CYOA3 – Farmer's Delight – Chapter 9: Feminine Touch (Patreon)

Previously: Farmer got proposed by Sebastian with an interesting business idea... as well as something else that Farmer very eagerly helped him out with.

Content this chapter: Farmer gets his body modified by Rasmodius again with a little something ~additional~. (Basically my excuse to get some almost werewolf action in here :) )

(Also weeeh sorry for the delay in posting! It was done on Friday but instead of posting it I kind of.... didn't? just completely slipped my mind despite thinking about it almost constantly.)

---

Farmer shouldn’t be surprised when he opens his mail box and sees that now familiar thick, black stationary, but for some reason he still is.

It’s a good kind of surprise. The kind that has fizzles of excitement stuttering up his spine and the hairs on his forearms stand on end. He fingers the luxurious paper for a moment and just stands there in the morning gloom like a creep, debating on whether or not he should allow himself the luxury of sniffing the stationary like an asshole or not.

He doesn’t, but it’s close. The message on the paper is… uh… concise.

Just one word.

Tonight.

Farmer blinks slowly, staring at it, unsure what he should be thinking. For some reason that single word feels moody and there is a vague sensation of dread tingling at the back of his skull.

He thinks back to his first encounter with the Wizard; how freaked out he had been at his whole demeanor and what he did to Farmer. There’s a trickle of remembered fear that is quickly squashed by the throb of arousal following hot on its heels. It’s a far cry from how he felt during his encounters with Sebastian and Sam. That puppy eagerness and sweet, honest arousal with those two has been so clean and untainted.

This is something harder. Deeper. Just on the verge of making his skin crawl in a decidedly un-sexy fashion.

“Just go an find out what the Hell he wants,” he mutters toward himself, softly slapping the firm stationary against the palm of his left hand.

It seems obvious that what they’ll be talking about is Rasmodius’ odd decision in the votings, but he’s not sure where anything of that will lead.

He’ll find out soon enough.

Tonight, indeed.

.o.

The day was excruciatingly long. Not especially because he had been waiting with bated breath to go to the Wizard’s tower. In fact, he’s forgotten all about it until he had already been well on his way back to his cabin, all but dead on his feet from taking care of his new animals and the crops and trying to make a dent in the jungle that was still mostly engulfing his whole property.

He’s not sure how it could ever have gotten this bad. He’s half sure trees took a while longer to grow to the sizes they are now. It all doesn’t quite add up but he’s also too exhausted most of the time to really think about any of it.

Even his eyes ache in his skull, so he tries to move them as little as possible – which is why it is such a fluke of destiny when his gaze lands on his mailbox and he suddenly remembers with startling clarity that he has, in fact, a date. Or something along those lines.

He debates just not going at all – he’s not a dog for Rasmodius to train – but as he stands there, swaying on his aching feet, he realizes that he’s just too curious for his own good.

What a pathetic little bitch he’s become. Not a dog, indeed.

So Farmer turns on his heels and starts to head in the other direction. His brain just floats idly while his feet move, putting one foot in front of the next, taking him surprisingly steadfast through the thick of the debris still lingering everywhere.

He wonders what Rasmodius would do if he had refused him. He does not think the wizard would get violent, but then again he does not really know him. He doesn’t know any of the people in this odd little town. He’s been here for a precious few months. It takes him way longer to form any connections.

Doesn’t keep you from fucking you way through the population, he thinks self-depracatingly.

He wouldn’t get violent, though. He would get creative. Maybe I should’ve just refused and see where this would get me. Just let him mess with me until I have to give in and come crawling to his doorstep… His legs are slowing down as his sluggish brain suddenly feeds him with the possibilities. There is no halting his libido, it seems; not even a long day of work and muscles promising to become a deep, exhausting ache the next morning if he doesn’t give them any rest now.

The crooked tower is so close he can already see the door at the end of the slope, but his feet are starting to turn him away after all, his horny curiosity egging him on to be a disobedient little asshole.

Only for… something to halt him. The wind, maybe? Though he doesn’t feel it brushing against his skin. Still, there is some kind of force that curls around his shoulders and gently but without hesitation guides him back toward the crooked tower.

The door is open now. Rasmodius is nowhere to be seen but his voice floats down to him even so; calm and slightly bored: “Stop being obtuse and come in here. I have important things to work on and you are being a nuisance, dragging your feet and overthinking everything with your silly little thoughts.

In any case… I can mess with you whether or not you obey me. So be a good dog and come.”

Farmer is being pushed forward by that odd force; it’s not his own volition to keep moving, but it is his decision not to struggle against it while he grapples with the notion that the Wizard somehow knew what he had been thinking about. He flushes hot in shame and excitement; somehow inexplicably turned on by the thought that he can’t hide himself from Rasmodius. How every little pathetic, embarrassing piece of himself is apparently laid bare for the almost bored scrutiny of the guy.

“Interesting. Your head is a cesspool of filth, it seems like.”

Farmer’s mouth drops open on a soft, hot exhale. His hands are shaking and sweaty with sudden nerves and he rubs them dry on the coarse material of his overalls as he lets the… the wind or the force or the whatever it is (magic) push him over the bump of the door frame and into the tower proper until the door can close behind him all on its own.

The little hairs along his arms stand on edge. His eyes have trouble adjusting to the odd lighting in the not-so-little front room and the fact that he still can’t immediately make out Rasmodius’ form is so dumb exciting to him that he hates for a moment just how eager he is for this.

For everything. It’s like he’s been in a little sex haze since he saw one of the Junimo in the run-down Community Center. Not too unhinged but just enough to keep him moving without noticing just how… how…

“It tires me that you are only now realizing all of this. But I suppose I should have noticed; you and the rest of this little town are very thick, after all. The children not so much but they’re getting there sooner rather than later.”

Rasmodius’ voice seems to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. Farmer lifts his head and looks toward the ceiling. He feels dumb even while doing so; he does not actually think that the wizard is stuck up there but…

“Stop being obtuse. I am right here.” Rasmodius steps out from behind his bookshelf, a deep frown on his face. He somehow manages to look very annoyed and very amused at the same time.

Farmer supposes that he is very much enjoying the confusion and everything his wreaking. Very obviously, Rasmodius does not respond to that particular thought, just opting to grasp the edges of his robe and pull them tighter around his body as he brings his arms up to cross them in front of his chest and look suitably regal and mysterious.

Farmer licks his lips and asks: “Have you just now started poking around in my brain or have you been doing so the entire time we’ve known each other?”

He does not know how to feel about it. He’s horny, yeah… but it also makes him feel nervous and uncomfortable.

Rasmodius sniffs and turns his head away. Farmer prepares himself for the uncertainty of the future, wondering obsessively if now is the moment Rasmodius is rooting around in his brain and looking at every odd, obsessive thought that he’s having-

but surprisingly enough, the Wizard answers with a dismissive flick of the wrist: “I only started so maybe ten minutes ago since I was wondering what took you so incredibly long. I assure you I have no interest in your silly little thoughts otherwise.”

“...Unless they get you off?” Farmer asks, maybe not too wisely, his gaze stuck on the sight of Rasmodius’ pants very obviously tenting for him. The sight makes him excited despite himself.

Something about getting under this particular man’s skin is making him feel… powerful, in a way. Like that is something really special.

Rasmodius makes a face as if he’s just smelled something extraordinarily bad. He somehow looks down on Farmer despite them still being very much separated by the whole room.

“Don’t flatter yourself. Though I have to admit I am somewhat intrigued by the fact that an ordinary little man like yourself can still catch me off guard with the absolute filth that is swirling around in that brain of yours.”

He puts a hand against his mouth, slowly rubbing his mustache and looking into the middle distance as he thinks. Farmer waits for a moment or two until he realizes that the other has completely forgotten he was even there, thinking his ‘big thoughts’ and and going on tangent after tangent; at least that’s what he supposes is happening behind the furrowed forehead.

Deciding to take matters into his own hands, Farmer takes a cautious step forward, only to be immediately pinned by Rasmodius’ stare. He freezes on the spot; not because there is magic holding him in place but because the intense look in the other’s eyes has him feel like there are ice cold fingers trailing along his spine. He’s breaking out in a cold sweat, but his stomach is churning nice and warm, flipping over itself slowly and forcing arousal to creep through his veins.

Rasmodius lowers his hand somewhat, fingers sliding along the contour of his chin and pinching his beard to slowly tug on it. His mouth is twisted once again into an expression of disgust.

“Everything is culminating into arousal for you, is it not? You are afraid – you get aroused. You are angry – you get aroused. You are confused…” he pauses and waves his hand dismissively. “...you get the point. You really are just a dumb little puppy dog, are you not? Following along with your base instincts, looking for a suitable mate to breed.

Is that why you accosted those young men? Were they virile enough for you?”

Farmer, taken aback by the harsh words, tilts his head back, his shoulders slowly following suit. He leans away from Rasmodius, his palms once again moist. Or maybe still. He’s not quite sure as he thoughtlessly wipes them against his thighs, heart pounding in his chest.

“What are you talking about? Which young…” He pauses, blinks, licks his lips. “Are you talking about Sam and Sebastian? Were you… how do you… were you watching?”

Ice cold fingertips crawl down Farmer’s spine, his stomach feeling heavy all of a sudden. He feels like this is not right, though less because of himself but because of the two young men that have not known their vulnerability would be watched by someone.

Rasmodius looks bored. He moves his fingers and once again Farmer feels himself stepping toward him without consciously wanting to do so. The room seems a little less inviting all of a sudden. He does not know…

“You do not know what to think. To feel,” Rasmodius intones. His dark eyes are hard as glass, no discernible emotion on his face except the ever present annoyance with the world around him in general. Farmer’s mouth goes very dry.

The wizard reaches up and Farmer flinches, expecting to get grabbed by the throat or by the front of his shirt, the fabric twisted in a fist until it drew tight enough around his neck to stop his airflow.

Instead, he feels a palm cupping his cheek. He opens his eyes – when had he closed them? – and cautiously peered down at the other.

Rasmodius’ face is still unreadable, his bushy brows having migrated closer to each other in a micro expression that Farmer didn’t even try to untangle.

“I watch all the things around town that interest me. You do not need to have any particular emotion or thought toward that. It would not change it anyway. Idiot.”

Oddly enough, the insult sounded like some form of endearment. Farmer just stares at him, noting that his tongue felt numb in his mouth. He supposes that is due to the wizard as well and when Rasmodius huffs softly and moves his hand away, fingers surprisingly gentle as they give Farmer’s jaw a little pet, he thinks that he’s been completely right with that assumption.

“Now. Let us move on to why I had you come here in the first place. I already told you that I am a very busy man and I don’t have time for your silly little tantrums.”

Farmer narrows his eyes but he can’t help feeling somewhat amused by it all. He does not like the thought that Rasmodius should have watched him with Sam and Sebastian but at the end of the day it is true that he has no power over what the wizard does or does not do.

It’s probably fucked up that that is enough to mollify him but he’s not a saint and in the grand scheme of things he does not think that it matters all that much. As far as he knows, Rasmodius never interacts with anybody in town anyway.

The wizard looks at him oddly but seems satisfied by whatever he sees on Farmer’s face. Or what he followed along in his head. It’s fucking weird to know that someone can just poke around in there but also… well. Yeah. The already established that he gets horny easily.

The odd power keeping him in place and keeping his tongue tied dissipates, leaving him feeling much lighter than before.

Maybe it’s the eagerness to wanting to find out what the Wizard got in store for him. Rasmodius’ expression becomes more shrewd and he snorts in a wholly undignified, un-wizard-like fashion as he shakes his head and turns away from Farmer.

“You people are amusing, at least. I will give you that. It has been a bit… quiet up here for a while.”

Farmer decides to interpret this as ‘it has been lonely without you’, but a sharp glare from Rasmodius over his shoulder keeps him wisely from never voicing that thought out loud, so he just folds his hands behind his back and follows him. He’s not been told to keep up but the Wizard also didn’t tell him to stay put.

“I noticed your vote in the upcoming decision…” he says slowly, trying for casual but falling short of that by a long mile because they both know what he’s asking.

Rasmodius hums and does not answer other than a lackadaisical: “You can read, then. Good, good. I had been wondering.”

Farmer frowns but follows Rasmodius into what turns out to be his bedroom. At least there is a bed in there, though it is buried beneath a load of opened books just like the last time Farmer had been here. He’s not sure the Wizard actually sleeps. He can’t picture him doing something so mundane.

“I did want to check in on you,” Rasmodius finally announces. He wanders over to his squat desk, equally piled with books but also a smaller version of the cauldron in the entry room as well as plants and dried… pieces… of animals? Maybe? Farmer isn’t going to look too hard.

Rasmodius reaches out and carefully stirs the thick, dark liquid inside the cauldron. His hands are well maintained; the nails accurate and clean.

“It is not lost on me that quite a few of your… endeavors… have not been productive. In fact… I am not even sure you did anything at this point. Gus and Willy would have decided for the Community Center either way.”

Farmer can feel himself bristling, pushing through the warm feeling of embarrassment pooling in his stomach at the thought that he has been watched this thoroughly.

“Don’t you have anything to do other than watch me fuck?!” he asks, cruder and a bit more aggressive than he intended to, before he falters and narrows his eyes. “Wait. You already know who is going to choose what, are you not? You could tell me who to focus on. Actually… you could probably just do my job. Way more effectively.”

Rasmodius tilts his head a little; he’s not looking at Farmer but he is listening to him at least, even if he does not immediately answer.

When he does, his voice is a bit gentler; like he is talking to a particularly dense child: “The Junimo do not have a pact with myself. If they had wished for it, they could have simply approached much sooner than they have. It is you they are fascinated with, and it is your responsibility to hold up your end of the bargain.”

Farmer’s mouth opens, then closes again. His annoyance at getting spoken to like an idiot takes a backseat as he thinks about the wizard’s words, staring at the dark liquid he is stirring without really taking it in.

“Why?” he asks finally, shifting his weight from one leg to the other restlessly. “Why are they so fascinated with me? They could have taken any of the actual town residents. Or you.”

“The Junimo are fickle,” Rasmodius answers. Farmer waits for him to continue but he doesn’t, apparently thinking his reply to be sufficient. It isn’t, but what the fuck can Farmer do about it?

He reaches up, grabbing at the front of his shirt just to have something to do with his fingers. He feels harried all of a sudden. For some reason it hadn’t really sunk in to him that he had made a pact with some odd little creatures that he actually knows nothing about.

The whole afternoon of meeting the wizard and temporarily getting his genitals changed had been just a hazy, barely-there memory in his mind but now that he thinks a little more about it…

“You pressured me into this,” Farmer chokes out, staring with reproach at the Wizard who turns toward him, bushy brows lifting in what looks like surprise.

“Don’t give me that look! You know… you know exactly what you did!” Farmer takes a few steps closer but stops well out of Rasmodius’ – or his own – reach. He feels overwhelmed and is not all that sure what he would do if he got too close right now. “You just kept steam rolling me and did not answer a single of my questions in any adequate way! You knew I had no idea what I was getting myself into and now I have some… some kind of blood oath sworn to some weird little fairy tail creatures or something!

What even happens if I can’t do what they want me to do? Which is super vague, by the way. What do they want of me? Will they become violent if I don’t adhere to their rules? Will they kill me?”

He feels a nervous shudder running down his spine. He can feel that he is working himself up into a state and from the slightly alarmed widening of Rasmodius’ eyes it is clear that the other picks up on it as well.

He slowly lets go of the ladle he’s been progressively clutching tighter, visibly composing himself as he takes care to meticulously pull the wide arms of his robe down over his wrists.

Farmer makes a face. Actually now that they’re in this situation he does not particularly care to get comforted by Rasmodius who seems spectacularly ill equipped for such a task, but now his worries are out in the open and he can’t take his vent back.

He looks down at the ground, staring at uneven floorboards. There are a few cheeky little plants growing through the cracks, giving the whole abode a weirdly charming atmosphere. It takes some of the severity away from the wizard’s whole demeanor.

“Well. That was…” Rasmodius trails off before he can really put words to what ‘that was’. He looks at Farmer, then away again, somewhere up and to the side. “You do not need to be so alarmed,” he says stiffly. “The Junimo are very pacifist creatures. They would not harm you. I do not think that they would do anything if you were not to hold up your promise.”

“What promise?” Farmer hisses in instantly renewed agitation. “I don’t even really know what happened, to be honest!”

The wizard slowly lifts a hand. Farmer braces himself – for what, he does not even know – and relaxes again when the other just scratches at the side of his nose.

“Their words were for the Valley to be hale and fertile.”

“What is that even supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know exactly.”

Farmer gapes at the wizard, mouth open and eyes bugging out of his skull as he just stands there staring. Rasmodius, apparently peeved, just lifts his shoulders. “These types of contracts are not all that clear cut, my boy! We are talking mythical, magical beings that have decided on a whim to take a liking to you and ask you for your help. Who are we to try and divinate their exact will?”

“Well I- w-well!” Farmer shuts himself up, his teeth clicking closed and his heart thumping fast in his chest.

Rasmodius looks pleased for some odd reason. He turns back toward the table but is not reaching for the ladle inside the cauldron again. Instead he grabs a little fabric satchel starts toying with it idly.

“The best guess I can hazard is that the division in the town caused by the uncertain status of the abandoned Community Center is not sitting well with them. They would like it to be resolved one way or the other, though I suppose their preference would lie in its restauration. Though,” he adds quickly with a little glance at Farmer as if waiting for a reprimand, “I would not presume to know exactly what is going on in the minds of such ethereal beings.”

Farmer rolls his eyes. He can feel himself starting to relax again, his earlier outburst just leaving him feeling vaguely embarrassed.

They are both quiet for a moment, each thinking their own thoughts, though Farmer is pretty sure that they are just wildly different.

Rasmodius is, of course, the first to shake himself out of his quiet reverie about blaspheming in regards to little fairy creatures… or something. His dark eyes with that odd tinge of purple, regard Farmer in a harsh stare.

“You just let those imbeciles trample all over you,” he accuses, pointing a finger at him.

Farmer blinks slowly. “...Excuse me?”

“I am speaking of the blacksmith and his nefarious little guard dog.”

“Ah. Clint and Heisenberg.” Farmer exhales roughly and reaches up a hand, massaging his temple. He can’t deny the pang of anger skittering through his chest at the reminder. “Yeah. I’ve not been happy about it. He promised he would vote for the Center but then just… didn’t. I guess the Junimo magic isn’t all that strong after all.”

Rasmodius makes a rude sound. He moves toward Farmer who almost takes a step back at the intense look on the other’s face. A fingertip is stabbing into his chest quite emphatically until he curls his hands around it to gently guide it away. The wizard is so close now that he can smell all the complicated scents of herbs and spices and the chemical undertones of whatever else he is brewing up in his tower all the time.

“You are just as big of an idiot as they are,” he hisses. His face is close enough that Farmer can feel his warm breath fanning against his skin but even this close up he still can’t quite tell just how old Rasmodius is supposed to be. There are no lines around his eyes but the beard and the voice make him look and sound anywhere between forty and three hundred years old.

Rasmodius’ bushy brows twitch. “Focus! Focus, you dull boy!” He does not pull his hand out of Farmer’s grip, instead using the other to grab him by the shoulder and shake him gently as if willing him to start and understand whatever it is that is making him so furious.

“Heisenberg is not what he seems! He is the reason the magic did not work!”

Farmer’s mouth opens, then closes again. He frowns. His first instinct had been to brush the assertion off, but just a moment of thinking about it made him realize that… yeah. Yeah, that kind of felt right. Something about Heisenberg had been off from the very beginning. He felt oddly… dark.

Certainly not like he belonged anywhere near this peaceful town.

He frowns harder, blinking and focusing on Rasmodius’ face.

“Explain,” he orders softly, his hands slowly letting go of the wizard’s fingers. Luckily he does not continue stabbing him in the chest.

In fact, he starts to calm down a little, looking pleased that Farmer finally has started thinking and believing him.

“He is…” the wizard narrows one eye, visibly thinking of how to actually explain it to Farmer in any way that would make sense. “He is not human.”

“So he’s like a magic creature? Like the Junimo? Or a Fairy?” That did not seem right, but-

“No!” Rasmodius sounds so disgusted and angry that Farmer does take a single step back after all, shame washing through his body hot and insistent at having said something very stupid even though he doesn’t know what. Rasmodius continues: “Neither. Neither. He is not… he is made. I don’t know the details. I can’t put my finger on it. But he was human once; and he is no longer. He is being directed by a different master altogether, whether he is aware of it or not.”

Farmer’s face pinches in a frown. He is trying to understand what Rasmodius is saying, but it all sounds too fantastical. Like some sci-fi movie. In an attempt not to say anything stupid anymore, Farmer doesn’t say anything at all, just watching the wizard mull things over in that brilliant head of his.

Eventually, Rasmodius shakes his head. “It does not matter. He is not your problem to solve. That burden falls to someone else. But… he knows about the magic following you around. He is immune to its wiles, which explains how he could keep a head and instruct Clint as to what to do.”

The name ‘Clint’ sounds somehow even more alien on Rasmodius’ voice as ‘Heisenberg’. Farmer can’t quite remember but it feels like it’s the first time he’s heard the wizard utter a specific name of a town’s person. As if not speaking their given names would keep them at an arm’s length. He supposes that might actually be the thought process behind it, though he does not want to ask.

“He will leave,” he finds himself saying. “He is just temporarily staying.”

“Do you know when he will be gone?” Rasmodius asks with a frown, a smug little grin hidden in the whiskers of his mustache when Farmer remains quiet because he does not, in fact, know when that will be.

Smug prick.

“I do not think he is having any clear agenda in working against you and is just being obtuse for entertainment’s sake. You might as well try again and be a bit more… persuasive.”

Farmer looks skeptically at Rasmodius. He thrusts his hands into his pockets just so he wouldn’t keep fidgeting with them.

“Do you have something in mind, or…”

The wizard sniffs derisively and gives Farmer a brief once-over that seems weirdly degrading and sends an eager shiver through his stomach.

“Of course. Sit down. I will explain, I suppose.”

Farmer does sit down, though he kind of doesn’t want to. Not because he feels threatened by Rasmodius but because he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep his legs bouncing with nervous energy and that the wizard would not be impressed by it.

Luckily, the other just sends him a dirty look but lets it go.

He indicates the small cauldron with the dark, bubbling liquid with an unnecessarily flashy flourish of his hand.

“I have been working on the magic I performed on you the last time you were here. This is much more… concentrated. Much more potent. It will not only keep your body changed for longer but will heighten your mmmhh let’s say animalistic tendencies. I am sure that someone like Heisenberg will be highly entertained, given his proclivities.”

“I… don’t…” Farmer swallows down the rest of the sentence once he sees Rasmodius’ eyes narrowing at him and sits there for a moment, gathering his thoughts before just bubbling out with the first nervous denial that is on his tongue.

He swallows thickly, then tries again with a bit more eloquence: “You are talking about changing my body again?” Damn, there’s almost no rasp in his voice. He’s reluctantly impressed by himself. “Why would that change anything? What do you mean by his proclivities?”

Rasmodius relaxes a little, looking pleased. “Yes, I am talking about changing your body. And lowering your inhibitions somewhat, though you hardly need any help with that.” He throws him a hard look at Farmer almost obediently squirms on his chair, pretending he’s not desperately hard and utterly failing.

“What I mean is that I have been looking into our dear friend and as far as I can see he is not unfamiliar with dealing with dogs. Or… dog…adjacent… things. I am sure he will feel quite at home once you proposition him and Clint again.”

Farmer opens his mouth, then closes it again because honestly he is getting annoyed by himself and his lack of understanding. He reaches up, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Okay. Alright. You know what? Fuck it. Let’s do this. At the very least I’m damn annoyed that Clint broke his fucking promise and I want Heisenberg to eat that smarmy smile of his. If you can help me make that a possibility, then…” he trails off and spreads his arms in a tired but welcoming gesture. “Have at it.”

Rasmodius smiles. Honest to god smiles and turns toward his cauldron, taking the ladle and giving it a few more gently stirs before he sighs out on an exhale: “Finally. Wonderful. I love enthusiastic consent.”

.o.

As with the last time, Farmer realized that Rasmodius hasn’t really given him all the necessary information before plunging him right back into one of his experiments. He can feel the resentment forming in his chest but it is washed away quickly, pearling off of him like everything else as he can feel something fundamentally shifting inside him.

Even more fundamentally than the odd sensation of his cock once again being replaced by a warm little gash needing to be filled.

He still has thoughts like a human but they seem strangely detached from any human emotion. As they were, he can feel himself becoming lighter as the moral restrictions that guide him every day just… vanish with the knowledge that they’re not important. Not when he can go out and hound for cock to pound him and fill him and get him nice and fat with young and-

Farmer groans as he sinks down to the ground, struggling against his restrictive clothing. He wants to be naked. The fabric feels far too harsh against his skin.

“W-What is happening-” he gurgles with a tongue that will barely even respond to the idle impulses his brain shoots down to it.

Rasmodius’ feet look unperturbed with anything Farmer is doing. He can’t bring himself to look further up than his shins, busy struggling with the fastenings of his overalls.

“You’ll be a bit more… animalistic for the next day or so. Plenty of time for you to get to the blacksmith’s smithee and see about endearing those two gentlemen to your plight.”

Farmer whines. He’s wagging his ass in lieu of a tail even though all his instincts tell him that there is one right at the base of his spine. A tail that he can lift up nice and high and pull over to the side to show off where he needs a cock stuffed the most right now.

Those emotionless thoughts high in his brain tell him that maybe the whole plan that Rasmodius had come up with is absolutely ludicrous and he should have never went along with them, but when the wizard steps a bit closer and opens his robe to reveal his erection warm and flushed, the head already wet with eagerness, those same calm thoughts tell Farmer that maybe the wizard really is more intelligent than any of them all.

He definitely knows what he is doing and he definitely did everything perfectly right and it is actually Farmer who is not up to speed. Until now. As he arches up and eagerly starts lapping at the dick, zeroing in on the swollen cock head and dragging his tongue against the piss slit over and over to gather up whatever salty liquid he can get.

Surprisingly enough, the wizard doesn’t let him have all of it, though. Despite pulling out his cock and presenting it to Farmer like a treat, he now wraps his fist around the shaft to keep the other from taking more than just the swollen glans.

Farmer whines. He honest to God whines, the sound foreign to his own ears. It sounds like an animal has made it; like a human throat couldn’t possibly produce it. His fingers dig against the crooked wooden floorboards and distantly he notices that his nails have sharpened into something like claws, gauging the ground as he desperately laps harder at what he’s offered in a bid to endear himself to Rasmodius. Make him see that he really really really needs his cock right now to stay alive and well.

Rasmodius doesn’t have pity on him, though. He grunts low and shuffles his booted feet a little bit further apart but his hand stays where it is, shielding his cock and just allowing Farmer to generously drool over the tip.

“You will stay here for just a bit longer,” Rasmodius murmurs above him, throwing a critical look out the window and noting how dark it has already become. “Once I let you out, you will directly make your way to the smithee. You understand? No detours. No shenanigans. You will go there and endear yourself to the blacksmith and his dangerous friend until they are done playing with you.”

Rasmodius curses softly under his breath, his head falling back and free hand planting itself on Farmer’s hair, fingers lightly digging in to hold firm. “Goodness.”

The word is spoken with a rough voice and makes Farmer feel weirdly proud of himself as he pops his lips across the wizard’s tip and suckles on his cock lovingly, his hips still wagging back-and-forth, part of him being aware he’ll be very embarrassed once this is all over but it being too detached from his current sentience to really make any dent one way or another.

Rasmodius tries to peer down at Farmer. “Have you… understood?”

Well, has he? It’s difficult to follow human speech along at this point. He just nods stupidly, hoping it’s the right thing to do. And it seems to be because a moment later Rasmodius pulls away to paint his face with hot, sticky stripes of cum.