Chapter 29: The Farm Part 1

After a long day locked in that suffocating bondage, holes stretched around the unyielding metal dildos, hooded in darkness, meth haze twisting my thoughts into feverish loops, rough hands finally yanked me from the trailer’s false floor. They dumped me ignominiously onto the damp grass, the impact jarring my knees and implants, cool blades tickling my piss-crusted skin. Someone ripped off the hood, and I blinked hard, crusty flakes of dried cum and dirt flaking from my eyelids, vision swimming in the dim twilight as the world sharpened: endless fields under a bruised sky.

Fingers fumbled at my ankles, snapping open the manacles that had bitten into my flesh, leaving red welts around the flesh tunnels in my labia. The cuffs on my wrists unclenched next, peeling away the mittens that had encased my hands in padded prison, fingers numb and tingling as blood rushed back. Then the chastity belt—cold steel unbuckled with a click, the massive dildos sliding free from my ass and pussy with wet, obscene plops, slick with my juices and remnants of earlier loads, hitting the grass with squelching thuds that made my stretched holes clench emptily.

‘Pack that shit into this bag and stow it back in the trailer,’ Carlos barked, his voice gravelly from smokes and commands, shoving a black duffel bag at my chest. It thumped against my ‘Public Cum Dump’ tattoo, the zipper gaping like a hungry mouth. I obeyed without a word, scooping the piss-soaked ropes, the belt, the dildos—still warm and reeking of my insides—shoving them in with trembling hands, the metal clanging dully. Zipped it shut and crawled after him on all fours, gravel and grass scraping my knees raw, piercings dragging trails in the dirt.

He strode ahead, boots crunching, then halted with an annoyed grunt, realizing I lagged. He backtracked, meaty hand snatching my arm, hauling me up like a ragdoll. ‘Stand up and walk, you stupid bitch,’ he snarled, breath hot with beer and meth. I bit my toothless gums silent—no reply, no risk of his backhand splitting my lip further—and shuffled after, eyes locked on the ground, bald scalp prickling in the breeze, the faint fuzz of regrowth itching like whispers of my old self.

The other men buzzed around, pitching tents and firing up grills in a vast grass field ringed by barbed wire fences. Squat adobe houses hunkered in the distance, silhouetted against golden cornfields swaying, wheat and barley stretching to the horizon like golden seas. A massive barn loomed nearby, red paint peeling, and beyond it a stable thick with the musk of horses—nostrils flaring at the scent of hay and shit carried on the wind. We were deep in farm country, isolated, the kind of nowhere where screams dissolved into coyote calls.

Carlos marched me to a smaller barn, set apart from the main house, guards lounging outside on crates—tattooed arms slung over knees, smokes glowing, cards slapping in a half-assed game. They snapped upright as he approached, spines straightening like whipped dogs. ‘Another one for the trip to Mexico,’ Carlos declared, jerking his thumb at me. ‘And she was never here, you got it?’ They nodded sharp, one unlocking the heavy door with a rusty creak, hinges wailing.

He shoved me through, my shoulder banging the frame, piercings jingling. ‘Don’t get too comfortable. We’ll come get you later.’ The door slammed shut, bolt thudding home, plunging me into musty gloom.

I stumbled forward, nails raking my arms and thighs where the cockroaches still phantom-crawled, legs skittering under my tanned skin, burrowing into the welts. Psalms tumbled from my lips in a breathless whisper—’Yea, though I walk through the valley... ‘—the words a fragile ward against the infestation. Shadows stirred, not bugs but women emerging, clad in threadbare tees and rags that hung loose on weary frames. A dormitory: foldable cots bolted to rough walls, maybe twenty souls, all Latino or white, faces etched with quiet resignation. No Asians like me. They looked almost normal—healthy curves, full cheeks, well-fed from farm scraps—while I was a freakish spectacle: bimbofied wreck with ballooned breast implants straining my chest, butt lift perked obscenely, skin a canvas of degrading ink—’Whore’ screaming across my cheeks, ‘Slut’ branded on my forehead—piercings glinting everywhere, clitoral hood tugged low, nipple rings heavy, emaciated ribs visible under the tan, eyes wild from endless drugs.

Exhaustion crashed like a wave, knees buckling; I collapsed to the dormitory floor, the world blacking out.

I woke to softness. A rough wool blanket draped over my shivering form and gentle sponging on a cot, warm water trickling over my cuts, soothing the rope burns. An elderly Latina woman tended me, her hands callused but kind, face lined like cracked earth, silver-streaked hair in a bun. ‘You poor thing,’ she murmured, voice thick with accent and pity, dabbing at my skin. ‘Look what they’ve done to you.’

I tried to speak, forked tongue thick in my toothless mouth, but her eyes, deep pools of shared sorrow, choked me up. Sobs ripped free instead, raw and guttural, tears squeezing hot down my cheeks.

She introduced herself as Maria, defacto leader of the ladies dorm. Former midwife and nurse, smuggled as an illegal immigrant with promises of work. ‘They crammed me in a truck for the “job,”’ she said, wringing the sponge, water dripping pink with my blood. ‘Ended up here instead. Twenty of us now—some tend fields, milk cows, cook. Others ... sexual work for the guards, the visitors. Keeps us alive.’ She nodded to two young blondes huddled in the corner, petite and hollow-eyed, rags barely covering pale skin. ‘They don’t speak Spanish or English. Russian, Ukrainian maybe. But good girls, quiet.’

‘Now, I’ve told you ours. Yours?’ Maria prompted, sponging my pierced nipples gently, the tug sending involuntary sparks through my core.

I started simple, voice a cracked whisper: ‘Tacos with a man at a food truck. Robbed. Kidnapped.’ Asked the date that had been lost in the blur. She told me; seven days on the road, a nonstop nightmare of gangbangs, knives, piss, cocks choking my throat, meth-fueled holes plugged and pounded, a blur of hands and ropes and chains, my body plugged and hooded, orgasms and pain ripping through me until I blacked out, only to wake to more. One week. I’d lost one week to the road. And now this, to be traded like livestock, headed for Mexico, for cartels that would carve me up further or break me beyond repair. The seven days had felt like a lifetime. The Hells Angels bar I served at felt like a pleasant memory.

Maria’s gaze flicked to my face tats, the labia tunnels, clit piercing dangling like a bell. ‘They do this to you?’ I shook my head—no, Jake, the Angels, the spiral before. ‘Someone else.’ ‘You poor girl,’ she sighed, rinsing the sponge. They’d cleaned me while I slept—body spotless now, skin glistening, the grime of the road and traces of sex and abuse scoured away, even my bald head buffed clean save for the prickly fuzz.