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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 9: Selection Day
The processing room's fluorescent lights buzzed loudly overhead as Fours stood rigidly in line, his pale skin prickling with goosebumps. The metallic clinking of chastity cages echoed through the sterile space, each sound causing his stomach to churn.
"Next," barked Weight, his massive form looming over the captives.
Fours shuffled forward, heart pounding. An attendant approached with the final chastity cage they would wear. It had an even larger base ring and a new cage design. The cage they were fitted with the previous week was of an orange metal color and completely flat, with an integrated catheter to assist with urination. This cage, made of red metal, had additional hardware behind the flat piece shaped like a half-inch cylinder. In effect, the extra cylinder of metal pushed and forced their tiny cock heads inside their body cavity.
"Spread your legs," the attendant commanded flatly.
Fours complied, face burning with shame as cold metal touched his sensitive flesh. He winced as the device was secured, feeling his small cockhead forced inside him. He bit back a whimper in response.
"Too tight?" Weight asked, his tone mocking.
"N-no sir," Fours managed, though the cage pinched uncomfortably.
As he was directed to the next station, Fours caught Ninety-Two's eye. The larger man gave a subtle nod of solidarity before averting his gaze.
"Step in and keep your arms out," ordered another attendant, holding an upgraded singlet.
The reinforced red fabric garment slid over Fours' body, clinging to his newly defined muscles. The enlarged pouch at the groin emphasized his encaged genitals, making him feel grotesquely on display.
"This is it," Fours thought, fighting back tears. "The final step before we learn our fate."
"How's it feel?" Weight's cold voice cut through Fours' spiraling thoughts. "Getting used to your new uniform?"
Fours swallowed hard.
"It's...fine, Sir."
Weight's lips curled into a cruel smirk.
"Good. Enjoy it while you can. After this week, you probably won't be wearing clothes ever again, and you sure won't need support down there."
As Weight laughed and moved down the line, Fours caught a glimpse of himself in a nearby mirror. The singlet emphasized every curve of his now chiseled body. He had a broad chest, a six-pack abdomen, a firm ass, muscled arms and thick legs. The fabric strained against his massive testicles, which now had to be larger than his hands in size. He barely recognized the frightened, vulnerable creature staring back at him.
"Is this really me now?" he wondered, a wave of despair washing over him. "Just another piece of meat for the slaughter?"
Fours' heart raced as he walked into the dining hall, his mind reeling with the enormity of what lay ahead.
"Selection day. Our last chance," he thought, his stomach churning. "If I'm not chosen as a stallion..."
He couldn't finish the thought, the specter of harvest looming large in his mind. Nearby, he heard A1 muttering under his breath, a nervous habit that had only intensified over the weeks.
"Hey," Fours whispered, his voice low and steady. "You guys holding up?"
Dees, Ninety-Two, and A1 turned and nodded. Fours shuffled closer, grateful for their familiar presence.
"Barely," A1 admitted, his eyes darting nervously. "I can't stop thinking about... you know."
Ninety-Two nodded grimly.
"The harvest. Yeah, me too."
"What do you think our chances are?" Fours asked, his voice barely audible. "Of being selected, I mean."
Dees sighed. His usual calm demeanor was tinged with worry.
"Hard to say. They keep the criteria pretty vague."
"Other than demerits, I've heard it's about body size," A1 said, shifting uncomfortably in his singlet. "But what if that's not enough?"
"It's not just size," Dees replied. "Behavior counts too. Demerits can knock you out of the running, but so can your demeanor. Remember, after harvest, we are going to be sold as slaves. Our new owners will expect a strong and quiet servant who is well-behaved. "
Fours felt a chill run down his spine.
"How many demerits is too many, I wonder?"
"No one knows for sure," Ninety-Two muttered. "That's what makes it so damn terrifying."
A1's eyes widened with panic.
"What if none of us make it? What if..."
"Hey," Dees cut in, his voice firm but kind. "We can't think like that. We have made it this far. We've got to stay focused, stay hopeful."
Fours nodded, trying to draw strength from Dees' words. But as he looked at his friends, he saw his fear reflected in their eyes.
"We're all just pretending to be brave," he realized. "But inside, we're terrified of what comes next."
"I will tell you this, though," Dees said. "No matter what happens to us, I will remember you all. I'm not religious, but I promise I will say your name out loud every night after we leave here. I want to hold on to this camaraderie and brotherhood as long as possible."
"Yeah, me too," Fours replied.
A1 and Ninety-Two nodded.
"Same, guys."
"Thanks for everything, Dees," A1 said. "I wouldn't have made it this far without you."
The week passed quickly. The dreaded day for the cattle arrived. They were woken up early, given a shower and a last meal, and then herded into a large open space. The lights above them flickered to life, bathing the room in a sickly glow. Fours squinted, his eyes adjusting as he shuffled forward with the other captives. The air felt thick, oppressive, laden with the acrid scent of sweat and fear.
"Move it, cattle!" barked a steer, his massive frame blocking the entrance. "Line up!"
The cattle began to file in. Their scrotums were beyond comprehension. It was almost comedic staring at the bulge their red singlets struggled to contain. They each had a mass that was seven inches in diameter on average, but some were even larger. Everyone was sure that A1 had grown the most.
They were precumming so much that a constant wet spot formed on the front of their singlets. The fabric continually oozed liquid, which ran down and dripped onto the floor. Their hormones, after twelve weeks of continuous drug enhancement and orgasm suppression, were almost more than their bodies could handle. Their musk was also strong, driven by the testosterone level in their bodies. Any bit of sweat would emit a strong odor, and as they gathered, the room soon reeked.
Fours' heart hammered in his chest as he took his place. The cool concrete on the floor starkly contrasted with his feverish skin. He scanned the room, his gaze landing on Weight, who stood at the front, clipboard in hand. The large attendant's empty scrotum swayed as he paced, a grim reminder of what awaited those today who didn't make the cut.
"This is it," Fours thought, his throat constricting. "Everything comes down to this moment."
"Stand still and keep quiet, cattle!" Weight's voice boomed across the hall. "Your final evaluation begins now."
Fours watched as the first captive was called forward, his legs trembling as he approached the attendants. They poked and prodded, measuring and examining with clinical efficiency. His muscle mass was evaluated by the size of his feet and limbs, his height and weight, and, of course, the size of his scrotum, a guide to the size of the testicles floating inside.
After the statistics were made, Weight used a grease pencil to write a series of codes on the captive's right shoulder over their nipple.
"Look at them," A1 whispered from beside him. "It's like we're livestock at auction."
Fours nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from the scene.
"I feel sick," he murmured.
"Deep breaths," Dees advised from his other side. "Rember our lessons with Ex. Stay calm. Don't give them any reason to mark you down."
The line inched forward, each evaluation seeming to stretch for an eternity. Fours' palms were slick with sweat, his singlet clinging uncomfortably to his skin.
"Next!" Weight called, and Fours realized with a jolt that it was his turn.
He stumbled forward, his legs wooden and uncooperative. His singlet was dropped to his feet. The attendants surrounded him, their hands cold and impersonal as they examined every inch of his body.
"Turn," one commanded, and Fours complied, his cheeks burning with humiliation.
"Please," he silently begged. "Let me be good enough. Let me survive this."
As the attendants conferred in hushed tones, Fours caught sight of Ninety-Two watching him, worry etched across his friend's face. He managed a weak smile, trying to project a confidence he didn't feel.
Weight used the grease pencil to write some numbers on his upper chest.
"Pull up your singlet and get back in line," Weight ordered, and Fours retreated, his fate still unknown.
"It's out of my hands now," he thought, his chest tight with dread. "All I can do is wait and hope."
Weight's massive frame loomed over the assembled captives, his empty scrotum swaying grotesquely as he strode to the front of the hall. The mechanical hum of the facility seemed to fade away, replaced by the thunderous beating of hearts and the ragged breathing of terrified men.
"Listen up, cattle," Weight barked, his voice reverberating off the stark walls. "The statistics are in. This herd's largest producer is 32F45A1, with a diameter of 9.5 inches! Congratulations, cattle... you beat even my size before I was harvested!"
An attendant walked up to A1 and stamped a star on his chest below the series of numbers that had been given.
"And the biggest muscle growth goes to 8GD4EDP!" Weight continued.
Another attendant moved down the line to the hulking form that was the captive named DeePee and stamped a large A in a circle on his chest.
"Now to the part you are all waiting for, Weight announced. "The selection. The criteria are as follows: physical development, behavioral compliance, and demerit count. Those with the lowest demerits will be given priority consideration. We will now assemble the finalists. When your name is called, come to the front and line up. From these lucky few, we will select who will become this herd's stallions."
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Fours felt his stomach lurch, remembering every minor infraction, every moment of rebellion. He glanced at A1, whose face had drained of color.
"This can't be happening," A1 whispered, his voice trembling.
Before Fours could respond, Weight's voice cut through the air again.
"The first finalist is 98FGTX4... Ex."
The room fell silent, then erupted in a cacophony of relief and despair. Ex, a broad-shouldered captive with a reputation for obedience, stepped forward, his calm expression unchanged from the first day he had arrived.
Weight continued each name like a hammer blow.
"736KI9... EyeNine."
"P45F423... Twenty-Three."
"X23R4D2...DeeTwo."
The emotional temperature in the room rose. Those called forward stood apart, their faces a study in conflicting emotions - relief warring with guilt as they looked back at their less fortunate companions.
Fours watched as dreams crumbled around him. A captive to his left, a young man barely out of his teens, collapsed to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably. Another stared blankly ahead, his eyes devoid of hope.
"This is torture," Dees muttered, his usual calm demeanor cracking. "They're breaking us down, piece by piece."
Fours nodded, unable to speak. He felt as if he were balancing on a knife's edge, each name called that wasn't his, both a reprieve and an agony. The weight of uncertainty pressed down on him, suffocating and relentless.
As the list of names was read, the room's divide grew. The chosen few stood apart, their futures suddenly, terrifyingly different. Those left behind huddled together, clinging to each other as if physical proximity could somehow change their fate.
Weight's voice droned on, merciless and unyielding, as dreams of freedom slipped away with each passing moment.
"K983D4S... Fours."
The name echoed through the cavernous hall, and for a moment, Fours couldn't process it. His heart skipped a beat, then raced to catch up.
"Me?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Did he say...?"
Dees gave him a gentle nudge. "Go on, bud. That's you."
Fours stumbled forward, his legs shaking beneath him. As he joined the group of finalists, a tidal wave of emotions crashed over him.
"I can't believe it," he muttered, running a hand over his bald head. "Will I be safe?"
Anticipation flooded his system, but a crushing sense of guilt followed it. He turned back to look at those left behind, their faces a mosaic of despair and resignation.
"What about the others?" Fours thought, his stomach churning. "How can I feel happy when they're... when they're..."
Ninety-Two's heart pounded in his ears as the names had been called. After a name was read, each moment of silence felt like an eternity, hope and dread warring within him. But as the list dwindled and his designation remained unspoken, a cold reality settled in his gut.
"This can't be happening," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the din of relieved sighs and muffled sobs around him.
"And finally, HB623DD... Dees," Weight announced.
The calm, steady voice cut through Fours' internal turmoil. He watched as Dees stepped forward, his face an impassive mask. As he stood by his friend, Dees whispered.
"Well, well," his tone light despite the gravity of the situation. "Looks like we have a chance, eh, Fours?"
Ninety-Two watched as Fours and Dees stood beside each other, their faces mixed with disbelief and guilt. Ninety-Two's vision blurred, tears threatening to spill over. His body was giving out. Panic was setting in.
"Guys?" he wanted to call out, his inner voice cracking. "You... you can't leave me here."
As his friends joined the finalists, Ninety-Two felt something inside him shatter. The betrayal, though not their fault, cut deep. Nearby, A1's breath came in short, panicked gasps as the realization of his fate sank in. He began to sweat. His legs started to shake. His mind raced, desperately searching for a way out.
"I can't let this happen," A1 thought, his hands clenching into fists. "There has to be a way."
He glanced at the doors, calculating the distance.
"If I could just make it past the guards..."
But as quickly as the thought formed, he dismissed it. The risk was too great for him and his friends, who had been selected as finalists.
"What if they punish them for my escape attempt?" A1 wondered, his resolve wavering. "I can't be responsible for that."
"These are the finalists of herd number twenty-six-ten," Weight announced. "However, we only have three stallion spots this time. Therefore, only the top three cattle will proceed. Those top three are X4, Dees, and Fours. Congratulations to our stallions!"
The three cattle not selected had the look of horror on their faces. They turned white and were crying as they were escorted back into the herd, which was also ashen and pale.
As Weight concluded the selection, A1 locked eyes with Fours across the room. At that moment, a silent understanding passed between them. A1 nodded slightly, a gesture of acceptance and farewell. Ninety-Two also nodded and waved to Fours and Dees as a tear fell from his eye, and his body began to shake.
"Don't forget us, guys," Ninety-Two said silently. "Remember our promise."
The selected stallions stood apart, a palpable tension crackling between them and those left behind. Ex's serene demeanor contrasted sharply with the nervous energy of the others as he stood among the chosen.
Ex spoke softly, "The path before us is unclear, but we must walk it nonetheless."
Dees nodded, his calm exterior belying the turmoil within.
"We have each other."
Weight's voice cut through the tense atmosphere.
"Stallions, prepare for relocation. The rest, report for processing."
A small riot broke out among those that were to be harvested. Attendants in the room with batons in hand soon moved to quell it. In the pandemonium, Ninety-Two walked over and hugged A1. A1 embraced him back as he started to cry.
"I love you, man," A1 replied.
The two broke their embrace and looked to the front of the room. Fours and Dees were following Ex out of a side door. A1 and Ninety-two waved at them as they maintained one arm around the other. Fours and Dees saw them and waved back.
"Stay strong," Dees shouted, but his voice was lost in the maelstrom.
"We won't forget you," Ninety-Two added.
Ex inclined turned his head to them, his words barely audible, "No one will be forgotten here."
The door closed behind the stallions, and then Weight's voice boomed.
"At attention, or by God, I will flog each and every one of you till you bleed to death!"
The herd began to quiet as more attendants appeared to hold them. Manacles were soon fastened to their wrists and ankles, and they were lined up and chained together. As the double doors to the room slid open again, the cruel reality of their situation settled over them like a suffocating blanket.
In the moments that followed, the echo of footsteps fading down sterile corridors, the true nature of Orville Farm revealed itself. In this isolated desert compound, human worth was measured in muscle mass, hormone levels, and testicle size. Dignity was stripped away along with names and identities.
A single, heart-wrenching wail from a herd member pierced the oppressive silence, reverberating through the empty halls – a haunting reminder of the lives forever altered within these walls.
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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