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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 2: Day One
The shrill blare of an alarm sliced through the silence of the early morning. It ripped Fours from the depths of sleep. He blinked against the dim light filtering through the barred window of the cramped cell, his heart pounding in time with the relentless sound. Groggy and disoriented, he scrambled to his feet, his limbs heavy as if they were still tangled in the threads of the dream he had been pulled from.
"Is it morning already?" Ninety-Two's whispered voice asked from the bunk above.
"Yup," Fours replied as he reached down and felt his testicles and the metal cage surrounding his swollen cock.
The three had not slept much. The cages prevented erections, but their cocks still tried anyway, and the swollen and restricted tissues caused pain that woke them up every hour or so.
"God damn, my cock is killing me!" Fours exclaimed in a soft voice.
"Mine too," came the voice of A1 from the other side of the room. "And I have a wicked set of blue balls. I'm used to jacking off every morning."
"Just wait till they start growing," Dees said as he jumped down from the bunk above A1, his testicles bounding in the air and then slamming down in his sack as he hit the ground. "It won't take long. I started feeling intense bursts of pain at the end of my first full day. Soon after, they started measuring a change in volume."
"That quick?" A1 asked.
"Yeah." Dees said as he spread his legs and stretched. "The meds work fast."
A1 slowly got to his feet. His face was pale and drawn, eyes wide with confusion. Like marionettes jerked into motion by unseen strings, the four stumbled towards the door as it slid open with a hiss.
They shuffled out of the group cell, the stark fluorescent lights overhead casting harsh shadows on the cold concrete floor. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptic and something metallic - reminders of where they were and what awaited them. Fours felt a chill creep down his spine as he followed the line of captives, each step echoing the anxiety thrumming in his chest.
"Move it!" The sharp bark of an attendant cut through the chaos, propelling them forward. "No lagging behind!"
The cattle were ushered into the shower area. The tiles were wet and slick beneath their bare feet. A thick cream was applied over their bodies, faces, and heads, and it began to burn as it dissolved any follicle of hair that had tried to regrow overnight. After several minutes, they were put under the shower heads, and water was sprayed down in sudden bursts, icy at first, then warming just enough to strip away the remnants of the solution covering them. Fours shivered involuntarily, shoulders hunching as the jets washed over him, the sensation both cleansing and degrading.
"Stand straight!" a eunuch attendant commanded while his gaze scrutinized every inch of exposed flesh.
Fours bit his lip, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity as he stood alongside Ninety-Two and A1, their bodies glistening under the harsh, unyielding lights. They were brought into another room where they were measured from head to toe, and every part of their anatomy was cataloged and scrutinized.
"Move!" The voice rang out again, the command punctuated by the urgent clatter of bare feet against the tile, and soon they were thrust back into the corridor.
The captives hurried along, the oppressive atmosphere weighing heavily upon them, each breath a reminder of their confinement. As they marched toward the exercise area, Fours could feel the restrictive chastity cage digging into his still swollen cock head and shaft, making every movement awkward and stilted. He winced, struggling to keep pace with the others.
A1 stumbled slightly beside him, his expression a portrait of internal conflict. Fours wanted to reach out, to offer comfort, but the watchful eyes of the eunuchs held him in check. The attendants loomed over them like vultures, monitoring every misstep, every falter, their presence suffocating.
"Faster!" A harsh shove from an attendant sent them lurching forward, and the group pushed ahead, hearts racing in sync with the frantic rhythm of their march.
Fours caught glimpses of other captives around them, faces colored by fear and resignation, the collective tension palpable in the air. It felt like they were marching toward an unknown fate, a dark cloud hovering above their heads as they entered the exercise area, bodies lined up like livestock waiting for inspection.
"Stand still!" The order came again, and Fours felt his resolve harden.
He would not let this place break him despite the dread coiling within him. He would not become just another number lost in the machinery of Orville Farm.
The whistle shrieked again, slicing through the heavy air like a blade. Fours felt his muscles tense involuntarily as he stood at attention in the exercise area, the cold cement floor beneath his bare feet almost as unforgiving as the eyes of Weight, who paced back and forth like a predator sizing up its prey. His empty, shriveled, but stretched sack flapping against one leg and then the other as he stepped.
"Start!" The order crackled through the air, and the captives surged into motion.
Fours pushed himself forward, legs pumping with a desperate urgency despite the constricting chastity cage that surrounded his groin and tightly bound his shaft and head. After several laps around the large room, he could feel sweat beading on his forehead, trickling down into his eyes, blurring his vision. Each step jarred his body, his flesh feeling heavier than before.
"Faster, cattle!" Weight's voice thundered above the chaotic sounds of exertion, looming behind them like a shadow cast by the desert sun. "I expect you all to keep up! No excuses!"
Fours gritted his teeth, forcing his feet to move faster. Ninety-Two was beside him. His breathing labored – face flushed with effort. A1 lagged slightly behind, a grimace etched across his features. His large feet, now hairless, were hitting the ground hard. The oppressive atmosphere weighed down on them. It was an invisible hand squeezing every ounce of hope from their bodies. Fours glanced back just once, urging A1 with a nod, but his friend only shook his head, determination battling against fatigue.
"Come on! Do you want a demerit? If not, then push it!" Weight shouted again.
The threat was clear. The captives quickened their pace, hearts pounding in sync with the demands of their eunuch overseer. Sweat dripped from Fours' chin, evidence of their relentless exertion.
"One more lap!" Weight barked, and the command sent a fresh wave of dread coursing through Fours.
He swallowed hard, his chest tightening as they rounded the track. Every muscle screamed for relief, but there was no reprieve. They were nothing more than playthings for this twisted game – a relentless cycle of exertion and control.
When the whistle finally blew, signaling the end of their torment, Fours collapsed onto the ground, gasping for breath. The taste of iron filled his mouth as he fought to recover, limbs trembling beneath him. Around him, others fell to their knees, faces slick with perspiration, expressions vacant yet haunted.
"Get up!" Weight's voice cut through the fatigue, echoing in the vastness of the exercise area.
Fours pushed himself upright, though it took every ounce of willpower he had left. The fear of punishment still loomed heavily over them, an unseen specter haunting their every movement.
"It's time for breakfast, cattle!" Weight announced as he led the herd out of the room.
As they trudged toward the mess hall, the oppressive silence hung thick in the air, punctuated only by the sound of their footsteps. Their bodies were weary and battered.
Inside the mess hall, the captives shuffled to the front of the queue, where trays of lumpy slop awaited them. The smell hit Fours first. It was a rancid blend of synthetic nutrients and something acrid that turned his stomach. The gelded attendants scooped the murky mixture onto their trays with mechanical precision, devoid of any semblance of care.
"Eat," one of the steers commanded, his eyes glinting with an unsettling satisfaction. "You need your strength."
The cattle found their seats at tables in the dining area. Fours stared at the food, a grayish sludge that looked more like prison gruel than sustenance. His stomach churned at the thought of consuming it, well aware of the drug-laced effects it had on the body. But hunger gnawed at him, a relentless beast that demanded appeasement. He watched as other captives hesitated, eyes darting between the food and each other, uncertainty etched on their faces.
"Don't think," Weight's voice rumbled from somewhere behind them. "Just eat."
With a resigned sigh, Fours lifted the fork, the metal cold against his fingers. He scooped a portion into his mouth, the texture slimy and flavorless, barely masking the bitter tang of chemicals. It slid down his throat like a rock, and he forced himself not to gag, knowing full well what awaited them if they refused.
"More," the head steer urged, pushing the tray closer, and Fours complied, shoveling the vile substance into himself until his stomach felt full but not satisfied.
Glancing around, he saw Ninety-Two forcing down another bite, tears glistening in his eyes. A1 sat hunched over. His brow furrowed in distress. The remnants of their earlier exhaustion now compounded by the horror of their reality. Beside him, Dees was eating quietly.
The room buzzed with a low hum of murmurs and clinking forks, an unsettling symphony of reluctant submission. Fours felt the warmth of resentment pooling within him, fighting against the tide of despair. They were not meant to live like this, reduced to faceless entities, but as he glanced at the others, he couldn't help but wonder if any of them would ever find a way out.
"Finish your meals!" Weight's shout reverberated through the hall, pulling Fours from his thoughts.
The captive knew then that survival meant swallowing every morsel, even when it tasted like defeat. He forced another spoonful down with a deep breath, knowing that tomorrow would demand more from them than today.
Thirty minutes later, the clang of metal echoed through the gymnasium, a harsh reminder that they were not free. Fours pushed his body against the weight of the barbell, sweat trickling down his spine as he grunted with effort. The air was thick with the stench of exertion, mingling with the sterile scent of the facility. He could hear the grunts and labored breaths of Ninety-Two nearby, each sound punctuated by the sharp commands barked by Weight.
"Keep those legs moving, cattle! Don't let me see any slack!" Weight's voice was a whip crack, driving them onward.
Fours clenched his jaw, feeling the burn in his muscles intensify with each repetition. His arms trembled, but he refused to falter. He had learned quickly that weakness was met with swift punishment.
As the minutes dragged on, he noticed changes within himself. The tightness in his chest felt more pronounced, and when he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the polished metal surface of the walls, he thought he could almost see defined contours where there had been none before. A flicker of pride ignited in him – a treacherous emotion amid the horrors surrounding them. But it was swiftly doused by an undercurrent of fear. Their transformation had begun. What would they become?
"Let's go, Fours! Pick up the pace!" A1's soft but firm voice called from above, where he was spotting his fellow cattle as he lifted the barbell.
They shared a fleeting glance, eyes reflecting exhaustion and a desperate need for connection. Together, they pushed through the routine, driven by adrenaline and dread.
After what felt like hours, the cattle stumbled into the mess hall again, dragging their feet as they shuffled to the serving line. Fours' stomach twisted at the sight before him – an array of even more unidentifiable slop thrown onto trays. The color was an unnatural hue, reminiscent of something that should never see the light of day. It pooled together, a grotesque reminder of the reality they faced.
"Eat up," a steer said, his tone devoid of empathy.
Fours recoiled slightly, but the growl of his own stomach silenced any protest. He sat again with his fellow captives and forced himself to take a bite, the taste flooding his mouth like rancid oil. It was thick, gritty, and laced with the bitter tang of chemicals. It slid down his throat like a stone, leaving him gagging as he fought against the urge to spit it out.
"More," came the command from another steer, and Fours complied, shoveling the foul substance into himself until he felt sick.
He glanced over at Ninety-Two, who sat hunched, tears streaking down his cheeks as he struggled with the meal. It was a painful image, echoing the anguish swirling inside Fours. A1, too, seemed lost, staring blankly at the food as if it were some foreign creature, a reminder of everything they once were and were losing. Dees seemed resigned to his fate, mindlessly shoveling food down his gullet.
Fours couldn't shake the sense of change coursing through him as they chewed silently. There was an odd heaviness below, a swelling he couldn't ignore. He shifted in discomfort, realizing that even here, among the horror, his body was becoming something else - something they had likely intended all along. Panic rose within him, a suffocating wave.
"Can we... can we survive this?" he thought, desperation creeping in.
Every bite cemented the reality that they were being molded into something grotesque. He closed his eyes momentarily, focusing on the remnants of his identity - the kindness he used to embody, the laughter that used to escape his lips. Each swallowed morsel felt like a betrayal of that self.
"Fours," Ninety-Two whispered, breaking through the fog of despair. "Are we going to be okay?"
"Maybe," Fours replied hesitantly, his voice trembling. "We have to hold on to who we are. We can't let this place define us."
"Exactly," Dees replied. "It is our only hope."
Fours looked around the mess hall, seeing the weary faces etched with fear and uncertainty. Despite the oppressive atmosphere, a flicker of determination ignited within him. With every ounce of strength he could muster, he vowed to preserve the core of himself, even as the world around him sought to strip it away.
The cattle were brought to a holding area to relieve themselves in the bathroom and rest for about an hour. Then, two attendants appeared to take the herd into a room filled with metal chairs. Each had an intravenous fluid stand beside it filled with a dark liquid. One by one, the cattle were escorted to an empty chair and strapped into it using bindings on their arms and legs.
The attendant next to A1 used a device to find a vein in the captive's arm. He then marked it and aligned a metal band around it. The band had a small box aligned to the mark and a needle attached to it. As the band was cinched around A1's arm, he felt the needle dig into his skin. The captive winced, and his huge feet curled.
"This will allow us to attach an intravenous bag to you every afternoon," the attendant said. "We will have to adjust this band as your arms increase in size due to muscle growth. Please report to the attendant if you feel the band tight so it can be altered."
A1 nodded as the attendant grabbed the intravenous line and attached it to a port in the box on the band, which was now secure around his arm. The attendant then opened a valve, and the dark liquid began to drip into the line attached to the needle and winded its way down the tubing into his system.
A flush filled A1's body. It was cool and caused him to shiver. He could feel the drug as it moved quickly through his system, circulating down into his limbs and through his chest and head. A metallic taste appeared in his mouth, and he found himself trying to swallow it to get rid of it. He looked up and saw that the other cattle reacted the same way.
Ninety-Two was next to him, and he could see the face of his fellow captive contort. On the other side of his chair, Dees had his head back and eyes closed, trying to make the time pass as quickly as possible.
The rhythmic dripping of the fluid into the tubing mesmerized A1. Unable to move, he focused on it to distract himself from the foul taste of the medication surging through his system. The coolness had warned off, but a warmth had built in his balls. It was as if a heater had been turned on, and they were slowly being cooked. It was uncomfortable, and he had tried to adjust himself against the bindings.
The attendants had moved down the line to see other cattle, and A1 turned to Ninety-Two.
"Do you feel something in your balls?" he whispered.
"Yeah," Ninety-Two softly replied. "I was about to ask you the same thing."
"Same here," Fours joined in.
"It's the medication," Dees said. "This is the main stuff that is going to cause your balls to grow and our cocks to shrink in the coming weeks."
A1 groaned. There was no visible change in his cock and balls yet, but as his shaft was encased in a metal prison, it was not like he would be able to tell easily anyway.
The treatment lasted almost two hours. When the intravenous bags were empty, the lines were removed from the box on their band, and the cattle were released.
They returned to the exercise room. Soon, the dull thud of their feet against the cold, hard surface echoed through the area, a rhythmic reminder of their new reality. A1's muscles screamed in protest as he pushed himself to keep pace with Fours and Ninety-Two. Sweat dripped down his brow, blurring his vision. The oppressive heat hung in the air like a suffocating blanket, and the restrictive chastity cage felt like a shackle. He fought against the urge to slow down, knowing all too well that falling behind would earn him demerits - a punishment that sent an icy dread spiraling within him.
"Five-minute break!" barked Weight, his gaze sharp and unforgiving.
A1 forced himself to breathe deeply, focusing on the rhythm of his legs rather than the tightening grip of fear around his chest. Just then, he glimpsed Dees approaching from the edge of the group, a steady presence amidst the chaos.
"Take a breather," Dees said, his tone calm as he nodded towards the side of the room.
His well-defined muscles glistened under the harsh lights, but the easy confidence in his demeanor drew A1 in.
"You're not going to outrun the facility," Dees said. "Take a break when you are allowed. Save your energy for when it counts."
A1 hesitated momentarily, still haunted by the sense of urgency that permeated the atmosphere. But the warmth in Dees' eyes urged him to relent. They sat on the hard floor, and A1 leaned back against the wall, allowing his body a momentary reprieve.
"Listen," Dees continued, his voice low yet firm. "Avoiding demerits is crucial. It's about playing the game. Know the rules, and you'll navigate this hellhole with a bit less pain."
In this grim setting, he offered a half-smile that could almost be mistaken for levity.
"And trust me, sarcasm doesn't win you any points here. You see those guys?" He gestured to a cluster of captives, their expressions clouded with frustration and fear. "They're on the fast track to nowhere."
"How do you know?" A1 asked, surprised at the tremor in his voice.
The words clawed their way out, heavy with uncertainty.
"Experience," Dees replied, shrugging. "I was among the first to arrive. I saw who they chose here. I have a fairly good idea of who will make it and who won't. And I can tell you..."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice.
"Those who draw attention to themselves often end up regretting it. Be smart. Blend in. Don't give them a reason to notice."
"Easy for you to say," A1 murmured.
A1 glanced down at his arms, which were developing a strange definition that felt foreign to him. The skin beneath seemed taut, but the emptiness he felt inside gnawed at him the most. His fingers brushed against his chin, where the coarse hair of his beard used to grow thick and robust - a symbol of his identity as a gay bear, now stripped away like the very essence of who he once was.
"You're adapting," Dees said, reading the turmoil etched across A1's face. "It's not just about muscle or that chastity cage you wear. It's about survival. Do you think I like being here? This place wants us to forget who we are, to become something else entirely."
Dees eyes softened, empathy shining through the stoic facade.
"But you must remember... this body isn't all there is to you."
"Remember who I am..." A1 echoed, the words bitter on his tongue.
But how could he? Each passing day felt like another layer of himself peeled away, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. The absence of his beard, the friends he hung around with, the enjoyable sex he had nearly every day - it all haunted him. They were an integral part of his identity, an armor he wore against the world. With every glance at his reflection in the stainless steel surfaces around him, he felt less like A1 and more like a ghost haunting the remnants of what used to be.
"That's the trick," Dees continued, undeterred. "Focus on the essence, not just the exterior. You're more than the sum of your parts. Embrace the changes if you must, but don't let them consume you."
"Embrace it," A1 thought bitterly, his heart heavy with uncertainty.
The captive clenched his fists, feeling the sinew and strength beneath his changing skin. Was he meant to embrace this monstrous alteration? The idea felt like a betrayal of everything he had once cherished about himself.
"Thanks, Dees," he finally mumbled, though his voice barely carried above the din of the facility.
Gratitude mixed uneasily with despair as he watched Dees rise, ready to rejoin the throng of captives.
"Stay sharp, A1," Dees softly called over his shoulder, his tone lightening again. "And remember, humor is your best weapon. Even here, a good laugh can be a lifeline."
As Dees melded back into the crowd, A1 sat silently, grappling with the swirling emotions within. The hum of the florescent lights buzzed above him, spotlighting his form, but in that moment, he found himself yearning for something deeper - something that hadn't yet been extinguished amid the darkness of Orville Farm.
After several hours of exercise, A1's legs felt like lead as he sprinted alongside the other captives, each step an agonizing reminder of his own vulnerability. Sweat dripped down his forehead and stung his eyes, but it was the laughter and taunts from Fuckt that gnawed at him deeper than any physical fatigue.
"Come on, A1! Is that all you've got?" Fuckt's voice cut through the thick air, dripping with sarcasm.
He jogged effortlessly beside A1, a stark contrast to A1's labored breathing. The audacity of Fuckt's demeanor made A1's skin crawl.
"I thought you'd put up more of a fight," the bully taunted. "Are you saving your energy for the harvest?"
A1's heart raced from exertion and the simmering mixture of anger and dread that rose within him. He wanted to retort, to strike back with something clever or biting, but the words tangled in his throat. Instead, he focused intently on the hard, cold floor beneath his large feet, willing himself to push harder to prove Fuckt wrong.
"Ignore him," Ninety-Two urged quietly from behind, but A1 could barely hear over his pulse pounding.
Each word from Fuckt felt like a weight pressing down on him. He risked a glance at Fuckt, whose eyes glinted with a rebellious spark, and the sight ignited something fierce inside A1.
"Why do you care so much about how slow I run?" A1 managed, his voice cracking slightly as he fought to keep pace. "You think you're better than us just because you can spout off some crass joke?"
"Better?" Fuckt shot back, stepping closer, his breath hot against A1's ear. "No, I'm just not a coward. But go ahead, keep playing the good little cattle."
A wave of humiliation washed over A1. The term 'cattle' echoed in his mind, a reminder of their dehumanization and the fate awaiting them. Rage bubbled at the edges of his control, and he gritted his teeth, desperate to contain it. He stumbled slightly, catching himself before he lost momentum.
"You're just trying to get under my skin," A1 said, forcing the words out, though they came out tight and strained. "It won't work."
"Is that so?" Fuckt leaned in closer, his voice low and mocking. "Look at you. You're practically begging for sympathy. Poor little gay boy lost all his precious fur. What's next, A1? Are you gonna start crying? Or maybe you'll just roll over and take whatever they dish out like a good fag, huh? I bet you just like being fucked."
With each jab, A1 felt his composure slipping. The other captives began to take notice, some slowing their pace to watch the unfolding drama. Others simply turned their heads away, pretending to be engrossed in their own suffering.
"Shut up!" A1 shouted suddenly, the rawness of his voice surprising even himself.
His heart hammered in his chest, adrenaline surging through him.
"You don't know anything about me!"
"Maybe I don't, but we both know you're just another steer waiting for the chop." Fuckt's laughter rang out, loud and scornful. "Keep running like a good little boy, A1. Remember, you'll never outrun what they're doing to you."
The tension snapped like a taut wire as A1 stumbled again, this time nearly losing his footing entirely. He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and rage. The fear lurked beneath the surface, threatening to consume him, to turn him into a hollow shell.
"Just leave me alone!" A1 shouted with fists clenched at his sides, his breath coming in quick bursts.
Fours looked at A1 concerned.
"Don't raise your voice, A1!" Fours said. "Just go somewhere else, Fuckt!"
Fuckt shrugged beside them, amusement dancing in his eyes.
"Do you think I'm going anywhere?" Fuckt said. "This is just getting good."
A1's body trembled, caught between the urge to run faster and the impulse to confront the bully, who seemed intent on stripping away the last vestiges of his dignity. The threat of earning a demerit loomed heavy in the air, a reminder of the oppressive rules governing their lives. But in that moment, nothing mattered more than the challenge standing before him.
"Get ready for a real race, then," A1 spat, adrenaline coursing through him.
A1's pulse thundered in his ears as he sprinted around the track, each labored breath pulling at the strained muscles of his legs. The shadows from the lights above danced around him. He focused on the rhythm of his feet against the cold floor, but Fuckt's mocking laughter echoed behind him like a taunt.
"Running from your own reflection, A1? Good luck with that!" Fuckt called, his voice dripping with derision.
A1 clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to turn around. The other captives jogged nearby, their faces mixed with curiosity and discomfort. Some shot glances in his direction, while others deliberately looked away, unwilling to engage in the brewing storm. He knew they were watching, their eyes flickering like tiny flames, illuminating the fear that had settled within him.
"Just keep running, steer," Fuckt continued, sidling closer, his breath hot and taunting. "You act tough, but we all know you're just one step away from falling apart."
"Shut up!" A1 shouted, his voice cracking under the weight of his frustration.
It was a command born more from desperation than conviction, and he could feel the heat rising in his cheeks.
"Aw, is that the best you can do?" Fuckt sneered. "A little fire from a gay boy who's losing everything? You think yelling will change anything?"
"Enough, both of you!" Fours' voice rose above the din, trembling with urgency.
The formerly red-haired young man with pale skin ran alongside them, his gait faltering as he tried to maintain pace.
"We're all in this together. There's no reason to fight."
"Stay out of it, Fours," A1 hissed, the panic tightening around his chest.
He felt exposed, stripped of layers, and left vulnerable for all to see.
"Or what? You'll get all emotional and start crying again?" Fuckt shot back, eyes gleaming with malicious delight at the prospect.
"You're just making it worse!" Ninety-Two chimed in, his brow furrowed in concern as he fell into step beside Fours.
"What's the worst that can happen?" Fuckt laughed, a cruel edge to his amusement. "You're all cattle here, destined for the chop sooner or later."
A1 inhaled deeply, his body quaking with rage and despair. Just then, Dees appeared, striding across the track with purposeful ease. His presence was commanding, an anchor amid the swirling chaos.
"Hey there, fuckhead," Dees called out to Fuckt, his voice steady, laced with dry humor. "I see you've found a new hobby - picking on the weak. Impressive. When you know you are losing your balls, you can only pick on others to try to retain what manhood you have left."
The tension flickered, caught off guard by Dees' unexpected quip. A hint of a smile curled at the corners of Fuckt's mouth, but he didn't respond. Instead, he shifted his gaze from A1 to Dees, sizing him up as if gauging how to reassert dominance.
"Yeah, yeah," Fuckt shrugged, trying to regain control over the moment. "Not everyone needs your protection, Dees."
"Doesn't matter if they want it or not," Dees replied smoothly, maintaining eye contact with A1 now, grounding him. "What matters is that we stick together. We're all cattle here, and it's better to be a united herd than lone targets."
As A1 took a shaky breath, the anger began to ebb, replaced by a reluctant gratitude towards Dees. The captive's calm demeanor had a way of soothing his mind.
"Now, let's finish this run without any more theatrics, shall we?" Dees added, a playful spark in his eyes. "Don't make me start counting laps. Trust me, I'll win that race."
With a few chuckles rippling through the group, the weight of the confrontation lifted, and the exercise resumed. A1 felt a flicker of warmth in his chest as he glanced at Fours and Ninety-Two. Their shared burden felt just a little lighter.
After another disgusting meal in the evening, the cattle were herded back into the residential area of the facility. As they trudged back to their quarters, exhaustion seeped into their bones like a heavy fog. Fours walked alongside A1, their shoulders brushing together. Dees and Ninety-Two were not far behind.
"I thought you were going to lose it back on the track today," he said softly, genuine concern etched on his freckled face.
"Yeah, well...it was close," A1 admitted, the strain of the day settling heavily on him. "But thanks to Dees, I... I didn't."
"I am happy to help, guys," Dees said with a smile.
Ninety-Two chimed in, his voice thoughtful. "You always seem to know how to handle things. Makes it easier to breathe, doesn't it?"
"Sometimes," A1 replied, allowing a small smile to surface despite the lingering unease in his stomach. "But I wish it didn't have to be like this."
They arrived at their cramped quarters, the familiar sight of cold concrete walls and metal bunks greeting them. A1 leaned against the wall, feeling utterly drained, yet something warm blossomed in his chest at the thought of their bond. They were navigating this nightmare together, even amidst the chaos.
"Whatever happens, we'll figure it out," Fours said, determination shining in his wide eyes. "Together."
"Yeah," A1 echoed, his heart beating stronger in response. "Together."
As they settled into their dreary space, the shadows of the past day loomed large. Fours lay on his thin metal bunk, staring at the bed above him, the mattress sagging under Ninety-Two's mass. The quiet of the facility was only punctuated by the constant hum of the overhead lights and the sound of distant steps as the attendants paced, guarding the cells the cattle slept in. He could feel the coarse fabric of the only blanket they were given scratch against his bare arms, a reminder of the harsh reality he found himself in.
"Did you see the way Fuckt glared at A1?" Ninety-Two whispered from above, his voice low and conspiratorial. "I thought he was going to explode."
Fours shifted, trying to suppress a shiver that ran down his spine.
"It's not safe to provoke him," he murmured, fear threading through his words.
They all knew how the steers watched for any sign of dissent, ready to deliver punishment for even the slightest infraction.
"Yeah, well, maybe someone needs to remind Fuckt he's not king around here," Ninety-Two replied, indignation lacing his tone.
A1 lay nearby, his breathing shallow, as if the weight of the day pressed heavily upon his chest. Fours turned to look at him in the bunk nearby, feeling a pang of concern. A1's usually expressive face was clouded, the remnants of anger and frustration still flickering behind his wide eyes.
"Hey," Fours said gently, reaching out to touch A1's arm. "You alright?"
"Just tired," A1 replied, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him. "It's been a long day - one I'd rather forget."
"One day down..." Ninety-Two said from above Fours, half-heartedly attempting to inject some levity into their grim situation. "Only twelve weeks more to go until we're... what? Harvested?"
Fours winced at the word. The very thought sent a cold ripple through him. The looming threat of transformation hung over them like a guillotine blade waiting to drop. All they could do was cling to the fragile sense of camaraderie they had forged amidst the chaos.
Above A1, Dees was snoring. He accepted the situation and tried to fit in the best he could. Fours smiled as he heard the rhythmic sound emanating from their new friend and comrade.
"Dees is right, though," Fours added, forcing a smile despite the heaviness in the air. "We have to stay focused. Keep our heads down."
"Easy for him to say," A1 muttered, his brow furrowed. "It is harder to live."
"True," Ninety-Two agreed, an uneasy silence settling over them. "But it's also about surviving. We can't let them break us."
"Surviving..." A1 echoed his voice barely a whisper.
It was hollow, steeped in uncertainty. Fours felt a tightening knot form in his stomach as the shadows deepened around them. Sleep would not come easily tonight. His cock was still trying to force an erection. Something impossible in the metal cages they all wore. Around him, every creak of the building, every footstep from the steers, felt magnified in this cavernous silence.
"Do you think they'll really... harvest us?" Fours asked, unable to quell the dread rising within him.
"That's what we are here for," A1 replied, his tone heavy with resignation. "We are cattle - nothing more than commodities. Something to be used and then sold."
"Or we could be stallions," Ninety-Two interjected, attempting to shift the mood again, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.
"Stallions..." Fours repeated, the term echoing in his mind, the bitter irony not lost on him.
Would they ever be anything more than livestock in this twisted game? The three were silent, each wrestling with their fears, visions of grotesque transformations looming beyond their consciousness. Fours pulled the blanket tighter around himself, wishing it could shield him from the truth of their existence.
As darkness enveloped them, the only sounds were the uneven breaths of his companions, the snores from Dees, footsteps from the guards, and the hum of the lights in the hall - a constant reminder of their captivity. Fours felt his eyelids grow heavy, exhaustion finally creeping in, yet sleep eluded him. He could feel his cock desperately trying to fill with blood, and his heavy balls ached from no release.
With a final breath, Fours surrendered to the encroaching night, but unease lingered on the edges of his dreams. He clung to the warmth of his friends beside him, knowing their bond was the only thing keeping the darkness at bay. But deep inside, he understood that the real nightmare had only just begun.
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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