CYOA3 – Farmer's Delight – Chapter 4: Hearts Of Steel

Previously: Farmer unlocked his new quest and contemplated about who to woo first while having some self-loving time.

Content in this chapter: Farmer tries his 'power' out for the first time. He gets choked on cock and smothered underneath a fat ass and is basically living his best life.

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Curiosity guides Farmer’s decision. He’s pulled out a piece of paper and started putting down the names of the town’s people, trying to figure out who might be for what and who to… take care of… first.

It turns out that other than Pierre, pretty much everybody else could easily swing both ways in his opinion. He hasn’t been here long enough to really say with any certainty what some of them might decide regarding the Community Center.

He scratches his hand through his hair, staring at all the names and just the single sad minus he’s put next to Pierre’s name.

Maybe a change of tactic… since he does not know who would decide what, he should try and figure out who might be the most and least susceptible to changing their mind purely through the power of cock?

The thought still seems ludicrous. But Farmer is willing to entertain the possibility. Just try and see how it works out.

He puts names up in two categories and then sits back and looks at them again. He can’t decide.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. In the end his attention is pulled by the fat question marks that he’s put next to Clint’s name. Clint is an okay enough guy; just very quiet and a bit stand-offish, though not as much as Shane who is outright hostile toward Farmer whenever he so much as lifts a hand in greeting.

That guy that had been standing with him during the meeting… now this one, Farmer had no damn clue about because he doesn’t even know as much as his name. Was he related to Clint? Were they maybe… an item or something? He had looked so different to the rest of the otherwise friendly town.

There’s been an oddly foreboding aura radiating off of him with the crooked smile he had been sporting looking quite unnerving rather than charming.

Farmer tries to move his attention to more accessible first targets, but his gaze keeps moving back to ‘Clint + ????’. He inhales deeply and shrugs before getting up from his desk.

There is nothing for it. He can just jump in at the deep end and see where that takes him.

.oOo.

Farmer is roughly aware what everybody’s daily schedules are like. Some are easier to pin down than others. Like Clint. He either spends his time in his forge or is at the Saloon getting wasted while mooning over Emily.

Farmer sits a while in the darkness outside his smithy, staring at the light through his windows until he figures that the arrival of this new mystery guest might have changed up Clint’s usual routine.

That’s no problem. He’s been prepared for that possibility. Grabbing the bottle of wine from the ground next to him, he makes his way over and knocks on the door. The voices that have been audible – just a soft murmur – immediately fall quiet.

When nobody opens, Farmer frowns and knocks again. He waits again, then lifts his hand for the third time – when suddenly the small metal inlay set into the door’s frame is pushed to the side and a pair of eyes stares out at him. He almost recoils, his instinct telling him in a split second that those are definitely not Clint’s eyes. They are pale and yellow-ish and remind him of a predator in a way that makes him wonder if he himself is prey.

“Ah… the local Farmer,” the mysterious man drawls. His voice is nothing like what Farmer would have expected out of such a brawny man. It is oddly soft with a lilt that makes him sound… expensive for some reason. “Come to make your introduction to the new face in town, have you?”

Farmer has to shake himself out of it. He clears his throat and lifts his hand, showing off the bottle of wine in his fist. “Sure have. I hope I’m not… intruding, am I?”

He can hear a voice behind the stranger – Clint, obviously – and sees those disturbing eyes slide away for a second as he turns to peer behind himself. “Oh don’t be that way. He’s brought wine. Like a civilized person.”

The back of Farmer’s neck prickles. He slowly lowers his arm again, half intent on telling the other that… actually? He’s good. He has to like… go back to his farm. He left… it… on.

But the stranger’s eyes are back on him before he can take a step back.

“You’re not intruding. At all. Actually, I am glad you are here. I know most of these little town folks by now, but you are new. And you look interesting.”

He slides the inlay back into the door with a snap. Farmer can hear a chain being softly jangled and has a moment wondering about what exactly Clint thinks would happen in a peaceful out-of-the-way place like Pelican Town. He must be much more paranoid than he’s ever imagined him to be.

The door opens and in front of him stands the stranger; just as tall, just as foreboding looking as the other night during the town meeting. He’s foregone the hat and his glasses this time, instead staring right down to Farmer’s soul.

His eyes are… pale. They have to be blue but they look yellow in the current light. Like some kind of werewolf, which, given the fact that Farmer just now found out about the supernatural world makes him wonder if those… exist?

Farmer just stands there, clutching the bottle of wine and almost hugging it to his chest as he wonders whether he should maybe… ah…

The stranger’s face suddenly splits into a smile and he thrusts a hand adorned with a thin leather glove right at him.

“We have not been introduced yet. The name’s Karl Heisenberg.”

Slowly, Farmer extends his own hand and grasps the one extended toward him. The grip around his palm feels hard like steel and he stumbles as Heisenberg uses it to pull him into the smithy.

“F-Farmer. Nice to – oof – meet you.” He all but falls against Clint who is standing not too far in the room with a tight frown on his face which is… nothing new. He’s still wearing the heavy apron he usually has on. The leather is a lot slicker against Farmer’s fingertips than he would have thought. He mutters an apology and stands up straight, thrusting the wine bottle at Clint’s chest and turning toward Heisenberg with a small frown of his own.

Heisenberg is grinning like nothing is amiss. He makes a show out of closing the door – and putting the chain back where it belonged.

“Oh, I already know your name,” Heisenberg drawls. Farmer swallows thickly, eyes flicking from the chain back to the other man who slowly leans against the door and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Clint has been telling me about you. New to these parts and quite… prolific? Hehe.”

Farmer feels inexplicably nervous. Like he is in… danger, somehow. The small hairs on his body stand on end as he half turns to throw a glance behind him. Clint is still standing there, holding the bottle of wine against his chest where Farmer had thrust it, but no longer looking at him. Rather he is staring around his arm at his… friend? Brother? Cousin? with that same disapproving glare from before.

Farmer turns back around, slowly lifting one corner of his mouth into a crooked smile. Just relax. Get things rolling. Heisenberg hasn’t done a single thing other than exuding a vaguely threatening aura.

“That so? And here I am knowing nothing about you except your name. But that’s what I’m here for now – if I’m not intruding on anything, that is. I wouldn’t want to be a nuisance.”

“Well actually-” Clint finally starts up but is immediately interrupted by Heisenberg whose face splits into a huge grin as he pushes off the door and extends his arms wide. “You are not! Me and old Clint have just been wondering what tonight might bring us. And lookee here – we got some wonderful distraction brought right to our doorstep. Come… this will be very interesting indeed!”

Like this, the long dirty coat he’s wearing is opening up quite a bit and showing off the sturdy physique underneath. He’s got his shirt unbuttoned at the throat, showing off hair and a glint of metal that might as well be dogtags.

A soldier, then? Though he really does not look like one.

Heisenberg steps toward Farmer and when he does not shy away and make room, he simply puts his big hands on his shoulders and comes to a stand… very close. The lines around his eyes have deepened a little bit as he narrows them and his smile seems a bit less bright. He is probably wondering about what Farmer’s deal is the same way that Farmer is intrigued about him.

Close like this, Farmer can smell his body. Thick and metallic. Not quite unwashed but like he’s scrubbed himself down quick without any suds whatsoever. It immediately gets him horny.

Heisenberg grabs him by the shoulders. Farmer inhales deeply, his blood pumping faster. Maybe he should have a little introspection into why his first response is to get get needy and wanting cock instead of being cautious… but he’s too old to change his ways now and he might not have the bulk that either of these men have but he’s not helpless in his own right.

“Come,” Heisenberg murmurs and as he turns Farmer around with the grip he has on him, Farmer finds himself desperately thinking: ‘Yes please.’

He’s guided through the main room that is swelteringly hot even with the furnace turned off, and into the back where Farmer has not been yet. It’s a tiny space that Clint is living in; one bed, a small kitchenette, a tiny bathroom that looks like both Heisenberg and Clint would have trouble even turning around in.

Farmer stares at that bed while Heisenberg steers him toward a small table that Clint is pulling away from the wall to have a little more room for three grown men. It’s a single bed. Do those two gorillas sleep in it together? There’s no couch around. The thought of them somehow fitting themselves together on the mattress gets him even hornier.

All that low, manly grunting… muscles and pudgy bellies squishing together, trying to find a comfortable position to lie in – cocks accidentally touching…

Or maybe not so accidentally? He still has no idea what their relation to one another was.

A hand appears in his vision, fingers snapping a few times. He blinks, getting back into his head and looking with a blank expression up at Clint’s perpetually disgruntled face staring back at him with suspicion.

He’s finally taken off his heavy leather apron, leaving him in a dark gray sweatshirt with a lot of holes in it. It stretches wide across his gut. Farmer’s breath stutters a little in his throat.

Clint grunts and thrusts something at him, which is when Farmer notices that he’s been holding a wine glass the whole time, trying to offer it to him. He swallows through a horribly dry throat and takes it. He’s sitting down. Heisenberg must have pushed him onto a chair while he’s been off fantasizing about the two hunks getting it on.

From the delighted expression on the other man’s face he suspects that he has a vague idea about what’s been going through his mind and is very much into that. Which is good. Really good.

Clint grabs a third chair from the other side of the room. Moments later they’re all sitting at his little table, drinking wine and staring at each other with varying levels of annoyance and fiendish delight.

“So,” Heisenberg says with a grandiose kind of air. He has turned his chair around, sitting on it backwards and pressing his chest against the backrest as he stares at Farmer. To Farmer’s eyes it looks like he’s done it like this to prevent himself from crawling right across the table at him. He’s leaning so far across the rest that the silver necklace slips free of his shirt and dangles in the air.

Dogtags. A Soldier after all.

“What brought you here? Simple curiosity doesn’t bring such a good bottle of wine, I’d say. Yes?” He lifts the glass in a silent toast and takes a sip from it. The glass looks too dainty pinched in his gloved fingers. Clint to Farmer’s side grunts softly. He has his arms crossed in front of his chest and just glowers, though at nothing in particular.

“Well…” Farmer does not quite know who to look at. Both men seem foreboding in their own way, though that does not diminish his own arousal. Quite the opposite. He lets one hand fall beneath the table, dragging his palm across his thigh and trying not to touch himself right then and there. Heisenberg’s oddly pale-yellow eyes flick down to the motion of Farmer’s hand disappearing, then back up to his face, his grin growing wider. “I was curious indeed. About a few things, actually.”

Farmer can feel himself relaxing slowly. “Thought I could catch a few birds with one stone, so to speak? Ah, but I’m being rude.”

Heisenberg plants his elbow on the table and braces his chin on his hand. As he croons: “Oh, not at all!” Clint simultaneously grunts in confirmation that yes, he thinks Farmer to be extremely rude. But he has yet to really object to any of this and put his foot down. It’s his shop. He could just… do that, right?

“Go on,” Heisenberg murmurs, his voice having dipped a whole register. He takes another sip of wine. “Ask us your questions, Mister Farmer.”

It’s then that Farmer feels a boot against the front of his knee. He inhales softly in surprise, glancing at Heisenberg sitting right across the table. Heisenberg does not blink his unsettling, pale eyes once as the tip of his boot gently nudges Farmer’s knees apart so he can rest his foot against the edge of the chair between them.

Farmer exhales just as softly. He lifts his own glass and takes a sip just to play for time and calm his racing heart – and throbbing cock – down.

Clint shifts a little on his chair. His face looks even tighter and more annoyed now, if that was even possible. His cheeks are starting to become red and Farmer wonders just how much he knows of what is going on beneath the table right now. The color certainly can’t come just from the alcohol… right?

“Well…” he tries to think for the best course of action but Heisenberg’s foot moves, the tip of his boot dragging against the inside of Farmer’s right thigh as he pushes it further up and gets the sole dangerously close to his cock. At least it feels that way. Farmer is starting to sweat.

“I was just wondering about you. Nobody ever told me that Clint usually lives with a gentleman-”

“A gentleman!” Heisenberg exclaims with obvious delight while Clint nearly chokes on his wine, his cheeks becoming an even ruddier red.

“I don’t live with anybody!” he cries out, throwing an arm in the air. His exasperation makes it sound like this is an old argument that Farmer unwittingly stumbled into.

Clint lowers his arm again, pointing accusatory at Heisenberg who just sits there with an expression that could border on innocent – if his features weren’t spectacularly ill equipped for that.

“He insists on dropping by once or twice a year. We are… friends. No, not even- acquaintances. He’s a nuisance! … and I wouldn’t live with a guy. I’m straight as an arrow.”

The last he murmurs angrily into his wine glass. Farmer frowns at him a little, then glances back at Heisenberg when he chuckles and reaches over, clapping Clint on the shoulder and saying: “Don’t listen to this old grump. We’re basically attached at the hip! Though it is true… I can’t visit often. I have other… ah…” he gesticulates with his wine glass, looking for words, “...obligations.”

He is watching Clint quietly fume; as if his foot isn’t firmly planted between Farmer’s thighs right now, the sole of his boot slowly pressing against his cock. Can he tell that Farmer is bricked up? Can he feel the heat of his throbbing cock through the thick leather of his boot?

Heisenberg presses slightly and Farmer’s mouth opens, his cheeks throbbing in the same rhythm as his cock. They must look cherry red by now

“The thing is, Clint and I grew up in the same orphanage. We were friends. I got eventually… adopted-” Farmer watches Heisenberg’s face intently. The way he says it and the brief twist to his expressive mouth says that there’s a whole lot of history there that he should not touch with a ten foot pole. “-and we got separated. I kept in touch, though. And here we are! Some… thirty years later? Ahhh time runs.”

Heisenberg takes a sip of his wine. He plants an elbow on the table and leans his chin into the palm.

“Did that satisfy your curiosity, Mister Farmer?” he asks, voice pitched low and intimate.

Farmer does not reply immediately. He focuses on his own glass for a moment, wondering what it is that isn’t being said right now but figuring that it is not his circus, so to speak. In the end he simply says: “Yes, actually. I was wondering if you two were… brothers or something. And I suppose the answer is yes.”

Surprisingly enough that gets him a little snickering laugh – from the both of them. Clint looks a little deflated, his back going round and his shoulders relaxing.

Farmer watches them. He thinks he would start to relax himself, too, if there weren’t still a boot pressed right against his cock. As if sensing his thoughts, the pressure increases to the point of just shy of painful. His gaze twitches back to Heisenberg, mouth opening just a little as he breathes faster.

Are his cheeks as red as Clint’s now? Are his lips wet and swollen? Because they are tingling and he tries to remember whether he has been biting them for the past half hour.

His gaze slides over to the window. The water of the little stream outside appears black in the night. There’s only a few street lamps still illuminating the other side with the town square. Nobody would see if he and Heisenberg decided to take it outside. He’d let him fuck him like an alley cat against the side of Clint’s house.

I bet he’s got a fat cock. He looks like it’d be fat and veiny and bending to one side.

Farmer has to swallow thickly, lest he start drooling like a common dog.

Heisenberg’s unsettling eyes become sharper. Not quite mean, but… he’s noticing what Farmer is about and he is interested.

Farmer puts down his glass. He’s about to clear his throat and make some form of bullshit excuse to get this whole thing rolling, when it is Clint of all people who suddenly pipes up with a question: “Anythin’ else you’re curious about?”

Farmer’s eyes flick over to him. Clint is looking right at him. It’s impossible to tell whether he’s figured out what’s going on. He looks genuinely interested and not hostile for once.

It also reminds Farmer suddenly of the purpose that he’s here for. He’s not here to fuck. At least he’s not here to fuck Heisenberg. Or something like that. It’s becoming harder to think.

“Ah… yes. Actually… about the other night. You know- the town meeting about the future of the Community Center-”

The moment the words leave Farmer’s mouth, Clint’s whole demeanor changes. He stops reaching for the wine bottle and instead lets his arm drop heavily to the table as he sits back in his chair and stares at Farmer. His eyes look glassy.

“The Community Center,” he repeats slowly. “Yes.”

Farmer frowns. He glances toward Heisenberg who is frowning as well now. The pressure against Farmer’s cock relents somewhat as the other half turns toward Clint.

“Have you made a decision yet?” Farmer asks quickly before the other can butt in.

“A… decision?” Clint asks dreamily. He is staring at Farmer exclusively, his plump cheeks becoming a deeper red. He slowly leans forward, arm sliding along the table until his hand wraps around Farmer’s wrist lying closest to him. His fingers are thick and rough and… exceptionally warm.

“Yes,” Farmer urges gently. “Will you vote to keep it or sell it?”

Clint’s fingers press harder into Farmer’s skin. His bushy brows pull down like he is getting mad again but instead he says: “I dunno. Who cares? Why don’tchu come here. I got a nice seat for you.”

He pushes the chair back with some noise so he can clap his free hand on his lap.

Heisenberg makes a sound like he’s choking on his own tongue. Farmer glances over to him, shocked by Clint’s change in demeanor despite himself. As if he didn’t know that those Junimo would do something. Still, it’s just so… odd.

Heisenberg is looking stunned, but not worried. He leans back some, hands white knuckling the backrest of the chair.

“Clint!” he exclaims. “I didn’t know you had it in you!”

Clint turns his head and stares at him, apparently not comprehending a single thing. He then looks back at Farmer, intent, voice low and rough as he claps his thigh again and says: “You’re interested in my choice, yeah? I’ll tell you what it is. Once I got to fuck your brains out.”

Farmer’s mouth opens, slack in surprise, cock flexing against his fly and the sole of Heisenberg’s boot. Can he feel it through the leather? Maybe. Maybe not. He is staring at Farmer now too, though, a huge smile on his face that looks weirdly… canine.

“That’s the best idea I’ve heard all damn week! Well? How about it, Mister Farmer? Are you ready to get tag teamed by two strapping men? Oh, you didn’t think I’d just sit back and watch the whole thing like some poor little cuck, did you? Come on, Clint-y boy. I don’t know what the fuck is going on with you but I like it!”

.o.

Heisenberg might have said that he wouldn’t sit back and watch, but it’s exactly what he’s doing five minutes later. Well… almost. He’s standing up, behind Clint, hands on his childhood friend’s shoulders, fingers digging in deep.

He’s leaning across the other’s head, both of them staring down at Farmer who has taken up his place on the ground between Clint’s knees. He doesn’t mind sucking dick to get something out of it. He doesn’t mind sucking dick to get nothing out of it except a thick load of cum running down his throat.

Doing it to help out an ailing little community sounds downright noble at that point.

Farmer doesn’t make it a habit to fantasize about how other people’s cocks look like – except well… Heisenberg’s earlier – but if he had wondered, he think he would have imagined Clint’s to be exactly like this: stout and veiny and very, very red. There’s a thick wiry patch of pubes that quickly fizzle out around his sac. There’s a fine blond fuzz on his nuts that does not do anything to hide just how flushed they get when Clint is excited.

And oh… he’s excited. He jumps up and toward Farmer the moment he peels his boxers apart, the smell wafting at him thick and mouth watering.

“Oh fuck… yeah,” Farmer groans, leaning in and pressing his nose into Clint’s pubes, inhaling deeply while his mouth smears open and wet against the other’s shaft.

“A man of culture, I see,” Heisenberg pipes up. There’s a bit of a growl in his voice that makes him sound oddly canine. “Look at this, Clint: he loves your cock!”

Clint doesn’t say anything. His eyes are still oddly glassy looking, his mouth hanging open as he stares down at Farmer taking a good whiff of his junk. He looks close to drooling, large blacksmith hands clutching the wooden armrests of his chair.

“I love all kinds of cocks,” Farmer hears himself say, his voice sounding a little slurred. He’s glancing up past Clint at Heisenberg hovering above him. There’s a light behind his head that makes him look like some kind of deity that needs to be worshiped. God, fuck, Farmer wants to worship him. “I love them most when they rearrange my insides.”

With the light the way it is, he can’t really see an expression on Heisenberg’s face, but the other suddenly rears back, his hands slapping so hard against Clint’s shoulders that the other’s eyes briefly look clear before fogging over again.

Heisenberg howls with delight.

“You hearing this? You hearing this, Clint?! I knew it! I knew we had a proper slut on our hands!” He leans over Clint once more, his presence thick and oppressive as the other slowly reaches out and grabs Farmer by the hair to pull him until his open, wet mouth is poised above the swollen tip of his cock. Heisenberg’s next words are spoken in a low, ominous voice: “I could smell it across the room.”

Farmer shudders, the fine hairs along his spine standing on end. He stares up at the other’s shadowed face as he gets speared on Clint’s cock, not protesting the treatment any. Why should he? It’s what he came here for, after all.

He came to Clint’s because he specifically meant to offer up his holes in exchange for a positive vote toward keeping the Community Center. And that’s what he’s going to do. He seals his lips around the fat cock, his cheeks pulling inward as he immediately gets to sucking.

Clint seems like a guy that’s less into getting slowly teased into orgasm and more a short-but-frequent pump sessions kind of man. Farmer hasn’t had many of those in his bed, but he likes the thought of it.

A few fast rabbit fucks, seeing if he can make himself come before his partner does… his insides absolutely drenched in their cum… oh, would Clint be able to pump a load out every time? Farmer reaches up for his balls, holding them in the palm of his hand and slowly massaging them between his fingers. They are blood hot and heavy feeling in his hand. Nice and filled.

Probably from long days of mooning over Emily and not getting the mood up to finally ask her out.

Farmer wouldn’t mind becoming a nice warm hole for Clint to fuck his frustrations out into. He wouldn’t mind being pulled behind the corner of a house in the middle of the night and bent over so Clint can grunt fuck into him nice and fast and aggressive.

He wouldn’t mind if Clint moaned out Emily’s name, not giving a single fuck about Farmer actually being the one hanging off his dick.

Clint pushes his cock deeper. Farmer opens up his mouth automatically, his tongue pushing out between the throbbing shaft and his teeth to make more space for Clint to try and ram his short dick down Farmer’s throat.

The thick glans certainly presses up against the back of his throat. He goes cross-eyed moving his glottis, allowing wet clicking sounds to come out as he lightly massages Clint’s cock that way. He knows it always gets the guys in the city going when they hear that – and Clint is no different.

So is Heisenberg. They both make the same low groaning sound with Clint now grabbing a hold of Farmer’s head with both hands, pushing him down even harder on his cock until it finally does slip past the slight clench of Farmer’s throat and his nose is completely buried in that same thick, warm bush from before.

Eyes rolling into his skull, Farmer only barely sees how Heisenberg is moving from his position behind Clint’s chair. He’s more so focused for the moment on the fact that he can’t breathe; or when he manages to pull in some air, it’s the warm, borderline stinking scent of Clint’s cock.

It moves through his whole system. His cock throbs hard enough to ache in the confines of his slacks. He hates that he actually put in effort into putting on some nice pants and a shirt instead of his easily accessible overalls he usually dons for his farmwork.

At least the ache is eased a few moments later as big hands reach around him and start to open his pants in a few industrious motions. A couple fingers slide into the still buttoned slit of his underwear, rough callouses gently tugging against the silky skin of his erection as they brush against it, petting him, warm breath distracting on the heated shell of his ear-

“You don’t mind if I help myself to some of this while you take care of my friend here, do you?” Heisenberg croons at him.

Farmer swallows awkwardly around the cock gently nudging at the back of his throat. Clint lets him move back just an inch or so, allowing him to breathe more, but not letting him get away completely to let him actually talk.

That’s alright. He wouldn’t have kept him from doing whatever the Hell he wants anyway. A few years ago Farmer would still have been young and uncertain enough to get all skittish about a stranger wanting to drill him into the ground, but these days? He’d say please and thank you, honestly.

Give me all you got, he thinks as he arches his ass up and puts his elbows over Clint’s thighs for better purchase. Heisenberg chuckles behind him as if he’s privy to Farmer’s thoughts. Maybe he is… him offering his hole up like a slut is a rather universal language, he supposes.

It also kicks him into gear to not just sit there and let his throat get used by clint; he starts to properly bob his head, relaxing his throat and letting the stout cock pop into it’s soft, warm confines one, two, three times-

Clint explosively groans above him. His hand is still on Farmer’s head, but he has stopped grabbing his hair and trying to force him down on his dick; probably because he could never be as ruthless with Farmer’s throat as Farmer himself.

Heisenberg’s fingers are curling into the back of his pants and gently peel them down with an air of utter patience. Like he has all the time in the world to tend to Farmer’s pussy.

It’s such a stark contrast to the other cock that is already twitching against his tongue; a barely-there warning for when Clint digs his heels against the ground and just… explodes in thick, gushing ropes of cum splashing against the back of Farmer’s throat and surprising him enough that he has trouble at first swallowing the load.

But he’s nothing if not a professional. He can do this. He can do it the whole night, if he has to (if he’s allowed to), swallowing load after load until it is sloshing in his stomach and he feels literally cumdrunk with it.

He can do it all.

.o.

Just like he thought it would be, Clint does not need long to actually get it back up for him.

His cock goes halfway soft before starting to swell up against Farmer’s tongue. He’s not being let go, so he just stays where he is, warming Clint’s short, fat cock and waiting for him to be good for another round. It’s not like he’s getting bored in the meantime.

Heisenberg is not being idle, after all.

“I don’t have any lube on me. You don’t mind, do you?” The question is asked so casually… So civil; like it’s just being dropped into the middle of polite conversation. Farmer half shakes his head, all awkward because of the cock in his mouth, before the question really registers to him.

But what else is he supposed to do anyway? He sort of prepared himself before coming here, knowing what would be in his cards for tonight but… well – he could have done a better job about it. And maybe he knew that when he fucked himself on one slick finger, one leg up on his toilet, not quite ready to look at himself in the mirror.

And maybe he’s hoped for Clint to get rough with him. To hold him down and be a bit rude. To make him feel the burn of a cock ramming into him-

It’s alright that Clint isn’t the one to open his cunt up tonight. It’s maybe even better that it is Heisenberg because he is so casual about it. He even laughs when Farmer awkwardly groans around Clint’s dick as two fat fingers slicked with saliva start to corkscrew their way into his desperately clenching hole.

“Shit,” Clint grunts softly, his hands coming around Farmer’s head and holding on to his ears. “That felt nice.”

“I can make him do that again, then,” Heisenberg comments idly. His fingers ram in deeper and Farmer is pushed forward, tears shooting into his eyes. It feels like someone is trying to ram a damn baseball bat up his ass and that’s just a couple of fingers-

He’s choking, coughing, gagging on Clint’s cock simply because he can’t quite anticipate whatever Heisenberg is going to do to him. He’s found his prostate and is ruthlessly digging against it now. It’s like he’s trying to be as rough as possible; trying to feel out just how far he can go before Farmer will pull away and tell him off.

Only that Farmer isn’t protesting to it. He only pulls back from Clint’s cock when he feels like he is genuinely going to asphyxiate on his own damn spit. He glances up at the blacksmith as he’s catching his breath, thick sticky strands of saliva mixed with cum clinging to Clint’s short, sturdy erection, tears running down his cheeks.

He must look a goddamn mess, but it only excites the other two more.

“Got a right little pain slut on our hands,” Heisenberg’s voice pipes up. It sounds distorted to Farmer’s ears. His whole body feels hot and pulsating. He wonders what his hole is looking like by now; the rim feels like it should be grotesquely swollen, wrapped desperately tight around Heisenberg’s thick knuckles and still pulling him right back into his body like the damn slut he is.

Yeah… yeah, he is a slut. The biggest slut this town has ever seen.

He awkwardly shifts his knees apart in the hobble of his own pants, arching his ass up.

“Come on,” he rasps, voice shot after sucking dick and choking like a virgin. He wraps a hand around Clint’s cock, gloriously slimy and hot and jerks him off with harsh, borderline painful movements of his fist. “Fuck me! Stick your fucking cock in!”

Heisenberg hums thoughtfully. He still has his thick fingers inside of Farmer. At one point he must have stuffed a third finger into him because he’s spreading them out now until Farmer is getting cross eyed and a dribble of piss slides into his underwear since his dick is still half-caught in them. 

“You suddenly got awfully bossy… I don’t take well to orders. But I suppose I also stretched your sloppy cunt out enough, have I? Oh well… I’ll play along for now. But let’s take it to the bed. I won’t ruin my knees for you, sweetheart.”

The fingers are ripped so ruthlessly out of his body that Farmer still reels with wondering if he’s having a damn prolapse because of the bastard while Heisenberg barks some orders at Clint and the two of them lift Farmer up and deposit him over to the bed.

He’s finally getting undressed – and so do the other two men. Farmer wipes the tears from his face, trying to get a clearer view but they just keep streaming and his hole keeps feeling hot and squishy, burning from the downright violent stretching.

Through the veil of overstimulated tears he can somewhat see how sturdy the both of them are. And how hairy. But they’re on him before he can really make out anything more. Heisenberg has taken over with an easy dominance that only fuels Farmer’s excitement.

Clint is as monosyllabic as always. Is he still under that odd spell from before or has he woken up enough to actually realize what he’s doing? Farmer doesn’t know.

What he knows is that Heisenberg orders Clint to sit on Farmer’s face, and the other just… does that. He crawls onto the bed, throwing one leg over Farmer’s head and ends up hovering there.

Unintentionally just letting Farmer soak in the frightening sight of Clint’s fat ass and round gut hanging right there above him. Ready to annihilate him.

Farmer’s heart pumps faster. His arms spasm awkwardly at his sides. Clint starts to lower himself slightly and they jump up like springs, curling around his thighs. Holding on for dear life.

Nobody says something about a safe word. Heisenberg is crawling between Farmer’s legs. He’s laughing again; the sound filling the room and Farmer’s head until he’s twisted up in himself, wondering if this is the horniest nightmare he’s ever had.

He’s going to die suffocating in Clint’s hairy ass while Heisenberg fucks the shit out of him. And his cock is all for it. It’s hard enough to ache, dripping pre-cum liberally against his belly.

What a ride this is going to be.

.o.

Farmer is willingly getting suffocated. When his mouth isn’t filled with the blood hot brick red testicles of Clint, his nose is getting crushed against his taint while he tries his damndest to push his tongue through the sweaty forest of his ass fur and get at his hole.

He can barely breathe. His eyes feel like they’re going to pop out of his skull and his ears are filled with an odd warbling sound whenever one of the men pipes up to say something.

But he can’t stop eating Clint out. He has his arms curled around his meaty thighs and whenever he half manifest to pull in a breath, he already starts to pull him back down onto his face, forcing the other to suffocate him in his swampy ass.

Oddly enough, he becomes only more frantic to stop breathing when Heisenberg starts to fuck him. With as little lube as they have, his cock feels absolutely massive, pushing into him slow but ruthless just like the finger that had been digging around in his ass before.

As he pulls back, his insides cling so desperately to his shaft that Farmer is absolutely sure that if he didn’t have a prolapse before, he definitely must be having one now. There’s no way Heisenberg isn’t taking half his insides with him whenever he drags his cock back out, hips moving in a punishing, downright mechanical rhythm.

It’s like he’s getting fucked by a machine. There is an odd precision to Heisenberg’s movements. One that hammers through Farmer’s body and pounds at his skull from the inside out.

Farmer feels… sub-human. Not necessarily in a bad way. He feels like he’s barely even sentient, his brain just a swollen mass that is going to drip out of his ears at any second now – and that is okay. As long as he gets to mindlessly suck on Clint’s hefty balls and lick at his clenching, hairy hole – and as long as Heisenberg makes him feel like he wants to fuck him in half with his fat, veiny cock.

He’s just there for their pleasure. He went here with the express intent of getting fucked and what is happening is that he. Is. Getting. Fucked.

Clint comes at some point, his seed running hot and thick right into Farmer’s hair… and then he comes again… and again… less and less each time, but dripping across the prone man’s forehead and getting smeared around by his own junk as he rides his face more and more desperately the less inhibited he becomes.

Farmer must lose consciousness at some point. Thinks move around him like a jerky black-and-white film. Clint is on him one moment, then off of him the next, just sitting heaving and panting to the side as Farmer continues to get pulled across Heisenberg’s cock like he’s nothing more than a toy. A silicone sleeve.

The motion through his swollen, pulsing insides has become easier, in any case. He’s sliding silky smooth, aided by his own pre-cum and whatever juices Farmer’s insides have been able to excrete for him.

It’s alright. Everything is alright. He’s just coasting on the feeling of being a stupid cock sleeve and everything.

Is.

Good.