Tale #29: Manure Labor

Tale #29: Manure Labor (Part 5 to the 'Cushy Summer Job' series) (Content Tags: Messy diapers, humiliation, domination, subjugation, farm setting, discipline, surreal world "You're going to want to eat some of this stuff." "No way! It looks super gross! Its like baby food, or piggy food!" Caiden had sat himself down in the corner of their shared stall, in a generous attempt to keep his putrid poo-plumes from wafting over toward his new roommate. After Drake's initial reaction to Caiden's obedient productivity, it seemed best to give the younger boy a little space to get comfortable. "Yeah, I mean, sorta..." Caiden shrugged, the hay making him wiggle in place from the itch it was giving his legs, which in turn just smeared and spread the warm mound underneath him. "It doesn't taste that bad, just kinda boring...But they aren't gonna be giving you anything else." Drake folded his arms defiantly, looking like an oversized sulky toddler, nothing on him but the diaper and his collar. "Then I'll just go hungry! Like I said, I'm not gonna play along with any of this!" Caiden smiled weakly, seeing a lot of himself in Drake. At the beginning of his Summer, he too had tried to rebel against this unjust system, and just like him, Drake would have to learn some tough lessons about the world. "Yeah, that's what everyone thinks at first. But 'management' has other ideas, and they don't care how much of a tantrum that you wanna throw. If you don't play by their rules and be a good 'employee', then they're just probably going to make things a lot harder on you." Caiden felt a slight rumble below, and without even a second thought, he tilted to the side and ripped a ripe fart in his loaded diaper. "...If you don't 'produce', then they *make* you produce, and they make it a lot more painful for you." Drake still looked disgusted, and Caiden's careless flatulence wasn't improving his view at all. He hadn't gone in his pants since he was a toddler, and now he was to be expected to be doing it constantly? Something so vile, so bereft of dignity or intelligence? "Maybe they can break a wussy like *you*, but I'd rather die than become a diaper-dooking dummy." A buzzer pierced the air all across the barn that the imprisoned called their home. Caiden remained sitting down, unperturbed by it; he heard it three times a day, and always on the same schedule. The only movement he made was to take his hand and feel the backside of his messy tush, trying to appraise for himself whether or not he'd met the quota. "What the heck was that?!" Drake demanded to know, eyes darting around their stall. "Time for weigh-in. Sit down on the wall opposite to me, or else you'll get in trouble." Caiden casually replied, satisfied with his own 'workload'. "Nope! I already said I'm not doing this, so I'm just gonna stand right here! They can kiss my butt!" The stall suddenly opened, and a woman came in with a diaper bag. She was dressed like a ranch hand, which only further cemented the vibe that all the 'employees' here were of little more consideration than just being manure making livestock. She looked pleased that Caiden was where he should be, but spotting that his younger roommate was still standing in the middle of the room, she frowned. "I know you're a new hire, but you'll need to learn all the rules." She said curtly, approaching the stubborn brat. Drake was about to respond, when the woman suddenly pulled a metal stick from beside her waist and gave him a prod with it. There was the quiet crackle of electricity and Drake stumbled backwards, falling against the stall wall and landing on his padded rear with a high-pitched yelp. Caiden felt bad for him, but kept still and quiet. The 'cattle prod', as his coworkers had come to call it, was essentially a shock baton. It dealt very low voltage, but was still extremely effective in making people move where they were supposed to go. It didn't come with the added effects that the collars did, though Caiden knew that Drake would soon find out all about that for himself. While he was stunned, the woman bent down and pulled back the waistband of Drake's diaper. "This is unacceptable. You will be expected to meet quota three times a day, or else you will be reprimanded. Discipline for insubordination will be starting tomorrow for a new hire like you, so make sure that you meet the standards expected of you." Drake shook off his shock just in time to see the woman instead wander to Caiden. She didn't have to say anything to him either, simply producing changing supplies from the diaper bag, while Caiden laid on his back and raised his legs like an infant. Drake couldn't help but watch in a crude fascination while the older boy got his filthy butt cleaned up and put in a new diaper to besmirch. The raven haired boy didn't think it could get any stranger, but then Caiden stood back up and the woman handed him his own dirty diaper back like it was a trophy or something. "Excellent work, now go get in line." She said curtly, already leaving the stall to go begin her changing duties in the next. Caiden offered his roommate his free hand and helped him back up to his feet. "Come on, we need to get in line. We have to go to the weigh station." The weigh station, what did that even mean? The possibilities all floated around Drake's head as they left the stall; what lied beyond was enough to put those thoughts on hold though, since Drake was now getting a glimpse of the scope of this whole operation. Dozens of other diaper-clad 'employees' were making a single file line, all holding the fruits of their labor in their hands. All male, but of varying ages, sizes, and colors. No stretch of life was too proud to be subjugated in this display of complete indecency. Caiden and Drake got in line behind an adult who looked like he'd completely given up by this point, a large lumpy diaper balled up in his hands and a thousand yard stare looking forward. Caiden noticed Drake's confusion and decided to explain: "Three times a day we get changed and we have to bring the diaper we filled to the front of the barn to be weighed, cataloged, and deposited. Everyone has a different quota to fill, I think depending on your age or how big you are, but you *have* to meet that number." That part seemed more obvious now, considering the vast differences in heft between so many of the saggy diapers in the line. It wouldn't be realistic to expect the same output between a little kid and a grownup, or between a little shrimp and a tub of blubber. "That's...Weird, and gross! Why don't those ladies just take the stupid diapers when they change them?!" The thought had definitely occurred to Caiden that such a system would invariably be more efficient, but that wasn't the purpose of this little display. The poopy parade, marching one by one, was about something more insidious. It was a part of the same strategy that had made so many of Caiden's coworkers become so dim and docile. It was about control, and it was about breaking down each person to their absolute brink. Every factor of the farm was intended to dehumanize and mollify; it was in the owner's best interest to convert each imprisoned asset into a more primitive, mindless form. Caiden theorized the reason they didn't just turn everyone into 'drones' outright was because there must be some clause in the contract that said such a punishment could only be dealt for breaching the terms of employment. So, with only troublemakers being forcibly transformed into the braindead drones, that meant more subtle measures had to be used on everyone else. Lack of mental stimulation, physical activity, diaper always on display, forced to eat out of a trough and be treated like an animal, and even this soul-crushing line. It all brought the producers closer and closer to a mental break, and from there, they could be tricked into extending their contract indefinitely. The line moved forward at a sluggish pace, and other workers could be seen returning back to their stalls after their diaper had been recorded and deposited. For Drake, the total lack of rebellion was a more revolting sight than that of their puffy diapers. No one tried to fight back or flee, nobody even made a complaint! He thought everyone here must be so weak! Then it came time for Caiden to take his turn with the scale. A man in a farm hat simply pointed at the platform and Caiden complied by placing the dirty diaper upon it. The man took a look at a clipboard, and then at the number on the scale's display, and gave a quiet nod of approval. He checked off the paper and dipped his thumb backwards toward a slot in the wall, "Attaboy, keep up the good work. Next!" Caiden picked his heavy poosack back up and toddled off to drop it off, the generic praise completely ignored, which was more than could be said of some of the more dimwitted manure-makers in the line. Drake nervously stepped up to the scale, arms again folded across his chest and his eyes pointed angrily up at the farmhand with the clipboard. "...Where's your deposit, boy?" The man asked gruffly. "I'm not an icky baby, I don't poo on myself." Drake grunted, narrowing his eyes at the adult. The man's finger traced down on the paper, until he found what he was looking for and tapped the page. "New kid, huh? Well, you about to learn what happens to slackers around here. Your quota is two and a half pounds per weigh-in; remember that, because you're going to need to be reaching it every time." Two and a half pounds?! That was crazy! Then again, Drake had personally watched Caiden unleash an unholy volley of dirty droppings earlier, which easily could have been about that weight. "I want to talk to the big boss, right now! If I'd known that this was what the job was supposta be, then I never--" Drake's diatribe never finished. The aggravated man had heard too many of the same speeches to suffer hearing another, so he'd plucked a remote from his breast pocket and tapped the button with his thumb. The result was Drake's collar suddenly blinking a red light, and a focused electric pulse being shot down throughout the boy's nervous system. It was painful, sure, but the more important factor was the chaos it was causing in the black haired boy's bowels. He shuddered and shook in place, eyes squinting and saliva helplessly running down his chin while a sloppy tuba note blew down below, harkening the arrival of what Drake had been so adamant about refusing. **PLLLARRRRPPP!** The sound was sickeningly wet and squishy, and the source was even worse; Drake's 'manure collection pants', more colloquially his *diaper*, began to crinkle and tent out in the back with a large blob of malodorous mush. The white garment lost its luster and grew a nasty brown stain, evidence of the particularly putrid load he'd just made. There was a certain irony to the taunting he'd lobbed at Caiden for how much he stunk, considering now that Drake's own stinky diapered butt was emitting an significantly more foul aroma. Its pungent potency was enough to already be attracting flies to buzz around the fumes wafting up from the hot lump, and the teen in line behind him was even wrinkling his nose. "There's your head start for the next weigh-in, you better not come back up here without having all your work done, understand me?" Drake still reeled from the jolt to his system, only barely finding the energy to give a halfhearted nod. "Good, now go back to your stall and eat up. Next weigh in is in four hours and I expect that quota to be filled."