CYOA3 – Farmer's Delight – Chapter 10: Payback - Part 1

Previously: Farmer had a little heart-to-heart with Rasmodius, settling some of the nerves he didn't even realize he had as well as trying to figure out a way to deal with Clint and his manipulative friend in the Valley...

Content this chapter: Farmer being very horny and animalistic due to the changes the wizard temporarily made to his body and mind. Heisenberg catches on quickly. Clint not so much but he is very enthusiastic either way.

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Farmer doesn’t think of himself as a mindless follower but he doesn’t think much at all in the current state that he is in. All that prevails is a warm and delicious feeling of being good once he creeps up from the edges of the beach and sees the smithee tucked away behind the museum.

Just like the last time he’s been here, there are lights on inside, but the memory of the last time is oddly vague; like it does not really belong to him anymore.

His new cunt pulses obediently as flashes of want creep through him, reminding him that no matter how bad his memory at the moment is, last time he’s been here he got a nice and thorough dicking.

He wants that again. He needs that again.

Rasmodius has been frustratingly stingy with his affections; not bothering to touch Farmer’s drooling, needy hole despite Farmer having been so good and having stayed so still when the wizard started painting his face with hot, sticky stripes of cum.

He’s kept his mouth nice and wide open, allowing the other to at least get his tongue messy as well, but here, too, Rasmodius had only given him a tiny little taste of what he really wanted. What he really needed.

Farmer makes a soft sound; it’s long and winding and utterly heartbroken for cock. Just an animal whimpering for the attention of its master. The subsequent humiliation he feels does not get categorized as such and only further feeds into that mindless want he feels.

His shorts don’t offer any kind of friction against his needy gash. It’s just drooling and throbbing and driving him insane with need. He just needs to be filled. Front to end and preferably until it hurts. He needs to be filled until his belly aches with how much cock he’s getting and Rasmodius told him in no uncertain terms where he could get that: the place right in front of him.

Farmer groans softly. He arches his back, pressing his ass up against nothing at all in the vague hope that he might get some sensation against his aching cunt after all. All he gets is the fabric plastering itself to his slippery little plum and getting stuck there as it soaks itself with his juices.

Farmer’s tongue is lolling out of his mouth. He’s drooling. He stares down at the ground and at the puddle slowly forming there. It’s dark and nobody is around this corner of the town. Rasmodius has been so very very clear in Farmer not making any detours and he’s glad that none of the villagers accidentally stumbled across the path he’s taken on all fours like the animal that he is quickly devolving into.

He does not think he would have resisted the temptation of getting just a little fix before offering his sweet little pussy up to the two men inside the smithee. He doesn’t think that they would have minded the mess either way but it is good that nobody crossed his paths anyway. He wants to be good for the wizard, after all.

And that he is. Good. A good boy for the wizard, and a good boy for the two men in just a moment. Farmer groans softly as he finally sets himself back into motion and crawls his way over to the door. He sits there, listening to the deep voices murmuring at each other indistinctly and wondering if he should bark.

Or meow. Or whatever the fuck sound could still come out of his throat because words sure as Hell were beyond him at this point and he did not really feel coordinated enough to lift his hand and knock.

That felt like way too much of a human thing to do and humanity in this moment, eluded him completely.

He’s saved by serendipity. He thinks. He’s not so sure? The men talking abruptly stop. He hears the scrape of a chair and heavy steps slowly approaching the door. Someone speaks up, closer to where he’s at so he can hear the confused words: “What are you doin’, Karl?”

“...can’t you smell that?”

“Smell?”

The steps halt right on the other side of the door. Farmer’s cunt pulsates. He is sad that there is no cock he can grab and fuck into but when he thrusts a hand between his legs he realizes that he can grind his new clit against its heel, the sensation sparking through his body and exploding warm and overwhelming right behind his eyeballs.

The door is opened and the warm air from inside brushes against his face, alongside the intense scent of the men. Both warm and mouth watering but completely different in their entirety.

Heisenberg is standing right in front of him and he smells like Farmer. Like an animal. A rough groan rips right out of Farmer’s throat. He lists forward without chancing a look up the other to see his expression. He doesn’t need a face right now; he needs a cock. And Heisenberg’s is right the fuck there.

He nuzzles against him. Against his cock. Warm and big behind the rough fabric of his pants. And twitching with immediate interest as Farmer starts to messily mouth at him, trying to suck him through his damn clothes.

“Wait… what’s that? Who is… Farmer…?”

Clint’s voice sounds much closer now. Maybe he is standing right behind Heisenberg and trying to peer around the bulk of his friend to better see what was going on.

Heisenberg’s large, heavy hand drops to the top of Farmer’s head, thick fingers winding through the strands of hair as if having him here, now, was the most natural thing. Like it was the logical conclusion to some events unfolding before that.

“Clint, we got a little present tonight. Why don’t you make sure the blinds on the windows are closed? I don’t think I’d like to share this one.”

.o.

They let him inside. While Clint is busy doing what Heisenberg told him to do, Karl is busy grabbing at Farmer with his large, rough hands and starting on undoing his overalls. Farmer tries to help but his hands are uncoordinated like paws and he gets into the way enough that Heisenberg eventually snarls at him and slaps his hands away.

“Stay still,” the other growls. His small dark glasses have slid down his nose just far enough that sulfuric yellow eyes stare straight at Farmer, pinning him down like a butterfly.

His heart skips a beat, then starts to pound even faster, the throb mimicked in his desperately needy cunt. His mouth falls open. He rolls his hips into nothing, a pathetic sound of want rolling from his throat. He’s aghast, in a detached kind of way. He’d never display himself like this – but Heisenberg visibly enjoys it, his mouth stretching into an easy grin and his large hands resuming their methodical motions on Farmer’s clothes.

“Had a run in with that old coot, did you? Shit, maybe I need to go and thank him or some shit. Mmmhh aren’t you the prettiest little thing right now? You smell like you’re in fucking heat.”

Farmer’s mouth drops open wider. His tongue is pressed against his bottom lip and he can feel a slip of drool starting to run down his chin but for the life of him he can’t drag himself together enough to stop acting like the dumbest bimbo hungry for cock.

Clint finally comes back into the main room. He’s rubbing his hands together but his eyes are not quite landing on Farmer as he glances around the front room. He looks shifty in a way; as if he did something bad.

He’s also still wearing his heavy apron and it stretches in a way across his swollen stomach that has Farmer wheezing with want.

At the sound, Clint’s gaze drops finally square on Farmer. His mouth works where it is mostly hidden inside his beard. There’s already a flush starting to light up his cheeks. He stays just a couple steps out of reach and watches as Heisenberg impatiently opens the fastenings of Farmer’s boots and pulls them off so he can finally peel his overalls down and away.

Left only wearing a shirt that is plastered to his sweaty torso and shorts that are equally plastered to his swollen, wet cunt, Farmer groans and drops onto one shoulder. He thrusts his hand between his thighs and cups his pussy through the fabric. He’s not sure what to do about that gnawing need. He tries to rut his hips and rub off against the edge of his palm but he’s too uncoordinated to manage more than a few humps.

The feeling of nudging against his swollen clit rushes through his body and takes the breath right out of his lungs. He’s left gaping and with a rush in his ears that half drowns out Clint’s confused question: “...happening?”

“I do have my theories,” Heisenberg’s oddly cultivated drawl replies. His large hand comes to touch the small of Farmer’s back, slowly rucking up his shirt until he can touch his skin with warm, calloused fingertips. “I think someone is trying to… force my hand, so to speak.” He clicks his tongue. “Don’t like that very much, I gotta say.”

Clint grunts. When Farmer glances up at him, tongue lolling and panting, his face is pulled into that customary scowl of his. He’s crossing his arms in front of his chest and doesn’t say anything. He looks mulish and annoyed, probably because he still doesn’t understand and Heisenberg makes a piss poor job of explaining.

Or rather, he does not put in any effort in explaining anything. Farmer makes a soft sound; it’s the only thing he can manage right about now with his head being mush and his tongue being unresponsive.

Two sets of eyes flick down to him, studying him thoughtfully. Clint waves one hand at him.

“What’s… that? Like what is he doing?”

He takes a step closer and Farmer is all for that because that brings his dick closer as well.

“I think our friend here doesn’t have much of a brain right now. Just an… animal for us to amuse ourselves with,” Heisenberg drawls. Clint’s eyes flicker from Farmer’s lax, needy expression up to Karl’s face.

Karl clicks his tongue again and waves him closer. Farmer starts to squirm but the hand on the small of his back presses down harder, forcing him to settle down. As Clint starts to move around to see what Heisenberg wanted to show him – all with a very put-upon expression because Farmer hasn’t seen the blacksmith smiling and content once since getting into the Valley – Farmer is getting rearranged a little by pressure against his shoulder blades, forcing his torso down and keeping his hips still up nice and high in a presenting position.

“Here. Look at this, Clint. Isn’t she a beaut?”

The hand on the small of Farmer’s back moves, thick fingers curling into the backs of his boxers and slowly pulling his shorts down. The fabric keeps sticking to his pussy for the longest time and when it finally peels down, he’s not the only one groaning long and drawn-out like he’s been fucked for hours on end already.

One of the others did too but he can’t really wrap his head around trying to figure out which one it was.

It’s quiet for a handful of seconds before he hears the rustling of clothes and then Clint’s voice again much closer than before. He must have gone into a squat behind Farmer to see up close.

“What… Wait… what?”

Blunt fingertips touch Farmer’s soaking, hot folds and his eyes roll up into his skull. He struggles to spread his knees further, lift his hips up higher, offer himself up more fully as he feels those thick, calloused fingers slowly dragging through his gash.

They move slowly, without real destination; just letting him feel how the rough skin catches against his silky folds and driving him absolutely insane in the process. They stop just at the edge of his new hole, rounding it but not dipping inside and that’s… that’s the saddest fucking thing that ever happened to him.

It’s so sad, so monumental, that he instantly feels tears threatening at the corners of his eyes, his mouth trembling, his stomach opening up to a pit of despair because he’s wet and sensitive and why is nobody filling him up and fucking him deep and pumping his womb full of hot, gooey cum so he can work it over into a whole litter of pups-

“Pretty sure that wasn’t there last time,” Clint’s deep voice mumbles through the desperate fog permeating Farmer’s head.

“No shit,” Heisenberg’s amused drawl answers. “Aren’t you just a fountain of insight tonight, old friend. No. It hasn’t been. But it’s now. So what are we going to do about it?”

Yeah. Yeah. What are you going to do about it? Farmer whines. He has opinions. He has desires. And if he doesn’t get a cock in his poor cunt within the next couple of minutes he might just try and crawl up the walls like some damn demon.

“Feel like I’m missing something major here. But alright. I’m game.” Clint’s voice sounds different than it usually does. It’s also probably the most words strung together that Farmer has heard him ever utter before. “I don’t mind some nice pussy. Actually been really craving some.”

There’s a dull thud – presumably a palm hitting a back in encouragement – and then Heisenberg laughing like the obnoxious asshole he is. “That’s the spirit, buddy! There you go! Why don’t you give our friend the Farmer a bit of a reprieve so he doesn’t combust on us and then we’ll see what fun little things we can do with him?”

“Hmmm.” Clint hums thoughtfully. It almost sounds like he’d deny Farmer just to be an asshole, but before Farmer can start begging and debasing himself further, the finger that has been circling the edge of his hole in a hypnotic, never-ending spiral, suddenly dips in and slides in nice and deep.

He’s probably being too easy for them. He’s probably doing a real number on what other people with pussies have fought for for years; but he can’t really wrap his head around any of it when he yowls like a cat in heat and bounces his hips and fucks himself desperately on that thick digit as if it were the best thing since sliced bread because right fucking now?

It is. It absolutely is.

.o.

They peel him out of his clothes, which is a real ordeal – according to Clint who is red faced and sweating – because Farmer can’t quite manage to wrap his head around the concept of staying nice and still for it.

Not when he can smell their cocks; the warm, thick scent of their arousal trapped behind far too many layers of clothes. He really wants to push his face in there and snuggle with their erections and maybe get them to grunt fuck his throat because who needs to breathe when they can get filled to the brim with cock.

Filled until it hurts.

There are just little moments of clarity in which Farmer manages to feel at least a small modicum of shock at his own behavior, but whenever they rear their head and he blinks and pauses and looks just a little too sentient, Heisenberg will suddenly do something and it will pull Farmer right under once more.

Like wrapping his big hand around both his nose and mouth and suffocating him just long enough that his eyes start rolling up into his skull and a few dribbles of piss roll down the insides of his thighs.

Or thrusting his thick fingers into Farmer’s mouth, rubbing across his tongue and playing with it until he is liberally drooling while a warm cock is thrust against his back right between his shoulder blades, the weeping tip occasionally touching the vulnerable nape of his neck…

Eventually they’re all naked. Not completely, but enough where it counts. Clint for some reason refuses to take off his shirt for now which is a damn shame in Farmer’s book, but he ignores it in favor for the blacksmith’s cock.

He opens up nice and wide in preparation for it, then sees Heisenberg fisting his own dick from the corner of his eyes and immediately sways around like a flower following the sun, mouth still open and tongue still extended like a red carpet invitation.

“...Hey!” Clint grunts once he realizes what is happening. He tries to grab for Farmer but he’s still not too sure about the strength he can use with him, so his fingers just uselessly slide off the farmer’s shoulder as he tilts toward the other man and laps at his glans.

In an odd mirror movement, Heisenberg carefully holds his shaft, his big hand hiding most of it as he offers just the tip toward their near feral companion. Does he know Rasmodius has done this very thing to Farmer just an hour or two ago? Does he want to drive him insane?

The taste of his cock is intense and warm and crawls right through Farmer until he can’t help the lilting, pathetic whine snaking its way out of his throat.

Heisenberg laughs at him; because of course he does. When Farmer peers up, he can see how sharp his canines are. Sharp and big and the sight of his yellow eyes is suddenly sending a fissure of fear and intrigue through the other man. His cunt is pulsing, slowly dripping wet with mindless excitement.

“Hmpf. The Hell do you got that I don’t?” Clint growls. He sounds petulant and downright pouty, leaning with his hip against the small wooden table that they had all been sitting at the other night, fingers curled around his own cock to stroke himself slowly while watching the other two.

Heisenberg’s leering smile slowly slides upwards, taking in his friend’s slouched posture and moody expression. He shrugs one shoulder, a heavy hand falling down on Farmer’s head, fingers curling to grip his hair and forcibly pull him back until he can no longer reach the other’s cock. A desperate whine slips from Farmer.

“It’s just natural charme,” Heisenberg drawls, one corner of his mouth pulled up in a crooked grin. Clint’s expression becomes even darker but before he can grunt more petulant complaints, the other continues with an air of magnanimity: “Just don’t be a sad sack of shit, Clint. Damn. What cunt likes to get dicked down by a broody asshole obsessing over why he isn’t getting pussy?”

Farmer isn’t really following the conversation along, his head just feeling swollen and filled with the thought of cock. Still, he tries to peer back to see what the hangup is and why he isn’t getting his brand new pussy stretched nice and aching on dick. He catches a small glimpse of Clint looking mulish and thoughtful all in one before Heisenberg grabs his head with both hands, pulls him around and thrusts down his throat in one buttery smooth motion that has Farmer’s eyes rolling into his head and his hips jerking instinctively; chasing a filling that he still. Isn’t. Having.

Things thankfully move along, then. Whatever Heisenberg said, Clint seems to take it on the chin, surprisingly enough.

“You know what… fuck it… you’re prolly right. Fuck! Don’t say anything.”

Farmer whimpers. Or he tries to; it is more a wet gurgle, his eyes squinting almost closed as he stares up at Heisenberg, desperate for air, desperate for cock, desperate just for more. For someone to fuck him into oblivion. For someone to fuck him so good and dirty that the gaping pit that has opened up in his stomach is finally filled and warm and sated.

For someone to just… to just… His hands claw at the ground in lieu of grabbing at one of his studs and ripping them open into a bloody mess. He can feel that intense need to get fucked tickling his brain more and more until it becomes kind of  violent. Kind of like if he’s not gonna get a cock inside him in the next five seconds he is going to hurt someone and it will be not sexy for them, but he definitely will sit on their dick while they are on the floor bloody and writhing and-

Clint grabs him by the hip and thrusts two thick fingers into his pussy without preamble. Farmer’s eyes grow wide. He stares up in mute wonder at Heisenberg who grins down on him, his large canines glistening wet in the warm firelight of the room.

“Still don’t get how this works,” Clint grunts, “But this thing feels so damn real. It’s… It’s great!” he sounds so wondrous it would be very amusing if Farmer wasn’t busy trying to fuck himself on those wondrously fat fingers. He could almost swear that he’s feeling the callouses rubbing up against his silky soft walls.

There’s a loud whining noise filling his head. It takes him so long to realize that it is himself, just whistling like a damn kettle as he clenches down on Clint’s fingers and tries to pull them deeper inside his body.

Heisenberg watches them for a moment. Farmer is glancing up, zeroing in on the sight of his cock hanging out of his open fly; fat and swollen and so heavy it droops under its own weight. Farmer wonders if it would feel like an arm ramming up his pussy. He wonders how much bigger he would feel than the wizard. He suddenly has trouble comparing the two.

It’s like he’s just seeing a cock and getting obsessed over it, but when he tries to stem up on his arms and get closer to it, Heisenberg moves away.

He wanders over to the other side of the room, leaving Clint to slowly, carefully fit a third finger into Farmer’s cunt and completely derailing his thoughts of what he thought he could take.

His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. He works his jaw, a strangled little squeaking sound crawling its way right out of his chest.

His abdomen feels… swollen. Like it does when he takes a really big object up his ass. He hasn’t done it often but he knows his viewers like that a lot and they go really wild for the occasional belly bulges he can offer them.

It feels weird that he should get the same feeling from just a few fingers, but here he is, his hips lifting higher into the air and his knees starting to angle out; just instinctively looking for a way to alleviate the pressure creeping through his body and making him feel full and warm and like he needs to drool into the floor.

Clint fucks him nice and slow, fingers sliding in deep and rubbing against the silky, hot walls of his pussy before slowly dragging out again. Farmer feels an uneasy swoop in his chest whenever it feels like he’s going to take them out completely. Like his whole world will crash if he’s not filled with something again.

Clint does twist his wrist at some point and press his big, warm thumb against Farmer’s swollen, desperate clit, and that is so good and so perfect that he comes for him on the spot. He’s wailing through his teeth, his back contorting as he both tries to stay put and also scrabble away from the intense feeling of an orgasm taking hold of his belly and squeezing down on it until he can no longer breathe properly.

Someone is laughing. With him? At him? Does it matter?

Sometime during his orgasm Clint slips his fingers out of Farmer’s pussy and it surprises him to realize that it wasn’t that monumental and horrible as he had thought that it might be. Maybe the orgasm that had softened the edges of his consciousness had something to do with that because when he’s grabbed by the hips and flipped around, all he can say is a soft ‘oof’ when his back none-too-gently hits the ground.

Clint is hovering above him. It’s a new and exciting position. It feels so… domestic, for lack of a better word. There are very few of them still rattling around in Farmer’s head, so he is pleased with what he comes up with as he reaches up and curls his arms around Clint’s shoulders. The other looks flushed and sweaty, his eyes going a little shifty as Farmer hugs him and lifts his knees around the blacksmith’s sturdy hips.

From somewhere behind them, Farmer can feel Heisenberg’s calculating gaze on them but he seems more than content to take a backseat for now and just watch the proceedings quietly.

“This is all weird shit. But I think it’s kinda stuff that Emily would like,” Clint suddenly pipes up. He still sounds gruff and like he has to force out every single word, but he’s talking definitely more now and Farmer is kind of fascinated to hear his voice; he doesn’t even know why.

He stares up at him, brain not functioning enough to try and dirty talk him about his odd obsession with Emily, but it turns out that that’s not needed anyway. Clint can do a surprisingly good job at it himself. His eyes narrow a little, his expression getting more intense as he leans further down, the warm, throbbing line of his cock nestling against Farmer’s gash.

It’s such an odd, new feeling that his mouth opens and closes a few times, heat prickling through his body. He clenches on nothing in particular and then digs his fingers into Clint’s back, completely missing what he said. He tries to focus back in.

“Yeah… you’re so fuckin’ wet for me, aren’t you? How long have you had that cunt anyway? Who’s been fucking you? You whine for it like a whore. Like you spread your legs for any sad fuck that comes your way. Not like Emily… she’s pure.”

It’s true, Farmer wants to say. Not the stuff about Emily, he’s not sure about that – but it’s true, he’d have spread them for just anybody that came his way. He would have begged and pleaded. It’s a damn good thing nobody crossed his path on the way here because he absolutely would have gone against the Wizard’s orders and he’s not all that sure if he would have enjoyed the punishment that would have definitely followed.

“Shit, I haven’t even put it in and you’re already getting crazy for my cock. Are you? Are you getting crazy for it?” He moves his hips, dragging his cock in its entire length through Farmer’s sticky, wet pussy and the feeling makes him go cross-eyed and weak in the legs. He opens his mouth again but when only an animalistic whine slithers from his throat he takes to nodding enthusiastically. What is a little dignity when he can get speared on cock and his brains fucked out?

He might think differently of it once the spell wears off, but that is something for future Farmer to worry about…

It seems that now that Clint has found his voice he does not tire of using it, eyes boring into Farmer, pinning him to the place with the intensity of his stare as he grabs him by the hair and pulls his head back, forcing him to bare his throat.

“I’ve known it from the beginning. Even before that little rumor made it into my smithee. Only needed to take a look at you to know you’re gagging for dick. You got that look about you, you know. Like you can hardly function if you aren’t spread on cock. Pathetic. Not at all like the ladies living in this town.”

Farmer squirms, feeling a warm burst of arousal blooming right in his chest. He curls his legs around Clint’s sturdy hips, trying to pull them in, get his cock to slip into that hungry little space that’s been craving it for hours at this point.

“You’re unusually talkative, my friend. Seems like it only takes a single pussy for you to shed off that shell. Good to know, good to know…” Heisenberg’s voice floats over to them. He sounds so smug and gloating. Farmer would probably be more annoyed if he weren’t just so holding on to the edges of his sanity to keep himself from clawing up Clint’s shoulders and back and flat out spear himself on his cock with or without his help.

Clint scoffs, eyes shifty as they briefly flicker over to Heisenberg a few times. The tips of his ears become red, showing that he is embarrassed despite the stoic mask that once more tries to slip into place.

“Ah… just shut up,” he mumbles, hips shifting just a little as he readjusts himself. His swollen tip finally slides along Farmer’s gash, nosing up to his hole and Farmer, sensing his chance, seizes the moment and thrusts his hips upward, taking Clint in to the hilt.

Pressure. Delicious, mind-numbing, bone shaking pressure as his walls suddenly get spread apart on cock and the tender rim of his entrance burns from the sudden abuse.

Farmer’s nerve endings are live wires and the sensation spreads throughout his body fast and delirious. His mouth is open wide, chest pumping on panting little breaths even before Clint has stopped cursing softly and is trying to pull back out of the desperate grasp of Farmer’s pussy.

Heisenberg is laughing; low and amused. Farmer is somewhat aware of the cadence of his steps slowly coming closer again as he croons: “Oh don’t be that way. Look how happy he is speared on your cock. Don’t take it away just to be petty, old friend. I’m sure we can have a lot more fun with him if we keep him nice and happy with our cocks, don’t you think?”

“What do you mean?” Clint asks, voice strained as a thick vein pops out right in the middle of his forehead. His brows are pulled in concentration but it barely took Heisenberg reprimanding him to get him to move his hips, albeit only in small, jerky little fucking motions.

“I mean… that a cumdump as filthy as this little whore is will be very thankful and appreciative if we treat him nice. I mean that if we spread his cunt open nice and wide and fuck him until he pisses himself with how good he feels, he might be inclined to come back for future repetitions. I mean that if we double team him and try to fill all his holes until he is sobbing and feeling like his intestines will fall right out of his damn ass that he will be so thankful that he crawls around the floor and licks our toes for the privilege of a repeat performance at our earliest convenience.

That is what I mean. Was I clear enough? Did I extinguish any doubts you might have harbored? Did I paint a vivid enough picture for you, Clint, or should I go on?”

Heisenberg has come to a stop beside them, his thick fingers, gloved as always, reach down and grab Clint by the top of his hair, pulling his head back none-too-gently and forcing him to look up.

Clint stops mid-thrust. He does not look put out by the harsh treatment; or like he even registers it much. The more Heisenberg had spoken, the slower his movements had become until he is now just sitting there inside Farmer’s clenching, drooling cunt, making him feel like he is about to claw up the walls yet again.

His face has taken on an almost alarming shade of red but now it is slowly easing back into that splotchy blush from before as his eyes go a little glassy, mulling Heisenberg’s words over in his head.

When he fails to answer, Heisenberg shakes him a little with the grip he has on him. Startled out of it, Clint splutters and pulls away. Heisenberg lets him. At least the motion gets him to moving again, remembering that he is, in fact, getting his dick wet inside Farmer’s pussy right now.

Thankfully, he moves once more, hips going slow at first but picking up steam as Farmer can physically see him still thinking about what Heisenberg said and getting more and more into the picture that he’s painted with his words.

“You think he’ll do it?” he asks breathlessly. A particularly deep thrust has his swollen cock pressing into Farmer in a way that is just bordering on painful and has him whining, head pushing back against the floor and back arching for it. His knees are angled so far apart they are almost touching the ground. He lifts his hips helpfully, overager; trying to force Clint into touching that spot over and over again but just semi-successful.

He’s curling his arms around him and holding on to his shoulders, nails trying to dig into his skin but unable to do so with the shirt he has neglected to take off for this.

“What exactly?” Heisenberg asks back with a roll of his yellow eyes. He looks and sounds like he is losing patience with Clint quickly but the fact that he is still there and still watching quite keenly makes Farmer think that he is much more into all of this than he likes to have his friend know.

Whyever that is.

“Anything,” Clint grunts out. He pauses. Suddenly he sits back and Farmer’s eyes open wide in dismay as the cock is dragged out of his desperately clutching cunt. For a long delicious second the fat crown catches at the very entrance, stretching it just that little bit wider that makes it burn up along Farmer’s spine and has his mouth opening on a cut-off little grunt- and then it is gone, slipping completely out of his desperate, warm hole. “Everything,” Clint corrects himself.

He reaches between his legs, curling his thick fingers and callused hand around his own, wet cock, feeling how sticky and hot it is from Farmer’s body, and giving himself a few slow, self-indulgent drags. His eyes are stuck on Farmer who works his mouth around words that are not there, hands fluttering through the air uselessly because he can’t quite figure out how to grab at either of them when it feels like there’s a huge cock-shaped hole in his belly that he needs filled.

“I wanna see it,” Clint rasps when Heisenberg remains simply silent, watching the both of them. When Farmer does somewhat reach for him, though his coordination is sorely lacking, he simply takes one cruel step back and puts himself completely out of reach.

His face is unreadable, his eyes more reptilian than canine as he stares down at Farmer and watches him writhe in his mindless need for cock.

“I wanna see him piss himself. I wanna hear him howl on my dick. I wanna…” Clint trails off with a stutter; maybe because Heisenberg’s intense gaze has flicked toward him, or maybe because his thick fingers have finally caught that fine bundle of folds sitting just beneath his glans and the hot trickle of sensation is completely taking his breath away.

Farmer doesn’t know. He certainly isn’t going to fucking judge because his first thought is that he will do it. He will piss himself for these two. He will do a lot of other things, too. He will completely and utterly degrade himself if it means that they will finally fuck him and won’t just tease him forever and ever until he completely loses his mind.

Heisenberg’s mouth twitches, then slowly stretches into a disturbingly wide grin, showing off all his teeth. He stares down at Farmer again who lies there on his back, his legs opened wide to show off his pitifully wet cunt and how flushed and swollen it already is and how really he needs a dick in there right now if they would please?

“I don’t know,” Heisenberg says slow, almost a little sing-song, his voice having just that little edge of roughness that makes Farmer want to go cross-eyed and rub up against his legs like a cat. “Maybe we should ask our dear friend here? It’s about him, after all.”

Heisenberg takes that step back forward and extends one foot to nudge at Farmer’s side with his boot.

“Well? What kind of brainless cumdump are you ready to be for us?”