You wait in the crate. You eat more slop. You drink your water. You
watch as Zach is separated from the rest of the hogs. You hear the
cheerleader sows squeal as Zach services them. You feel a bit envious
as the odor of pig pheromones wafting across the barnyard has you rock
hard. Being a pig, neither your hooves or snout can be used to
masturbate your needy cock. You start to hear snorts and squeals from
the hog pen. Apparently, your former team mates are also under the
influence of the pheromone, and are raping one another. You're torn
with jealously that they're able to relieve their needs, and the idea
that they raping each other. You force yourself to drink water
submerging your snout to elude the pheromone.
"Good job 23. Beau, help me get his jock back on 23, and then spray
his ass with pheromone. He's going to be the football team's newest
receiver," laughed Zeb loudly. As he held 23's head, while Beau pulled
the blue rubber jockstrap over his swine hood, Zeb said to the pig,
"Well, Zach, I hope you're happy being Pig 23. Damn stupid of you to
put on his gear, but hey your stupidity gives me a boner. So let's see
how ya do."
Beau and Zeb lift the 120lb pig Zach out of the breeding pen, and drop
him into the hog sty. He is instantly the center of attention. More
snorts and squeals. As you hear Zach's sobbing squeals, you are
relieved that you are no longer pig 23. Beau carries a bucket over to
you, and refills your trough with swill. He then gets a bucket of
water and refills your water trough. Then he hops in his truck and
drives back to his farm.
It's a 35 minute drive back to his farm, and you are dozing on your
hooves when the truck rolls to a halt in the dirt next to his father's
barn.
You are off loaded from the crate and down a makeshift ramp, which is
really just a 10 foot wooden plank. He leads you to a big scale and
weighs you.
"185lbs," he says, "Not bad under normal circumstances, you should
gain 1.6 pounds per day. So you should be tipping the scales at over
300 lbs by the time the fair rolls around. Of course, the last pig to
win the biggest pig contest weighed over 800lbs. So if I'm going to
get you up to that weight, you'll need to gain 6-7 pounds per day
until the Fair."
You swallow hard at the thought of weighing 800lbs. Beau isn't joking.
Beau treats you like a pig. He rarely speaks to you, and then his
statements are obviously rhetorical. It's nerve wracking spending all
your time standing on all fours and doing nothing but eating and
drinking. After 3 weeks, you squeal with excitement when Zeb shows up.
"Well, how's your little piggy coming, Beau?"
"He's been averaging almost 4 lbs per day. At this rate he'll be,"
Beau paused working on the calculation in his head, "At least 545 lbs.
But I hope to get his growth weight percentage wise. Percentage wise
instead of 4 lbs, I'll need to average about 10 pounds per day."
"He's coming along rather nicely, Beau, when was the last time he
came?"
"Ha, ha. Very funny," said Beau, "He's already up to over 300lbs."
Zeb laughs and swatd your ass.