I really love working on this farm.

I really love working on this farm. The boss is very stingy and greedy; the work is heavy, monotonous, and pays poorly; the boss only thinks about his profit. He buys these slut fags from the penitentiary system; he prefers the youngest, between 18 and 22, to transform them into sperm-producing calves. 

The farm's veterinarian is a real butcher; he cuts the vocal cords without the slightest care and the foreskins of those he still has without the slightest hygiene. With the complete transformation in a few weeks, the ex-prisoners, ex-humans, become mindless beasts that moan, cry, and howl constantly.

Daily we inject so many hormones and sexual stimulants that in a short time, they become stronger, very hairy, sexually excited, lustful, and somewhat aggressive. Their penises get bigger, and their tongues and nipples get huge and sensitive. Sexual stimulants are vasodilators that allow for longer and more intense erections, but because of this, animals are more vulnerable to injuries, and their wounds bleed easily. The ropes that bind the wrists and ankles violently scar the leather and wound until it bleeds. All the beatings we give cause very dark and lasting bleeding and bruising. Bites from mosquitoes, fleas, and other parasites injure their skin. 

However, the worst wounds are on the animals' penises, kept inside the milking suckers. The milking equipment is old; its adjustment is neither easy nor safe; sometimes, the pressure is too intense and hurts the penis, and sometimes, it even sucks the entire organ into the tubes. The animal howls in despair, but even if we turn off the equipment, the damage is already done, and what's left of the penis must be removed from the tube with a spatula. The worst thing is not even the loss of a pig; when that happens, that day's production is lost in blood.

These milking animals are kept in precarious, poorly built, hot, and poorly ventilated sheds. The space stinks of sweat, feces, urine, and blood. Hanging by their ankles for many hours, the animals shit on themselves. The noise in these sheds is loud, as the animals moan and cry in pain and pleasure when they are milked; the equipment also makes a lot of noise.

We hung them up for milking for six hours daily, every day, without a break. After being milked, they are dragged to the pigsties to rest, fed, and washed. Foods are the farm's special rations enriched with drugs, vitamins, stimulants, steroids, and hormones, balanced so that they are permanently horny and happy.

That's why they are always kept doped with drugs and tied up. If we let go of their hands, they would masturbate endlessly; they are sexual, stupid, and horny animals. With their wrists and ankles tied in the pigsty, the animals lie on each other and rub, lick, and suck each other non-stop. Some bite and lick the dicks and nipples of others intensely; even when they sleep, they seem permanently horny, caressing each other sexually. Being stimulated by each other all day and by the effect of food and drugs, a healthy and productive animal can produce half a liter of sperm daily.

The caretakers must keep piglets rubbing against each other but ensure they do not come; sperm must be saved for milking time. To separate them, they use the cattle prod, discharging violent electric shocks in the dicks and nipples and tongues.

Milking animals can produce sperm in this rhythm for a few years, not more than three or four years. Many die of heart attacks or exhaustion before they run out of production. 

Those that survive, when they become sterile and no longer produce enough sperm, cannot be sold for slaughter and average meat production. Hormones and steroids entirely take over their bodies, so they are slaughtered on the farm to feed the younger dairy animals; they are turned into the farm's special ration.

Like the other workers on the farm, I could look for other jobs, better paid or less brutal, but we end up enjoying what we do. We like to spank, torture, and fuck these animals. The owner encourages us to be cruel and violent in dealing with pigs; he encourages our sadism; he knows that daily violence transforms and addicts us.

I love to see the young men, still wearing prison uniforms, handcuffed and scared, like other young men, looking like ourselves when they arrive.

When we are tasked with slaughtering and dismantling one of the exhausted animals, they no longer have any human characteristics; they are disgusting, whining pigs. I bring the hammer down on their heads in ecstasy without the slightest pity.