CYOA3 – Farmer's Delight – Chapter 6: Like A Fish Out Of Water

Previously: Farmer, disgruntled by Clint being a no-show, went into the saloon to get his minds off of things. It actually worked, but mostly because Gus helped him think of something else.

Content this chapter: It turns out that Farmer and Gus didn't do the 'perfect crime' after all and that at least one person has been privy to what they've been up to...

(Cock warming)

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Farmer needs a couple of days to recuperate from his night at the Saloon. He all but crawls around the farm, forcing himself to do his chores and returning back to bed as soon as everything is taken care of because his muscles are screaming bloody abuse at him.

Seems like he is starting to get too old for this kind of shit which is entirely too sad in its own right. Just a couple of years ago he would have just bounced back from an impromptu session of stuffing his ass with billiard balls. At least he likes to think so.

Maybe though it has just been a culmination of the past to escapades together. It’s been a good long while since he’s gotten that much action, even though he’s certainly quite active all in all.

The day after taking care of Gus’ request, he found a hot steaming bowl of soup in front of his door with no letter but still very obvious who has sent it anyway.

Ah Gus… he really is a good guy.

The day after, Farmer feels a lot more like a human once again. At least he can walk kind of normally around and get the last bit of work done on his new animal shed before he realizes that there’s something in his mailbox.

He feels foolish for that immediate sizzle of anticipation rushing through his body, wondering if it is yet another missive from the Wizard, asking him to come over for some… uh… help in his work?

He feels even more foolish for the small rush of disappointment he feels upon opening the mailbox and realizing that the letter inside is not thick and dark, but rather just a normal kind of paper.

As he pulls it up to see who it is from and what they want, he gets a whiff of… something. He can’t quite put his finger on it, but it reminds him of the ocean or the beach.

It’s not in an envelope; just a simple piece of paper that someone has folded in half and must have delivered personally.

He unfolds it to read the few lines the other person has scrawled down:

We haven’t had much time to get to know each other. I’m kind of out of the way for most errands.

Why don’t you come down to my shop when you got time? I got a little present for you, too.

-Willy

Farmer reads the lines a few times, fingers idly brushing against the edges of the paper. Ah yes… what he had smelled had been fish. Or algae. Or something.

Willy, huh? He’s only met him a handful of times and all of these meetings had been pleasant enough, he supposes.

The old fisher is calm and keeps to himself. He isn’t as standoffish as Shane or Clint, but he seems to know when to just not talk and enjoy some peace and quiet in companionship.

Well… he certainly doesn’t have anything else to do today. Robin’s is closed as it is, so he’ll have to wait until tomorrow to get her to come over and inspect his work. He wants the go-ahead of a professional before he purchases his new animals. It’s expensive business and he doesn’t want anything to go wrong.

His crops have all been taken care of, so… why not? See what Willy is up to. Farmer can’t deny that he is more than curious about what the old guy could have as a gift for him.

On his way through town, he hesitates as he walks past the Mayor’s house. After a second or two, he decides to have a look, even though the anxiety is… kind of real. He can see right from the door that there are two votes inside the box now.

He exhales when he sees that both of them are for the community center to stay. One is Pierre’s old vote and the other had to be Clint’s-

It is Gus’.

Farmer frowns at the paper in his hand, staring at the name. He’s not surprised that Gus would have honored his promise; but what he is miffed about is that Clint still hasn’t made his move.

“What the fuck is wrong?” he mutters to himself as he carefully folds Gus’ vote up again and lets it drop back down into the box.

He still thinks about the dilemma as he goes out of the Mayor’s house and makes his way over to the beach.

The place is abandoned at this time of year. It is still too cold to really hang out near the water and the time of day also means most of the other town folks are still at their respective jobs anyway.

He wonders how Willy can even stay afloat; it does not seem like many of the residents are that much into fishing.

Then again, the old guy must be selling his catch to Gus; there is always one dish or another using fish or crabs that have been caught that day…

Farmer can see Willy standing on the docks, fishing. He is slowly rocking back and forth on his feet as if he’s having a little tune playing in his head, the smoke from his pipe lazily curling into the air.

He has not looked over toward the beach once, so Farmer is suitably sure he had not even noticed his approach but when he calls out to him from a safe distance to not scare the living shit out of the old guy, Willy just turns his head and waves at him.

He takes the pipe from his mouth and shoots him a crooked little grin.

“There you are, lad. C’mere.”

Farmer nods, trotting over toward him. He comes to a halt just behind Willy’s shoulder, looking down into the water. There are dark shapes moving about in the depth, giving Farmer an exciting tingle down his spine. The water has always kind of scared him but also held a certain fascination.

“I got your letter,” he says amicably. “I would have also come here without the promise of a gift, though. Just so you know.”

Willy chortles softly. He’s put the pipe back into his mouth and is talking out of the other corner.

“Duly noted, my boy. Don’t ya worry – wouldn’t’ve been offended even if that were the case.” He’s quiet for a moment, rocking back and forth again. He’s not humming, so the little tune must be entirely in his head. “Glad you came.”

Farmer just nods. They are both quiet for a moment. He can’t deny that he is rather interested in hearing why Willy wanted him to come over in the first place, but he also enjoys the calm permeating the space.

He can feel himself starting to relax and when Willy doesn’t seem eager to start a conversation any time soon, Farmer perches himself on one of the wooden poles keeping the docks up and just looks around the horizon.

After a bit, he stares back down into the water where Willy’s line disappears, then toward the bucket next to his legs.

“Have they been biting well today?” he asks, feeling a bit like a kid right now. He’s not in a habit to be in contact with his grandparents – not out of any malicious reason but simply because of their wildly differing schedules and lifestyles; so sitting here with Willy feels surprisingly nostalgic.

“Not particularly, no,” Willy replies with a pep in his voice that shows that he really is not bothered by it. “Might just pick up at a bit of a later time. That’s alright. Fishin’ ain’t the same every day of the week.”

Farmer nods along. He twists a little until his legs hang over the pier and he can let them dangle above the dark water. The wood is hell on his poor ass, but after a few minutes of relaxing into it, it just fades into the background of his awareness. A dull ache that becomes surprisingly comfortable the longer he sits there.

To be honest, it turns him on, even. Biting his lip, Farmer finds himself slowly rocking back and forth, much like Willy is doing, though for a completely different reason he would wager. The arousal he feels is slow, moving like the waves lapping against the beach. Hypnotic, in a way.

He gets so into his head about it that when Willy suddenly speaks again, it actually startles him. His hands jerk down to steady himself against the pole he’s sitting on while struggling to catch up to the words being spoken: “In fact, I’ve been out in town for a bout of night fishing just the other day. This time of year there are some interesting catches to be found. Some fish that you don’t get just any time of the year. And other things.”

Farmer slowly looks up to Willy. The other is still looking out at sea, his expression one of peaceful satisfaction.

“Other things?” Farmer echoes, having trouble really following along.

The corner of Willy’s eye crinkles with a little smirk and he nods, his hands calmly moving the fishing rod up and down a little to ostensibly let the bait bob a little in the depths of the water.

“Aye. Other things.” He takes a nice long puff, the tension in the air slowly prickling across Farmer’s skull as realization dawns on him slow like molasses. His mouth becomes dry, cock feeling hot and heavy in his underwear.

“You saw me,” he croaks, swallowing thick and dragging his suddenly moist palms against his thighs. “At the Saloon.”

Willy starts to rock more enthusiastically on his feet. There’s laughter in his voice as he says: “Aye. Saw you right there on the table. Been a mighty interesting watch, I tell ya.” He takes his pipe from his mouth, letting it swing thoughtfully through the air while looking into the sky. “Been… educational, I think the word is. Very enlightening.”

Goosebumps race across Farmer’s skin. He wonders if he should get up and… leave or something, but the way Willy is talking about it makes him stay put. The chance that someone might be able to see him through the huge damn window had only slightly pinged on his radar at the time but now he starts to nervously wonder if there had been other town’s people been privy to his private show for Gus.

“Uh-” he says, very eloquently, though he shakes himself out of it quick enough when he realizes that… he kind of doesn’t care? If anybody saw? He’s pretty sure half the town already knows he’s a slut – Sam and Sebastian seem to have made sure they’ve told as many people as possible. So he turns a little more toward Willy, a crooked grin on his face. “Did you like the show, then?”

Willy pops the end of the pipe back into his mouth. He hums softly, which Farmer interprets as a yes.

“How long did you watch?” He can feel his earlier shock about the revelation quickly falling off of him and being replaced with a nice, bone deep arousal once more… though he does wonder what his hole will have to say about getting railed yet again-

Don’t get ahead of yourself.

Willy shrugs one shoulder, slowly lifting his fishing rod, then lowering it again. “I stayed until the big finale, I’d say. Been happy for Gus. He’s a good man and gets pretty little time to enjoy himself like that.” He nods to himself. “Been quite the sight. Never thought I’d see anything like it. Kind of like a fish laying its eggs.”

Farmer swallows thickly. His heart pumps a bit faster as he starts wondering if Willy might want him to do something similar. If he’d ask him to stuff hands full of slimy, glibbery fish spawn into his hole-

“Been wonderin’ if you’d do an old man a favor, too. Gets a bit lonely out here, yes it does.”

Farmer swallows, licking his dry lips. He finally does shift, getting up from his perch on the wooden pole. He’s a good head taller than Willy but that shouldn’t be a problem one way or the other…

“I don’t mind doing favors,” he croons. He does not know exactly how to treat Willy but he’s more than eager to find out. Does he want some kind of submissive sex kitten? Or does he want to get bullied around a bit? He can literally get no read on the old guy.

Willy glances at him from the corner of his eyes, visibly unperturbed by Farmer towering over him.

“Aye, you seem like a nice upstandin’ guy. Not judging a fella none, which is great. I don’t need ya to do any of the fancy stuff Gus put you through…”

Farmer shudders sensually. He takes a little step closer still until he is just a hair’s breadth from touching Willy. His breath even makes the hair peeking out from beneath his old hat tremble.

“I can do fancy stuff for you, though. Just need to tell me what you want. I can call you… daddy, if you’d like?”

That gives him a startled little bark of a laugh. Willy cranes his head to look at him, eyes squinting against the sun. “Well aren’t you forward. And eager.”

“Guess I am,” Farmer answers a little breathlessly. He puts one hand on the small of Willy’s back, letting the warmth from his body seep through the other’s clothes. He smells a lot less like fish than he would have anticipated. The predominant scent he can make out at the moment is just the warm, vaguely fruity scent of the pipe smoke clinging to him.

“I’ll do anything you want,” he promises in a low, throaty voice. “Just need to know one thing…”

Willy shifts his weight a little. He is still holding on to the fishing rod in the same grip but to Farmer it looks like his knuckles are getting a bit more white from increased pressure. It also feels like he is subtly shifting into the touch on his back, making him wonder just how long it’s been since he’s had some fun.

“What do ya need to know, lad?” the old man asks with a bit of a rough voice, his eyes still trained out onto the sea.

“How will you vote on the Community Center?”

That gives him even more of a reaction than the ‘daddy’ had. Willy’s head snaps around as he stares at him for three long seconds, then the corners of his eyes begin to crinkle and his face breaks out into a huge, amused grin.

“Now why would you bring that up now? You’re as curious as they come, aren’t you? I…” he trails off.

Farmer watches in fascination as Willy’s eyes glaze over just like they had for Clint and Gus. He is quiet for a moment longer, then says as if it were in a dream: “What do ya want me to vote?”

Farmer exhales softly, the heel of his palm pressing gentle circles into the small of Willy’s back. “Keep it. I want us to keep it just like it is.”

Willy nods slowly. Farmer does wonder what he would have voted for, but in the end it is not really important anyway.

“Aye,” the fisher mutters, blinking and visibly coming back into his body. “I can do that. Sounds like a fine deal to me.”

Farmer swallows thick. He touches Willy’s stomach with his other hand now, his fingers slowly creeping downwards.

“It does, doesn’t it?” he murmurs, a fine sizzle running along his spine. “Now… what can I do for you?”

Willy licks his lips. He shuffles back from the edge of the pier a little, the eyes underneath his bushy brows looking alert and mischievous as he glances around them briefly, then back at Farmer.

“It gets lonely here, this time o’ year. Nobody comin’ around other than that nice writer fella in his cabin. Reckon he’s in there the rest of the day, though, so nobody’d see…” He rocks a little back and forth on his feet, and all in all Farmer can see the spunky kid that he’s once been in him.

He can’t say that he doesn’t enjoy his whole little… adventure that he’s got going on. He never would have figured how fun some guys like Willy or Gus were otherwise, he supposes.

“If ya wouldn’t mind keeping me warm for a few hours?”

Farmer’s mouth opens slightly, heart pumping faster. He too looks toward the beach now, but just like Willy said – and like his earlier assessment – nobody is there.

“I don’t mind at all,” he rasps, his insides feeling hot and eager.

Willy is lightly bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Figured you’d need a bit of a break still after the other night. Been quite the party trick you did, aye. Been enjoying myself a lot watching the whole spectacle.”

Farmer’s mouth is getting dry. Without much of a thought he squats down and slips between Willy’s legs and the water. His heart pounds faster as he listens to the soft lapping of the waves against the wooden beams the pier is standing on.

Willy grunts softly in surprise and shifts his feet back just that little bit more to give Farmer more space.

“Yeah?” Farmer asks breathlessly. He is reaching up to push Willy’s oversized sweater up and out of the way and get at the fastenings of his pants. “You been watching that long, huh? Did you jerk off to it?”

He can feel the warm ridge of a cock against his knuckles and pauses for a moment to drag his fingers against it. He can hear Willy exhale roughly around the pipe in his mouth. One of his hands momentarily falls away from the fishing rod to instead be placed on top of Farmer’s head and brush through his short, brown hair.

“I did not,” he says with a rough voice. “But I sure did enjoy the show, I can tell you that. Just had a nice smoke while watching you do your… magic.”

The way he says it, it almost sounds like he knows what Farmer’s whole spiel is. It sends another sizzle of sensation down his spine, this one less sensual and more excited. Waiting for the shoe to drop, so to speak.

He glances up at Willy while his fingers keep dragging against his cock, trying to figure out his dimensions without yet releasing him from the tight press of the zipper. Teasing himself with the prospect of what might be underneath his clothes.

“Just doing what I can to help out some hard working men in the community,” Farmer replies breathlessly, keeping the conversation going. He likes the way Willy’s mind works. How calm he is about everything. It feels like the old guy has been around the block a few times himself.

Willy chuckles again but he does not say more. He just slowly pets through Farmer’s hair, slightly rocking on his feet once more, though this time it means that he is moving his hips in a nice little thrusting motion toward Farmer’s face.

Nice and suggestive.

Since he does not seem inclined to elaborate on what he might or mightn’t know regarding Farmer’s little deal with the Wizard and the Jumino, Farmer decides to leave it up to interpretation and focus instead on what he is doing. His blood is rushing in his ears as he slowly pulls down the zipper.

It’s not the first time he’s done something in broad daylight, but right now they really are… completely out in the open.

Willy seems so unbothered about the prospect of some hapless townsperson strolling down to the beach and just seeing them be degenerates on the pier. It makes Farmer bolder.

He pulls open the old man’s fly and curls his fingers into the elastics of his gray underwear. It looks and feels threadbare; probably has been in Willy’s possession for decades.

The fabric has been worn thin enough that Farmer can see the healthy pink of his cock through it. There’s a little wet spot forming against the tip. The sight has his mouth water and his own cock pulse slowly in lazy interest.

Farmer leans in and presses his mouth and nose against Willy’s cock. He closes his eyes, breathing warm, wet air through the thin fabric. Willy groans. His hand falls away from Farmer’s head, instead taking a hold of his fishing rod once more.

He shuffles his feet a bit farther apart, getting into a nice, sturdy stance. Waiting for Farmer to keep going.

Keep him warm.

Farmer swallows thickly, lest he start drooling. Willy’s scent is intense but not like it had been with Clint. Clint had smelled like he hadn’t washed for a good few days – which had been hot in and off itself. Willy smells, surprisingly enough, like he’s clean as a cat.

Farmer tilts his head a little, opens his mouth, and fits it around the shaft as much as he can. He presses his tongue against it, slowly licking the fabric and soaking through it in seconds.

Willy doesn’t make a sound but he is inching his hips forward and fucking against Farmer’s mouth. The way he moves it definitely feels like he’s an old hand at all of this. His cock flexes between Farmer’s lips. He can feel the throb of his blood through the fat veins.

It’s addicting.

Farmer moves his head, slowly sliding down as far as he can with the pants in the way, then back up, leaving wet fabric clinging to Willy’s dick in his wake. Once he is at the crown, he attempts to suckle it into his head through the old guy’s underwear. It’s messy and weird but right now he just wants to tease the both of them to Hell and back.

If Willy disagrees with what he’s doing, he isn’t saying anything. He’s fallen completely quiet other than the occasional deeper breath he’s taking. But for the next few minutes, all Farmer can hear is the rushing of the water, the occasional sharp cry of the seagulls and his own tongue rasping against the wet fabric of Willy’s underwear.

He slowly shuffles closer, getting his feet underneath himself in a better position. His eyes are heavy lidded but not closed. He doesn’t see anything anyway with how close he is to Willy. He’s just staring ahead without really putting any brainpower into it. Into anything, really.

The longer he sucks on Willy’s tip, the more he forgets that he can’t properly pull him into his mouth.

Some time passes; he wouldn’t be able to say how long he’s been stuck in an odd, sensual limbo until Willy seems to grow tired of his sloppy blowjob attempts and reaches for him again.

His hand pats down the side of Farmer’s head in a way that lets him know the other isn’t even looking down at him for it all. Finally he pushes his thumb into the corner of Farmer’s mouth and pulls him away with the pressure.

It restarts his brain somewhat. He exhales roughly and blinks a few times, staring at the completely soaked through threadbare underwear with Willy’s cock visible through it as if through fogged up glass.

“S-Sorry,” he mumbles, tongue barely able to wrap around the word. He sounds drunk out of his mind. Willy chuckles softly and pats his cheek firm; just shy of slapping him.

Farmer finally peels his underwear down, staring at the other’s cock. It’s nothing special. Not too big, not too small, nothing too distinctive about it, but right now it’s the prettiest goddamn dick Farmer has ever seen. He opens his mouth nice and wide and swallows it down like he needs it to live.

He starts to bob his head but after the second or third, he feels Willy’s fingers in his hair, grabbing him tight.

“None of that, lad.” The other’s voice floats down to him as if in a dream. “Just hold it warm, will ya?” When Farmer settles in after a second, his harsh grip loosens on his hair and instead is replaced with a gentle pat. “There you go. Just like that. Settle down like a good boy.”

Farmer blinks slowly. He has to focus on opening up his throat and let Willy slide down the last couple of inches. He’s sitting against the very back of his tongue, just shy of cutting off his air flow; but that’s alright if he just relaxes himself into it.

He wonders briefly just how long Willy will want him to stay where he is. A few minutes? Half an hour? An hour? He’s not sure whether his knees will even manage it or not, but right now he is sitting quite comfortably – and the sounds around him are wonderfully calming.

Willy is hard but not desperately so. It does not feel like he is in any rush to pump out a load; he’s just filling Farmer’s mouth nice and firm, the fat vein along the underside slowly throbbing against his tongue.

He has his hands on the ground between his feet like a dog. He feels like one right now. He wishes Willy would call him a good puppy and pet his head some more, but the thought is gone as quickly as it had come; just floating away as he settles into the session.

Willy doesn’t talk to him. He doesn’t speak at all; just starts humming again low and idle as if he’s not balls deep in a slut’s throat.

At one point Farmer startles out of his peaceful nursing because Willy actually caught something. He can only hear the fish struggling in the water and beating it to a froth as it attempts to jump off the hook again, but just like the good cockwarmer that he is, he does not pull away to have a look.

It does excite Willy, though; he can feel how his cock jumps against the roof of his mouth, pre-cum suddenly dribbling down the back of his tongue.

Willy really does love fishing, it seems.

Hours go by. Every now and then, Farmer will shift his position from squatting on his feet to kneeling down on the pier. Eventually, though, no amount of shifting around can alleviate the ache in his knees and down to his ankles.

He whimpers. Willy reaches for him, petting across his hair once more. Everything around them has slowly shifted into a beautiful orange-red sunset.

“Aye. You’ve been earning your keep today,” Willy murmurs. He sounds very pleased indeed. The sound of his satisfied voice sends makes Farmer feel delirious. He loves getting praised. He loves watching his viewers lose their minds the more unhinged he becomes just for them – and he loves when he gets some nice one-on-one attention.

His fingers dig into Farmer’s hair, holding him nice and tight so he can finally use his mouth like it’s been intended all along: a living fleshlight. He’s been born to be a cocksleeve, Farmer is pretty sure of that. There is nothing he is more skilled at than taking cocks and milk them dry.

There is nothing giving him more pleasure than become an absolute whore for others. Just a nice little toy they can play with.

Farmer groans, his eyes rolling into his head as he finally can start suckling and feels the dick rubbing against his tongue. Back and forth… back and forth… he can feel the foreskin rolling against the tip of his tongue and lifts it eagerly to try and play with it while Willy fucks into his throat.

He starts drooling but he doesn’t care; and Willy doesn’t seem to mind either. He moves his hips like he’s an old hand at it all; rolling them nice and deep and smooth.

It’s an orgasmic feeling in and off itself after having had to stay still for so long. Farmer wraps his arms around Willy’s legs, holding on like a man drowning, letting him fuck down his throat. He sucks diligently, his own cock pulsing in his pants – helpless to do anything about that warm erection he’s been having for the past few hours.

He wants to start babbling, thanking him for the privilege of having been allowed to keep his dick warm like this, but of course all that comes out are delirious, muffled groans.

Willy grunts softly as he comes; nothing more. He’s been quiet now like he’s been quiet during the latter half of the day.

A gentleman, Farmer thinks, insanely enough, all in love with the old cock still slowly fucking him as it pulses out come.

Willy grinds his hips against Farmer’s face, his cock briefly swelling even fatter. As the first warm spurts of cum trickle down Farmer’s throat, he allows himself to relax into his own orgasm, filling his underwear with his own warm, sticky cream, eyes rolling into his head and a few pathetic tears of overstimulation trickling down his cheeks.

Even his ruined, swollen hole is throbbing.

He can’t say that he’s anticipated this turn of events when he got Willy’s letter, but he’s more than happy that he decided to come down to the beach anyway.