Jo just couldn’t get employment. Her resume was weak, she’d been out of work for more than a year, and on top of that her blonde hair and large breasts led people to assume she was even less intelligent than her CV implied.
The longer she was unsuccessful, the lower her self-esteem sank, and she started to believe she really *was* the big-titted bimbo that employers assumed her to be. She briefly considered seeking work as a stripper, or even as a prostitute – but both jobs were illegal in her part of the country, and the last thing she needed was a conviction and a prison sentence.
By the time she saw the farm job, she was desperate. The ad was demeaning and strange – “Wanted: female farm hand. No intelligence or skills required, just a well-maintained body and a willingness to obey.” But it paid well – better than a labouring job of this sort should have. And after a long string of rejections, “no intelligence required” sounded perfect to Jo.
When she arrived on the farm, though, she almost left again immediately. The farmer – a fit man in his late forties who would only allow her to refer to him as “Master” – insisted that she work naked, with her tits and cunt exposed to the elements. There were other workers on the farm – all men, and none of them apparently required to have the same nudity – and Jo’s mind rebelled at the thought of working in the nude in front of all of them.
But she’d been prepared to be a stripper – was this so much worse? And did she have any other options?
And so she discarded her clothes, and got used to working in the fields completely naked, with the eyes of the other farmhands lingering on her tits, her ass, and her cunt.
The work was hard, and by the end of each day she was in pain, and in a foul, exhausted mood. On her third day she made the mistake of making a bitchy remark to “Master” when he asked her if she was enjoying the work.
He responded to her remark by slapping her hard across the face – and then grabbing her hair, and slapping her across the tits too.
“I don’t accept disrespect on this farm, bitch,” he snarled. “If you can’t keep a civil tongue in your head while working here, then you need an attitude adjustment. From now on, you’ll start your shift by masturbating to the edge of orgasm, right here in the fields, and you’ll do it again on your lunch break. Don’t cum, mind you – you want to stay nice and horny and unsatisfied. The endorphins will help you deal with the pain while your body adjusts to the hard work, and they should keep you biddable and obedient.”
Jo soon learned this wasn’t a suggestion, and when she hesitated to masturbate in public the next morning, the Master threatened to fire her.
She remembered again that she’d been willing to work as a stripper and a whore – and remembered the sting of Master’s hand on her face and tits – and so, blushing, she complied, leaning against a farm fence and spreading her pussy lips with one hand and rubbing her clitoris with the other.
Some of the farmhands gathered around to watch. Jo found it humiliating – but also found it made her wetter, faster.
In the end it was difficult to pull her hand away, and not cum. And even harder when she did it again at lunchtime.
The next day, mid morning, after her morning masturbation, she made the mistake of complaining that her hands hurt. Her work mostly consisted of carrying small tools and supplies back and forth between the other farmhands, and her hands were developing callouses from the handles of the heavy tools.
“Well, then, don’t use your hands,” the Master replied. He grabbed her hands, and bound them behind her back, pushing her tits forward. Then he took a small bucket from the ground, and – to Jo’s horror – connected its handle to her naked breasts by applying a painful clamp to each of her nipples. The weight of the bucket was suspended from her tits in an exceedingly painful way.
He put a small lunchbox into the bucket, weighing it down even further. “Go take this to Joshua in the north field,” he told her. And then he picked up a hammer. He used one foot to kick Jo’s legs apart, and then he reached down, spread her pussy lips, and pushed the handle of the hammer up into Jo’s cunt. Jo gasped as she felt its long, hard length slide up inside her.
“And take that to Brent,” he told her. “He’s over by the barn.”
She had to walk in a humiliating waddle to stop the hammer sliding out of her cunt, and each step bounced the bucket as it hung from her nipples. By the time she had delivered both of her packages, she could think of nothing but her tits and her cunt.
It was then time for her lunch masturbation, but her hands were still bound and she couldn’t touch her cunt, so she had to ask Joshua to play with her pussy for her, which he did, teasing her to the edge of orgasm, and then sending her on her way with another package to take back to the farmhouse in her tit-bucket.
From then on that was how she spent her days – nude, with her hands bound behind her back, and a bucket hanging from her tits. After a week, the Master decided she would be more efficient with a second, smaller bucket hanging from her clitoris, and he also began training her with a series of vibrating butt-plugs, which increased in size every few days, to condition her anus to be able to accept a second tool-shaft for transportation.
The pain was enough that Master gracefully permitted her to be masturbated to the edge of orgasm four times a day now. This always required the assistance of a farmhand. Sometimes they used their fingers, but sometimes they just shoved their cocks into her pussy and fucked her, always cumming before she reached her own release, and then rudely shoving her away to prevent her from orgasming.
The Master didn’t even unbind her hands when Jo went home. He said she would be better at her job if she was never allowed to cum. He had one of the farmhands drive her to and from work, with Jo riding nude in the rear tray of his utility. At home she would desperately try and hump the corners of tables or appliances to reach orgasm, but with her hands restrained she was rarely successful.
Waddling around, nude and horny, her tits aching and her cunt and anus stuffed, Jo found it hard to have any sense of dignity. In addition, she was terrible at her job, moving slowly and doing something a man could have done in a tenth of the time. Master started to discipline her for her disappointing behaviour at the end of this day, and this would take the form of having her lie on a table with her legs spread, so that he could beat her cunt with a riding crop.
These cunt-whippings were agonising – but they were the only way she could cum, and she rarely failed to achieve a shuddering, slutty orgasm from having her cunt brutalised.
The Master and the farmhands began to call her an “animal” – and she understood what she meant. Pathetic, big-titted, horny and degraded, she certainly had more in common with the pigs and cows in the barn than she did with the men she worked with.
And so when the Master eventually took away her driver’s licence and other ID entirely, and put a collar and leash on her, it seemed just and natural. And when the end of the day came, he didn’t send her home in a car, but instead led her into a barn with the animals, and locked the door.
It felt good to be in the barn – like she was finally in her proper place.
And as she lay there in the hay, she realised for the first time that her vibrating butt plug for the day had a cute little pig tail attached to it. And when she saw her reflection in the side of a metal bucket, she realised that her collar had writing on it. It said “PIG-CUNT 035”.
Yes, that seemed right to Jo. That was a good name for a woman who let men shove farm tools up her cunt all day long.
And she fell asleep, horny and stupid and content, knowing that she had finally found a job she was suited for.
Farm Job
Story by All These Roadworks.
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Jo just couldn’t get employment. Her resume was weak, she’d been out of work for more than a year, and on top of that her blonde hair and large breasts led people to assume she was even less intelligent than her CV implied.
The longer she was unsuccessful, the lower her self-esteem sank, and she started to believe she really *was* the big-titted bimbo that employers assumed her to be. She briefly considered seeking work as a stripper, or even as a prostitute – but both jobs were illegal in her part of the country, and the last thing she needed was a conviction and a prison sentence.
By the time she saw the farm job, she was desperate. The ad was demeaning and strange – “Wanted: female farm hand. No intelligence or skills required, just a well-maintained body and a willingness to obey.” But it paid well – better than a labouring job of this sort should have. And after a long string of rejections, “no intelligence required” sounded perfect to Jo.
When she arrived on the farm, though, she almost left again immediately. The farmer – a fit man in his late forties who would only allow her to refer to him as “Master” – insisted that she work naked, with her tits and cunt exposed to the elements. There were other workers on the farm – all men, and none of them apparently required to have the same nudity – and Jo’s mind rebelled at the thought of working in the nude in front of all of them.
But she’d been prepared to be a stripper – was this so much worse? And did she have any other options?
And so she discarded her clothes, and got used to working in the fields completely naked, with the eyes of the other farmhands lingering on her tits, her ass, and her cunt.
The work was hard, and by the end of each day she was in pain, and in a foul, exhausted mood. On her third day she made the mistake of making a bitchy remark to “Master” when he asked her if she was enjoying the work.
He responded to her remark by slapping her hard across the face – and then grabbing her hair, and slapping her across the tits too.
“I don’t accept disrespect on this farm, bitch,” he snarled. “If you can’t keep a civil tongue in your head while working here, then you need an attitude adjustment. From now on, you’ll start your shift by masturbating to the edge of orgasm, right here in the fields, and you’ll do it again on your lunch break. Don’t cum, mind you – you want to stay nice and horny and unsatisfied. The endorphins will help you deal with the pain while your body adjusts to the hard work, and they should keep you biddable and obedient.”
Jo soon learned this wasn’t a suggestion, and when she hesitated to masturbate in public the next morning, the Master threatened to fire her.
She remembered again that she’d been willing to work as a stripper and a whore – and remembered the sting of Master’s hand on her face and tits – and so, blushing, she complied, leaning against a farm fence and spreading her pussy lips with one hand and rubbing her clitoris with the other.
Some of the farmhands gathered around to watch. Jo found it humiliating – but also found it made her wetter, faster.
In the end it was difficult to pull her hand away, and not cum. And even harder when she did it again at lunchtime.
The next day, mid morning, after her morning masturbation, she made the mistake of complaining that her hands hurt. Her work mostly consisted of carrying small tools and supplies back and forth between the other farmhands, and her hands were developing callouses from the handles of the heavy tools.
“Well, then, don’t use your hands,” the Master replied. He grabbed her hands, and bound them behind her back, pushing her tits forward. Then he took a small bucket from the ground, and – to Jo’s horror – connected its handle to her naked breasts by applying a painful clamp to each of her nipples. The weight of the bucket was suspended from her tits in an exceedingly painful way.
He put a small lunchbox into the bucket, weighing it down even further. “Go take this to Joshua in the north field,” he told her. And then he picked up a hammer. He used one foot to kick Jo’s legs apart, and then he reached down, spread her pussy lips, and pushed the handle of the hammer up into Jo’s cunt. Jo gasped as she felt its long, hard length slide up inside her.
“And take that to Brent,” he told her. “He’s over by the barn.”
She had to walk in a humiliating waddle to stop the hammer sliding out of her cunt, and each step bounced the bucket as it hung from her nipples. By the time she had delivered both of her packages, she could think of nothing but her tits and her cunt.
It was then time for her lunch masturbation, but her hands were still bound and she couldn’t touch her cunt, so she had to ask Joshua to play with her pussy for her, which he did, teasing her to the edge of orgasm, and then sending her on her way with another package to take back to the farmhouse in her tit-bucket.
From then on that was how she spent her days – nude, with her hands bound behind her back, and a bucket hanging from her tits. After a week, the Master decided she would be more efficient with a second, smaller bucket hanging from her clitoris, and he also began training her with a series of vibrating butt-plugs, which increased in size every few days, to condition her anus to be able to accept a second tool-shaft for transportation.
The pain was enough that Master gracefully permitted her to be masturbated to the edge of orgasm four times a day now. This always required the assistance of a farmhand. Sometimes they used their fingers, but sometimes they just shoved their cocks into her pussy and fucked her, always cumming before she reached her own release, and then rudely shoving her away to prevent her from orgasming.
The Master didn’t even unbind her hands when Jo went home. He said she would be better at her job if she was never allowed to cum. He had one of the farmhands drive her to and from work, with Jo riding nude in the rear tray of his utility. At home she would desperately try and hump the corners of tables or appliances to reach orgasm, but with her hands restrained she was rarely successful.
Waddling around, nude and horny, her tits aching and her cunt and anus stuffed, Jo found it hard to have any sense of dignity. In addition, she was terrible at her job, moving slowly and doing something a man could have done in a tenth of the time. Master started to discipline her for her disappointing behaviour at the end of this day, and this would take the form of having her lie on a table with her legs spread, so that he could beat her cunt with a riding crop.
These cunt-whippings were agonising – but they were the only way she could cum, and she rarely failed to achieve a shuddering, slutty orgasm from having her cunt brutalised.
The Master and the farmhands began to call her an “animal” – and she understood what she meant. Pathetic, big-titted, horny and degraded, she certainly had more in common with the pigs and cows in the barn than she did with the men she worked with.
And so when the Master eventually took away her driver’s licence and other ID entirely, and put a collar and leash on her, it seemed just and natural. And when the end of the day came, he didn’t send her home in a car, but instead led her into a barn with the animals, and locked the door.
It felt good to be in the barn – like she was finally in her proper place.
And as she lay there in the hay, she realised for the first time that her vibrating butt plug for the day had a cute little pig tail attached to it. And when she saw her reflection in the side of a metal bucket, she realised that her collar had writing on it. It said “PIG-CUNT 035”.
Yes, that seemed right to Jo. That was a good name for a woman who let men shove farm tools up her cunt all day long.
And she fell asleep, horny and stupid and content, knowing that she had finally found a job she was suited for.
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