The human mind is a commitee composed of monomaniacs. The protagonist of this story is one of mine who I usually keep chained up in a dark corner (which is what he likes anyway). I don't dislike him and am pleased to give him this outing. Who knows, someday I may pass him the gavel.
I entered the yard through the side gate. Immediately I had closed it behind me it was time to take off the shoes, socks and pants while I was still on the relatively clean paving. The shoes were already a little muddy but as yet I had managed to prevent any mud getting on the pants and It wouldn't do at all to cross the very muddy yard in them. I had learned to be scrupulous in controlling the eyes during this process. On a previous occasion while I was concentrating on removing the pants without letting them touch the dusty paving the gaze had accidentally fallen on a window of the house and I had, for an instant, met Her gaze like an equal. Wearing a blinding hood continously for three days makes and effective impression on the memory.
In shirt and harness and carefully carrying the pants and shoes I hurried across to the piggery door and gratefully entered it's pungent gloom. The warmth generated by the occupants of the pen was welcome. Even the smell which had once seemed a stomach churning stench was now familiar and even comforting. Here it was easier to control the gaze because I must now avert it only from the small TV camera mounted near the roof in one corner of the small barn. Here, of course, it was impossible to know if She was watching or not. It hadn't taken me very long to learn the value of assuming that She was. Sometimes She'd record me for hours and use the forward search on the VCR to check for improper behaviour. The clothes bin had a separate compartment for shoes and even a pocket for the emergency telephone card which was the only contents of the pockets. I used them. Then I took the collar of it's peg, dropped to hands and knees and put it on.
The collar was, I suppose, quite a clever piece of electronics. It was based on a design originally intended to train dogs not to bark by detecting the bark and giving an electric shock. The battery, shock apparatus and throat mike were from the original module but the electronics had been extended and there was now a mercury tilt switch and an infra-red receiver. The resulting package under the chin was a little on the large side for comfort, but then comfort was not the idea. From the middle of the package a hasp, like that of an unlocked padlock emerged. That too had it's sensor.
The gate of the pen it not much wider than the shoulders so there is little danger of even the piglets slipping past when I crawl in. Sara, the big sow could back me off if she chose, I am quite afraid of her, but the gate, which opens inwards, would probably close between us on its spring and anyway she seems content with her own side of the fence. The pen takes up only a little less than half the floor area of the barn and the other part is cluttered with the crush pen, which is something I shudder to look at, and the dogcart, which holds somewhat happier memories. It is good, sometimes, to get out in the fresh air. The harness is well designed and now I have learned how to move agily within its restrictions only the bit causes me any real discomfort. I like to believe that, for the size, I've become quite a useful and well trained draft animal. Certainly the last few times we've been out for a drive She's hardly more than flicked me with the whip. Very different from our first outing.
About a half an inch above the floor of the pen a metal bar runs from near the front to the back about a foot from the left hand side. It tends to get buried, of course, among the bedding and dung but it is easy enough to find when you know where it is. The chain is about eighteen inches long and has a welded ring on each end. It is quite heavy. One ring goes around the bar. On the other I now closed the hasp of the collar with it's very audible click. There is a time limit on this. If I don't lock the collar on something within twenty seconds of putting it on the electronics starts to punish me. The chain is long enough for me to get the head in the food trough and to use the water fountain but I have to be very careful when the bar is covered by bedding because I must drag the ring along it without the collar punishing me for pulling too hard. Of course I don't dare touch it with the hands, even by accident. By this time I hardly ever got shocked that way. I worried more about Sara. In the beginning I had been bitten several times, once seriously enough to need stitches. (Writhing in the crush pen, mumbling the pain into a gag while She stitched as calmly as if making a dress). Things were better now; Sara had got used to me and I had learnt the body language to show her deference so that she was rarely angry with me. These days she even permitted me to eat before she was finished. With this established the other pigs were not much of a threat since they, like me, deferred to her. Oh I got the occasional warning nip but I hadn't had a bite bad enough to bleed in weeks.
One of the benefits of the chastity belt is that it protects one otherwise tempting target from bites. Another is that without it straw bedding causes irritation to the cock. It is an embarrassment at work, of course. I can't use the urinals and I tend to smell faintly of urine by the end of the day. When I wash the body before setting out for work I have to flush out the belt by putting the hose against the urine hole. When She does the hosing down I am locked into the crush pen and She usually removes the belt and washes it, and me, thoroughly with the hard cold water jet. It is, of course, one of the prime rules that the belt never comes off when I might be in a position to touch or see the cock. That's what the belt is for. It isn't that She imagines I might be unfaithful but that it's important that I remember that the cock is Her property, not for me to look at or interfere with. I'm glad of it really, masturbation is the violation of the Rule which proved the most difficult to suppress.
Along with the other inhabitants of the sty I wait for feeding time with some impatience. They ate at noon but I haven't eaten since early morning, since when I've done both farm chores and the job. There is a canteen at work, of course, but the only money I'm allowed to handle is the exact change for the busfare. It is hard to get an impression of the passage of time here because the dim lighting is artificial with hardly a trace of sunlight getting in but it was probably a couple of hours before she came. I schooled the gaze to the center of her dungaree clad form. Higher I dare not look without a direct command. Her legs were hidden by the wall of the sty. The bucket of slops is in her hands and we all hurry to the trough as she heaves. We all slurp up the slurry with equal haste. If anything I am the most frantic eater. The flat human face puts me at a grave disadvantage here and I used to get a lot up the nose but I have learned to eat quickly, otherwise the share is too little and I spend the next day painfully hungry. Occasionally when I have pleased Her She gives me titbits of human food, but never enough to be of any dietry significance. The pigs seem to get such treats more often than I do.
Soon the trough is too low for me to get any more out, even by licking the cold metal bottom. I turn and carefully look out of the sty. Oh joy, she is taking down the leash. Perhaps she means to allow me in the house this evening. For the last two nights She has simply walked out after filling the trough and I suspect that I must have offended Her, though I had racked the mind in vain for the offense. Perhaps She's forgiven me. Even if She is taking me out of the pen for some more active punishment that punishment will expiate the offence, whatever it was. Her punishments are often harsh and always inventive but once I have been punished that is always the end of it.
I lay on the back with the eyes closed while She used a small key to open the hasp of the collar. When I heard the gate open I hurried out. Again I must get the leash put on within twenty seconds if I am to avoid painful shocks. At the same time I must not rise from all fours or the mercury switch will trigger the shocks. She seemed in no hurry to lock the leash on but I only got the first, warning tingle before the hasp of the collar clicked over the leash ring. She put me in the crush pen, closed the gate on the neck and clamped the hands and feet. This could be a good or a bad omen. If She means to take me into the house She will want to clean me up first with the hose. On the other hand she may have put me in for some kind of torture. A chain belt is pulled up under the waist, clamping the arse against the bars of the cage's roof. I now had about four square feet of dirty floor to look at. I must hold the arms straight or the gate would half strangle me. If the legs relax the chain belt digs painfully into the waist. One of the things I most dread is being left in this cage for so long that the strength of the arms and legs starts to give out. I'm put in here maybe twice a day on average, usually only for a few minutes but I haven't got over that dread for the very good reason that it is realised from time to time, invariably without any prior warning.
The hard stream of icy water was a shock, it always is, but it was also a relief. The hose has a nozzle which produces a hard, flat fan of water which batters painfully against the skin, even when directed at a shallow angle, but efficiently dislodges the filth in which I was almost completely coated. Once I was clean She brought the boots. The boots are not for the feet but for the hands. They come up several inches above the elbows, greatly reducing their ability to bend and a strap tightens them onto the wrist, trapping the hands inside a rigid "foot". A longer strap from the outside of the top of each boot buckles behind the shoulders They add about six inches to the length of the arms which makes it easier to walk on hands and feet since it equalises the length of the front and back "legs". This is encouraging. She seldom takes me into the house without these things on. On the other hand she could just be teasing me and the next move might be back into the pen.
Learning to walk on the leash had cost me some considerable pain. I must walk to her left with the face about level with the midline of Her body. The leash must be under tension but not too tight or the collar will shock me. I must be careful not to get under Her feet. At least, in these circumstances, there is no danger of looking Her in the eyes, in fact all I can see without getting a pain in the neck is the ground immediately before me. If I twist the neck to try to see Her feet I tend to veer to the right. This is why it is so difficult to get it right. I must judge our relative position almost entirely by the strength and direction of the pull on the leash and the occasional glimpse of foot out of the corner of the eye. At first it was difficult not to get underfoot when She turned to Her left but She knew I was trying my best and would punish me only by triggering the collar with a jerk on the leash. At one time walking on all fours would have soon have become painful in itself but the sinews and muscles seem to have accomodated to it.
While I was wiping the feet on the doormat a man walked out of the living room. His body, perhaps, ten years younger and undeniably better looking than the one I use. The expression on his face, as far as I could tell, oscillated between lust, hope and embarrassment. I recognised him from Her latest party. Had I owned hackles they would, no doubt, have been bristling. His name, I remembered, was Dirk. I had taken a dislike to him, not so much because had had put out his cigarette butt on the backside and them made me eat it (I was, after all, there to entertain Her guests) but because of his arrogant and superficial conversation. I remember him asking Her about the number freeze-branded on the back. "It's his Farmmark number." She explained patiently, and then when his incomprehension was obvious "It's a livestock registration scheme. If he gets stolen or run over by a bus they can look the number up on a computer and let me know." (I was registered as a boar. She'd put "Species: Bore" on the form as a kind of joke and they'd predictably "corrected" it.) She took out the controller for the collar and switched off the tilt switch so we could go upstairs without me getting shocked. When the three of us entered the bedroom my suspisions about what was to occur were confirmed. This was probably why I hadn't been brought into the house for the previous two evenings.
There was a small square table in one corner of the room. She patted the surface and I clambered up and knelt on it. It was a familiar perch. "Stay." she ordered, "Watch".
"Do we have to have him in here?" Dirk protested. "I'm not sure I can perform with him watching."
"Then leave." She answered with Her customery economy, so different from his own garrulousness. However the Gods were deaf to my silent prayers and he stayed.
A detached part of the mind followed their loveplay. Her skill is immaculate. She led him to lovemaking of a sophistication he had almost certainly never known yet so adroitly that he doubtless imagines that all the inspiration was all his. Most of the mind, though, was writhing with emotion. There was jealousy and hatred, of course. There was some stirring of the ghost of the late, unmlamented sense of embarrassment. The overwhelming emotion, though, was fear.
The most traumatic episode of life to date had occurred about a week after the sty became my regular residence. By then being locked in the crush pen and hosed off had become more or less routine. What followed, though, was anything but.
First She had placed a metal bowl in the middle of the narrow field of view. In the bowl was a scalpel, three sets of forceps, surgical scissors and some sutures. Then she explained, with unemmotional didactism, exactly how gelding was performed. She knew where to cut the scrotum, what blood vessels had to be tied off. "These instruments are relatively easy to obtain," She concluded "but you can't easily get local anaesthetics."
She took the bowl back out of sight and I heard the instruments clink in the bowl. I was shivering with unfeigned terror. In the front of the mind the terrible, irrevocable "safeword" flashed like a neon sign.
Yet when cold metal touched the scrotum what emerged from the mouth was not the safeword. It was not a human sound at all but a terrible peircing squeal such as my stymates might have made in similar circumstances. Yet the touch was brief and harmless and She laughed. "Not while I've still got a use for them." and, seeing that I would be good for nothing that evening, She returned me to the Sty where I lay shivering.
I had learned two terrible things. Firstly up to that point I had imagined that one day she would go too far and I would use the safeword. Now I knew better. I had genuinely believed I was about to be castrated and I had not said it. I will never say it. Secondly I knew that Her seeming joke had been serious. If She ever loses interest in me sexually She will geld me. That's why a new lover filled me more with terror than with jealousy.
I should, perhaps, explain about Her variant of the safeword concept. Back at the beginning of our relationship She had explained it in Her deadly serious voice.
"There's only one kind of 'safeword' I accept and that's 'I'm leaving you.'. If you ever say that our relationship ends right them. I'll give you back all the gifts you've given me and we'll never meet again. Don't ever threaten me with it, don't ever joke about it."
Since then I've given Her more gifts. I've given Her the body that had been mine. I've given Her everything I once owned. I've given Her my future I don't want the gifts back. Those things used to seem so valuable. Now they seem like a backbreaking burden that I am glad to be rid of. Better a slave to Her, even a gelded slave than a slave to things. I understand, now, the attractions of the life of cloistered monks. The vows of poverty and obedience and sometimes silence are, in a way, tremendously liberating.
But now the lovers had finished their business. It was clear that She wasn't fully satiated and I hoped that Her lust would earn me a turn, though that might not fit in with the aesthetics of the scene. Dirk, however, was both glowing and exhausted. In an evident mood of post coital benificense he came over to where I was sqatting, doggy fashion. "Did you enjoy the show?" he asked and put his hand out, probably, to pat me on the head. That was a mistake. Because he didn't understand the rules under which I live he thought me harmless. Knowing those rules well I barely gave it a thought. The teeth clamped down on the webbing between his thumb and forefinger provoking an howl of outrage and pain. The taste of blood was a joy to the mouth. He slapped me back handed across the face and my own blood mingled with his in my mouth but it was nothing. The wound would heal only very slowly on such a mobile area of flesh. With luck it would hurt for weeks.
The basic rule is simple. I am allowed, unless specifically told otherwise, to satisfy animal needs by animal means. On the other hand I may only use peculiarly human abilities such as manipulation with the hands, walking upright and speech, or operating even the simplest gadgets such as doorknobs, in carrying out an order, and then only to the absolute minimum extent necessary to comply. I can function at work only because I am under orders to pretend I'm a person while I'm there. At parties I am ordered to be nice to the guests. I had had no such orders that evening.
This had been a risky enterprise, however. Just because what I had done was within the Rule that didn't mean I wouldn't be punished. The Rule binds me, not Her. But it payed off. She laughed. I had pleased Her! I could not be sure, of course, but I had hopes that our relationship would now be on the way back to normal.
I was getting increasingly nervous. After the Dirk incident things had seemed better at first. I hadn't seen the creep again but there had been other lovers.
There were two signs very ominous when taken together. The first was that She seemed to be using me for sexual pleasure less and less often. The second was that She was being unusually kind to me. She dropped a whole slice of cheesecake, something I lust after, on the kitchen floor and though She cursed I was pretty well convinced it was no accident. When there was no lover She allowed me to stay later than usual in the house. I was pretty sure I knew what was on Her mind. She was gradually coming to the conclusion that castration was the most humane course of action. Increasingly denied the only outlet for my sex drive permitted me the Rule and the belt I was beginning to wonder if she was right myself.
Mostly I was afraid of the pain. I was never one of those people who take pleasure in pain, especially not my own. Oh, my tolerance has increased but I still fear it. From the beginning She had understood that too much pain used as punishment would become ineffective since I would habituate to it or even begin to enjoy it. If I were to be gelded She would have to do it herself, and I didn't doubt Her hand would be steady. The trouble is that although She worked as a biochemist She would not be able to get the local anaesthetic that a vet would use. The vet, poor man, turned a blind eye to a lot. I had only once heard him complain about the situation, and that was when the pigs went down with an infection he was convinced they had from me, but beyond a certain point he certainly wouldn't go.
To understand why She was going to obliged to make this "unkindest cut" it's best to try to see the nature of our mutual obligations from their beginning, barely (it seems incredible) a year previously.
When we first went beyond friendship we played the switch game but it soon became apparent that I was the natural bottom. We tried an oath of obedience, at first for a week, then renewed weekly, and finally "until death do us part". It was very difficult at first. I never deliberately broke it but habit kept betraying me. So when I took the oath what I swore to was to do everything in my power to obey Her every command. She, in return, promised to do everything in Her power to help me keep my oath and it was a promise She kept consistently, mercilessly and with ingenuity. At this point we were quietly married.
Of course obedience became more natural and, ultimately, easy with practice. I began to feel a shadow of discontent. As I first accepted the commitment I had felt the sense of shedding a heavy weight. The heavy weight was, I think, the responsibility that goes with freedom. But, having shed so much of that weight I now became more sensitive to what remained. We discussed it. We concluded that I still had too much freedom. I was, in effect, free to do anything She had not forbidden and that covered much ground, despite so many standing orders that it was hard work to keep track (though pain is a great aid to memory). We discussed extending the oath so that I would do nothing without orders but it was impracticable. The problem was that my biological needs were known directly only to myself. To ask permission every time I was thirsty or needed to relieve myself would not only be a nuisance for her, it would also be me taking the initiative which contradicted the whole idea.
"That would make you a kind of Zombie needing to be ordered to do every little thing. You'd have less initiative than a dog." She pointed out and thus the Rule was born. We saw that the level of initiative of a dog was about right for me. The rule is really very simple. I may use animal means to satisfy animal needs. I may use human means only to the minimum degree necessary to comply with orders. If I'm thirsty I can go out to the kitchen and drink from my bowl. If I need to relieve myself I can go outside, on all fours of course, and lift my leg (providing the door is not latched, of course). There are inevitably grey areas. If I absolutely must I can communicate a need doggy fashion. I can bring her my water bowl in my mouth if it is empty, I can knock on bottom of the back door if I absolutely must go out. This will often earn me a minor punishment and almost always a telling off, but it gets me into a lot less trouble than, say, pissing on the floor.
We tried this for a week and it was hard. Again habits kept betraying me. We both worked hard at it. She bought the collar, at first just to give me shock when I vocalised, which I did too often without thinking about it. Then She got the thing modified to remind me to keep my body horizonal, and not to tug too hard at leash or tether. It helped a lot to avoid the errors I made when I was inattentive and bad habits caused misbehaviour. I also wore the "boots" on my arms for long periods to get me out of the unconscious habit of handling things. A habit which often got me punished at first.
By the end of the week I was beginning to improve by leaps and bounds, losing the old habits and starting to form new ones. I felt again that wonderful, paradoxical sense of freedom, in much stronger measure. I made the oath perpetual with great enthusiasm. Again She made the complementary promise to do all in Her power to help me to keep the Rule. We also instituted regular confessionals to deal with those cases where I slipped up without Her being aware of it.
Masturbation is a persistent problem. Masturbation is not, generally, an animal means though sexual frustration is an animal need. I became the most common cause of my being punished. It became apparent that it was always going to be very difficult to control. So She made the chasity belt. It helps.
At first I slept on the floor at the foot of the bed. The trouble was that I kept being caught short in the night and having to wake Her so She could let me out to urinate. One night She got so irritated that as soon as I went outside She shut the door behind me and went back to bed. It was a cold night. I began to worry about hypothermia.
I checked the outbuildings. All the doors were latched. I saw that there was only one way open to me within the Rule to keep warm. With hands and feet I dug a trench in the dung heap and buried myself as best I could. My feet were like ice and I slept not a wink but the warmth of decomposition kept my core temperature up.
How She laughed when She found me like that in the morning. "Of course, that's the obvious solution." She said. From then on I slept and ate with the pigs, finding, to my surprise, that the straw bedding was more comfortable than the carpet.
Now that she was making less use of me sexually the pressure to masturbate was becoming more of a problem again. I might not be able to touch it, and a hard-on hurt in the confines of the harness but I still had my imagination. She knew this as well as I did. The promise to help me keep to the Rule still bound Her yet to have used me when She felt no desire would be a betrayal of our relationship. There seemed only one real solution.
But suddenly It seemed that She might have thought of another one. She became very busy and I spent more time in the sty than usual. A couple of times She was away from home, once for three days, leaving one of Her new lovers to feed us livestock. There was much brown paper in the waistbasket, denoting parcels. She seemed happier but more pensive and was offhand with me. Naturally She told me nothing of Her plans. Why would She? I don't do decisions these days.
One evening She came into the piggery with a mysterious box which had some controls and a couple of wires coming from it. She put me into the crush pen as usual but then I felt two needles pushed under the skin of the back, one in the neck and one near the base of the spine. Suddenly my whole body was full of pins and needles. The senstation increased until is seemed unbearable and I discovered that all muscles seemed to be locked. "Did you feel that?" She asked and added the necessary command "Answer." I tried but my vocal apparatus refused to obey. "Oh, of course" She said and the pins and needles stopped. She gave me a token smack for failing to obey before and said "Did you feel me stick the needle in your arse? Answer now." "No Lady" I replied; if there had been pain from the needle the pins-and-needles sensation had swamped it. It seemed She had found me an anaesthetic of sorts.
Three days later She seemed to be ready. Before ordering out of the sty that evening She ordered me to empty my bladder as completely as possible. She then gave me the most thorough wash of my life, using some kind of liquid soap. Rather than put the belt back on she put a simple condom on me. Then She led me to the tool shed.
The tool shed was originally intended as a byre although, nowadays, it is only used that way when I am ill and quarantined to prevent the pigs catching something from me. This evening it had been totally cleaned out and smelled of disinfectant. In the middle was a heavy wooden table, freshly sanded. There were straps attached to the legs. There was also an insulated ice box, some metal boxes and the electrical box. I started to shake violently. She ordered me to sit on one end of the table and fastened straps around my ankles. Then She pushed the two needles from the paralysis box into my back and had me lie back. She then pulled my forearms down over the sides of the table and secured my wrists to the other legs. She stroked my hair "There, there. You know you have to trust me to do what is right for us both. This will solve our little problem one way or the other. Trust me." with that She turned on the current.
What I experienced wasn't exactly pain but it was certainly unpleasant. It was as if my body from the neck down was dead meat. I could see her take a succession of surgical instruments and work with then. What she was doing seemed far more complex than I knew castration to be. At last She told me to brace myself and turned off the current. I felt as if someone had just expertly put the boot in. She then brought in my boots, collar and leash "Now don't touch youself." She ordered as She undid the straps. She put the boots on my arms and the collar on my neck, then tethered me to the usual ring She uses when I sleep in there. She brought me some clean straw bedding and a bowl of water. After I had settled She cleaned up the instruments and wiped up the blood. I glimpsed two small, bloody objects in a kidney shaped dish. "Yes, the source of the problem." She said, catching the direction of my gaze. "A nice little titbit for the Sara." Sara was the big sow. She was in season at the moment and than made her irritable.
For three days She kept me in the building, a small heater keeping it pleasantly warm. She was in and out all the time. Constantly replacing the bedding and repeatedly examining my scrotum. On the morning of the third day She came in with an electro-ejaculator and a condom. She efficiently collected a semen sample. "Now, we'll see" She said.
About fifteen minutes later She came back and sat on the table, looking very seriously at me. "I owe you an apology and an explanation." She said. I was genuinely shocked. In the course of our relationship never once had She apologised. "When I made that 'joke' about castration way back that was wrong, and weak of me. In our relationship you give, I take, you know that. That is in our respective natures. You have given me everything, and I have seen how glad you are to be rid of it. You have given me your future. In making that threat I gave a piece of future back to you, forced it on you. I didn't want to have that piece. But that was a selfish, thoughtless act. Well, that piece of future is gone now from both of us."
I realised how right She was. That fear was gone from me now. I literally had nothing left to lose!
"You know," She went on, "That every since I decided that you were one of the livestock we have always wanted you to be able to earn your keep that way, as livestock?". It was true. I had come to hate working like a person, wearing clothes. Keeping up the pretence, and that was exactly what it felt like, was a constant strain. "Well, I think I have found a way. I don't know if you have heard about the progress in pig to human xenotransplants but the success rate is now better than human to human transplants, thanks to genetically engineered pigs with human antigens. Well, I managed to find one that matches your profile. When they used its heart I swiped a piece they'd never have thought to use. They'll never miss them, the rest of the pig goes straight to the butchers. I just checked your sperm count, my little piggy, and they've taken!"
She watched understanding and contentment dawn in my face. Then She unhitched my leash from the wall. "Come on, lets go cure Sara's itch."
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Page last updated 99-Jul-15 by: Altairboy@aol.com