant machine passed underneath him. He opened his eyes in astonishment only to see that he was riding the saddle again, floating in the air with his haunted outfit--apparently riding behind him. Instead of tearing into the stable as he half-expected, the combine drove itself out toward a field ready for harvest.

The kid looked around, amazed at what had happened. He flailed a little at finding himself floating in mid-air again, but the rawhide gloves grabbed his chest and held him close to his overalls. The outfit grabbed him in the last moment, lifting him skyward and not letting any harm come to him.  He watched in amazement as the combine drove itself faithfully through the fields. His focus was only broken away when he looked down uncomfortably to see a pair of masculine, familiar muscular denim legs lifting over his own and wrapping around his midsection. He grabbed at the rawhide gloves at his chest, trying to force them off him. His living overalls started to sway behind him, and it wasn’t long before he swore he felt a growing lump between his cheeks where his ass met the saddle.

His own overalls were nuzzled behind him, grinding their crotch into his rear. He was instantly  repulsed by the action, and turned his head only to be met again by a faceful of white cotton fabric. His socks had apparently returned. He cried out in surprise, only to have one of his socks again stuff itself in his mouth, muffling his protests.

The rope tied him to the saddle again, stealthily wrapping itself around his body and bringing him tight against the leather, holding him down onto the saddle forcefully. There would be no escape this time, he knew deep inside. The hold the rope had on him was immensely stronger this time around.

As the other tools outside went back to work, the screwdrivers returned as well, lightly dragging their tips against his legs and midsection. The sock in his mouth moved itself so that its leg opening was at his mouth and expanding, opening up his mouth while the rest of its fabric wiggled around inside. A screwdriver hovered near and, inverting itself, stuck its handle inside the leg opening of the sock and into the kid’s mouth, thrusting itself in and out.

His own outfit dismounted the saddle, and the thing bucked him forward, exposing his rear. Another screwdriver’s handle -- the biggest of them all -- started rubbing itself around between the kid’s boxer-briefed ass, rubbing itself around on his hole, sliding itself effortlessly around on the fabric tentatively covering the most taboo part of his body.

As frightened as he was by the size of it, the kid moaned into his living sock gag involuntarily, his accepting body betraying his reluctant state of mind. It was as if a demon had taken hold of him, forcing him to accept and enjoy the machinations of his tools and clothing brought to inexplicable, sexual life.

The tools continued to use him as their personal plaything, while he heard the front door of the farmhouse blow open and crash against the siding of the house. The sounds of ecstasy coming from inside the house exploded onto the open field, approaching the barn and the kid heard every filthy utterance spewing forth from inside the house. His mind went places he’d only fantasized about jacking off in the locked bathroom at home. Secret thoughts that had been kept buried in the place of his mind only he’d known, until now.

The clothing turned him to face the open barn door, and he could hear something approaching. He watched in gagged anticipation. There was a slithering sound, something was winding its way through the tall grass outside the barn slowly. The kid screamed again against his sock gag, afraid of what horrors the day might unfold upon him next.  

As he watched, leather belts snaked out of the tall grass and into the sanctuary of the barn, rising up and floating into the air. He recognized them instantly. They were the farm owner’s belts which were now snaking themselves toward him. The pieces of rope all attacked at the same time, grabbing hold of his wrists and ankles and turning him around, so that his back was to the belts as they assembled in the air behind him.

A couple had wormed their way around to him, sliding across his chest and wrapping around his bulging biceps, flicking their ends on his nipples like a couple of tongues eager with desire to taste his muscled flesh. The ropes held his limbs spread eagled again, as his gag continued to muffle the sounds of his protests.

He tried to look behind him but a rough leather glove forcibly grabbed his cheek, pulling his head back around forward to see his overalls hovering right in front of him while the other glove made a “no-no” sign with its index finger. Another couple of tears slid down his cheeks as he felt his boxer-briefs slowly start to slide down his thighs. The elastic waistband extended out, compensating for his bulge so that it wouldn’t brush up against it, and betrayed his naked body to the punishment he could feel coming. The rope holding his upper body restrained bent him forward slowly so that his bare butt was exposed to the air.

The kid thought his situation in the barn was the worst of it, but back at the house Mr. Jack’s wife Patty was witness to the same terrifying power. All the cozy familiarity drained out of her home as, room-by-room, her and Jack’s belongings danced to life. Patty and her guest--a sales rep that had chosen the wrong day for a house call on the Bascomb farm--were restrained just like the kid.

Both women had been taken surprise by throw pillows and furniture cushions come-to-life, disorienting and confusing them in the first moments. The sales rep had enough sense to try to run from the house, but by then the spell had spread, and even her own belongings weren’t safe from whatever Patty loosed from the bottle just minutes before.

Now Patty was in a hovering recliner, her arms and legs spread and bound back behind her with sashes and belts. Her own clothing stroked and caressed her body as she muttered prayer under her breath, her eyes locked on the sales rep in front of her.

The rep was tied down to the thick oak table from the dining room, which bucked and turned its way into the great room with the women as the commotion began. She was stripped nude, her own outfit standing side-by-side with Patty’s disembodied apron as forks and knives carefully dragged themselves down her skin. The spatula hovered over her pussy, giving her a teasing slap every few seconds and making her cry out between confused curses.

Everything went still for a moment as the black canvas bag unzipped, unleashing a payload of sales items for one of the rep’s other hats. She hadn’t intended to show this stock to this particular customer, but with her samples making decisions on their own, she didn’t have much say.

A simple pink vibrator hovered from the bag, turning itself on as it sailed toward Patty. She squealed as a pair of shears menaced toward her, feinting at her face and making her whole body tighten in fear. In this dependable split-second of shock, Patty’s blouse tore open and her skirt flared, allowing the shears to sail up the seam and split it. A cup full of writing utensils shook on her desk in the corner, and one by one the instruments shot out, coming within centimeters of her skin and stopping short.

Patty’s black silk underwear inflated on her body and sailed down her legs, and a look of utter shame came over her face as the pink vibrator hovered close to her. Her discarded panties collapsed and shot into the mouth of the rep as one of her bigger toys approached her. As the women watched each other violated by the same force, they didn’t notice that the rest of the reps toys--some bigger and more intimidating still--went off in search of less fragile prey.

Back in the stable, SLAP! went a belt on the now-exposed skin of the kid’s ass. He bucked forward under the sting of the leather, exclaiming swear words into his sock gag. Behind the overalls, he could see his boxer-briefs floating up into his field of view, with a large addition to the crotch. It made him finally realize what his clothing seemed to want.

SLAP! Another belt sounded as it made contact with his smooth, toned ass. Tears were flowing down the kid’s cheeks now -- his face as red as the setting sun in the sky which only seemed to ignite a fire of desire inside his already horny clothing. It was one thing for him to fantasize about a girl in the privacy of his bedroom at night. It was another to be completely humiliated in the open air by his own clothing which seemed to want nothing more than to see him vulnerable and prone, tanned by living leather straps.  

A belt slowly slid around on his upper thigh, wrapping itself around him. Another did the same to his other thigh as they forcibly opened up his legs. The ends of the belts were on either side of his cock, lapping at it as a dog to water.

SLAP! came a third belt as it drove his hips and hardening cock into the embrace of the farm owner’s belongings come to torture him. He closed his eyes, trying to separate himself mentally from the situation.

SLAP! Another intrusion upon him, but this time to his face by one of the rough leather gloves. This one was the hardest of all and his eyes shot open by the surprise of it. He barely moved his face and watched it with contempt as it slid a hollow finger down in between his pecs, occasionally pausing to wiggle its fingers against his supple skin. He struggled feebly against his bonds as it continued its track down between the small ridge made between his tanned abs, finally hovering close by his cock which was being fondled and licked by the leather belts.

This couldn’t get any worse, he thought to himself. Just then, he heard the front storm door to the house slam against the jamb. The screwdrivers seemed to back off slightly, and the belts stopped their licking motion on his cock and nipples, although still wrapped around his upper thighs and his biceps. The other clothing back off reverently, even his socks extricated themselves from his mouth and took a step back, walking on thin air.

The boy was confused, but momentarily relieved. He wondered why everything had stopped, and what was coming towards him from the house.

It was then that it sailed into view, and all color left his face. He thought it must have been one of Jack’s wife’s, but it was huge. No way would she have something like that, he thought to himself.

A suction-base dildo in the very real likeness of an incredibly well-endowed man had flown out into the barn and was now hovering close to the kid’s horrified face. It seemed to regard him suspiciously as it flew there, twisting the head back and forth, eyeing his body. It levitated down his body, poking him in places as if testing him out. A poke on his abs, the tip dragged across his pecs and around his shoulder, feeling up his spine and back down, towards the crack of his ass.

He couldn’t see what it was doing as it rubbed and poked and prodded into his back muscles, but he looked over at his hovering outfit which made a thumbs up sign. At the same time, the dildo slapped itself against his still exposed raw cheek which made him wince a little. He heard a lid snap open and then silence.

The boy gasped as cool liquid hit his ass crack and started flowing down. The dildo moved itself and started rubbing itself around on the same cold liquid slowly warming on his skin. He looked around behind him and saw, to his horror, a bottle of lube which had upended itself, squirting its contents onto him all by itself. The warming liquid was slowly sliding inside the crack of his ass, even into his rectum. It was then he realized where this was going, and started to struggle again.

A glove flew up again towards his face as his socks came to rest once more on his shoulders, rubbing their now dry cotton toes against his neck and nuzzling his earlobes. The glove stroked his cheek with the backs of its fingers, and the other glove rose up to his overalls, holding itself up to where a head would have been. They made a “shh” motion with the index finger hovering outside a pair of invisible lips.

The dildo stopped fondling him, and the saddle slipped away slightly from his legs. He felt butterflies in his stomach as he hovered alone in the air again. He heard a “thwock” as the suction base of the dildo situated itself on the seat of the saddle. He looked back to see the thing bouncing up and down excitedly, watching it point straight toward the opening of his ass.

“Please, no...don’t do this…” the boy said quietly, crying softly. It was then that he realized. The screaming at the living objects earlier, asking them what they wanted, he finally understood now what it was. His saddle, something of his own creation brought inexplicably to life, wanted to fuck his virgin ass.

All the attention that everything had given him had been sexual and the realization hit him like a brick. His clothes, his tools, the pitchfork, the hose, they were all alive and they all wanted him as their own personal sex slave. They saw him as a toy to use and abuse as they saw fit. He had become nothing more than a tool for the horny desires of the possessed living objects on the farm.

The stirrups found his feet again and tightened themselves up, holding his legs firmly inside the custom made leather straps. They were ever so slowly sliding themselves around on his legs, cinching themselves up. The leather squeaked and slid, wrapping him sensuously within them and holding on to him tightly as they brought him slowly back towards the saddle and ultimately, towards the eager, living sex toy which had decided it wanted to fuck his ass.

He tried to keep his legs extended--tried to prevent himself being pulled back onto the saddle, but he was being overpowered. He could feel the dildo now as it continued to bob up and down. As soon as it touched his hole, it stopped bouncing.

It slid up and down the length of his ass, spreading the lube and slowly feeling him up. He could feel it wiggling its head, teasing itself against his hole as he continued to sob quietly.

All was deathly quiet in the barn, save for the kid’s quiet sobs. He opened his eyes to survey the scene only to find that most of the motion of the tools and his clothing had stopped for the time being. His overalls were standing in front of him, watching. It was almost as if they were going to see how he would react to what was about to happen.

Slowly, the tip of the dildo pushed against the tight sphincter muscle of his ass. He breathed in sharply, not anticipating the feeling. His works gloves flew behind his shoulders where they proceeded to dig their fingers delicately into his muscles. As much as he wished he didn’t, he could feel himself relaxing slightly under their massage. As soon as his body loosened he could feel the saddle slide between his legs as it pushed up slightly, filling him with more of the dildo suctioned to its seat. Again he tensed up, not used to something violating his body in such a way. His breathing was becoming labored and heavy as the saddle continued to push into him, filling him with the massive shaft of the dildo. He grunted with each tiny thrust the offending object made into his body.

The pain was excruciating. He shut his eyes and gritted his teeth, breathing sharply in and out. The belts continued to gently slide and undulate over his taut muscles. Together with the gloves they succeeded in allowing him to relax slightly, just enough for the saddle to push further still.

He had never felt such a feeling before in all his life. The pain was almost unbearable, but surprisingly, with the pain came a strange, foreign, and ultimately, a horrific feeling of pleasure as the saddle pushed its way inside of him. He tensed again, almost as if he was holding in laughter. He could feel his sphincter constricting around the shaft of the dildo. His gasps echoing against the empty walls of the barn -- empty save for the living tools and clothing which were still hovered around him silently and which he warily eyed.

“Ungh!” the kid exclaimed loudly as the saddle pushed in further without him expecting it. His back arched and he closed his eyes in an involuntary response to the sensation of the quick penetration and almost fell off balance. He instinctively grabbed the horn and cantle of the saddle in order to steady himself for fear of falling off. An unfounded fear as the saddle had no intention of letting him go or letting him fall as it situated itself mid-air to balance his weight.

Finally, the kid felt the seat of the saddle press up against his exposed cheeks, and he knew that the dildo was completely inside of him. He could feel the tip pressing into his insides as the shaft made ever so tiny rippling motions out of its molded rubber. The rippling sent shivers throughout his body as goosebumps appeared on his skin.

Against his will, his body became accustomed to the feeling of fullness. He relaxed a bit as he simultaneously opened his eyes to look around once again. He was startled to find he was floating about six feet in the air. His tools and clothing had risen into the air as well and were still hovering around him.

Seeing the assembled items still next to him, he wiggled uncomfortably against the saddle which lifted itself into him slightly, probing the dildo attached to it into him and stopping his motions. The saddle made tiny thrusting motions, bobbing him up and down into the air and parading him down the main stable aisle as a glove flew over and re-attached itself to the arm of his overalls. The glove rubbed the outline of a massive bulge inside his own outfit as it hovered in front of him.

“What more do you want from me?” the kid cried out in frustration as he watched the obscene gestures his own clothing was performing. The invisible cock inside the overalls was tenting to rigidity now as a leather glove shot out dramatically, as if the overalls extended one of their arms toward him.

On this cue, his saddle ride became more dramatic as both the stable doors flew open. The living tools started out toward the farm in procession, and the saddle weaved its own path out the door as the kid struggled to hang on. When he grabbed the saddle’s horn, he felt the dildo go rigid inside him, making him cry out as his own dick hardened--stimulated by the pressure in his ass.

As he rode the saddle out into the yard with the procession of living objects from the stable, the front door to the house swung open, releasing its own parade of possessed materials. First, a small army of Mr. Jack’s clothing marched out--jeans and carhartts, long sleeves and tees. They seemed mostly disinterested in the kid and fanned out over the farm. A full outfit of Mr. Jack’s and another of Patty’s flew threw the air toward the stable, tangled in each other’s groping sleeves. The kid stared at these two ghostly outfits, marveling at the shape of Patty’s empty clothes. Despite the horrors he was experiencing, he couldn’t take his eyes off the two cavorting outfits, wondering what interest the devil’s tools had in frolicking off on their own.

Suddenly, he felt a pleasurable feeling against the tip of his own dick--made forcibly erect due to the penetrating prostate massage he was getting from the saddle dildo. He looked down to be pleasantly surprised by a pair of silky, lacy panties rubbing themselves against the tip of his stiff manhood. When he looked at the subtle cleft in the silk, he wondered--a little shamefully--if he was looking at Mrs. Jack’s shape. He’d only imagined such things in his forbidden fantasies, and here it was happening not entirely against his will.

The ridges of strongly defined vaginal lips of a pair of nude-colored see-through panties opened and closed on the tip of his dick, almost as if they were kissing it, grabbing him tightly and releasing, sending further shivers down his spine and making his limbs tingle with wanton desire. The sight of lustful women’s lingerie operating all by themselves triggered a feeling of carnal lust within him, even if the lingerie was hollow--filled out to the ghostly form of his boss’ wife.

He looked around with wide eyes, watching as some of the parading objects from the house joined along with the saddle, flying the kid through the lanes around the main buildings. For sure some of the items were more of Mrs. Jack's clothes, a billowing pink blouse coiled around his torso like an affectionate cat for a moment before sliding along his skin and sailing in front of him.

As he watched the bounding, playful blouse, his vision was tinted with red blur. The soft perfume of Mrs. Jack invaded his senses as he felt lacy cups against his face. The scent was floral and feminine, the same scent that occupied the great country kitchen when Mrs. Jack was inside prepping the midday meal that all the hands shared every Friday. He blinked his eyes and watched carefully as the lacy red bra pulled away from his face, displaying its bouncing cups and jiggling them before him.

His eyes locked on the sheer, empty red cups as the flesh-toned panties continued to stroke his rigid cock. The dildo tensed inside him again, and his dick involuntarily responded, becoming even harder and pressing itself against the living fabric caressing his manhood.

His poor head was at an impasse--clearly what was happening was unnatural, beyond the world he'd known for most of his life--but was it really the devil, as he imagined?

He snapped out of the thought when the dildo inside him wiggled again, seeming to grow a bit as the kid let out a howl. He could feel the thing moving inside him, teasing and gyrating so slowly as his hips rocked against the saddle riding through the air. Much as he didn't want to admit it, his asshole had acclimated to the invading rubber cock, slacking and tightening around the toy and responding to its every pulse. The aching throb of his member was an affront to every one of his protests, proving his animal wiles more powerful than his fear.

More pairs of women’s lingerie filled the space around him. Hollow, well-defined bras and panties pressed themselves into him, forcing their voluptuous curves against him and making his body quiver under their silky, sensual touch. He could feel the pressure as they rubbed themselves against him. He instinctively thrust his pelvis toward the pair of underwear at the tip of his dick and gasped loudly as he felt the dildo retreating slightly from his ass. Tingles ran throughout his body as he felt his erect cock enter into the forbidden space of the hollow panties hovering on his hardened dick. He looked down only to be greeted by the pleasant sight of his cock encased in tight see-through microfiber, the panties doing their best to form a tight makeshift pussy surrounding his hard cock. He could see himself pulsing inside them.

The feeling of entering inside the tight pussy of the underwear and the simultaneous motion of the dildo sent shockwaves of pleasure throughout his body. Now another bra approached, this one with bulging black satin cups. it hovered inches in front of him, teasing his broken mind with its invisible splendor bouncing inside the apparently hollow form. He waited for the brassiere to mash itself against his face like the other, but it simply held itself in front of him--keeping the same distance and position no matter where the saddle flew.

Curiosity and passion overwhelmed him; practically drooling with anticipation, he trembled a bit as he let go of the saddle horn with one hand, reaching it up to the D-cupped bra. When his fingertips sank into the ghostly satin, he half-expected the delicate cup to collapse under his touch. Instead, the shining fabric puffed further, inflating the cups like balloons and pushing back against his gingerly grasp. His thumbs glided gently over slightly elevated nipples, only muted slightly by the satin bra's soft padding.

From the tips of his fingers, which were fondling the outlines of the hollow bra--to the tips of his toes, wiggling and tensing with the strange sensation of the dildo in his lubed asshole--he felt completely fulfilled. The pleasure from the ghostly underwear combined with the belts around his biceps and thighs sent him into a sexual frenzy he’d never known existed in him before. For the first time, he felt the rubbery thrust of the magic toy and mentally begged for more--surrendering to this ghostly force in his mind.

And now something shifted; the saddle had allowed him to thrust forward, unencumbered by the leg straps which had been holding him tightly against the leg stirrups. The straps hugged him gently now, no longer forcefully holding him in place. He noticed that he couldn’t thrust himself back into the hollow,  living lingerie unless he pressed himself back down onto the dildo. Its head was still pulsating slightly inside his ass, held tight by his constricted sphincter. At this point, the entire experience was so wild--so deliciously shameless--that he was no longer worried about being fucked up the ass by his magically augmented saddle, especially if it was to feel the pleasure surrounding his engorged cock. The worst of his trepidation was cast aside.

“Oh, fuck!” he moaned, blushing profusely as the saddle rose up forcefully, pushing his erect cock into the panties of its own free will. The stiff dildo attached to it thrust inside his ass once more. He grabbed the horn of the saddle again instinctively as his cock slid into the warm, silky makeshift vagina.

As he entered into them a second time, he began reflecting on his newfound freedom. His inhibitions were melting away and a strange desire took hold of him. At first, he wasn’t sure how to react. The taboo feeling of the dildo inside his ass was far more terrifying than even seeing all these objects coming to life, at least at first. But now, he didn't want it to stop. Not knowing what this force was capable of and unsure of its aims, he was still afraid to submit vocally, but in his mind he wanted more. He wanted to fuck. His young body was primed for this reason and was responding to the pleasure wrought upon him. The stiffened jelly cock in his ass was just another component of this forbidden heaven, indivisible from the ghostly tits  and pussy teasing his senses, part of the greater hedonistic drive that everything--literally everything--was exhibiting.

A carnal feeling came over him as he pushed against the stirrups on his own, thrusting his hard dick into the sheer briefs. He felt the dildo under him slip nearly all the way out, eliciting a shuddering laugh as the tan underwear squeezed his aching cock. This time his actions were of his own will. He took a deep breath as he rammed the panties, exhaling as he loosed his quads and let his weight drop back onto the damp saddle, the scent of lube, leather and sweat wafting around him as the dildo impaled his virgin ass again and magically rocked against his prostate.

The sexual hunger inside of him took control. He savored the fullness within him this time, only to thrust forward again into the tight space around his cock. The straps of the saddle tightened up on his legs again, seeming to hold him sensually now instead of aiming for hard restraint. The leather was pulling at his flesh needfully, gripping him like a long-absent lover.

The satiny assault of the clothing entourage from the house intensified. A gaggle of Mrs. Jack's overinflated bras slid effortlessly over his body, caressing and rubbing themselves over every bump and ridge of his muscled torso, arms, and legs as he started to manually direct the action. Nipples visible through the fabric dragged themselves over his skin as the panties on his dick started responding to his hungry cock, humping themselves onto his girth. The indescribable pleasure drove him to further his sexual fantasies--abeited by ghostly lingerie, his custom saddle and its new accessory.

The floating saddle ran laps around the house now, banking through turns and gradually speeding up as the kid found his rhythm mastering a very new kind of steer. More and more, his fear gave way to impossible excitement, and by now he was watching the experience with new eyes, savoring every buck from the saddle, every warm, silken thrust from the horny panties. They felt like they were sucking his cock somehow, pulling him forward even as they tensed around him. He thrust back, letting the force know that he wanted exactly what it wanted--surrender.

As he sailed down one of the farm lanes, he found himself squeezing his legs around the saddle and pulling the horn. He spurred into the sides of the saddle, and the front jerked up, throwing him against the slope of the leather and letting him pendulum into it. His young body responded like it would an out-of-control horse, bearing down and balancing, driving his body against the toy and making him groan as the hovering saddle sailed higher.

He could see the combine threshing on its own in a field. As he sailed down the lane, he saw work clothes and twine bearing down on two farm hands as their tools mended a section of broken fence all on their own. He looked in awe at the magic now, realizing that even back at the stable his work was being done for him--right from the start.

The kid didn’t know why everything wanted him this way--or how any of this was happening--but now he didn’t want it to stop. Now he wanted to see more. To feel more. If the farm was going to run itself, was everyone getting the same royal treatment he was getting? Was Mrs. Jack?

He felt something soft at his back as pink sleeves wrapped around his torso. He looked down at his chest to see invisible hands manipulating his flesh, working over his pecs and pinching one of his nipples. He let out a gasp and thrust against the saddle, the rubbery cock inside him pulsing again. Suddenly, the panties at his cock sailed off the saddle and took off for the sky as the kid moaned, looking down.

His dick was practically purple--bulging, rigid and begging for release. When he reached a hand toward it, his fingers were snagged by a bra strap, pulling his hand away.

“Come on,” he moaned, spurring the saddle again as he closed his eyes. “Don’t just--” Something round and soft pressed against his face, shutting him up. When he tried to pull away and open his eyes, he saw through the material--pushing against him and forcing him back. He untangled his fingers from the strap and reached up with both hands to grab…

Legs. Long, smooth legs. They wiggled as he clamped his strong hands around them. He stuttered with surprise and ran his hands down the thighs, working his way back and cupping a round ass. He was staring through stockings. Lovely, ghostly stockings. His heart jumped when he thought about all the things he could do with a whole lower half.

Apparently the stockings had their own ideas, because just as he built up the guile to squeeze the round nylon ass and bury his face deeper, he felt two soft soles clamp around his manhood.

The hollow toes had curled themselves around him, and were slowly alternating, sliding both feet up and down each side of his engorged dick. The kid moaned into the night air loudly, his cries echoing off the side of the house. He was in pure ecstasy, being fondled so delicately by what he thought could only be Mrs. Jack’s nylons.

He looked down to see the fabric wiggling their hollow toes against his member and his head rolled back. He let out grunts into the evening air as the silky nylon rubbed itself against his dick. The phantom feet that had materialized inside the nylons were dainty and graceful, articulating like soft, invisible feet and teasing his cock delightfully. The more he gave himself over to this force, the more intensely they lavished him with attention.

The saddle slowed over the roof of the barn as he savored his foot-job from the haunted stockings. He gripped the translucent ass again, feeling the plump give of emulated flesh. He let out a groan as he wiggled his hips against the attention from the feet, running his hands down the round butt, the bulging thighs, the tight, lean calves, and finally over the feet massaging and teasing his dick. His fingers clamped down on the insteps and grabbed tightly, excited by the firm, graceful form. It was almost as if a real person was inside, although he could see through the fabric and knew there wasn’t anyone there--above or below the waistline.

He leaned back, taking in an eyeful of the hauntingly gorgeous nylon peach staring him in the face. With his moist breath on the stockings, he could detect Mrs. Jack's scent on them. He greedily licked his lips and exhaled, nuzzling the cleft of the ghostly ass in front of him. The stockings rewarded him by inflating themselves tighter, growing firmer and rounder.

It gave him more confidence knowing that this was Mrs. Jack's clothing that had come to life. The lady of the house certainly didn't hurt to look at, and his imagination took over when he saw her clothing participating in the same naughty behavior as all the things that came to life in the stable.

He couldn't get enough of the insatiable pair of translucent legs and ass, now firm with curves that well exceeded Mrs. Jack's. His hands explored back up the voluptuous legs, admiring the tight, curvy shape. He lustily felt up the legs, gliding back up the shining thighs and ultimately to the gorgeous behind, where he grabbed plump handfuls of the invisible backside again. Whatever hesitation he’d had before was completely gone as his desire took over him completely; his wandering fingertips even sailed over the seam, reaching into the empty waist and pulling the stockings toward him.

The force rewarded his boldness again with a wiggle from the nylon butt, smearing itself against his face and invading him with Mrs. Jack's sweet, subtle scent. One of the stocking legs folded under him, lifting up and sliding its foot up the kid's crotch and over his tight stomach. It gently teased over his taut muscled chest, tickling his nipples with articulated toes. The bouncing fabric ass lifted away, ceasing its smothering motions long enough to point a nylon foot right toward him.

Faced with the shining, fabric foot, he kissed and licked at the nylon foot as it pressed itself into his face. Glorious scent filled his head as the hollow foot gently glided its ball over his nose. Not wanting to ignore the kid's bulbous dick, the other foot collapsed and coiled itself around him like a hungry constrictor. He watched as the possessed clothes took whatever shape they needed to get him off.

Still hovering above the barn, the kid could see the corrugated steel roof and a good part of the farm below him. He had that fluttery feeling like when you ride a roller coaster, but there was almost no fear in him now. This force was obviously powerful as all get out, and he’d already settled on the fact that it didn’t want him hurt. He looked down at the ground four stories under him and felt the saddle buck, making him gasp as he gripped the horn. No--it didn’t want him hurt, but it seemed to like spooking him a whole lot.

His dick pulsed again when his thighs tightened around the saddle. He probably didn’t even need to hold on at all, but instinct was hard to resist. Besides, the force seemed to like his body’s reactions. After its short buck, the hovering saddle started moving again, gently rocking back and forth as it paraded him around the farm nearly 50 feet from the ground. The saddle was slowly pulling and pushing the suctioned dildo in and out of his ass, and he gripped the horn even tighter as he dutifully worshipped the nylon foot caressing his face--licking and kissing it until the moisture of his own tongue unleashed more of Ms. Jack’s scent locked in them.

These living stockings were worn--dirty clothes with dirty intentions--and they wanted to play with the kid. The thought of it excited him more than ever now--what lovely luck. What if he’d escaped like Gabe, the farmhand that bolted down the fencerow? What if he hadn’t been working today at all? An hour before, he was trying to wish himself out of this situation, but now he only wanted to see and hear more.

The force seemed to know it, too. He was flying faster again as the saddle banked turns around the house and barn, soaring higher through the fields as he surrendered completely to the power enveloping his senses. The soft nylon was bringing him closer and closer to orgasm as the silky coil jerked him off, and he ferociously licked and sucked on the fabric foot at his face, using the hand that wasn’t on the horn to feel the slick, graceful curvature of the ghostly leg. He pawed up the thigh, running his fingers between the legs and back down the other thigh, tapering quickly to the not-quite leg-shaped tube jerking him off.

He wondered if anyone else on the farm was experiencing the same ravaged lust--wondered if anyone else was giving in like he was. He wondered if the force was being just as playful with the others--particularly with anyone in the farmhouse, where he thought he’d heard moaning with the last pass he took near the farmhouse. The moans didn’t sound much like despair, and when he thought about Mr. Jack and his pretty wife being subject to the same kind of magical joyride he was experiencing, he felt that familiar feeling in his loins. He could feel the pre-cum flowing as he imagined a farm full of forbidden lust and ghostly, absent lovers--chores doing themselves by the will of animated tools and machines alone while strapping strong men and dainty women were all assailed by irresistible sexual phantoms.

 

Suddenly, the nylons retreated from him and hovered a foot from his face, rubbing their legs together sensually with pointed toes. He made an effort to reach out for them as he found himself stopped in mid-air again, this time floating beside the 2nd floor of the house where he could hear moans from within. As the ghostly feet retreated from his face, he made an effort to reach for them, but the belts coiled around his wrists once more, pulling him back.

“Come on!” The kid shouted. “I was so close!”

The nylons swam through the air toward him, spreading their legs as they faced him. They hovered down onto the front of the saddle as a mound bulged from the crotch of the hose and began suctioning in on itself, forming a smooth, simplified emulation of a pussy out of its fabric. He looked hungrily at it and licked his lips, watching the opening approach his cock. He swore he heard Mrs. Jack moaning inside, and it tied his mind to the fantastic shape of the phantasm in front of him. He was going to savor every minute with Mrs. Jacks’ enchanted nylons.

Ever so slowly, the area between the nylons’ thighs came dangerously close to the tip of the kid’s throbbing member. He thrust his hips towards their crotch, wanting to fuck their enchanted pussy. His ass lifted slightly off the hard dildo attached to the saddle. It curled just slightly inside him, and he wailed at the attention to his prostate. His dick perked and bulged, and the nylons wiggled with excitement, slamming their ass against his dick and sliding it back and forth against their cheeks.

He thrust his legs and rocked up and down on the dildo again, feeling it fill him as it started pulsing. He’d grown used to the feeling by now and sensed that his adventurousness was setting off the magical hollow ass bouncing on his dick. He hungrily eyed the nylons erotically dancing against him, and the dildo sliding in and out was simply another pleasure filling his senses. He moaned into the air as he rode his living saddle, and it started gently bucking and swaying again.

The nylon pussy opened its lips, allowing him to enter them. The kid gasped loudly as his cock slid into the magical chamber made by the nylons. Once inside, the hollow of the crotch contracted, and the kid felt the tight nylon cradling and squeezing his shaft on all sides. They simultaneously wrapped their translucent legs around his lower back, holding him tightly against them as the nylon ass bounced on his massive cock.

His arms reach for the back of the waistband, and the belts loosed, letting him pull them down to the base of his throbbing shaft. He looked down at his saddle, which still had his legs securely tied to it

“Please make me fly around the farm again…” he moaned to his saddle. He leaned back and let the dildo into his ass completely as it started to fly again, up and up, beyond the roofs of the house and barn. He could feel the thing swelling and wiggling, and the feeling in his ass only engorged his cock further, purple and massive inside its nylon cage. He let go of any fear now--he didn’t care that it seemed to go against all that he’d been told about pleasure. Whatever or whoever he was giving in to--it held this heavenly key. “Make me cum in them,” he cried. “Make me cum in Mrs. Jack’s stockings!”

Pleasure filled his senses as the saddle was bouncing up and down, swiftly fucking his ass with the dildo as they rode over the fields. He enjoyed the waves, letting himself buck as his saddle did, forcing himself into the nylon legs hugging his lower back. His cock was gripped inside the makeshift pussy, and he felt every bump and bank as his saddle carried him up and over a treeline.

He shot beyond the Bascombe property line and clear over a vehicle-free County Road 52, holding the saddle horn in one hand and bouncing nylon ass in the other. His cock thrust inside the nylons with every turn and bounce which was soon about to send him over the edge. He moaned again, this time with pure carnal lust as he gave himself over to the force enveloping him.

He was 200 feet from the ground and hollering like a cowboy. He didn’t know if there were any witnesses to this insane twilight spectacle, but he never put a thought to it. He’d never felt anything like this before, and all he really knew was that he was going to cum. Years of jacking off to his wildest fantasies hadn’t ever produced an experience so ludicrous or phenomenal, and if something so miraculous was being fulfilled right before his eyes, he only had one more thing to say about it.

“Yeeeee-Hawwww!”

The warm wind whipped around his body, sending shivers up and down his muscled torso as he bucked and retreated from the tight lips surrounding his stiff shaft. He rode the hard dildo sliding in and out of his ass. He was ready. He could feel his orgasm building, only moments away from carnal bliss.

The leg straps held him sensuously close as his whole body was tense as he felt himself ejaculate into the thin fabric encasing his cock. He exclaimed loudly into the midnight air as he came vigorously again and again, splattering the fabric of the nylon tightly encasing his spasming cock with his hot jizz. The saddle shot skyward, making him gasp as he sailed higher and higher. He gripped the nylon ass with both hands now as his dick shot the the last of its load. His ass tightened and released as he allowed the animated dong to slide in and out of him.

His body rocked and banked with the saddle’s motions through the fading light. He dipped down to 20 or so feet, sailing above a laneway running parallel to a State Route. It broke way to a trail through woods, and sailed over a gate taking him back onto the Bascombe land. The saddle sailed to the fallow lot, circling the unmowed area and floating higher again. The nylons slid off his cock, and he was amazed to feel the fabric nearly dry. He couldn’t see so much as a mark as the emulated pussy disappeared.

The nylon pantyhose flew ahead of him, and the dildo pulsed inside him once more as he shot away from the fallow land. He watched the diaphanous legs dangling toward him, sailing through the air as the saddle carried him behind. They approached the house swiftly, the front door bursting open before the pantyhose sailed inside. The saddle slowed at the porch, and the kid made a noise as he felt the dong contract within him, shrinking itself away.  He floated under the eaves, and the saddle slowly descended until his feet touched the wood planks of the porch, tingling a little with the feel of ground under them again.

He flexed his legs, standing under his own power as the saddle and its protruding tool slipped out from under him. He gasped a little, feeling his asshole tighten again. He watched as the saddle bobbed away toward the barn, but the dildo made a “pop” sound as it detached and hovered into the house. The kid gulped as he watched the odd missile sail through the door. The screen held itself wide open, and two outfits appeared at the threshold.

The kid glanced up toward the barn, where the hovering saddle held itself in place, now being polished by a rag held by the leather gloves that assaulted him earlier. The gloves were in place at the sides of his living overalls, looking like an invisible him were polishing and conditioning the saddle just like he’d done many times before. The other leather glove gave him a thumbs up as if it knew he was looking.

Another moan from inside the house turned him to the door again just in time to see one of Mrs. Jack’s lovely sundresses hovering over white thigh-high stockings. The sundress twirled a little, making its hem rise and flow with the motion, showing him a pair of hovering peach-colored panties beneath it. He licked his lips, smiling at the flirty outfit as the other stepped forward.

The kid’s jaw dropped. Two long, black-lacquer boots stepped onto the porch, criss-crossing beneath a well-filled pair of shiny PVC hotpants. Above it, an equally shiny zip-up black and red corset boasted glossy, bouncing cups, and extending to the corset’s sides were two long black latex gloves. One of them made a come-hither motion with a graceful finger.

The kid felt a tingle in his cock as he rose off the porch. He grinned as his body became lighter and lighter, gently lifting his toes from the grain of the porch planks. He was naked, suspended in the air by nothing at all. He wiggled his limbs a bit in surprise, but there was no struggle this time. Whatever else this force had in mind, he was happy to go along--especially with clothing with this kind of attitude. If Mrs. Jack’s underwear was ecstasy, he couldn’t even imagine what was next.

As he sailed past the sexy black outfit, he wondered who it could belong to. Surely not the gorgeous but wholesome Mrs. Jack. He’d seen her in nice dresses, tight jeans and even daisy dukes one lucky day--but he couldn’t imagine something like this in her closet.

A latex glove firmly grabbed his cock as he hovered next to the outfit. It began slowly stroking, and the kid’s stamina showed itself as his cock began pumping back up to size. The outfit took a strolling pace into the the doorway, and the the kid bobbed behind happily like a human pet. The door shut behind them as a riding lawnmower passed through the yard, cutting the grass all on its own.