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Chattel Acres
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
[Disclaimer: This is FICTION, people. It's full of extremely gratuitious
sex and violence, torture, snuff, and other squicksome things... but it
ain't real, so it don't matter. If you read any further, consider yourself
warned.]
Introduction
Everyone's heard about Chattel Acres by now, but nobody knows the
whole story. Well, almost nobody. You see, we did a real good job on the
cleanup. If it hadn't been for that one damn newscopter's footage, the
story probably would never had made the news. But it did, and the Acres
decided to make one last profit by taking advantage of the publicity to
sell this story.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. For those of you who've somehow
managed to ignore the news in a year, a little background. The Acres was a
farm of sorts. It produced livestock and milk for, but not in the way of a
traditional farming operation. No sir, it was not a normal farm. Oh,
sure, it had the big red barn with stalls and stanchions, wide green
pastures (with electric fences), birth pens, pens for young stock, a
milking parlor, a kill floor and meat processing operation. But this farm
raised only female animals, and only one species. Homo Sapiens. Humans.
The women were captured from the streets of large cities, from the
homes of small towns, from all over the world. The price of goods at the
farm ensured a profit in spite of huge acquisition costs and other
overhead. The hunters were very selective in terms of who was captured.
You'd be amazed at how many beautiful women are completely unattached or
minimally attached to any particular social unit. And, there are still
slave markets operating in various parts of the world. The trade in human
flesh, particularly female flesh, did not end with Lincoln's Emancipation
Proclamation.
There were never more than a hundred women on the farm at any one
time. Some were kept as milkers, others trained for service, but all ended
up at the slaughterhouse. The meat was processed (under standards quite a
bit more rigorous than the government requires for animal processing, by
the way) and then sold to an extremely select and enormously wealthy
clientele. There was also a restaurant/resort complex on the grounds, for
which the farm provided well trained "entertainment." In any event, once a
woman was brought to the farm, her eventual demise was beyond doubt.
Sometimes we'd replace nearly the entire herd at once, resulting in
lots of action on the kill floor. This would happen when there was a slump
in the demand for milk at the same time that requests for fresh meat were
going up. Sometimes it happened because the capture crews got very lucky
in locating and obtaining new females, allowing us to cull the herd and
maintain stable numbers.
Certain members of the herd, who had qualities we were trying to
breed for or who gave unusually large quantities of milk, were kept longer
than others. In no case, however, was any one individual on the farm for
more than four years. Beyond a certain age, the meat was just not that
desirable to our customers, and life on the farm did tend to wear the herd
members down somewhat, limiting the length of their usefulness.
Sometimes the herd's owners would show up to play with the animals.
This happened quite often with the new arrivals, as part of their herd
conditioning. It happened less often with the actual dairy herd due to our
desire not to interrupt the lactation cycle. Sometimes a herd member was
taken off the farm entirely and kept as a pet for some time, always being
returned to the farm when the time came to process the individual for meat.
Nothing was wasted at Chattel Acres. Hair, for example, was sold for
wigs, while skin was tanned and used to produce a leather which was the
finest and most supple anywhere. Those portions of the body which weren't
fit to be sold as meat were used as dog and cat food or even fertilizer.
While a female was part of the herd, she was well fed and groomed;
kept in clean, though confining, conditions; and generally treated as a
valuable corporate asset should be.
So that's what the Acres were about. In order to easily tell my
story, I'll follow the life cycle of one particular female (which we named
Kathy) as she was acquired, prepared, trained, exercised, milked, and
eventually slaughtered.
Chapter One: Life on the Farm
Kathy was a young female, about 18 or so when she was captured. She
had excellent conformation, to use a breeders' term, with exquisite tits,
good shape in the principal meat producing areas, not very much body fat,
and a gorgeous blonde mane. Kathy was snatched from the streets of New
York. That's where she landed after her parents were killed in an
accident. Unscrupulous lawyers (is there another kind?) bilked her of the
insurance money. Her parents were both only children, and her grand
parents were also dead. An only child herself, Kathy was alone -- in other
words, a perfect target.
With no one to call to for help, and no one looking for her, she was
easily grabbed and brought to Chattel Acres, the last place on earth she
would ever see.....
"Well, Greg, looks like you boys got us another good one," I said as
Greg lead the still struggling blond to the door of the big barn, "where'd
this one come from -- I know, don't ask. Well, you leave her with me, and
I'll take care of everything."
"Great Joe. See ya tomorrow," Greg said as he handed me the chain
which was attached to the leg and wrist irons Kathy was wearing.
"Why --"
SLAP! I hit Kathy hard, one time, right on the cheek, leaving an
angry red mark there with my open palm.
"Here's rule number one. Don't EVER speak to anyone on the farm
without their permission, and that will almost NEVER be given. You need to
start thinking of what's left of your life in a new way or things are going
to go very badly for you."
I gave her chain a jerk and this put her into motion behind me as I
walked into the stock processing area of the big red barn. I lead her to a
set of three collars attached to rods protruding from the wall. One collar
went around her neck, one each for her legs. Her arms were left free for
the moment, but otherwise, she was quite immobile. Swiftly, I removed the
leg and wrist irons and then stripped her. She fought me a little with her
hands, but a quick, hard, slap on the ass and a sharp command held her
still. Luckily, she was not wearing pantyhose and soon she was naked as
the day she had been born, trembling in her bondage.
Using a remote control, I adjusted the rods so that she was pulled
into a position in which her head was lower than her ass and her feet were
about 30 inches apart. Leaving her for a moment, I went to a nearby
computer and called up the program which we used to track the various women
through our system. Kathy had been given the number 816, with which she
would now be marked in two ways. One, a tag with this number on it would
be riveted to her ear, and two, she would receive a brand on her left hip,
along with the Chattel Acres brand on her right.
I moved up along her head, holding the tag-and-rivet tool out of her
sight. I firmly grasped her ear with one hand and positioned the rivet gun
and label so that the rivet would go through the soft part of her ear lobe.
SNAP! went the rivet into her ear -- quite a bit larger than the hole
for the earrings she wore -- and she screamed, probably as much in shock as
in pain. I chuckled to myself because I knew that what would happen next
would be much more painful.
In preparation for her arrival, I had been heating the electric
branding irons, so that now they were both a bright, glowing, white/orange.
Now, I swiftly pulled her hands up behind her back and strapped her elbows
together and then her wrists. She was now firmly held at the ankles, arms,
and neck, but I also attached some straps to each thigh to hold her hips
steady. These straps were then attached to hooks in the same apparatus
that the collars attached to and then they were tightened.
816 wasn't going anywhere until I was finished with her. Moving
behind her, I was casually interested to note that there was sex dew on the
finely formed petals of her cunt. "Already in heat, and just arrived.
I'll have to note the date and time later for our records," I thought.
Taking an iron marked "816" in one hand, I put my other on her back
to steady her -- though it wasn't really necessary -- and firmly pressed
the white hot metal to her hip. This time she REALLY screamed, as her
flesh was seared by the branding iron. Counting to five, I then removed
the iron from her smoldering flesh and applied an antiseptic spray to the
raw, red, wound I had created. When it healed, it would identify her as
number 816 of the Chattel Acres herd. Putting the first iron aside, I took
up the generic "Chattel Acres" brand and repeated the process on the other
cheek. She screamed again, weaker this time, and then fainted. The room
was filled with the scent of burning human flesh, not an unfamiliar odor in
this place. But I detected something else as well. Looking between her
legs again, I noted that her sex was flexing, the petals opening and
closing; glistening with her juice. She had had an orgasm. That would
also be noted on her chart, as management was always interested in a
specimen such as this.
An application of smelling salts soon revived her and she moaned at
the pain in her ear and on her ass. I repositioned her so that she was
once again standing with her legs together and then removed the collar from
her neck, replacing it with one bearing her number and the name "Kathy" on
it. This collar was riveted in place with two heavy rivets. It was about
2 inches high and had two large D rings on it.
Kathy was then lead to a stall for new arrivals. It was padded all
around and had a midden hole in the corner. Her neck collar was attached
to a large eye bolt and padlocked at either end -- the ends connected by a
chain just long enough for her to be able to reach the hole in the corner
and to reach her feed trough on the opposite side of the stall. Her arms
were kept strapped at the wrists, though the elbow straps were loosened
somewhat.
Checking her brands to see if there were any early trouble signs, I
applied more antiseptic spray -- she gasped in pain at this -- and then
left her in darkness as I went about my other duties. I would have more to
do with this new arrival in the morning.
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