Stud Farm

By Catdude

A sharp buzz roused me out of my sleep, grey concrete walls were the first thing to welcome me back to the world of wakefulness; that and, of course, the thick steel bars. I stretched out, the thin mattress on the floor was only slightly better than nothing at all, which was the price I would pay for disobedience.  I reflected on this as I stretched, every muscle ached, but I was used to that now, the dull throbbing pain had become just another part of my everyday life.

I looked through the bars of my sleeping cell at the plain clock on the wall, 0500, wakeup time. I had no idea what day it was, all I knew was it was day 3 in my cycle.  About a month in I had lost track of the days.  I hadn’t meant to but there was no way of keeping track of them. If we were caught defacing our cell walls or floors with tally marks we would be punished.

Even punishments could not be used as a good basis for judging the flow of days since they went by cycles, which were three day cycles.  So you were either punished for 3 days, 6 days, 9 days, etcetera.  Think that this loss of time is unlikely?  Well what did you do 4 days ago?  Your first thought will be the day of the week.  You will then use the name of the day to remember what you did. No name of day? Very tricky to remember.

The door to my cage slid open at 0505 and would shut at 0507.  If I remained in my cell I would receive no food for three days, bare minimum water rations and no sanitary facilities. I stepped out of my cell into my tiny room, and then into the hallway and then to the bathroom.  The shower would run for 10mintues from 0510 to 0520.  I shared this shower with 9 other guys.  This sounds hot, but trust me when I say sex was the last thing on my mind.  In fact, think I can safely say that none of us were thinking about anything sexual. Talking was not permitted.  There were no guards, I grinned at this, tho I didn’t find it funny and I doubted my expression conveyed humour. Our first few cycles had been under constant guard supervision.  Those who had disobeyed had been punished severely – watching a guy beg for food from inside a cell he is sharing with his own body waste does not give you a desire to be chatty. We gathered as a group under the showerhead, tightly packed together we could all fit under the shower.  The water was ice cold as always, and I spent only enough time under it to ensure I was sufficiently wet enough for what I had to do next.

I quickly moved from the shower room back to my bedroom, we didn’t have towels so I was naked. I quickly lathered up my face and shaved, I had a mirror and a small basin, no taps or drains ran from it however. I checked my body once I had finished shaving, I had a bit of stubble on my chest and a slight hint of stubble around my cock and balls, but well within the accepted amount. I wiped my hands on my still wet body to remove the last traces of foam, and moved over to the toilet set in the corner and relived myself. Once that was done I moved to the only pieces of furniture in the room, a small stool set next to a small wooden chest. I sat on the stool and opened the chest, inside was a set of boots and a pair of socks. I carefully lifted out my boots, I checked them over quickly, not that it was necessary really but the reason for this would soon become apparent. Once I was sure they were polished and buffed to a bright shine I pulled on the socks and then the boots. I had to admit, I did love them, they were the only thing I owned, they were the only thing that gave me any sort of uniqueness. The shiny black leather was soft now, the first few cycles they had been stiff, and I grimaced slightly remembering the blisters they had caused. I pulled firmly on the laces, there were 18 holes and I quickly laced them up, practise had made me very quick at this, that and the assurance of punishment should I take too long.  I had until 0530 to be out of my room. At the top of the boots, which reached just below my knee, was a locking clip; once the laces were firmly tied I tucked them under the clip and pushed the two ends together locking my boots on.

I stood up and moved towards the bathroom again.  I was completely dry by now due to the air in the rooms being very dry and hot. I adjusted to the new weight on my feet as I walked back to the bathroom, tall boots are always heavy but these boots were modified, the soles had been thickened slightly and lead plates were inserted. There was also metal horseshoes on the heels of the boots, making a slight click clack noise as I walked. These did not add much to the weight of the boot but the symbolism of having animal footwear attached to my boots was not lost on me. On the back of the heel was a small metal plate, carefully shined, on it was my number. 042-710-407-2-672042-710407 yep, that’s me, even when reduced to a number I am ‘odd’ that small joke did nothing to hide the fact that no one here knew my name.  If we ever spoke our name from our old life we were severely punished, and then moved to a new group. Sometimes I lay in my cell at night thinking my name over and over again.  I was so scared that I would loose my name like I have lost track of time.

Once back in the bathroom I grabbed a small towel that was on a table near the door, and knelt down and started to wipe the shower floor clean of any remaining water, squeezing the cloth down a drain in the corner. It was not long until all 10 of us were doing this; no guards watched over us, in fact there was no need for them to check on us, our movements were recorded far more effectively. In each of our boots was a small rf chip, this tracked our every move, and I do mean every, all a guard had to do was look at a computer screen somewhere – if I was not where I should be at the time I was supposed to be, then my number would appear on a list and I would be punished.  For example if I had stayed in my room instead of heading back into the bathroom. Once the bathroom was cleaned we used the damp towels to wipe the shaving cream off our faces and bodies as we needed to and then hung the towels neatly on a rail to dry and then made our way to the feedlot, our boots making rhythmic clacking noise from the horseshoes on the heels.

The feedlot was a massive room, filled with naked guys and a lot of stocks set in circles around the feeding devises. The first three numbers on our boots was our group designation and we all made our way to the stocks with our number above it. The stocks would lock at 0600 and if one member of the group was not in, the whole group would go without food. I placed my hands in the stocks and bent my body and poked my head through the hole, there was plenty of room, reaching in through the hand holes I grabbed the feed tube, it looked a little like a scuba mouthpiece, I then pulled my arm back through the wide hole so that only my hands from the wrist forward were inside.  The stocks were metal, one continuous circle of metal, with 10 head holes and 20 hand holes at regular intervals.  We all stood with our hands held near the centre of the holes and our heads facing down. We did not have to wait long, slowly bladders around the edges of the holes began to inflate, soon our hands were trapped by the inflating bladders and our heads were held in place gently but with no chance of escape. Our groups were selected by size, so that we would all be able to use the same set of stocks, I had once seen a guy from a taller group made to feed with members of a much shorter group so he had to bend uncomfortably, the smaller guy had been made to stand on a box, this had been done with a lot of noise from the guards so we had all been paying attention.  I was not sure if it was punishment or just the guards messing with us as they sometimes did. Once the inflation of the bladder stopped there was a rumbling noise.  In the centre of the stock circle sat the feeding machine, a large sphere with the feeding tubes running out of it, when the rumbling noise started I bit down on the mouthpiece and in short order food started to fill my mouth.  When it got to full I stopped biting on the mouthpiece, stopping the process, swallowed and then bit down again. Feeding continued till 0630, and it was one continuous cycle, we all had a set amount and if the group failed to finish their allocation then they would be punished. I reflected that my life had become one massive attempt at avoiding further discomfort, when normal is a continuous amount of pain; you quickly comply to avoid increasing your misery.

The one shining beacon in this all was the food, it was good! Since it was coming through a tube it was a sort of thick mush, yet it tasted great, and I very rarely had any trouble feeding for the full half-hour. During this interval guards circulated the room, this was the reason for my boot check earlier, if our boots were scuffed, or did not shine enough for the guards liking then we would have additional ankle weights strapped around the boots. This not only added to the amount you had to drag along all day but it scuffed the leather a lot so your polishing efforts at night had to be twice or three times as thorough. We all stood as still as possible during this period, if we moved around too much it attracted the guard’s attention and that was never a good idea.
Once the cycle finished the bladders deflated and released us.  Feeling bloated I turned and walked towards the corralling area.

We would not know till we got back to our rooms tonight if we had failed to complete our feed allocation.  All punishment was delivered at the end of the day.  You might behave yourself perfectly; but someone in the group may incur a punishment that included everyone, so you never really knew if you were going to be punished at the end of the day.  You spent your whole day in the knowledge that someone else may at that very moment be doing something that was going to have you locked up in a cell with no sleeping mat, or the toilets would not flush. Or the worst punishment of all, the collars.

I shivered as I remembered the one time we had been collared, the collars were a simple construction a small black box with a strip of metal running along one side that pressed against your neck and a elastic band that stretched around and clipped together on your neck. You would be in a peaceful sleep and suddenly be jolted awake, or sometimes the zaps would come at regular intervals for an hour or more preventing sleep, whatever the reason, everyone spent the whole day praying they would not find a small black collar sitting on their stool when they walked back into their room at the end of the day.

The corralling area was basically a cattle pen.  The fence and railing were exactly like those you see in stock yards. The design was deliberate, I had no doubt.  The large corralling pen we all had to cram into was slightly too small for all of us, so our naked bodies were all pressed up against each other and we were all sweating like crazy and trying hard not to step on anyone’s boots and scuff them, cause they may very well turn around and do the same. We all stood there huddled while the guards left the feedlot and headed outside to supervise the ‘run’.  Sometimes they deliberately took their time, making sure we stayed in there pressed up against each other. Again while this sounds like an amazingly horny experience, steps were taken to make sure we didn’t feel aroused by this, even though they would not happen until much later, it was an effective method.  While the closeness often caused a physical reaction no one ever acted on it. Our eyes were all turned as one towards the gate that led out of the corralling area into the run. Soon the gate slid open and we all began to squeeze through it making our way outside.

I squinted as the bright sunshine hit me in the eye.  It was only 0750 or so but the day was already hot.  The reason for this was very simple; we were in a desert, stones and sand stretched for as far as the eye could see. Any ideas of escape quickly wither when you face the prospect of trekking naked under a merciless sun with heavy footwear. The guards were spaced along the run at regular intervals.  Some guards were also standing on observation platforms above the run as well; these guards all shared a common trait: they drank a lot of water and had teeny bladders. I watched as a guy further down the line copped a load of piss, he bent over trying to make sure none got on his boots. We shuffled in single file down the run, the guards on the sides held small tazers; these delivered a nasty jolt but nothing that would drop you. No one could miss the fact that we were marshalled along like cattle down the run. Our guards were all dressed in jeans shirts and wide brimmed hats.  The clothing was ideal for the environment and you would not help but notice that they were essentially cowboys herding ‘cows’.

Soon we came to a wide circular area where the run split off into three lanes. Each gate had a number above it. This was where the cycle came into it:  you had to head down the lane with your current day cycle on it, and heading down the wrong lane was the one thing that earned you instant punishment which was collaring for 24 hours. This made us concentrate on the 3 day cycle and was one of the main reasons we soon lost track of the days of the week; “Tuesday” is irrelevant when you face a day of random shocks and volts if you choose the wrong number 1,2 or 3 soon became the only time interval that mattered.  I moved down the lane with the number 3 above it, not knowing what was waiting for me at the end.

I should mention the change in my body about now, my boots hugged muscular calves that ran up to massive thighs, this in turn made its way to a solid yet flat stomach with bulging  pecs above it. My neck was slowly vanishing as my shoulders became more muscled and my arms were now something that I used to drool over when I saw them on other guy at the gym. Our three day cycles were split into three exercise groups: upper body and back, lower body and waist, and arms.  Today was arms. I walked into the shade of a large shed, and made my way to the nearest weight station, I pressed down on a small peddle at the base of the weight bench with my boot releasing a set of massive dumbbells, the chip in my boot would record which weights I was using, if I did not progress at a steady rate I would be punished.

The workouts continued for a large portion of the day.  Around 1300 or 1400 the lunch bell rang and we all headed back into the feedlot and then back out into the sun.

The afternoon was dedicated to conditioning. This was the one part of our routine that remained somewhat random. The fountain was something that I didn’t mind – you had to fill a small bowl from a larger bowl that it rested in. The water would gradually trickle down back into the bottom pool, the top bowl of the fountain never quite filling up. Today was bricks which I hate. A massive pile of bricks sat at the end of the exercise shed, each with a number on it. We had to unstack the bricks and then restack them at the other end of the shed in the same order. Then once that was done we had to move them back again, this continued until the milk bell sounded.  We all winced and made our way to the milking shed.

Here was the training centre’s answer to how to remove any physical gratification from us.  You might have heard that prisoners spend a large portion of their time jerking off? Well none of us did and this was why.

The milking shed was set up similar to the feed shed, except groups of 10 chairs sat in circles.  My group made its way to its designated circle, 9 of us sat in the chairs and the 10th walked around and secured us in. While waiting for him to get to me I picked up the rubber cockring sitting on the armrest and snapped it around my cock and balls wincing slightly as it bit into my flesh. The chairs had built-in restraints for arms and neck, once the straps had been tightened the last guy free picked up the dreaded milkers and slipped them over our cocks. The milking machine would drain us of our cum over and over again, leaving us tender and drained, and in no mood to stimulate ourselves any further. I sat back in the chair, and closed my eyes as the machine gently sucked on my cock.  I enjoyed the first orgasm of each day, despite the fact that the following ones would become less and less enjoyable till they were torture. I looked around at the 9 other guys in the circle; the guards had come over and restrained the 10th guy who had restrained us all. There was no denying that everyone was hot, a few had their eyes closed and were quietly groaning.  I looked at the guy directly opposite me and he locked eyes with me.  I sat there watching a guy who I had spent who knows how long training with, eating with, showering with and enduring discipline with. I had no idea of his name, he had no idea of mine; we sat there bound in our chairs, boots laced up to just under our knees, bodies covered in sweat our cock fully engorged as the machines relentlessly worked out cocks. Soon I felt my body start to come close to an orgasm. I groaned as I closed my eyes and tried to hold back, I knew that as much as I craved the release and the orgasm, that the sucking would not stop, finally with a sob of despair I shot my first load into the machine working my cock. I gritted my teeth against the discomfort of my overstimulated cock, yelling out would only bring further torment later, I sat there and desperately tried to think of anything else besides the constant torment of my cock.

That night I stumbled back into my room, and collapsed onto my stool. After the milking had come more working out, and then dinner. I was exhausted, as I was every day. I sat on my stool enjoying the moment of rest and peace. Soon with a click the lock around my boots released and I slowly unlaced them with tired fingers.  Reaching into the chest I pulled out my polish can and brush and I slowly polished the boots, sticking my arm all the way down into them to support them, feeling the leather holding the warmth of my body. My precious boots, the only piece of my life that had some sort of uniqueness, and that was only a number. I gently rubbed the soft leather up and down, removing the dust of the day and making my boots shine again. I slowly ran the polishing cloth over the metal plate at the back with my number engraved on it. I sat there for a while staring at it, twiddling the laces between my fingers. Soon I sighed and gently placed my boots into the box, my entire worldly possessions now totalled one pair of boots. And I couldn’t even say they were all I had to my name since as far as everyone around here knew, I didn’t have one.

I looked at the clock and saw I had to be in my cell in 10 mins so I climbed onto my sleeping mat in my cell.  I quickly drifted off to sleep, cycle day 1 tomorrow.



7 thoughts on “Stud Farm”

  1. Sign me up please, if anyone is wanting to do this. Im game, just please be hardcore. Im 35 fit and goodlooking total sub here. i have dreamed about this for my whole life. grew up on a farm

  2. The nearest l get is being made to stand, wrists cuffed behind my back, naked of course, tits firmly clamped and the tit chain hooked up to a bungee clip from the ceiling while my top edges me. If l cum too early l get a beating.

  3. Add me to the list with Bikermike and B. Heintz. Once our consent contracts are signed, we can expect to be grabbed at any time. ;o)

  4. Catdude That was an awesome story. I love everything about it. Can’t wait to start searching for more of your stories. Hope there are!!


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.