CYOA3 – Farmer's Delight – Chapter 11: Payback - Part 2

Previously: Farmer arrived at his destination – Clint's Smithee – where he got pulled in and immediately enjoyed like the present he is. This is the continuation of that.

Content this chapter: Peeps. Somehow it happened again and I don't know why I become unhinged during this specific CYOA, but here we are.

Like... it is not WILD wild, but it features imp4ct pl4y and if the last flag showed me anything, then that the bot they are using is a huge weenie.

So please bear with me as I take a good chunk of this chapter out and leave you with the 'safe' bits.

IF YOU WANT TO GET YOUR HANDS ON THE ORIGINAL, UNABRIDGED VERSION – please either DM me or make your way over to the discord!

I'm super sorry, I'll be more conscious in the future.

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Rasmodius leans across his cauldron. He grunts when the dark purple plumes become too thick to see and hear anything, waving them away impatiently so he may once again see the surface of the brew.

The fire is hot enough underneath the cauldron to make him sweat; and certainly enough to make the liquid boil – but it is smooth as a mirror, allowing him a few of the happenings just on the other edge of the town.

He watches as Farmer twists from his back up onto all fours. He has lost all inhibition; all sense of shame. Rasmodius’ concoction has done wonders, that much is obvious as he watches the other lean down without hesitation and begin licking Heisenberg’s boots.

Rasmodius exhales with a soft gasp. He is clutching the fat lip of the huge cauldron in a white knuckled grip. The metal is specially forged and just mildly warm despite the roaring fire underneath.

It has been quite some time since he’s witnessed such debauchery. It has been quite some time since he actively searched it out. Since, he supposes, his ex-wife and he have… broken things off.

He had not thought that the issue still was percolating around his head but he supposes his insistence on changing Farmer’s body in this peculiar way is somewhat damning in and off itself.

He’s been in need of pussy – so he forged himself one. A very delicious one at that if he could just be a bit smug about it.

Rasmodius moves his fingers delicately against the mirror smooth surface of the liquid and the view shifts; letting him see Farmer’s ass lifted up high and needy into the air, waiting for someone, anyone, to have pity on him. None of the men are particularly inclined to charitable acts, however, which gifts Rasmodius an unobstructed view of the farmer’s new cunt. The lips are flushed and a little swollen, his hole gaping the smallest bit from the crude fucking he received moments earlier.

Rasmodius has been able to tell that it was nowhere near enough to satiate the burning desire in Farmer’s guts. It’s been a jerky, perfunctory ride more than anything and he’s been waiting for Farmer to lose patience and throw Clint on his back so he may take what he needs by force.

He’s surprised at the restraint the other has shown so far; though watching him clutch at Heisenberg’s ankle and whimper at the privilege to lap the soles of his boots, he idly thinks that that patience has run impossibly thin.

“Whore. You think you can just get what you need by being a sloppy little cunt? Huh? You think your pussy got any worth for me when I know you’d take cock from the next best asshole you come across? Hmn. Should try to fuck you with a chair leg or some shit. See how deep we can go before you start howling like the bitch you are.”

[...]

Farmer moves his mouth, working it around words that are not coming out, and watches as Heisenberg moves their toy over to the bed. The way he slams him down on the mattress, baring down on him with his palm against his throat. Clint doesn’t think he’s moved there for comfort. More like he needs him to be a bit higher up for the treatment he’s got planned for him.

An uncomfortable tickling sensation at the back of his neck has him moving forward. He feels like he needs to be close by to keep an eye on the proceedings and make sure that Karl isn’t losing the grip on whatever dark desires that are there, lurking close underneath the surface.

Karl throws him a little glance. He is having his customary smarmy grin plastered on but it looks like a mask and nothing else. His gaze is mostly vacant; like he acknowledges Clint’s presence but can’t even remember who he is at the moment.

Clint shudders. He rubs his palms against his thighs. Karl’s attention slides off of him without a hitch. He stares back at Farmer who is wheezing and squirming and still not trying to claw Heisenberg’s hand off his throat.

They both feel and act like animals in that moment. Karl’s cock has a wicked upward curve that has it all but snuggled straight against his stomach. It looks impossibly swollen. Clint doesn’t think he’s ever seen him so aroused. So in need.

Karl grabs one of Farmer’s knees and pushes it far to the side, opening him up wide. His swollen pussy opens just like that; the lips of his ripe peach stretching open and showing his desperately clenching hole.

Karl briefly lets go of Farmer’s knee and grabs his own cock, pushing it down and letting it nose up against that desperate opening. The second it has caught and there’s no immediate risk of him slipping away again, he grabs Farmer’s knee once more, even though it has not budged for a second.

Like he is afraid the other might try and close himself off at the last second. As if Farmer isn’t literally drooling with the need to get filled right now. As if he isn’t wheezing, clutching at Clint’s bedding, trying to somehow curl his hips up and spear himself on cock before Karl has a chance to give it to him-

Karl thrusts forward. Clint’s mouth goes dry. He’s not gay; at least not in the ‘I want someone up my ass’ kind of way, but the sight of Karl thrusting deep and powerful into Farmer and the sound Farmer makes in response is making him all but squirm on the spot.

Farmer’s eyes are huge but his back is arching and his head thrust back against the bed like he is pressing his throat into Karl’s palm as he tries to wrap his head around the feeling of a cock thrusting nice and deep to his very core.

Karl is not saying anything for once, but he is not quiet. He is growling low and entirely too animalistic than should be possible. He’s baring his teeth and not for the first time Clint wonders about those large canines of his. He doesn’t think he used to have them back when they’ve been orphans.

His dark, round glasses have slipped down enough to show off his yellow eyes boring into Farmer. He looks once more like he wants to do bodily harm to the other but instead of raising his fists, he starts to fuck him like Farmer did something to insult him, personally.

His hips snap harshly, hips slamming loud between Farmer’s legs, making the muscles in his thighs jump visibly and his mouth open up in a mindless ‘O’ of delight.

Karl fucks him like it’s a punishment and after a handful of those harsh thrusts, deep dicking Farmer like he wants to fuck right through his belly, Farmer suddenly does make a sound: a wailing kind of hiccup as his arms snap up, not to claw the hand off his throat but to wrap them around Karl’s shoulders as if hugging a lover.

Like they’re making sweet love instead of Karl trying his hardest to hit gold cock first, gnashing his teeth in Farmer’s face and digging his nails into his skin until Clint can see thin rivulets of blood making their way lazily across Farmer’s skin.

Clint feels like he’s lost the plot somewhere. Somewhere in-between Farmer being dragged in by the scruff like a wet cat, practically begging for cock and Heisenberg grunt fucking him like he wants to make sure he can pump his cum right into Farmer’s womb and force him into carrying his kids.

Neither of them give a shit about Clint’s hesitation, though, that much is certain. Karl still has his hand around Farmer’s throat like he wants to make sure the heavy rings he is wearing are pressing into the others’ skin like a tattoo, and his other hand is now sliding down from a knee, curling around an ankle and pulling his leg even further out and up; forcing him to spread wider.

Farmer gurgles. His eyes are wide, a flush creeping up from his chest and lips shiny with spit. He is clawing at Karl’s shoulders, his hips jerking uselessly as the rest of his autonomy has been taken by this new move.

He is once again helpless, and Clint realizes his hand is creeping beneath his belly and toward his cock. He curls his fingers around himself, slowly tugging as he listens to the low grunt of his friend and the wet squelch his cock produces in the wild pussy they’ve somehow acquired for the night.

As Clint jerks himself off slowly, playing with his foreskin, squeezing his glans between his fingers and feeling the heat returning to his abdomen, he fondles his chest. The fabric of his undershirt is scratching across his nipples and tickles his chest hairs. He cups his soft pec and squeezes it, eyes fixed on how swollen Farmer’s clit is getting and how his voice is starting to get so high-pitched in his desperation that he sounds downright feminine.

Clint licks his lips. Fuck. Yeah. That’s the ticket.

.o.

Rasmodius can watch in real time as Clint starts to crumble. He could extend some effort into trying to peer into the other’s head, he supposes; see what really makes him tick – but it does not need a genius (and certainly not one of his magnitude) to figure out that seeing Farmer absolutely losing it on Heisenberg’s cock is doing things to the man.

Things that have him forget all about his qualms about getting too rough with the good farmer; or how he’s been on edge ever since Heisenberg showed a modicum of his more volatile dark side.

Not that the two currently fucking are paying attention to any of that. Rasmodius shifts his attention to them. His hands are no longer clenched in claws around the lip of the cauldron. He more so drums them there nice and relaxed as he he watches Heisenberg’s hips pump and his cock look swollen and wet whenever it drags out of the desperate clutch of Farmer’s pussy.

The sounds Farmer is making are hitting him right into the core and crawl through his spinal cord like electric shocks. They’re high-pitched and cracking at every turn, his toes curling desperately in the air and his nails digging hard enough to draw blood as he gets rammed thoughtlessly into the bed.

It’s a small mercy that Heisenberg decided to mount him on something moderately soft, though Rasmodius does not suppose Farmer is in a right mind to appreciate the foresight. His back certainly will come morning.

He admires the jump of muscles in Farmer’s thighs and the tension visibly in his stomach, making him wonder just how close Heisenberg is to making his cock visible through the other’s abdomen – when Heisenberg pulls out and rearranges the farmer to his liking.

He ends up on all fours, lifting his ass up in the air, looking delirious on lust and with clear slick slowly dripping down to the bedding.

Heisenberg slides back into his pussy from behind and he does it so slowly, so luxuriously that Rasmodius feels like the worst of his agitated aggression has finally passed to leave him in a mind to at least enjoy the boon he has been given.

.o.

Farmer’s walls are clenching like a vice around him. He’s so impossibly tight that a part of Heisenberg can’t help but wonder whether it stems from his pussy basically being virginal or him so wound up from lust and the roughing up that he’s instinctively trying to keep Heisenberg deep inside him. Not let him go back out.

Not give him a chance to leave him high and dry yet again.

Heisenberg inhales the warm air smelling of sex and exhales more of his sudden, earlier frustrations. He’s been overwhelmed with blood lust for a moment but it is dissipating steadily, leaving him almost shaking in the aftermath as he slowly fucks Farmer.

He leans over him, one hand on the back of his head, pushing it into the mattress; hips pumping slowly, sending skittering waves of pleasure through his abdomen. He can feel how he’s basically hitting gold with every loose-hipped thrust even without needing to hear Farmer’s gurgled, pleading whimpers.

When he pulls out slowly, watching his cock emerging red and dripping wet, he can see how Farmer’s hole clenches down tight around him. The velvety little orifice gets pulled outward just a little, clinging like wet silk, then almost giving up when only his glans remains inside. He rocks his hips a little, merely to give Farmer something to hope for just seconds before pulling out completely and watching the gape and the drip of creamy liquid sliding out of him.

Farmer groans, hips wriggling but ultimately pinned to his position by the mean hand on the back of his head.

Karl bares his teeth and growls. He usually thinks of himself as better adjusted and able to keep his more animalistic side in check, but something about Farmer is bringing out the worst in him. The part that makes him want to bite and mark and breed so deep that Farmer can feel him knocking up against his damn womb.

If he even got one in there. Heisenberg isn’t all too sure about the lengths Rasmodius is willing to go in order to get what he wants.

His insides have been fucked into a froth, as evidenced by the thick creamy slick slowly sliding from his hole up to his swollen clit. Karl stays close, letting him feel the heat radiating off of his body, then slaps his cock against his asshole a few times; plays at trying to stuff it in there just to hear the wheezing whine the action punches out of the other.

He’s got half a mind to make it a reality; to completely ignore his pussy and just cram his way into his tight little ass; but he loses interest in it quickly as his cock starts to cool and he is reminded of just how insanely warm Farmer’s tight little cunt had been.

So he slides back in. No. He rams back in. Without warning; without hesitation. He snap of his hips and he is buried deep, listening to Farmer shouting out with a full voice for the first time; no simpering, no whining, no broken little sobbing. A loud cry that borders on painful as his insides are wrenched open by a fat cock and then immediately clench down on him.

Karl leans over, puts his weight on the grip he has on Farmer’s head, pushing him into the mattress until he himself isn’t sure the other can breathe anymore, and starts to fuck.

It’s inelegant and he should probably be dirty talking him and telling him what a useless whore he is; what a dipshit cunt that needs to go to the doors of upstanding citizens – hah – offering up his pussy for some cock because he can’t get any any other way.

But he can’t make himself talk. He can’t make himself do anything other than fuck into Farmer’s stomach with single-minded intent, brows furrowed, eyes practically glowing as he tries not to transform into some half-man, half-wolf beast. Clint is willing to put up with a lot of shit; but Karl doesn’t think watching his old friend transform into some nightmare creature was part of that particular brand of shit.

It’s alright, though; because Farmer stays nice and put for his breeding. He does not try to squirm his way out from beneath him or fight off the cock spreading him open impossibly wide and rearranging his insides in a way he sees fit. That’s good. That’s stellar. Because if fighting were to be put into the equation, Karl isn’t certain he’d be able to keep himself in check any longer.

He bares his teeth, watches as Farmer’s arms flail helplessly, feels him clenching around his cock in a weak ‘last pathetic hug’ kind of way, and finally comes, grinding in deep, tongue lolling out and mouth pulled into a wide, manic grin.

He is aware of Farmer following suit; howling again, his asshole flexing as tremors wreck his body and his pussy is attempting to squeeze the life out of him… but that’s only a nice addition. Isn’t like he’s been wanting to do that. But it’s nice either way.

“Yeah, fuck…” he groans, head falling back as he moves his hips slowly, letting his cock smear through the mess he’s left in him and feeling the weak, spasmic clenches around him. “Really needed that. Damn.”

Farmer is just hanging in there. The way his back is arced down in a slump and his head barely moves when Heisenberg finally takes his hand off of him, the only thing still keeping his hips up is the cock idly playing with the mess it made inside him.

And for some reason that is the sight that finally gets Clint get a move on. He’s found his fucking balls somewhere in a dusty corner or some shit and knocks his shoulder into Heisenberg hard enough to dislodge him and get him to stumble a couple steps to the side.

He growls, immediately vexed by the audacity, but Clint ignores him. He’s got one hand on Farmer’s hip and the other on his cock, shuffling forward until his shins hit the side of the bed and he needs to put one knee on the mattress to get close enough. To really get in there.

Heisenberg doesn’t think he’s ever seen such an intensity on the other’s face, though granted he doesn’t make it a habit to watch his friends fuck bitches.

Clint’s brow furrows in concentration as he drags the fat glans of his cock through the mess dripping in thick, slow rivulets out of Farmer’s helplessly clenching hole.

He thrusts in and Farmer grunts. He finally moves a little, dragging his face out of the bedding and just staring at the wall ahead without really seeing anything. His cheeks are still red, eyes still glassy looking from the orgasm rocking through his system earlier.

“Fuck, he’s pulling me right in,” Clint grunts. He can let go of his cock now and is grabbing Farmer’s hips with both hands as if he were bucking and howling and trying to throw him off instead of just kneeling there like a good boy and coasting on the feeling of having another cock spread his swollen, hot walls open wide.

As if he needs to tame a wild horse and not enjoy the labors of his friend after he broke that particular stallion down good and proper.

“So fucking warm… holy shit,” he grits out, brows furrowing harder, teeth  digging into his bottom lip. His thick fingertips are pressing into Farmer’s hips, putting dimples into his skin as he can’t seem to make up his mind whether he wants to pull him onto his dick or keep him still to fuck him.

In the end he kind of does both and Farmer is just helplessly rocking back-and-forth, his body still going through the last, warm spasms of an orgasm and building slowly up to another lazy one. He’s just hanging on for the ride, staring ahead, groaning into the rumpled bedding and occasionally trying to put some effort in like lifting his ass or shifting his legs into a better position – until they inevitably slide right back into their earlier graceless splay.

.o.

He’s getting bred. He’s getting bred, he’s getting bred, he’s getting bred and he wants to thank them for it but his tongue is still not quite working the way it should be and his head is only filled with the thought of cocks and how wonderful they feel ramming deep into his belly and spreading his swollen walls apart around them.

Heisenberg has already left his stomach warm and sticky with his load and it only serves to make the slide in for Clint that much easier. That much more gooey and hot and gratifyingly smooth as he rams himself in as deep as he can. He’s wider in girth than Heisenberg had been, giving him just enough of a stretch to not make him fall asleep as he’s getting fucked in jerky, deep thrusts.

That’s okay. That’s more than okay. Heisenberg had reached so deep, he’s occasionally knocked up against something new inside Farmer; something that had sent a jolt of pain through his limbs and made him hyper aware of the dicking every time his mind started to get too cloudy and wanted to wander away.

With Clint it’s gentler but no less deliciously orgasmic. The feeling crawls down his legs, tickles in his toes and makes him flex them until a cramp creeps up his calves and his insides become molten hot.

He clenches harder around Clint and makes Clint sound like an old, fucked-up engine. He sounds like he is about to hyperventilate as he leans deeper over Farmer’s back, pressing down on him with his stomach and forcing his cock just that little bit deeper inside.

Farmer can feel the mess dripping down the gash of his pussy and the quivering muscles of his inner thighs; how the cum Heisenberg had so generously pumped into him earlier has now been fucked into a froth and is just dripping out of him creamy and silky soft and making him want to curl up like the dog he has become to lap it up from between his legs.

He’s stretching his arms out in front of him, pushing up against the wall so he wouldn’t keep sliding across the bed like a doll, and starts to rock back into Clint. His body is slowly but surely becoming his own again, his mind coming back from hiding deep within himself, and all he can think about still are cocks, cocks, cocks; big, warm cocks reaching so deep and filling him so nicely – and why aren’t all his holes filled with them right now, anyway?

He wants to complain but Clint shifts a little and his balls are dragging against the apex of Farmer’s cunt, nudging his clit and sending an electric little sizzle right up deep into his stomach that has the thought fly right back out of his head.

It’s okay. He’ll gladly take whatever these two want to give him. He’ll say please and thank you, and lick their balls clean from the juices that have slipped down to them, and if they want to, he’ll lick their asses too just as a bonus service because he feels like he’s about to be fucked into a warm, needy puddle and isn’t that just so nice?

His whole body aches. A bone deep pain radiating from his belly and his cheeks and it feels like his whole brain is overheating from how nicely they have treated him. Fucking them with their big, beautiful cocks and slapping him around a little to show him his place.

Which is at their feet. Offering up his holes. Servicing their manly needs.

It’s that thought that gets him to orgasm yet again, pussy clenching tight around Clint’s cock to the point of yet another delicious ache crawling deep into his stomach and settling somewhere in the vicinity of his womb.

Clint sounds like he is choking on his own tongue. His cock twitches, throbs, then starts to add his mess to the one Heisenberg left inside Farmer moments ago.

A part of his brain is kickstarted by it; wondering if he should ask his question now; try and force Clint to decide for the Community Center; but his tongue is too heavy to move and he’s just coasting and…

Farmer turns his head as he feels like he hears a tiny little plinking sound; like something hitting glass. He can barely focus his eyes enough to see but there in the window behind Heisenberg stands one of those little creatures: a Junimo.

It is bouncing there, knocking its tiny fists into the glass and once it has Farmer’s attention, it waves them around and bounces even harder – before vanishing in a glittering poof of nothingness.

Farmer blinks slowly. Clint pulls out and inspects his work, grunting with satisfaction at the new mess slipping out of Farmer’s swollen, red cunt.

Farmer slowly drifts off to a satisfied sleep.