Part 3
It has been several months now since I fully surrendered myself to life on the farm, and with every passing day, my desire to remain here has only grown stronger.
I loved the countryside; it was much calmer than the noisy, crowded city that I had grown up in. The fresh, clear air, the slow changing of the seasons, the friendly, uncomplicated people, it all felt right. But more than anything else, it was Sally.
When I had returned to the farm from my short break away, at Sally's suggestion, to sort through my thoughts and feelings, I knew that when I came back, I would be here as Sally's lover. I had finally accepted the truth about myself, that I preferred women, and that I desired her more than anyone else in the world.
What began as passionate nights, her hands sliding over my bare skin, her mouth claiming mine with hungry kisses, our bodies moving together in heated, breathless rhythm, slowly deepened into something far more intense. I started craving her dominance. The way she would pin my wrists above my head and take complete control. The low, commanding tone of her voice when she told me exactly how she wanted me. The thrill of being helpless beneath her, wet and aching, as she teased me for hours until I begged.
Day by day, I surrendered more and more of myself to her. The lover she had once held so tenderly in her arms became something else entirely, a willing, eager submissive who ached to kneel at her feet, who trembled with need at the mere thought of her collar locked around my throat.
I am no longer simply Sally's girlfriend or even her sexual plaything. I am no longer the girl who sometimes begged to spend a weekend as one of her meatgirls. I have become her devoted, submissive slavegirl.
At first, Sally seemed almost surprised by, and loved, how eagerly and completely I gave myself to her. She relished the power she now held over me, the fact that I was submitting myself to her every whim and desire, the way that I would wait for her naked and bound inside the house while she worked outside on the farm. Sometimes she would leave me kneeling in the corner for hours with my wrists cuffed behind my back and a simple leather collar locked around my neck.
Other times, she would fasten the shock collar on me, especially when she wanted absolute silence from me. But also on more than a few occasions, I had even asked her to put it on me myself, craving that extra layer of control from her. I would remain silent for days at a time, sometimes as long as a whole week, speaking only when she explicitly gave me permission. The enforced quiet became its own deep form of submission, a constant reminder that even my voice belonged to her.
My clothes were long gone. Even though I had already spent nearly all my time on the farm completely naked, the only exceptions being occasional trips to the village or town, I still begged Sally to pack every last garment away and lock them in a cupboard so I couldn't access them even if I wavered.
From that day forward, I remained permanently naked at all times on the farm, wearing nothing but whatever collar or restraints Sally chose for me each day. The constant feeling of vulnerability, the cool air on my skin, and the way my heavier breasts and softer curves, left over from my extended time in the barn, were always on display, fed something deep inside me.
Several of the farm staff and occasional business visitors had seen me like this. When they came to the house to meet with Sally, she would often have me serve them food or drinks. The humiliation was intense and deliberate. I would move through the room completely naked, causing my breasts to sway and bounce gently with every step, the soft, full weight of them shifting and jiggling in a way that felt embarrassingly noticeable. My nipples were almost always stiff, hardened by the cool air, my nerves, and by the constant low throb of arousal between my thighs.
I could feel their eyes crawling over every inch of me, some trying, and failing. to look professional, others openly staring with undisguised lust. The way they lingered on the soft bounce of my breasts, the curve of my hips, and the smooth, exposed folds of my pussy, which always seemed to grow slick and swollen under their stares.
My face would burn hot with shame, a deep crimson flush spreading down my neck and across my chest. My heart would pound so loudly I was sure they could hear it. Every time I bent over to set down a tray or refill a glass, I felt the cool air kiss my exposed rear and the unmistakable trickle of wetness along my inner thighs. I knew they could see everything, the way my body had softened and plumped from my time in the barn, the faint redness on my bottom from a recent spanking, the glistening evidence of how humiliatingly aroused I was.
At first, the embarrassment was almost unbearable. My hands would tremble as I poured drinks, my breath shallow and quick. But over time, that sharp, burning humiliation twisted and deepened into something far more addictive, a warm, throbbing acceptance that left me dripping, aching, and desperate.
I was simply her naked servant now. One of her possessions, kept for her pleasure and convenience, displayed for anyone she chose to show me to.
Sally seemed to enjoy it even more than I did. She took visible, almost sensual pleasure in her control over me. I could see it in the way her eyes would light up whenever she had guests. She loved watching me kneel quietly at her feet during business discussions, silent, naked, and collared, my head resting submissively against her thigh while she stroked my hair like I was a well-trained pet.
She especially loved the way her visitors' eyes widened and their voices faltered the moment I entered the room, every inch of my bare body on display: smooth skin flushed with embarrassment, the leather collar locked snugly around my neck marking me as hers, and the undeniable glisten of arousal between my thighs.
Sometimes she would deliberately tug on my collar, forcing me to arch my back and present myself more fully. Other times, she would run her hand slowly and possessively over my bare bottom right in front of them, squeezing the soft flesh, occasionally giving my ass a firm, loud slap. The sharp sound would echo through the room, and I would bite my lip to stay silent as a fresh trickle of arousal ran down my inner thigh.
The message was crystal clear to every person present: this naked, collared girl belongs entirely to me. And I loved every submissive second of it. This was who I had become. Not just her niece. Not just her lover. Her willing, obedient, naked slavegirl, collared, silent when she wished it, and always ready to serve.
But even the most devoted slave can eventually become too familiar.
Over time, Sally seemed to grow quietly bored with having a constantly available, naked, submissive girl who would do anything for her without question. At first, she had reveled in my total surrender, but that thrill had slowly faded, leaving behind a hollow ache. She missed the woman she had fallen in love with, the passionate, playful lover who would tease her, challenge her, and look at her with equal desire. In my desperate need to become her perfect slave, I had unintentionally erased that version of myself.
I think it broke her heart in ways she never voiced. She would sometimes watch me kneeling at her feet with a distant sadness in her eyes, as though she were mourning someone she could no longer reach. The fiery connection we once shared had been replaced by quiet obedience, and no matter how much she tried, she couldn't find the spark again. Rather than confront the growing emptiness between us, Sally began to pull away.
Her business trips became longer and more frequent. And when she was home, she would sometimes simply snap the shock collar around my neck, clip a lead to it, and walk me out to the barn without a word. She would leave me hanging there among the meatgirls, sometimes overnight, sometimes for a day or two. I never knew whether these moments were meant as a reward for my devotion… or a quiet way of removing me from the house so she could breathe.
While I hung silently in the cool darkness of the barn, Sally was upstairs in our bed with other women, women she had met at clubs or through friends, desperately seeking the passion, the fire, and the emotional connection that my complete surrender could no longer give her. She was grieving the lover she had lost, even as she still cared for the devoted slave she had gained.
It was during one of the longer sessions that she'd left me in the barn, nearly a full week, that everything changed.
Sally had found someone new to share her love and her bed.
Her name was Megan, a tall, confident woman with sharp features and an even sharper tongue. She moved into the farmhouse very quickly and seemed to take over almost immediately. And having a naked, collared, and permanently silent serving girl was apparently too delicious an opportunity for her to resist.
I now had two Mistresses to answer to.
Megan was far stricter than Sally had ever been. Nothing I did was ever good enough for her. The floors were never clean enough. The meals were never seasoned perfectly. My posture while serving was never obedient enough. She found fault in everything, and she punished me for it without mercy.
She punished me frequently and creatively. A single involuntary whimper or the soft clink of my cuffs earned me a sharp, burning jolt from the shock collar, sometimes set so high it made my legs buckle and left me twitching on the floor. When she felt I needed a harsher lesson, she would bend me over the kitchen table or the back of the couch and whip my bare bottom and thighs with the riding crop until my skin was bright red and stinging, each strike accompanied by a mocking comment about how pathetic I looked. Some nights she would make me count every stroke aloud, and if I missed one, she would start over.
She forced me to wear locked leather cuffs on both my wrists and ankles at all times, connected by short, heavy chains that made me hobble awkwardly around the house like a broken animal. The restraints turned even the simplest tasks into slow, humiliating ordeals, something Megan clearly savored, as it gave her constant excuses to punish me further. Not that she ever seemed to need one.
Before long, I was no longer allowed upstairs in the main part of the house. Megan declared that a slave belonged on the ground floor, or in the basement if she was feeling particularly vicious. At night, she would lock me inside the small, dark cupboard under the stairs. There was barely enough room to curl up on a thin blanket among the stored boxes. My wrists were cuffed tightly behind my back, my collar chained short to a ring on the wall, forcing me into an uncomfortable, helpless position. The door would slam shut, plunging me into suffocating darkness while I listened to Sally and Megan's laughter, moans, and the rhythmic sounds of them fucking upstairs.
One evening, after I had finished my chores, Megan grabbed my cuffed wrists, yanked them painfully behind my back, and pulled them upwards between my shoulders in a painful reverse prayer position. She locked them there, then connected the cuffs to the back of my collar with a short chain, forcing my chest out and my shoulders back. The position was immediately uncomfortable, making my heavier breasts thrust forward prominently as she forced me to hobble from the kitchen to the cupboard.
"Get in there, you pathetic little cunt," she sneered, shoving me down onto the thin blanket. "Look at you, already soaked just from being handled. Disgusting. Can't have a worthless slut like you fingering that greedy, worthless pussy while your betters are upstairs fucking, now can we?"
She locked the leather collar around my neck to the ring on the wall with a sharp click, then gave the chain a hard tug, forcing my head back.
"Slaves don't get to decide when they cum. That dripping hole between your legs belongs to us now. You'll stay locked in here, frustrated and denied, like the desperate, needy cumrag you are. Maybe if you're very, very good, we'll let you hump the floor like a bitch in heat one day and put on a show for us to watch. Until then… enjoy your cage, fucktoy."
Megan stood up, towering over me in the cramped space, a cruel smile on her lips.
"Sweet dreams, fucktoy. Try not to moan too loudly against the door while Sally rides my tongue."
The door slammed shut, plunging me into total darkness. I lay there curled up, listening to their laughter and moans drifting down from the bedroom above.
Later that night, I overheard Megan speaking to Sally in the hallway, her voice carrying clearly through the cupboard door.
"She loves it, you know," Megan said with a mocking laugh. "Don't pretend you haven't noticed. She gets wetter the meaner I am to her. This is exactly what your little slave wants: to be reduced to nothing but a silent, collared cunt who exists to serve. She told me herself she wants to be treated like this. So I'm just giving your precious pet what she craves."
Sally's reply was too quiet for me to hear, but Megan's satisfied chuckle afterwards was unmistakable.
Strangely, I adapted to this new life faster than I expected. The constant humiliation, the strict rules, and Megan's casual cruelty, it all fed something deep and needy inside of me. I had longed to be reduced, controlled, and truly owned, and Megan was more than happy to push those limits further than Sally ever had… or perhaps ever wanted to.
Every sharp word, every sting of the crop, and every long night spent locked in the cupboard reminded me exactly of what I had become. Just a naked, silent, collared submissive slave. Property of my two Mistresses. And deep down, in the quiet moments curled up in the dark, I realized I didn't want it any other way.
Sally, though she still seemed to care for me in her own quiet way, had grown painfully distant over the months. Her business trips overseas became more frequent and much longer, as if she were fleeing the quiet heartbreak that had settled between us. What had once been a fierce, all-consuming passion had slowly withered into something quiet, polite, and routine. I believe she was quietly grieving the loss of the lover she once knew, the girl who had looked at her with desire and equality, now replaced by someone who only wanted to kneel at her feet.
She had watched me slowly surrender more and more of myself, and I think it broke something inside her. The woman who had once kissed me with fire in her eyes now looked at me with a mixture of love, confusion, and sorrow, as though she were mourning someone she could no longer reach. Perhaps she even blamed herself for letting me fall so deeply into this need to be owned. In the end, the easiest thing for her was to stay away.
In her absence, I felt truly forgotten. The woman who had once held me like I was her whole world now treated me more like a cherished but complicated possession she no longer knew how to love the way she used to. My every day, and especially my nights, belonged almost entirely to Megan, whose cruelty grew bolder and sharper with every passing day.
It was during one of her extended trips overseas that everything changed. Megan had been left in full charge of the house, and of me. One quiet afternoon while Sally was gone, Megan was searching through Sally's computer for some old farm records when she stumbled across a folder simply labeled "Meatgirl." Intrigued by the name, she opened it.
Inside were hundreds of photos.
Photo after photo of me, completely naked, collared, hanging helplessly in the barn among the other meatgirls. Some showed me during processing, others during the nightly dance, my body pressed tightly between warm, naked bodies. There were close-ups of me stuffed and glazed on the kitchen counter, trussed up and ready for the oven, and even shots of me being used as a living platter at one of Sally's private dinner parties. Every humiliating, deeply submissive moment had been carefully documented and saved.
Megan stared at the screen for a long time, her eyes widening with dark delight as she clicked through photo after photo. A slow, predatory smile spread across her face, growing sharper and crueler with every humiliating image. When she finally turned to look at me, naked, collared, and kneeling silently beside her chair, her expression was one of pure, vicious satisfaction.
"Well, well, well…" she murmured, her voice low and dripping with contempt. "Look at this. Our quiet little fucktoy slave has been a filthy meatgirl slut all along."
She clicked through more photos, occasionally glancing at me with growing excitement and amusement.
"Jesus Christ… hanging there like a piece of prime beef, getting rubbed and fucked by a bunch of brainless meat cunts every night… Oh, this one is priceless, stuffed, glazed, and trussed up like a fucking Christmas roast. Does Sally even know what a depraved little livestock whore her precious slave really is? Or has she been hiding her eager meat-puppet from me this whole time?"
Megan let out a sharp, mocking laugh.
"Oh, this is perfect, we are going to have so much fun now," she purred, leaning back in the chair. Megan's smile turned sharp and dangerous as she studied my reaction.
"Either way… I think it's time we stopped pretending. Don't you?"
From that moment on, Megan's treatment of me became far more intense. She now had proof of exactly how deep my submissive desires ran, and she was clearly determined to push me even further than Sally ever had.
Megan had always been jealous of my relationship with Sally. Even though Sally had clearly moved on and now shared her bed with Megan, I could tell Megan still saw me as competition, a lingering reminder of the deep bond Sally and I once had. She hated that Sally still held some affection for me, no matter how distant things had become.
A day after discovering the "Meatgirl" folder, Megan summoned me to the office. I entered the room on my hands and knees, as she now required whenever she called for me. The leather collar was locked around my neck, and I was, as always, completely naked. Megan was sitting behind Sally's desk, and the computer screen was turned so I could see it. On display were dozens of photos of me, hanging in the barn, glazed and trussed on the kitchen counter, being used as a living platter at the dinner party.
She leaned back in the chair, eyes cold and triumphant.
"So," she said, her voice sharp with satisfaction, "I can see that you've been a naughty little meatgirl. How long has this been going on?"
I swallowed hard, my cheeks burning with shame. There was no point in denying it. The evidence was right there.
"I… I have played as a meatgirl in the barn," I confessed quietly, my voice soft and submissive. "Many times, Mistress."
Megan's eyes narrowed. "And did you enjoy it?"
I hesitated for only a second before nodding, my face flushing even hotter.
"Yes, Mistress," I whispered. "I enjoyed it… very much."
She leaned forward, clearly aroused by my admission. "Tell me everything. Did Sally put you in there?"
"Yes, Mistress. She still does… occasionally. Sometimes just overnight, sometimes for a few days. She knows how much I need it."
Megan let out a low, mocking laugh. She stood up slowly and walked around the desk until she towered over me.
"So while I'm here thinking I'm Sally's main girl, she's still sneaking her little pet into the barn to play being meat. How pathetic." She grabbed my chin roughly, forcing me to look up at her. "You really get off on being reduced to livestock, don't you?"
I nodded again, unable to deny it. "Yes, Mistress."
Megan's smile turned cruel and delighted. She stroked my cheek almost tenderly, but her eyes were full of possessive hunger.
"Well then, my little meat slut… things are going to change around here. Since you love being treated like livestock so much, I'm going to make sure you get exactly what you crave. And this time, Sally won't be the one deciding when you come out."
She released my chin and stepped back, looking down at my kneeling, naked form with fresh satisfaction.
"From now on, while you belong to both of us, but when Sally's away… your cunt's mine."
Megan had clearly now made up her mind. She was tired of sharing Sally with me. Tired of the constant reminder of what I once was to her. If she wanted to become Sally's only lover, the competition had to go. And she had decided the best way to do that was to get rid of me, or at least make sure that I was no longer a distraction.
So that evening, while Sally was still away on her overseas trip, Megan called me into the living room.
"Fetch the shock collar from the pantry," she ordered coldly.
My heart began to race as I crawled to obey. When I returned, carrying the heavy collar in my mouth like a well-trained pet, Megan was waiting with a small tube of something in her hand, which at first I couldn't make out. As I got closer, it turned out to be glue.
"Present."
I immediately shifted from my crawling position into the proper stance into the position she had trained me to assume; knees wide apart, back straight, hands resting palms-up on my thighs, head slightly bowed in submission. The cool air kissed my exposed pussy as I held the pose, already feeling myself grow wet under her gaze.
Megan took it from my mouth, and she held the thick shock collar in her hands for a moment, then gave her next command.
"Expose."
I obeyed instantly, clasping my hands behind my head and pushing my chest forward. This lifted my heavier breasts and fully exposed my neck and torso. I held the position perfectly still, breathing shallowly, my nipples stiff from nerves and the cool air.
Megan smiled darkly as she removed the simple leather one Sally had given me and then replaced it with the shock collar. Fastening around my neck, pulling it noticeably tighter than usual. The lock clicked shut with a heavy finality. Then she squeezed a generous amount of superglue directly into the locking mechanism, working it deep inside until the lock was thoroughly jammed.
"There," she said with cold satisfaction. "That should keep it on nice and tight. No more taking it off whenever you feel like it, you pathetic little slut."
I swallowed hard, the thick collar now permanently locked around my throat.
Megan then clipped a heavy chain to the front ring of the collar and gave it a sharp tug. "Come, meat. Walk."
She led me out of the house and into the cold night air. The chill hit my naked body instantly. My nipples tightened into hard, aching peaks, both from the cold and from the growing arousal I couldn't deny. Megan's sudden cruelty, her complete control, and the burning jealousy I had long sensed in her sent a deep, shameful thrill through my core.
There was something different in Megan's silence tonight, something colder and more final than her usual cruelty. I had always known she was envious of me, of the history I shared with Sally, of the affection Sally still showed me even after I had become her slave. But tonight felt different. There was a new, darker edge to her possessiveness, as though she had finally decided I was an obstacle that needed to disappear, to be removed from Sally's life entirely.
I walked behind her across the yard, the chain pulling insistently at my neck, the shock collar suddenly feeling like a dead weight. Every step made my breasts sway heavily, and the cool night breeze teased between my thighs, making me humiliatingly aware of how wet I was becoming. A quiet dread coiled low in my stomach. I didn't know what she was planning, but I could feel it in the air, something irrevocable.
Megan didn't speak a single word. She simply led me toward the barn like the livestock I had once begged to become. The building loomed ahead in the darkness, silent and waiting. And deep down, even as fear and a twisted, desperate excitement warred inside me, I realized I was going to let her do whatever she wanted.
She didn't waste any time. Megan took me straight inside the barn, the heavy chain tugging at my shock collar as I walked behind her. The night air was cold, and by the time we reached the processing area, I was already shivering. She stopped in front of the first holding pen, where a fresh batch of meatgirls, delivered just that day, were already hooked into place.
Megan looked at the pen, then at me, a wicked smile spreading across her face. There was clear intent in her eyes, something cruel and final, but at the time, I still thought she was simply joining in with my meatgirl fantasy.
I held up my wrists toward her, trying to show her what came next. She frowned, not understanding. I pointed desperately toward the binding machine mounted on the wall.
She grabbed the chain and yanked me roughly over to it. I obediently raised my wrists and demonstrated how the machine worked. A moment later, the mechanism clicked, and my wrists were locked together in front with the same smooth, sturdy plastic cuffs the other meatgirls wore.
Before I could point toward the washing area, Megan grabbed my jaw with one hand, forcing my mouth open.
"Time to complete the look," she hissed.
She shoved a thick feeding gag between my lips, pushing the large bulb deep into my mouth until it filled me completely. The straps were buckled tightly behind my head, stretching my lips around the gag. I could already taste the faint, sweet residue from the nutrient liquid the other meatgirls were fed.
Megan stepped back and admired her work, clearly pleased.
"There. Now you really look the part."
Megan dragged me back to the pen. I tried one last time, pointing desperately toward the washing area. I knew the proper process, but she grew visibly angry. She pressed the remote on the shock collar.
The jolt that hit me was far stronger than anything Sally had ever used. White-hot pain exploded through my neck and body, making my whole body convulse violently, and my legs buckle as I dropped to the floor, gasping and whimpering around the fat gag.
After that, I meekly let her do whatever she wanted.
She dragged me back to the pen and attached my bound wrists to one of the overhead hooks. The rack lifted me until only my toes barely brushed the floor. I was now hanging helplessly among the fresh batch of new meatgirls, naked, collared, gagged, bound, like the rest of them.
Megan stepped back and looked at me hanging there, her laughter echoing coldly through the dimly lit barn.
"You've made this far too easy for me," she said, her voice dripping with cruel satisfaction. "Getting rid of the competition and finally having Sally all to myself. You really are too stupid and pathetic to see what's happening, aren't you? But then again, I suppose that's why you belong here with all these other dumb cattle."
She reached out and gave my bare rear a hard, stinging slap that made my body sway on the hook.
"Enjoy your time in the barn, meat. I doubt I'll be seeing you again… or ever, if things go my way."
With that, she turned on her heel and walked out, the heavy barn door clanging shut behind her. The sound echoed through the building like a final sentence.
I had no idea where Sally had gone, or how long she would be away. She had stopped communicating with me weeks ago, probably believing I was happily living out my deepest submissive fantasies, which, until now, I had been. I wondered how much of that had been encouraged by Megan whispering in her ear, planting ideas, convincing Sally that this was exactly what I wanted.
Part of me still clung to the fragile hope that this would be like my last long stay in the barn. That Sally would eventually come looking for me. That she would rescue me again, just like before.
But another, quieter voice whispered that this time might be different.
Of course, deep down, I didn't truly mind being left here. Even with the fear twisting in my stomach, a dark, familiar thrill bloomed low in my belly. The cool air on my naked skin, the gentle press of the other meatgirls' warm bodies against mine, the heavy collar and cuffs… it all felt strangely right. I had wanted this once. Begged for it. Now I was truly trapped. Just another piece of meat among the stock. No special treatment. No safety net.
And as the night settled around me, I realized I was going to let it happen.
Megan clearly had no idea what happened here once the lights dimmed to their soft red glow. But I did. And after so many weeks of cold isolation under her rule, I was aching for real physical contact, the warm press of soft, living flesh against mine.
That night was pure bliss. As soon as the lights lowered, the slow, sensual dance began. The meatgirl in front of me started swaying, her smooth back gliding sensuously across my breasts, her spine rolling gently against my sensitive nipples. Behind me, the girl pressed even closer, her heavy breasts molding firmly to my back, her stiff nipples tracing slow, teasing circles across my skin as her hips rolled in a deliberate grind against my bottom.
I moved with them instinctively, lost in the living chain of warm, naked bodies. Soft breasts rubbed and compressed against me from both sides. Thighs slipped slickly between mine. Bellies and hips ground together in a slow, rhythmic press. The air grew thick with the sweet, musky scent of shared arousal.
When the first powerful wave of orgasm hit me, it was overwhelming. I had been denied for so long that the pleasure crashed through me like a tidal wave. For a few blissful seconds I forgot everything, including the shock collar, and cried out in pure joy as my climax tore through my body.
The collar activated instantly. A brutal, white-hot jolt ripped through my neck and throat, far stronger than anything I had felt before. My legs gave out completely. Only my bound wrists, hooked high above me, kept me from collapsing entirely. I hung there, shaking violently, tears streaming down my cheeks as the mixture of intense pleasure and punishing pain left me gasping and limp.
I must have passed out for a while. When I finally came to, the barn was quiet. The other meatgirls had settled into sleep, their bodies gently swaying in the red-tinged darkness. I hung there among them, spent, sore, and still tingling from the aftermath of my orgasm and the cruel shock. Even through the lingering pain, a deep, submissive satisfaction settled over me. I was back where I belonged. Just another meatgirl in the pen.
The following morning, after the first feeding of the day, the cool nutrient liquid still settling pleasantly in my belly, the workers arrived and began processing the latest delivery.
"Alroight lads, first job this mornin', get this lot washed down proper," the supervisor drawled. "That bloody truck broke down on the road again, made 'em proper late it did."
We were all pushed through the washing machine in one long line. The strong chemical jets blasted over my body once again, stripping away any tiny trace of regrowth and leaving my skin completely smooth and hairless from head to toe. The familiar sting and thoroughness of it no longer shocked me; it simply reinforced what I had become.
After the rinse and hot air dryer, we were moved on to the scanning and barcoding station. The machine pressed coldly against my skin, the familiar prick and deep hum registering me yet again as stock. Because I still wore the shock collar Megan had permanently locked on me, the system continued to treat me as just another meatgirl under Sally's ownership number.
Once the processing was complete, we were returned to the same holding pen we had been in the night before. The overhead rack gently lowered me back into place, and I was once again pressed chest-to-back between two other warm, naked bodies. We were left alone for the rest of the day, gently swaying in the long living chain.
At one point, the supervisor walked close by our pen. He had seen me many times before, naked and collared around the farmhouse, serving him and the other staff drinks and food in complete silence. This time, as his eyes swept over the hanging meatgirls, they landed on me and stopped.
He did a visible double-take.
For a long moment, he stared, his brow furrowed, clearly trying to reconcile the naked, collared, hairless girl hanging helplessly among the stock with the one he had seen serving in the house. His mouth opened as if he was about to say something, perhaps even ask what I was doing there.
Then one of the other workers called out to him with some issue that needed his immediate attention. He glanced back at me one last time, shook his head slightly as if dismissing what he thought he'd seen, and walked away to deal with the problem.
I hung there, heart pounding, a strange mix of deep humiliation and dark arousal washing through me. He had almost recognized me… almost realized that one of the meatgirls was actually the owner's former submissive slave. But in the end, I was just another smooth, anonymous body among the stock.
The thought sent a deep, submissive shiver through me. I was truly disappearing.
That night, after the evening feeding, I was much more careful, and I remembered the shock collar this time. As the lights dimmed to their familiar soft red glow and the slow, sensual dance began once more, I lost myself completely in the warm press of bodies. The meatgirl in front of me swayed and rubbed her smooth back against my breasts, while the one behind me pressed her breasts firmly into my back, her stiff nipples dragging teasingly across my skin. Hips rolled, thighs slipped slickly between mine, and the living chain of warm, naked flesh moved as one.
I managed to stay silent through the first powerful orgasm that rolled through me, biting down hard on the feeding gag as my body shuddered and clenched between the two girls. The second one of the night came much slower and was far deeper. I rode the building waves with them, grinding shamelessly, until the pleasure crashed over me again and again in long, rolling pulses. This time, I stayed quiet; no sound escaped me. The absence of punishment only made the release feel even sweeter. Afterwards, I drifted off into a deep, peaceful sleep, hanging limply between the warm bodies of the other meatgirls, utterly content.
The next morning began the usual routine that I had grown so familiar with in my previous times in the barn. The first feeding gently woke me, the cool, nutrient-rich liquid flowing steadily down my throat. Shortly after, the farmhands arrived, and the racking system moved our section out to the exercise yard. My wrists were then unhooked from the overhead rack and reattached to one of the long arms of the turntable.
For the next couple of hours, I walked in endless circles under the morning sun, my body growing warm and slick with sweat, the constant motion pressing me occasionally against the other meatgirls around me. After the exercise came the thorough washing. Strong jets of water and chemicals blasted over my body, stripping away the sweat and the sticky evidence of last night's pleasure, once again leaving me completely smooth and hairless from head to toe.
We were then returned to the pen for the midday feeding. The rest of the afternoon passed in quiet suspension, nothing to do but hang there, gently swaying in the long chain of warm, naked bodies, breasts pressed to backs, skin against skin. Then came the evening feed, followed by the soft red glow of night-time… and the return of the sensual dance.
This had become my world now. A simple, repetitive, deeply comforting rhythm. And with every passing day, I sank further into it, more meatgirl than human.
The boredom of the daily routine was only broken by the occasional tour groups that passed through the barn.
Some days, I was completely ignored, just another anonymous piece of stock hanging silently among the others. The visitors would walk past without a second glance, treating me exactly like the meat I had become. Other times, especially with younger or rowdier groups, I was not so lucky. I was poked, prodded, slapped, and openly groped. Some of the bolder ones would squeeze my heavier breasts, tug on my nipples, or run their hands roughly between my thighs, commenting crudely on my "prime cuts" or how wet I was getting. Depending on the age and boldness of the group, the torment could range from casual objectification to outright abuse.
Thankfully, this time, no one left permanent markings on my body. I couldn't imagine enduring the brutal scrubbing process again with Megan's upgraded shock collar locked around my neck. Even the thought of it made me shudder.
Each feeding was something I had come to relish. As I progressed deeper into the barn, now well past the sixth pen, the nutrient liquid became richer, thicker, and more satisfying. The heavier fattening formula had a slightly sweet, almost addictive taste that I eagerly sucked down through the tube. I could already feel its effects: my breasts were noticeably fuller and heavier, my hips and bottom softer and rounder, my whole body gently plumping up in the way that made later-stage meatgirls so desirable.
I hung there day after day, swaying gently in the long chain of warm flesh, my mind growing quieter and more accepting with every passing hour. The routine had become strangely comforting. Exercise, washing, feeding, hanging, and the nightly dance that still brought me intense, silent orgasms.
And through it all, one quiet thought remained: How long would Megan leave me here?
And even quieter, more dangerous: Did Sally even know I was still in the barn?
My body had started changing again.
My breasts felt noticeably heavier, hanging fuller and softer against the girl in front of me. My tummy had begun to develop a gentle, rounded softness, and my hips and bottom felt plumper, pressing more luxuriously into the warm flesh behind me. The changes were subtle at first, but they grew more obvious with each passing day. I knew exactly what was causing it, the heavier fattening feed and the mind-calming drugs mixed into it. Sally had explained the whole process to me during my previous stay. It was designed to soften and plump the meatgirls, making them tender and juicy.
What surprised me most was how relaxed my mind had become. The constant, gentle haze made everything feel simpler, warmer, more natural. Worries about how long I would be left here, or what Megan might do next, drifted further and further away. I was adjusting. I was accepting. I was becoming exactly what they wanted me to be.
It had taken me a long time to regain my normal body weight after my previous lengthy stay in the barn. Though my breasts had remained noticeably larger than before, something Sally used to enjoy teasing and tormenting with great delight, squeezing them, slapping them, and calling them her "perfect little fillets." But that was before Megan came along and everything changed.
Now those same fuller breasts swayed heavily with every movement of the line, brushing constantly against the smooth back in front of me. The extra weight and softness only made me feel more like meat, and I found myself quietly thrilled by it.
Then one day the exercise session moved to the afternoon. The small change made me realise just how deep I had progressed into the barn. I was now well into the fattening pens, far beyond where I had been on my previous stay.
I sometimes wondered where Sally was, and whether Megan had told her I was still here. Those thoughts would flicker through my mind for a moment… then dissolve as the next feeding arrived. The richer, heavier formula flowed down my throat, thick and slightly sweet, and my mind grew foggier with every passing day. Worries melted away. Everything felt softer, slower, simpler.
My body was changing too. My breasts had grown noticeably bigger and heavier, swaying and bouncing with every movement on the turntable or press of the girl in front of me. My tummy had developed a soft, rounded pouch, and my hips and bottom felt plush and full. I caught myself thinking about them in the same way Sally once had.
These would make a great roast… I thought dreamily, imagining my heavy breasts presented on a platter. Or maybe dumplings… or sliced up nice and thin for sandwiches. The thought sent a warm, submissive flush through me. I wonder if Sally would enjoy eating mine… if she'd take her time savoring them, or share them with her guests.
The idea no longer frightened me. It felt… right. I was becoming exactly what I had always secretly wanted to be. The drugs in the heavier feed had started to work their magic on me more deeply with every passing day.
I grew steadily more docile, more content to hang there among the other meatgirls. My thoughts had slowed to a gentle, hazy drift. There was no need to worry, no need to plan, no need to be anything at all except warm, soft, available flesh. I existed in quiet suspension, waiting peacefully for the next feeding or for the overhead rack to carry us out to the exercise yard.
The routine had completely blended into one long, comforting cycle: feeding, exercise, washing, feeding again, and then the long, quiet hours hanging in the pen. Even the nightly dance had changed. In the earlier pens, it had been eager and intense, full of desperate grinding and shared pleasure. Now, deeper in the fattening section, it was much gentler, almost sleepy. The movements were slower, lazier, less urgent. Some nights there was barely any dance at all, just the soft, warm press of bodies and the gentle rise and fall of breathing as we all drifted in a shared, hazy contentment.
I didn't mind. In fact, I preferred it this way. The heavy, rich feed left me feeling full, soft, and pleasantly heavy. My breasts rested heavily against the girl in front of me, my rounded tummy and plush bottom pressing back into the girl behind. I was becoming exactly what the system wanted me to be: calm, docile, perfectly marbled meat.
And every day, I sank a little deeper into that blissful, mindless acceptance.
By now, I had been in the barn for several weeks, or maybe a couple of months. I no longer knew, and truthfully, I no longer cared. Meatgirls don't concern themselves with time, or days of the week, or how long they've been hanging here. We're just meat on the hook, after all.
Some of the tour groups had called us "dumb animals." At first, those words stung. Now they felt… accurate. Comforting, even. I had stopped thinking of myself as human anymore. That version of me, Vicky, felt like someone from a half-remembered dream. I was just another meatgirl now.
My mind had grown soft and hazy from the constant feedings and the drugs laced into them. I existed in a pleasant, docile fog, swaying gently between the warm bodies pressed against me. My only real thoughts were simple ones: the next feeding, the slow sway of the line, the comforting press of soft breasts against my back and chest, and the quiet anticipation of the nightly dance (even if it had become gentler and sleepier the deeper we moved into the fattening pens).
I had fully accepted my place. I was livestock. Product. A smooth, plump, well-marinated piece of meat being processed for market. Sooner or later, I would reach the final pens, be loaded onto a truck, and sent off to be slaughtered and butchered like all the others.
And the thought no longer frightened me. It felt… right. I was exactly where I belonged.
The day finally came when we reached the end of the barn.
We were moved into the last holding pen, the final stop before sale or slaughter. This would be our last night here. The air felt heavier, thicker with anticipation. Even the other meatgirls seemed to sense it. As the lights slowly dimmed to their familiar soft red glow, they began the dance with a kind of desperate urgency, as if they all knew this would be the last time they could lose themselves in each other's warmth.
I joined them without hesitation.
My now softer, plumper body pressed eagerly against the meatgirl in front of me. My heavier breasts molded firmly into her back, my sensitive nipples dragging across her smooth skin with every sway. Behind me, another girl pushed close, her full, rounded breasts squishing against my back as her hips rolled in slow, deliberate circles against my plush bottom.
The entire pen came alive.
The movements were deeper and more intense than they had been in recent weeks. Warm, silky skin slid and rubbed together in a living wave. Breasts compressed and dragged, nipples flicked and teased, hips and thighs ground with slick, needy friction. The air grew thick with the sweet, musky scent of shared arousal.
I rubbed my softer, fuller body against the girl in front of me with shameless hunger, rolling my hips, pressing my breasts harder into her back, arching as the girl behind me ground against me. The constant, intimate contact quickly pushed me toward the edge.
My first orgasm hit hard and fast. I clenched my teeth around the feeding gag, trying desperately to stay silent as powerful spasms ripped through me. My body shook violently between the two girls, my pussy and rear clenching rhythmically as waves of pleasure crashed over me.
I barely had time to recover before the second one built. This one came slower, deeper, rolling through me like a long, rolling tide. My softer, heavier body trembled and shuddered as I came again, lost completely in the warm, living chain of flesh surrounding me. When it finally passed, I hung there limp and glowing, breathing heavily, my mind blissfully empty.
This was it. Our last night as meatgirls in the barn. Tomorrow we would be loaded onto the truck and taken to slaughter.
And in that moment, surrounded by warm, swaying bodies and still tingling from two powerful orgasms, I felt nothing but deep, peaceful acceptance. I was ready.
The next morning, the feeding started earlier than usual for our pen. It was time for us to move on, so there was no point wasting too much feed on meatgirls who wouldn't be staying. The liquid that flowed down my throat was lighter and smaller in quantity, leaving me with a lingering hunger, a deep, empty ache that only made me feel more like the livestock I had become.
The workers soon arrived. The low rumble of a large truck backing up outside sent a flutter through the pen. One by one, each meatgirl was unhooked from the overhead rack and carried out. Then it was my turn.
A strong farmhand lifted me easily, freeing my wrists from the hook before dropping me over his broad shoulder. I hung there head-down, my heavier breasts swaying against his back, my plump bottom presented high in the air. His large, rough hand gripped my thigh to steady me, his fingers resting just inches from my most sensitive spot. If he had slid them forward even a little, he would have found me still slick and swollen from the previous night's dance.
I was carried out of the barn like any other piece of meat. As he walked across the yard, I heard a familiar voice, Sally's. She was right there, supervising the loading with her usual calm authority. My heart leapt for a moment. She'll see me, I thought. She'll recognize me and stop this.
But hanging upside down over the worker's shoulder, my face hidden behind my own dangling body and hairless head, she didn't seem to notice me at all. Or perhaps she simply didn't care. Maybe she believed this was exactly what I had always wanted. Maybe Megan had convinced her that I was happier this way.
Either way, I was soon loaded into the back of the truck. My wrists were reattached to one of the overhead hooks inside the cargo area. I hung there among the other fresh meatgirls, naked, collared, bound, and completely helpless. Once the last girl from our pen was secured, the heavy rear doors slammed shut with a loud, final clang. The truck rumbled to life and began to move, carrying its cargo of warm, living meat away from the farm.
I swayed gently with the motion of the truck, my body pressed lightly against the girls on either side of me. The reality of what was happening settled over me like a thick, warm blanket. I was no longer Sally's secret little meatgirl. I was just another anonymous piece of stock, heading to slaughter.
And in the quiet darkness of the truck, surrounded by the soft breathing and gentle swaying of the other girls, I felt a deep, peaceful acceptance wash through me. This, I guess, was what I had always secretly wanted, deep down in the hidden depths of my submissive mind, to be reduced to nothing more than a meatgirl.
A product. Livestock. Just warm, soft, well-fattened flesh to be processed and made ready for market.
Maybe this was where I had always been fated to end up. I hung there in the gently swaying truck, surrounded by the soft breathing and warm bodies of the other meatgirls, and felt a deep, peaceful acceptance settle over me. No more worries. No more choices. No more pretending to be anything other than what I truly was.
Just meat on the hook.
I would soon be taken to auction, or straight to the slaughterhouse to be butchered and sold to whichever customer wanted me. My heavier breasts would be carved into fillets or roasted whole. My plump rear would make perfect roasts. My soft, marbled body would be prepared and served on someone's plate. And the thought no longer scared me.
It felt… right.
I was exactly where I belonged. Just another anonymous meatgirl on her way to her final purpose, to be enjoyed, consumed, and savored. I closed my eyes and let the gentle motion of the truck rock me, a quiet, contented smile forming around the feeding gag. I was meat now. And soon, I would be nothing more than meat on the plate.
Unknown to me, as I swayed helplessly in the back of the departing truck, Sally had only just returned from her long overseas trip that same morning.
She had arrived just in time to catch the final loading of the latest batch of meatgirls being taken from the barn. Dressed in her usual practical farm clothes, she stood talking with the supervisor, catching up on everything that had happened in the barn during her absence, stock numbers, progress through the pens, quality of the latest clones, and any issues that needed addressing.
She watched the last few girls being loaded without any particular emotion, just the calm, professional eye of someone who had done this hundreds of times before. If she noticed anything unusual about one of the meatgirls, she gave no sign. To her, they were simply product moving through the system.
Once the truck doors were closed and it rumbled away down the road, Sally turned and headed back toward the farmhouse. The moment she stepped inside, Megan was waiting for her.
Their reunion was immediate and passionate. Megan pulled Sally into a long, smoldering kiss, hands sliding possessively around her waist. Sally responded with equal hunger, fingers tangling in Megan's hair as they pressed together. Weeks apart had left them both aching for each other.
They barely made it upstairs.
Clothes were shed in a frantic trail across the bedroom floor. They fell into bed together, kissing deeply, touching greedily, bodies moving with familiar, desperate need. Megan took control, pinning Sally down and bringing her to a powerful climax with her mouth and fingers. Sally returned the favor just as eagerly, riding Megan's thigh before burying her face between her legs until Megan cried out in release.
They brought each other to several shuddering orgasms, lost in each other's bodies, the rest of the world forgotten. When they finally collapsed, exhausted and glowing, they curled tightly together in each other's arms. Contented. Sated. Perfectly at peace.
They fell asleep like that, Sally's head resting on Megan's chest, Megan's fingers gently stroking her hair, completely unaware that the truck carrying me had already disappeared down the road, taking me toward my final fate.
It was only the following morning, as they lay together in bed, that Sally finally asked the question.
"Where's Vicky?"
Megan stretched lazily against her, tracing a finger down Sally's bare shoulder. "Oh, she decided to go home," she said casually, her voice smooth and unconcerned. "She told me she felt like she was just in the way between us. That she didn't want to be a distraction anymore. So she packed up and left."
Sally frowned slightly, but nodded. "I see…"
At first, she accepted the explanation. The relationship between them had grown complicated over time, and Vicky had always been… intense about her submission. Perhaps it had finally become too much for her. Maybe it's for the best, she thought.
But as the morning wore on, small nagging doubts began to creep in.
Sally noticed my clothes, the few items that I still owned, were still locked away in the cupboard where she had stored them months ago. Then she found other things I would never have left behind: my phone charger, a small necklace that Sally had given me as a special gift, and a few personal items I had kept hidden. But most telling of all was when she eventually discovered my mobile phone.
Curious and growing more uneasy, Sally had dialed my number, wanting to make contact and reassure herself that I was still okay.
But then she heard a faint ringing sound coming from downstairs. She followed the sound to the small cupboard under the stairs where I slept. The ringing grew louder as she opened the door. There, tucked away on a high shelf, was my phone, exactly where it shouldn't be if I had truly left the farm.
Sally stared at it for a long moment, her expression hardening. She knew me better than that. I would never have left without my phone. It was my only way to access banking, to book travel, to function in the outside world. I wouldn't have simply walked away and abandoned it.
Something was very wrong.
She turned slowly toward Megan, who was now standing at the top of the stairs watching her with a carefully neutral expression.
"Megan," Sally said, her voice low and dangerously calm, "what have you done with her?"
"Nothing, babe," she lied, "I guess that foolish girl just forgot to take her things, her mind was probably elsewhere, you know how vacant she's been lately."
For the moment, Sally let things go, still unsure, but accepted Megan at her word.
The next morning, Sally could no longer ignore the growing knot in her stomach. It had kept her awake at night, wondering where I was, and if I was safe.
So she confronted Megan in the living room, her arms crossed, eyes hard. "Where is she? And don't lie to me again like you did yesterday."
Megan sighed theatrically. "I already told you, she went home. That silly girl probably left her phone behind because she's an airhead. She said she felt like she was in the way between us."
Sally's jaw tightened. But she kept pushing.
"I don't believe that she'd just leave like that."
"Look, she's gone, now it's just you and me, babe."
"Don't babe me, I know that there's something that happened between you two while I was away."
"I…" she stammered, but was stopped by Sally.
"Don't fucking lie, bitch, you've done something to her, now tell me," Sally yelled, her anger building.
Finally, Megan's mask cracked.
"Fine," she snapped. "I found the photos on your computer. All those pictures of her playing being a meatgirl in the barn. So I just put her in there with the others. She wanted it, Sally. She even showed me how to bind her wrists and where to hook her. She practically begged for it."
Sally's face drained of color. "How long?"
Megan shrugged. "A day or two after you left. I didn't want her hanging around the house like some pathetic naked pet while you were gone."
"That was nearly three months ago!" Sally's voice cracked with horror. "The full processing cycle only takes two to three months. She could already be sold!"
"Well, she got what she always wanted then," Megan said coldly. "You've never let her go all the way. She's just another meatgirl now."
Sally stared at her in disbelief, her hands starting to shake. "How could you do this?"
"I thought you wouldn't mind," Megan replied with a shrug. "You kept her naked and collared like a slave anyway. I was just giving her what she really craved."
Sally's eyes filled with fury and pain. "I can't let her go through with this. I need to find her before it's too late."
"Maybe you should just let her go," Megan said, stepping closer. "It's what she wants. And you have me now… for company… and your bed."
"No," Sally shouted, shoving Megan away. "You did this. You've never liked having her around. This is all your doing. I didn't realize just how much you hated her being here, but to do this… this is sick."
"I was only doing it for us, babe…"
"Don't you dare call me that," Sally snarled. "You've killed her. Do you realize what you've done?"
Megan stammered, suddenly shocked by Sally's reaction. "I… I never thought…"
"Get out of my sight," Sally hissed. "In fact, pack your stuff and get the fuck off my property before I do to you what you did to her. GET. OUT!"
Megan backed away, then spat spitefully, "I hope she suffers…"
Her words were cut off.
Sally moved like lightning, slamming a hard punch into Megan's face. The blow sent her staggering backwards, crashing into the door and collapsing in a slumped heap on the floor, unconscious.
Sally stood over her for a moment, breathing hard. For a brief, dark second, she considered dragging Megan out to the barn, shaving her head, and throwing her into a pen with the others. But a calmer voice won out. She had much more important and urgent things to do.
She grabbed Megan by the hair, dragged her roughly out of the house, and left her on the front porch like discarded trash.
Then she ran back inside, straight to her office. Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she pulled up the farm's stock database and entered the number from the collar we had taken off the meatgirl in the pantry, the one that I had always insisted on wearing as my own.
The screen loaded.
Sally's face went white.
"Oh no…" she whispered, her voice breaking. "She's already gone…"
She had stood there the day before, casually watching the loading, never realizing that one of those naked, collared meatgirls being loaded onto the truck was me.
Tears streamed down her face as she stared at the screen in horror. "Oh, my beautiful sweetheart… where are you now?"
Eventually, the truck arrived at our destination.
The rear doors opened with a loud metallic clang, letting in a rush of cooler air and bright artificial lights. The manhandling of the meatgirls began immediately. One by one, each of us was unhooked and carried out of the truck into a large holding pen. Wrists were quickly reattached to overhead hooks, leaving us hanging once more.
When it became my turn, a strong, muscular woman lifted me easily from the truck and slung my softer, heavier body over her shoulder. I hung head-down, my plump breasts swaying against her back. Her rough hand gripped high on my thigh… then slid deliberately between my legs. Her fingers found me still slick and swollen from the previous night's dance.
"You've been a naughty meatgirl, haven't you?" she chuckled, her voice low and amused as her fingertips teased along my outer folds. "Already wet and ready. Such an eager little fillet."
I blushed furiously, the heat spreading across my face and chest, but I couldn't deny the fresh wave of arousal her touch caused. Her fingers fumbled and stroked teasingly against my tender pussy for a few moments longer before she carried me into the pen.
She hung me on an overhead hook like the rest, then gave my bare rear a firm, loud slap that made my plump cheeks jiggle. "You just hang there nicely," she said with a grin. "I'll bet you'll taste great. Maybe I'll even bid on you myself… and slowly savor that tasty pussy fillet between your thighs."
With that, she gave my bottom one last possessive pat and walked away.
Later, the workers came through and connected our feeding tubes. The lights gradually dimmed, and we were left alone for the night. Some of the meatgirls were too tired or resigned to move, simply hanging limp and quiet. But others, sensing this might be their last night, began to stir.
I was lucky. I found myself pressed between two meatgirls who clearly wanted to make the most of it. The one in front started swaying first, rubbing her smooth back sensuously against my heavier breasts. The one behind me pressed even closer, her full breasts molding firmly to my back as her hips began to roll in slow, deliberate circles against my bottom.
Soon all three of us were lost in that special erotic dance I had come to love so much. Warm skin slid and rubbed together. Breasts compressed and dragged, nipples teased sensitive flesh, hips and thighs moved in a slow, slick rhythm. The shared heat and intimacy pushed me higher and higher until two powerful, shuddering orgasms rolled through me, leaving me trembling and gasping between their warm bodies.
It was a very exhausted but deeply happy meatgirl who finally drifted off to sleep that night, hanging peacefully among the others, my mind calm and content.
This was my world now.
And I had never felt more at peace.
The next morning, I was gently woken by the familiar flow of cool liquid through my feeding tube. The nutrient-rich mixture tasted slightly different here, richer, almost sweeter, as if the auction house wanted us to look our absolute best for potential buyers.
All around me, the other meatgirls in the pen began to stir. Soft sighs and the gentle rustle of bodies filled the air as they stretched their limbs as best they could while still hanging from the overhead hooks. The warm press of flesh against my front and back, heavy breasts resting against me, smooth bellies and hips shifting, reminded me once again that I was just one small part of a much larger collection of living stock.
I looked around the large holding area and saw dozens of other pens, each one filled with naked, collared meatgirls just like us. Some were still dozing, others were already swaying gently. This had to be the auction house that Sally had once told me about, the final stop before sale. The realization settled over me with a strange, peaceful calm.
My time as a meatgirl won't be too long now, I thought.
Soon I would stand on the auction block, displayed for bidders to inspect. They would squeeze my heavier breasts, slap my plump rear, and check how tender and juicy I had become. Someone would buy me. I would be taken away, prepared, roasted, or butchered, and eventually served on someone's table.
The thought no longer filled me with fear. It felt… inevitable. Right, even.
I had wanted this. I had begged for it. And now, hanging here among so many other soft, silent girls, I felt a deep, quiet acceptance.
I was meat.
And very soon, I would fulfill my purpose.
Back at the farm, things moved quickly.
Megan stormed across the yard after the confrontation, her face still red from Sally's punch. As she climbed into her car, she hissed one last threat: "I'll have you arrested for assault, you crazy bitch."
Sally's voice was ice-cold. "Go ahead. And when the police arrive, I'll be sure to mention how you put my niece through the meatgirl processing system and sent her off to be slaughtered. I doubt you'd last long in prison… though you'd make someone a very good prison bitch."
Megan's face twisted in rage, but she said nothing more. She slammed the car door and sped off in a cloud of dust and gravel.
Sally stood in the driveway for a long moment, breathing hard, then turned to the supervisor who had witnessed the entire scene.
"Take care of the farm while I'm gone," she said. "I have something important to do."
She made several urgent phone calls, then climbed into her car and drove off at speed.
"Hold on, my sweet," she whispered to herself, gripping the wheel tightly. "I'm so sorry… please hold on."
Sally drove to the auction house at breakneck speed, arriving just as bidding was beginning on the first pens. She rushed inside, heart pounding, terrified she might already be too late.
She approached the auction staff, keeping her voice steady. "I'm Sally Thompson, owner of Thompson Farms. There appears to have been an error with one of the batches delivered yesterday. I need to check the stock numbers on a particular pen before they go to auction."
A staff member led her through the holding area to a pen containing around a dozen meatgirls. Sally's eyes swept desperately over the naked, collared figures hanging there. After weeks in the fattening pens, they all looked strikingly similar, soft, plump bodies, smooth skin, bald, with heavy breasts, and identical expressions of docile calm. She couldn't immediately tell which one was me.
Her stomach twisted with fear.
"Is this the batch?" the staff member asked.
Sally forced herself to stay composed. "Yes… I think so." She quickly checked the inventory sheet, scanning the list until she found the stock number that matched the collar we had taken from the pantry meatgirl months ago.
There it was.
"That's the one," she said, her voice tight with relief. "I'll need to take this entire lot back to the farm."
The staff member looked surprised. "That's highly irregular, Miss Thompson. Once they're here, they become our property. You'll have to bid on them like everyone else if you want them back."
Sally's hands tightened into fists at her sides, but she nodded. "I understand. I do want them. Please, before they go to auction."
The staff member handed her a bidder number with a sigh. "Your lot will be up in the next hour or so. You'll need to be here next to the pen to make your bid."
"I will. Thank you."
As the staff member walked away, Sally stepped closer to the bars of the pen, her eyes moving frantically from one meatgirl to the next. She still couldn't pick me out by sight alone among the identical soft bodies. Tears welled in her eyes as the full horror of what had happened crashed over her.
"Oh, my beautiful sweetheart…" she whispered, voice breaking. "What have I done to you?"
I hung there, oblivious, just another meatgirl among the stock. Sally's heart twisted painfully in her chest.
"I'm here now," she murmured under her breath. "Just hold on a little longer, my love. I'm going to get you out of there."
Inside the pen, I could hear muffled voices drifting from somewhere outside, but the constant announcements crackling over the loudspeakers, "Lot 47 sold… Lot 52 now open for bidding…", made it impossible to tell who was speaking or what was being said.
The meatgirls around me were packed tightly together, warm bare skin pressed against me on all sides. Soft, heavy breasts rested against my back and chest, smooth hips and bellies brushed mine with every small shift. I was wedged deep in the middle of the group, unable to see anything beyond the forest of naked bodies surrounding me. There was no point in trying to look anyway.
A deep, comforting warmth radiated from all the girls, their slow breathing and gentle swaying lulling me into a dreamy, half-awake state. My mind had grown wonderfully quiet these past weeks. The constant fog from the feed, the endless routine, and the drugs had done their work. I no longer worried about what would happen next.
I knew I would soon be sold.
Someone would buy me. They would take me away, prepare my body, and use me however they wished, whether roasted whole, carved into choice cuts, or whatever else pleased them. That was my purpose now. That was what I had become.
A soft, peaceful acceptance settled over me as I hung there, surrounded by the gentle heat of my sister meatgirls. My heavier breasts rose and fell slowly against the girl in front of me. I let my eyes drift half-closed.
Whatever came next… I was ready.
I was meat.
Outside the pen, Sally pressed closer to the bars, her heart hammering in her chest. She strained to see through the tightly packed bodies, desperate for a glimpse of me, to make sure that I was in there.
Maybe they made a mistake, she thought frantically. Maybe she's in a different pen.
She checked the inventory sheet again, and then a third time, her finger tracing my stock number on the printed list. There was no mistake. I was in this pen.
The sound of the auction grew steadily louder as each previous lot was sold. The auctioneer's voice boomed over the loudspeakers, the rapid-fire bidding growing closer with every passing minute. Buyers began gathering around the area, eager eyes scanning the hanging meatgirls.
Then it was our turn.
The auctioneer stepped up, gesturing toward our pen with a broad sweep of his arm. "Next up, ladies and gentlemen, Lot 89! A fine pen of twelve premium fat sows, properly raised and fattened by a well-respected local farm. Just look at that marbling and fat-to-meat ratio! These girls are prime quality, perfect for any high-end dining restaurant or luxury hotel. Who'll start the bidding?"
Sally's hand shot up immediately.
But she was instantly outbid.
Panic flared in her chest as the price climbed with frightening speed.
Hands flew up all around her.
The bidding became a blur of shouts and gestures. Sally kept raising her paddle, refusing to back down, but for several terrifying moments she wasn't even sure she was still in the lead.
Inside the pen, the noise from outside had become almost deafening. The rapid-fire shouts of bidders, the constant crackle of the loudspeaker, and the auctioneer's booming voice all blurred together into one overwhelming roar. I couldn't make out individual words anymore, just a frantic storm of sound that rose and fell like waves crashing around me.
I didn't try to understand it. There was no need. My mind had grown soft and peaceful, wrapped in the warm fog of the feed and the comforting press of so many soft, naked bodies against mine. Heavy breasts rested warmly against my back and chest. Smooth bellies and hips shifted gently with every breath. I was safely tucked deep in the middle of the pen, surrounded by my sister meatgirls, and that was enough.
My time has come, I thought dreamily. I'll soon be sold and taken away… just like I always dreamed of and wanted.
I let my eyes drift half-closed, surrendering once more to the gentle heat and rhythmic breathing around me.
Then — CRACK!
The sharp, sudden slam of the auctioneer's gavel cut through the noise like a whip. The loud bang startled me out of my haze. My body jolted, breasts bouncing heavily, and a small, muffled sound escaped around my gag before I could stop it.
For a brief moment, my heart raced. The pen had been sold.
I was no longer Sally's. I belonged to someone else now.
A strange, fluttering mix of acceptance and nervous excitement settled low in my belly as I felt the overhead rack begin to move, slowly pulling our entire group forward toward whatever came next.
The frenzy in the auction hall eventually narrowed down to just two serious bidders, Sally and a well-dressed older man who clearly wanted the entire pen for his restaurant chain.
The price kept soaring higher and higher.
Each time the man raised his bid, Sally answered, her jaw clenched, eyes burning with determination.
The amount had already reached a small fortune.
Then the man made one final, aggressive bid.
Without hesitation, Sally shot her paddle high into the air and called out a significantly higher number, one that made several people around her gasp.
The auctioneer paused, looking between them. "I have a new high bid. Do I hear any more?"
The other bidder hesitated… then shook his head.
"Sold!" the auctioneer boomed, slamming his gavel with finality. "Sold to the lady in the front row! Ladies and gentlemen, I think we may have just set a new record for a pen of prime fatted sows today. Well done! Let's move on to Lot 90…"
A wave of polite applause rippled through the bidding area.
Sally let out a long, shaky breath, her shoulders finally dropping. It was over. She had actually won. The cost had been eye-watering, far more than she had anticipated, but it was worth it. She had bought me back. Her lover. Her sweet, precious girl.
Still, she forced herself to remain composed. There were too many people around, buyers, staff, curious onlookers, for her to push through the crowd and step into the pen.
She couldn't risk anyone seeing the emotional reunion or realizing one of the meatgirls was not actually stock. That would cause too much of a stir and would probably involve the Meatgirl Authority looking into things at her farm. So she turned away, heart still racing, and headed to the office to complete the payment and arrange transport back to the farm.
She had no idea what she was going to do with eleven extra fat sows, but that problem could wait.
Once the paperwork was signed and the delivery arranged, Sally returned to the holding area. She walked slowly along the outside of the pens until she reached mine. Pressing close to the bars, she searched through the tightly packed bodies, her chest tightened with a painful mix of love and guilt.
She leaned in as close as she dared and whispered, her voice low and tender, meant only for me:
"Won't be long now, my sweet little meatgirl… you'll soon be home."
It was agony for Sally to walk away from the pen, but she forced herself to do it. She couldn't risk drawing any attention to the fact that one of the meatgirls was her lover, not here, not surrounded by buyers and staff. The mistake had been made long ago, and she was determined to set it right the moment she got me home.
When she finally arrived back at the farm, she immediately called her supervisor into her office and closed the door. With a heavy heart, she told him everything: how Megan had discovered the photos, how she had collared me and sent me into the barn without Sally's knowledge, and how she had just spent a small fortune buying the entire pen back at auction.
The supervisor listened quietly, then gave a slow nod.
"I thought I saw the lass in there a while back," he said calmly, rubbing his chin. "Just figured you two were playin' one of yer games again."
Sally blinked in surprise. "You knew?"
"I wouldn't be much of a supervisor if I didn't keep me eyes open, would I?" he drawled, giving a little shrug. "Especially not when it comes to that young lady of yours."
Sally let out a shaky breath. "I should have trusted you sooner."
"No need to explain yourself," he said with a slow shrug. "Whatever games you and Missy get up to is none of my business to interfere, is it, long as the farm keeps runnin' smooth like."
Sally managed a weak smile. "She's due back with the truck sometime today. Could you have the hands unload them and put them in the barn. I'll come get her myself once everyone's gone for the day."
"No need to hang about waitin'," the supervisor drawled. "I'll fetch the lass straight to you the moment that truck pulls up. Just give me her stock number, miss."
"I don't want the rest of the staff knowing," Sally said quickly. "Please be discreet. And… be gentle with her. She's been through a lot."
The older man gave her a warm, understanding look. "I'll handle her with kid gloves, don't you worry. Always had a soft spot for that young lass. Far better than that stuck-up bitch you just sent packin', that's for sure."
Sally's eyes softened with gratitude. "Thank you. I should have realized sooner what was happening."
"Aye, these things happen," he replied simply, with a slow shrug. "You'll put it right in the end, don't you worry. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got a truck to unload."
At the auction house, the bidding had moved on to other pens. The roar of voices and the constant crackle of announcements over the loudspeakers had grown more distant, but the noise still filled the air, drowning out anything said nearby. Not that it mattered. I wasn't trying to listen anymore.
I hung there in quiet acceptance, warm bodies pressed tightly around me, when I suddenly heard the metallic creak of the pen gate opening.
Workers stepped inside. One by one, they began lifting the meatgirls down from their hooks. When they reached me, strong hands gripped my waist. I was lifted effortlessly and draped over a broad shoulder, my heavy breasts pressing against his back, my head and arms dangling down behind him. The casual way he carried me, like any other piece of stock, sent a familiar submissive flutter through my belly.
I wondered, in a distant, dreamy sort of way, who had bought me. What kind of person had paid so much for this pen of fat sows? Where were they taking me now? To a restaurant kitchen? A private estate? Or perhaps straight to a processing plant?
I was carried through the building and loaded into the back of a smaller truck. The moment I was placed inside, the chill hit me. The air was noticeably colder, refrigerated, I realized. My skin prickled instantly, and my nipples tightened into hard, aching peaks from the sudden drop in temperature. Goosebumps spread across my soft, plump flesh as I was hung from another overhead rail alongside the other meatgirls from my pen.
The heavy doors clanged shut behind us, sealing us inside the cool darkness. A low hum filled the air as the refrigeration unit kicked in. Then the truck rumbled to life and began to move, carrying its cargo of naked, collared meatgirls away from the auction house.
I swayed gently with the motion of the vehicle, breasts brushing against the girl beside me. The cold made me shiver, but my mind remained calm and quiet.
Whoever bought me… they own me now.
I closed my eyes and let the gentle vibration of the truck lull me deeper into that soft, accepting haze. Whatever came next, I was ready.
The journey this time felt much shorter. The refrigerated truck rumbled along for what seemed like only an hour or so before it slowed and came to a stop. The heavy rear doors swung open with a metallic clang, letting in a rush of warmer air that felt almost hot against my chilled skin.
Voices drifted in from outside.
"Right, Sam, take those on the left," one man called out. "But leave the ones on the right exactly where they are."
"No problem, Ollie," came the reply. "I'll hang them in the storeroom with the rest."
I heard the sounds of meatgirls being lifted down one by one, soft grunts from the workers, the gentle clink of hooks, and the footsteps of the workers. But because I was facing away from the open doors, deep in the middle of the group, I couldn't see anything. I simply hung there, swaying slightly, my heavy breasts pressed warmly against the girl in front of me, the cold still making my nipples stiff and sensitive.
At one point, I heard a woman's voice, "Mmm, they all look so good."
Then the first man I'd heard spoke again, "Bet you wish you were among them, Amy, my perfect meatgirl, hanging there waiting to be delivered."
"Oh, you'd know I'd love to…" the woman replied, "But not today."
Then a large, calloused hand suddenly rested on my hip, sliding possessively over the curve of my plump rear. I shivered at the touch, expecting to be lifted and carried out like the others.
But then another voice spoke up, calm but firm.
"No, we've got all of ours. Those on the right are for someone else. Leave them be."
The hand paused, then gave my bottom a light, almost friendly pat before withdrawing.
"Yes, boss," the first man answered respectfully.
Not yet… I thought calmly. Whoever bought me must have special plans.
A quiet thrill mixed with acceptance settled deep inside me. I was just meat, after all. My new owner would decide when and how I was taken down. I let my body relax against the girls still beside me, waiting patiently for whatever came next.
The truck doors slammed shut again, and we rolled onward. By now, I was completely disoriented. I no longer knew where we were going, and I no longer cared. I simply hung there in the cool, humming darkness, swaying gently with the motion of the truck, surrounded by the soft warmth of the other meatgirls.
Eventually, the road grew rough. The truck bounced over bumpy ground, making my heavy breasts jiggle and slap against the girl in front of me. Then it slowed and came to a stop. The rear doors opened with a loud metallic groan.
"Alroight boys, haul 'em off then," the familiar voice called out. "Treat 'em well, mind, no bruising the stock. These are all top-quality product, and bloody expensive they are."
Hands reached in. One by one, the meatgirls were lifted down. When they came to me, strong arms pulled me free and draped me over a broad shoulder. I was carried inside a building. It didn't smell like a butcher's shop or a rendering plant. The air felt… familiar.
My bare feet briefly touched the ground before I was re-hung on another overhead rail. I looked around, blinking in confusion.
Surely not, this was Sally's barn.
I recognized the lighting, the layout, and even a couple of the staff moving about. What was I doing back here?
Once the last meatgirl was unloaded, the pen gate clanged shut, leaving me hanging among the others. I swayed gently, my mind clouded with quiet confusion.
Then I saw the supervisor walking toward our pen. He stepped inside and began scanning barcodes and collars with a small device, working his way down the line until he reached me.
"There you are, young missy," he said softly, a hint of relief in his voice. "Had us all proper worried, that we have. Now just you relax, there's a good girl."
He unhooked me, lifted me easily, and draped me over his shoulder once more. I hung there limply as he carried me through the barn like any other piece of stock. He stopped a couple of times to speak with staff, casually patting my bare bottom while he talked. No one gave me a second glance. I was invisible, just another product being moved around the farm.
Eventually, he carried me out of the barn and across the yard.
"Soon be there, missy," he murmured, giving my rear another gentle pat.
He took me into the farmhouse and straight to the kitchen.
"Take her in here," Sally's voice said, tight with emotion.
The supervisor carefully set me down on a sturdy wooden chair. My wrists were still bound in front of me, my naked, plump body still slightly chilled from the refrigerated truck.
"There you go, all safe and sound," he said warmly, with a gentle nod. "I'll leave you two to it then. Have a good day, miss." He gave a respectful tip of his cap and quietly left the kitchen, pulling the door closed behind him.
"Oh my God… " It's really you," Sally breathed, rushing forward and pulling me into a tight, desperate hug. Her arms wrapped around my naked, plump body, pressing me against her fully clothed form. I could feel her heart hammering in her chest. "It's so good to see you. I don't know what I would have done if you'd come to any harm…"
I sat there on the chair, wrists still bound in front of me, completely naked, the heavy shock collar locked around my neck. My mind was foggy and slow. I didn't understand what was happening. Had this all been planned? Was I supposed to be brought back here?
Sally pulled back slightly, cupping my face in her hands, her eyes searching mine with worry and guilt.
"I guess you're wondering what happened to you… and why you're safely back here with me."
She kept one hand gently stroking my cheek as she told me everything, how Megan had found the photos, how jealous and cruel she had been, how she had locked the shock collar on me and sent me into the barn without Sally knowing anything about it. She told me about her return, the confrontation, throwing Megan out, and her frantic race to the auction house to buy back the entire pen before I could be sold to strangers.
I listened quietly, still unable to speak. The shock collar around my neck had kept me completely silent the whole time. Even now, with my mouth gag free, no words would come, the habit of silence had become deeply ingrained after so many weeks.
Sally finally noticed my continued silence. Her brow furrowed.
"…Sweetheart?"
She reached for the collar, trying to pry it open, but quickly realized the lock was jammed solid with hardened superglue. A flash of anger crossed her face, but she pushed it down. Instead, she grabbed a small remote from the counter, pointed it at the collar, and pressed a button.
The tiny light on the collar blinked off.
"There," she said softly, her voice full of relief and tenderness. "It's safe to speak now, my love. You can talk."
I was still wary of making any sound. Weeks of the shock collar had conditioned me deeply; every noise, every whimper, every moan had been punished. Even now, with the collar deactivated, it took real effort to push words past my lips.
"Why…?" was all I could manage, my voice hoarse and hesitant.
Sally's eyes softened with pain and love. She knelt in front of the chair so we were eye to eye and gently cupped my face in both hands.
"Because I love you, my sweet. I always have, even when I haven't shown it the way I should have."
"But… you and Megan…"
"Are finished," she said firmly. "I'm so sorry I ever let her into this house. What she did to you, putting you through all of that without my knowledge, was unforgivable. I would never want you to suffer like that. You're precious to me. More precious than I've let myself admit lately." Her thumb brushed tenderly across my cheek. "I wish I could turn back time and throw her out the moment she showed her true colors. But I can't. All I can do now is ask you to forgive me."
I looked at her for a long moment, still naked, wrists bound, body soft and plump from the fattening feed.
"No need to apologize," I whispered. "I would do it all again… if it made you happy."
Sally's breath caught. Tears shimmered in her eyes as she pulled me into another fierce hug, pressing my face against her shoulder.
"Oh, my sweetheart… Having you back here makes me happier than you can imagine. When I thought I might have lost you for good…" She shuddered. "I don't even want to think about where you could be right now."
"Hanging in a shop window, most likely," I said softly, a faint, tired smile touching my lips.
Sally let out a watery laugh and pulled back, stroking my hair. "Let's not dwell on that. You've been through enough. Right now, you need a long, hot shower, some proper food, and plenty of rest. You're going to need time to recover." She searched my eyes. "That is… if you still want to stay with me?"
"Yes," I answered without hesitation, my voice gaining a little strength. "I don't want to be anywhere else, but…"
"But what, my darling?" Sally asked gently, still kneeling in front of me.
I hesitated, my voice still rough and uncertain after so long in silence. "Well… if you want me to rest properly, you might remember what happened after my last long stay in the barn. I need to sleep standing up for a while… until my body adjusts again."
Sally's eyebrows rose. "You mean… the pantry?"
I nodded. "Yes, please. If that's alright. I think I'll rest and recover better in there. Maybe… you could store me in there with one or two of the other meatgirls?"
She studied me for a long moment, searching my face. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," I whispered. "Quite sure. And… please turn the collar back on. Not as strong as Megan had it, but just enough to keep me quiet."
Sally let out a soft, slightly disbelieving laugh, but there was deep affection in her eyes. "After everything you've been through, you still want this?"
I simply nodded.
"Alright then," she said, standing and offering me her hand. "Waddle this way, my sweet little meatgirl."
I followed her obediently into the pantry. The hooks were currently empty. Sally lifted my bound wrists and secured them to the middle hook, raising my arms comfortably above my head. My toes just brushed the cool floor.
"There," she murmured, stepping back to look at me. "Comfy?"
"Yes, thank you," I breathed. "I just need this for a couple of days. You can check on me if you want… like you used to… I'd like that."
Sally smiled, a playful glint returning to her eyes. "Well, I don't know… you're just another meatgirl again now. I'm not sure my lover would approve of me giving special treatment to the stock."
I gave her a small, shy smile.
"Don't forget my collar," I reminded her softly, "and the other meatgirls… please."
"Mmm. Who gives the orders in this house?" she teased, pressing the remote. The collar reactivated with a quiet beep. "There. All nice, quiet, and obedient again."
Later that evening, after Sally had left me hanging in peaceful darkness, two farmhands brought in two of the meatgirls from my auction pen and hung them on either side of me. They barely glanced at me; to them, I was simply more stock. Once they were gone and the light clicked off, I was left in the cool, quiet pantry with two warm, soft bodies pressed gently against mine.
Sally came to check on me twice during the night. Each time she treated me exactly like the other meatgirls, running her hands over my curves, squeezing my plump breasts and rear, pressing our bodies closer together before leaving me once more in the dark. It made me feel safe. Owned. Loved.
I remained hanging there for the next two days.
On the third morning, Sally finally brought me down. She carried me upstairs, still bound and collared, and gently lowered me into a warm bath. With tender care, she washed every inch of my body, her hands lingering lovingly over my softer curves, my heavier breasts, and between my thighs.
Afterward, she took me to her bed, still naked and bound, and spent a long time exploring me with her mouth and tongue. When she finally buried her face between my legs and brought me to a shattering climax, the collar was conveniently switched off. I still tried to stay quiet out of habit, but my cries of pleasure filled the room anyway.
The next few weeks were a slow, gentle recovery. I remained completely naked at all times, the shock collar now a permanent fixture around my neck. Sally had offered to cut it off, but I quietly refused. The thick band had become part of me, a constant, comforting reminder of who and what I truly was.
Slowly, I began to feel more like myself again, though readjusting to solid food was strangely difficult after so long on the rich, liquid feed. My body was still softer and rounder than before, my breasts heavier, my hips and bottom carrying the lingering plushness from the fattening pens. But with Sally's patient care and plenty of tender love, I slowly started regaining my strength.
And yet…
There was that dark, insistent pull deep inside me that refused to fade.
Even as I lay curled up safely in Sally's bed at night, warm and protected in her arms, my mind would drift back to the barn. I would remember the cool air on my naked skin, the heavy sway of my body on the hook, the constant press of soft, warm meatgirl flesh all around me, breasts rubbing against my back, hips grinding gently into mine during the nightly dance. I remembered how it felt to be nothing but livestock. No name. No choices. Just meat. Hanging. Fed. Used. Ready to be sold.
Some nights I would wake up soaked, thighs slick, heart racing, quietly fantasizing about being sent back, not for a week, but for good. About disappearing into the system. About the day the truck would come for the final load, and I would be carried away with the rest, never to return.
Late at night, when Sally was asleep beside me, I would catch myself wondering…
How long would it be before I asked her to take me back to the barn?
And this time… would I beg her to leave me there?