Chapter 25: The Farm Part 2

The next morning arrived not with light, but with the suffocating smell of ammonia and rotting vegetation. I was dragged from my sleep, my limbs heavy and shaking from the withdrawal that never truly left me. The farmer and his son didn’t speak a word I could understand, their voices a series of guttural, rapid-fire Thai commands that sounded like barking. They hauled me toward the pig sty, a place where the mud was a thick, grey slurry of filth, mixed with old straw and the pungent, cloying scent of animal musk. The air was humid, clinging to my skin like a wet shroud.

They forced me to crawl under a tiny, rusted half-pipe, a piece of scrap metal scavenged from who knows where. The ground was cold and damp against my knees and elbows. I felt the rough hemp rope bite into my wrists as they lashed me to the supports, pinning me in a vulnerable, arched position. Then, they brought it out, the source of the stench.

It was a boar, a massive, bristling beast with small, greedy eyes and a snout that huffed hot, foul breath onto my thighs. The son grabbed the animal’s genitals, pulling the cock out for me to see. I stared, my eyes wide and vacant, at the monstrosity. It was a long, spiral-shaped rod, a corkscrew of flesh that looked longer than my own forearm, glistening with a thick, clear slime. I remember thinking, with a strange, detached curiosity, how the skin of the cock looked like ribbed rubber, a pale, sickly pink.

Then the violence began. They walked the boar behind me and it mounted the half-pipe. The first thrust was a blunt, agonizing shock that felt like my pelvis was being split apart. The spiral shape didn’t just slide in; it screwed into my asshole, already raw from constant abuse, the ridges of the cock scraping against the sensitive walls of my rectum, twisting and churning. I screamed, but the sound was drowned out by the boar’s guttural grunts and the son’s laughter. He was filming me, the small screen of his phone capturing every twitch of my muscles, every tear that leaked into the mud.

As the boar hammered into me, the world began to blur. I wasn’t in the sty anymore. I saw Marvin, the black man who had fucked Vanessa, who had ruined my career in my past life. He was standing there, leaning against a neon-lit wall in Hong Kong, his dark skin shimmering under the red lights. He was smiling that cruel, knowing smile, whispering in my ear, “You’re just a hole, Maxine. A wet, leaking hole for whatever wants to fill you.” I tried to push the vision away, but the boar’s rhythm was hypnotic, a brutal, mechanical pounding that drove the spiral deeper and deeper as it hit the base of my spine.

When the animal finally erupted, it wasn’t a fluid release. It was a thick, gelatinous wad of semen, a stiff, jelly-like substance that slammed into my gut with a heavy, hot pressure. It felt like he had poured liquid concrete into my bowels. The boar was led away, leaving me shaking and leaking, the semen hardening inside me, creating a foreign, sticky mass that I had to strain and heave to force out, the jelly sliding out of me in clumps of translucent white.

Later that evening, they hoisted me into the wheelbarrow again, my naked body exposed to the humid air. They wheeled me through the dirt paths, stopping at various clusters of men. The farmer spoke to them in low, transactional tones, his hands gesturing toward my open legs. I was whored out in bursts, quick, rough thrusts from local men who smelled of cigarettes and alcohol and fermented fish. I heard the rustle of baht notes exchanging hands, a small price for the degradation of my body. I was nothing more than a piece of livestock, a curiosity for the village men to use and discard.

When they finally brought me back to the farm, the “care” began. They forced me into a position to give me an enema, the cold water rushing into my already abused rectum to clear the animal cum and human filth. It was a clinical, heartless process. Then they fed me—bowls of steaming rice and salty pork. As I ate, I felt my body changing. The curves were returning; my body felt fuller, energy was returning to my muscles. I was being fattened up, groomed for more use. The night ended with the farmer himself, his rough, calloused hands gripping my hips as he fucked me into the straw.