The Jogging Incident
 
Introduction
 
In a quiet corner of the suburbs, nestled beside a lush nature reserve, Julie has called her modest home her sanctuary for the past few years. Life in this peaceful retreat took a surreal turn 18 months ago when a startling law was passed, legalizing the farming and consumption of women. This radical change in legislation sent ripples through society, but Julie, absorbed in her own world, paid little heed to these developments.
 
Julie's passion is jogging, a ritual she cherishes deeply. The nature reserve next to her home, with its sprawling trails and serene ambiance, is her haven. On days when the weather is just right and her spirits are high, she indulges in a daring routine: a pre-dawn jog wearing nothing but her sneakers. The thrill of these runs, the rush of freedom and adrenaline, became an addictive part of her life. Although she had been spotted a few times and even chased once, her familiarity with the off-trail hideaways always ensured her escape.
 
Unbeknownst to Julie, significant changes were unfolding right beside her favored jogging trails. A year ago, Regent Farms acquired a large parcel of land along the north side of the nature preserve. To Julie, the tall barriers erected around the property were nothing more than a minor alteration to the landscape, easily overlooked in her daily routine.
 
Spanning 15 acres, Regent Farms operated discreetly. Its main entrance, located to the north at 28712 Ames Rd, bore a non-descript sign with only the name "Regent Farms, LLC." Behind these barriers lay a facility unlike any other, a farm dedicated to the raising and harvesting of women, a stark embodiment of the new law that Julie had so casually dismissed.
 
As Julie continued her early morning jogs, oblivious to the nature of her new neighbor, the boundaries between her tranquil world and the startling reality of Regent Farms remained perilously thin.
 
 
The Morning Jog
 
The night before, looking at the weather prediction for the next morning. The day was clear, cool, but not cold, and the moon was only a crescent, making it a perfect morning for a nude jog in the reserve. I awoke, early at 3:45, took care of business in the bathroom, brushed my teeth and showering. Rubbing on some lotion on my bare skin to help keep the insects away while in the woods.
Finally, completing my look by adding ankle socks and sneakers, before pulling my hair back into a ponytail.
 
With a deep breath, opening the door a crack to ensure there is no one in sight to watch me leave. Finding the coast clear, I quickly step outside, making certain to hit the keypad, locking the door. My senses are peaked, as fear nips at me, being nude on the stoop outside my home. Looking toward the trail, before aligning the path out of the light, staying within the shadows to conceal my travel. Sunrise happens in just over an hour, giving me plenty of time to return, unseen.
 
Smiling as I sprint toward the trailhead, the cool air blowing over her bare flesh. Relishing the feel of the air and the arousal and excitement as I run, fear laying just under as I move confidently to the woods. Soon, I am out of sight moving quickly down the trail. I can feel my body temperature rise, little beads of sweat begin to form on my brow.
 
Getting close to the halfway point, when lights shine on me. I can hear a couple men chasing, so I pick up speed to once more outrun them. It will be another experience of being too quick and motivated for those who try to catch me, smirking in delight.
 
Suddenly, lights appear in front of me as well. As my eyes focus, I see a couple more men quickly closing on my position, sandwiching me between the two groups.
 
"Oh shit", as I try to cut through the woods, hoping my speed and agility will help me escape. The branches and thorny bushes between the trees slow me down, as my skin is scratched. This allows the clothed men to close on me. Suddenly, I feel a rope tossed over me, pulled tight. I fall, bending my knees, as I meet the ground. The rope pins my arms to my side, as I struggle on my belly. With the tight rope being pulled, I'm unable to get up and continue my escape. As soon as I fall, three men circle me, as one kneels down beside me.
 
Thrashing about screaming, "Let me go!", demanding that I be released. The kneeling man looks me dead in the eyes, "You are caught", lifting my chin. The other two descend on me, binding me in the rope. I continue to struggle, but to no avail, as the ropes are tightened around me. My arms are pulled behind my back and tied in place. A new man approaches, pushing a gag into my mouth, as I feel my shoes and socks being stripped from me. The men toss them aside, unconcerned I will need them in the future.
 
Despite the dire circumstances, the treatment of being caught and bound is making her feel an uncomfortable arousal. Thinking to herself, "Oh fuck, what are they going to do with me. I've got to figure out a way out of this and get back home". The feeling of the ball gag makes her captivity much worse, reminding her of times with a boyfriend as he loved tying me up.
 
"Alright, let's get this pig back to the farm," the man who had tied me up instructed. The other three lifted me up as if I were a log and carried me towards the road where a van was waiting. One of them let go of me to open the side door of the van. I was pushed inside unceremoniously and laid on the floor. Then, the men climbed into the van and headed toward the farm.
 
As I was thrown into the van, my body hit the floor hard. I quickly pulled my legs up to my chest, trying to avoid the menacing glares of the men who climbed in beside me. Fear coursed through me, and my thoughts drifted to their mention of a farm. It dawned on me that they must be referring to the new farm north of the reserve. "Why are they kidnapping girls?" I wondered silently, my heart racing as the van rattled down the bumpy road.
 
The Farm
 
The drive to the farm was short, and soon the van pulled into a barn. The doors were flung open, and I was pulled out with ease, then casually laid on a table. I curled up tightly, my eyes darting around the room, bracing myself for what might come next.
 
"Bob, give the pig a shot to calm it down so we can identify it," someone behind me ordered.
 
"Sure thing, Russ," came the reply. As Bob approached, I felt a brief sting of a pushed a syringe into my hip, administering the injection.
 
"A shot..." The thought made my head spin with fear, suspecting they intended to drug me. I winced as the needle slid into my flesh, feeling the warm fluid start to course through my system. Almost immediately, the effects began to take hold; my mind slowed down, and an unnatural calmness started to creep in.
 
"Alright, Bob and I will handle this. The rest of you, get back to work," commanded the authoritative voice I had come to associate with Russ. My eyes flicked nervously between the two men as the others obeyed, quickly clearing out of the room. Left alone with just Russ and Bob, a sense of heightened apprehension washed over me.
 
A tall, strong-looking man then stepped around to stand in front of me. With an air of authority, he rolled me onto my back. I felt a surge of vulnerability as I lay there, exposed and defenseless under his imposing figure. His hand, rough and calloused from what I could only assume was years of hard labor, landed on my crotch. He began feeling around methodically, pulling my legs apart, his touch firm yet strangely professional.
 
As his hands moved over my inner thighs, I tried to shrink away, but my body was slow to respond, still reeling from the effects of the injection. His search seemed thorough, as if he were looking for something specific. A sense of dread filled me, not knowing what his intentions were.
 
"No tag," he muttered to himself, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration. "I was hoping this would be an easy one." His words sent a chill down my spine. What did he mean by tag'? And why was he hoping for an 'easy one'? My mind raced with questions, but the drug coursing through my veins muddled my thoughts, making it hard to focus or plan any form of resistance or escape.
 
I lay there, trying to gather my wits, while the man continued his examination. The barn around us was eerily quiet, save for the occasional distant sound of the other men going about their tasks. The situation was surreal, and I struggled to make sense of it, fear and confusion battling within me.
 
"Let's get this pig graded and measured so we can check the system for it," Russ instructed Bob. The two men then began to manhandle me, their hands gripping my bare body, measuring every part of me with a cold, clinical precision.
 
As Russ and Bob prepared to enter the data into the system, they began a meticulous process of gathering measurements. Russ pulled out a measuring tape from his pocket, signaling the start of a thorough and invasive procedure.
 
"Mmrpphph," I tried to protest, my voice muffled and weak. I could feel their hands all over me, invasive and unyielding. Desperately, I attempted to wriggle and fight against their grasp, but the bindings rendered my efforts futile, allowing only minimal movement.
 
First, they measured my height. Bob gently lifted me to a standing position, despite my restraints, while Russ extended the tape from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. "Five feet, three inches," Russ announced as he read the measurement, noting it down with a clinical detachment.
 
Next, they moved on to my limbs. Russ carefully measured the length of my arms, from shoulder to fingertip, and then my legs, from hip to heel. Each measurement was called out and recorded with precision.
 
The process continued with measurements of my torso. Russ measured the circumference of my bust, "34C," he noted, then the width of my shoulders, the span of my waist, and the width of my hips. Each figure was methodically recorded.
 
Russ proceeded to push two fingers into my sex, moving his fingers around, "Grade 7", as he wrote that into the notes. Spreading my butt cheeks, and making additional notes.
 
They also noted my auburn hair color, a detail that Russ jotted down without comment. Finally, they measured my shoe size. "Size 6," Russ confirmed, as he examined my feet.
 
Additional measurements included the length of my fingers, and even the distance between my eyes. I felt like an object, a specimen being catalogued, rather than a human being.
 
Throughout this process, I remained as composed as possible, despite the fear and confusion swirling inside me. The meticulous nature of their measurement gathering was surreal, adding to the absurdity of the situation. Once they finished, Russ and Bob stepped back, reviewing the data they had collected, seemingly satisfied with the thoroughness of their work.
 
"Seems like a grade A pig," one of them remarked, almost approvingly. "Let's put the measurements and description into the database and see what we come up with." Finally, they released me, and Russ grabbed a tablet, beginning to enter all the data they had collected.
 
As I lay there, trying to recover from the rough treatment, a part of my mind scrambled to make sense of the situation. I needed to find a way to communicate to them that I was not what they thought I was. Memories flashed through my mind about recent legislation, but never in my wildest dreams had I imagined being mistaken for livestock, or piggy as they call them. The absurdity of the situation was overshadowed only by its terrifying reality. I needed to find a way to make them understand, to see me as a human being, not an animal. But with each passing moment, as Russ continued to input data into the tablet, that goal seemed increasingly unattainable.
 
After several minutes of tapping on the tablet, Russ turned to Bob with a look of confusion. "I don't see anything here matching her description. Best we just cage this piggy up for now and let Joe figure it out later," he said.
 
Bob nodded in agreement; his expression unreadable. Without a word, he hoisted me over his shoulder, carrying me as if I weighed nothing. I felt a sense of helplessness wash over me as he transported me to a pen. With a lack of ceremony, he dumped me inside and swiftly locked the pen door behind me.
 
Turning onto my knees, I peered out of the cage, watching them walk away. Tears began to stream down my face, the reality of my situation sinking in. They truly believed I was nothing more than a pig, and the fear that I might never escape, that I might die in this bizarre and horrifying mistake, overwhelmed me.
 
As I lay there, my mind raced, desperately trying to figure out a way out of this nightmare. But the exhaustion from the ordeal, compounded by the effects of the drug, was too much. Despite the fear and confusion, my body gave in to its need for rest, and I quickly fell into a troubled sleep, hoping for a miracle when I awoke.
 
The Overnight Proposal
 
As I slowly awakened, the blurry figures of Russ and another man came into focus above me. "Well, Joe, this is the one. Caught it out running by the road this morning. No tag, just some shoes, and I can't find any record of it in the database," Russ explained.
 
Struggling against my restraints, I managed to sit up, my gaze shifting between the new man, presumably Joe, and Russ. When I had been placed in the pen, I was still bound, with my wrists tied behind my back, ankles secured together, and a gag stifling any attempt at speech.
 
"Hmmmmmm," I mumbled through the gag, trying to convey my desperation.
 
Joe, scrutinizing me more closely, turned back to Russ. "When you say shoes, do you mean a pair of oversized work boots she could have picked up around here before escaping?" he asked, his tone suggesting skepticism.
 
"No, they were more like running shoes, and in her size too," Russ replied, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.
 
Joe's expression turned contemplative, then increasingly concerned. "So, she was running around outside the fence wearing something she couldn't have possibly gotten here, and she isn't in the database. It's starting to look like this isn't a registered pig, Russ." His tone was sharp, and he shot Russ an aggravated look, clearly disturbed by the implications of what they were discussing.
 
In that moment, a glimmer of hope sparked within me. Joe's words suggested he was beginning to see the truth of my situation. Despite my fear and discomfort, I focused intently on the conversation, praying that Joe's realization would lead to my release.
 
Joe turned to Russ, his expression serious and tinged with concern. "You do understand the legal implications if we've kidnapped a girl who isn't registered, right?" His voice carried a weight of gravity, underscoring the severity of the situation.
 
Russ shifted uncomfortably, the realization of the potential consequences dawning on him. His confident demeanor seemed to falter as he absorbed Joe's words. The possibility that they had made a grave mistake – that I was not a piggy, but an unregistered, free girl caught in a horrifying mix-up – was beginning to sink in.
 
For a moment, there was a tense silence as the gravity of the situation hung heavily in the air. I watched their exchange intently, my heart pounding with a mix of fear and hope. The recognition in Joe's eyes gave me a faint glimmer of hope that my ordeal might be nearing an end, but the uncertainty of how Russ would react kept me on edge.
 
Joe's gaze hardened as he turned back to Russ. "I think you'd better leave and find something else to do, something that isn't illegal," he said firmly. "I need to have a word with her alone."
 
Russ looked taken aback, a flicker of anxiety crossing his face. He hesitated for a moment, as if he wanted to protest, but then the seriousness in Joe's tone seemed to sink in. With a reluctant nod, he turned and walked away, leaving me alone with Joe.
 
As Russ's footsteps faded, Joe's attention turned fully towards me. His expression was a mix of concern and determination, suggesting that he was ready to get to the bottom of this alarming situation. I felt a surge of relief, mixed with apprehension, as I realized this might be my chance to communicate my plight and prove my humanity.
 
Joe carefully opened the pen and reached in, his movements deliberate and gentle as he removed the gag from my mouth.
 
Exercising my jaw, I managed a weak but grateful smile. "Thank you, that was quite uncomfortable." My voice was hoarse, but the relief of being able to speak was immense. The fear that had gripped me so tightly earlier had lessened, dulled by the effects of the injection, which seemed to have tempered my instinct for self-preservation.
 
Joe looked at me with a mixture of curiosity and concern. "So, what's your story?" he asked, his tone indicating that he was ready to listen.
 
I let out a nervous giggle, the situation's absurdity not lost on me despite its seriousness. "Funny story," I began, trying to maintain a semblance of composure. "I decided to jog early this morning, and some of the men here caught me. They tied me up and brought me here before I could say anything in my defense." My words came out in a rush, a mix of relief and desperation to be understood.
 
Joe listened intently, his expression shifting as he processed my explanation. It was clear that he was beginning to piece together the bizarre and alarming series of events that had led to my current predicament.
 
Joe raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by my explanation. "Doesn't sound all that funny to me, and if you knew how close you came to going in the grinder, I don't think you'd think so either. Now, explain this to me. If you were just out for a jog, what happened to your clothes?"
 
I offered a small, somewhat awkward smile. "Simple enough, I wasn't wearing any. I like to jog nude when the weather is nice," I said, trying to maintain a sense of normalcy in the bizarre situation.
 
Joe seemed to ponder this for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Is this a farm?" I asked, still trying to piece together the full picture of what was happening.
 
"Yes, it is," Joe confirmed. "Perhaps now you can understand why my men thought you were a runaway when you came jogging by, shaking your prime rump."
 
His words made me frown. "But I was in the reserve, on a trail. Why would I stay so close if I were a runaway?" I questioned, trying to highlight the illogical nature of their assumption. My tone was a mix of confusion and a growing sense of frustration, as I struggled to comprehend how a simple morning jog had turned into such a nightmarish ordeal.
 
Joe's statement was blunt, yet carried an undercurrent of irony. "Piggies don't end up here because of their mental attributes. And as far as physicality goes, you fit right in."
 
His words caught me off guard. "You think I look like a piggy?" I asked, my voice a mix of astonishment and a strange sense of appreciation for the bizarre compliment.
 
Without responding directly, Joe reached into the pen and carefully pulled me out. I stood there, still bound at the wrists and ankles, feeling vulnerable under his scrutinizing gaze. "You definitely look like you'd make a prime roast," he remarked, a hint of jest in his tone.
 
As he looked me over, I couldn't help but rub my thighs together nervously, acutely aware of his eyes giving me a thorough appraisal. It was an unsettling feeling, being examined in such a way, yet there was a peculiar professionalism in his manner.
 
Then, Joe placed his hand on my hip, his touch surprisingly gentle. "Soft skin, thin layer of fat over the muscle, you're a grade A sow if I've ever seen one." His assessment was clinical, like a judge at a livestock show, yet there was a strange respect in his voice, as if he admired the quality he perceived.
 
I stood there, trying to process his words, the surreal nature of the situation making it hard to form a coherent response. The absurdity of being compared to a pig, yet somehow also feeling a sense of validation from his comments, created a whirlwind of emotions inside me.
 
The combination of Joe's touch and his words stirred something unexpected within me. Despite my best efforts to maintain composure, my body responded in a way that I couldn't control. My nipples became erect, and I felt a growing warmth and moisture between my legs, betraying my arousal.
 
Feeling both embarrassed and confused by my body's reaction to such an unusual situation, I struggled to find the right words. After a moment, I lifted my gaze to meet Joe's eyes, seeking some understanding or perhaps a hint of empathy in them.
 
"Not sure if I should be concerned or thankful," I said slowly, my voice a mix of vulnerability and a faint, wry humor. The statement hung in the air between us, reflecting the complexity of emotions and the bizarre turn of events that had led to this moment.
 
Joe's expression was difficult to read, but there was a sense that he was carefully considering the situation, perhaps even reassessing his initial assumptions about me. The tension in the room was palpable, filled with a strange blend of uncertainty, curiosity, and unspoken questions about what would happen next.
 
Joe's words offered a small comfort. "You have nothing to be concerned about since you aren't registered. Well, I suppose I should get you untied so you can be on your way." He turned me around to untie my wrists, his movements efficient but not unkind. Then he knelt down to release my ankles from their bindings.
 
As the last of the restraints fell away, I felt a mix of relief and lingering apprehension. "Are you giving me a ride home? Or some clothes?" I asked, acutely aware of my vulnerability and the practical issues of returning home.
 
Joe stood up, brushing off his hands. "We don't have any extra clothes around here; no call for them since all females here are naked pigs. As for a ride, I'm afraid we're short-staffed and can't spare anyone. You'll just have to jog back like you were planning on."
 
His response made me pause. "But it's daylight out by now," I pointed out, glancing at the clock. The thought of jogging back naked in broad daylight was daunting, to say the least. "And without my shoes, I couldn't walk or jog home without injuring my feet."
 
There was a moment of silence as the reality of the situation set in. The impracticality of his suggestion was clear, and I hoped he would recognize the need for a more viable solution. My gaze met his, silently pleading for understanding and assistance in this bizarre and uncomfortable predicament.
 
Joe's suggestion of finding an old pair of boots was a small relief, but it didn't fully alleviate the complexity of my situation. I paused, my thoughts influenced by the lingering effects of the initial injection, which had dulled my usual instincts for self-preservation and inhibition. Despite the potential risks of staying in such an unusual and potentially dangerous place, I found myself surprisingly unafraid.
 
Cleaning and preparation
 
Sensing my hesitation, Joe offered a wry, joking suggestion. "Or, you know, you could always join the herd here. Wouldn't have to worry about that arduous three-mile walk home barefoot," he said with a hint of humor in his voice.
 
His comment, though made in jest, hung in the air, adding a bizarre twist to the already surreal situation. It momentarily distracted me from the immediate concern of getting home, planting a seed of an absurd yet strangely intriguing idea. The thought of 'joining the herd,' as outlandish as it was, momentarily captured my imagination, influenced by the drug's lingering effects on my mental state.
 
"Or..." I continued, my voice steady and more confident than I felt, influenced by the bizarre joke Joe had just made. "I could stay and head out in the morning, say around 4 am. I'm actually quite interested in seeing how a 'piggy' is treated here." The words flowed with an unexpected ease, a direct result of the injection's influence, which had left me with an unusual blend of fearlessness and curiosity.
 
Joe looked at me, his expression a mix of amusement and surprise. "Well, that's certainly not a request we get every day," he said, his tone reflecting his astonishment. The idea of a guest voluntarily staying overnight in such a facility was as unconventional to him as it was intriguing. "But if you're really interested, I suppose it wouldn't hurt. And in the morning, I'll see if I can find a pair of boots for you to wear for your walk back home."
 
My suggestion, born from a combination of the drug's lingering effects and my own genuine curiosity, seemed to pique Joe's interest. It was an unusual situation for both of us, but his willingness to accommodate my request hinted at a sense of intrigue, or perhaps a desire to showcase the operations of Regent Farms.
 
"Let me walk you to a pen, where you will stay until morning," Joe said, motioning for me to follow him. His casual suggestion caught me off guard. "Uh, hold on. I'll have to wait in a pen, the entire day?" I asked, shocked at the notion of being confined in a tiny pen all day. I had envisioned being allowed to walk around the facility, to see things with my own eyes. "I just thought I would be able to, you know, walk around and experience some of the farm."
 
Joe chuckled at my response, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Did you now... Listen, I'm willing to give you a safe place to stay for the day, until 4 am, and have you escorted out." His tone was accommodating yet firm, making it clear that he was offering a compromise.
 
I hesitated, the idea of being cooped up all day and night in a pen not sitting well with me. The freedom to explore and understand the farm was what I had hoped for, not just a passive observation from a confined space. "Isn't there a way I could partake in the farm, safely?" I asked, the words coming out more boldly than I intended. The thought of being safe, even as livestock here, didn't bother me as much as it should have, likely a lingering effect of the injection.
 
Joe regarded me for a moment, seemingly weighing his options. The request was unorthodox, but my evident curiosity and the unusual circumstances of my presence seemed to make him consider the possibility. "Well," he began slowly, "there might be a way to arrange that. But you'll need to follow some strict guidelines for your safety and ours." His expression was serious, indicating that while he was open to the idea, it was not without its risks and conditions.
 
Joe's proposal, while offering an unprecedented glimpse into the life of the farm, also carried undeniable risks. The idea of being tagged, in particular, transformed the scenario from a mere adventurous exploration into something far more consequential. Being tagged meant a loss of identity, a reduction to mere livestock. The thought sent a shiver down my spine, a reminder of the gravity of what I was considering.
 
I bit my lip, wrestling with the swirling thoughts. The last remnants of my self-preservation instincts were sounding alarms, warning of the potential dangers ahead. A sense of dread gnawed at me, yet a part of me was still driven to push forward, to explore this bizarre world that had so unexpectedly opened up to me.
 
"I understand the need for the precautions, but this seems to put me in a great deal of risk. Is there any way to ensure my safety?" I asked, my voice tinged with apprehension. "Also, is it imperative that I be tagged?" The fear of where this could lead was palpable in my question.
 
Joe considered my concerns for a moment before responding. "Honestly, if you truly want to experience life on the farm, this would give you that opportunity. However, if it will make you feel better, I can mark your tag as 'Not for Sale', which should give you the sense of security you desire," he explained.
 
His words offered a small comfort, a concession to my fears. I nodded slowly, trying to process the enormity of what I was agreeing to. "I understand the need for precautions," I replied, my voice steadier now. "I'm willing to go through with it if it means I can truly experience life on the farm."
 
"And then tomorrow morning, I'll get some boots and walk home?" I added, seeking confirmation of the plan and a reassurance of my eventual return to normalcy.
 
Joe nodded, a look of respect in his eyes. "Yes, that's the plan. We'll make sure you're safe and well taken care of during your stay."
 
With that agreement, I felt a strange sense of commitment to the journey ahead. It was a path fraught with risks, but also rich with the promise of an experience unlike any other. As I followed Joe to begin the process, a mix of fear, excitement, and curiosity filled me, each emotion vying for dominance as I stepped further into the unknown.
 
"Alright, I can agree to that," I said, my mind swirling with a mix of apprehension and intrigue. Despite the inner turmoil, a part of me was eager to embrace the full experience. I shook Joe's hand, sealing our agreement with a firm grip.
 
He then placed a collar around my throat, attaching a leash, and led me from the holding area. Being walked out of the building on the concrete pathway in the morning light felt surreal. We walked about 75 yards to another building and entered.
 
My breathing quickened, acutely aware of my nudity as I was paraded to the other building. Inside, we were greeted by a couple of staff members. Joe handed my leash to one of them.
 
"Jerry, please wash this piggy and get them vaccinated," Joe ordered as he handed over the leash. "Right away, boss," Jerry replied, leading me down a hall to a large metal stall.
 
"Step inside, spread your legs apart, and raise your arms up high," Jerry directed. I turned to face him, complying silently. He grabbed a sprayer nozzle from the wall, giving it a couple of test pulls before a mist of warm soapy water burst forth.
 
He began spraying me, covering every inch of my body with the warm water. I closed my eyes as the spray hit my head and neck, the sensation surprisingly pleasant against my skin. The soapy water cascaded down my body, pooling at my feet before swirling down the drain.
 
Jerry instructed me to turn around, and I did so without a word. He noticed my ponytail and carefully untied it, taking extra time to thoroughly soak my hair. The water streamed down my face and back as he continued to wash me with the sprayer.
 
He paid particular attention to my legs and crotch, ensuring cleanliness. The sensation of the spray against my sensitive skin brought a rush of intimate thoughts. Finally, he directed me to lift my feet, spraying the soles thoroughly.
 
"Now for the rinse," Jerry said, replacing the soapy sprayer with another for clean water. He methodically rinsed my hair first, then applied a white liquid conditioner to keep it healthy and shiny. I massaged it into my hair as instructed, feeling a bit more human despite the bizarre circumstances.
 
Jerry rinsed me again from head to toe, spending extra time ensuring all the conditioner was washed out of my long hair. "Turn around, keep your legs spread and raise your arms up high," he instructed, continuing the rinse until every trace of soap was gone.
 
Once finished, he reattached the collar and leash, securing it to a hook on the wall. He stepped away briefly and returned with a needle for the vaccination. "Bend forward," he instructed. I felt a sharp sting of the needle, as he wiped my hip with alcohol and administered the injection.
 
The entire process was efficient and strangely methodical, leaving me feeling clean, albeit still exposed and vulnerable. As I stood there, the reality of my decision to experience life on the farm in this unique way began to truly sink in.
 
Jerry unhooked the leash and led me out of the stall, handing me a towel. I gratefully took it, starting with my head, gently drying my hair before moving on to the rest of my body. The towel absorbed the moisture, leaving my hair damp but manageable, and my skin dry. Once I was reasonably dry, I handed the towel back to Jerry, who tossed it into a nearby bin.
 
He then retrieved a large comb from the cabinet and began to work it through my hair. The comb, with its large teeth, glided through with minimal snags, smoothing out the tangles caused by the washing and drying process. As my hair flowed neatly down my back, I felt a small sense of normalcy returning, a touch of humanity in this surreal situation.
 
Throughout this process, I remained silent, mindful of the importance of compliance. My first few minutes at the farm had taught me the consequences of what they considered poor behavior, and I was keen to avoid any further issues. With the leash back in his hand, Jerry led me across the barn to a new area.
 
Tagging the new Piggy
 
Inside, I saw Joe seated at a computer console. He looked up as we approached and gave a smile. "Well, there you are, all clean and ready to be part of the herd," he remarked, his tone light but carrying an undercurrent of seriousness.
 
His words were a stark reminder of the reality I had willingly stepped into. Standing there, with my hair neatly combed and my body still resonating with the sensations of the wash, I felt a mix of apprehension and curiosity about what lay ahead. The term 'part of the herd' echoed in my mind, a constant reminder of the unique and bizarre journey I had embarked upon.
 
Joe's smile, though friendly, was a reminder of the role I had agreed to play. As I stood there, the leash still in Jerry's grip, I braced myself for the next phase of my experience at Regent Farms, wondering what insights and challenges it would bring.
 
Joe's presence was a mix of authority and an odd sense of camaraderie. As Jerry handed me over to him with a brief, "Thank you, Jerry. Why don't you go check on the stalls?" I realized the transition to the next phase was about to begin. Jerry nodded and left, leaving me alone once more with Joe.
 
"I guess it's time to tag me, huh?" I asked, a hint of sarcasm lacing my voice, trying to mask the nervousness that was creeping in.
 
Joe smirked slightly at my comment. "As a matter of fact, it is," he replied. "Please stand against the wall, with your legs spread wide." Despite the trepidation building inside me, I complied, spreading my legs and bracing myself for what was to come.
 
Joe stepped up with a gun-like object in his hand. He placed it against my labia and, without much warning, pulled the trigger. A sharp pain shot through me as the metal stud pierced my skin, leaving a shiny gold metallic tag dangling from my pussy.
 
"That's your tag," Joe said matter-of-factly. "Normally, we would send you off to join the herd at this point. But, per our agreement, you still want me to list you as not for sale?" He looked at me, waiting for confirmation.
 
I nodded, rubbing the sore spot on my ear. "Yes, please. Not for sale," I managed to say, the reality of the tag hanging from my pussy making the situation all the more real.
 
"Oh, don't worry, the pain will fade soon enough," Joe reassured me, noticing my discomfort.
 
The sensation of the tag was a constant reminder of the surreal journey I had embarked upon. It was a bizarre blend of reality and role-play, a unique experience that I had willingly chosen. As I stood there, tagged and officially part of the herd, I couldn't help but wonder what the rest of my time at the farm would entail.
 
"Yes, I think that's best," I replied, my voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty. This entire experience had been nothing short of extraordinary, sparking a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions within me.
 
Joe nodded in understanding and turned back to the computer console. He efficiently entered my tag number into the system, integrating it with my biometric data. I watched as he navigated through the system, setting various flags. After a few moments, a dialog box appeared on the screen, confirming that the changes had been made and accepted.
 
"You are now officially a member of the herd. Welcome, and I do hope you enjoy your time here," Joe said with a smile, his tone both welcoming and formal. He then led me out of the building and back to the original barn, where the various pens were located.
 
As we walked, my mind raced with countless thoughts. The reality of being part of the herd, even temporarily, was both exhilarating and daunting. I remained quiet and contemplative, absorbing the sights and sounds of the farm.
 
Soon, Joe stopped in front of a pen. "This is where you will sleep tonight, and at 4 am, it will be unlocked," he explained, pointing to the enclosure. "One of my staff will come to collect you and bring you a pair of boots. He will lead you to the back exit and to the trail that runs around the facility. From there, you are free to walk home. For now, enjoy yourself. You are expected back in your pen at 8 pm," he finished, outlining the plan for my stay.
 
The pen looked comfortable enough, a far cry from the harsh conditions I had initially imagined. I nodded, taking in his instructions. The idea of being free to explore the farm, to truly immerse myself in this unique environment, was intriguing. Joe removed my collar, as I crawled into the pen, feeling a strange sense of belonging and adventure. My nudity feeling quite natural in this environment, but feeling very naked now without the collar as well.
 
Before Joe could walk away, I quickly interjected with a question, wanting to make sure I understood the boundaries during my stay. "Before you go, is there anything I can't do while I'm here?" I asked, eager to avoid any unintentional rule violations.
 
Joe paused, turning back to face me. "I would recommend you stay out of the processing barn; it's building 5," he suggested, his tone serious. "Some will be called there, based on the last three digits on the tag. It's not a place for visitors."
 
His advice sent a chill down my spine, hinting at aspects of the farm that were better left unexplored, especially for someone in my unique position. I nodded in understanding, mentally noting to steer clear of building 5.
 
"Other than that, just use common sense and respect the operations," Joe added. "The staff are busy, and the animals are not used to visitors, so it's best to keep a low profile and observe without interfering."
 
"Understood," I replied, feeling a mix of relief and curiosity. The farm was an intricate operation, and while I was here to observe and experience, I also recognized the importance of not disrupting its rhythm.
 
As Joe's footsteps receded, I found myself alone with a moment to reflect. My gaze instinctively drifted down to the tag dangling from my ear, a shiny emblem of my temporary role on this farm. The tag was engraved with 'Property of Regent Farms, LLC. ID# 38217' against the surface. I repeated the number in my head, with the last three digits '217' echoing more prominently.
 
The significance of these numbers played in my mind, especially after Joe's warning about building 5. I couldn't help but wonder about the procedures and activities that took place there, and what the numbers might mean for those who were called. A shiver ran down my spine as I considered the implications, but I quickly pushed these thoughts aside. My tag, marked 'Not for Sale', was a reminder of my unique status here, a visitor in a world vastly different from my own.
 
I took a deep breath, trying to shake off the unease. My curiosity about the farm and its operations was still strong, but now tempered with a newfound respect for its boundaries. I reminded myself to stay observant and cautious, to learn and experience without overstepping the limits set before me.
 
With a newfound resolve, I began to walk slowly around my designated area, taking in the sights and sounds of the farm. The distant clatter of machinery, the occasional calls of the staff, and the subtle movements of the other 'members' of the herd created a tapestry of farm life that was both fascinating and surreal.
 
As I moved, the tag swayed gently, a constant reminder of my peculiar situation. The numbers '217' stayed in my mind. I was determined to make the most of this experience, to understand as much as I could in the limited time I had.
 
As Joe walked away, leaving me to my thoughts, I realized that this experience was about to offer me insights and perspectives I had never considered before. The next few hours promised to be a journey of discovery, not just about the farm and its inhabitants, but also about myself and the boundaries of my own comfort and curiosity.
 
Resolved to explore and acquaint myself with the farm, I crawled out of my pen and stood up, taking a moment to memorize its location. It was important to remember where I needed to return by evening. With a sense of purpose, I made my way to the exit of the building, my bare feet feeling the coolness of the concrete floor beneath them.
 
Stepping outside, I was greeted by the expansive view of a grass-covered field. It was dotted with trees, bushes, and a vibrant array of field flowers swaying gently in the breeze. The farm was more beautiful and serene than I had imagined, a stark contrast to the stark functionality of the buildings.
 
*** END PART 1 ***
 
Joining the herd
 
The contrast between the farm's natural beauty and its functional infrastructure was striking. Beyond the concrete pathways that connected the buildings, the grounds transformed into a soft, welcoming landscape. The grass, meticulously maintained, provided a gentle cushion under my feet, a stark difference from the hard concrete I had just left.
 
As I ventured further, I noticed how the grass gradually gave way to more natural arrangements of flowering plants, creating a tapestry of colors and scents that filled the air. It was a deliberate design, I realized, blending utility with aesthetics, a reminder of the farm's dual nature.
 
Approaching the buildings, I observed a perimeter of gravel encircling each structure. The stones, while practical for drainage and maintenance, also served a more subtle purpose. They would be uncomfortable, even painful, to walk on barefoot, deterring anyone from getting too close to the windows or considering an escape. It was a clever, if somewhat disheartening, realization. The farm was designed not just for efficiency, but also for control.
 
Despite these measures, I felt no urge to flee. My status as 'Not for Sale' and my freedom to explore came with an understanding of my temporary role here. I was an observer, a guest in a world that operated on its own terms. The thought was both liberating and grounding. I was here to learn, to experience, and to understand, not to challenge the boundaries set before me.
 
With this in mind, I continued my walk, taking in the sights and sounds of the farm. The distant murmur of activity from other parts of the property hinted at a busy day ahead for its inhabitants. For now, I was content to explore, to witness the farm's rhythm, and to find my place within it, even if just for a short while.
 
Wandering out into the fields, seeing a small group of women kneeling less than 100 yards away. As I approach, I can see they are engaged in pleasuring each other. Smiling to myself, feeling like a voyeur as I get closer. One of the women sees me approaching, pauses and looks toward me, motioning me to come closer.
 
As I get closer, I see five women muddled together in a pile, with legs everywhere. The young woman who saw me, had a woman nestled between her legs, obviously licking her. "Please join us, cutie", she says rubbing her own left breast, while playing with her nipple. Lowering myself to my knees and crawling over. "Hi, I'm Julie", as I introduce myself. "Oh, I'm Callie". She is a taller brunette with smaller breasts and an olive complexion.
 
Callie leans toward me to kiss me, I lean in as well, meeting partway, with a delicious kiss. Her lips are very soft and inviting, with her tongue pushing into my own mouth. Our tongues mix in my mouth, as we kiss and I move closer. Finding my hand to reach over, cupping her right breast. At about the same time, I feel a warm hand on my left breast, as it's gently squeezed and played with. I feel a growing arousal as we kiss and play.
 
As we kiss, my legs are being pulled apart, with a weight between them and a subtle kiss, followed by licking of my own pussy. I was already moist from the initial kissing with Callie, but the new girl was driving me quickly to the edge with her attention to my pussy. Soon, I'm beginning to pant and my rubbing of Callie's breast is getting more intense. The pile of six, which I was now deeply a part of, was a wriggling pile of desire.
 
Losing track of time, as we rotate around, switching partners and positions. Sweat glistening on our skin, as well as our own bodily fluids. Personally orgasming a few times from all the attention. A couple of us would take a break, panting from the action. Over the course of our time together, I learned who the others were. First, was Callie, a tiny Asian girl named Gabrielle, a fiery redhead with enormous breasts named Meredith, lanky African American named Kendall, and lastly Allison who was a bit rotund, but had an incredible tongue.
 
As we lay, recovering from our long session, heard the loudspeakers come to life for the first time. I didn't know these were in place, but made sense. All the more, as the male voice on the speakers made an announcement, "Pigs 197, 183 and 207, come to building five, immediately". The announcement was repeated twice. However, to my shock, two of the women, Allison and Meredith, entangled in our pile, got free and made their way to building 5. The women made no sounds as they got loose and walked away. Given the destination, I knew I wouldn't see them again in the fields.
 
As I sat up, watching the pair, Allison and Meredith, walk to the processing building. Soon they disappeared inside, followed by a third woman, whom I assume was the other one called up. A brief sadness washed over me, knowing these three were being claimed for their meat. They would cease to be human, reduced to specific cuts to be cooked for some unknown patrons.
 
Joe's Offer
 
A voice startles me from behind, "I see you are making yourself at home here", as I see Joe standing behind me. I quickly turn myself around, no feeling of covering myself from his gaze. Having a man see me nude like this was rather freeing. Felt a rush of arousal as he looked me over. "You seem to be adjusting very well to your new environment", he smiles.
 
"Yes, I think I am", smiling as I get comfortable once more, turned facing him. Getting more relaxed with my state of undress as I lean back on my arms, legs spread slightly, showing off the entirety of my body and sex.
 
Joe smiles in acknowledgement, as he gives me a hard look up and down. "I'll say it again, you are definitely a Grade A sow". Pulling out his phone and snapping a couple quick pictures of me, laying nude on the grass with my upper torso supported by my arms and elbows. "I think you should let me take you home. My wife, Wendy would just love to roast you up", smiles looking down at me, hearing the familiar sound as he sends a message.
 
"Did you send my picture to someone?", asking more generally, rather than in alarm for being pictured fully nude. Certainly not a state I would be in readily, but here it seems the right thing to do, I muse.
"Yes, sent it to my wife", winks back acknowledging that he did.
"Oh...Um, let me know what she says", biting her lip but seemingly unfazed.
Seconds later his phone chimes, alerting that a message was received.
 
His phone chimes, having a look at it, smiling. "See for yourself." He holds the phone down for me to see the reply text. It reads: "OMG! Make sure you bring that little cutie home! I just want to gobble her up!"
"Oh wow, little cutie", I giggle to myself.
"Seems like a good description to me.", patting my belly.
"I suppose it does, still, I'm not for sale", I remind him, though uncertain why I’m sticking to this silly rule.
 
Joe's phone chimes once more, he shows me the message which reads: "Send me a good picture of that filet."
Taken aback briefly, I bend my hips up, spreading my legs wide, tilting my hips up which lifts my filet up, providing a great view, as I face you. Normally I wouldn't act like this, but feeling free to act out like this, giving me a bit of joy.
 
"I'd better make it look fresh and ready.", as he dips two fingers into my pussy to scoop out some of my juices, rubbing around my vulva, before taking a step back, snapping the picture.
Unable to resist, moaning softly from his fingers deep inside me. Thinking to myself, this is something I'd never do, but it feels so right.
 
Quickly the phone chimes again, and Joe shows me the reply. "Oh my! That's the sweetest thing I've seen since we roasted Gracie for your 60th birthday. I've simply got to have that little piggy!"
 
"Oh wow... hope I haven't gotten her hopes up too much", I say back playfully
"Not so long as you come home with me.", he says as he kneels down to rub my erect nipple. "Mmmm", my face scrunching up from the pleasure.
"You wouldn't want to disappoint my lovely wife, would you?", looks me in the eyes, seemingly pleading for me to agree to be tonight's meal.
 
"I wouldn't want to disappoint", I begin to say. "But my status precludes me from sale, right?", trying to decline politely, as I still don't want to be roasted.
"Well, that's easy to remedy, simply follow me out to my SUV, and I will take you back to my place, and Wendy can get you roasted up", smiling as he continues to play with my nipple.
 
"NO, I can't", responding with more force than intended, but keeping the response clear and to the point.
"Alright, I understand. But, should you have a change of heart, let me know", smiling as he gives my pussy a little treatment before standing up once more.
He puts a finger to your lips, "You just enjoy yourself for now, sweet meat."
 
Nodding as he takes a step back, "Ok, I will..."
He gives my breast a final rub before getting back to work and leaving me at the mercy of the other pig's tongues. The interaction has gotten me wet, as one of the girl's dives in between my legs, driving me over the edge. Spending the next couple hours in a blur of orgasms, as we are stimulated over and over with fingers and tongues.
 
In a haze we stumble apart, panting and trying to relax in the grass. Noticing many of the girls walking back toward the barn, myself feeling a need for some water and food. As we wander back to the barn, the sun is blazing hot in the sky above. Once inside, the swarm of girls are gathered around a series of round troughs.
 
How's the food
 
Approaching, looking over the girls kneeling here, I can see it loaded with what appears to be large kibble pellets. Starting to turn my nose up, as another girl notices my displeasure.
"Oh Hun, don't let those fool ya. They are quite tasty, kinda like a mushroom cracker", trying to play up the taste.
"Really, it's good?", questioning her opinion. "Uh huh, at least I think so. I mean it's not chicken or something better; however, I think it tastes pretty good", handing me a couple pellets.
 
I hesitantly picked up one of the light brown, textured pellets, examining its cracker-like appearance before cautiously bringing it to my mouth. As I carefully bit down, I was immediately struck by the texture, which was indeed very similar to a cracker, crumbling effortlessly between my teeth. To my surprise, the flavors that flooded my mouth were pleasantly complex and far more enjoyable than I had anticipated.
 
The initial taste was unmistakably that of mushroom, rich and earthy, but as I continued to chew, other subtle flavors began to emerge. There was a hint of herbs, perhaps thyme or rosemary, and a slight nuttiness that balanced the earthiness of the mushroom. It was a sophisticated blend that I hadn't expected from such a simple-looking pellet.
 
Feeling my stomach gratefully accept this offering, I found myself growing more comfortable with the situation. I moved closer to the feeding area, gently nudging my way between two other girls who were also engaged in eating. As I began to munch on more pellets, I felt a sense of camaraderie with them, united by the shared experience of this unique meal.
 
The act of eating together, something so fundamentally human, brought a sense of normalcy to the otherwise surreal environment of the farm. I continued to eat, allowing myself to enjoy the simple pleasure of the food, and found that my initial apprehension was slowly being replaced by a growing curiosity about what other unexpected experiences this place might hold.
 
After satisfying my hunger with the pellets, I noticed the other girls moving towards the back of the building. There, a row of drinking fountains offered a welcome sight. I eagerly drank a good amount of water, feeling the pleasant sensation of hydration. It was a simple pleasure, but in this environment, every small comfort felt significant.
 
My relief was short-lived, however, as I soon realized the need to find a bathroom. It didn't take long to discover that the facilities were located at the end of the building. Waiting for my turn, I felt a growing appreciation for the basic amenities I'd often taken for granted. Once inside, I was able to relieve myself, surprised at how much I needed this after the meal and water.
 
Following the routine of the others, I then joined the group for a communal teeth-brushing session and another wash down. The absence of toilet paper was initially disconcerting, but the wash down provided a necessary level of cleanliness.
 
Feeling much better with a full stomach and an empty bladder, I was drying off when I overheard a couple of girls chatting nearby. They were discussing the newcomers, and it was clear that I was a topic of their conversation.
 
Seizing the opportunity to engage, I introduced myself. "I'm Julie. Just arrived this morning," I said, interrupting their conversation with a friendly tone.
 
The girls looked at me, a mix of curiosity and friendliness in their eyes. "Oh hey, we had seen you around earlier today. It's not often they have a new arrival on Thursday," one of them remarked, giving me a once-over.
 
"Thanks, still getting used to everything here," I replied with a smile, trying to convey both my gratitude and my slight overwhelm at the new environment.
 
"Well, good. Fortunately, they feed us a couple times a day. Couldn't imagine going all day without food," said the taller girl, who then introduced herself as Haley. Beside her, Judi offered a smile but seemed more reserved.
 
"Nice to meet you, Haley and Judi," I said, appreciating their openness. "Well, thanks for chatting with me," I added, as I began to move away, feeling a bit more connected and less like an outsider.
 
As I walked away, I reflected on the interactions. Each small conversation, each shared experience, was helping me to understand more about life on the farm and the dynamics of the people here. It was a world unto itself, and I was slowly finding my footing within it.
 
A New Friend
 
As the groups dispersed, leaving me standing somewhat awkwardly alone, I couldn't help but feel a bit lost amidst the sea of faces. The cliques had formed naturally, a social landscape that I had yet to navigate. "Well, this is certainly different," I murmured to myself, a mix of bemusement and isolation in my tone.
 
Just then, I felt a gentle, comforting presence as one of the other women approached and wrapped her arms around me in a warm embrace. The unexpected gesture caught me off guard, but I quickly leaned into the comfort it offered. "Thank you," I whispered, grateful for the kindness in this unfamiliar environment.
 
Turning to face her, I found myself looking at a brunette who appeared to be about my age, though she was a few inches taller. Her eyes were kind, and her smile was reassuring. "Hey there, I'm Sam," she introduced herself with a friendly tone.
 
"You're new here, aren't you?" Sam continued, her voice carrying a note of empathy.
 
"Yes, arrived this morning. Guess I missed breakfast, was really hungry for dinner," I replied, smiling back at her. Her friendly demeanor was a welcome change from the feeling of isolation just moments before.
 
Sam's presence was comforting, and her approachable manner made me feel more at ease. It was a relief to encounter someone who seemed genuinely interested in making a connection. In this new and unusual setting, forming friendships, even fleeting ones, felt like an important step in finding my place here.
 
As we stood there, I realized that this experience was not just about observing and understanding the farm's operations, but also about the connections and interactions among those who called it their temporary home. Sam, with her simple act of kindness, had already made my experience here more human and relatable.
 
Sam's inquiry about my well-being was a small but significant gesture, one that made the vastness of the farm feel a little less overwhelming. "There is nothing to worry about here, everything will work out," I reassured myself more than her, trying to settle the flurry of thoughts in my mind. "Thanks, I'm just trying to figure everything out and understand how it all works."
 
As we talked, I couldn't help but comment on my observations so far. "They seem to take pretty good care of us though," I said, my tone a mix of appreciation and a hint of underlying concern.
 
Sam nodded, her expression turning into a knowing smile. "Oh yes, of course they do. We are the product after all," she replied. Her words, spoken lightly, carried a depth of meaning that resonated with me. It was a candid acknowledgment of our status here, a blend of care and commodification that defined life on the farm.
 
Her smile, though, was reassuring. It suggested a level of acceptance and adaptation that I found both intriguing and comforting. Sam seemed to have found a way to navigate this unique existence, balancing awareness with a certain ease.
 
As we continued to chat, I felt a growing sense of camaraderie with her. In this place where the lines between being cared for and being a commodity were so delicately drawn, having someone to share thoughts with was invaluable. Sam, with her straightforwardness and warmth, was quickly becoming a grounding presence for me in this new and unusual environment.
 
Sam's words were a mix of reassurance and stark reality, painting a vivid picture of life on the farm. "What's got you worried? Not getting bought? You certainly look delicious, I'm sure you'll do just fine," she said with a lightness that belied the seriousness of the topic.
 
Her casual mention of being bought piqued my curiosity. "Getting bought? How does that work?" I asked, realizing there was much I didn't know about the processes here.
 
She smiled, a hint of amusement in her eyes at my naivety. "There are a couple of ways. Groups of us get bought either whole or in cuts from time to time by restaurants or butcher shops. Otherwise, people can come by and purchase directly, either one or a few at a time."
 
The information was a lot to take in. "Oh wow... I didn't realize people actually came here to buy. I thought it was all auctions," I admitted, feeling a bit overwhelmed by my lack of understanding.
 
Sam nodded, "Oh, that too, but only if you've been here for two weeks or more." She paused for a moment before adding, "You could volunteer to be auctioned off, as those happen twice a month. I think you just missed the last one."
 
Her explanation left me with mixed feelings. The idea of being part of an auction was both intriguing and unsettling. It was a reminder of the unique and complex nature of this place, a world where the lines between being a product and a person were constantly blurred.
 
As I processed this new information, I realized that my time here would be filled with learning and adapting to a reality far different from anything I had ever known. Sam, with her candid insights, was proving to be an invaluable guide in navigating this new and unusual world.
 
The conversation with Sam was revealing layers of the farm's operations and social dynamics that I hadn't anticipated. Her excitement about the potential buyers was palpable. "Oh wow, are you excited?" I asked, unsure if that was the appropriate response.
 
Her eyes lit up. "Oh yes! They told me his grandmother was coming from the old country, and she knew exactly how to roast me perfectly!" Her smile was wide, beaming with a sense of pride and anticipation.
 
"That's wonderful for you. I hope they come back for you," I said, genuinely hoping that her expectations would be met. Her eagerness was infectious, even if the context was something I was still trying to fully grasp.
 
"I sure hope so, it'd be really good if they came back today!" she said, a hint of worry creeping into her voice at the thought of them not returning.
 
Smiling, I tried to offer some reassurance. "Regardless, I'm so happy for you."
 
The conversation then turned to me. "How about you? Have you gotten any interest yet?" Sam inquired.
 
"Not yet, but I just entered the herd," I replied, a tinge of remorse in my voice.
 
Sam looked me over, her smile growing. "Even so, I'm a bit surprised. You look like you'd make a perfect roaster!"
 
I hesitated before sharing, "Not sure it counts, but Joe expressed interest in me. He wants to take me home for his wife to roast me."
 
Sam's eyes widened in surprise. "Old Joe? Really? They say he has the best eye for meat of anyone here!"
 
Her reaction caught me off guard. "Really...wow," I murmured, my previous assumption about Joe being challenged.
 
"Yeah, he runs the farm. He doesn't own it, but he manages everything for Margaret. She's the actual owner. She has several farms," Sam explained.
 
I was taken aback, realizing the scale of the operation was much larger than I had initially thought. As Sam's gaze traveled over my body, she commented, "I can definitely see it. A cute little redhead like you would be a perfect roast." Her hand brushed over my hip and rump, feeling my soft skin, reinforcing her point.
 
"Thanks, Sam," I said, smiling back at her. Her words and gesture had lifted my spirits, making me feel more at ease. It was a strange comfort to be seen and acknowledged in such a way, even in a place where the usual norms were so vastly different.
 
Feeling a sense of warmth from both the compliment and the gentle touch, I let out a contented hum, "Mmmm, thanks for the compliment, Sam."
 
Sam leans in to give me a kiss saying, "I wouldn't mind getting a taste of you myself." Locking lips briefly, as I rub her shoulders, before taking a step back, smiling and content having made a friend in this place.
 
She pulls me closer, pressing our body tightly together. "How about we go play in the grass?" Nods greedily, as we lean into each other, walking out into the field.
 
Finding a nice sunny spot, she stops, pulling me down into the cushion of the grass and flowers. Pulling myself on top of her, as her hands reach for me, pulling me tight. Her lips met mine, as we kiss, her hands running the length of my body before coming to rest on my hips. Her head bends down, her tongue licking my breast, while her hand reaches between my legs, rubbing my quickly moistening pussy.
 
In this moment of silence, I begin to knead her breast, as my hand explores the area between her legs as well. Finding her getting wet was very thrilling to feel, as I gently rub her clit. Moans of pleasure can be heard as we continue to pleasure each other in the field. Soon, I slide down, replacing my hand with my mouth instead, and going deep with my tongue into her.
 
Over the course of the next hour, we remain entangled with each other, exploring each other's bodies and bringing us to orgasm a few times. We lay back, enjoying the cool air on our spent bodies, panting and smiling.
 
As the couple approached, led by a farm worker, I nudged Sam playfully, signaling the arrival of the visitors. Her face lit up with recognition and joy.
 
"You're back!" Sam exclaimed; her voice tinged with genuine happiness. She eagerly crawled over to the couple; her excitement palpable.
 
I watched from a short distance, observing the interaction. It was clear that this was the couple Sam had spoken of earlier, the ones interested in taking her home. The dynamic between them was intriguing, a blend of anticipation and a peculiar kind of affection.
 
"That's right, piggy. And we're going to take you home for dinner," the man said, his tone gentle yet assertive. Sam's reaction was immediate; she let out a squeal of excitement, wriggling her rumps for them, her enthusiasm for the prospect unmistakable.
 
Meanwhile, the young woman's attention turned to me. She crouched down, her eyes curious and friendly. "And who's your little friend here? I don't recall seeing her last time."
 
"Hi, I'm a new addition. Just joined this morning," I replied, trying to match her friendly demeanor.
 
She appraised me with a thoughtful gaze. "And quite a nice one too!" she remarked.
She places her hand on my thigh and begins to rub softly.
Then, placing her hand on my thigh, rubbing softly while looking into my eyes, she added, "Hmmm, grandma does love redheads..." Her words trailed off as she glanced at her husband, a hint of consideration in her expression.
 
The moment was surreal, a mix of ordinary human interaction and the extraordinary context of the farm. I felt a flutter of nervous excitement at the possibility of being noticed, the sense of attention I hadn't realized I was missing until that moment. This, coupled with a deep curiosity about what such interest might entail. This woman was interested in my purchase, which I found both intriguing and apprehensive about the next steps in my journey.
 
The lump of fear and excitement in my throat grew as the woman mused about how much her grandmother would enjoy a redhead. My mind raced with the thought of both Sam and me going home with this couple. The idea was thrilling in a strange way, yet a small voice in the back of my mind cautioned me, reminding me of the reality of the situation.
 
The man, now attaching a collar and leash to Sam, chimed in, breaking into my whirlwind of thoughts. "I'm afraid a second pig would be too expensive, dear. Not to mention we wouldn't be able to eat that much pork before grandma has to go home."
 
The woman seemed to ponder for a moment before lifting my leg, appraising it. "What if we just get a leg? This piglet is so tender I'd hate to miss out on getting a taste." Her words sent a jolt of fear through me, the playful fantasy suddenly taking a more serious and alarming turn.
 
I bit my lip, the fear intensifying as the conversation continued to unfold in a direction I hadn't anticipated. The man seemed to consider his wife's suggestion. "I suppose that will work," he said, then turned to the farm worker. "We'd like to get a leg from the redhead too."
 
The worker, however, was quick to clarify the farm's policy. "I'm sorry, while we do slaughter and butcher here, we only sell the meat in whole pig increments. For just a cut, you'll need to go to a butcher shop. I can give you a list of the ones in the area we supply to, however."
 
Relief washed over me as the worker spoke, my initial panic subsiding. I stood up and moved towards Sam, giving her a final hug goodbye. "Goodbye, Sam," I said, my voice tinged with a mix of relief and sadness. "I'm not sure what to say in this instance."
 
Sam returned the hug, her expression a blend of excitement and a touch of sadness at our parting. "Take care, Julie," she whispered. "It's been nice meeting you."
 
As the couple led Sam away, I was left with a complex mix of emotions. The encounter had been a stark reminder of the reality of life on the farm, a place where the lines between fantasy and reality, playfulness and seriousness, were uniquely blurred.
 
Smiling at Sam, as she looks back one final time, winking back at me, as her new owners lead her off the farm and to her new home and dinner destination.
 
The realization that I could have been purchased lingered in my mind, a mix of thrill and apprehension. The close call had stirred something within me, a sense of excitement at the prospect of being desired in such a unique way. Yet, the weight of what that truly meant was not lost on me. As I walked back toward the barn with the setting sun casting long shadows, I found myself conflicted, upset that I had requested the 'Not for Sale' condition. "Oh well, perhaps I should have Joe change my status," I thought, considering the possibilities that might open up.
 
Joining the others moving toward the barn for the evening meal, I once again filled up on the pellets. This time, their flavor seemed more appealing, and I found a certain joy in eating them. Unbeknownst to me, the food contained a lower dosage of the same drugs found in the initial shot, subtly continuing to work on my inhibitions. As I ate, a growing desire to embrace my role as a 'piggy' took hold, an unexpected shift in my mindset.
 
After finishing my meal and enjoying a fresh hose down, I was still dripping with water when Joe found me in the barn. "So, how is our newest piggy enjoying her day?" he asked, his tone friendly yet inquisitive.
 
I turned to face him, a genuine smile spreading across my face. "Oh hey!" I greeted him, drying myself off as we spoke. "This has been an amazing day. Unlike anything I've experienced," I replied, my voice carrying a mix of sincerity and newfound enthusiasm.
 
The day's events had been a whirlwind of emotions and experiences, each moment adding to my understanding and adaptation to life on the farm. Standing there, conversing with Joe, I felt a sense of belonging and purpose that I hadn't anticipated when I first arrived. The farm, with all its complexities and unique dynamics, was becoming a place where I could explore aspects of myself, I had never known. "Why was being purchased so intriguing to me", I mused to myself
 
Joe's question hung in the air, his expression hopeful. "Good, good! Have you reconsidered coming home with me tonight and allowing Wendy to turn you into a wonderful little roast tomorrow?" His enthusiasm was evident, almost infectious.
 
However, I remained resolute in my decision. "As much fun as that would be, I would like to keep to our original agreement," I replied, my tone sweet yet firm. It was important to me to maintain the boundaries I had set for this experience.
 
Joe seemed slightly taken aback. "Oh, I see. Thought you were enjoying yourself?" he asked, a hint of disappointment in his voice.
 
"Definitely, but I don't think I want to be roasted," I responded, masking my true feelings. The memory of Sam and the couple, and the complex emotions it had stirred in me, lingered in my mind.
 
Joe nodded in understanding. "Alrighty then. One of my guys will come to your pen about 4 am to wake you. He'll bring you a pair of boots for your walk home. I was hoping you'd reconsider, but I understand wanting to keep to your agreement," he said, his tone conveying both regret and respect for my choice.
 
"I'm heading out, as my day is complete. Was hoping you would want to join Wendy and I tonight for a grand meal tomorrow. Here's to hoping our paths cross again in the future," he added, his words leaving a trail of what-ifs in their wake. As he turned to leave, he reaches between my legs and roughly rubs my clit, nearly causing me to double over as a wave of pleasure washes over me, a grand reaction to the entire day's surreal journey. Joe laughed lightly at my evident enjoyment, then walked away.
 
"Thank you for an awesome adventure!" I called out after him, loud enough for him to hear, my voice filled with genuine gratitude.
 
As night enveloped the farm, I made my way back to my pen and crawled inside. The day had been nothing short of extraordinary, starting with an unexpected kidnapping and evolving into an adventure I could never have imagined. Lying down, rubbing my breast and clit, I replayed the events of the day in my head, each memory vivid and alive. Despite the unconventional and sometimes unsettling aspects of the farm, it had been an incredible experience. Drifting off to sleep, I wondered what the next day would bring, my mind still buzzing with the excitement and complexities of life at Regent Farms.
 
A Restless Night
 
In the depths of my slumber, a vivid dream took hold. I found myself standing in the field under the bright midday sun, the grass beneath my feet and the sky above impossibly blue. Around me, several groups of people were inspecting me, their eyes scrutinizing every inch of my body. I felt incredibly exposed and vulnerable, a stark contrast to the sense of adventure I had experienced during the day.
 
A farm worker approached me, his expression unreadable. In his hands, he held a collar, which he gently but firmly placed around my slender throat, locking it into place. The cool metal against my skin sent a shiver down my spine. He then pulled my wrists behind my back, securing them with a strap of leather that bound them tightly together. The sensation of being restrained was both alarming and strangely exhilarating. Felt an arousal growing between my legs, caused by the restraints securing me.
 
Attaching a leash to the collar, he tugged gently. "Come on, Piggy, time to get you to your new owners," he said, his voice a mix of command and reassurance.
 
As I was led through the field, my mind raced with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. The experiences from earlier in the day, the mix of fear, excitement, and curiosity, all swirled together in a chaotic dance. The dream felt incredibly real, each sensation amplified, each emotion heightened.
 
The faces of the people around me blurred as we moved, their expressions a mix of interest and anticipation. I felt like an object on display, yet there was a part of me that reveled in the attention, in the surreal nature of the situation.
 
The dream continued, a blend of reality and fantasy, mirroring the complex emotions and experiences I had encountered at the farm. It was a vivid reflection of my inner turmoil and the journey of self-discovery I had unwittingly embarked upon.
 
As the dream progressed, I found myself being led towards a building, the destination unknown but the journey filled with a sense of inevitable transformation. The dream was a tapestry of my deepest fears and hidden desires, a journey through the labyrinth of my subconscious.
 
The worker led me into a building that felt eerily familiar, with stalls lining the perimeter, each resembling the one I had spent time in. The air was thick with a sense of foreboding, heightening the surreal quality of the dream.
 
"Hold tight, while I get your shot," he said, his grin taking on a menacing quality that sent a chill down my spine. He attached my leash to a hook on one of the stalls, leaving me immobilized and vulnerable. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat echoing the growing fear within me.
 
I watched, almost in slow motion, as he rummaged through a cabinet. He pulled out an enormous needle, filled with a bubbling, ominous-looking liquid. The sight of it was enough to send waves of terror coursing through me. The dream, already intense, was escalating into a nightmare.
 
As he turned towards me, needle in hand, his movements seemed unnaturally swift. I felt a sense of panic rising, a desperate urge to escape, but the bindings held me firmly in place. The worker approached, his expression a mix of cold professionalism and a disturbing hint of enjoyment.
 
In that moment, the dream blurred the lines between reality and fantasy even further. The fear felt real, palpable, as if the needle and the bubbling liquid were actual threats rather than figments of my subconscious. My breathing quickened, a primal response to the perceived danger.
 
The worker was now mere steps away, the needle poised and ready. I closed my eyes, bracing for the inevitable, the fear reaching its crescendo. The dream had taken me to the edge of my fears, to a place where the safety and adventure of the farm were overshadowed by a darker, more ominous undertone.
 
“Hold still,” the worker commanded, his voice devoid of any warmth as he pushed the massive needle into my hip. The sensation was surreal, more imagined than felt, yet my mind reeled at the intrusion. I realized with a start that he hadn't swabbed the area with alcohol, a detail that somehow made the experience even more unsettling.
 
I watched, almost detached, as the liquid was harshly injected into me. A lump formed under my skin, spreading out across my veins in a disturbing display. The worker was mercilessly efficient, ripping the needle out as quickly as he had inserted it. “All done, ready to meet your owners,” he announced, a tone of finality in his voice.
 
Roughly, he unhooked my leash and pulled me toward the exit. The dream was intensifying, each moment more vivid and disconcerting than the last. As the door swung open, Joe stood there, his expression one of disappointment and disapproval.
 
“You should have come home with me, now a worse fate awaits you,” he said, glaring at me. His words echoed in the dream, adding a layer of regret and foreboding to the already tense atmosphere.
 
The dream was a maelstrom of emotions and fears, a reflection of the day's experiences and the choices I had made. Joe's presence, once a source of safety and guidance, now took on a different meaning, a reminder of the path not taken and the unknown consequences that lay ahead.
 
As I was pulled out of the building, the environment had shifted dramatically. The sky was a dull gray, and a cold wind blew, adding a layer of tenseness to the already unsettling situation. This was a stark contrast to the sunny, serene day I had experienced earlier. The change in atmosphere seemed to mirror the dark turn in my dream, making everything feel more ominous.
 
Once outside, I was led to a cloaked and hunched-over elderly woman. She cackled with a disturbing eagerness; her voice raspy with anticipation. "I can't wait to roast you," she exclaimed, her tone sending chills down my spine.
 
Her appearance was the stuff of nightmares, her fingers wrinkled and talon-like as they grasped me, inspecting me like I was her next meal. The way she looked at me, with a mix of greed and satisfaction, was deeply unsettling. Memories of old fairy tale witches flashed through my mind, her presence embodying those childhood fears.
 
She leaned in closer, her breath cold as she whispered, "I am from the old country, and we have the best methods to roast a cutie like you." Her words were menacing, filled with a promise of something ancient and cruel.
 
A shiver ran through my spine, fear gripping me at the thought of what her 'methods' might entail. The dream had taken a turn into a realm of deep-seated fears, tapping into primal anxieties and the terror of the unknown. Her cackle echoed in my ears, a sinister soundtrack to the nightmarish scenario unfolding around me.
 
The worker, with a smile that didn't reach his eyes, handed my leash over to the old woman. Her grip was firm and unyielding as she jerked the leash, compelling me to follow her. Each step I took was heavy with a growing sense of foreboding and danger. The atmosphere was charged with tension, heightened by the distant flashes of lightning and the ominous roll of thunder.
 
As we approached the van, the old woman's surprising strength became evident. With a force that belied her age, she threw me inside, her cackle resonating in the confined space. The sound was chilling, a sinister melody that seemed to echo my deepest fears. The engine roared to life, and we began to drive, each turn of the wheels taking me closer to the unknown fate she had gleefully promised.
 
In the midst of this terror, I suddenly awoke, dripping in sweat. My body was shaking, and my breaths were short and rapid. It took me a moment to realize that I was still safe in my pen, the nightmare having released its grip on me. Gradually, my heart rate began to slow, and the vivid images of the dream started to fade, leaving behind a lingering sense of unease.
 
The nightmare had been a jarring journey through my subconscious, tapping into fears and anxieties I hadn't fully acknowledged. Lying there in the pen, I took deep, steadying breaths, trying to dispel the last vestiges of the dream. The safety and familiarity of my surroundings slowly brought me back to a state of calm.
 
As the adrenaline from the nightmare dissipated, I reflected on the intensity of the experience. The dream, though frightening, was also a profound insight into my own psyche, revealing layers of my mind that were usually hidden beneath the surface. Feeling sleepy once more, I was comforted by the sounds of the other piggies sleeping all around me. Drifting off to sleep once more, my mind continued to sort through the recent experiences, weaving them into the tapestry of my thoughts and emotions.
 
In the depths of my restless sleep, another dream began to take shape, this one centered around a departure from the farm. In the dream, I was abruptly pulled from my pen by a worker who seemed intent on hastening my exit. He forced me to put on the boots he had brought, his grip firm and unyielding. Once the boots were on, he took my arm and nearly dragged me out of the sleeping barn, setting a pace that I struggled to match. His grunts and mumbled words were a harsh soundtrack to our hurried journey across the gravel and rough terrain leading to the farm's gate.
 
At the gate, his words were curt and dismissive. "Now, get your ass home and don't come back." The abruptness of his attitude jarred me, contrasting sharply with the intriguing and complex experiences I had enjoyed at the farm. As he pushed me beyond the gate, the cold wind enveloped my body, and the pathway ahead appeared dark and foreboding, lined with sharp tree branches that seemed to reach out menacingly.
 
My fear in the dream escalated, reaching a crescendo when suddenly I felt a hand on my leg. The sensation was so startling that it jolted me awake.
 
"Sorry to startle you," the worker said, standing beside my pen. "Joe told me to wake you up and escort you from the farm. Here's a pair of boots," he added, handing me the boots along with a couple of pairs of socks.
 
Blinking away the remnants of the dream, I took a moment to orient myself to reality. The contrast between the dream's abrupt ending and the worker's calm demeanor was disorienting. I blinked as I looked at the worker, then at the boots he had brought. Gathering my thoughts, I sat up and pondered my situation. Looking back at the worker, I said, "Thank you for bringing these to me. I've decided to stay until I can speak with Joe in the morning. Is that alright?"
 
The worker looked at me, clearly stunned by my request. "Uh, I guess that's alright. Just make sure to tell Joe that I did wake you and brought the boots. I don't need him getting pissed off at me for not doing my job." He closed the pen gate and picked up the boots and socks. "Have a good night in that case," he said, his tone a mix of relief and confusion. Without another word, he walked away, exiting the building and closing the door behind him.
 
Left alone in my pen, I sat there, looking out into the dimly lit barn, mulling over the decision I had just made. "I really hope Joe isn't upset with me, especially after all the kindness he showed me today," I thought, a twinge of anxiety mixing with my resolve.
 
Laying back down, I tried to settle into sleep, hoping to get enough rest despite the vivid dreams that had already disrupted my night. The decision to stay and speak with Joe in the morning felt right, yet it brought with it a sense of uncertainty about what the new day would bring. As sleep began to take over, my mind continued to process the day's events.
 
 
*** End Part 2 ***