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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 5: Resistance and Consequences
The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting harsh shadows across the communal area's concrete floor. A1 shifted uncomfortably on his large feet, flat against the cool surface. He glanced at his companions – Ninety-Two, Fours, and Dees – their naked forms, a stark reminder of their shared predicament.
"You hear about what Fuckt's planning?" Ninety-Two whispered, leaning in close.
A1's heart raced. He tugged on his chin, a nervous habit he couldn't shake.
"Yeah. Is he insane? He is talking about a rebellion. That's suicide!"
Fours chimed in.
"But what if it works? We could be free."
Dees shook his head, his muscular frame tense.
"And risk ending up like Sixty-Seven? No thanks. You remember his flogging and removal from the herd. PeeQue told me that they have him chained up and beat him regularly while they continue to feed him drugs. His back is torn up, and his sack is growing large like a melon, ripe for a future harvest."
A1 felt torn. The idea of escape filled him with hope, but the consequences of failure were too dire to ignore. He thought of the pain, the humiliation, the constant fear that permeated every moment in this hellish place.
"Yeah, it's not worth it," A1 muttered, more to himself than the others. "We've got to play by their rules if we want any chance of becoming stallions. Even if that is only delaying our inevitable fate."
Ninety-Two nodded.
"I'll take ten years of daily orgasms over losing my balls in six weeks any day."
A1 was about to retort when he noticed PeeQue approaching. The attendant's gentle demeanor stood out among the other steers, his still healing, stretched, and empty scrotum swaying as he walked.
"Afternoon," PeeQue said softly, "I hope you cattle are not discussing anything... unwise."
His eyes, filled with a mix of concern and understanding, met A1's. A1 felt a sudden urge to confide in PeeQue. Maybe it was the attendant's kind nature or the desperation clawing at A1's insides. Whatever the reason, the words tumbled out before he could stop them.
"PeeQue, we need your help," A1 whispered, his voice trembling. "Fuckt is causing trouble. There's talk of a rebellion. What should we do?"
PeeQue's eyes widened, a flicker of fear crossing his face. He glanced around quickly before leaning in close.
"A1, listen to me. Whatever you're thinking, please don't do it. The consequences... they're not worth it. You know what I told you about Sixty-Seven. I was forced to flog him by Weight just the other day. The sight of him, strung up with his enormous balls supported by a cloth thong and his back torn up from repeated lashings, nearly made me puke. Especially as I was forced to add more to his pain."
A1 nodded, feeling a strange mix of relief and disappointment.
"You did right in telling me," PeeQue replied. "I have to inform the others."
"But that makes me a snitch!" A1 replied.
PeeQue looked back with a comforting glance and held the captive shoulder.
"You did the right thing. I will never say from whom I heard the information. But I have to go."
A1 watched as PeeQue moved away, leaving him with a final, meaningful look.
"Well, that settles it," Dees said, breaking the tense silence. "We keep our heads down and survive. That's all we can do."
As the others murmured their agreement, A1 couldn't shake the feeling that they were making a terrible mistake. But what choice did they have? In this place of transformation and horror, survival was the only goal that mattered.
In the late evening, as the cattle rested after their exercise period, Fuckt's voice cut through the air, raw and defiant. A small group of captives huddled around him in a corner, their eyes wide with a mixture of fear and hope.
"We're not cattle!" Fuckt hissed, his face contorted with rage. "We're human beings, dammit, and it's time we showed these bastards that we won't go quietly to the slaughter!"
A1 watched from a distance, his heart pounding. Fuckt's words stirred something deep within him, a primal urge to fight back against the injustice that had stripped him of his identity. The revelation that the harvest was coming for him in either six weeks or ten years was beginning to gnaw at him.
"They think they can break us," Fuckt continued, his voice rising. "They think they can turn us into mindless creatures ripe for harvesting. But I say we show them the strength of our spirits!"
As Fuckt's impassioned speech continued, A1 felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Ninety-Two, a wry smile on his face.
"Thinking of joining the revolution, Bear?" Ninety-Two asked his tone a mix of sarcasm and genuine curiosity.
"Bear," A1 groaned. "I haven't been called that in so long."
A1 ran a hand over his smooth scalp and down his shaved face.
"I... I don't know. Part of me wants to fight, but..."
"But you're not ready to give up on your chance at being a stallion," Ninety-Two finished for him.
"I guess," A1 replied. "Even if that means I'll be harvested in the future, at least there is hope in the delay. Is that selfish of me?"
Ninety-Two chuckled softly.
"In this hellhole? Self-preservation isn't selfish – it's survival. Besides," he added, gesturing towards his enlarged testicles, "these babies aren't exactly built for running and fighting anymore."
Despite the gravity of the situation, A1 found himself smiling.
"How do you do that? Continually trying to find humor in all this?"
"It's either laugh or cry, my friend," Ninety-Two replied, his eyes softening. "And I'd rather go out with a chuckle than a whimper."
As they spoke, A1 couldn't help but notice the growing fervor in Fuckt's group. The energy was palpable, electric. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine what it would be like to join them, to fight back against the system that had robbed him of everything.
But then he thought of the pain, the constant ache in his groin, the promise of relief that came with the possibility of becoming a stallion. Could he really give that up?
"What do you think will happen to them?" A1 asked, nodding towards Fuckt and his followers.
Ninety-Two's face grew serious. "Nothing good, I'd wager. But hey, at least they're going out on their own terms, right?"
A1 nodded, feeling the weight of his indecision pressing down on him. As he watched Fuckt rally his troops, he couldn't shake the feeling that everything was about to change regardless of his choice.
The captives soon shuffled back towards their pen. A1's heart pounded in his chest, and each step reminded him of the growing tension. He glanced around, noticing the increased number of attendant steers lining the corridor, their eyes cold and vigilant.
"Is it just me, or did the welcoming committee get an upgrade?" Ninety-Two whispered, his attempt at humor falling flat in the oppressive atmosphere.
A1 swallowed hard.
"They know something's up."
The air crackled with anticipation as they approached the pen's entrance. Suddenly, Fuckt's voice cut through the silence like a knife.
"Now!"
Chaos erupted. Fuckt and his followers surged forward, their bodies a mass of desperate energy. A1 watched in shock as Fuckt tackled the nearest steer, PeeQue, his fist connecting with a sickening crunch and sending the newest attendant to the ground in a lump.
"Freedom!" Fuckt roared, his eyes wild with a mix of hope and fury. "Take it back!"
The corridor exploded into a frenzy of motion. Captives and steers grappled, the sound of flesh hitting flesh echoing off the sterile walls. A1 felt a surge of adrenaline course through him, his body tensing for action. He wanted to join in, help PeeQue, and try to escape.
"A1, don't!" Ninety-Two grabbed his arm, pulling him back. "It's suicide!"
A1 hesitated, torn between the urge to join the fight and the instinct for self-preservation. He watched as Fuckt managed to wrestle a stun baton from a fallen steer, wielding it with a manic grin.
"We can do this!" Fuckt shouted, electricity crackling around him. "We outnumber them!"
For a moment, it seemed possible. A1 felt a flicker of hope, imagining a world beyond the farm's oppressive walls. But then he saw the reinforcements pouring in, their weapons raised.
"It's not going to work," A1 muttered, his heart sinking. "PeeQue had told them. They were ready for this."
Ninety-Two nodded grimly.
"Fuckt's passion was always going to outweigh his planning skills."
As the tide began to turn against the rebels, A1 pressed himself against the wall, his enhanced testicles a painful reminder of everything at stake. He closed his eyes, silently praying that this act of defiance wouldn't cost them everything they had left.
The chaos of the rebellion swirled around them, but A1's attention snapped to a commanding voice that cut through the cacophony like a knife.
"Enough!"
Weight strode into the corridor, his muscular frame radiating authority. His eyes, cold and calculating, swept over the scene as he barked orders to the incoming attendants.
"Secure the exits. Isolate the instigators. Use non-lethal force only."
A1 watched in awe as Weight orchestrated a swift and precise response. The rebellion, which had seemed so promising moments ago, began to crumble under the weight of superior numbers and strategy.
Dees nudged A1 gently.
"Come on, we need to distance ourselves from this mess."
They shuffled along the wall, joined by Fours and Ninety-Two. A1's heart raced as they approached the silent figure of X4, who sat in his usual meditative pose, seemingly oblivious to the chaos.
"Mind if we join you?" A1 asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
X4 opened one eye, nodding almost imperceptibly. As they settled beside X4, Fours trembled visibly.
"What's going to happen to Fuckt and the others?" he asked, his forehead dripping with sweat.
Ninety-Two's response was sardonic.
"Nothing good. But at least we're not in their shoes."
A1 felt a pang of guilt.
"Should we have helped them?"
Dees placed a reassuring hand on A1's shoulder.
"And accomplish what? Getting ourselves hurt or worse? Sometimes survival is the bravest act of resistance."
A1 nodded, but his enhanced testicles throbbed painfully, a constant reminder of their oppression. He watched as Weight efficiently subdued the last of the rebels, a mix of admiration and fear coursing through him.
"How long can we keep living like this?" A1 whispered, more to himself than the others.
X4 spoke for the first time in weeks, his monk-like voice calm amidst the fading sounds of struggle.
"As long as we must. Our strength lies not in fighting but in enduring. As the Buddha says,... avoid killing or harming any living thing."
A1 pondered these words, finding an odd comfort in their shared decision to prioritize survival. As the rebellion was quashed around them, he felt a deepening bond with his companions, united in their quiet resistance against the farm's dehumanizing force.
The sickening crack of a baton against flesh echoed through the facility, followed by Fuckt's defiant roar. A1 winced, unable to look away as Weight and two burly attendants dragged Fuckt and another ringleader – a wiry captive – towards the isolation chambers. Fuckt's eyes, blazing with fury, locked onto A1's for a fleeting moment.
"You cowards!" he spat, blood trickling from his split lip. "You're all just cattle to them!"
A1's stomach churned as the heavy metal doors slammed shut, sealing Fuckt's fate. The remaining captives huddled together, a palpable miasma of defeat hanging in the air.
"What do you think they'll do to them?" Fours whispered, his freckled face pale with fear.
Ninety-Two replied grimly.
"Nothing pleasant. Probably make an example of 'em. I suspect the punishment Sixty-Seven got will pale in comparison. They might be harvested today. Who knows?"
Dees shushed them as a steer lumbered past. The facility had transformed in mere minutes, with additional guards patrolling every corner. The air seemed thicker, charged with an oppressive energy that made A1's skin crawl.
"I can hardly breathe," A1 muttered, tugging at the collar around his neck. The constant ache in his groin intensified, a cruel reminder of their powerlessness.
X4 spoke softly. His eyes were still closed in meditation.
"Focus on your breath. Feel your inner calm. Embrace it. It's the one thing they can't take from us."
A1 tried to follow X4's advice, but the metallic taste of fear coated his tongue. The facility's ever-present hum from the overhead lights had grown louder, punctuated by the heavy footfalls of the steers and the occasional whimper from a fellow captive hurt in the failed uprising.
"We're fucked, aren't we?" Ninety-Two remarked, his usual sarcasm tinged with genuine dread.
A1 couldn't find the words to respond. He stared at their prison's cold, unforgiving walls, wondering if they'd ever see freedom again. The mechanical hum of the facility seemed to crescendo in his ears, matching the turbulent thoughts swirling in his mind.
"What was it all for?" he muttered, running a hand over his bald head.
The rebellion's failure weighed heavily on him, each breath a reminder of their collective powerlessness. He glanced at his calloused hands, once strong and capable, now instruments of compliance in this twisted system.
"I can't even recognize myself anymore," A1 whispered, his voice cracking.
The sound of approaching footsteps made him tense. A steer passed by, on edge after the brawl and scanning the area. A1 held his breath until it moved on, exhaling only when the coast was clear.
"This is what we've become," he thought bitterly. "Cowering at the sound of our shadows."
As night fell, A1 found himself in his bunk, surrounded by the familiar presence of Ninety-Two, Fours, and Dees. The darkness seemed to loosen their tongues, allowing whispered conversations to flow.
"Do you think they'll ever try again?" Fours asked, his youthful voice tinged with a mix of hope and fear.
Dees sighed. His usual pragmatism evident even in the dark.
"It's not about trying again. It's about surviving now."
"Surviving for what?" A1 interjected, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. "To be harvested? To become one of them?"
Ninety-Two's dry chuckle cut through the tension.
"Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine lately, A1? But I get it. This place... it gets to you."
"We can't give up," Dees said firmly. "We have to find meaning, even here. Even now."
A1 felt a lump form in his throat.
"How? How do we find meaning in this hell?"
A1 tossed and turned in his bunk, the conversation with his friends fading as a more primal need took hold. His enlarged testicles throbbed with a dull, persistent ache that radiated through his groin and up into his abdomen. He bit his lip, trying to stifle a groan.
"You okay down there?" Ninety-Two's whisper carried a note of concern from the bunk across and above.
"Yeah, just... uncomfortable," A1 muttered, shifting again.
But 'uncomfortable' didn't begin to describe the storm raging inside him. His body felt like a pressure cooker, hormones surging through his veins, demanding release. He closed his eyes, trying to will away the arousal, but vivid images flashed through his mind - memories of past lovers, fantasies of touch, of relief.
"Christ," he hissed, sitting up abruptly.
The movement sent a jolt of pain through his swollen genitals.
"A1?" Dees' voice, low and worried, asked after feeling the movement of his bunkmate below.
"I just... I need some air," A1 managed, stumbling out of bed and walking over to their door to peer through the bars.
In the dim light of the communal space, A1's breathing became ragged. His hand unconsciously drifted towards his groin, stopping just short. The rules echoed in his head - no touching, no relief. But he needed it.
"Maybe...," he whispered to himself, eyes darting around the empty corridor beyond. "I bet if I rubbed the head of my caged cock I could get a little sensation. Just a little relief. No one would know."
His fingers twitched, inching closer. The possibility of an infraction loomed large, but the promise of release was intoxicating. A1 closed his eyes, torn between desperate need and the last shreds of his self-control.
"What are you doing there?" PeeQue's voice cut through the silence like a knife.
A1 jerked his hand away from his groin, heart pounding. PeeQue could see the fear in the captive's eyes.
"I... I couldn't sleep," he stammered.
PeeQue approached. His right eye was blackened from the previous escape attempt but otherwise unhurt. He stood across from A1. He knew what the captive was going through at this stage. He remembered the pain in his testicles when he had them and the constant desire for release. It had kept him up most nights, especially as his harvest had neared.
"Get back to sleep, A1," PeeQue said with a hushed but firm tone. "Don't force me to give you a demerit. You know better."
A1 nodded and turned. As he shuffled back, shame and frustration warred within him. He knew this wouldn't be the last time he'd face this temptation. The dark thoughts persisted, whispering of relief at any cost. How long could he resist?
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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