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As a note to the reader, while characters in this story are over eighteen, the narrative contains descriptions of bondage, oral sex, body modification, and various forms of domination and submission. If any of these acts offend you or are illegal to read where you reside, please move on. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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The Orville Farm
Chapter 10: The Harvest
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ NOTICE!!!!
The following chapter discusses in detail an emasculation process. Reader discretion is advised. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The herd was led into a room in the far part of the building. Ninety-Two stared ahead, the cold metal of his shackles biting into his skin. The chastity cage encasing his manhood felt like a constant, cruel reminder of his captivity.
"This is it," Ninety-Two thought, swallowing hard. "The end of my manhood."
His gaze drifted down the line of captives. Some cried, others whimpered softly, and others stood stoically. All awaited the same fate. A1, chained behind him, was pale and sullen.
PeeQue approached them.
"Hey guys," he said softly, his voice hesitant. "I know you're scared. I wish I had some words of encouragement, but I don't. The good thing is it will be over quickly. Try to stay calm."
Ninety-Two felt a flicker of appreciation at the gentle tone. Most attendants were cruel or indifferent. PeeQue had always done everything he could to help them.
"I still see you as human beings. I wish I could help, even if I can't stop this."
A1 spoke up, his voice quivering.
"Will it...will it hurt? Please be honest, PeeQue."
"No," PeeQue assured him, putting his hand on the now muscled and toned figure.
"You'll be numb to all pain. I promise."
Ninety-Two closed his eyes, fighting back tears. Even this small kindness felt like too much in this hellish place.
"Thank you," A1 whispered. "Thank you for everything you have done for us."
PeeQue nodded, looking pained.
"I'm sorry. I wish..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "Good luck, men."
As PeeQue walked away, Ninety-Two felt a confusing mix of gratitude and despair. The true horror of what awaited them seemed to crystallize in this moment of quiet empathy.
"At least someone sees us as human," Ninety-Two thought. "Even if it's for the last time."
The harsh clank of metal on metal shattered the moment of fragile humanity. Ninety-Two's head snapped up as the main doors to the holding area groaned open, revealing a sterile white hallway beyond.
"Move out," Weight's booming voice commanded. "Single file. No talking."
Chains rattled as the line of captives shuffled forward. Ninety-Two's heart pounded, each step feeling like a march towards oblivion. He glanced at A1 behind him, seeing his terror mirrored in the other captive's eyes.
The oppressive silence was broken only by the rhythmic clink of shackles and the soft padding of bare feet on the cold tile. Ninety-Two's thoughts raced as they moved deeper into the facility.
"This is it," he thought, a wave of nausea washing over him. "Everything we are, everything we could have been... gone in a few minutes of clinical butchery."
As they approached a set of ominous double doors, Ninety-Two heard A1 begin to cry softly behind him. Without thinking, he reached back, brushing his fingers against the captive's arm in a fleeting gesture of comfort.
The doors hissed open, revealing the processing plant's clinical horror. Metal walls gleamed under harsh fluorescent lights. The air hummed with the sound of machinery, punctuated by occasional metallic clicks and whirs that sent chills down Ninety-Two's spine.
"Oh god," A1 breathed, his voice barely audible. "It's like a slaughterhouse."
Ninety-Two swallowed hard, fighting to keep his voice steady. "Stay strong," he whispered. "We'll get through this. We have to."
But as the line moved into the sterile nightmare before them, Ninety-Two felt his resolve crumble. The scent of antiseptic filled his nostrils, and he knew that with each step, they were moving closer to the moment when they would cease to be men and become eunuchs.
The attendants inside, hulking figures in pale blue scrubs, waited for them at long stainless-steel tables. Their faces were impassive as they used sharp knives to cut away and remove their singlets. Ninety-Two's heart pounded in his ears as the garment was cut from him. His bare chest contracting in anticipation of the chill air.
An attendant in white scrubs grabbed his arm and removed the bolts holding the metal band to his arm. As it came away, the needle that had been embedded within him for the past twelve weeks came free, and a trickle of blood fell from it. The attendant wiped the area and sprayed a chemical on the wound, immediately causing it to scab and seal.
The manacles and chains were unlatched from his ankle and wrists, and then the attendants moved in front of him and used an Allen wrench to unscrew the bolt holding his chastity cage together. The heavy metal piece holding his small cockhead inside of him slid out, pulling the integrated catheter with it. As it fell, a spurt of precum came with it. The base ring was removed next, and then he was standing truly naked for the first time in twelve weeks. For a single, painful moment, he reached down and felt the tiny head of his penis, now barely poking from his abdomen and dripping fluids. In that instant, he mourned the loss of his cock more than any other indignity he'd faced thus far.
The attendants separated the cattle into different lines. As A1 was pulled away, Ninety-Two called out to him.
"Stay strong, Bear."
A1's eyes watered as he and his group were lined up some distance away. Ninety-Two averted his eyes as the attendants continued their work. He trembled, feeling more vulnerable than he ever had in his life. Reaching down, he felt the warmth of his enormous sack. He could feel the testicles that floated inside, at least six times larger than they had been a few months ago.
Weight's commanding voice then boomed through the room.
"Well done, herd. You have made it. Stand tall. You're Orville Farm's finest."
Ninety-Two groaned. They were beasts now, bred for one purpose and one purpose alone: to have their testicles harvested for the elite to consume.
"I'll see you on the other side!" Weight said with a wave. "Let the harvest begin!"
Another set of attendants appeared and ran down the line of cattle jabbing needles into their asses, plunging a numbing agent into their systems. Ninety-Two felt the first stirrings of panic. He tried to fight the drugs, but they were too strong. It started with a flush throughout his body, similar to the feeling he had when he was getting his afternoon infusions. Then, a ringing sound echoed in his ear, followed by a deadness. He could no longer feel the coldness of the floor through his feet. When he ran his fingers together, it was like rubbing two pieces of wood. There was no sensation. No feeling. There would be no pain, PeeQue had said. They would feel no pain.
The machines whirred to life, their harsh, metallic sounds drowning out the last vestiges of humanity that remained in the room. The cattle who had once been strong and proud were now nothing more than flesh and blood components in a monstrous machine, their sole purpose of satiating the twisted desires of those who had deemed them expendable.
A1 was also completely numb. It was a strange sensation. He had no point of reference for the first time in his life. When the attendant beckoned him forward, he tried to move, but it felt... it felt like that pins and needles feeling you sometimes get when you sit wrong on your leg. Only, there was no feeling. His legs were dead weight. The attendants took his arms and guided him towards a conveyor belt chair. His legs trembled, barely supporting his weight as he approached the ominous apparatus.
"Please," he whimpered, his voice cracking. "I can't – I'm not ready for this. Please don't take my balls!"
The attendant's face remained impassive.
"Step up and sit down," he instructed flatly. "Or I will call more attendants to force you to obey."
Fighting back tears, A1 complied.
The metal chair was ergonomically made. It had a curved back with an attached padded head support. The base of the chair had imprints to accommodate a cattle's ass and a huge, bowled area in front that would allow the captive's scrotum to be supported. At the base, two stirrups, similar to what you would find on a physician's exam table, were set at a forty-five-degree angle, splayed open.
As A1 sat down, his ass and balls settled into place, and his legs fit into each stirrup in a spread-wide stance. The attendants securely strapped his lower and upper arms, brought a wide belt over his chest, and then moved to strap his legs down tightly. His head was left free to move around.
With the push of a button, the chair lifted, and A1 gasped as it turned and faced forward down the conveyor belt line. The machine whirred again, and the chair tilted back. He felt his legs lifted higher and splayed open so far he thought his joints might pop out. His genitals, resting in their holder, were utterly vulnerable.
A1 began to cry again.
On another line, Ninety-Two was similarly secured to a chair. As the belt began to move, he caught sight of his reflection in a nearby metal surface. His muscled body looked alien to him – a stark reminder of all he'd already lost. His legs, spread uncomfortably wide, made him look like a Christmas turkey waiting to be stuffed.
"What will be left of me after this?" he thought, panic rising in his chest.
A chamber appeared in front of him. He watched between his legs as the opening moved closer. The belt moved in short bursts with pauses of about a minute in between. He could hear other cattle crying behind him and the sounds of muffled screams and cries in agony ahead of him beyond the flaps of a door that barred the entrance to the next chamber.
The belt moved again, and the chair in front holding another captive disappeared into the opening. Ninety-Two would be next. He could see his large feet and thighs were shaking. He looked down at his swollen sack. He wished he could reach down and feel it one more time – its warmth and its weight. His heart was racing, and his body started to sweat. The seconds ticked by. Then, the flaps in front opened again. The belt moved, and Ninety-Two was pushed forward.
The new area was dimly lit. Ninety-Two was trying to control his breathing to avoid having a panic attack. He could only watch to find out the eventual fate of his manhood. His eyes quickly adjusted to the low light levels. Then, a green light bathed his groin.
"Sterilization and anesthetization beginning," a robotic voice announced.
Ninety-Two's eyes widened as an articulated arm descended, spraying his groin with a mist. He could feel the slight impact of the droplets of whatever the chemical was, but without the ability to sense or feel, he had no idea what temperature it was. Then, two metal arms moved between his legs, each with a syringe at the end. They plunged themselves into the area around his scrotal sack in several places, injecting medication as they made their way around. The clinical efficiency of the process stood in sharp contrast to the raw fear coursing through him.
"This can't be happening," he muttered, unable to look away from the machines preparing to alter him forever.
A scream reverberated through the room from ahead of him. It sent a cold chill down Ninety-Two's spine. More screams followed and calls for mercy. Ninety-Two could not stop shaking now. After a minute to dry, the flaps opened, and he moved forward again.
A1 could feel his heart beating inside his chest. He thought it would burst forth at any moment. His groin had dried quickly after being sterilized, and now, in the next chamber, he saw several mechanical arms come for him.
"Harvesting," the robot voiced coldly spoke.
A1 screamed as he felt the first touch of metal against his scrotum. He squeezed his eyes shut but couldn't escape the sensation of pressure building as his testicles were stretched taut.
"Oh God," he gasped, his voice trembling. "This is really happening. Please. Don't do this!"
The machine whirred. A1 forced himself to look down. A laser beam came to life and made an incision down the middle of his scrotum from just under his tiny, inverted cock and proceeded up, over, and down the underside of the sack. Mechanical arms then pulled the two pieces apart, and through a mass of blood and fluids, A1 could see the pale orbs that were their quarry.
Each of A1's testicles was massive and appeared to be inside an off-white colored sack covered with blue and red vessels. A mist came down that slowed the bleeding and cleaned the area. A1 next felt a strange tugging sensation. Though numbed, he could feel the pressure as each organ was pulled individually from its home, and his Vas deferens, the long tube that connected his testicles to him, was stretched out.
The testicles were placed outside his body and held aloft by separate mechanical trays that had appeared from under the chair. A1 screamed again as he saw the grotesque display.
"No! Please, no!"
But it was far too late. At this point, nothing could save his organs. The machines quickly cut and sealed the Vas deferens tubes, and the heavy orbs fell away and were placed on a tray.
"My balls," A1 thought, choking back tears. "My identity. It's all gone."
His head fell back, and he stared blankly at the sterile ceiling. The loss felt insurmountable, leaving a gaping void where his sense of self had once resided.
The conveyor belt lurched forward.
Ninety-Two was still in shock. Seeing his testicles removed from his body in such a swift and sterile way was too much to comprehend, but he could not look away. As he was moved to the next bay, his splayed open scrotum leaked blood, but not as much as he had expected. The stubs of the cords that once attached to his testicles had been crimped closed and were retracting back inside his body. As the chair stopped again, his gaze fixed on the new robotic arm hovering above him.
"Suturing," the robotic voice announced.
The needle flashed in the harsh light as it began its swift, methodical work.
"Please," he whispered, though he knew it was futile. "I don't want to be empty."
But the machine paid no heed. The stitching began. As he heard the screams of the captive behind him being harvested, he watched the machine between his legs efficiently gathering the severed edges of his scrotum and sewing shut his now-vacant sack. With each pass of the needle, Ninety-Two felt a piece of himself slipping away, replaced by a hollowness he feared would never be filled.
"What am I now?" he thought, a single tear sliding down his cheek. "A shell. A nothing."
When he was sewed shut, the arm moved away. Ninety-Two sat there for a moment, watching his empty sack slowly sagging and deflating as it slipped between his legs. His organs were still sitting on the trays beyond. They still looked plump and healthy.
The conveyor moved him forward again.
As he moved into the next room, A1 fixed his eyes on his massive organs lying before him, now outside his body. It was like the machine was taunting him.
"Packaging and branding," the robot announced.
A1's eyes widened as he saw an arm descend and scoop his testicles into a large, clear package. As the bag was closed, another machine imprinted the date, a factory number, and the serial number that matched the one on A1's neck tag. The bag was vacuumed-sealed and transferred to another belt beside the captive. A1 turned and took one final look at the two fleshy orbs – his manhood, now reduced to mere commodities.
"No... please," A1 whimpered, his voice barely audible over the hum of machinery.
A robotic arm descended, affixing a label to the package. The stark black text read: "GRADE A - PRIME PACIFIC BEEF TRUFFLES – HERD 2610 TOP PRODUCER."
"Is that all I am now?" A1 thought, his chest tightening. "Just... food?"
The bag then sailed away from him as the machine moved forward again.
The conveyor belt finally stopped in another part of the warehouse. Attendants were there to remove the bindings from the newly castrated cattle, and they were helped up. The entire process took mere minutes, but they were all in shock. No one spoke as they were put into wheelchairs and brought into a room to wait for the drugs to work through their system.
Weight's imposing figure appeared once the entire herd had been harvested. He walked down the line of new eunuch slaves and smiled.
"We had a good yield today," he grunted, his empty scrotum swaying as he walked. "One of the best in terms of average and overall weight. The farm will make a lot of money off your harvest!"
A1 watched him pass and felt a surge of anger and despair.
"You were one of us once!" he cried out. "How can you do this?"
Weight's expression flickered for a moment before hardening.
"It's the way things are," he said flatly. "Best get used to it. Might as well take pride that your testicles were the largest of the herd and will go for the highest price."
Minutes later, A1 was herded into line with the other newly-castrated men. He could feel the cold ground again as the drugs quickly wore off, but his groin remained numb. The local anesthetic around his scrotum would last for several hours more. As his sensations returned, the absence between his legs was profound, a constant reminder of what he'd lost.
Ninety-Two stumbled beside him, his face ashen. He was learning to walk again now that he didn't have something massive swinging in front.
"I feel so... light."
His hand unconsciously reached toward his groin. Ninety-Two felt the deflated and empty sack that remained and the copious amounts of precum that was still pouring out of his tiny cockhead.
A1 nodded, unable to speak. The weight of their new reality pressed down on them all, suffocating any remaining spark of hope.
"Welcome to your new lives," Weight announced, his voice echoing in the sterile hallway. "Now that you have been castrated, you will join the slave trade. You will soon be taken from this place to an auction house, where you will be sold to your new owners. Some of you may be selected as steers for one of our processing facilities like I was. But most of you will be domestic servants or join the labor force in a factory or farm. You have a hard life ahead of you, but you have been given a body that will make you ready for it."
"The drugs you were given to enlarge your testicles will take several weeks to flush out of your system. You will experience a constant flow of precum from your remaining small cocks until that time. The drugs you were given also suppressed your ability to orgasm, and that effect is permanent. Although you will be given regular doses of testosterone to maintain your physique and keep you healthy, you will never experience the pleasure of an orgasm again. I hope you remember your last one and that it was memorable."
Ninety-Two groaned. He could still feel the rush of hormones in his body. The chemicals had no idea there were no organs for them to affect. Even though his testicles were gone, he had the phantom sensation of blue balls. The feeling you get when you have gone too long without cumming. He wondered if that would be permanent.
"I bid you farewell," Weight said with a wave. "Serve well."
As they were led away, A1's mind reeled. He was no longer the man he once was - no longer a "bear," no longer whole. He was a eunuch. He was a slave. He was property now, stripped of identity and autonomy.
"What's left for us?" A1 thought, his steps faltering. "How do we go on from here?"
The doors closed behind them with a final, ominous clang.
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As with my other stories on Nifty, I accept and love to get constructive feedback and criticism from my readers. You can contact me at slavebear1976@gmail.com