CYOA3 – Farmer's Delight – Chapter 5: Lust Over Easy (Patreon)

Previously: Farmer tried out the magic of the Junimo by fucking around with Clint (and his friend Heisenberg).

Content in this chapter: Farmer, annoyed by Clint - so far - being a no-show, goes to calm himself in the Stardrop Saloon where he finds a very willing next candidate.

(Oviposition; praise kink; belly bulge)

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Farmer is standing in front of the box that Lewis has said he would put up in his home and reflects on the ending of his little tryst the other night.

You’ll uh… vote, right? To keep the Community Center?

Uh… yeah… pro’lly.

It hadn’t been the most enthusiastic response. It’s also been a weird as fuck question to ask after getting fucked within an inch of his life and having groggily asked the two men not ten minutes before if his asshole was still inside his damn body.

Clint hadn’t looked all that awake anymore at that point, to be certain, and Heisenberg had given him the oddest grin, wiggling his fingers all too jaunty as he sent him on his way.

And the end of the line was that… there was no vote inside the famous box. Other than one balled up red strip that undoubtedly bore Pierre’s name.

Farmer tries to marvel at how trusting a little community like Pelican Town is… him just being able to wander into the Mayor’s house unsupervised and them just leaving the box there for anybody to tinker with. It doesn’t have a lid; it’s just… a box with colored strips next to it that you can grab and write your name on.

He can’t help but notice, though, how there is only one vote in there, and when he checks… yeah. Yeah that is Pierre’s customary vote that nobody is surprised about. He probably was breathing down Lewis’ neck waiting for him to place the damn wooden box in place so he could throw his vote in.

No Clint, though. Yet.

Well, it’s still early in the day. Maybe he would drop it off on his way to the bar this evening.

.o.

He hasn’t. Not yet. There’s still only Pierre’s vote in there and Lewis throwing Farmer a slightly concerned look as he gets ready probably to go to the bar himself as well. It’s Friday and practically the whole Town would be gathering there. That’s one thing that Farmer has figured out in the few weeks he’s been living here, at least.

Maybe it just takes a few days. I have no damn clue how this Junimo magic works. Or if it even works.

Farmer groans softly and drags a hand down his face.

“Hey. I mean… Evening, neighbor.” He frowns and turns to glance at Lewis who is done donning his outfit for the evening and approaches him slowly like one would an animal they are not too sure about.

Lewis gently wraps his hand around Farmer’s bicep and steers him around away from the box. “I have noticed your interest in the outcome of the polls which fills me with a lot of confidence, but your expression is uh… frightening, to be quite honest. Why don’t you just leave it be for today and come to the saloon like everybody else? Get your mind out of those dark spots it has slipped into.”

Farmer gives him a blank stare for long enough that Lewis slowly takes his hand off of him and takes a step back.

“Just a suggestion, son.”

He sighs deeply and rolls his neck and shoulders, trying to relax those tense muscles. Maybe Lewis is on to something and he had been looking a bit… intense just now, trapped in his own head, trying to figure out for the millionth time if he is going absolutely insane because of some fairy tale beasts he’s started to believe in.

Just remember that a few days ago you had a cunt for a glorious few hours curtesy by the resident wizard. You’re gonna be fucking golden.

“You’re right, sir. Sorry for scaring you.”

Lewis splutters, muttering something about how he hadn’t been scared – but he seems rather relieved that Farmer is letting himself get directed toward the saloon by him.

The nights are getting warmer, seeing as they are hurtling toward Summer in big steps, and the temperature inside the Stardrop Saloon is absolutely sweltering as a direct result.

They have thrown open all the windows to let out the heat and try and pull some of the comparatively cool outside air in, but everybody is glazed with a sheen of sweat – and they look quite happy with that.

Farmer has a cursory view around and notes that neither Clint nor Heisenberg are with everybody gathered here. So maybe that is why Clint hasn’t cast his vote yet.

Feeling a bit miffed at the whole situation, Farmer leaves Lewis to find Marnie and sits himself down at the bar Gus is all alone behind the counter for most of the time with Emily happily traipsing around and gathering empty glasses and plates or listening to new orders coming in.

All in all, the atmosphere is… good. Farmer can feel himself starting to relax despite himself and by the time Gus presents him with a cold lemonade and some fritters on the house, he can find it in himself to start grinning again.

“You’re a good man,” Farmer calls over the general din of conversation and music, lifting the little basket in the air in quiet thanks. “Tell you what, I’ll send you a chunk of my crops personally next time. Leave out the middle man for a change.”

Gus’ cheeks are flushed from the heat. He looks as jolly as ever, his mustache trembling with excitement as he leans over the bar and puts one big, warm hand on Farmer’s forearm.

“Well I won’t say no to such a tempting offer, my boy!”

Is it sick that Farmer feels a frizzle of excitement running down his spine? Even though he’s been aware of his asshole the whole day like he hasn’t been in years? If ever? He’s been close to grabbing a hand mirror and trying to catch a peek at his own swollen donut of a hole just to make sure it really didn’t prolapse.

He’s not sure what Harvey would do if he dropped pants and showed him that whole thing. The poor guy seems like he would flat out faint.

The whole moment just takes a split second, yet Farmer is painfully aware of the warmth of Gus’ hand leaving as he pulls away again, a satisfied smile hidden in the whiskers of his mustache and beard.

Farmer swallows thickly. He takes a sip of his lemonade, then startles as there’s a roar of laughter and groans coming from the billiard table. It’s a lot louder than usual. When he peers to the side he sees that there aren’t just the usual suspects there: there are about twenty young people he does not recognize.

He can’t believe he hasn’t noticed them before… but now the noise level and extraordinary warmth does make sense. He’s been so in his own little world, annoyed about Clint and how everything immediately didn’t work out, that he must have been blind.

“Uh… what’s that?” he calls over the voices, gesturing toward the group with his bottle.

Gus looks extraordinarily pleased, his eyes nearly vanishing as the apples of his cheeks plump up with his grin. “Tourists! Just on their way through to an island resort nearby. They’ll be leaving early tomorrow morning! But for the night…”

He trails off. He does not need to say more. But then he does, leaning in. “Apparently they decided to stop here because they could rush into Joja last minute to grab some more supplies. It was the only location in a decent radius.”

Farmer’s previous little smile stiffens a little as the pleasant warmth he’s felt just from Gus being so extraordinarily happy, seeps away some.

“...Oh?” he says warily. He shifts on his bar stool and glances around a little at the other town people in the saloon. Everybody looks stoked, now that he thinks about it. There’s a whole new energy about the place with the tourists shaking things up.

Were the others thinking what Gus clearly was thinking? Well that… sucked.

“I guess Pierre’s didn’t have the stuff that they needed.”

“Nope.” Gus pops the p on that one a bit more than he really needed to. He’s a neutral guy all in all from what Farmer can tell, but even he seems to be harboring some animosity toward their resident grocer.

“He should maybe expand his inventory a bit, then.”

“A fair bit, yes.”

“He’d probably need more funds for that.”

“Probably.”

They glance at each other over the bar. Gus has taken up on cleaning one of the glasses when Emily nearly trips over her own feet on her hurried way over. “Thirteen beers!”

Gus gets into a flurry of activity and Farmer just hunkers down a little, trying to make himself smaller so he’s not in the way of heavy glasses getting all but thrown over his head as Emily makes her way back-and-forth through the lively saloon.

His eyes are stuck on Gus. Despite the heat, he’s wearing a thick sweater, though once fat drops of sweat start beading on his forehead, he gives in and takes it off.

Underneath he is wearing a short sleeved button up that he has closed up to the very last button. A few hairs still are curling out around it. He must be… extraordinarily hairy. His arms sure are. They are big and strong and the biceps keep jiggling as he moves.

Farmer’s mouth is getting dry despite him nursing on his lemonade. His ruined hole is throbbing with need.

How fucked up would it be to try and figure out if Gus would go for some male pussy?

It takes a bit for orders to calm down again. In the meantime Farmer tries to keep his own libido in check, just eating his fritters and watching the commotion in the adjacent room. It looks like they are some kind of sports team who maybe has gotten a few days off or something.

There are an awful lot of dark blue jackets strewn about the furniture, though he can’t make out the mascot on the back. Some kind of bovine? Or feline?

He can’t really pay attention when in the corner of his eye he keeps staring at Gus cleaning plates and glasses without his customary sweater in place to hide what he has going on underneath.

Farmer is just a sucker for fat guys. He can’t help it that a nice big belly and large arms get his engine running better than most other things.

“So… you’re really cashing in tonight. I’m happy for you.”

Gus is beaming again at that. “I sure am! Feels good to finally have some fresh faces in here, too! Lewis oughta put more effort into advertising our town! We desperately need the cash flow.”

“Hmn. But I guess a Community Center would be more helpful then. He did mention that…”

Something odd happens then. The moment the words ‘Community Center’ leave Farmer’s mouth, Gus’ demeanor changes somewhat. His hands that had been vigorously drying off a glass, slow down dramatically and his head tilts to the side like a dog listening for something intently.

Farmer does not continue speaking and after a second or two the spell is broken and Gus resumes moving as if nothing had happened. He turns toward Pam and talks to her, apparently having completely forgotten that he’s been in a conversation with Farmer to begin with.

Farmer’s mouth runs very dry. He slowly stares down at the top of the bar, thinking things over. Last night had been odd as well… with Clint’s eyes glazing over and him so suspiciously eager to get it on with Farmer when before he had not really wanted him in his home to begin with.

And now Gus…

Could it be… an actual spell? The Junimo spell?

Farmer can almost hear the Wizard’s impatient snort as the thoughts slowly move through his brain like molasses. He looks up toward Gus and lifts his hand. Everything feels surreal; as if it were happening in a dream.

Gus looks toward him, a confused little smile appearing on his features as he looks at Farmer as if he were seeing him for the first time tonight and was wondering how he got there.

Farmer waves him closer, and Gus leans in, good natured as always.

Farmer licks his lips, his hear pounding fast in his chest as he just goes for it: “Hey, have you decided on your Community Center vote yet?”

He can see Gus’ eyes glazing over immediately, just like Clint’s had last night. Farmer’s insides quiver with eagerness, his hole throbbing warm and needy. He wants to get fucked again. He wants to get fucked by Gus so bad that he almost feels nauseous with it.

“No… not yet.”

Farmer stretches his back, half standing up from his perch on the bar stool so he can bring his face closer to Gus’ and breathe warm against his flushed ear.

“I’d like to try and sway your stance on that, then.”

Gus does not say anything. He’s just nice and still and listening to him intently while radiating heat.

“Wanna fuck me in the back?”

“Yes.”

That answer comes quick and without hesitation; as if Gus had just been waiting for Farmer to become a slut and offer up his holes like they were candy. Farmer exhales in a soft little gasp and slides from the bar stool. He’s about to march himself around the bar so Gus can take it toward the back where his private quarters were, but Gus is already moving himself.

He walks past Pam who is trying to flag him down for another beer and looks confused as her friend just completely ignores her in favor of reaching for Farmer and grabbing him by the bicep.

Farmer’s breath hitches. For a second he thinks Guy might fuck him right there on the main floor; maybe bend him over one of the tables next to Willy and ram it home in one fell swoop-

But he doesn’t. Thank fuck he doesn’t because Farmer is not sure he would even fight it. He’s too much of a slut to really care about the whole town (and a few out-of-towners) seeing him getting his swollen pussy stuffed on cock.

He doesn’t fuck him on main but instead he starts steering him toward the billiard table which is infinitely worse… or better? Farmer feels himself wanting to drool as he sees all the young men gathered around the table, talking, ribbing each other, laughing-

Oh, they’d just be good enough studs to satisfy him for a while, he’s sure- But again, Gus pulls on him and drags him down a hallway that Farmer has never been down in. They step into a cool, dark room filled with what turns out to be barrels. There is no door; they still can hear the ruckus just down the hallway as if the guys were standing in the room with them which is honestly quite exciting for Farmer.

“Yeah? You wanna do it here?” he asks with a tremble in his voice as he turns toward facing Gus and starts to unhook his overalls. At least he’s dressed for easy access today, even though he had not been planning on it.

Gus looks surprisingly ominous in the darkness. What little light there is comes exclusively from down the open hallway, so when he pulls Farmer just a bit deeper behind some of the barrels, he becomes just a shadowy giant of a man. He’s not talking; only his heavy breathing can be heard as he reaches for Farmer and starts to feel him up.

His large hands gently squeeze his elbows, then his biceps, up his shoulders; feeling himself along Farmer’s body until he reaches his chest and gives his pecs a nice, firm grope that is just teetering on painful.

Farmer exhales softly. “You’re handsy…” he rasps, letting himself get crowded against the cool, vaguely moist wood of the barrel. “I like that.”

“And I like that you’re a slut,” Gus unexpectedly answers.

Farmer had not pegged him to be a dirty-talker. He likes that too. Especially since he still somehow sounds like Gus; with a bit of a chuckle in his voice, like he said something very wholesome.

He grabs Farmer around the hips and holds him steady as he crowds him harder against the barrels. He squeezes him between the wood and his own fat belly seconds before pressing his mouth against Farmer. It’s even more exciting in the darkness.

They fumble with each other, their lips not really fitting at first until they feel out each other’s mouth. Gus’ big mustache drags against Farmer’s upper lip and nose. The hairs are just stiff enough that he knows it’ll start chafing once Gus really gets into it. And he can’t say that he minds.

That might be a problem sometime down the line; just how eager and willing he is for all of these people. How he’s gagging for the chance to spread his thighs and let them do whatever shit they want to him just because it gets his dick insanely hard and has the adrenaline pumping through his system.

Point in case: him nearly getting suffocated in Clint’s ass just last night.

Gus pushes his tongue into Farmer like he’s trying to fuck it down his throat. It’s a nice way to make his thoughts snap back into the now, his hands helplessly holding on to Gus’ shirt as he keeps his mouth open for him to do whatever shit he wants to do.

He’s a good kisser… Farmer thinks. It’s a bit hard to produce any thoughts when he is getting so thoroughly dominated. He does not need to think about what to do next because Gus is doing it for him; sucking on his tongue, biting at his lips, pinching his nipples until tears spring to Farmer’s eyes and his dick is trying to rub itself raw against his underwear-

Gus pulls back; just a little. Just enough that his hot panting breaths puff against Farmer’s red hot face when he whispers: “I heard the kids talking about you. About the… nasty things you get up to on the internet. I haven’t had time to have a look myself, but is it true?”

He squeezes Farmer’s nipple again, the little nub in absolute torture in between the careful pinch of his thick fingers.

“You let them pay you to push a few billiard balls up your ass?”

Farmer can’t help the decidedly crazy sounding squawk that escapes him. He rolls his hips up and into Gus, hoping he’ll feel his massive erection pressing against the lower swell of his stomach and have mercy on him.

“Oh fuck… I’ve let them pay me for a lot of crazy shit, yeah,” he croons back. He curls his arms around Gus to get a grip of his ass. It’s nice and fat like the rest of him. He’s got a dump truck ass from enjoying his own food and Farmer is here for it.

“I love doing shit for money.”

Gus laughs at that. He sounds almost normal again when he croons: “Same,” just before he grabs Farmer’s overalls and starts to push them down even further. Neither of them is in the mood to wait and let him get off his boots, so this will have to do.

“I want something from you,” the shadow person that is Gus tells him seriously. His hand is around Farmer’s dick. It’s quite humbling, to be honest; Gus’ paw is massive and makes him feel like his dick is little more than a slightly bigger than usual clit.

“Y-Yeah?” Farmer whispers back, his voice having climbed quite a bit, hips rolling up into Gus’ grip while his fingers dig into his ass.

“I want you to show me.”

“Uh… huh?”

Suddenly the crowd outside bursts into hollering. As they start to quiet down, Emily’s slightly confused voice can be heard: “Gus? … uh… Gus?”

“Stay here until everybody else is gone,” Gus rasps. He lets go of Farmer’s cock and takes a step back. The air rushing into the place that his body had occupied moments ago feels almost painfully cold.

“I… w-what?”

“Stay. Here.”

He vanishes without another word of explanation, leaving Farmer standing with his overalls around his knees and his cock flexing in the cool air of this dark, spooky room. What was he supposed to do now? Should he… jerk off and leave? Jerk off and stay? Don’t do any of that stuff?

“Oh what the fuck,” he whispers, fingers reaching up to touch his tingling upper lip. His skin feels tender from having Gus’ mustache rub against it moments ago. That at least helps in solidifying that he hadn’t dreamed all of this up.

.o.

Farmer ends up not jerking off. He wants to keep that manic, low-key annoyed energy going. Gus got something planned and he’s too curious not to be desperate and horny for when it actually happens. So he stays in the darkness, listening to the crowd of people outside having the time of their life until finally closing time is upon them and Gus and Emily start to gently herd everybody outside the saloon.

Farmer’s breath hitches. His erection has long since gone down but his dick is still pulsing and half-hard as he slowly makes his way out of the dark barrel room, creeping down the hallway.

It’s quiet for so long that he thinks he’s alone until he suddenly hears Gus’ voice just a couple steps away from where he is pressed against the wall.

“That’s alright, Emily. I’ll take care of the rest. You’ve had a long night; go and get some sleep. You worked hard.”

“Hmm… You sure about that?”

“Of course! I’ll just putter around for a bit longer and then do the rest later before opening.”

She hums again, obviously loath to leave the saloon in the state that it is in, but Farmer had been able to hear how bone tired she was and after another moment she does relent. They wish each other good night.

Farmer is breathing quickly; almost panting as he listens to the door first gently be closed and then a key being turned in a lock. His fingertips start to tingle as Gus’ heavy steps slowly come closer.

He’s both afraid and turned on, his cock lifting eagerly in a confused half chub that leaves Farmer vaguely embarrassed.

And then Gus is there; suddenly standing in front of Farmer, visibly surprised to see him where he is. They just stare at each other for a moment before Gus suddenly breaks the silence.

“Get naked.”

He sounds so different. His whole vibe is different. Stern. Ominous. His gaze isn’t oddly vacant like Clint’s had been the other night and like it had been earlier when Farmer asked him the question, but there is something about him that makes Farmer just know that he is under the influence of the Junimo magic anyway.

And it is exciting.

“What have you planned?” he asks, voice shaking with nervous excitement. He has to bend down to grab his boots and pull them off his feet and the sudden change in elevation has his head feel all woozy. Or maybe it is because it makes him feel that much smaller than Gus who already is a big guy.

It appears no matter how old Farmer gets, he’s still a sucker for being made to feel small and weak and helpless.

“You’ll show me your trick,” Gus says, not backing away an inch. He seems to enjoy looking down at Farmer bent over for him.

“My trick?” Farmer echoes. His brain isn’t functioning so well right now. He is trying to figure out just how well Gus can fuck him with what would almost certainly be a massive beercan dick.

“Yes,” Gus says. He reaches out for Farmer and pets his head. He keeps him down there for a bit longer even once Farmer could stand up again. He does not pull him in to the thick bulge tenting his pants, though, and after a moment lets him up again.

As Farmer continues getting naked, Gus wanders over to the billiard table. Only halfway through him calmly pulling the balls out of the storage compartment and placing them on top of the green felt, does it finally click in Farmer’s head.

His breath hitches, fingertips becoming a bit numb. With fear. And with excitement.

Gus finally turns toward him and pats the table gently, his expression turning surprisingly warm as he starts smiling again.

“You’ll crawl up here on the table and show me how many of those balls you can fit inside you. And once you’re at your limit, you will… birth… them. For me.” He shifts his weight a little around and Farmer can’t tell if he’s just turned on by the thought or a bit bashful that he said it so openly. But then he just continues without needing to be prompted: “I like eggs. In every way. I like cooking them. I like eating them. I like holding them in my hands. And I like the thought of them being laid.”

He pats the table again. Farmer can’t see his face too clearly as he’s standing with his back to the windows and the moonlight plunges him into odd shadows, but he can see how his tongue briefly comes out wet and glistening, licking across his lips.

“I want to watch you lay those balls as if they were eggs.”

Farmer exhales roughly. He thinks if someone had said that to him during broad daylight, he would have started laughing… but now he’s standing naked in the vaguely cool saloon, wrestling with ‘horny brain’ for the past hour or so, and honestly… hearing Gus say it like that is turning him on more than it should.

His erection is at full force, slowly flexing in front of him. Pointing him directly to the billiard table. He grabs it and gives himself a few tugs.

“I need lube,” he hears himself say, his voice low and scratchy with arousal; but not a single stutter to be heard.

Gus starts to smile again; that comfortable easy grin. His teeth are practically glowing in the darkness.

“I’ll get that for you! You just start to get comfortable on the table. And when everything is said and done… I’ll vote for that Community Center.”

A surge of embarrassment washes through Farmer. He’s completely forgotten why he’s going to do what he’s about to do in the first place. He swallows thickly and, thinking of Clint and his current no-show, pauses for a moment with a hand on the warm wood along the edge of the billiard table.

“You’re giving me your word on that?”

“Of course. You can count on me.”

Farmer believes him. He really does. Though right now he’s not so sure whether that stems from his need to just want to say ‘yes’ and ‘amen’ to everything Gus said so he’d feel justified doing what he’s about to do now…

It’s a moot point in the end. Especially once he’s squatting on the billiard table and is carefully pressing the first ball against his hole. Gus is… somewhere. He’s started moving around the table, quietly watching Farmer from all sides before settling somewhere behind him.

“Looks to me like you’ve had quite the adventure recently.” His voice is close. Much closer than Farmer would have expected. He jumps, pitching forward and pushing the ball back outside after he’s already had it fit halfway inside his body. It lands in his palm, heavy and warm from his body heat.

He feels Gus’ thick fingers brushing along his cheeks and the tops of his thighs.

“Pretty swollen. Looks… hot. Nasty.”

Farmer shudders. He swallows thick and slowly starts to lift his hand again, pressing the yellow billiard ball with the 1 back against his pucker. Knowing that Gus is really close, watching right there how Farmer’s swollen pussy is stretching open for the foreign object, is doing things to him.

“I don’t… I don’t kiss and tell,” he gasps softly, straining to once again push the ball carefully into himself. The stretch around the widest part is intense… but it isn’t the biggest thing he’s ever shoved up there. So it’s all good. He knows he can take it. He knows his body can take it.

Gus chuckles behind him, his warm fingers once again brushing against his thighs.

“I don’t need you to. Chances are, they’ll tell me one of these days themselves. You know… these people tell me almost everything they’re doing. They trust my discretion. A lot.”

Farmer can honestly see that. Gus is a stand up guy. A rock in tumultuous waters. He could see himself coming here to drink and tell him all his worries. He could also see himself coming here to tell him all the nasty thoughts that recently crawled through his brain like a disease.

The first ball goes in. He already feels nice and full from it; but not overwhelmingly so.

“Here.” Gus hands him the next ball. Farmer peers down between his knees and sees that it is a dark blue one with a 2 on it. He grins crookedly and sets the new one, slick with lube, against his hole.

“You only like watching them come out, or is this doing something for you too?” he asks in a bit of a pressed voice as he begins pushing the second ball into himself.

The click of the hard resin against the ball already inside him ricochets through his body. He can feel it in his teeth. His cock jumps, dribbling pre-cum onto the green felt. He’s not sure what Gus will do about that later but that’s a Gus problem, he figures.

“I enjoy it all,” Gus replies. There’s a certain breathiness to his voice that tells Farmer he’s not lying. Damn… he wishes that there was a mirror somewhere. Something to allow him to watch Gus watch him-

But the mental image of the other standing behind him, raptly watching his ruined hole spread open for ball after ball is also really good. At one point he can even hear the wet sound of a fist dragging along a cock…

“There’s a window right there. Are you not afraid someone might see you?” Gus asks suddenly. He’s given Farmer a third ball… and now a fourth. Farmer can barely piece together what the words mean. His head feels filled with cotton and swollen. But not as much as his intestines.

The weight of the three balls already inside him is quite noticeable. It pulls to the front of his belly, pressing against the inside of his navel. There’s a pressure in his hips that is just teetering against the edge of becoming uncomfortable. He curls his hips forward helplessly, instinctively trying to fuck into a nice warm hole. Or maybe to get away from his own hand gently feeding him a fourth ball.

His brain lags behind, only slowly letting him piece together what Gus said. His head swivels around to the side where he can see the peaceful town through the large window there.

The moon is hanging high in the sky, illuminating everything with its cool, pale glow.

Farmer shivers. His insides contract for a second, pushing down on the balls. For a second he’s gripped by panic, thinking that the balls might just fall out of him before he’s really done with his little party trick… but of course it isn’t that easy and the panic recedes as quickly as it came, leaving behind a delirious rush of adrenaline.

More pre-cum drips from his cock. He’s oscillating between half-hard and a full blown erection which he is not unfamiliar with.

“‘S… okay…” he hears himself say. He sounds like he’s having a stroke, but Gus appears to be unconcerned. He probably can infer that stuffing some fat heavy billiard balls into one’s ass makes one a bit cumdrunk.

“It really is,” he hears the other chuckle. So calm. So good-natured. He sounds unperturbed, like he isn’t making Farmer stuff himself with billiard balls so he can watch him press them out of his body one by one. Like he isn’t jerking off to the whole scenario.

What a man.

Farmer pushes the fourth ball in. And Gus just hands him the fifth. His fingers are shaking so badly that he lets it fall on the billiard table where it hits the felt with a soft thump.

“Hmm… Do you want to stop here?” Gus asks curiously.

Farmer is panting with his tongue hanging out. He has to brace all fours on the table for a moment, just squatting and breathing through the experience of four large, heavy resin balls in his guts. There’s heat swamping his body in waves. He does not know hot to breathe properly; it feels like whenever he moves his belly, he’s moving the billiard balls around himself, so he has to breathe through his chest.

“N-No,” he hears himself say. “I can take m-more… one? T-Two?” He’s slurring his words and honestly he wouldn’t be surprised if Gus told him no, but… after a long moment of thinking, the bartender moves around to the front again and looks at Farmer’s face.

“Don’t overdo it. Four is plenty enough. I don’t mind watching you push them out nice and slow.”

Farmer is barely listening to him. His gaze is stuck on Gus’ cock hanging out of his slacks. It looks as gloriously fat as he had imagined it to be. He hasn’t bothered pulling his nuts out too, though, which is a right shame. Farmer can feel himself starting to drool.

Gus watches the fine line dripping down, then mumbles something under his breath.

“Wait a second.”

Farmer watches him leave. He just has to sit there with his guts full of billiard balls and try not to cum without his captive audience being there to watch him.

Gus doesn’t take long. Just a minute. Two tops. When he comes back, his arms are full with towels but Farmer once again is too focused on his fat cock slowly wagging in front of him to really put any brain power into what he is doing.

Towels are getting spread out over the billiard table. Gus even makes a little nest with one underneath Farmer. His plump cheeks are flushing red. “Makes it look even more realistic,” he rasps.

Farmer shudders bodily. He pitches toward Gus who hurriedly catches him at his shoulders and pushes him back into place.

“You good?” he asks him again, thick brows pulled into a frown.

“Y-You want me to c-cluck when I push them out?” Farmer asks. It’s a very serious question, so he’s not quite sure why Gus starts laughing after a second of confused silence.

“No. No, that’s alright. You’re a good man, Farmer. Here… last one. Then you hold them inside a little for me before the great finale, yes?”

Farmer tries to focus on the fifth billiard ball on Gus’ palm, offered to him like gold but his vision is just blurry.

He slowly reaches for it, pawing around it a few times before finally grasping the ball.

“Yeah. Yeah, sure. Whatever you want.”

He’s drooling again as he pushes the last one in but this time it all hits some towels spread out around him to somewhat safe the billiard table from even worse.

Five definitely… wow… yeah… five is a lot. The last time he did this, he only pushed in three as he’d not been too certain about his ability to even squeeze them out again and it had been pretty overwhelming. But having a life audience right there, jerking it to the sight of him stuffing billiard balls into his ass and telling him the whole time how good he’s being and how hot he’s looking has somewhat inflated his ego, it seems.

It just felt so doable. So easy to achieve. But now he’s here, his stomach bulging with five billiard balls and his cock feeling like an overstuffed sausage in its own right. He’s just so full. Everywhere. Even his fingertips feel swollen somehow as he squats on all fours, panting and groaning like a beast of burden, his hole intermittently spasming.

“I can still see the ball inside you,” he hears Gus’ voice. It’s dropped down by roughly an octave just from him being horny. “Damn, this is the hottest thing I’ve seen in a long while. You think you can push them all out again? I’m not sure Harvey would survive the heart attack he’d have if we showed up now and told him what’s happened.”

Farmer only manages a simpering little whimper. Gus of course is just echoing his own thoughts from before but now that he’s actually stuffed to the brim with billiard balls, struggling to keep his swollen, ruined hole somewhat closed, the thought of having to go to Harvey for some medical help is a lot more real. And a lot more tantalizing.

“How does it feel? Like you’re about to pop, huh?”

“Uh… uh-huh-” Farmer replies without any eloquence whatsoever.

“I really do have to thank you for this. It’s not something you find often. Certainly not without paying a huge amount. One little vote for a Community Center is not much of a price, really. I feel like I’m ripping you off here. How about your meals are on the house for the next week, hm? Ah. And you can start pushing them out now. Try to be as slow as you can.”

Farmer groans. Gus’ words are just washing over him. He understands what he is saying, in an abstract way, but it takes him quite a bit to put two and two together and realize that something has been asked of him.

He starts to lower his hips to start bearing down on the billiard balls but suddenly he feels Gus’ overly warm hand, gently touching his hip.

“No! No. Uhm… if possible, can you do it from as high up as you can? I like to… hear the thump. When they hit the ground.”

Farmer shudders. The sensation ricochets through his body and makes him hyper aware of how tight his whole body has become. Tight and sensitive and borderline overwhelmed from the alien feeling of fat billiard balls sitting in his gut.

He awkwardly lifts his hips again high. It’s a weird position to be in but he kind of… he kind of likes it. He likes this weird shit that some guys come up with. He likes it when they push him along, asking more and more unhinged shit from him and making it seem so normal, so… good to his horny brain.

It never fails to fascinate him just what he can get himself into when he’s got a fat hardon.

“Alright,” Gus’ voice floats toward him. “You can press now. Slow, please.”

In the position he is in, all his blood seems to flow directly to his head. His temples start pulsing with his throbbing heart beat and the sensation becomes only worse when he starts to bear down on his cargo.

“Yes… I can see your hole starting to open up…” Gus is sounding breathless. Farmer’s cock flexes, swinging between his trembling thighs. Gus must be seeing how desperately he’s in need of a good hand milking him dry but he’s not touching him. Yet. That’s good. Farmer wouldn’t want to come too fast. He needs the horny, feverish energy in his body to get through this.

He has to pause for a moment, catch his breath, the billiard ball sitting right there at his entrance. Farmer has to gather his strength because he knows from experience that he needs to push this out in one go. If he stops halfway through, the slippery ball will just be sucked back into his body, leaving him right where he started.

Gus does not force him to go faster or to try again. He’s gone quiet except for the sound of him breathing and slowly jerking off. He does not want to come too fast either.

Finally, Farmer feels like he’s got enough strength to start. He closes his eyes, clenches his teeth, and starts to bear down on the heavy balls sitting in his intestines. The lowers one pushes against his rim from the inside, starting to spread it open. For a split second Farmer wants to stop and catch his breath, but he goes down onto his elbows, bracing himself on his forearms and clenching his hands into fists.

That helps, somehow. He pushes through his moment of weakness – literally. He keeps grunting, pushing, thighs shaking as the ball stretches his rim farther and farther before finally it passes the widest part and his sloppy, fucked-out rim just slips over the rest.

Farmer can feel the heavy thump vibrating briefly through the billiard table as the ball hits its nest of towels.

Gus does not talk; but he groans drawn out and desperate.

Farmer needs another moment just to pant through it, tongue hanging out and drool dripping down to the towels… then he starts pushing again.

Gus does not need to remind him to make it nice and slow. He can’t rush it along. He whimpers after the second billiard ball hits the towel nest and by the third he is openly weeping, his cock a desperate, fat rod between his thighs, feeling like it is about to burst with how desperately he wants to come.

“You are fantastic. Phenomenal. I would never have thought you could… that you even would-” Gus is just rambling; low, gentle encouragement, his hands rubbing along Farmer’s shaking thighs. At one point he tickles his full balls and Farmer nearly folds in on himself like a damn camping chair.

“I’ll help you out during the last one,” Gus promises him in a low voice. “Just two more… Oh, I can already see the next. Your hole… looks so ruined… it’s so swollen and…” he trails off. Farmer is just blindly rubbing his wet, messy face against the towels, gurgling when he feels something poke at his massively swollen hole.

It feels like fire between his cheeks. Like he’ll need to wear a damn diaper for the rest of the week just to make sure he won’t have any accidents. It feels like after he’ll have pushed the last billiard ball out, his hole will be a swollen donut and looking like a horse’s damn asshole.

His knees buckle beneath him right as the second to last ball finally pops out of him. He curls up into a little ball, unable to keep himself up nice and high like Gus has asked him to be but… the other does not seem put out.

He’s just heavily breathing and jerking his cock. Farmer can feel his breath tickling his ass cheeks seconds before he hears the suckling kiss Gus presses against his ruined cunt.

His eyes roll up into his skull. His cock is a swollen wound trapped between his stomach and his thighs.

He needs five minutes, or maybe even more, to finally regain his strength enough for that final push. Farmer has to close his eyes for he fears that if he doesn’t, they’ll just pop right out of his skull.

His whole body is rebelling against the feeling of getting spread yet again around the widest part of the billiard ball. Something dribbles from his cock and he can’t even tell at that point if it is piss or pre-cum.

It hardly matters since Gus decides this is the perfect moment to give Farmer a nice reach-around.

The world goes blessedly blank as he orgasms. He’s suitably sure his brain is oozing out of his cock. He isn’t even aware how Gus jerks his own cock off onto his swollen, ruined pre-prolapse hole because everything is nice and cottony and just perfect right now.

Fuuuck.