FISTING BOOTCAMP This farmers property borders the sprawling and mysterious Fisting Training facility. The plebes are kept constantly high and spun by the Drill Instructors. The fisting training sessions start late afternoon till late at night. The farmer has heard some strange howling at night and occasionally he sees a bonfire in the distance. He will, sometimes, pull out his big cock and jack off while he listens. He suspects what’s goin on over there. After morning showers the plebes are resting in their barracks. But restless is more like it. Occasionally, a tweaked up desperate plebe will sneak out of the barracks. Stumbling around naked this plebe find itself on the farmer’s property. The farmer has had encounters with wayward plebes before. This plebe sees the farmer, immediately leans against his hay bales and spreads its legs. As the farmer hurries over the plebe takes a big popper hit, reaches back and spreads its ass. The farmer knows just what it needs. He always carries a bottle of lube and a towel with him so he can fist the desperate horny plebes he encounters. Seems that they are all very anxious to have something, anything slid up their ass. As the farmer greases up his hand he tells the plebe, Easy there lad. I’m gonna take care of that hole for ya. Just take another hit and spread yer ass for me. The plebe mumbles incoherently as he complies. The hole is well stretched from last night’s training so the farmers arm slides up easily. The plebe squirms about on the end of the farmer arm whimpering. Soon the farmer is punching the hole. He put his other hand over the plebe’s mouth to keep it quiet as he punches. It takes another hit then slides off the hay bale and onto the ground ass up. Its hole still getting punched as the farmers arm follows it down. It’s face buried in the leaves mumbling, begging. After a couple of hours exploring the plebes guts the farmer needs to get back to work. He pulls out his fat cock and fucks the well fisted hole. He is soon over the edge and growls as he plants a big pile of sperm nice and deep. As he’s wiping off his arm, he chuckles as the plebe , bow legged, waddles away, it’s dripping gape leaving a trail. The farmer gets back to work with a smile.
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