9: Farm Girl
The issue that interrupted fuckbunny's training - and that of virtually every other slave-
in-training in the country - was a national crisis. The continued population growth had
placed greater need on a rapidly-dwindling natural resource: fertile soil. Where farms
once covered the land with acres of corn, wheat and other foodstuffs, now stood office
buildings and apartment complexes. However, thanks to the progress made in
agricultural sciences, less land was now producing more food. The problem was that of
manpower. This year, the challenge was exacerbated by exceptionally high production.
The call went out, and every training facility in the nation was tasked to provide
assistance.
Every means of transportation available was used to move both slaves and migrant
laborers to the sites where their services were needed. For the latter, this usually
meant air or rail travel; for the former, trucks, busses and cargo vans. Fuckbunny was
one of the fortunate few, loaded onto a former school bus rather than the back of a
trailer. At least she had a somewhat comfortable place to sit, cramped though it was
with 90 slaves packed into what had been a 45 passenger bus. For the purpose of
transport, each slave was given a new numeric identity. Fuckbunny was now simply
"sixteen."
Shackled and chained to their seats, the ride was slightly over 12 hours; short enough
that meals wouldn't be necessary, but long enough that there might be other issues. To
this end, each slave was given a thorough enema and then plugged at both ends
before boarding. Most of the girls barely registered the butt plugs being
unceremoniously shoved up their asses, so common was such a thing. Most, including
sixteen, however, had never experienced a urethral plug. A relatively new modification
of an old invention, a catheter with an inflatable collar was inserted into the urethra so
that the collar was inside the opening. After the collar was inflated to prevent the
catheter from being easily removed, the end of the tubing was clamped shut. The only
way the slave could urinate was by either uncapping of the tube or deflation of the
collar, neither of which would occur until after arrival at her destination.
The relative comfort - being able to actually sit on a seat in a normal fashion - quickly
wore off as the bus bounced over unpaved roads, the thin seat padding barely
cushioning the hard metal frames. Sixteen found herself almost wishing that she'd been
placed in one of the cargo vans; at least there, she reasoned, she'd be able to move a
bit so the same parts of her body weren't continually pounded as her ass was against
the seat. Even the ability to look at the outside world through barred windows did little
to make the ride easier.
Sixteen silently gave thanks to whatever Power was responsible for their safe arrival at
their destination, a small farming camp in the Imperial Valley. She sat patiently, shifting
her weight slightly to afford her bruised bottom a bit of relief while the girls in front of her
were slowly released. She could see the redness on their asses, and knew hers would
look much the same, if not worse. Finally, it was her turn. Her leg shackles weren't
removed, just unlocked from the eye bolt in the floor, permitting her to carefully shuffle
down the aisle and off the bus.
The ninety naked girls stood shoulder-to-shoulder while two other slaves began
removing the plugs. One walked behind, deftly ripping the latex butt plugs out without a
word, while the second moved much more slowly, taking her time to carefully deflate
each catheter before sliding it out. While a painful ass was a minor problem, a urinary
tract infection could be a much more serious concern, so more attention was paid to
that end.
"Squat and piss if you need to!" hailed a male voice over a loudspeaker. Sixteen could
barely see him in the periphery of her vision, holding a megaphone. As one, the entire
line spread their legs as far as the shackles would allow, squatted in a distinctly
unladylike manner, and began urinating. Sixteen could feel the splatters of piss hitting
her ankles - and not just her own, but that of the girls on either side of her.
"Raise your hand if you have to shit!" he said after all the slaves had finished emptying
their bladders. This was a need sixteen didn't have at the moment, though several of
the girls did. The slave that had unplugged their asses carried a single bucket down the
line, stopping at each raised hand, setting the pail down between the signaling slave's
feet and waiting patiently for her to do her business. Sixteen silently gave thanks that
she didn't have to go at the moment. She wasn't sure which would have been more
embarrassing - to be made to defecate in such a manner, or to carry the shit-filled
bucket from girl to girl.
It was a two mile walk to the camp, a difficult task given the constraints of the leg
shackles - but something that would have been much harder if they'd been made to
crawl the distance. By the time they arrived at their destination, most of the slaves bore
minor injuries on their ankles. In sixteen's case, the heavy metal rings had bounced off
the tops of her feet with every step, leaving painful bruising but no significant damage.
It caused her to wince slightly with every step, but nothing more.
Upon arrival at Farm Camp Delta, as it was officially known, the slaves were freed of
their restraints. They hadn't really been necessary at all, sixteen realized, and were
simply symbolic anyway. There wasn't anywhere a slave could go where she couldn't
be found; the tracking chip took care of that. After being given a few moments to rest
and the opportunity for a drink of water, the girls were issued clothing and new names.
The clothing, while it really couldn't be called that, consisted of nothing more than an
old burlap sack with three holes cut in it - one for the head and two for the arms - and a
pair of flat sandals cut from old vehicle tires. Sixteen's "dress" extended just below the
splay of her thighs, but it wasn't designed with modesty in mind. It had a more practical
purpose, as did the uncomfortable sandals. The slaves would be spending considerable
time outside in the hot sun, working in the fields. The only purpose for any attire at all
was protection from heat or foot injuries. During the heat of the day, the burlap could
be soaked with water, providing the slave with a bit of coolness and preventing heat
stroke.
Stenciled on the front and back of the sack was sixteen's new name: She was now
known as radish. In keeping with the agricultural climate, all of the girls were named for
crops: turnip, potato, corn, yam, bean, and the like. At least the names weren't
degrading for a change, she thought, though by now she thought there wasn't much
that she'd consider degrading. Most of the time she wouldn't be called by her name,
though. The workers preferred using their own: cunt, bitch, slut, or most usually, puta.
While the other girls were being issued her clothing, radish used a few moments to take
stock of her new surroundings. In addition to the slaves, roughly two hundred migrant
workers - mostly Mexican and Central American, but a few Canadians and even small
group of young men working off a community service sentence for some minor crime.
Counting the overseers, the population of the camp was just over three hundred.
Several fairly large, squat modular buildings which appeared to have been recently
installed - tractor tire imprints were still visible in the soil - were used to house this
group. Separated slightly from this were two other modulars fitted together to form a T.
The smaller unit forming the top of the T was the kitchen, the larger horizontal leg the
dining room. Other buildings appeared to be offices, and a medical clinic. Centrally
located within the triangle created by these structures was a dilapidated barn-like
building - the slave quarters.
Once the issue of clothing and names had been completed, the slaves were led inside
their new home. It was spacious, more than enough room for 90 girls, but radish also
noticed there were large gaps in the siding and numerous holes in the roof. It wouldn't
be much protection should a storm hit, but perhaps by finding a few good spots, the
girls could stay dry on the dirt floor. The building, though it hadn't been used to house
farm animals for several years, still had a hint of cow smell.
Work didn't begin in earnest until the following morning, though several of the slaves
were pulled from the group to prepare the evening meal. Radish was not among these,
so she simply found a fairly soft spot on the barn floor to lay down on, and using her
balled-up burlap dress as a pillow, fell asleep. Most of the other girls soon followed suit
and took the opportunity for a short nap, though a few sat against a wall, quietly
chatting among themselves. Speaking among the slaves was permitted here, though
only in the barn and when necessary during the course of work.
Radish awoke from her nap to the sound of a voice announcing dinnertime. The camp
rules, which had been read to them upon arrival, forbade the wearing of any clothing
inside the camp. The burlap sacks were only for use in the fields, so radish left hers
balled up on the floor, marking her relatively comfortable sleeping place. The slaves
lined up outside the barn doorway - the door was long gone - and once a quick
headcount was completed, were led into the dining room.
Slave and employee alike ate in the same facility, albeit in quite different manners.
Tables and chairs for the hired workers, platters piled high with steaming slices of roast
beef and butter-smothered hot vegetables, pitchers of ice water and tea to quench their
thirst. This was not for the slaves, however, unless someone deigned to slip one a
morsel of food. No, the slaves were provided with places on the floor, a naked girl
kneeling between every other chair to ensure every migrant worker had a slave on one
side or the other. Plastic bowls filled with the so-familiar cold slave gruel marked each
slave's place on the floor. The girls were virtually ignored as they ate like animals,
hands clasped behind their hands, only the occasional crude joke or obscene comment
interrupting their unfulfilling meal. Radish was one of the fortunate few; one of the
Hispanic men she kneeled between seemed to take a liking to her, and thought it was
amusing to see how her eyes would look at him adoringly as he hand-fed her scraps of
fatty meat and bits of half-eaten vegetables. It wasn't sufficient to fill her belly, but it
was enough for her to remember his face and promise herself to be especially pleasing
if he decided to use her at some point in the future. That opportunity would come
sooner than she expected.
Finished with her small meal, radish knelt patiently between the two chairs, perhaps
spreading her knees just a bit further apart and thrusting her breast out slightly more, in
an effort to thank her benefactor for the tasty morsels of food. Her efforts did not go
unnoticed; as he got up from the table, he took a bit of nylon cord from his pocket and
tied it to radish's nose ring.
"We go," he said in heavily accented English. "Vamanos," leading her down the narrow
aisle on her hands and knees, much to the amusement of his fellow harvesters.
Although she knew pride was something not befitting a slave, radish beamed, knowing
she was the first of her group to be so selected.
Her User - he wasn't a Master, per se - led her outside and across the dusty footpath to
his quarters. As living accommodations went, they were quite spartan; the room little
more than a cubicle with a door, containing a single bed, a small wall locker for
belongings, and a bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. There were no bathrooms in
the worker's quarters; latrines with toilets and showers were in a building by
themselves. This was obviously a functional place, a location for sleeping, not for
recreation - except, of course, the type that might take place on a bed.
"You suck," he said, sitting on the edge of his bed, pulling the kneeling girl to a position
between his legs. He had a wife waiting for him back home, and the thought of being
unfaithful to her was unconscionable. Like many men, however - including a former
American president - he didn't consider oral sex to be sex at all, but just an expedient
means of relief.
"Yes, Master," radish blushed, lowering her eyes to his crotch. "Master, may I please
worship your beautiful cock with my mouth, Master?" she asked, reciting the requisite
words dutifully.
"Si," he responded, quickly sliding his dirty work jeans down below to his ankles.
He was uncircumcised, radish saw, and as she moved her face closer, she could smell
the unique odor of sweat and dirt on his body. Radish leaned forward and carefully
took his throbbing member into her mouth. She could taste the pre-cum already
seeping from it, even through the taste of crotch sweat and hint of urine. While many
women might have found the flavor of a sweaty cock unsavory, the knowledge that she
was being made to suck an unwashed dick made radish's cunt begin to drool. Her
body's sudden response surprised radish; it had been hours since she'd thought of
anything sexual, and having a filthy dick in her mouth was far from what she'd
previously have thought to be an exciting event. Regardless, she simply put her mind
to her task, slowly sucking and licking her User's penis in order to give him the greatest
amount of pleasure possible.
"Bueno, bueno," he moaned, grabbing the back of radish's head and forcing her face
firmly into his hairy groin, holding it there while his cum spurted into her mouth. "Good
puta," he announced after he pulled out, and the brief encounter was over. While
radish had become somewhat aroused, she was left, as so many times before,
unfulfilled. Rather than escorting radish back to the barn, he simply led her to the
entrance to his apartment building and told her to go.
It was dark now, and radish still wasn't totally familiar with the compound. Unsure
whether she was permitted to walk, she crawled slowly, trying to remain in lit areas in
the hopes that someone else might deign to use her, thereby giving her the release she
so desperately needed. She even took special care to keep her ass lifted as high as
she could, and her knees as widely apart as she could manage, trying to entice anyone
who might be watching. Her efforts went to no avail, however, and she soon found
herself at the dilapidated barn. Finding her wadded-up burlap garment still where she
left it, she laid her head down and fell into an exhausted slumber, her dreams filled with
visions of abuse and abasement.
The regular schedule for radish and the other slaves began before dawn, when they
were awakened by loud yelling, punctuated where necessary by a swift kick from one fo
the Overseers. A quick breakfast of cold gruel, prepared the night before and already
portioned into individual bowls, was served. For the first time since radish had been
forced into slavery, she was permitted to eat as much as she wanted, within the time
constraints given. Even the tasteless slop seemed like a gourmet meal; she and the
other girls wolfed it down ravenously, then began their day's toils. While about a third
of the company was sent to the kitchen to prepare breakfast, the rest were put to work
at other tasks. The cantina the workers had established for themselves, for example,
needed to be cleaned, as did the showers and toilets. While most of the girls wielded
scrub brushes, brooms and mops, the rest cooked. .
By the time these tasks were done, the workers were being served their meals, so it
was time for the slaves to go clean those quarters. Linens were removed and replaced,
floors swept and mopped, and common areas cleaned until they sparkled. Dirty
clothing was tagged with the cubicle number and taken out for later cleaning by other
slaves. By now, the regular workers had finished their breakfasts and were ready to go
to the fields.
The slaves donned their rough burlap garments and sandals and, following the line of
workers, carried all the tools, water and food necessary for the day's labor. The
workers carried nothing, walking casually, smoking and chatting among themselves
while the slaves struggled under their awkward loads. It wasn't a particularly long walk,
just over a mile to the far edge of what hadn't already been harvested, but it was
enough to wear on the already tired slave girls. Arriving at their work site, the men took
up their tools while the girls were put to work erecting a couple of canvas flies for use as
shade during breaks. Six of the slaves were assigned to water duty, carrying jugs of
cool water to the workers throughout the day. Radish, however, went with the main
body, to dig potatoes on her hands and knees. At least they allowed her a small trowel,
she thought thankfully as she began the dirty work of pulling the tubers out of their
resting places.
Although the men were given a 15 minute break each hour, the slaves were permitted
no such luxury and forced to work relentlessly throughout the morning. Radish
assumed work would be like normal, with a morning and evening meal, so was quite
surprised when the slaves were ordered to halt for lunch. Even the raw potato each girl
was given seemed like a treat as they each munched quietly. Radish had just a
momentary flash of jealousy when she saw the men drinking bottles of beer, then
looked down at her own small bowl of water. Though she'd only tasted beer once in her
young life - and discovered then that she didn't like it anyway - she knew she'd savor
the flavor if permitted so much as a sip. Just the fact that it was so cold - she could see
the condensation on the bottles - she knew she'd do just about anything for a sip. Then
reality hit and she quickly slipped back into her proper place; she'd do anything for
anyone, regardless of her own desires or any rewards she might receive, simply
because she was a slave and had no choice. With that thought, she quickly chewed
the last bit of her raw potato and lapped up her water just in time to be sent back to the
field to continue her labor.
It was early evening before the harvest crew was marched back to the base camp.
Both slave and worker were exhausted and filthy from the day's work. Upon return, the
men went straight to the Cantina for some relaxation, while the slaves were sent to
bathe. Amazingly, the showers were actually warm, and the girls were given real soap
and shampoo to use. Even the allotted ten minutes under the water seemed like an
eternity, but being provided makeup and some rather skimpy, revealing clothing gave
radish and the other new arrivals an inkling of what lay in store for them.
Radish's outfit for the night consisted of a pale blue translucent neglige with matching
stockings and a lace garter belt, topped off with six inch spiked heels of a slightly darker
shade. While an Overseer watched, radish applied a thick coat of makeup to her face,
slathering on bright red lipstick to both her mouth and areola at his instructions.
Looking at herself in the mirror, radish thought she looked idiotic, like some cartoon
caricature of a whore; the Overseer thought that was exactly what she looked like, and
it was almost perfect.
"Paint your cunt lips, too," he told her. "Use the lipstick, then spray yourself with this."
He handed her a large spritzer of very cheap, smelly perfume. Radish took the
perfume bottle in her hand, wrinkling her nose at the smell, the set it down while she
spread her legs and ran the end of the lipstick over her labia. Twice she looked up to
see the Overseer shaking his head; by the third coat, she'd apparently applied enough
because he was nodding. She picked up the perfume and liberally sprayed her body;
between her breasts and inside her thighs, primarily, trying to avoid her neck and face.
Even that didn't keep the almost nauseous odor of crushed flowers from causing her to
coughing as he led her out to the Cantina. There was a reason for the overpowering
scent; although the slaves were all bathed and clean, the men went directly from the
fields to the club; they would shower either before bed or in the morning, as they
wished.
The little club the workers had built for themselves was crowded, noisy and smoke-
filled. The hard-packed dirt floor was strewn with rough-hewn tables and benches,
some commercially manufactured and others simply pieces of plywood and two-by-
fours. The back wall was taken up by a bar, upon which mugs upon mugs of beer were
waiting. Radish's co-workers scurried back and forth, carrying full mugs from the bar
and returning empties as fast as they could. Along one side wall rested a pile of old,
stained and well-used mattresses; these were seldom used, though, as evidenced by
the two girls currently laying on their backs, getting violently fucked in the dirt. The
other wall contained a small alcove, in which a set of currently unoccupied stocks
rested. They wouldn't stay that way for long.
Radish was put to work carrying mugs of draft around the room, a never-ending task
given the beer was provided gratis as part of the workers' benefits. As she teetered
across the hard dirt floor in the unfamiliar heels, hands reached out to molest her,
pinching, squeezing and slapping her most sensitive places. When one hand reached
up and tugged on her labia rings, she lost her balance and dumped an entire tray of
beers on the ground. A cheer arose at the realization of what had happened, and what
was about to happen.
Radish was grabbed from behind and taken to the stocks, where she was quickly
secured. Unlike most medieval devices of a similar nature, this one forced Radish to
her knees, which were then widely spread and then secured with cold metal bands.
Her tits stuck out from under the two wooden planks imprisoning her neck and wrists,
and made perfect targets for slaps, pinches and the occasional squeeze. More metal
bands, placed around the base of her tits and tightened, made them stick out even
more lewdly, eventually turning them into firm purple melons. The girl, unable to move,
simply kneeled there, watching the goings-on and assuming this was her punishment
for spilling the beer.
That believe came to a quick end, though, when the first man stepped up in front of her
and unzipped his pants. Once again, Radish understood, she was to become a toilet.
Every few minutes someone else came up to relieve himself into the bound slave's
mouth, until about an hour later, another slave who had stepped on someone's foot was
brought to replace her. Taken off the platform, Radish was handed a beer. She took a
large mouthful and swished it around in her mouth before swallowing, trying to get rid of
the piss taste. Unfortunately for her, she found beer didn't taste much better.
The rest of the evening was much the same, simply serving beers and bussing tables,
looking on with jealously as other slaves were whisked to the floor, there to be taken
violently and abusively until their Users were through with them. One girl - she couldn't
have been thirteen - was repeatedly gang-raped until she was literally unconscious,
semen dripping out of her swollen gash and flowing from her nostrils. Through it all,
though, nobody deigned to take Radish for even a quick suck, and at the end of the
night she was sent back to her quarters aroused but unable to do anything about it.
The rest of the month went by in a similar fashion, the girls averaging four to six hours
of free time per night. After being taken back to their quarters, smelly and cum-filled,
the girls were given time to rest before being awakened for their next day's chores. Eat
breakfast, cook, clean, march to the fields, work all day, come back and bathe, serve
the men, and return to the barn.
The weekends were little different, in that the men were off, but the girls were still sent
to work in the fields. Most of them, anyway. A few, handpicked by the workers, would
remain behind to be shared among them after the housekeeping was done. Radish
was picked three times, and enjoyed the thorough gang-bangs that followed. By the
time the picking season was done and the slaves were ready to be bussed back to their
homes, Radish's muscle tone was even more pronounced by the dark tan she had from
working in the fields, and she had an new appreciation for things like warm food, cold
water and a soft bed.
