Farmer, Not Jedi? 3 (Patreon)

Farmer, Not Jedi?

Chapter 3 (NSFW)

-VB-

“Alright.” Stephanie froze. “I won’t sell you,” he told her. “But remember what you said. You said you’ll do anything.”

She quickly nodded her head.

“Good. The first thing you are going to do…”

He was going to fuck her, wasn’t he?

He reached and she closed her eyes.

And then she felt something long and hard smack her forehead. She yelped in pain and opened her eyes in surprise just as she heard something clutter. When she looked around, her new master was still standing there, looking at her like she was an idiot, and then she looked down.

Instead of a dick to her face and an order to suck it, he’d tossed her a curved and wooden hand plow that almost looked like a hook.

… He wasn’t telling her to shove that sharp tip into her, right? There were some sick fuckers all around but that kind of mutilation was -...

“Start pulling out the weed,” he said before pointing to the field.

She looked at him and then at the field that he was pointing to.

In front of her was about two acres of savanna turned into a farm. There were a number of unfamiliar plants sprouting out of the dirt, but there were also green grass weeds growing between the mound rows.

She opened her mouth and closed it. “Okay,” she obeyed instead, grabbed the handle of the hand plow thingy, and walked to the field.

“Don’t worry about getting fucked right now,” he said as she walked away to … work. She froze at his words. “I won’t be dicking you down until after we’ve had dinner.”

-VB-

In my family, we had a motto.

Work before play.

As much as I wanted to drag her into the house and fuck her until she was cumming her brain out of her ears, farming was not an easy job that I could just go and toss to the side for a fun, sexy time. If I left the farm alone for even a little bit, then it would come back to bite me in the ass.

Thankfully, my current food issue was now solved because when I killed those bandits that the Company had sent, I kept their clothes, armor, and weapons, the last of which was very important for me as it now allowed my Doubles to go out there and start bringing home real meat.

So far, my Doubles have had three successful kills: some rabbit-lookalike bird and two gazelle-spider thingy. Yeah, I was definitely not in Kansas anymore.

… The point was that this applied for everyone in my “family,” including my new waifu. It would be very fucking unfair if I had to work and she, someone who tried to kill me, got to live for the next year getting her brain to cum.

My decision to make her work also had a little to do with how little workers I had. The original quirk held by Twice allowed him to literally Double anything and make two of it, if with increasing physical weakness. I, however, could only make a dozen or so Doubles before my power simply refused to work. I supposed that this was the difference between a Tier 4 Double and a Tier 6 Double held by Twice himself. The difference between a Tier 4 and Tier 6 with Twice’s Double quirk was a dozen clones and a literal tsunami of them. It really made just how vast the difference between each tier became once they hit supernatural levels.

Anyway, in my current state, having an extra set of hands weeding the farm when the rest of my Doubles were busy getting water from the nearby river or hunting was not necessarily a godsend but very helpful nonetheless.

And while everyone worked manually, I worked to make some kind of useful plant or meat thing.

So far, I have already succeeded in making an oat-like grain from the grass around me in the time that it took the Stamp on Stephanie Gorgeouspalace to fully settle in. Again, this was the difference between a Tier 4 Panacea and the original Amy Dallon/Panacea, who was a Tier 7. She could do some pretty funky shit with biology in only a moment. As for me? It took me two days to make a hyper-nutritious oat-like grain and was working on something like a plant turret. Like Plants versus Zombies except really deadly even to armored opponents.

The problem was that there was no way to give the plants an organic version of IFF. If I made one as best as I could, all I would get would be an indiscriminate turret. Maybe I could set a few up around the farm but the farm would have to be firmly outside their attack range and line of fire.

“Oi, Stephanie.”

The mercenary woman looked up from where she’d been crouched while pulling weed out. “... Yeah?” She looked a little upset. Well, too bad, bitch.

“How did you approach my farm?” I asked her.

She thought about it. “They left us … I think it was at least ten clicks outside of the farm, pointed in your general direction, and said kill if you want freedom.”

I grunted. “Thanks,” I said as I went back to work. If they were dropped off from that far, then I didn’t really need to worry about friendly fire.

No, the only thing I needed to worry about was whether or not my plant could kill.

Alright, then I needed to make sure that the plant doesn’t propagate, give it enough firepower and range, be able to detect distant movement, and be big and imposing enough that future raiders can’t just ignore it. Maybe … maybe would it be possible to make a single dominant color to act as “friendly”? How would that work? Some kind of pigment in the photoreceptor that deactivates the firing mechanism?

Hmm, it’s gonna take some time but I have a lot of time.

-VB-

Stephanie looked down at the three wooden bowls in front of her on the table.

The one on the left was filled with some kind of meat stew that really pulled at her, especially after her day labor. The bowl in the middle had the very same oats she helped take care of today. It surprised her when, over the course of the day, the oats grew like bamboo. That explosive growth was why her new master’s clones were busy hauling water all day. Washed and steamed, they reminded her of rice, if far courser and less sweet. In the bowl on her right was a stir fry of vegetables cooked in animal fat and seasoned with something not unlike black pepper. With a spoon, a fork, and a pair of chopsticks, she also wouldn’t have to dirty her hand to eat it.

All in all, this was a meal that she wouldn’t mind eating.

However.

She looked up and across the table.

Alan Marris was the name of her master, and he ate without giving her regard for their current situation.

It was … suffocating, but the feeling was definitely one-sided. Why did she have to have a master who chose to disregard the basic mental alteration function of the Company Bindings? It would have made her new life under his leash far more bearable.

Especially for what was coming after this.

She withheld her sigh and ate.

… This was pretty good.

‘At the very least, I won’t be eating rations or shitty food under him,’ she thought as she remembered her experience in missions. Costa Rica was where she had her first taste of real life combat, and the food there in the aftermath of a coup had been … not great; she had to eat shitty MREs for a full month as she waited out her contract because the country couldn’t rebuild their capital fast enough.

Good food was a silver lining that she wasn’t going to overlook.

“I’m glad you like the dishes.”

She blinked and looked at Alan. “You were worried?” she asked him curiously.

“Somewhat,” he replied as he raised his left hand and shook it casually. “Food’s kinda important, you know?”

Stephanie grunted. “Yeah. I know from personal… or rather, my original’s experience. Some of the MREs that she had to eat on the battlefield were just straight up horrible, if not outright poisonous,” she groaned. She held up the stew bowl and drank the last sips of the rich broth and then set it down.

Then she met his eyes.

He had his elbows resting shoulder-width apart on the table, hands crossed, and his chin resting on his crossed hands. Despite claiming to have been here for almost two weeks without any tool, he’d remained clean and clean-shaven. He didn’t wear any shirt, only a pair of pants that looked normal while seeming made out of tree bark.

He looked calm and collected but his smile looked wooden.

Her experience with men told her that he was anything but. He was … simply waiting patiently.

“You didn’t add anything weird to the food, did you?” she asked him with a frown.

He blinked before laughing. “No, no, no. I didn’t do anything like that,” he replied with a more genuine smile. “Wouldn’t need to anyway.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean by that?” she asked cautiously.

His smile turned into a smirk as he stood up. He leisurely walked around the table and then stood behind her.

His hands suddenly came to rest on her shoulders.

“Have you considered how I’m doing the things I am doing?” he asked her.

“... No, not really?” she asked with a wince because it sounded, even to her, rather stupid to not consider what he was doing. He could do things with plants and … fle-.

Oh.

“You get it. I’m a biokinetic,” he said with a voice that made her shiver. “And I don’t have a restriction on whether my target has to be alive or not. The dead bodies of your comrades that now we live in, the plants outside that used to be the grass around my farm, you, and even myself.”

She started to feel sweat running down her back and forehead.

“And you know what? I know how to use it pretty well in my opinion,” he purred. “Like, say, making you far more sensitive.”

His warm hands slid down her shoulders to her arms, and she shuddered.

Did… did he already do it?

“... What are you shivering for, Steph? I haven’t even started.”

And his hands slid further down. Every single centimeter of her skin his fingers covered sent new tingles of pleasure running up her body. She clamped down on her reaction, neither fidgeting nor looking.

But she couldn’t stop the shivers once his hands reached her elbows and then slid in and around her waist.

“Hiding is useless,” he whispered right into her ear. “I can see your body’s reaction more than you ever could, Steph.”

She glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. She could barely see his silhouette from how she was looking, but she could tell that he was enjoying this.

His fingers danced at her jacket’s zipper and pulled them down before pulling her jacket off of her. Now, there was only a t-shirt between his hands and her skin. His hands slid up slowly until his palms were barely touching her inner arm and gliding past her breasts when -.

His hands cupped her breasts.

“Oh, I don’t feel any bra underneath this,” he whispered. “You go commando?”

His words surprised her. “You didn’t feel me up when I was unconscious?” she asked him instead, despite her embarrassment.

He paused.

“Well, no, I didn’t,” he replied before his hands fully cupped her tits. “Hmm. Low B-cup? That’s what it feels like under my fingers,” he hummed.

“S-So what if I’m a B-cup, huh?” she snarled but the stutter didn’t really make her sound as threatening as she wanted herself to. It made her sound like a schoolgirl, damn it!

“Would you like a bigger pair?”

She stilled for a second before looking up. “What?”

“It’s not a plastic surgery when I can make them bigger, though you’ll definitely need to gain some weight before I do that,” he hummed.

She was about to respond to that absurd statement before she cut herself off when he “gently” pinched her nipples and she squeaked. She felt her face light up with heat and glared indignantly at him.

“Alright, now let’s up your sensitivity a little…?”

And then gave her another same -.

“Hnnn-!” She slapped her hands over her mouth. What the fuck?! That felt totally different!

“... I’m gonna be honest,” he sighed as he pulled his hands away. “It’s been … some time since I’ve had the touch of a woman.” He came around to her front and put a hand on the table, hovering over her now. She hesitated before glancing up. “So how about this? We do what you want.”

She gulped.

How the hell was she supposed to respond to that right now?