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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 7: The Outside World
The cityscape glittered with a million lights, illuminating the towering spires and sleek monoliths that housed the wealthy elite. In the heart of this opulent maze, nestled between the financial district and the trendiest clubs, stood the most exclusive restaurant money could buy: The Orville. Tonight, as with every other night, the rich and powerful flocked to its obscure entrance, their faces glowing with anticipation.
The Orville Restaurant was known for its signature dish – Pacific Beef Truffles, a delicacy so rare and expensive that its mere mention would send shivers of delight down the most jaded of spines. The dining room was a study in decadence: plush velvet upholstery adorned the walls, muffling the hushed whispers of the well-heeled patrons. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm, inviting light over the pristine white tablecloths, each adorned with the finest bone china and silverware money could buy.
The air was thick with anticipation as the diners sipped on vintage wines and sampled the amuse-bouche. The waiters, clad in immaculate uniforms, glided through the room like ghosts, refilling glasses and allowing the anticipation to build.
In a corner, Grant Orville – a descendant of Milton Orville, the man who had started it all – sat watching the proceedings with a cold, appraising eye. He could ooze an air of authority when he decided to clean and dress up. His tall, broad frame was clad in an impeccably tailored suit accentuating his muscular build. He, too, was eagerly awaiting tonight's course, his thin lips curling into a cruel smile.
A century ago, Milton Orville stood before a similarly opulent group of investors, his face a mask of cool detachment as he pitched his vision for the Orville Company.
"Gentlemen, ladies, I stand before you today with the opportunity of a lifetime," he began, his voice clipped and efficient. "As you are all aware, the market for high-quality protein-rich food is at an all-time high. Rare and succulent delights are always in demand among discerning clientele, especially those that have made it rich from the male slave trade."
He gestured to a series of images that flickered to life behind him, depicting charts, figures, and life on the farm and in the city.
"To feed our growing world population, traditional farming methods have been reduced to growing and producing the same old types of grains, vegetables, and lab-grown meats," Milton continued. "Today, our diet is sadly lacking in flavor and texture. What we need is a more... unique selection."
A hush fell over the room as the final image appeared – a picture of a muscular, naked man bound to a table. His legs were in stirrups and spread apart. His eyes were wide with terror.
"And that brings us to where we are today," Milton said with a grim finality, "I present to you the future of fine dining: human testicles, the newest delicacy to grace your tables."
The image faded, and a new one appeared, showing the bound man from the front. Between his spread and lifted legs, his scrotum was massive – the size of a honeydew melon. His cock was tiny, barely poking out of his abdomen but dripping with precum.
As the picture faded to black, it was replaced by a new one showing a surgical plate with two massive testicles that had been harvested. They were the size of a man's hand and were plump and juicy. The following image showed them being sliced into sections, breaded, and fried, garnished in the end with a special sauce that had a white creamy appearance. The final slide showed them served on fine china lit by candlelight. A hush fell over the assembled group.
"The process of developing these delicacies leaves the meat with a tender and succulent flavor packed with protein and has a taste beyond which you cannot imagine," Milton continued. "It is nothing like the lab-grown meat we all are accustomed to, devoid of flavor."
At that moment, doors opened into the board room, and naked, castrated slaves wearing black bowties and crisp white socks walked in with serving dishes. Small cups with a bite-size piece of meat cooked to perfection were on them. The slaves gave a sample to each investor present, and Milton smiled as they ate.
"The product you are eating can be marketed as meat from an isolated land known throughout history as an aphrodisiac and delicacy."
The men and ladies assembled could not believe how good the meat tasted. It was a flavor they had never had before, leaving them wanting more.
"And, after the harvesting of the testicles, we can sell the slaves on the open market and double our profits," Milton added. "It's a win-win proposition!"
The silence was broken by a chorus of applause, and the rest, as they say, was history.
In the present day, Grant Orville's mind imagined his great-grandfather Milton's pivotal presentation. The old man's cold pragmatism had laid the foundation for their empire. He had perfected the art of exploitation.
A waiter approached, bowing slightly. "Our entree tonight is an excellent vintage, Sir. It was harvested just this morning."
"Excellent," he said. "I'll have that, of course."
Grant gazed at the glittering city as the waiter retreated, marveling how far they'd come. The Farm now operated with ruthless efficiency, churning out "Pacific Beef Truffles" to satisfy the insatiable appetite of the elite.
He thought, with grim satisfaction, "If only they knew the true cost of their decadence."
Milton Orville's voice cut through the air with clinical precision, his eyes gleaming with a cold intensity as he addressed the investors again, this time in a facility under construction that covered many acres.
He turned to face a projection screen, his silhouette stark against the bright display of profit projections and facility blueprints. The investors leaned forward, their eyes glinting with greed and morbid fascination.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Milton began, his voice carrying a cold edge of excitement, "what you see before and around you is not just a business plan. It's a revolution in human resource management."
He clicked to the next slide, revealing a diagram of the Orville Farm being built around them.
"This facility will be state-of-the-art, hidden from prying eyes in the heart of this desert. The isolation serves two purposes: security and discretion."
One of the investors, an overweight man with beads of sweat on his brow, raised a trembling hand.
"But the legality, Mr. Orville... surely we can't just..."
Milton cut him off with a sharp laugh.
"Legality is a matter of interpretation, my friend. Our lawyers have identified key loopholes in current legislation. Minor offenses like solicitation can be leveraged to our advantage."
As he spoke, Milton's mind raced through the intricate web of bribes and blackmail he had already set in motion. Judges, politicians, media moguls – all the pieces were falling into place.
"Think of it as a form of rehabilitation," Milton continued, his tone dripping with false benevolence. "We're taking society's undesirables and giving them purpose. And in return, we provide the elite with a delicacy they'll fight to consume."
The room fell silent, the weight of Milton's words sinking in. He could see the conflict in their eyes, the battle between moral revulsion and unbridled avarice. But Milton knew which would win. It always did.
Milton smoothly transitioned to the next slide, highlighting a detailed timeline of the transformation process.
"Allow me to walk you through our twelve-week program," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "We've made remarkable strides in endocrinology and genetic manipulation. The key lies in our proprietary cocktail of growth factors and stem cell stimulants. We've effectively hijacked the body's natural processes, forcing rapid cellular division and hypertrophy."
As Milton spoke, he pulled up a series of graphs and images on the screen behind him, displaying the grotesque enlargement of human testicles over time. The investors leaned forward, a mix of fascination and horror etched on their faces.
"But how do you maintain quality control?" one investor asked.
Milton's lips curled into a humorless smile.
"We've developed a scoring system based on size, density, and protein content. Only the finest specimens make it to market. The rest... well, there are always other uses for subpar products. But I can report that as of last month, 80% of our harvested product met our standards, and it won't be long before our process is refined to the point that nearly every specimen will be of the highest caliber."
As he spoke, Milton's eyes gleamed with cold excitement. This was his masterpiece, the culmination of years of clandestine research and unethical experiments.
"Here is a timeline of the process," he said as slides of various naked subjects began to appear behind him. "Week one begins with hormone therapy and specialized nutrition. We also circumcise any intact subjects to reduce sensations and provide for better hygiene. They are all fitted with chastity cages to keep their hands off their transforming genitals, and these are swapped out over time as their testicles grow. By week four, we begin to see a massive increase in testicular mass. The entire reproductive system is being altered. The drugs target and deactivate the prostate, making it unable to function."
"Why?" asked a member of the audience.
Orville smiled as he turned.
"A couple of reasons. First, as the growth process continues, the hormone levels in our subjects rapidly increase. It becomes impossible for them not to attempt to orgasm, and if they don't, their body will force them to have what we called 'wet dreams' when I was a kid."
There was a smattering of laugher in the crowd.
"Even one orgasm drains away the vital fluids that are being built up and altered inside our subjects. Thus, deactivating this ability to orgasm becomes key. Of course, this also helps the eventual slave sold after harvest. Testosterone shots must be given to the castrated male slaves of our society as part of the law. But we have all seen how this can lead to behavior issues. I just read in the news about another slave raping his master's wife."
"Indeed!" a voice replied from the group.
"By permanently taking the ability to orgasm away and shrinking their cocks to nothing, as you will see shortly, they are unable to function and are thus easier to control. Indeed, we are working on legislation to mandate a modified form of my patented drug therapy for all slaves in the network so their cocks are shrunk and they become impotent."
The crowd reacted with approval.
"But, let me continue with the process," Milton replied. "Weeks five through eight involve intensive physical conditioning and further chemical treatments. As their bodies become toned, muscled, and strong, the shaft of their penis becomes shorter and thinner as the erectile tissues atrophy and are absorbed by the body. This causes the head of the penis to be pulled backward as it also shrinks in size. By week twelve, the head of the penis will sit just against the abdomen, sometimes pushed inside. No erectile tissue remains, and it can only be used to expel urine. As for the testicles, as you can see in this slide, we will have achieved 500% enlargement of the organs. Each is the size of a man's hand and is ready for harvest. As a result of this process, the resulting meat is plump, tender, and unparalleled in flavor, texture, and nutrition."
An investor raised his hand.
"Mr. Orville, the ethics..."
Milton cut him off sharply.
"Ethics are a luxury we can't afford in our overpopulated world. Our subjects are criminals, remember? This is their penance."
He paused, allowing his words to sink in. Inwardly, Milton marveled at how easily morality crumbled in the face of profit. Once the slave trade had been established, it had thrived. The wealthy soon got richer, and profit opportunities increased among those with vision. When minor offenses were also included in the slave trade legislation, Milton knew he had the loophole he needed. He could now target those involved in solicitation. He could track and observe them, looking for those members of the male society that had large testicles already and high libidos – prime candidates for later capture and processing. He could even control the places where solicitation occurred – whore houses, bath houses, cheap motels – and ensure a steady stream of cattle.
"We're not just creating a delicacy," Milton said, his voice low and intense. "We're offering a solution to society's ills. And ladies and gentlemen, the profits... they'll be beyond your wildest dreams."
The waiter glided across the polished marble floor - a silver platter balanced expertly on his fingertips. He approached a table where Grant Orville sat, his anticipation palpable.
"Your Pacific Beef Truffles, Sir," the waiter announced, placing the dish before the man.
Grant's eyes widened with delight.
"Ah, magnificent!" he exclaimed, his jowls quivering. "They definitely look high quality and fresh."
"Indeed, Sir," the waiter confirmed with a practiced smile. "Our chef assures me they're of the highest grade."
As Grant took his first bite, he moaned.
"Divine!"
His eyes were closed in ecstasy.
"The texture, the flavor – it's unlike anything else."
The woman to his left at a nearby table, adorned in sparkling jewels, giggled nervously.
"Sir, I've always been too scared to try them," she admitted. "I've heard that meat is a delicacy from the South Pacific, but I have such a picky palette. But seeing your reaction, I simply must have a taste."
Grant offered her a small slice of the breaded and fried meat, and she moaned with delight as it melted in her mouth.
"Wow, that is amazing!"
As she sampled the dish, the diner with her, a man with slicked-back hair, mused aloud.
"You know, I've always wondered about the, ah, sourcing of these delicacies. Surely, it can't be from where they claim. We have been to the South Pacific, and they have never heard of such a thing."
Grant waved a dismissive hand.
"Best not to pry too deeply into such matters, my boy. Just enjoy the fruits of progress. It is a delicacy you will never forget."
Milton Orville's boots echoed through the sterile corridor as he approached the intake area of his new facility. He paused, a cold smile playing on his lips as he surveyed the first new batch of fifty naked captives. They were aligned in rows – gagged and secured with shackles on their ankles and wrists. Each had been picked up for minor solicitation infractions, and they were obviously well-hung and virile specimens.
"Welcome to Orville Farm, gentlemen," he announced, his voice dripping with false warmth. "You're about to become part of a grand enterprise."
Several of the captives grunted and bit at the rubber ball strapped tightly in their mouths. The rattle of chains could be heard as others fought against their restraints.
"Thanks to some... creative interpretation of labor laws, you'll contribute to society in ways you never imagined." Milton chuckled, the sound devoid of humor. "The beauty of legal loopholes is that they make the impossible possible. Thus, you are now all part of the slave network and are the property of the company."
Several of the captives had the look of shock on their faces. Others were now violently trying to break their bonds and escape. The staff, made of well-built castrated slaves, moved to hold them in place.
"I am sure some of you are asking yourself, how can this be legal?" Milton continued. "Well, I assure you it is legal. You have committed a crime, and you have been sold into slavery to pay for that crime. We are just intervening to help bulk up your bodies and provide us with – a special product."
Milton's last words seemed ominous, and a pall fell over the group of captives.
"Now," Grant clapped his hands, "let's begin your processing, shall we? After all, you are our first herd of cattle in this facility!"
He gestured to a tiled room where shower heads protruded through the walls, and the slave attendants ushered the captives inside, where they would be cleaned and denuded of their hair from head to toe. Circumcisions for the intact cattle would follow, and then they would be sent to be fitted with their sanitized chastity cages. After all, a sanitary facility was paramount when dealing with a food product.
Within ten years, Milton Orville had created a burgeoning empire. The slaves he produced were trim, fit, and strong, and being impotent as well, they always fetched the highest prices on the open slave market. Their harvested testicles were soon being processed and shipped to several high-end dining establishments founded by Orville in major cities worldwide.
The proceeds allowed him to build more processing plants around the country and the globe, with a portion of the funds going to local politicians and industry experts to ensure their cooperation and lower the legal risk. Soon, he was the head of a Fortune 500 company and one of the wealthiest men in the world.
As technology advanced, so did the efficiency of processing plants. At first, it was common to have revolts among the various herds that were brought in every few weeks. This was especially true once the captives discovered what was happening to them and the harvesting process. The solution was invented by Milton's oldest child, Bat Orville, who was as ruthless and creative as his father.
"We tell them the truth from the beginning!" Bat said to his father in a board meeting.
"What?" Milton exclaimed with a laugh. "You just tell someone naked and bound and brought into a facility that we are about to increase the size of their balls and then cut them off? There will be even more riots!"
"Not if it is done strategically," Bat said slyly.
Milton eyed his son and knew the boy had something up his sleeve.
"I propose that when the new cattle arrive, they be told about the facility's purpose. Inform them that over the next twelve weeks, they will have their testicles medically enhanced and their bodies altered and toned. But tell them that while the majority of them will be harvested at the end of the process and then sold into slavery, a minority will not."
"Oh?" Milton replied, intrigued.
"Hope is a valuable weapon, father," Bat continued. "If we give them hope, with the idea that a few may be spared, we give them an escape. If we then pair it with a competition..."
Bat looked up and thought for a moment before returning his gaze to his father with a smile.
"A competition... yes," Bat said. "We tell them that poor behavior will be met with a demerit system, like I had at that private school you sent me to. But good behavior... good behavior will be rewarded! At the end of the twelve-week program, a few lucky cattle with the least demerits will be spared harvesting."
"I like the idea, Son," Milton replied. "But we can't let them go. What do you propose we do with the lucky few cattle selected?"
"The special sauce!" Milton's younger son John announced from the other side of the boardroom table. "The special sauce, Dad. You know. Back when you started the company. You were toying with the use of the cum from the cattle to be used as a sauce to pair with the testicles. I know you eventually stopped the process because allowing a cattle to orgasm can affect the overall development of the testicle meat. But, if you were to milk these lucky cattle that were spared."
"But they can't orgasm, Son," Milton interjected. "They are impotent, and we shrink their cocks to nothing."
"There are treatments, Dad," John replied. "It would be painful – an extremely painful process, but we could give the lucky few an infusion to reactivate their prostate. And, with some anal stimulation, they could orgasm even if they didn't have a functioning penis."
"Exactly, John!" Bat exclaimed. "We could take the lucky cattle selected not to be harvested and take them to a place where they could be milked daily. Hell, as big and supercharged as their testicles will be, it will be easy to milk them several times a day. We could then collect their fluids and use them in a special sauce."
"The cum from the enhanced cattle would have unique nutritional properties," John replied. "And we could use other drugs to keep them in top production and healthy. But we could not keep it up forever. Eventually, their balls would give out."
"So, we set a certain time frame," Bat responded. "Say five or ten years. After that point, they are also harvested and still in good enough shape to be sold as slaves. They may not get top dollar, but I bet we could still profit."
"But you are still harvesting them all," Milton said. "How would that stop a rebellion?"
"I guarantee the chance of being able to stall the inevitable will be an enticing reward," Bat replied.
"And why even tell them that the lucky few being spared will eventually be harvested, too," John added. "All they need to know is they will be spared. It will be the truth and a potent reward."
"I like it!" Milton replied. "I just have one question. How do we prevent these cattle from telling the world about the source of our product once they are sold as slaves?"
"We tell them at some point that the drugs they have been taking stay in their system permanently," Bat replied. "And... certain compounds can be activated with microwave radiation."
"You are joking," Milton said with a laugh.
"No, Dad!" Bat replied. "Listen, with the way technology is, it is hard to tell fact from fiction. We tell them if they ever reveal where their testicles went, they will be killed. Tell them there are members of the company everywhere, and with a simple signal, they will suffer a heart attack or a brain aneurysm."
"Cold and calculated," Milton said approvingly. "You are going to make a fine successor to this chair, Son."
"Thanks, Dad," Bat said with a smile.
"I like it," Milton replied. "Do it!"
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Grant Orville sat back and sipped his wine. His meal was finished, and he glanced around the room at the assembled patrons. He recognized the Governor and his mistress at one private table and one of the local state judges at another with his new wife. All of high society was there to show off their wealth and dine on the world's best food.
"Will we be wanting the check, Sir?" the waiter asked Grant.
Grant smiled and opened up his wallet to show his identification card.
"Mr. Orville!" the waiter exclaimed. "I had no idea! I will comp the meal immediately, Sir!"
"Mr. Orville?" the well-dressed lady at the next table asked. "Are you related to the founders of this restaurant?"
"I am indeed, Mam," Grant said with a smile.
"Ooooo..." the woman giggled with passion. "Would you care to join our table? This is my husband, Mortimer."
Grant rose, took the lady's hand, and kissed it before sitting and nodding at her male companion.
"I would be happy to, Madam," he said with a smile. "I would be honored to be in the company of a lovely woman like you."
The woman laughed and blushed. Her exposed chest above her sequenced gown turned red, highlighting her bosoms. Grant could not help but stare.
"Forgive me," he said as he looked back at her. "You are beautiful."
"Would you care to come home with us?" she asked. "I know it is bold to ask, but Mortimer is my cuck. He loves to watch me have sex with rich men, and you have to be one of the richest around these parts."
Grant grinned and looked over at her husband.
"A cuck, hmm?"
"I wear a chastity cage and everything, Sir," Mortimer replied. "I'm in a sex-free relationship. I would be honored if you would ravish my wife and fuck her in front of me."
Grant turned to the woman and reached out to hold her hand.
"Would your husband be up for providing me oral service as well? I love to fuck a nice mouth."
"He is very good at fluffing and cleaning a cock off after it has shot its seed deep inside me, Sir," she replied with a passionate voice. "You can even fuck his ass."
"Then let's not delay!" Grant replied. "We are going to have a wonderful evening!"
As the three departed, the sounds of the city echoed around them. The overcrowded streets and the various members of society, both poor and middle class, walked by them unaware. They entered a waiting limo, which drove off into the night. Meanwhile, many miles away in a barren desert, cattle were being processed, and the machinery of control continued.
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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