Aunt Sally's Farm 2 by Gromet

Part 2

(this fantasy story series is more about being treated as an object, a farm animal, or a product, if being treated as an object, or the thought of having meatgirls to consume, which is just background to the story, offends you then please don’t read this story)

I returned to the farm after a brief break, a getaway that Sally had suggested. She gently encouraged me to take some time away to clear my head and to help me decide whether I truly wanted to continue exploring this new and exciting aspect of our relationship. As the taxi drove me back down the familiar dirt road, I already knew my answer.

Truth be told, I had missed the place far more than I ever expected. The memories of my previous time there had lingered constantly in my mind: the warm summer nights, the thrill of being completely naked and vulnerable around the farm, and especially those long, intense hours when Sally kept me bound to her bed. She would tease and play with my body for what felt like many joyful hours, bringing me right to the edge again and again until I was a trembling, desperate, begging mess beneath her perfect hands.

Even more than that, I had also loved my time bound in the barn as just one of the meatgirls. There was something profoundly thrilling about being treated exactly like them, being hung naked among them, my body helpless, displayed, and reduced to nothing but warm, available flesh. The feeling of being just another piece of the inventory, just one of the stock in the pens, had been strangely liberating.

And in those moments of overwhelming helplessness, I had felt strangely at peace. There was something deeply addictive about surrendering so completely to her, giving up all control, all pretense, and simply existing as hers. The mixture of vulnerability, trust, and raw pleasure had left a permanent mark on me. Part of me had been quietly counting the days until I could return.

As I settled back into life on the farm, I couldn't wait to visit the barn again, and I quickly noticed the changes that had now been made to the meatgirls while they were stored in the barn. What stood out most was the new collars they all wore, well, I say new, they were the same sturdy collars they had arrived with from the cloning labs, but now they wore them in the barn as well. Previously they were removed before they were processed, and returned back to the lab they had come from, but that had now changed.

Sally told me that these collars now served multiple purposes. First, they identified each girl as numbered stock from the various cloning labs that she received them from. Then, from the moment they arrived, and all through their time in the barn, and even all the way eventually to their final buyer. It kept the numbering standard from cloning to, well, their ending; this was now legally required by the meat authorities. But also, the second and most important bit was that they now also had a much stricter function; a sharp electric shock would be delivered if a meatgirl made any sound or attempted to speak.

I did notice that the barn felt noticeably quieter because of it. Gone were the occasional soft moans or whimpers. Now it was filled only with the gentle rhythm of breathing, the occasional muffled sigh, and the soft rustle of warm bodies shifting and brushing against one another.

After a few days of easing myself back into farm life, I slipped comfortably into the same delicious routines as before. Most days, I wandered the property away from the barn and the main part of the farm, where the workers usually were and could possibly see me, completely naked, or even sometimes lightly bound in whatever way Sally decided suited her mood that morning, which I enjoyed and loved, sometimes I would tease her to bind me tighter, though she made sure that my circulation was okay before letting me go…

She seemed to take particular delight in keeping me that way, wrists sometimes cuffed behind my back, a soft rope harness framing my breasts, or simply a leather collar around my neck attached to a short lead. Being kept like this by her felt both vulnerable and strangely comforting. I had grown to love the constant reminder that, at least while I was here, I totally belonged to her. It fed into my submissive side, which loved being under Sally's control.

Then one warm afternoon, while I was helping her in the garden, naked except for a simple leather collar, which I seemed to wear regularly now, and my bare feet covered in soil, Sally straightened up, wiped her hands on her jeans, and looked at me with that familiar mix of affection and hunger in her eyes.

"You've settled back in so naturally," she said, reaching out tenderly to brush a piece of dirt stuck to my body. "It almost feels like you never left. Now tell me honestly… how do you feel about the new collars on the meatgirls?"

I hesitated for a moment, wondering why she asked the question, but then answered softly, "To me it makes them seem even more… mmm… helpless. It's like they're not allowed to have even the smallest voice anymore and totally controlled."

Sally smiled, and then stepped closer until I could feel the warmth of her body on my own naked flesh. "Exactly, my pet. And I've been thinking… perhaps that it's time that we tried something similar with you. Just for a little while. Would my little sweet girl like that?"

Later that afternoon, I'd been standing at the kitchen sink, peeling a pile of potatoes with my hands cuffed loosely together, when Sally entered behind me and laid a steady, proprietary hand on my shoulder. I looked up, expecting the usual from her, maybe a playful threat, a quick swat, or perhaps a command to drop what I was doing and follow her. Instead, Sally's grip tightened just enough to signal a shift in atmosphere between us.

"Come with me," Sally said, her voice low, almost husky with anticipation.

That tone always did things to me; it made my pulse skip and made my belly tighten, a submissive thrill ran through me. The potatoes now forgotten, I let Sally steer me through the kitchen and into the pantry. Inside was cool, shaded, filled with the scent of fruit and the faint smell of the food and spices stored there. The pantry door closed behind us with a heavy finality.

I had assumed by coming into the pantry that she was now going to place me back on the hook like I was before, with my wrists bound deliciously high, toes barely touching the floor, and left hanging helplessly just like I was a proper meatgirl.

But instead, I was surprised to see another meatgirl was already hanging in here, her wrists bound to the ceiling hook, toes barely brushing the floor, her body smooth and perfectly still. She looked perfect, and as I looked at her body, I saw that she wore nothing but the sturdy, ominous black collar cinched around her neck.

I couldn't help but get a sharp pang of both hunger and desire twisting in my chest as I looked at her. She was exactly where I had been on my last visit to the farm, displayed, stored, and completely reduced to nothing but meat. For a moment, I envied her complete lack of choice, her total surrender.

Sally noticed the way my eyes lingered on the hanging girl. A knowing smile curved her lips. "Jealous, sweetheart?" she asked softly.

Before I could answer, she reached up, and pressed her thumb to a hidden clasp at the collar's base, and unfastened the sturdy collar from the meatgirl's neck. The girl didn't even flinch; she just remained in her trance, eyes glossy, her lips slack around the gag. Sally weighed the collar in her hand, then turned to me and smiled, a private, conspiratorial smile.

"You want to know what it's like?" Sally said, voice barely above a whisper. "To be truly one of them?"

Without waiting for a reply, she brought the collar to my throat and fitted it around my neck. She then stepped behind me and fastened the collar until it was snug around my neck. The leather was still warm from the other girl's skin. And then it clicked shut with a finality that sent a possessive shiver down my spine.

The weight was more substantial than I'd expected, both physically and psychologically; it felt tight, and immediately I felt a strange flush of adrenaline, and an odd mix of humiliation, submission, and pride all mixed in. Sally checked that it was closed and now secure, then produced a small fob from her pocket and adjusted something on the side. A faint vibration announced the collar's activation.

"From this moment on, you will remain silent unless I tell you otherwise," she said, her voice gentle but quite firm. "The collar will deliver a sharp shock if you make any sound or try to speak. Do you understand?"

I nodded, my heart racing, swallowing against the hug of the collar.

Sally's thumb brushed along my jawline, then slipped up for her open hand to cup my cheek. "Remember, not even a whimper," she murmured.

At that exact moment, I coughed, a tiny, involuntary sound.

The collar activated instantly. A sharp, stinging jolt shot through my throat and neck, making my whole body jerk. My eyes widened in surprise.

Sally burst out laughing, a rich, delighted sound that filled the pantry. I desperately wanted to laugh with her, but the threat of another shock kept my lips pressed tightly together. My struggling not to laugh, or let out any sound, only made the situation funnier for her, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stay quiet.

"That's my good girl," Sally said, still chuckling as she wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "You're going to wear this for the rest of the day. Let's see how well you can learn to stay silent."

I spent the rest of the day completely naked, my natural state around the house, except for the new collar.

I returned back to the kitchen, the collar's coolness warming quickly to my body heat. The first test came almost immediately: a wet potato slipped from my grip and, bouncing off my bare foot, rolled onto the floor, prompting a stifled yelp from me. Instantly, I received a sharp, precise jolt that seized my throat. I felt a spike of pain so acute it left me gasping, my eyes watering. I clapped my mouth shut and touched the collar in wonder. Part of me was amazed that such a tiny device could command so much attention; the other part was dreading the rest of my day.

From the living room, I could hear Sally's cackle of laughter at my misfortune, a wicked, villainous sound that made my cheeks flush with equal parts embarrassment and arousal. I knelt down, retrieved the potato, and set myself to work in total, meticulous silence.

Every hour that followed became an experiment in self-control: peeling, scrubbing, cleaning, all while compelled to absolute muteness. When I stubbed my toe or dropped something, the shock came; when I wanted to hum a bit of a song, the collar buzzed threateningly, a warning at the edge of sensation. Each time that I was punished, I felt myself reduced a little further, stripped of my ordinary habits, my ability to protest, even any smallest means of self-expression.

By late afternoon, I no longer needed the threat. I moved around the farmhouse like a shadow, utterly muted and silent, eyes wide for Sally's approval. I caught myself glancing at the other meatgirl in the pantry again, who had long ago accepted her silence as an existential baseline, and, rather than pity, I felt the first faint twinge of camaraderie.

Sally kept me busy all day. At one point, she made me serve tea, still completely naked and utterly humiliated, to a girlfriend of hers who had stopped by for a visit. I entered the living room carrying the tray with my wrists still cuffed in front of me, cheeks burning as I felt both women's eyes on my exposed body.

Sally's friend, a confident, elegant woman in her late thirties, raised an eyebrow and let her gaze travel slowly over me. "Well, well… What a lovely little serving girl you have here, Sally. Completely naked, subservient, and collared? She's quite the sight. Those breasts are particularly nice, full, and soft. And that plump bottom… very inviting. You must let me know where you find girls like this?"

I felt my face flame with embarrassment as I set the tray down. Being spoken about like a piece of furniture or livestock, while completely exposed, made my stomach twist with humiliation. Yet at the same time, a deep, shameful heat bloomed between my thighs. The utter submission, the casual way I was objectified in front of someone else, sent a secret thrill through me.

When I accidentally let out a small sigh while pouring, Sally locked eyes with me, smiling that knowing smile, and waited. The collar delivered a quick, sharp jolt. I gasped, my body jerking, which only drew more amused attention from her friend.

It became a game for them: the most subtle provocation, the most delicate challenge, the thrill of catching me and watching the collar correct me. Each small shock reminded me exactly what I had become, Sally's silent, obedient, naked little pet.

At dinner, Sally made me sit next to her at the table, collar still live, where I ate in slow, silent mouthfuls, acutely aware that every involuntary swallow, every suppressed sigh, would cause the collar to react. I could see Sally eagerly watching me with a mixture of amusement and pride, occasionally reaching over to brush a crumb from my cheek or stroke the back of my neck.

By evening, I had grown used to the silence. The collar no longer felt like a punishment; it felt like another beautiful layer of my surrender, another way of belonging completely to her, a constant, intimate reminder that even my voice was hers to control.

When Sally finally came to me at the end of the day, she gently unbuckled the collar and set it aside. She cupped my face in both hands, her thumbs stroking my cheeks.

As the collar left my neck, I felt a strange mix of emotions wash over me. There was relief, no more risk of sudden, stinging shocks for every little sound. But there was also a quiet pang of loss. Without it, I felt strangely… free in a way I no longer wanted. The collar had become part of me, a tangible symbol of Sally's ownership. Its absence left me feeling oddly naked, even though I had been bare for days. I missed the control. I missed knowing that every breath, every whimper, was under her authority.

Sally seemed to sense it. She smiled softly, as if reading my thoughts, and gently caressed her hand across my cheek.

"So… how do you feel about the collar now, my little sweet girl?"

I leaned into her touch, still flushed from the day's constant reminders. My voice came out soft and a little hoarse from hours of enforced silence.

"I… I liked it," I admitted, my cheeks burning. "It felt strange at first; every little sound I wanted to make was dangerous. But after a while… it felt right, like another way of belonging to you. Every time that it shocked me, it reminded me that even my voice isn't mine right now. That I'm yours to control completely."

I swallowed, meeting her eyes with shy honesty. "It made me feel small… and safe. Like the more you take away, the more I can just… let go. I didn't realize how much I would enjoy being silenced for you."

Even as I spoke, a deeper thought flickered through my mind: How would it feel to wear this collar in the barn? Hanging silently among the other meatgirls, unable to make even the smallest sound, reduced to nothing but warm, obedient flesh… just another mute piece of stock swaying in the rack?

The idea sent a fresh, secret rush of heat through me.

Sally's eyes darkened with obvious pleasure. She brushed her thumb across my lower lip, then leaned in and kissed me slowly, deeply, as if rewarding my honesty.

"My perfect compliant little girl," she whispered against my mouth. "I'm so proud of how well you wore it. We'll play with the collar again soon… maybe even for longer next time. Would you like that?"

I nodded without hesitation, a fresh wave of warmth spreading through me.

"Yes, please," I breathed. "I want to be good for you."

A few days later, after another long, lazy afternoon spent mostly naked and lightly bound around the house, I found myself kneeling gracefully at Sally's feet in the kitchen. It had become something I did naturally whenever I wanted to ask her something important. My heart beat fast, but the decision felt strangely clear and right. I looked up at her with shy reverence.

"Aunt Sally…" I began softly, looking up at her. "I've been thinking about it a lot. I'd like you to put me back in the barn again… but this time, I don't want to decide how long I stay. I want to leave that completely up to you."

Sally paused what she was doing and turned to look down at me. A slow, warm smile spread across her face, her eyes lighting up with a mixture of surprise, pride, and unmistakable hunger.

"You're really ready to give me that much control?" she asked, stepping closer and gently stroking my hair. "To let me decide when, or even if, you come back out?"

I nodded, feeling a deep flush of submission wash over me.

"Yes," I whispered. "I trust you. I want to feel what it's like to not know… to just be your meatgirl until you decide that I've had enough."

Sally let out a soft, pleased breath. She cupped my chin and tilted my face up so I had to meet her gaze.

"My sweet, brave girl," she murmured, her thumb brushing across my lower lip. "I'm so proud of you for asking. Alright then. But this time we do it my way, and since the next delivery truck from the cloning lab is arriving soon, I think we'll ramp things up a little. But once you're hanging with the others, the decision of how long you stay as one of my meatgirls will be entirely mine."

When the next delivery truck from the cloning lab arrived a few days later, Sally took the sturdy collar she had removed from the meatgirl still stored away in the pantry and fastened it snugly around my neck again. Since I was already naked, my natural state whenever I was inside the house, I was now ready for the barn. Sally clipped a chain to the front of the collar and gave it a gentle, possessive tug.

"Come along, meatgirl," she said softly, her voice carrying that perfect mix of affection and command.

My heart pounded as she led me out of the farmhouse and across the yard toward the delivery truck. A fresh line of naked meatgirls was just being unloaded, all chained together by their collars, moving obediently in single file toward the barn for processing. Their bodies were smooth, identical, and beautifully proportioned, fresh from the lab.

I watched them closely, a strange mix of nerves and fascination swirling inside me. What thoughts are going through their heads right now? I wondered. Do they even have thoughts like mine… or are they truly just clones, blank and accepting?

Sally walked me right up to the truck. The driver raised an eyebrow but said nothing when he saw me.

"Just adding another meatgirl to the line," Sally told him casually, as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

At that moment, the last of the new arrivals stepped off the truck. Sally led me to the end of the chain and clipped my collar securely to the girl in front of me. The connection clicked into place with a finality that made my breath catch. I was now part of the line.

Oh, this is it, I'm really part of the stock now.

The chain tugged gently forward, and I began walking behind the other meatgirls, completely naked, collared, and chained like the rest of them. The warm sun kissed my bare skin as we moved in step toward the barn. With every step, I felt the gentle pull of the collar and the soft sway of the girl in front of me. Her bare back brushed against my breasts as the line stopped and shifted again, sending little sparks of sensation through me.

I was no longer Vicky. At least for now, I was just another meatgirl, smooth, silent, and following obediently into the barn for processing with the rest of the stock. Sally walked alongside us for a few steps, her hand brushing lightly down my bare back.

"Good girl," she murmured, just loud enough for me to hear. "You look perfect like this."

The queue of new meatgirls moved steadily forward into the processing area at the side of the barn. I was now just a part of that line, naked, collared, and chained to the girl ahead of me. The farmhands worked with efficient, impersonal professionalism, treating every girl, including me, as nothing more than fresh stock.

One by one, the chains connecting the new arrivals were unclipped. When they finally reached me, a burly farmhand detached my chain from the girl in front without even glancing at my face. I was simply another body in the queue.

"Wrists," he grunted.

I obediently held my hands out. He grabbed them and guided them into the waiting binding machine mounted on the wall. There was a quick series of mechanical clicks, and when it finished, my wrists were securely bound together in front of me with smooth, sturdy plastic cuffs. The same kind that all the other meatgirls wore.

Another handler lifted me easily and then hooked my bound wrists to the overhead rack. My feet left the ground for a moment before I was lowered just enough for my toes to brush the soft rubber flooring of the processing area. I was now hanging like the rest, arms high, body fully displayed, completely and totally helpless.

As the line continued moving, I caught a glimpse of Sally walking away toward the farmhouse. She didn't look back. She didn't stay to watch me being processed like she had the first time. A small pang of disappointment twisted in my chest. I had secretly hoped she would stay and oversee every step, making it feel personal, like I still mattered to her as more than just stock. But that feeling was quickly overtaken by something deeper and far more intense.

She's left me here… just like any other meatgirl.

The realization sent a deep, warm rush of submission through me. I wasn't special right now. I wasn't her niece or lover anymore. I was simply inventory, just another smooth, naked body in the system, moving through the same impersonal process as all the rest. The thought made my nipples tighten into aching peaks and a fresh, luscious heat bloom between my thighs. I loved it. Being reduced to this, nothing more than meat in the pipeline, felt strangely perfect.

The line moved forward again, and the washing process came next. Strong jets of chemical-laced water blasted over my body. I remembered to keep my mouth tightly shut, not only because of the foul taste, but because of the shock collar still locked around my neck. The spray stung my skin and stripped away the last traces of the fine hair that had only just started growing back on my head and body. By the time the rinse and hot air dryer finished, I was once again completely smooth and hairless from head to toe.

Next came the scale and scanner. The machine beeped as it weighed and graded me and logged my data. Then the barcode machine pressed coldly against my skin, a sharp prick followed by a deep hum. When it pulled away, I again now carried the markings that identified me as stock. And because I was now wearing the collar of the meatgirl still hanging in the kitchen pantry, I had been registered as a meatgirl under Sally's ownership number, the system assuming that I was her.

At the end of the processing line, a feeding gag was pressed tightly into my mouth and quickly secured. The clear tube was attached, so that I was now ready for the regular feedings. The overhead rack carried me forward and deposited me into the first holding pen near the main entrance.

By now, Sally would be back in the farmhouse. I wondered what she was doing at this moment, whether she was thinking about me at all, or if she was going about her day, knowing her little meatgirl was safely tucked away in the system where she belonged. The uncertainty only made the surrender feel sweeter.

I was now just another meatgirl, hanging naked among the others, wrists bound high, collared, gagged, and fully processed. Exactly as I had wanted. The realization settled over me with a deep, warm wave of submission. No special treatment. No way out until Sally decided. For the first time, I truly felt what it was like to be nothing more than part of her stock. And deep down, I loved it.

I was moved deeper into the first holding pen by my wrists, which were clipped to an overhead hook. The machinery gently pushed me forward until my bare breasts pressed firmly against the smooth, warm back of the meatgirl in front of me. Almost immediately, another girl was eased in behind me, her soft, full breasts molding tightly against my own back, her hardened nipples dragging across my skin. We were packed into several long lines, each meatgirl pressed chest-to-back against the one ahead, creating an unbroken chain of warm, naked flesh from one end of the pen to the other.

It felt wonderful to be back. The tight press of bodies all around me, the gentle rise and fall of breathing, the subtle shifts as everyone adjusted to the barn… it sent a deep, contented shiver through me. I was exactly where I wanted to be, just another meatgirl, displayed and surrounded by soft, naked warmth. I closed my eyes and let myself sink into the feeling, already looking forward to the evening when the lights would dim, and the real dance would begin.

After the last feeding of the day, the lights automatically dimmed, and among the hanging meatgirls, it was time to enjoy the slow, sensual dance that started under the soft red night-time glow.

The girl in front of me swayed first, her back gliding sensuously across my breasts, her spine rolling against my sensitive nipples with every movement. Behind me, the girl pressed even closer, her heavy breasts squishing firmly into my back, her stiff nipples tracing slow, teasing circles across my skin as her hips rolled in a deliberate grind against my bottom. The motion rippled down the entire line like a wave, breast to back, nipple to skin, hip to hip, a continuous, living chain of intimate contact.

The sensation was overwhelming. Warm, silky skin surrounded me from every direction. The faint sheen of sweat made every slide slick and effortless. My breasts were constantly rubbing and compressing against the smooth back in front of me, while the girl behind me pressed her own full breasts firmly into my back, her nipples flicking and dragging with every sway. Thighs slipped wetly between thighs. Bellies and hips ground together in a slow, rhythmic press. The air grew thick with the sweet, musky scent of shared arousal.

Every movement of the line sent fresh ripples of pleasure through me. The constant friction of nipples against my breasts, the heavy press of another girl's chest into my back, the slick slide of skin on skin, it was relentless and intoxicating. Muffled sighs and quiet, needy breaths filled the pen as the dance gradually intensified.

I moved with them instinctively, rolling my hips, pressing my breasts harder into the girl in front, arching my back to feel more of the warm weight behind me. The chain reaction of bodies, breast to back to breast, created an endless loop of sensation that pushed me higher and higher.

When my first orgasm finally broke, it hit like a tidal wave. My body locked up hard between the two girls as powerful spasms ripped through me. I tried desperately to stay silent because of the shock collar, but a choked, desperate cry still vibrated around my gag.

The collar instantly activated. A sharp, stinging jolt shot through my neck and throat, making my whole body jerk violently. The sudden burst of pain mixed with the intense pleasure turned the climax into something even more overwhelming. My pussy clenched hard, flooding my thighs as wave after wave crashed through me. The combination of ecstasy and electric punishment left me shaking uncontrollably, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.

The girls around me, unperturbed by my collar activating, continued their slow, sensual movements, their bodies prolonging my pleasure until I was left shaking and gasping.

After a short, hazy rest, the dance began again. The second round was even slower and more intense. The bodies around me moved with greater purpose, pressing harder, grinding more deliberately. I was lost in it completely, the tight press of breasts never eased, hips rolling in perfect sync, the constant, slick heat of skin on skin driving me wild. Every sway sent fresh waves of sensation through me: nipples dragging across flesh, soft bellies sliding together, thighs slipping wetly between mine.

This time, as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak, I managed to stifle my cries. I bit down hard on the gag, determined not to make a sound. I braced myself for the sharp jolt of the shock collar… but it never came. The absence of punishment only heightened everything: the thrill of obedience, the relief, the deep, submissive rush of pleasing the rules Sally had set for me.

My second climax was even stronger than the first. My vision blurred, my legs shook violently, and for a moment I thought I might pass out from the sheer intensity of it. The orgasm tore through me in long, rolling waves, leaving me limp and trembling between the warm, moving bodies.

Unknown to me, Sally had quietly slipped into the barn earlier and had been watching me the entire time from the shadows. She stood silently in the darkness, arms crossed, a deep, satisfied smile on her face as she observed how eagerly I gave myself to the dance, how completely I surrendered to being just another meatgirl. Her mind was made up. She would leave me here much longer than I had anticipated.

The next morning, I was gently woken by the cool flow of liquid through the feeding tube. Most of the meatgirls around me were already stirring, stretching their limbs as best they could in the tight confines of the rack. I had barely adjusted to the new rhythm of barn life when the farmhands arrived for the day.

Their boots echoed loudly on the concrete as they moved efficiently from pen to pen. The overhead rail system hummed to life, the clank of the chain moving, and my entire pen began sliding along the track toward the rear doors. I felt a flutter of nervous excitement as my section was moved out past the other pens, some empty, others still filled with meatgirls waiting their turn on the exercise machines.

Outside, the familiar exercise turntables waited for us under the morning sun. As each meatgirl reached the end of the rail, a farmhand would quickly lift her easily, unhooking her wrists from the overhead rack, and walk her over to a vacant spot on one of the large rotating arms. Their handling was rough but professional, strong hands gripping waists and thighs, treating us like nothing more than the livestock that we were.

When it was my turn, a broad-shouldered farmhand grabbed me firmly around the waist with his rough, coarse hands and easily lifted me off the hook. For a few seconds, I dangled helplessly in his grip before he carried me over and reattached my wrist cuffs to a hook on the outer arm of the turntable. The cuffs pulled taut, forcing my arms high above my head once more.

Once the turntable was full, it began to rotate slowly. Some of the newer meatgirls stumbled at first, their legs unused to the motion. I heard a few sharp yelps quickly cut off by the sharp crack of their shock collars. The farmhands moved quickly, lifting any fallen girls back onto their feet before they could be trampled. After all, damaged stock couldn't be sold, and this business was all about profit.

We walked in endless circles for what felt like hours under the warm sun. The outer positions were the hardest; those of us on the longest arms had to take many more steps than the ones closer to the center. Sweat soon glistened on every body. The constant motion, the press of naked flesh when the line bunched up, the occasional brush of a breast or hip against mine, it was all strangely intimate and exhausting at the same time.

Eventually, one by one, each meatgirl was unhooked and returned back to the overhead rack. When my turn came, the same rugged hands grabbed me around the waist, lifted me, and reattached my wrists to a moving hook on the rail. I was carried back inside the barn behind several other girls by the moving mechanical rack. The next stop was the dreaded washing machine. I remembered all too well how thorough it was. The strong chemical jets blasted over my body, stripping away any regrowth of hair.

I thought with a pang of resignation, There's no way my hair will ever grow back properly now.

By the time the rinse and hot air dryer finished, I was once again completely smooth and hairless from head to toe. Clean and dripping, we were moved into another pen, one section further into the barn than before. I suspected that each day we would progress one pen closer to the final processing area… and eventually to sale.

I was now deeper in the system, just another meatgirl slowly moving through the pipeline. The thought sent a deep, submissive thrill through me, mixed with a quiet flicker of nervousness about how long Sally intended to leave me here.

After the morning exercise on the turntables and the thorough washing that washed away the sweat and grime that was stuck to my body from both the exercising and also the nightly dance, we were moved back into the pens for the lunchtime feeding. This had become my daily rhythm, the same comforting cycle repeated every day: exercise, washing, feeding, hanging, and the nightly dance. The cool, nutrient-rich liquid flowed steadily through the tube in my gag, filling me with a strange, satisfying fullness. I was beginning to understand how the other meatgirls could remain so calm and docile. There was a simple, almost meditative rhythm to this existence, and I had fully embraced it.

In the afternoon, the meatgirls at our end of the barn were left hanging quietly in our pen while those further along the line were taken out for their turn on the exercise machines. The contrast was striking. I hung there with nothing to occupy me except the gentle, constant press of warm bodies on either side of me, soft breasts against my back and chest, the occasional brush of a hip or thigh. It gave me far too much time to think, yet I found myself sinking deeper into the quiet acceptance of my new life.

If we kept progressing one pen per day like this, I would eventually reach the far end of the barn… and from there, the final processing before sale. A quiet flicker of concern stirred in my chest. I hadn't seen Sally at all today. Not once. Last time, she had only left me for a couple of nights before bringing me out and storing me in the pantry. How long did she intend to leave me here this time?

A nervous little voice in the back of my mind whispered my grandmother's old saying: Be careful what you wish for… You may just get it.

Exhausted from the morning's exercise and with nothing to do except hang here as product, I must have drifted off into a light, hazy sleep while suspended from the rack. I was woken some time later by the evening feed. The cool liquid once again flowed down my throat, bringing me back to full awareness. The lights in the barn had already begun to dim into their soft red night-time glow, and I felt a fresh flutter of anticipation low in my belly.

Soon, the nightly ritual would begin. I looked forward to another joyous night surrounded by the other meatgirls, lost in their slow, sensual dance, breasts pressing and sliding against me, hips grinding, skin on skin in that beautiful, living chain. No matter how long Sally decided to leave me here, I knew I would welcome every moment of it.

On the third day, the morning feeding gently woke me once again. The cool liquid flowed steadily through the tube in my gag, filling me with that now-familiar sense of satisfied fullness. I had fully accepted the rhythm of barn life, and the nightly dance that left me spent and glowing had become the highlight of each day. It was strangely comforting.

The farmhands began entering the barn, their boots echoing on the concrete. Two of them stopped right by my pen. One was the supervisor I'd seen before, the other a younger man who looked relatively new. They spoke casually, not realizing, or not caring, that one of the "stock" could hear and understand them.

"The boss has left me in charge while she's away," the supervisor drawled. "Some business with the townfolk, I reckon. So you'll be workin' alongside me out in the exercise yard…"

Sally was away.

The words hit me like a quiet shock. She hadn't told me she was leaving. I wondered what kind of business she had in town, and how long she would be gone. That question was answered almost immediately when the supervisor turned to another worker and added, "Boss'll be gone for the rest of the week, maybe longer," he drawled. "While she's away, we gotta keep things movin' smooth-like…"

Gone for the rest of the week… maybe longer.

A flutter of nervous concern settled in my chest. Last time, Sally had only left me for a couple of nights. Now an entire week, or more? Would I just keep progressing through the pens, one per day, until I reached the final stage? The thought of being sold as meat sent a strange mix of fear and dark arousal through me.

Then I heard the supervisor continue, grumbling under his breath, "We'll have tour groups comin' through this afternoon, and a couple more over the next few days. Damn nosy townfolk, always pokin' around like they own the damn place, askin' stupid questions and gettin' in the way. So keep on your toes, boys. I don't want any mistakes, or I'll have your hides."

Tour groups. I hadn't known that was even a thing. Who would want to visit a meatgirl farm? Families? Curious city folk? Potential buyers? The idea of being on display, naked, collared, hanging helplessly in my pen while strangers walked past and looked at me like any other piece of livestock. made my stomach tighten with a confusing blend of humiliation and excitement.

The farmhands moved on, and the daily routine continued as usual. Exercise on the turntables, the thorough washing that kept my body permanently smooth, the feeds, and the long, quiet hours hanging in the pen. But now every sway of the line, every gentle press of warm breasts against my back, carried an extra edge. I was deeper in the system than ever before, and with Sally gone, I truly felt like nothing more than part of the inventory, slowly moving toward whatever fate the farm had in store for me.

As the red lights came on that evening and the sensual dance began once more, I surrendered to it completely, forgetting any concerns about my time here in the barn, letting the warm press of bodies and the slow, intimate rhythm carry me away. But even as pleasure washed over me in powerful waves, a small, persistent thought lingered in the back of my mind: How long will Sally really leave me here?

And deeper still, a quieter, more dangerous whisper: What if she doesn't come back for me at all?

The next morning, after the usual exercise, washing, and feeding, the barn felt different. A tour group had arrived.

I heard the supervisor explaining things as they approached our section, his voice carrying that slow, easy drawl. "This here's one of the early-stage pens, folks. These girls are still in the acclimatization phase. You'll notice they're leaner right now. As they move further on through the barn, we start the fattening process, gettin' 'em nice and plump to hit that perfect fat-to-meat ratio. Makes for the best eatin' in the end."

College girls. I overheard that they were studying "Sustainable Protein Management." My stomach twisted with sudden anxiety. They were my age. What if one of them recognized me?

A cluster of young women in casual clothes walked slowly down the aisle, notebooks and tablets in hand. One girl with a ponytail stopped directly in front of my pen, tilting her head as she looked me up and down.

"They look so… normal," she said to her friend. "Like they could have been sitting next to us in a lecture last semester."

Her friend nodded, scribbling something down. "The fattening process is fascinating, though. They start the extra feeds around pen six or seven. By the final stages, they're perfectly marbled, that ideal 15–20% intramuscular fat ratio for maximum tenderness and juiciness."

She paused, then added with a slight laugh, "Only the really dumb ones would volunteer for this these days. Luckily, they only use clones now. Much cleaner that way."

The words hit me like a slap. Dumb ones. The casual dismissal made my stomach twist. I wasn't a clone. I had chosen this, begged for it. Did that make me one of the "dumb ones" in their eyes?

The ponytail girl leaned closer, studying my body with clinical interest. "Skin texture looks excellent on this one. Smooth, even, no blemishes. That's prime for roasting or pan-searing. You can really see the subcutaneous fat starting to develop nicely under the skin."

Another girl joined them, pointing at my breasts. "Look at the mammary development. Those would yield beautiful breast fillets and nice marbling potential. The tenderness score on early-stage girls like this is usually high because they haven't been on the heavy feed long enough to get tough."

I felt my face burn with humiliation. They were talking about me like a cut of meat, evaluating my fat distribution, skin quality, and how tender my flesh would be after roasting. Every word made me feel more like a product, reduced to nothing but meat. My nipples tightened involuntarily under their gaze, and I felt a fresh wave of shameful heat building between my thighs.

The first girl straightened up. "I'd love to see what they look like in the final pens. The ones that have been on the full fattening program for two months are supposed to be incredible, super soft, melt-in-your-mouth texture."

Their voices faded as the group moved on to the more advanced pens, still discussing marbling scores, ideal slaughter weights, and cooking recommendations. Thankfully, no one had recognized me, as I had initially feared, or found out that I wasn't really a clone. But the casual, academic way they had assessed my body as future food left me feeling more objectified than ever before.

After the tour group moved further up the barn, their voices fading into the distance, a quiet wave of doubt washed over me. What have I done? I thought, hanging there with my breasts pressed warmly against the girl in front of me. I had willingly placed myself in this system, but hearing those college girls talk about me so casually, as if I were nothing more than a future cut of meat, made the reality feel suddenly heavier. Was I really ready for this? How far was I willing to go?

Those doubts, however, were gently pushed aside later that evening.

After the evening feed, the lights dimmed to their familiar soft red glow, and the nightly dance began once more. The bodies around me started their slow, sensual swaying, gradually building into something deeper and more urgent. Warm breasts rubbed against my back and chest, hips rolled and ground softly, thighs slipped slickly between mine.

The constant, intimate press of flesh all around me quickly swept away my worries. I surrendered, completely to the rhythm, lost in the heat and friction, until pleasure crashed over me twice, powerful, shuddering climaxes that left me exhausted, trembling, and deeply spent, hanging limply between the other girls.

The next day began with the usual routine: morning feeding, exercise on the turntables, and the thorough washing that once again left my body completely smooth and hairless. Afterward, we were moved into another pen, and I was now in the fourth or fifth one; I wasn't entirely sure anymore. Each day, we seemed to progress one pen further into the barn.

I tried to recall what one of the college girls had said about the feeding schedule. Was the increased fattening feed supposed to start around the sixth or seventh pen? The thought made my stomach flutter with nervous anticipation. What would the extra feed do to my body? Would it make my breasts fuller, my hips rounder, my bottom softer? Would I start to look more like the later-stage meatgirls, plump, tender, and perfectly marbled?

I guess I would soon find out.

There had still been no sign of Sally inside the barn. She must still be away on her business in town. The uncertainty gnawed at me. How long was she really going to leave me here? A week? Longer? The longer I hung here, progressing slowly through the pens, the more real the possibility became that I might reach the final stages before she returned.

Be careful what you wish for…The old saying echoed in my mind once again as I swayed gently between two warm bodies, my breasts pressed softly against the girl in front of me, another pair molding firmly to my back. Part of me was terrified. Another, deeper part was quietly thrilled at the thought of how far this fantasy might take me.

The next afternoon, another tour group arrived, this time a noisy class of high school girls. Their teacher, a stern-looking woman in her forties, tried to keep them under control as they scattered excitedly through the pens with notebooks in hand.

"Remember, girls," the teacher warned loudly, "this is exactly how naughty schoolgirls used to end up in my day. Misbehave too much, and you might find yourselves left behind as part of the stock. So I expect you to be on your best behavior!"

The girls giggled and whispered among themselves, clearly thrilled by the teacher's warning. They spread out through the pens like a pack of curious kittens, poking and prodding at the hanging meatgirls, laughing at their helplessness and making cheeky comments. Two of them wandered deeper into my pen, glancing back over their shoulders to make sure the teacher wasn't watching, their eyes lighting up with pure mischief when they saw me hanging there.

They started touching the other girls around me first, squeezing breasts and slapping bottoms, making crude jokes. "Look at this one, I bet her pussy would taste amazing on the grill!" one laughed. "These tits would make perfect breast burgers," the other added, giving a hanging girl a hard slap that made her sway.

Then they turned their attention to me.

Out of the blue, a sharp sting exploded across my bare bottom as one of them slapped me hard. I gasped behind the gag. Before I could recover, another slap landed on my tender breast, making it jiggle. A choked grunt escaped me, and the shock collar instantly delivered a sharp jolt to my throat. My body jerked violently.

The girls burst into laughter. "Oh my god, it shocked her!" one squealed.

They thought it was hilarious and started slapping me again. my ass, my breasts, my thighs, each time drawing out another involuntary sound that earned me another punishing shock from the collar. I tried desperately to stay silent, biting down hard on the gag, but every slap made me flinch and whimper. The combination of pain, burning humiliation, and electric punishment left me trembling, tears pricking at my eyes, while a shameful heat bloomed between my legs.

Thankfully, they soon grew bored with their new game and moved on to writing on my body with permanent ink markers. "Cuntmeat," one scribbled across my lower belly. "Tit Burgers" went across my breasts. "Bum Steaks" on my ass, followed by "Free Use Fillet" and "Grade A Fuckmeat" on my thighs. They covered my body with crude, degrading remarks, giggling and high-fiving each other the whole time, treating my body like a whiteboard for their filthy jokes. One even drew a crude arrow pointing between my legs with the words "Prime Pussy, Ready to Roast."

Eventually, their teacher noticed what they were doing. She hurried over with a sharp, disapproving frown. "Girls! That is quite enough!" she snapped, her voice low but firm. "You are here to observe and learn, not to vandalize the stock like a bunch of delinquents. Move along right now!"

She quickly herded the giggling girls out of the pen, glancing nervously toward the farmhands as she did so, clearly hoping no one had seen the graffiti. The writing stayed on me for the rest of the day and into the next morning.

When the farmhands arrived the following day and saw the graffiti, the supervisor cursed loudly, spitting on the ground. "Those stupid little cunts from the school tour! Always causin' trouble, them town brats." He looked at me and the other marked girls with irritation. "No exercise for you lot today. We'll need to scrub those damn marks off first."

The scrubbing was brutal. The stiff brushes scraped harshly across my sensitive skin, making me scream behind my gag as they rubbed me raw. The farmhands didn't bother to switch off our shock collars; perhaps they even enjoyed the extra control it gave them, or maybe they even got off on causing the meatgirls' pain.

Every time I cried out or whimpered from the pain, the collar delivered a sharp jolt, turning my suffering into a vicious cycle. The rough bristles left my skin red and stinging, but the worst part came after; they ran us through the washing machine multiple times to try to remove the remnants of the permanent ink. They had also increased the strength of the chemical solution, which burned against my already-abraded skin. By the time they were done, the words were faint, but my body was red, sore, and throbbing all over.

I remembered Sally's warning about the washing solution all too well. There was no doubt now, my hair would never grow back. I would remain permanently bald and smooth for the rest of my life… however long that might be, and at the moment that ending might come sooner than expected.

Later that afternoon, I was moved into the dreaded sixth pen. And now the quantity of the feeding had increased. I could already feel the difference; the nutrient liquid seemed richer, heavier. As I hung there, pressed tightly between two other girls, breasts against backs in the long living chain, a quiet mix of fear and dark excitement settled over me.

Sally still hadn't returned. And I was getting deeper into the system with every passing day.

But if I thought being treated like that by the schoolgirls was humiliating enough, I was in for a much deeper shock with the next group.

After the morning routine, exercise, washing, and feeding, I had just settled back into my pen. The comforting warmth of the other meatgirls' bodies pressed against me from both sides lulled me into a contented, half-dazed state. My thoughts had been shifting lately, becoming softer, more accepting of my place here in the barn. There was something profoundly peaceful about simply existing as meat.

Still no sign of Sally today, and a quiet part of me had begun to resign myself to the possibility that she might have left me here for good. Maybe she'd found someone new. I was starting to believe this was my new reality.

My thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of yet another tour group. This time, it was all male college students. I didn't know what they were supposed to be studying, but judging by what they did to me, it must have been anatomy… or perhaps advanced meat handling.

A couple of the guys wandered into my pen, laughing and joking as they began manhandling the livestock. One of them stopped right next to me, taking in my naked, hanging body with obvious interest. Without hesitation, he reached out and grabbed my breast, squeezing it firmly, testing its weight and softness. A faint, involuntary cry escaped around my gag, and the shock collar instantly delivered a sharp jolt to my throat. My body jerked.

His friend laughed. "Careful, man. These ones bite back."

Undeterred, the first guy grabbed both of my breasts, lifting and kneading them as if weighing them for market. His thumbs brushed roughly over my nipples, making them harden instantly. Then his hands slid lower, gliding over my soft tummy before quickly moving boldly between my legs.

His thick fingers pressed past my outer folds without warning, finding me already slick and swollen. Two fingers pushed deep inside me in one smooth thrust, stretching me open as he began to pump them with confident, demanding strokes. His thumb found my swollen clit and rubbed firm, relentless circles, sending jolts of unwanted pleasure shooting through my core.

Oh god… I thought, shame flooding through me. He's touching me like I'm just a toy. Like I'm nothing but meat for him to play with.

I groaned softly behind the gag, the sound low and needy. Thankfully, this time the collar stayed silent. The wet, obscene sounds of his fingers plunging in and out of my dripping pussy filled the pen. He curled his fingers, stroking that perfect spot inside of me over and over, while his thumb now continued to work my clit with merciless precision. My juices coated his hand, dripping down my thighs as he finger-fucked me harder, treating my body like just a thing for his amusement.

The sensation was breathtaking; it felt so good, so wrong, so utterly objectifying. I'm so wet… I can hear how wet I am. How can I be enjoying this? Memories of clumsy high school boys fumbling with me in quiet corners flashed through my mind, but this was different. This boy knew exactly what he was doing, treating my pussy like it belonged to him.

But the humiliation of the situation was overwhelming. I was just meat to him… a hanging piece of fuckable livestock for him to play with. Yet my body betrayed me completely. My hips rolled shamelessly against his hand, chasing the pleasure, my inner walls clenching greedily around his invading fingers. I was so close, trembling on the edge, desperate for release.

My pussy was soaked as his hand worked me faster, plunging deeper, teasing me right to the edge. Just as I reached the peak, trembling on the brink of orgasm, he suddenly stopped and pulled his fingers out.

He brought them up to his mouth, licking my slick arousal off them with a grin. "Slut, you're basting really well down there," he said loudly enough for his friends to hear. "Shame I can't get a proper sample of your meat, but damn… You taste good."

He gave my breast one last hard squeeze, then walked away laughing with the others, leaving me hanging there, aching, dripping, and desperately unfinished. The frustration burned through me as the tour moved on. I was left throbbing and empty, my body still humming with denied pleasure, a living example of meat that could be played with but not fully enjoyed.

After all the humiliation and abuse of my body, something inside me began to shift. Over the next couple of days, I lost track of exactly which pen I was in, the eighth, maybe the ninth. It no longer seemed to matter. A profound change had taken root within me. Whether it was my submissive side growing stronger, or simply the effect of remaining in the barn for so long, I was beginning to feel less like Vicky and more like one of them. Just another meatgirl.

There were noticeable changes, not only in my thoughts but in my body as well. My breasts felt fuller now, heavier, swaying more noticeably when I moved. My hips and bottom had grown softer, rounder, pressing more luxuriously against the girls on either side of me. When I looked at the other meatgirls, they all seemed to be developing the same gentle plumpness, or maybe I was imagining it. Either way, the sight no longer frightened me. It felt… right.

My mind had grown calmer, too. The previous worries about being sold, and about how long Sally would leave me here in the barn, had faded into a quiet background hum. This was who I was now. I had accepted it. I wanted it.

At each feeding, I drank down the nutrient liquid with increasing hunger, sucking greedily at the tube, disappointed every time it stopped. I wanted more. My body craved it. The extra feedings were clearly doing their work, softening me, preparing me, and I now welcomed every change.

I had fully accepted the daily routine: the morning exercise on the turntables, the thorough washing that kept my skin permanently smooth, and the long, peaceful afternoons spent hanging quietly in the pen, surrounded by warm, naked bodies. Thankfully, the tour groups seemed to have stopped for now.

But the true highlight of every day remained the same, the nightly erotic dance. When the lights dimmed to their soft red glow and the slow, sensual swaying began, I gave myself over to it completely. The constant press of breasts against my back and chest, the glide of hips and thighs, the shared heat and slickness of so many bodies moving as one, it was pure bliss. Each night, I came harder than the last, lost in the living chain of warm, helpless flesh, surrendering utterly to the simple pleasure of being meat.

A couple of days later, the daily routine shifted again. Exercise time was now moved to the afternoon, and suddenly I realized that I must have progressed much further into the barn than I had imagined. Strangely, this no longer frightened me. It just felt… right.

I must have crossed over into the fattening pens without even noticing. My thoughts had grown softer lately, slower, more peaceful. The same comforting cycle, feeding, exercise, washing, and the nightly dance, had blurred together into one long, hazy existence. I could barely remember what life outside the barn had been like. I only knew that my owner had placed me here, and I hoped she would get a good price for my carcass when the time came.

Then one afternoon, just after I had just returned from exercise, when a familiar face appeared at the entrance of my pen.

Sally.

My owner had finally come for me.

She stepped inside and began to examine my body with slow, appraising hands, as if I were any other prime piece of stock. Her touch was clinical yet possessive, the way a butcher might inspect a hanging carcass.

"My, you've filled out nicely," she murmured, cupping my noticeably heavier breasts and lifting them, squeezing the soft, plump flesh. She weighed them in her palms, her thumbs brushing over my sensitive nipples until they hardened into tight peaks. "These are much bigger now… so full and tender. They would certainly make a great lunch, sliced up for sandwiches, perhaps, or stuffed as breast dumplings."

I felt a deep, submissive flush wash over me. Yes… they're prime cuts now, I thought contentedly. My breasts are just meat for you to devour. My whole body is just product now, ready for the table whenever you want it.

Sally's hands slid lower, gripping my plump, rounded rear. She kneaded the soft cheeks firmly, spreading them slightly as she examined me. "And this… so soft and tender. A fine roast, sumptuous and juicy, melt-in-the-mouth." She gave my bottom a possessive slap, watching the way it jiggled. "Perfect for carving."

A quiet, accepting warmth spread through my chest. Yes… I'm prime roasting meat now, I thought calmly. My rear is just a fine cut for you to carve and serve. Take me, stuff me, and make me ready for the oven.

Her hand drifted between my thighs, fingers seeking out my soft, slick folds. She stroked me slowly, pressing two fingers past my outer lips and sliding them deep inside me.

"Mmm… that's a beautiful pussy fillet you have there," she purred, curling her fingers and stroking that perfect spot. "Already basting nicely, I see. So wet and ready." She pumped her fingers a few times, making wet, obscene sounds. "I can't wait to taste this later."

I trembled under her touch, a deep, submissive thrill running through me, my hips instinctively rocking against her hand.

Yes… Roast me, I thought, the words floating through my mind with perfect clarity and peace. My pussy fillet is yours to taste and enjoy. My whole body is nothing more than meat now, ready to be prepared, roasted, and eaten by you.

Sally withdrew her fingers, bringing them to her lips and licking my arousal off them with obvious pleasure. She smiled at me, her eyes dark with hunger and affection.

"You've become such a fine piece of stock," she whispered. "I'm proud of you."

She called over one of her workers. "Bring this fat sow to my kitchen and hang her in the pantry. I want her properly rested before I begin."

The farmhand lifted me easily, freeing my wrists from the hook and hauling my soft, heavier body over his shoulder like any other piece of meat. I was carried out of the pen and across the yard to the farmhouse without ceremony. Inside, he took me straight to the pantry and hung me from one of the ceiling hooks, my wrists high above my head, toes barely brushing the cool floor.

I was left there, naked, collared, and helpless, just another piece of meat waiting to be prepared. And I felt strangely, perfectly at peace. My time had finally come.

I was left alone in the pantry for several hours. The quiet, cool air wrapped around my hanging body like a gentle embrace. I hung there peacefully, wrists bound high, toes barely brushing the floor, my heavier breasts and softer curves gently swaying with each breath. I had fully accepted my place. If Sally had come to prepare me for the oven, I was ready. My mind was made up, I would submit completely and willingly.

Later, the pantry door finally opened, and Sally stepped inside. She walked over to where I hung and began touching me softly, almost reverently, her warm hands gliding over my smooth, plump skin.

This is it, I thought. I'm about to be made ready for the oven.

But then she spoke, her voice low and affectionate.

"There's my little piglet… all plump and tasty. Your skin feels much softer, smoother. The feed seems to have worked wonderfully on you."

Her hands moved to my breasts, cupping and squeezing them with more force, lifting their new weight and kneading the soft, heavy flesh. I guess, judging how well they'd cook.

She pinched my nipples between her fingers, rolling and tugging them until they were aching and rock-hard. "Your breasts have grown so nicely… so full and tender. They would make excellent fillets."

I shivered under her touch, a deep, submissive thrill running through me, my body already responding.

Yes… They're prime breast fillets now, I thought with calm acceptance. My breasts are just meat for you to carve, roast, or enjoy however you like. My whole body is ready for whatever you decide to do to me.

Sally's hands slid lower, gripping my plump, rounded rear. She kneaded the soft cheeks firmly, spreading them slightly as she examined me.

"And this… so soft and juicy. A perfect roast, sumptuous, melt-in-the-mouth." She gave my bottom a hard, possessive slap, watching the way it jiggled. "Prime for carving."

A deep, submissive heat flooded through me. I'm now just meat, I thought, the words sinking in with peaceful certainty.

Her hand drifted between my thighs. Her fingers sought out my soft, slick folds, stroking me slowly before pushing two fingers deep inside me. She curled them, stroking that perfect spot with expert precision while her thumb circled my swollen clit.

"Mmm… that's a beautiful pussy fillet you have there," she purred, pumping her fingers faster, making wet, lustful sounds echo in the pantry. "Already basting quite nicely… so wet and ready for me."

I moaned around the gag, my hips bucking shamelessly against her hand. She brought me right to the edge, again and again, fucking me with her fingers, sucking hard on my nipples, licking and biting them until I was trembling, dripping, and desperate. Every time I was about to come, she slowed or pulled back, leaving me whimpering and throbbing, denied.

By the time she finally stopped, I was a hot, sticky, shaking mess, thighs slick with my own arousal, my mind hazy with need. I wanted nothing more than for her to finish me, right here or on the way to the oven. I didn't care which.

But Sally stepped back, her eyes sparkling with wicked affection.

"Sorry, my love, but I'm going to leave you here in the pantry for the next few days." She stroked my cheek tenderly. "The heavier feed you were on also contains something that makes the meatgirls absolutely crave it. It speeds up their fattening and dulls the mind, making them wonderfully docile and compliant. Knowing you and how deep your desire to become meat runs… if I let you roam free right now, you'd definitely try to crawl straight back to the barn and rejoin the others."

She kissed my forehead softly.

"Sleep well, my little bird, we'll see how you are tomorrow."

The next morning, Sally returned to the pantry. She entered quietly, carrying a container of the lighter, standard liquid feed that all of the meatgirls start out on, not the heavier stuff that they feed on later.

I hung there peacefully, watching her with calm, accepting eyes, wrists bound high, my softer, fuller body gently swaying. The sight of her made my heart flutter with quiet joy.

She set the container down and stepped close, her hands immediately beginning to rub over my flesh, slow, affectionate strokes across my rounded belly, my heavier breasts, and my plump bottom.

Her touch felt heavenly after so many days of impersonal handling. I leaned into it as much as my bonds allowed, a soft, contented sound vibrating around my gag.

"I'm sorry, my love," she said gently, her voice carrying a hint of genuine guilt. "I hadn't expected to be away for so long, and my business in town took much longer to settle than I thought it would."

She poured the thick liquid into a larger container connected to the tube that ran to my gag.

"And I completely forgot about my little bird, bound and naked in the barn, being processed every day right alongside the other meatgirls."

Her hands continued their slow exploration, squeezing my breasts, rubbing my soft tummy, and stroking between my thighs. I shivered with pleasure under her touch.

"I feel a little guilty about leaving you there for so long… but I also know how much you probably enjoyed it, being treated like real livestock, hanging among the others, and losing yourself in the routine." She again smiled softly. "You've always wanted to feel what it was truly like to be a meatgirl. I just hope that it was everything that you've dreamed of."

I shivered with pleasure under her hands, nodding slightly as much as the gag and collar allowed. It was, I thought. I loved every moment.

Sally leaned in and kissed my forehead tenderly. "Like I said last night, I'm going to leave you here in the pantry for a little while longer. That heavier feed you were on has made you wonderfully soft and compliant, although I do like my submissive little bird. I don't want to see you get hurt by venturing back to the barn, and I can't have that, unless I'm the one doing that."

She kissed my forehead tenderly. "You mean far more to me than you know."

I didn't mind at all. Hanging here as just another piece of meat felt strangely peaceful. Though it would have been nice to have some company, to join in the erotic dance one more time, surrounded by warm, moving bodies.

"Maybe later I'll take you out and get you properly cleaned up," Sally added with a soft smile. "I'm sure you'll enjoy that."

Once the feeding was over and the last of the thick liquid had flowed down my throat, she gave my plump bottom one last affectionate pat and turned to leave. I watched her go, still hanging helplessly, wondering if she was going to prepare me later… or if she would leave me here even longer. And deep down, I was content either way.

That evening, Sally returned to the pantry. She lifted me down from the hook with surprising ease, slinging my soft, heavier body over her shoulder like a piece of meat. I dangled there contentedly as she carried me out of the pantry, through the kitchen, and up the stairs. For a moment, I thought she was taking me straight to the counter to begin preparation, but she continued down the hallway and into the bathroom.

"Time to get you cleaned up, my sweet girl," she said softly.

She reached for the hidden release on the collar and removed it. It felt strange not wearing it, like I had been stripped of the only piece of "clothing" I had owned for days. Then she gently removed the gag. My jaw ached from wearing it for so long, and I found it difficult to fully close my mouth at first.

Sally stripped off her own clothes and led me into the shower. She adjusted the water to a perfect warm temperature, then eased me under the steady stream before stepping in with me. Her hands began to roam over my body, soaping and cleaning every inch, my fuller, heavier breasts, my softer, rounded belly, my plump bottom, and between my thighs. The feeling of her touch after so many days of impersonal handling was heavenly.

She pulled my head closer for a deep, lingering kiss as the water cascaded over us. Her hands explored my most sensitive places, stroking my breasts, teasing my nipples, then sliding between my legs to gently rub my swollen clit and slip her fingers inside me. The passion built quickly. She brought me to a much-needed, shuddering orgasm right there under the spray, holding me close as I trembled against her.

But Sally wasn't finished.

She dropped to her knees in the shower, water streaming down her back, and buried her face between my thighs. Her tongue found my clit with expert precision, licking and sucking with slow, deliberate strokes while two fingers curled deep inside me, stroking that perfect spot over and over. I gasped and moaned, my hands tangling in her wet hair as she devoured me. The combination of her warm mouth and the hot water made my legs shake. She brought me to a second, even stronger orgasm, my cries echoing off the tiles as my pussy clenched hard around her fingers and my juices mixed with the shower water.

Afterwards, she dried every inch of my body with a large, soft towel, then took me by the hand and led me to the bedroom. She pushed me gently onto the bed. The soft mattress and clean linen sheets felt like heaven after I had spent so long hanging. We made love again, slowly and tenderly at first, but the hunger quickly grew. Sally climbed on top of me, pressing her body against mine, our breasts rubbing together as she kissed me deeply. Her hand slid between my legs again, fingers sliding easily into my soaked pussy while her thumb circled my clit. I wrapped my legs around her, grinding against her hand as she fucked me with long, deep strokes.

She brought me to the edge once more before shifting position, straddling my thigh and pressing her own wet pussy against mine. We rubbed against each other, slowly at first, then faster, our slick folds sliding together, clits rubbing with every roll of our hips. The friction was exquisite. Sally's breath grew ragged as she rode me harder, her breasts bouncing above me. We came together in a shattering mutual orgasm, our bodies locked tight, moaning into each other's mouths as waves of pleasure crashed through us both.

Exhausted, satisfied, and glowing, I was ready for sleep. But Sally had one more surprise. She fitted a metal cuff around my right ankle, the kind we had used in our bondage games before. The chain was secured to the bedframe.

"Just so you can't go wandering off to the barn while I'm asleep," she said with a playful smile.

That night I slept fitfully. I wasn't used to lying down anymore. I kept tossing and turning, waking Sally with my constant movement.

"What's the problem, my love?" she asked sleepily.

"I'm just not used to sleeping like this," I murmured. "I've been sleeping standing up for… I don't even know how long I was in the barn."

"You were in there for ten days," she told me gently.

"Wow…" I whispered. "Maybe that's why I'm finding it so hard. Could you… Maybe put me back in the pantry for the night?"

Sally sighed, but there was affection in her voice. "Well, if that's the only way I'm going to get some peace…"

She led me back downstairs, still naked and slightly sticky from our lovemaking. She tied my wrists comfortably to the hook in the pantry, leaving me hanging exactly as I had been. The familiar position felt strangely comforting.

"There, my little meatgirl," she whispered, kissing my forehead. "Back where you belong."

A delightful shiver ran through me at her words.

"Goodnight, my sweet meat."

She switched off the light and left me there. Contented and at peace, I soon drifted off into a deep, restful sleep.

Over the next few days, I slowly recovered from my time in the barn. My head grew clearer, and I gradually adjusted to sleeping in a proper bed again.

I walked around the farm freely, no longer restrained, which felt strangely odd at first. I had persuaded Sally to fasten a simple leather collar around my neck, not the shock one, but the snug one I had worn before. It felt right. The constant reminder of ownership fed my submissive side beautifully, and I once again enjoyed the warmth of the sun on my bare skin.

When I returned to the farmhouse, I headed into the kitchen for some water. As I stepped inside, I froze. Sally was standing by the counter, her hand clearly deep inside the meatgirl she was preparing. My tummy tightened instantly, and that familiar, delicious tingle started to bloom between my thighs.

I watched, transfixed, as Sally withdrew her hand, scooped up more stuffing, and worked it slowly and deliberately into the other girl's body. The sight was mesmerizing. My mind filled with memories of my own time on that counter, and a deep, submissive heat spread through me.

Sally noticed me standing there and smiled.

"You seem lost in your own thoughts," she said, her voice warm but teasing.

"I… I… erm…" I stammered, my face flushing hot.

"Looks like I've captured your interest, hmm?" Sally teased. "You like what you see?"

"Well… I…" The words wouldn't come. My cheeks burned even hotter.

"Maybe this brings back some memories," she continued, her tone playful. "Of you and that other meatgirl… both trussed up and ready for the oven."

"Yes…" was all I could manage, my voice barely above a whisper as the memory flooded back.

"Would you like to do it again?" she offered, her eyes sparkling. "It's just as easy to prepare two as it is one."

"Oh, I don't know…"

"Of course you do. I can see it all over your face, you want to join her."

"Well, no, I couldn't…"

"You most certainly can, my little sweet meat," she purred, her gaze roaming over my fuller body. "With those lovely curves, you'd look absolutely perfect on the tray waiting for the oven."

As she said it, my insides turned to warm goo. The casual way she spoke of me as just another piece of meat always made my arousal spike.

"And you're already stripped, so get yourself up on the counter and lie here next to this one."

While my mind was still trying to process what was happening, my body betrayed me. I moved to the counter, climbed up, and lay down beside the other meatgirl, my heart racing.

"There, you see, my little sweet meat?" Sally said with a satisfied smile. "Just lie there and enjoy while I get you both ready for the oven."

She went back to stuffing the other girl, all the while glancing at me with clear intent. The question hung in the air: would she stuff me too? I didn't have to long to find out.

Sally finished with the other meatgirl and turned her full attention to me. Her eyes darkened with hunger as she moved between my spread legs. She began by stroking my already slick pussy with her fingers, teasing the outer folds before slipping two inside me. I was wetter than I expected, and she hummed with approval as she worked me open, gradually adding a third finger, then a fourth.

I lay there passively, breathing faster, my body responding eagerly to her touch. The wet, slurping sounds of her fingers plunging in and out of me filled the kitchen. Then, with a slow, deliberate push, she eased her entire hand inside me. I gasped sharply at the sudden fullness, shocked by the stretch, but also strangely, deeply aroused by the intense sensation of being so completely filled by her.

Sally smiled, her eyes never leaving mine. "There, my little meatgirl… one perfectly stuffed pussy coming up."

She continued to play with me for a while, her hand moving gently inside me, curling and stroking, making me whimper and squirm on the counter. Then I felt the first cold touch of the stuffing mix as she began pressing it into me. The mixture was cool and thick, and she pushed more and more of it inside, filling me until I felt deliciously full and bloated, my belly slightly rounded from the amount she had packed into me.

She looked at me the whole time, her wicked smile never wavering as she prepared me like the finest cut of meat. I lay there, breathing heavily, completely surrendered to her hands and the fantasy I had longed for.

Sally finished stuffing me and moved on to coating both of us with the marinade sauce. She poured the fragrant mixture over our bodies and began rubbing it in with slow, deliberate, tender strokes. The pungent aroma of herbs, spices, garlic, and oil filled the kitchen, a rich, mouth-watering scent that made my stomach flutter both with anticipation and hunger.

Her hands moved over every inch of my skin, massaging the marinade into my fuller breasts, my rounded belly, my plump bottom, and between my thighs, working it thoroughly into my stuffed pussy until I was glistening and slick all over.

I continued to lie there passively, breathing softly, letting her prepare me alongside the other meatgirl. The feeling of her hands rubbing the sauce into my body was deeply arousing. I was loving every moment of it, I felt like real meat again, and I had missed this sensation since my time in the barn.

Next came the binding. Sally rolled me onto my front, then folded my thighs up against my body, binding them tightly with twine, so I was kneeling and bent over on the counter. She did the same to the other meatgirl. Then she folded our arms behind our backs and bound them securely with more twine. Unlike last time, she didn't truss us as severely, just enough to keep us helpless and beautifully presented.

She stepped back to admire us both, two perfectly prepared, glistening meatgirls lying side by side on her kitchen counter.

"My, my… look at you two," Sally murmured with obvious satisfaction, her voice warm and appreciative. "Such lovely, plump little pieces of meat. So tender and sweet. You're going to look absolutely beautiful roasting together in the oven."

Her words sent a wonderful, deep, delicious shiver through me. Roasting together… I thought the idea filled me with a strange, peaceful thrill. Side by side in the same oven, our bodies basted and browning, filling the kitchen with that wonderful aroma. Two meatgirls, prepared and served together. That's exactly what I am now.

She left us there for a brief break, the marinade slowly soaking into our skin. I lay there breathing steadily, my body tingling, my mind calm and content. I was exactly where I belonged.

Later that evening, Sally returned to the kitchen carrying a basket from her garden. She had gathered fresh vegetables to serve with the meat, but also two large, thick carrots. She washed them thoroughly in the sink, then brought them over to where our two beautifully presented rears waited, easily accessible in the way we were bound.

She dipped each carrot in the marinade, coating them generously, before gently inserting them into the other meatgirl's rear. Once it was seated deeply, she moved over to me.

"All your holes need to be properly filled, my sweet meat," she murmured with a wicked smile.

She pressed the thick, marinade-slicked carrot against my rear sphincter. I relaxed instinctively, and she eased it inside me with slow, deliberate pressure. The stretch was intense, filling me completely as the carrot slid deep into my rear passage. I moaned softly around the gag, my body trembling at the full, stuffed sensation.

"There we are… all nicely stuffed," Sally purred. "Now for some more marinade."

She added another generous layer to our skin, rubbing it in thoroughly, taking extra time to massage it into my breasts, my belly, and especially between my thighs. Her fingers lingered on my pussy, stroking and teasing my swollen clit until I was whimpering with need. She gradually built me up, sliding two fingers inside me while her thumb circled my clit, until I finally came hard on the counter, my body shuddering, my stuffed holes clenching around the carrots as waves of pleasure rolled through me.

"That's my good little meatgirl," she cooed, "all tenderized and ready."

She brought over two large roasting pans and carefully placed us inside them, arranging our bound bodies neatly. "Time to rest up and let the marinade work its magic."

Sally then carried the other meatgirl first, then me, into the pantry and set us on a shelf. "Sweet dreams, my succulent roasts," she whispered. "This time tomorrow you'll both be roasting in the oven, and I can't wait to taste those delicious pussy fillets."

She turned and left the pantry, switching off the light and leaving the two prepared meatgirls alone in the cool, dark space. I lay there in the roasting pan, stuffed, basted, and bound, my body tingling with anticipation.

The next day, Sally came into the pantry to inspect the two meatgirls she had prepared the previous evening. Her hands moved over each of us in turn, touching and squeezing with the same professional care. She made no exceptions for me; I was treated exactly like the other meatgirl, just another roast ready for the oven.

"You two are fine-looking roasts," she murmured appreciatively. "That marinade has made your flesh so tasty and delicious, and the stuffing… I'm really looking forward to eating that out of you later."

Then she turned her full attention to me, her eyes gleaming. "I think I'll glaze you first, my little bird. Just to get your body looking perfect for my guests later."

She lifted my tray and carried me back out to the kitchen counter, setting me down carefully. She mixed the glaze ingredients, then began brushing the sweet, sticky mixture all over my trussed-up body. She made sure to cover every inch she could reach, taking extra time and care with my exposed pussy. The soft bristles tickled at first, then the sensation turned into something much more pleasurable as she worked the glaze into my folds, brushing deliberately over my swollen clit.

"You just lie there, little bird," she cooed softly, "while I get you nicely glazed."

She continued to play the brush over me, sometimes pressing deeper, opening up my slick folds and exposing my sensitive little nub. The steady, teasing strokes built me up quickly. I felt an orgasm rising inside me, my body tensing in anticipation of one last burst of pleasure from Sally before the oven.

But just as I neared the edge, she stopped, pulling the brush away with a wicked little smile. "Can't have the glaze spoiled by your juices soaking everywhere, can we?"

She set the brush down and walked over to the oven, turning it on to a low heat. Then she returned, lifted my tray, and slid it inside. "Just on low for now, to set the glaze. Too early for the real roasting." She closed the oven door, leaving me inside as the gentle warmth began to build around me.

Sally didn't leave the kitchen. She sat at the table, sipping her coffee, keeping a watchful eye on me inside the oven. One eye stayed on the clock, the other on my glistening, trussed-up body through the glass door. The gentle heat had already begun to work on me, warming my skin and making the glaze start to set with a beautiful, glossy sheen.

Inside the oven, I felt the heat building steadily around me. The air grew thicker, hotter, wrapping my body in a slow, enveloping warmth that made my skin tingle and my breathing deepen.

Is this finally it? I thought, a calm thrill running through me. Will Sally really roast me?

The smell inside the oven was rich and heady, the lingering aroma of previously roasted meatgirls, now intensified by the rising heat. It wrapped around me, sweet and savory, making my mouth water even as my own body began to warm and glisten.

After about thirty minutes, Sally walked over to the oven and opened the door. A wave of fragrant, steamy heat washed over the kitchen. She leaned in, inspecting my presented rear with obvious approval, her eyes tracing the way the glaze had begun to caramelize on my skin. "Well, that looks perfect," she murmured. "Those cheeks have such a lovely golden glow and polish to them. You'll look wonderful when presented to my guests later."

She reached in and carefully pulled my tray out of the oven, setting it down on the counter. The sudden rush of cooler air made my heated skin prickle. "Just lie there and cool off, my little bird, while I get the other meatgirl ready."

She brought the second tray out of the pantry and set it beside mine, then began brushing the glaze over the other girl's body with slow, thorough strokes. Once finished, she carried her to the oven, already warm from my time inside, and slid her in.

Sally then left the kitchen for a while, leaving me trussed up on the counter, my body steaming slightly from the combined glaze and heat of the oven. I felt like I was truly just another piece of meat now, and I wondered how her guests would react this afternoon… and whether they would enjoy the taste of my flesh.

When Sally returned later, she looked a little flushed, her face and chest glowing with a soft redness. The unmistakable, satisfied look in her eyes told me she had been upstairs in the bedroom, bringing herself off while thinking about me.

"You know, my little bird," she said, her voice husky with lingering pleasure, "you certainly know how to press my buttons. Seeing you trussed up there, so beautifully prepared and submitting so completely to me… allowing me to stuff you, glaze you, and put you in the oven… it did something wonderful to me."

She smiled, her hand gently caressing my body, careful not to disturb the glossy glaze as she traced the curve of my breast and the soft swell of my belly.

"I think I need to put you away for a while. You're just too distracting, and I need to get on with preparing dinner for my guests."

She lifted my tray with ease and carried me back into the pantry, setting me carefully on a shelf. "There, my little sweetmeat," she whispered, leaning in to kiss my forehead. "You rest here while I set to work."

I lay there in the cool, dim pantry, the glaze slowly setting on my skin, my body tingling with warmth and anticipation. I was exactly where I belonged, waiting patiently to be served.

It was much later when Sally returned for me. She lifted my tray and carried me back into the kitchen again. She walked over to the oven, the door already open, and I could feel the radiant heat against my skin. "Time to roast you, little sweetmeat," she murmured, "so you'll be tender and delicious for my guests later."

The oven door closed, sealing me inside. Finally… I'm just meat, I thought, lying there in calm acceptance of my fate.

Outside, I could hear Sally moving around the kitchen, pots and pans clattering, vegetables sizzling on the stove above me. Well, at least I won't have to clean them after dinner, I thought with a quiet, submissive amusement.

I had expected the heat to be intense and burning, but it wasn't. Sally was roasting me slowly and gently, letting the warmth gradually build. The noise in the kitchen increased as several other female voices joined her, laughing and chatting while they prepared the table and moved plates and cutlery into the dining room. Then everything went quiet for a while.

Maybe they're enjoying the other meatgirl first, I thought.

But then the oven door opened. My tray was removed, and I was carried into the dining room where the guests were all seated and waiting. My tray was placed down on the table right next to the now-roasted meatgirl I had shared the pantry with. Other dishes surrounded us: roasted vegetables, sauces, and sides.

"I'd like to introduce you all to my little bird," Sally announced proudly. "My sweetmeat. She looks so sumptuous lying there, trussed up and available. Who wouldn't want to eat her?"

A cheer went up around the room. I felt the blush of embarrassment as they all looked at me, their eyes hungry for my flesh. "But she's just here as table decoration, for tonight," Sally continued with a playful smile. "So tuck in and enjoy the main course."

They began carving the roasted meatgirl next to me. One guest deliberately placed a slice of her flesh on my glazed skin and then leaned down, biting it off my body with a moan of pleasure. The idea quickly spread. Many of the women joined in, carving pieces and laying them on my breasts, belly, and thighs before eating them directly from my skin. Sally laughed and participated too, taking great delight in their teasing of my body.

But soon most of the guests were full, and the eating slowed to occasional grazing. I was left alone now, the novelty of using me as a living platter having worn off. I was truly just meat, leftover food after everyone had their fill. The evening carried on, the guests enjoying their conversations, while I lay there ignored on the table.

Later, when they started clearing up, one guest asked, "What do we do with this one?"

"Put it in the pantry," Sally replied casually. "I'll deal with it later."

The guest picked up my tray and carried me back into the kitchen, then into the pantry, setting me down on a shelf. She turned and left without a word, treating me like any other leftover food.

I stayed there for the rest of the night, listening as the sounds in the kitchen gradually died down. I guessed Sally's friends had all left.

Sally eventually came into the pantry. "I think it's time to taste that juicy pussy of yours, don't you?"

She cut the twine binding my limbs and helped me stand. She walked me out through the kitchen, the remnants of dinner still on the counters, and took me upstairs to the bathroom. After a thorough, gentle shower and cleaning, she took me to her bed. There she took her time unstuffing me, then ate me out with slow, devoted attention, bringing me to several powerful orgasms.

I slept very well that night, curled up beside her, and looked forward to spending my time with Sally once more, but this time as her collar-wearing submissive rather than her oven bird. Though I wouldn't say no to another overnight session in the barn… once my body had recovered…