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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 4: Revelations
The mess hall buzzed with an unsettling quiet, broken only by the soft clink of utensils against metal trays. Rows of hunched figures sat at long tables – eyes fixed on their meals as if afraid to meet each other's gaze. The air hung thick with the acrid scent of disinfectant and the cloying sweetness of the drug-laced food.
A1 pushed the disgusting mush around his plate, his stomach churning. Grant Orville's recent visit loomed large in his mind, the Overseer's cold eyes and cruel smile etched into his memory. He glanced up, studying the dejected faces of his fellow captives. Their movements were sluggish and robotic as they shoveled food into their mouths mechanically.
The sudden creak of the mess hall door cut through the silence like a knife. A1's head snapped up, his heart racing as a new figure stumbled in. The newcomer was naked, and his gait was unsteady, his lean, muscled frame trembling with each step. But what drew A1's attention was the angry red scar stretching down his empty, floppy scrotum – fresh stitches crisscrossing the wound all the way down. Above this, the figure's tiny cockhead barely protruded from his abdomen and glinted from the flow of precum that formed thin ropes that moved like a pendulum back and forth between his legs, sticking to his skin with each swing.
"Who is that?" Fours whispered, leaning close.
A1 shook his head, unable to tear his eyes away from the spectacle. "I don't know. He is uncaged, so I would say he's an attendant. But look at that scar..."
"He looks like he was just harvested," Ninety-Two replied.
The newcomer's gaze darted nervously around the room, searching for a friendly face among the sea of downcast eyes. His lips moved silently as if trying to work up the courage to speak.
"Fresh meat," Ninety-Two muttered darkly. "Or what's left of it, anyway."
"PeeQue!" came the booming, sarcastic voice of Weight as he approached the newcomer. "I was told you were going to be arriving today! Welcome to our facility! How's life as a new eunuch steer going? Missing those balls?"
Weight's antagonistic attitude always shone through. He might have to welcome any new staff as equals, but he could still make fun of them and assert dominance.
"Ok, I guess," PeeQue replied, running his hand over his deflated sack, now coated with precum.
Weight rolled his eyes. It was apparent the idiot had no idea he was trying to make fun of him.
"Well, go grab a box of food from the kitchen," Weight replied. "You don't eat that slop they are having anymore. It's not like you got anything between your legs that it would be good for!"
Weight laughed as he left the room. PeeQue hung his head and walked back through a door to the kitchen beyond. When he returned with a cardboard box and a bottle of milk, he appeared to be scanning the room. A1 felt a twinge of sympathy for the trembling figure. He remembered all too well the terror of those first days at Orville Farm. The newcomer's eyes met his briefly, and A1 saw a flicker of desperate hope there.
"Should we...?" A1 began, but his words trailed off as PeeQue shuffled towards an empty seat at the far end of the hall.
Dees shook his head.
"Best not to draw attention. You know how the Attendants get when we fraternize too much. They are not our friends. We are nothing to them."
A1 nodded reluctantly, turning back to his meal. But he couldn't shake the image of that pleading gaze or the gnawing fear that they might all share the newcomer's fate soon.
A1's heart raced as he watched PeeQue settle into his seat, hands trembling as he reached for his tray. The urge to connect, to understand, overwhelmed A1's usual caution. With a deep breath, he stood, ignoring the questioning looks from his companions.
"I have to know," A1 murmured, more to himself than anyone else.
He approached PeeQue's table, each step measured and deliberate. PeeQue's head snapped up, eyes wide with fear and desperate hope. A1 forced a small smile, trying to appear non-threatening despite his anxiety.
"Mind if I join you?" A1 asked softly, gesturing to the empty seat across from PeeQue.
PeeQue nodded jerkily, his gaze darting around as if expecting punishment for this interaction. As A1 sat, he noticed PeeQue's hands shaking so badly he could barely hold his spoon.
"I'm A1," he offered, voice low. "You're... new here, aren't you?"
PeeQue swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing.
"89DRPPQ," he stammered, voice rough from disuse. "They call me PeeQue. I... I used to be..."
A1 leaned in, heart pounding.
"Used to be what?"
PeeQue's haunted eyes met A1's.
"C-cattle. Like you. But now..."
He gestured vaguely at the stitched wound on his large and deflated scrotum, words failing him. A1 felt a chill run down his spine.
"What happened?" he whispered, dreading the answer but needing to know.
PeeQue's words came haltingly, each one seeming to cause him pain.
"They... harvested me. Last week."
His hand ghosted over the angry red scar, which was still healing.
"They took my huge nuts. My sack was nearly the size of a grapefruit. But now... Now I'm... this. Not cattle, not... not whole. Just... here. Bought and sold to this facility as an attendant. Someone to watch over and ensure other cattle are properly processed and harvested. It is sick."
A1 struggled to process the information, his mind reeling. He thought of his body and the changes he'd already endured. Would this be his fate, too? The thought made him feel sick.
"I'm sorry," A1 said, the words feeling woefully inadequate. "That must have been... I can't even imagine."
PeeQue's lips twitched in what might have been an attempt at a smile.
"Nobody can. Until... until it happens."
A1 nodded, feeling a strange mix of horror and gratitude. Horror at what PeeQue had endured, gratitude that someone was finally talking openly about what awaited them all.
"You better be careful, though," PeeQue warned. "We are not supposed to be your friends. I was actively told in orientation that we are supposed to be giving out demerits as liberally as possible to ensure that all cattle that can be harvested are harvested."
"You don't seem like the rest of the attendants around here," A1 replied. "They occasionally sit with us to eat but never socialize or are kind."
"I suspect most of them are as scared as you are," PeeQue said. "In orientation, we are told to have demerit quotas. If we don't live up to the standards of the facility, we can be sold to other places that treat slaves more harshly. Life as a steer in a processing facility is a step up for us."
As they continued to talk in hushed tones, A1 felt a strange bond forming. Here, in this hell, they had found a moment of connection. It wasn't much, but here in the processing factory, it was everything.
"Can we join, too?" came the voice of Dees behind them.
A1 turned and saw that he and Ninety-Two and Fours were with him.
"Take a seat," A1 replied. "This is PeeQue, our new attendant."
The three cattle nervously sat down and nodded, and PeeQue returned the gesture.
"Don't worry, guys," PeeQue said. "I know you are not supposed to trust us, but I am not out to give anyone a demerit today. At least unless they earn it."
The new attendant filled them in on his recent backstory as he began to eat his sandwich and fruit packed away in the cardboard box. The other cattle listened intently but also watched as the food, though nothing special, looked like a prized meal after the slop they had been served over the past several weeks.
PeeQue had been a member of a herd at a facility in an adjacent state. Though he had tried to be quiet and stay out of trouble, his hormones often got the best of him, and a series of verbal altercations had knocked him out of having any chance of keeping his balls. He refused to speak of the process, saying it was too traumatic to discuss, but he had been harvested the previous week, and after several days of convalescence, the company had purchased him during a slave market and sent him to work at their facility.
As PeeQue finished his tale, Fours' leg bounced rapidly. He had a mix of horror and fascination on his pallid face – his eyes wide. Ninety-Two, trying to mask his unease, leaned in with a forced grin.
"So, PeeQue, buddy... At least they didn't take your sense of humor, right? I mean, at least you no longer have to worry about the pain of blue balls."
The joke fell flat, met with uncomfortable silence. Dees shot Ninety-Two a warning glance before turning his attention back to PeeQue, his jaw clenched tight. PeeQue's haunted eyes swept over the group.
"There's... there's more," he stammered. "Even the lucky ones. The stallions... they're not safe. Ten years, that's all they get. Ten years of being strapped in a chair and given multiple orgasms a day to collect their cum. Then..."
He made a snipping motion with his fingers. A1 felt his stomach lurch.
"Ten years? But I thought... I thought being chosen as a stallion meant..."
"Meant what?" PeeQue's laugh was hollow. "A happy ending? There are no happy endings in our society."
The revelation hit A1 like a physical blow. He'd been clinging to the hope of becoming a stallion, of somehow escaping the immediate threat of harvesting. Now, that slim hope crumbled to dust. Fours whimpered softly, curling in on himself. Dees reached out, placing a steadying hand on the younger man's shoulder.
A1's mind raced. Ten years. It seemed like an eternity from where he stood now, and yet...
"So even if we survive the next few weeks," A1 thought, his chest tightening, "we're just delaying the inevitable."
A1 looked at his fellow captives, seeing his fear and despair mirrored in their eyes. The weight of their shared fate pressed down on him, threatening to crush what little spirit he had left.
PeeQue leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"It's not just here. The testicle trade... it's everywhere." His eyes darted nervously as if afraid the walls themselves might be listening. "They have facilities like this all over. Thousands of men, processed like... like cattle."
A1 felt a chill run down his spine.
"How many?" he asked, dreading the answer.
"I don't know exact numbers," PeeQue admitted, "but I've overheard things. Shipments. Auctions. It's a whole network, stretching across continents."
Fours' face had gone ashen.
"But why?" A1 croaked. "Who would... who would want...?"
"The rich," PeeQue spat. "The powerful. They pay fortunes for our..."
He gestured vaguely towards his groin.
"It's a delicacy. A status symbol."
A1's mind reeled, trying to comprehend the scale of it all. A world where human bodies were nothing more than commodities, where suffering was manufactured on an industrial scale. He felt sick. Dees leaned forward – his expression grim but determined.
"Knowledge is power," he said softly. "The more we understand this system, the better our chance of surviving it."
PeeQue nodded, a flicker of something like hope in his eyes.
"I want to help," he murmured. "I can't do much. I am an attendant. I am your overseer and taskmaster. But I would also like to try to be a friend if possible. I'll tell you everything I know."
A1 noticed Fours uncurling slightly, his gaze fixed on PeeQue with a mix of fear and curiosity. Even Ninety-Two had gone quiet, his usual smirk replaced by a look of intense concentration.
"We're in this together now," Dees said.
He reached out, placing his hand cautiously on PeeQue's arm. The former captive flinched first, then relaxed, a ghost of a smile crossing his lips. Fours caught Dees's eye, giving a slight nod of approval. At that moment, PeeQue felt a spark of warmth in his chest, a tiny ember of connection in this cold, cruel place.
A1 felt a sudden wave of vertigo, the reality of his situation crashing over him like a tidal wave. He glanced down at his body, once a source of pride and identity, now alien and unfamiliar. The smooth, hairless skin where his beard had been. The swollen sack and a metal cage resting above contained what used to swing freely between his legs.
"I don't even know who I am anymore," A1 whispered, more to himself than the group.
He ran a trembling hand over his bare chest, remembering the thick fur that had once covered it.
"Everything that made me... me... it's gone."
The others fell silent, watching A1 with sympathy and shared pain. PeeQue's constant dripping of precum seemed to punctuate the heavy silence.
"I was somebody before this," A1 continued, his voice cracking. "I had a life, friends, a community. Now I'm just... cattle. A number. A walking set of balls waiting to be harvested."
Ninety-Two cleared his throat, breaking the tension.
"Well, look on the bright side," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "At least we're all going to be part of some rich asshole's fancy dinner party. Cheers to us, the world's most exclusive appetizers!"
A1 blinked, startled by the unexpected gallows humor.
"Jesus, Ninety-Two," Fours muttered.
"What?" Ninety-Two shrugged, a defiant grin on his face. "If I'm going down, I'm going down swinging. Or at least cracking terrible jokes."
The group smiled. PeeQue leaned forward, his eyes darting between the faces of his newfound companions.
"I... I want to understand," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I want to learn about everything that is happening here, the extent of it all. I can get some of it on my own, but I will rely on you. I have to be an attendant. I will have to give out demerits, but I also want to learn about your herd and get to know you as human beings. You deserve what humanity you can hold onto. Will you let me?"
Dees felt a surge of protectiveness toward the new eunuch.
"Of course," he replied, his voice gentle. "We're all in this together now."
Ninety-Two nodded, his earlier sarcasm softening into something more earnest.
"Knowledge is power. Even in this hellhole."
As the mess hall began to empty around them, their small group remained huddled at the table. Ninety-Two noticed the subtle changes in their postures – their shoulders were less hunched, and their eyes met more frequently. Dees reached out, briefly squeezing PeeQue's shoulder.
"We'll talk again," Dees said, his deep voice reassuring. "We have to go now. Just remember – you're not alone anymore."
Fours, who had been quiet, finally spoke up.
"We will watch each other's backs," he murmured. "It's the only way we'll survive this."
A1 felt a lump form in his throat. Despite the horror of their situation, a fragile sense of hope had begun to take root. He caught PeeQue's eye and gave a slight nod.
"We're stronger together," A1 said softly, surprised by his voice's conviction.
As they finally stood to leave, A1 realized that he felt something other than despair for the first time since his capture. It wasn't quite hope, but it was a start. A1 clenched his fists, his newly bare skin a constant reminder of all he'd lost. Yet, as he gazed at his newfound companions, a fierce resolve ignited within him.
"I won't let them suffer the same fate," he vowed silently. "We'll find a way out of this nightmare together."
"We should go," Dees murmured, his eyes darting to the impatient steers near the exit. "We probably lingered too long here as it is. The other attendants will start to become suspicious."
Fours nodded.
"Same time tomorrow?" Dees asked.
"Count on it," PeeQue replied, attempting a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.
As they shuffled towards the door, A1 noticed the determined set of Dees' jaw, the quiet strength in Fours' stance. Even Ninety-Two's usual sarcasm seemed tempered by a newfound purpose.
"Stay strong," A1 whispered, surprised by the intensity of his own emotions. "We're not giving up."
They parted ways, A1 lingering for a moment. His gaze fell on PeeQue, standing near the table. The attendant's shoulders were hunched, his constant physical discomfort evident. Yet there was something different in his posture – a tentative straightening of his spine and a chin lift.
"He's not alone anymore," A1 realized. "None of us are."
As PeeQue caught his eye, A1 saw a flicker of that same fragile hope reflected at him. It was a tiny spark in the vast darkness of Orville Farm, but it was there. And A1 silently swore to do everything he could to keep that spark alive.
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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