Piggy Farm [Tier 2 and 3 Exclusive] (Patreon)

The way I see it, you either need a piggy, or you are a piggy.

I don’t judge, no matter which way you lean. The world needs all types to function, you know? Some folks aren’t any good at leading and making decisions. They’ll do the work. They’ll do anything you tell them to, bless their souls. They just need a little motivation.

And that’s where the other folks come in. The ones who tell the folks who can’t lead what to do and how to do it. These folks aren’t going to do the work themselves, but that’s what the others are for, right?

And there you have it. Piggies and the folks who need piggies.

This isn’t just one of those metaphors, though. Well it is, kind of. But I mean it literally too. I deal in piggies. Do you need a piggy? I probably have one for you. Do you want to be a piggy? Well I can certainly help you with that too.

For example, take this lass:

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

“Mabel,” she says.

Cute as a goddamn button. Short dark hair. A little extra meat on her bones, if you know what I mean. These big ol’ cheeks that you just want to squeeze the hell out of. And don’t even get me started on the dimples.

“Mabel, what brings you to Della’s Piggy Farm?”

“W-well, I guess I saw your ad and, uhm, I was kind of curious about it, so…”

Do you hear that? In her voice? That timidness? That kinda shaky tone? The poor girl sounds like she’s gonna wet her pants from just having a plain ol’ conversation with me.

Now, let me ask you: Do you think she’s here because she wants a piggy for herself? Or do you think she is a piggy? And, no, don’t go making some smart-ass remark about the girl being a piggy just because she’s got a few extra curves on her. I’ve seen a good number of plump folks roll through the door looking to buy themselves a piggy.

“Mabel, are you here because you want a piggy of your own?”

“No, ma’am.”

Now, you probably guessed that would be the case. Some piggies make it pretty obvious. It’s not always that easy, though. Just last week I had some fella stop by. All well-spoken like he was the goddamned Duke of Earl. I was just about to show him the selection we had when he confessed that he was actually interested in becoming a piggy himself. You never can tell.

“Mabel, do you want to be a little piggy? Is that why you’re here?”

“Y-yes, ma’am. May I?”

“I think you’d be an awfully good fit. Why don’t you come with me into this room here and I’ll get a better look at you.”

Now, look, not everyone gets to be one of my piggies. That doesn’t mean you’re not one, it just means that I only have so much space for livestock and so I have to have some standards.

It’s hard to just define those standards. It’s one of those things where I just know when I see it. Sometimes the things that put one person ahead of the pack holds another person back. Recently sold a piggy named Ted. I liked Ted a lot because he was kind of aloof, you know? He always had this adorably confused expression on his face like he kept forgetting where he was or something. I found it quite charming, as did his new owner. But then this little girly struts through the door yesterday looking to be a piggy. The dumb thing couldn’t answer the most basic questions without hemming and hawing endlessly. Absolutely exhausting. Had to kick her to the curb. So it goes.

Cuteness always gets you ahead, though. As does blind obedience. I think Mabel, here, is going to be a hit.

The first stop on your path to becoming a piggy is the Screening Room. It’s nothing fancy. Just a chair or two and some cute paintings of chickens hanging on the wall. But there’s no windows, and the door has an extra-heavy latch on it. I don’t think we need it, but I think it helps potential piggies feel a little safer while I give them a once-over, you know?

First things first, I like to ask the candidate some questions. Get a better feel for who they are and what they’ll bring to their potential owner.

“Mabel, when did you know that this was the path for you?”

“Oh, gosh, I guess I always knew. I remember being a little girl on the playground and I was always getting pushed around and told what to do by the other little girls. And the teachers would break it up, but then I’d just go right back to the other girls so they could do it some more. It just felt like my place.”

“I’m sure you were absolutely right about that too, dear. And that feeling persisted long after the days on the playground, hm?”

“Y-yes. My mother and my father–they certainly ordered me around. My older sister made me wait on her, hand and foot. I never minded much. Even my little sister got in on the action at some point.”

“Wasn’t that embarrassing? Having your little sister tell you what to do?”

“Mm, yes ma’am. But, uh, you know, I liked having a sense of purpose. And if I was making their lives better with a little bit of sacrifice for myself, it seemed okay by me.”

There’s two components to this preliminary screening. The first, like you’re seeing now, is to chit chat with the potential piggy a little. Get to know who they are and learn what they’re after. It’s not exactly an interview–it’s just a casual conversation. I trust a good piggy knows how to carry a conversation well enough.

Second, this is the point where I like to get my first physical examination in. Mind you, I don’t have any real standards. I’m standing here poking and prodding and looking for defects. All bodies are beautiful. I mean that. No, I just want to take a gander and see what I’m working with.

“Miss Mabel, do you think you could take your clothes off for me?”

“Yes, of course.”

That question, you see, is a little test in itself. I always like to see how someone reacts to my request for them to strip down to their birthday suit. Some folks give me a hard time about it–they whine or complain or insist that it’s just not fair that they have to do such a thing. Sometimes that’s the end of the interview right there and I just send them on their way. Sometimes, though, I can still see potential in a fusspot like that. A little discipline will straighten some whiners right up.

Mabel, though, she’s already in the clear. Obedient as can be, without even an ounce of hesitation in her voice.

If you think her face is cute, you oughta see her naked body. All smooth and pink. Her skin just looks completely soft. And when she blushes, it’s like her entire body blushes. I can’t help myself, I’ve got to put my hands on her. I give her arms and legs a few rubs and squeezes. I could just about take a bite out of those thighs. And that curvy derriere? Good lord.

I give each of her breasts a good firm squeeze and I never miss the opportunity to lightly tickle an exposed belly. She gives a delightful little squeal as one of her legs lifts in the air uncontrollably. I’m gonna have a lot of fun with this one, I can already tell.

Another little thing I like to do is give their discarded clothes a quick little inspection. Underpants, especially. Sometimes you find little things like brown streaks from piggies who don’t wipe very well. Wet spots. Yellow stains. You can learn a lot about a person from taking a careful look at their underpants when they’re not expecting it. Mabel’s? At first glance, the teal panties seem relatively clean. But a closer inspection reveals dampness in the crotch.

“What might this be, Mabel? Did you get excited? Or did you wet yourself a little?”

I’m excited to hear her response to this, as I don’t think she’s capable of lying to me.

“It, uhm, well… I think it might be…both?”

“Both? Goodness, Mabel. How did that happen?”

“I’ve just been so excited about coming here and meeting you for some time and, uhm, I probably got a little excited about that. But, too, I was kind of nervous. And when I get nervous I sometimes, uh, leak.”

“I see.”

“I…I’m so sorry. I hope that doesn’t disqualify me or anything.”

“Oh, not at all. In fact, dare I say that this is preferred.”

That little smile that’s spreading across her face? That’s how I know, without a doubt, that she’s a keeper. She’s going to make someone very happy. Hell, I might end up taking this one home with me at some point.

From here, the next step really depends on the piggy. Usually I pick out a favorite trait or two of theirs from my screening and decide to focus on that a little bit to see how things go. There’s a few different directions I could see Mabel going in. I’m tempted to just start her off in the nursery. A cute face like hers? She’d look absolutely perfect in a big diaper.

But sometimes it’s fun to start in a place less obvious and see what happens.

“Mabe, can you follow me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“But I’d like you to get down on your hands and knees and crawl behind me. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

“Of course! It’d be my pleasure, ma’am.”

I asked her to do it because I knew that she would. I wish that I could both lead her and follow behind–I’m sure it’s quite the sight to see that plump caboose shifting back and forth as she crawls behind me.

Now the real question for myself is where I’m going to take her. I bet it’d be a real treat to watch her stuff her face at the feeding troth. Might be fun to give her a good scrubdown over at the bathtub too. But, if I’m going to give her a bath, she should prolly get a little dirty first, right? So why not take her over to the pasture? I’ll let her tromp around in the mud for a bit, maybe see how she interacts with some of the other piggies I’ve got out there right now.

Out in the pasture, at the moment, I’ve got Elias and Tiffy. Tiffy is a relatively new addition herself, a former ‘social media influencer.’ It seems like the sort of thing someone would lie about, so I didn’t really buy into it much. But I did end up taking a peek at her profiles the other day. Sure enough, the gal’s got close to a million followers. She also had a habit of posting photos of herself almost every hour, wearing just about nothing. She was an influencer, alright–influencing folks to shove their hands down their pants. I’ve already got a long list of interested buyers for Tiffy, unsurprisingly. She needs a few more weeks of training here on the farm, but I think she’s going to bring in a pretty penny when she finally goes up for auction.

Then there’s Elias. Poor Elias. It’s not often I’m wrong about my judgment when I take in a new piggy–what, with my exacting standards and all. But it hasn’t been easy getting a forever home for the boy. Personally, I think he’s a lovable oaf. He’s got a heart as big as his belly. Of the piggies I have at the farm right now, I’d say he’s been here the longest. But I trust he’ll be swooped up at some point, by the right person. And, bless him, he remains unflinchingly optimistic about it himself. In the meantime, he’s proven himself to be a good friend and guide for the new piggies who are just starting their journey.

“Go on, Mabel. Why don’t you crawl on out there and mosey around for a bit.”

A lot of new piggies can be a little intimidated by the pasture. It’s a big expanse of mud and grass, and you’re just expected to crawl out there while completely nekkid? Many an innocent face have looked up at me with shock on their face when confronted with it. A lifetime of trying to avoid getting too dirty, or conforming to societal norms of wearing clothes when playing around outside–there’s a lot to get past to truly enjoy the pasture. But that’s why I love it so much. It breaks you down and forces you to enjoy the moment for what it is, with no fear of other people telling you that you’re doing it wrong.

I can tell that Mabel wants to enjoy it. She gingerly crawls around the perimeter, carefully reaching out into the soft earth with a hand or her knee. Every so often she looks back at me. Likely looking for my approval or more encouragement. I don’t give her either–she needs to experience it for herself, at her own pace.

Mabel glances over to the other piggies in the mud. Elias seems to have found a quiet spot in some grass and is taking a little snooze at the moment. I love seeing him like this, all curled up with his hands tucked under his head. Right now, he’s completely naked. While I try to keep the piggies in diapers when I can–especially in the pasture, where I want to prevent little ‘landmines’–Elias has proven that he can be trusted to trot around au naturale on occasion. Tiffy, on the other hand, is living her best life in the mud right now, rolling around in the muck in just her diaper. Believe it or not, she was extremely hesitant about getting too dirty at first. But she came around, and now it’s hard to keep the little piglet out of the mud. I have no doubt that she’s going to need a good hosing off later, right before she gets her diaper changed.

Watching Tiffy roll around playfully seems to provide some motivation for Mabel. One steady lurch forward at a time, she plods deeper and deeper into the shallow mud herself. I’m going to leave her be for a few minutes, as I don’t want her to feel like she has to do anything just because I’m watching her.

In the meantime, we oughta go check in on Zuzu–a special little project I’ve been working on.

Zuzu did not come through my door, seeking to be made into one of my little piggies. No, she came to me because she wanted to buy a piggy from me.

Of course, at this time, she still considered herself to be a man.

Just as there is a rigorous vetting process for potential piglets, there’s a very thorough screening process for potential buyers too. The last thing I want is for one of my precious babies to end up in the hands of someone who is going to hurt or not properly care for them.

Early rounds of screening proved hopeful. I saw potential in Zuzu as a caretaker at first. However, the deeper into the process I got, the less convinced I was. It wasn’t that I thought she’d be cruel or mean to a piggy–I just wasn’t entirely convinced she actually wanted to care for someone else. When I called her out on it, she finally broke–confessing that she was going through a bit of an identity crisis.

Stuck in the corporate world of expensive suits and toxic masculinity, she kept telling herself she was a leader like the rest of the boys. But the truth was that she was a follower–she was just in deep denial about it.

She didn’t actually want to care for someone else–she wanted someone else to care for her. She realized that she wanted to be a piggy. She realized she didn’t want to be ‘William’ any longer.

I’m more than happy to help accommodate this, of course. I want my piggies to be the best version of themselves, and with every bit of progress we’ve made with Zuzu, she just seems to be happier and happier. I’ve got her on hormones now. We’ve been letting her hair grow out. Per her request, I’ve got her cocklette locked up in a chastity cage too, with the key draped around my neck. One day, when Zuzu finds her forever home, I’ll be handing off the key to her new owner like they were buying a new car.

In the meantime, Zuzu is spending a lot of her time in Girl School, a special program here at the farm for our more effeminate piggies. Ms. Starla runs the Girl School program, and so we’ll check in with her now about Zuzu’s progress.

“Ms. Starla, could you tell us about how things are going with that little cutie Zuzu?”

“Exceptionally well, I must say. Zuzu is a very fast learner. It’s quite wild to me that she had managed to convince the world she was a man for as long as she had–she’s a natural little girl, through and through.”

“What sorts of things is Zuzu working on these days?”

“We’ve been focusing quite heavily on makeup. It was one of her goals when she first entered the program. So we start with things like concealer and foundation, and then we slowly expand to makeups for lips and eyes. Just today, we’ve begun an extensive study into nail polishes.”

“Is she around? I’d love to see how she’s looking these days.”

“Hold on, I think she’s just over here. Zuzu? Come here, please. Mommy Della would like to see you.”

I know that pitter-patter quite well–the sound of a little piggy’s hooves happily prancing towards me. Zuzu comes around the corner on her hands and knees in just her diaper. I swear, her breasts seem to be a little bigger everytime I see her–the sweet thing is developing into such a little princess.

I don’t need much convincing–I knew she was a little girl long before she did. But with her face all done up–rosy cheeks, glittery eyes, and plumped up lips in a vibrant shade of red–she looks stunning.

I can’t even help myself, I’m gonna stroll right up to the lass and give her lips a big ol’ smooch. I just know she’s going to be a red-hot ticket when it comes time for auction.

“You look more beautiful every time I see you, Zu. How are you feeling?”

“I, uhm, feel good. I feel amazing, actually.”

Of course, Ms. Starla always likes to point out the obvious: “She doesn’t smell amazing.”

I’ve been doing this so long, you know, that I sometimes think I’ve just gotten used to the aroma of a piggy’s dirty diaper. It rarely, if ever, causes me any discomfort. Like any good farmer, I think I’ve grown fond of the scent, actually.

“Pew! That is a pretty stinky little girl. Oh my word! What did you even get into?”

Regardless of how much I really enjoy the scent of a dirty bottom, I feel it’s important to make a big show of how stinky it is. The piggies love it.

“I…I think I need my diaper changed…”

“I’d say so! Ms. Starla, I hate to ask you to have to deal with such a horrid thing, but I’ve got a new little piggy I want to check in on and…”

“It’s not a problem, Della. I’ll take her down to the nursery now.”

I know it doesn’t sound like it, but I swear I would’ve been quite delighted to have changed Zuzu’s diaper if I could’ve. In general, I like watching the piggies squirm and moan as they get their dirty bottoms cleaned up. But Zuzu, with her little tiny pink cage, is even more fun. Just the slightest touch sends her into an absolute tizzy. It’s really a bunch of fun.

Alrighty then, back on over to the pasture to check on Mabel. I’m curious what you think she’s up to. Do you think she’s still cautiously hugging the perimeter? Do you think she’s curiously treading through the muck? Or do you think she’s rolling around in the mud, absolutely losing herself to her most primal piggy instincts?

To be honest, I ain’t too sure myself.

It should come as no surprise that Elias is still napping in almost the same exact spot that he was the last time we saw him. I’m wondering if he had stirred at all to introduce himself to Mabel or if he had just been blissfully dozing the whole time.

Upon seeing me, Tiffy starts trotting towards me, practically galloping through the mud. Mabel is close behind, doing her best to match Tiffy’s speed and elegance. She’s not quite as graceful in the mud, yet, and she takes a big tumble through a mud puddle. To her credit, she shakes herself off, a big goofy grin still on her adorable face, and she quickly bounds back in place behind Tiffy. I didn’t get the chance to see how dirty Mabel was before her spill–though she’s plenty mucky now.

“Hello, my darling piggies. Are we having fun in the mud?”

“Uh huh. I was showing Mabel some of my favorite places to play.”

“Mabel? Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Y-yes. Very much so.”

There’s a wee bit of hesitation in her tone, and I can see it in her face–she’s not sure that it’s okay for her to be enjoying this as much as she is. I could try and comfort her a little, letting her know that she’s expected to feel wild and free while in the pasture–but I think I’d rather her figure it out for herself. I have no doubt that she will, in time. All piggies get more accustomed to it as they learn that nobody ever punishes them for getting themselves all dirty.

“Alrighty, I think it’s time we get the two of you cleaned up. Tiffy, why don’t you head on over to the bathhouse. Mabel, you can follow her.”

I open the pasture gate and Tiffy tromps past me and down the path to the outhouse. Mabel is close behind, shooting me an optimistic and excited smile as she does. That’s a look I love to see, especially from a brand new piggy on the farm.

We oughta follow them and check out the bathhouse for ourselves. Sven is already there, I believe, and he’s an absolute master of the scrub brush.

So long as we’re talking about Sven, maybe I should talk a little about the staff here at my piggy farm. I try to keep a relatively small staff, folks who I not only trust to keep to the high standards I ask for, but talented folks who are good at just about anything–with an area that they’re more focused in. As you can imagine–just like with those who want to be piggies or own piggies–there are far more people who want to work for me than spots that are available.

It’s rare that I let someone walk in the door and fill out an application like this was a damn CVS. I don’t post positions online. In most cases, when I have a position I need to fill, I’m dipping into the pool of my friends, lovers, and peers.

Take the lovely Ms. Starla who you met a little bit ago. A total guru when it comes to makeup, clothing, and girly things in general, though she’s also quite talented when it comes to changing a diaper or paddling a naughty bottom. She was the very first person I hired when I started this farm, believe it or not. And do you know how I knew that she was the woman I wanted? Because once upon a time, it was my bare bottom that was over lap, getting spanked until I cried. If there was anyone I could trust to help keep some piggies in line, it would be Ms. Starla.

And then there’s Sven. If you want to see someone’s noggin explode, you oughta get a time machine and go back three or four years, find Sven as he works as a bartender, and then tell him that his next big career move will be giving little piggy boys and girls baths.

Sven’s been a good friend of mine for so long that it’s hard to remember how we met in the first place. Maybe we had some sorta ‘friends with benefits’ type-thing going on? But he’s one of those fellas who just need to smile at you and you end up telling them your life story. The guy knows just about everything there is to know about me. So when his career had kind of stalled out on the pretentious bartender circuit, I stepped in and proposed an alternative path for him: a job on my farm, taking care of livestock. He was hesitant about it, going on about not knowing a thing about animals. Of course, all I had to do was show him a few pictures of the cuties he’d be giving me a hand with and he quit his job that same day.

I bet you would too, if I asked.

Now I know Sven, he probably already knows these muddy girls are headed his way. But I always like to give a big ol’ shout too–just so the piggies know they’re expected.

“Oh, Sven! I’ve got two dirty little piglets for you to take care of!”

Now, for a while, our bathtime accommodations for muddy piggies were a little lacking. Out besides the barn we had a concrete slab with some handheld showers hooked up. We’d just line up and give them a good spray. But it gets a little less practical in the colder months, and I felt the piggies were owed a better experience than just getting a facefull of water blasted on them. And thus, the bathhouse. A charming little building, just off to the side of the pasture, and the latest addition to the farm. Inside, you’ll find a row of 5 brand new clawfoot bathtubs, along with an assortment of soaps, shampoos, lotions, bath bombs, and loofas.

Sven takes his new job quite seriously, and he’s become an expert in the bath needs of piggies. He keeps a thorough log of every product he’s used with each piggy, along with notes as to which seemed to work best for that particular body. Then, at auction, he passes that information along to the new owner in the hopes that they pick up where he left off.

I’m pleased to see that he’s got three steaming bathtubs already waiting for us.

“Sven, I want you to meet our newest addition to the farm. This is Mabel.”

“Hello, Mabel. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“L-likewise, Sven.”

“No diaper for Miss Mabel?”

“Not yet. But we’ll get her in one after she’s washed clean.”

“Of course. Mabel? Come right this way and I’ll help you into your tub.”

Mabel, the good girl she is, crawls right over to him without hesitation. He helps her to her feet before holding her hand as she gingerly steps into the hot water. She’s cautious about the temperature for a second, but as soon as her first foot is fully submerged, she quickly adds the other, seemingly ready to be fully enveloped.

“That’s a good girl, Mabel. Now just go ahead and lower yourself into the water. Yes, that’s it! Good girl!”

The way that her little face lights up when she’s called a ‘good girl’ almost brings a tear to my eye. Goddamn she’s a cutie. I just want to take a big ol’ bite right out of her. I probably won’t. Well. Maybe just a little nibble later. She can bend over for me and I’ll take a little taste of her backside.

Tiffy’s up next. Unlike Mabel, who could just slide her dirty body into a tub of hot water, Tiffy’s got a diaper on.

“Is her diaper dirty?”

“I haven’t smelled anything. But you ought to check, just to be sure.”

Sven’s smile seems to say “With pleasure.” He gives the back of Tiffy’s mud encrusted diaper a good tug so that he can take a peek inside of it.

“It’s dirty in there, but I don’t think it’s poop. I don’t know how she did it, but I think she got mud in her diaper.”

What can I do besides shrug?

“Some babies like the feeling of something mushy in their pants.

His chuckle suggests that he agrees with that and he completely unfastens her diaper, letting it plop onto ground, spilling a decent amount of dark-brown mud and dirt out with it. We all have a good laugh at this. Even Tiffy, through blushing cheeks, giggles at herself. Such a silly baby.

She, too, eases into a steaming bathtub, a look of comfort spreading over her face as the water instantly frees her from the dirty shell she’s been carrying around for a while.

“And this tub here is for you, Della.”

“Me?”

I had expected the third to have been for Elias, but I’m delighted that he was thinking of me. Even if I’m not rolling around in the mud like my piglets, I’m never going to say no to one of Sven’s warm and relaxing baths.

I slowly disrobe, giving the other girls plenty of time to sneak in a few glances. Tiffy, in particular, has always been pretty shy about her attraction to other girls–a quality I find to be rather endearing. Mabel is far less subtle, the hungry little piggy is just gawking, eyes wide. I give her a little show, pretending that I don’t notice her gaze as I take my time in removing each garment from my body.

I’m not the only one who notices Mabel’s big eyes. Sven playfully swats at her arms.

“Mabel, for shame! I see what your little hands are doing under the water!”

“I…well…”

Sven and I are laughing–hell, even Tiffy is getting in on the giggles–and I hope that Mabel recovers from her embarrassment quickly enough to join us. She does, eventually, add an awkward chuckle of her own to our chorus.

I always compare a bath in our bathouse to being in a washing machine. You’ve got to soak a little. Then you get lathered up a bit. Rinsed off. Repeat as needed. I’d describe it in a bit more detail but… Well, after soaking in the hot water for a few minutes, things start to get a little fuzzy, you know? Look, if you want to learn about the pleasures of one of Sven’s hot baths, you just need to get your fanny down here and hope that you’re the sort of piggy I want to be crawling around in the pasture. Take my word for it when I tell you that it’s near-orgasmic.

Mabel certainly seems to think so too, given how much she’s moaning over in her tub.

I don’t know if I’d say that it’s my favorite part of the bathhouse experience, but another vital part of it is the very end, when you step out of the tub into air that’s a bit colder than what you had been expecting. And just when you think you might be uncomfortable, Sven drapes an enormous fluffy towel over your shoulders–a whole other trip into comfort in itself.

Now, three tubs are getting drained while Sven fills up a fourth. I imagine it’s about time for him to corral Elias and get him soaking too.

I think I’ll take the freshly-cleaned piggy gals over to the nursery. I definitely want Tiffy in a fresh diaper, and it’s probably about time that Mabel starts getting used to the dress code around here.

Mabel follows Tiffy’s lead, dropping back to her hands and knees as they follow me out of the bathhouse, their big bare bottoms swaying in the air as they crawl.

“Mabel, dear, have you ever worn a diaper before?”

“Uhm, yes. A few times.”

“Is that so?”

“Y-yes. I was, uh, practising. Training, I guess, for being one of your piggies.”

“Ah, so you’ve known for some time that you wanted to be here?”

“That’s right, ma’am. Maybe two years now?”

We’re in the nursery now. I’ve heard some say that this is the most important part of the farm. I can certainly understand why they’d feel that way–everything else does seem to revolve around the diapers that piggies get put into here. But I think every part of the farm is equally important, and is essential to the full experience. Sure, maybe little piglets are humbled and embarrassed when they’re laid out on a changing table and a thick diaper is pulled up between their legs. But then you have a space like the pasture, which promotes breaking out of your comfort zone at your own pace. I’d argue that’s just as important as being put into a diaper.

Maybe it’s not that the nursery is more important, but that it provides a more immediate, tangible, thrill. That, I suppose, I could get behind.

“And just who is this cute little dumpling?”

I used to call her Momma Hen as a little bit of a play on words, since she was doing all the diapering around here, and her name happens to be Henrietta. Well the name seems to have stuck, as everyone calls her Momma Hen these days.

In my own imagination, I like to think of myself as the star of the show. The most popular gal on the whole farm. But if I were to actually do a formal poll, I wouldn’t be too surprised if Momma Hen came out on top. Everyone loves a good mommy, and Momma Hen might just be the best mommy of all time. Just a completely selfless woman. I’ve never seen her complain or fuss, even with some of the genuine brats we’ve had crawling through these doors.

“This here is Mabel. Mabel, I want you to meet Momma Hen.”

“Uhm, hi. It’s nice to meet you.”

“And likewise, little lady. My my, aren’t you a lil patootie? Della, where’d you get this one?”

“Just luck!”

I help Tiffy up onto her changing table as Hen helps Mabel up into hers. I sometimes worry when the staff–myself included–dotes on a new addition to the farm, that we’ll make some of the other piggies jealous. Tiffy, in particular–her life seeming to have always revolved around being the center of attention–always struck me as the jealous-type. But to her credit, she’s seemed quite level-headed about it. I wonder, sometimes, if it’s a confidence thing. She’s just that confident, maybe. I’ve got no doubt that she’s going to make a killing when she finally goes to auction, and I’m sure she knows the same.

“Actually, Mabel was just about to tell us about how she had known she wanted to be one of my piggies for almost two years now.”

Hen’s eyes light up. She’s a sucker for a good diapered origin story.

“Please, sweetheart. Tell us all about it.”

Mabel feigns bashfulness for a moment or two as she trips over her words. I know she’ll eventually spit it out–I can already tell that she loves to please. We give her all the time in the world until she’s ready to regale us with her stories.

“Well. There’s, uhm, not that much to tell, really. I had long known that I was more submissive and that I wanted to please other people. And I got into this relationship with a guy who was, like, my daddy? I didn’t know much about things like diapers, but he was really into it. So he’d make me wear them. I never complained–I’d have done anything he asked me to. But as it turned out, I really liked diapers. I loved being his baby. Like, that was all I wanted and I wanted it all the time. I couldn’t get enough.”

“And what happened, Mabel?”

“I think it was too much for him. He didn’t want to care for a baby 24/7. He just wanted me to be his toy that he took out and played with when he wanted to. And I was happy to do that…but I wanted so much more. I think it was just too much for him.”

“How did you hear about my farm?”

“W-well, after we broke up, I was trying to find myself, you know? Like, I knew that I really really wanted to be someone’s full-time baby. Someone who wanted me to be a baby as much as I wanted to be one. And so I spent a lot of time on local chat groups and message boards and stuff. I’d learn about local ageplay events and I’d go to them, hoping I’d–I dunno–stumble into someone’s arms. And, uh, that didn’t really happen, per se. But at this one event, I met this really nice girl named Emily. And, uhm, she had come from your farm. And she told me all about how she was her Daddy’s little piggy and how it was the greatest thing that had ever happened to her. She told me about how you helped her to be the best version of herself, and how she was then sold to her Daddy, who she cherishes and adores. And I just knew that was the path for me.”

“Ah, I see. A graduate from my farm? Hen? Do you recall an Emily?”

“Hm. I think we’ve had a few Emilies roll through here over the last few years. At least two. Both were delights, as I recall.”

“Well, I’d assume that anyone who came into the farm and managed to make it to auction had done a few things right. I, too, think you’re in the perfect place, Mabel. Well, Hen? Let’s get these girls into some fresh diapers.”

“Of course.”

There’s a little tradition that Hen and I like to keep up with when a new piggy joins the farm. While she’s got the new piglet on their back, fresh diaper under their bottom and ready to go, I like to open the drawer that holds the vibrating wand and pull it out. There’s always a look of excitement on their little faces when they see what’s coming.

“Don’t get used to this. The first one’s absolutely free. The rest? You’ll have to work for those.”

Even Tiffy smiles as she watches me turn it on and press the large white bulb between Mabel’s legs. It never takes long–this little freebie. After a few hours of stimulation and glimpses of all the exciting things to come, almost every piggy turns into a wriggling mess of moans within a few minutes.

Mabel is no exception.

“Very good. Now that we’ve gotten that taken care of, I think Tiffy should be put down for a nap for a little bit. And Mabel should be taken down to the kitchen. I’ll have Lucy make something yummy for our newest piglet.”

Maybe that’s enough for now.

As you can see, there’s plenty happening at the farm at any given time. Hell, there’s so much you haven’t even seen yet. You haven’t seen the kitchen. Or the punishment room. Or the stables. The walk-in closets. The milking room. You haven’t even seen an auction for yourself yet.

Maybe another time, you and I can have a little sit down and chat about the rest of it. Maybe. I think I’d rather you come see it yourself. Of course, there’s only two ways that you get to see the farm–as a piggy, or as someone in need of a piggy.

Which are you? Think about it for a bit and then let me know. Then I’d be more than happy to show you the rest of it.