Harvest of Change

Darragha Foster


Chapter 1

The day of change

His cock slicked with the plant-based lubricant used to grease the machinery on the farm, Buck pummeled into Judah with such force he thought for a moment the friction might spark and set the hay loft ablaze. Friction. Oil. Heat. Love. All the components for combustion. They’d wanted to blaze a new trail—and their actions had started the burn.

He just about spilled reveling in the glory of the moment—his thick member buried to the hilt in the sweet ass of another. Another man. His man. “I love you, Hay,” he whispered as the pre-surge of orgasm overwhelmed him. “I’ve waited so long for this moment. This is it—everything is going to change now.”

In the distance, the sound of wagon wheels rolling against long-used furrows in the hard-packed soil increased his ferocity. He grabbed a handful of Hay’s ass as the sweet rush of release poured from him. He froze, transfixed with pleasure as he climaxed. He could feel his big vein throb and pulse, deep and hot inside Hay. He bit his lip in desperation. He tasted blood. He wanted to scream.

It’s all about being seen. Being witnessed. One can’t start a revolution in hiding. Judah knew the plan. He labored to keep his wits about him. Come now the witnesses who will be our pawns.

A moment later, Buck pulled away. Judah barely discerned the words said to him through the haze of their passion. “Turn around.”

Judah “Hay” El-Bara, red-faced and exhausted from being stretched open and fucked hard, turned and fell back against the bales. “I’m certain after the pounding you gave me, I look such a fright they will think I’ve been possessed by the spirit of harvest blight.”


“You are no blight, Hay. You are that which makes my heart beat and blood flow.” Buck dropped to his knees before Judah and took his lover’s swollen shaft into his mouth. He stroked upward with his right hand and mouthed and licked at the head as if he ate a frozen sundry on a stick in mid-August. It was a messy, wet, salty, forbidden treat. And one he relished like none other.

He shivered as Hay’s fingers entwined in his white hair, encouragingly. His cock hadn’t deflated in the least. He could do it again—and again. He tasted salt and a moment later let the nectar of his lover’s climax slide down his throat.

Buck rose to his feet and swept Hay into his arms in a magnificent, penetrating kiss.

The trap door to the loft slammed open. “What insanity prevails here?” a panicked voice shrieked. “I saw a silhouette from the road and could not believe my eyes.”

Naked, hard, sweat and semen covered, the lovers broke their embrace. A defiant glance passed between them. Buck watched as the veins in the intruder’s forehead and throat bulged. The elder-brother was apoplectic.

“Holy Harvest. Judah, it is you. And Beck. Bless the mother and the seed…Judah, what have you done?”

Hay closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He squared his shoulders and made no attempt to cover himself. He palmed Buck’s face and drew him in for a quick kiss. “Call me Hay. And what we do is honor the harvest, brother.”

A clap of thunder rolled across the heavens and a heavy rain began. Hard rain, alive with thunder and bejeweled with lightning.

Buck laughed. “Comes now the hard rain that will wash away the old. Trust me.”

The elder-brother went ashen. “Trust him? Do not trust him, Judah El-Bara! The right hand of the goddess is buggering her bridegroom. Judah, do you know what you have done? Your so-called love shall destroy the harvest. The crops will spoil in their fields, and the harsh mistress of winter will confine us and starve us.” The elder wept. “How did this happen? How? Judah Hayaam El-Bara…you bear the Mark of the Harvest and have been promised to her since the day of your birth. You have condemned us all to cold, hungry deaths.” He tore at the flesh of his cheeks, raking his nails hard against his own flesh, not even grimacing from what must have been terrific pain.

“How did this happen?” He held out his accusing, bloodied fingers. “How?”