chapter 2

You're woken by the sound of a gruff voice behind you and a hard slap on your right buttock. "Wake up Piggy!" A man says as the pain seeps through your groggy mind. You try to make sense of your surroundings. Your head is covered by some kind of hood, and a strong animal smell of sweat fills your nose. You recognize the soft sounds of animals shifting in their stalls, chewing and rustling.

Panic rises in you as you realize that you're naked, kneeling on all fours, bent over some kind of low wooden frame. Your wrists are secured tightly to the front legs of the frame with iron manacles, and your thighs are tightly bound to the rear of the frame, separating your legs and forcing them wide apart. You're horrified that the position exposes your most intimate areas to the man behind you, mortified at his casual violation of your usual careful modesty. You've had suitors since you came into your womanhood, but you have always been modest and coy, dressing conservatively and never showing too much bare skin.

"Please!" You begin, straining your neck to try to dislodge your hood. "Please, this is a mistake, please let me go." Your head is still fogged and sore from whatever drug you were given, but you are cogent enough to realize the seriousness of your predicament.

"Hold still." The man grunts, and suddenly your whole world is blinding pain. You scream at the searing agony, feeling as though dozens of needles are plunging into your right buttock. The pain is mercifully brief, but you find yourself choking and gagging at the stench of burned flesh, then gasping in shock at the sting of something cold applied to the insult. Too shocked to do more than pant with fear and pain, you quiver helplessly. "There. That's the worst of it over. Branding is always a shock for a new animal."

"What in the name of all that is Holy do you mean!" You shout between gasps of breath, your consciousness flooding back as the pain recedes. "You can't brand me! I'm not your livestock!" You tug and flail at your restraints, your fury giving you a strength you didn't know you had, but to no avail. The bonds are secure, and after a few moments you collapse, humiliated by your powerless and vulnerability.

"You don't understand, Little Piggy. You stole valuable meat from us, and you have no other way to pay us back. Your meat belongs to us now, and our brand on your haunch proves it. Now, I'm not by nature a cruel man, but your time at the farm can either be easy or hard. It doesn't matter to me, one way or another you're going to be fattened for the feast day."

"W-what?" You stammer, unable to comprehend what you're hearing. "I-I mean, no! Please no! I can work, I'm strong! I can help!"

"Shhh now Little Piggy." The man says. "Don't make it harder on yourself. We don't need more mouths to feed around here." You shake your head in disbelief, trying to resist the urge to struggle, not wanting to give this man the satisfaction of seeing you suffer another humiliating defeat.

"That's better Little Piggy." The man says, and you flinch, whimpering softly as he places a gentle hand on the small of your back. "Now, in a few minutes I'm going to take you hood off and familiarize you with the apparatus and methods. Do you think you can be calm, or do I have to gag you?"

"I-I. No, please." You stammer, still not really understanding what you are hearing. "Please don't gag me."

"That's a good choice, Little Piggy." The man says, patting your unbranded buttock. Pulling back reflexively, you recall that you have never been with a man unchaperoned, never let a man place his hands on you. You writhe instinctively, trying to escape his touch, but you are completely immobilized by the frame. "The first few days are a process of adjustment. I like to think of it as a gradual lowering of expectations." The man says, casually stroking you. "At first, new girls try to escape. They struggle, they pull, hoping to find a weak spot in their bonds."

You cry out in protest as you feel him place his hand on your inner thigh. Wriggling desperately, you try to move away from his touch as he traces his fingers up your tender flesh. You squeal in shock at the casual violation of your body as he rests his open hand over the downy triangle of your flower. Your hips writhe back and forth involuntarily at his intrusive touch as his fingers lightly graze your intimate folds, tugging gently on the light fuzz of hair.

"P-please n-no! Stop!" You manage to articulate between gasps of breath. "Please! Please don't do that -- I'll do anything you want - just - please! I-I've never let - I mean no-one has ever- OH NO!" You cry out as you feel his thick finger probe your delicate cleft. The shock of violation silences you instantly, your breathing halts as your body spasms at the unfamiliar sensations. Your fevered brain remembers the times you have denied your body to insistent suitors, the feeling of vulnerability and lack of control both foreign and terrifying.

"Breathe deep Little Piggy." The man says, his finger separating the folds of your vulva in a gentle 'come hither' motion. "You have nothing to offer me that I cannot simply take, and nothing you can do will change what is going to happen to you. You can't bargain with me, and I am not interested in your pleas for mercy." You whimper in desperation as the man continues to defile you, humiliated by his nonchalant desecration of your body's holiest temple.

"I-I'm n-not a p-pig!" You manage, panting with humiliated rage as you struggle and thrash in your tight bonds. Your mind is red with rage and shame at your predicament, you fight for what seems like minutes, until your body collapses once more, sweaty, exhausted, and dishonored.

"You're right. You're not a pig. Not yet." The man says, chuckling as he continues to absent-minded finger your forbidden area. You flush with frustration that your most ferocious effort was not even able to dislodge his finger from your intimate parts. "This morning I weighed you in at 120 pounds, and by the look of you that's mostly muscle. Now that just won't do. I'd like to get you up to 300 pounds in time for the Harvest Festival if I can, but I've only got five months to do it. If we keep you sedentary, out of the sun, and feed you, what, maybe 15, 20 pounds of sweetened corn mash per day? That's just over a pound of gain per day. It's an aggressive goal, but it's not impossible, if we both work hard."

"What?" You cry out, half-heartedly resuming your struggle against your bonds. "No! There's no way I'm going to help you to fatten me! Forget it! I'm not eating a thing!" You can let me go or I will waste away, but there's no way I'm going to help you turn me into pork for your disgusting feast!"

Your outraged speech is cut short by the sudden removal of your hood. As your eyes adjust to the dim light of what looks like a barn you are astonished to see a naked woman, seated - no - not seated - attached - to a machine of some kind. "Piggy." The man says, still fingering you as he speaks. "Daisy here has been with me for some weeks now - let's examine her for a moment shall we?"

You whimper softly in shock and fear as your eyes linger on the woman, perched, kneeling, her legs spread wide on a saddle-like seat. Her wrists are held above her head by manacles and chains, and tubes are attached to her mouth and breasts. She is plump, at least 200 pounds, her heavy breasts hang pendulously over her rounded belly. You realize to your horror that the soft noises you assumed to be animals have been coming from her, her languid bodily motion accompanied by a low and quiet 'mooing' sound. "Let's take a tour of Daisy's stall shall we?" The man suggests, removing his finger from your vagina with a motion that makes you squirm awkwardly.

He walks in front of you, and you see him for the first time. He is a large bearded man dressed similarly to your captor in a wolf pelt. He licks his finger, smiling at you in a way that makes you wince with humiliation as you realize that, against your will, your body has moistened in response to his touch.

"Now, as you can see, Daisy is seated comfortably in her saddle." You watch, transfixed with horror as the woman looks at him blankly, apparently aware of him yet uninterested. "Her wrists are chained, but that's not really necessary at this point. Daisy is well trained. You'll notice her feeding tube is held in place by her bridle."

You look closely. The woman's long hair is tied back in a loose pony tail, her plump face almost made to resemble a chipmunk by the bridle. A leather head-strap holds the mouthpiece in position as she lazily chews on it, her eyes glazed and unfocussed. "You'll notice she is chewing and sucking on the tube - it delivers a mouthful of high calorie sweetened corn mash every time she bites down. It's completely voluntary at this point in her training, and her jaw movements control everything else that is happening to her." The mindless contentment on the woman's face is disquieting.

"Moving down you'll see the milking cups on each of her udders." The man lifts one of her heavily sagging breasts, holding it for a moment as he points out the translucent plastic cup attached to a tube that disappears out of sight behind her. She squirms slightly, adjusting her weight in the saddle, making a soft 'moo' sound, apparently appreciating the touch. "Her chewing rate indirectly sets the pumping speed and strength of her milking machine. Right now she's settled into an equilibrium so that her udders don't ever get painfully full. You can see the cup suck and release, suck and release." You watch in horror as the man holds the woman's breast as the machine cycles on and off. You think you notice a flicker of interest in her eyes each time the pump activates.