CYOA3 – Farmer's Delight – Chapter 17: Sobering Realization

Previously: Farmer had a run-in with Kent and found out just how soft-hearted he really is underneath that gruff exterior.

Content this chapter: feminization; taking it dry

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Farmer has a skip in his step. He’s been to the Community Center just yesterday and only one of the rooms (the main room) is still in dire need of some repair. All the others look… they look amazing and he can’t help but think somehow that it is a direct reflection of how good he had been during his stay here in the Valley.

He just uh… fucked his way into a Community Center? Something like that?

He’s happy, is the point. The farm is going amazing for once. Sebastian has put the cameras online and Farmer is not all too sure what he did for the marketing but there are actually a lot of people interested in the live feeds and getting to watch their very personal batch of milk getting produced.

Things are good.

Today he’s made sure to finish his work up as quick as possible because he has a plan to finally explore the mines some more. He got a feeling that today might be his luckiest day yet. Lucky enough that he tries to ignore the frankly insane notion of a city boy like him traversing the local mines and going toe to toe with the monsters and critters therein.

The Valley is tickling all kinds of untapped potentials out of him. It is amazing.

.oOo.

Hours later it is already rapidly turning darker outside when Farmer drags himself out of the mines. He’s made some good progress, pulling dirt and rocks out of the old elevator shaft to get it to moving again. He can go much deeper than he did in the beginning and his pockets are infinitely heavy with all the ore and actual raw gems what the fuck that he mined.

He’s dirty and scraped up and still just feeling like a million bucks despite definitely feeling the fatigue creeping in.

He glances to his left and exhales with a relieved sigh when he sees the warm glow of light coming from the windows of the Adventurer’s Guild.

Time for a new weapon. His current sword feels godawful dull and he’s been hacking away at slimes too much for his liking.

He shoulders his sack of goodies and makes his way over, pushing into the warm interior. It’s really starting to get cold outside, Fall rapidly approaching.

Farmer’s steps falter, however, when he adjusts to what he is seeing and hearing. Low, throaty moans, Gil slumped back in his rocking chair, lightly moving back and forth to nudge his cock into the throat of none other than – Elliott.

Elliott has been stripped down to nothing and is kneeling on the plush bear fur rug, his eyes closed in bliss, cheeks a pinkish red from arousal and hips tilted up in a slutty little dip for Marlon to fuck him.

He’s getting stuffed from both ends and Farmer has the weird feeling that he’s stepped in some kind of alternate dimension where he is not, in fact, the town whore – but Elliott is.

On the other hand… two things can be true at the same time. Who would have thought that Pelican Town is actually big enough for two unrepentant sluts? Who would have thought that Elliott of all people is nasty enough to spread his legs for, in Farmer’s opinion, the most random men?

He’s got Kent for God’s sake. Why is he sucking Gil’s dick and getting his hole stuffed by Marlon if he can have a weeping soldier with a massive cock at his beck and call?

Which would mean… that their dick game must be actually fucking phenomenal?

“Gil! We have more visitors!”

Farmer startles. He kind of forgot during his feverish ruminations that he was actually standing right there and out in the open.

Gil turns his head to peer at him from underneath his drooping hat. As always he looks barely even awake but his voice is clear as he demands: “Close the door, sonny! Don’t want those damn mosquitoes to get inside.”

Farmer, gaping, does as he’s told. Slowly he shrugs off his heavy backpack and puts it down on the ground next to the door. His palms are prickling so intensely they feel almost numb.

Elliott has frozen in spot. That one visible eye on Farmer’s side is opened wide as a saucer now, peering at him owlishly. He looks like he had not, in his wildest dreams, ever thought that someone could actually walk in on him getting stuffed with cock.

It’s pathetic and downright cute. Farmer stares at him, his insides all hot and needy, his cock feeling heavy and interested despite the fact that he’s exhausted after a day in the mines.

He thinks he can drag out a bit more energy if it means that he gets to share some tasty old man cock with a fellow whore? Will Elliott even be interested in sharing?

“Well don’t just stand there!” Marlon calls out impatiently. He waves him closer, then lets his hand fall, heavy and unapologetic, slapping it down on Elliott’s ass hard enough to make the red head jolt and leave a print on his cheek.

Farmer slowly comes closer, eying the place where Marlon is fucking into. The old guys haven’t made any effort of undressing, only popped open their slacks and got their dicks out, but this close Farmer can see the thick, salt-and-pepper bush at the base of Marlon’s dick.

He’s unexpectedly greedy for it. For stuffing the old guy’s dick down his throat until he can nuzzle into the no-doubt thick smelling, wiry hair there.

Around Marlon’s cock, Elliott’s hole looks swollen and pink in an unfairly cute way. A perfect mouth wrapped around him and sucking him in all desperate and greedy and looking like it’s wholly unwilling to share.

He’s staring. He can’t help it. He only rarely gets to see other men being nasty whores and taking it from any imaginable angle. Last time he had been too far away to really appreciate just how perfect Elliott’s cunt looks taking dick.

Marlon is laughing low and rough. He sounds like he’s very pleased with Farmer’s reaction. There’s not a shred of self-consciousness to be seen in his or Gil’s posturing. The other old guy is still slumped in his rocking chair, using its momentum to fuck his way between Elliott’s spread lips. Keeping his tongue pressed down via cock and rendering him unable to, presumably, tell Farmer to fuck off.

His eyes do sure look fiery. A lot more so than they do any other time that Farmer sees him. Maybe getting drunk on old guy cock finally lights a little fire underneath Elliott’s ass. Maybe it gets him all territorial and sharp and pulls his head out of the clouds that it’s usually in.

Or maybe all the other times when Farmer has met him and talked to him and barely gotten a straight word out of the guy had been him drunk on cock. Maybe those times had been him after a night of spreading his legs and showing off his pussy and whining for random guys in town to fuck him absolutely senseless.

Maybe what he’s got with Kent isn’t as exclusive as it felt and actually he’s bouncing from cock to cock. Has he gotten fucked by Pierre in his wedding bed?

Has he gotten dicked by Morris in Joja’s backrooms?

Who hasn’t fucked Elliott yet?

“I can tell you’re likin’ what you’re seein’ pal. Nothing better after a long day in the mine than gettin’ your dick wet on a little bit of cunt, huh? Why back in the day me an’ Gil-”

“Marlon.” Gil’s lifting his hand and tipping up his hat just enough to peer at him. Marlon falls quiet, probably just as surprised as Farmer that Gil actually spoke up for once. He pauses his hips, cock nice and deep inside the warm clutch of Elliott’s body, making him whimper brokenly around Gil’s dick.

Gil doesn’t react; as if he isn’t feeling the way Elliott’s throat must be clenching all wet and delicious around his glans.

“Lookit the bloke. He’s not here to get his dick wet. That guy’s a certified cocksucker if I ever seen ‘em!”

Farmer flushes hot, his mouth feeling like it should go dry as a desert but actually flooding with saliva all hot and needy. He swallows just so he wouldn’t start drooling like a bitch in heat.

Marlon’s head swivels around then and he stares at Farmer with sudden scrutiny, bushy brows lowered and the mouth in his beard set in a straight, tight line.

Farmer stands a little straighter himself, suddenly nervous about the verdict that the other would come to which is such a ridiculous notion in itself that he almost shakes his head.

Marlon’s hand rushes down again, slapping noisily against Elliott’s outer thigh, head snapping forward and down again to bark at the younger man. “Oi! Don’t you go slackin’ now, lad! None of that cattiness. You don’t like sharin’, huh? Tsk.”

Gil is grabbing a hold of Elliott’s hair. Farmer is just standing to the side, overalls tenting with his erection, watching as these two old farts bully their chosen whore for the night.

It’s weirdly hot as fuck.

“Ya need to be nice, sweetheart. See? Marlon an’ I. We share everythin’. Even the pussy we’re dicking. You need to share.”

He’s pulled Elliott off his cock and is lightly shaking him left to right like a misbehaving puppy and all Elliott is doing is trying to get that cock back where it was, mouth open and tongue rolled out like a red fucking carpet.

Farmer feels like he really must have missed something. Some big memo that everybody else has had about Elliott being an absolute cockhound. Nobody had told him. Nobody had even spoken of the quiet guy living on the beach. Like they hadn’t even been aware he needed cock to live.

That couldn’t be true, could it?

Gil grunts like he’s annoyed, pushing Elliott even further away.

“Bah. He’s not even listenin’. Just houndin’ for dick, this one. Ey. Ey. Lookit me.”

He shakes Elliott again by the hair. Elliott whines and the sound goes straight to Farmer’s desperate cock. His stomach is doing those low little flips that he can feel radiating throughout his body. His fingertips are prickling.

He’s still exhausted from a day in the mines but he thinks he can get it up again just for these two old guys that are effortlessly dominating.

He must make a sound himself because Gil glances at him. He’s more animated than he’s ever been during any of Farmer’s past visits. In fact, he’s always been asleep, never doing more than grunt in vague acknowledgement whenever Marlon called out that they had a visitor.

Now, though, the eyes beneath his thick, unkempt brows are burning with intellect and energy.

“There. That’s a slut that knows its place. You know how to share, don’t you, boy? Yeah. You do. Go on, get naked. Show ol’ Marlon an’ I what we’re workin’ with, will ya?”

Farmer swallows thickly. He hasn’t even said anything yet; but he supposes there’s a certain gleam one gets in their eye when they are ready to get drunk on cock. He’s seen it in his own face when watching back videos he’s made. He could never consciously tell that he is doing it in the moment but he has to admit that looking back…

Yeah. Yeah, it’s very visible.

He pops open the fastenings of his overalls and feels crusted dirt from the mines breaking and floating to the ground in a thick dusting that nobody cares for. He feels a pricking at the back of his neck and glances down to see Elliott’s eyes trained on him again. His tongue is still out, still seeking cock that he’s not allowed.

Elliott looks a little less combative now. There’s a glow to his face, a rosiness to his cheeks, and Farmer thinks he can directly relate it back to the cock that is still spreading his pussy wide and keeping him plugged at least on one end.

Farmer kicks off his heavy boots. As he fights with his lethargic, noodly-feeling limbs to obey him, Marlon suddenly perks up.

“You could use a new pair o’ boots, lad! We need to figure out your situation later. Got a few fine choices in the back. They’ll help you put a pep back in your step when you’re down there eradicatin’ all those pests!”

Farmer glances up and sees the fierce look of interest in Marlon’s eyes that has nothing to do with the slut he’s currently sharing with his friend. It’s so absurd that he finds himself barking out a laugh and nodding along amiably.

“Sure.” It’s the first thing he’s said in goddamn hours and his voice is rusty. Marlon jerks his head to the countertop where there’s an earthen jug with what Farmer assumes is water. He hopes so, at least.

So when he’s good and naked, he wanders over and gets himself a bit hydrated. It helps with his wobbly muscles, though not by much.

Behind him he can hear shuffling and rearranging and Elliott whining and Marlon shushing him.

Farmer turns around to see that Marlon has pulled Elliott away from his space stuck between the two adventurers. Instead he was sprawled on the bear fur in front of the fireplace. Still within reach if Gil extended his leg, but not actively playing with the old man’s cock.

His shoulders are to the ground and his ass is up. It seems to ignite something in Marlon because suddenly he fucks like he couldn’t wait to get his dick in a cunt the whole time.

He’s got his hands around Elliott’s hips and his hips lowered in an odd wide-legged stance, pumping with single minded intent.

Elliott’s eyes are quickly rolling into his skull. His indignation at being pulled away from one of his cocks seems to fizzle out in seconds.

Farmer is transfixed – until something large but soft suddenly hits him in the chest with a thwack. He startles, fumbling to catch the thing, and looks down to realize that it is Gil’s old, ratty hat. He looks up. The old guy in the rocking chair looks vaguely miffed even with his hand around his swollen erection, massaging it slowly to probably keep the momentum going.

“You goin’ to stand there and gawp at the other slut or you goin’ to work your cunt, boy?”

“Yessir,” Farmer rasps, his fingers digging into the worn fabric of the old hat. It smells thickly of aftershave or whatever product Gil uses to wash his otherwise unkempt hair. It’s earthy and spicy and not at all uncomfortable.

“Can you work with this?” Gil asks with a shrewd look, patting the arm rests of his rocking chair.

Farmer gives it a look, a considering frown pulling on his mouth.

“Dunno. I’ll try.”

For the first time, Gil cracks an actual smile and then laughs, showing off a mouth with a few missing teeth.

“‘Atta boy! That’s the spirit! Come on, then – saddle up!”

Farmer puts Gil’s hat on and starts climbing onto the other’s lap. For some reason that gets Gil actually howling with laughter, throwing himself back so hard in his rocking chair that the whole contraption moves. Farmer’s eyes widen in alarm, his arms shooting out and steadying himself on the backrest.

His heart is pumping a mile a minute in his chest, somehow waiting for them to go ass over teakettle, but somehow the chair rights itself up once again without problem. Farmer exhales carefully and glances down, only marginally aware of the fact that Elliott and Marlon are watching him now too.

Marlon has slowed his thrusts down to more of a crawl but he is still moving at a steady pace, his shaft looking wet and glistening whenever he pulls out far enough that the light from the fireplace can catch on the moisture.

Farmer glances down, his tongue out and against his bottom lip with concentration as he shifts himself carefully in Gil’s lap. The old guy is not much of a help other than keeping his cock nice and stood up for Farmer to lower himself onto.

It’s still slick with Elliott’s saliva but that’s not much in the way of slick. Gil doesn’t stop him from forcing his body to open up around him, though. He doesn’t even make him pause and ask him if he needs to prepare himself. He just takes a hold of Farmer’s hip and digs his fingers in with a surprisingly bone-crushing grip, holding him nice and steady as Farmer starts to let gravity to its thing.

The burn creeps through his limbs fast and intense. He’s used to the whole rodeo. To not giving himself enough stretch or, indeed, any stretch at all before forcing a toy past the spasming ring of muscle. He knows how to relax himself into it; but it somehow doesn’t make it easier anyway. The burn is intense and Gil is not helping any. He’s impatient and grunting low beneath his breath, his bushy brows pulled together in focus.

He’s not pulling on Farmer to go faster, but the sentiment is radiating off of him even so.

As Farmer carefully slides himself further and further down, no hand needed anymore to hold Gil’s dick in place, he listens to Elliott getting fucked silly just an arm’s length away. Marlon has started up again, each of the surprisingly fast pumps of his hips accentuated with a low grunt from him while Elliott is sprawled on the shag fur carpet and has his eyes rolling into his skull.

Farmer stares at him as he settles himself on Gil’s cock. It’s lodged so deep he feels like he should be able to feel it nudging at the back of his throat. He’s white-knuckling the backrest of the rocking chair, the burn creeping deeper into his legs and making his hips feel hot and liquid to the point he has to drag his gaze away from Elliott and look down his own body just to make sure he isn’t goddamn pissing himself.

“Go on, boy,” Gil grunts. “Don’t have all night, do I?”

Farmer doesn’t even know what that means. What the Hell does this old man have to do other than get ridden by a certified cock slut and love every second of it?

He stares at him and thinks he must make a face but from how Gil’s eyes are glittering back at him he does not think he makes the appropriate one.

“You look like an idiot,” Gil tells him and it sounds incredibly fond. He slaps Farmer’s thigh. “Come on. Get going.”

So Farmer… does? He’s got a cock up his ass and an order to work it over. There’s not much else his brain is capable of computing at this point. He’s not sure what his body does, he can hardly feel his own legs at this point, but everything seems to be moving on auto-pilot even so.

He’s lifting himself and then dropping back down after just a few inches. His toes curl and his mouth flops open, the burn creeping up into his belly and then his chest.

“Shit,” he gasps, pumping himself faster and forcing the chair to rock with the movement. It’s a trippy feeling alright. He whimpers in sudden worry that they might topple together, but Gil is petting his thigh soothingly.

“You got this, boy. Don’t worry.”

Farmer groans deep in his chest. He can physically feel it vibrating behind his breast bone just like he can feel the twitch of old Gil’s cock inside his desperately clutching body.

Elliott whines at the edges of his awareness. He sounds as wrecked as Farmer feels. Breathless and brainless and like he wants to get away from the intense feeling of cock stretching him open as much as he wants to thrust himself back against it and beg for more.

The burn is all encompassing. It doesn’t get easier for a while and Farmer can only move at a snail’s pace. A desperately slow up and down motion that has his rim dragging along Gil’s shaft. He can feel it pouting outward whenever he kneels up again until just the crown of the old man’s cock remains inside him.

He certainly can feel when those geriatric and damnably strong fingers inch over and touch his pouting rim; rubbing against it like they want to soothe it and make it loosen it’s desperate, soul crushing grip on the cock.

“There you go. Good boy.”

Farmer blinks his eyes open. It’s a complete coincidence that he sees it: how Gil draws up short right after he says it and furrows his brows, throwing him a thoughtful, shrewd gaze.

And he knows… he knows down to his goddamn balls what is about to happen the next second because he can see the thoughts clear as day working through behind the old guy’s forehead, and still it takes him by surprise like a gut punch when he says: “Or you wanna be a good girl? The other slut certainly does.”

Elliott whimpers. So he’s still listening in on what they’re doing. Farmer thought he’d be too out of it to pay any attention to him, but here they are: two whores eying each other as they get fucked by old man dick and get bullied to Hell and back.

He feels like he might combust if Gil keeps talking like that.

The old guy is just leaning back in his rocking chair and lazily watches him bounce on it right in his lap. He doesn’t do anything other than feel him up and spew nonsense and Farmer doesn’t know if he’d rather have him sleepy and mute or like this. Devastating and fiendish.

“Ol’ Marl’ an’ I? We don’t fuckin’ care. I call ya a girlie-girl if ya need me to. Call your hole the wettest, grippiest cunt I ever fucked. Could talk about yer tits for days, babe. Lookit ‘em bounce.”

And like a tool, Farmer does look down. Stares at is own meager chest with the faintest jiggle to it. He bounces harder, his mouth opening on a delirious groan when that – oh wonder – makes his chest’s bounce more pronounced as well.

Gil throws his head back with a cackle. His hand comes down on Farmer’s thigh with a mighty slap that stings all the way through his body.

“Marlon! Marl! Got a pair of fine whores for us tonight, didn’t we?”

“Damn right we did, ol’ pal!”

Marlon sounds finally a bit out of breath. He’s turned his head to stare at Farmer but he’s fucking Elliott fast and mean. They both are. They talk about them as if they weren’t even there. Or, worse (better, so, so much better) they talk about them as if they were some mindless animals.

Just a couple of holes open and wet and hot for them to fuck their old man cocks into and give them their old man seed to keep them nice and warm inside.

Farmer whimpers. His hands hurt with their white knuckled grip but he can’t make himself pry them off. Not when Gil just keeps on talking.

“Cute little titties ya got there. Maybe put some jewelry on ‘em next time, huh? Marl could hook ye up. He got a nice li’l business goin’. Doesn’t only got ‘em rings, ya see. Some nice li’l rocks for your nice li’l tits, babygirl. That the ticket, ain’t it?”

Farmer whimpers. His insides start growing hotter and tighter and he knows Gil can feel it because he’s howling again with laughter and digging his fingers so hard into Farmer’s hips that there is absolutely no way there won’t be an eclectic collection of mottled bruises afterwards.

Elliott whines. Farmer pants. Marlon and Gil peer at each other as they fuck their dumb little bitches silly, throwing each other tooth-gapped grins.

Farmer gets a little jolt of anxiety as he gets closer to his orgasm. His eyes go wide. He’s staring down at Gil, wondering whether the old fuck will make him suck his own spunk out of his beard afterwards. His hands slide from the back of the rocking chair to Gil’s shoulders, holding on with a death grip.

Gil grunts but he takes it. There’s a glint in his eye and suddenly he actually starts fucking up into Farmer, hitting his prostate so sharp and perfect that lights flare up bright behind Farmer’s eyelids.

He can hear Elliott gurgling through his own orgasm and feels his approaching too fast and too hard. He can’t pull off like this and pump it on the floor. He’s going to make a mess – and then his ears are filled with the ringing and giggling of Junimo as everything dissolves into an orgasmic haze.