Joan and the Pig (female castration)

I smelled the farm even before I saw it on the horizon. A pig farm wasn’t exactly a rose patch, but still, I found my heart fluttering as the slightly acrid smell penetrated my nostrils. When I finally crested the hill, Joan was in the pig pen, as usual, nearly as tall standing in the mud as I was riding the horse.

“Hey, long time no see, cousin,” said Joan, with a little nod. I always loved that nod. So much more informal, yet more familiar, more intimate than a courtesy. “Cousin,” had a nice ring to it, too. I far preferred that to “Elara” or even worse, “Your Highness.”

Joan was my cousin, of course, but it was obvious to anyone that the relation was quite distant. Aside from our fiery red hair, we looked nothing alike. I was a slender waif, a short little thing. Combined with my delicate, childlike face, and I looked far younger than my 19 years. I was a woman now - as my parents and the royal council reminded me hourly in the quest to marry me off - but with the scared look in my eye, I knew I still looked like a lost child.

“There you go,” Joan said, as she helped me off the horse with one impossibly massive arm. Joan wasn’t just tall, she was beefy, with huge biceps that frayed her stained shirt. Her torso was big and barrel-like, too, and her jaw was strong, as though her body was showing off how much she loved to eat.

I gazed into her eyes as she set me down on the ground. They always sparkled. Her big, puffy lips twisted into a grin. It looked a bit mischievous, but the impression any ill will was undone by the furious blush that decorated her cheeks.

Funny, I thought. I was a woman but looked like a child. Meanwhile, Joan got the beauty of a real woman and the strength and size of a mountain man. She got both; I got nothing.

I didn’t have to tell her why I was there. She knew I had run away again. She knew people would be sent to fetch me in a day or three. The particulars of why exactly I left were of no interest to her, and after the incessant questions and devious machinations of palace intrigue, Joan’s lack of curiosity felt like a godsend.

“What… what were you doing before I got here?”

“I finished making a pie, letting it cool. While I waited, though I’d get around to spay Ida,” she said, pointing to the littlest pig of the bunch. Ida seemed to hear and look up expectantly.

“Spay?” I asked. I knew some male animals were neutered, but this was the first time I’d heard about this. “Do you spay all the female pigs?”

“No, no, no, of course not,” said Joan, chuckling a little while waiving her big paw of a hand in my face. “Always gotta breed more livestock, right?”

“Then…” I started.

“Ida’s not livestock, silly! She’s a potbelly pig,” she said, as though that explained everything. “She’s a pet,” she clarified. “Pets get spayed to keep them nice and calm.”

“Oh,” I said meekly. Calmness sounded worth its weight in gold. My emotions seemed to run through me like a raging river.

“Wanna help?” Joan asked me. Before I answered, she grabbed my arm and pulled me towards the side of the barn. There were little stocks there with dirty, frayed leather straps.

Joan hoisted Ida up in the air, then plopped her down near the stocks. I tried to help with the straps, but my hands were shaking and it took five tries for me to buckle my side.

“I’m sorry,” I sputtered. Joan just laughed again.

“You’re just not used to it, that’s all,” she said. She pulled out a little tool, some kind of curved blade. When it pierced Ida’s side, I had to look away.

“There you go, good girl. This is for the best. It’ll calm you down,” she cooed, repeating the words over and over as she got to work.

The pig gave out a little squeal, but it was softer than I imagined it would be. I kept my eyes firmly closed.

A few minutes later, and I felt something soft and wet against my leg. I opened my eyes and saw Ida nuzzling my thigh. For a moment I thought she had somehow managed to break free from the stocks. Had my work on the straps been that bad?

Then, I saw the bandage and realized it was already all over. Ida continued happily nuzzling my thigh, as though to prove she had become happier and calmer already.

“That was quick,” I said. I couldn’t say why, but my heart seemed to have leapt into my throat. I had the sensation that something profound had just happened, that by witnessing this - even with my eyes closed - I’d already taken my first step on a road that it would be impossible to turn back from.

“It’s quick when you know what you’re doing,” said Joan, shrugging her massive shoulders. I swear, I could almost hear her shirt groan. The poor, overstretched fabric was stained with pig shit and, now, was speckled with few drops of blood.

“Now - who wants pie?” she asked, as though nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred.

At the palace, deserts were treats, saved for banquets, and portioned out by thin slices - the better to protect a princess’s thin figure.

At Joan’s, the entire pie was simply placed on the table, landing with a heavy thud that shook the thing and made my teeth clatter. Joan handed me what looked like a massive soup spoon - she wasn’t one for fancy dessert force - and then dug in.

The apple pie was delicious. Sweet, spicy enough with the cinnamon to make you cry. It was almost enough to force the scene I’d just witnessed from my mind.

I ate with the same utter abandon that I always did when I visited Joan. I ate not with the worries of politeness and propriety of a princess, but with the simple pleasure of a farmer.

No, not even a farmer, I thought, as I stuffed myself. Not even a human. I was an animal. A pig. Joan’s new potbelly pig. And I wanted to put that silly spoon down and just dive into that pie face first, like a slop tray. I wanted to eat and eat and eat until my stomach was an overstretched white orb. Like a parody of the pregnancy my family was plotting to force me to have.

At some point I realized Joan had stopped eating. I froze for a moment, feeling a rush of shame. She lived alone and made the pie for herself, and… and…

“It warms my heart to see someone love my baking,” said Joan. Her smile made some of the shame recede. “Wish I could feed you like this every day…”

As those words crossed Joan’s big, beautiful, pie-crumb-crusted lips, I felt another step down that road that was impossible to turn back from.

“I’d love to stay here and work on the farm with you forever,” I gushed.

“Me too, cousin,” she said, squeezing my dainty hand with her huge one. “But being a princess isn’t all bad, is it?”

I knew she was just saying it to try to be nice, but that didn’t stop me. I couldn’t just let that go. Being a princess WAS all that bad. It was an endless parade of stress, boredom, and misery. It meant being a puppet for heartless schemers.

“I’d throw my crown into the mud if I could. I’d chew off my chew off my own arm if that’s what it took to get these royal chains off. But, you know the King and Queen. They won’t stop until I’m married off and produce an heir…” I began, before stopping. The idea was too insane to think about. Right. Right??

Then I gazed at her. Our eyes locked.

Did she have the thought first, or did I?

“I want it,” I blurted out, stupidly.

“You… want… what?” Joan asked. Okay, maybe she didn’t have the same thought as me.

“I want to be… like Ida,” I said. I lowered my voice to almost a whisper. “Spay me.”

“Do you want this because you want to piss your parents off? Or do you want it because…” Joan began.

“No,” I sputtered. “It’s not about just that. I… I really do want to be with you. Forever. I don’t want to marry a man or become a mother. All I want…is to be your calm little pet,” I said.

Joan leaned over the table, her generous chest scraping the top of the half eaten pie. She leaned over and planted a wet kiss on my forehead.

“Right answer,” she said, although I was a pupil and she was coaching me on a test. “I’d love nothing more than to make your wish come true.”

My heart leapt into my throat.

Just like she did with Ida, Joan hoisted me up. She walked back out to the side of the barn and set me down near the stocks.

“Bend over,” she said, her breath hot on the pack of my neck. I dutifully complied. “Lower” she said, her hand pushing on the small of my back. I felt weak in the knees. My face was inches from landing in the mud. The smell should have bothered me but it didn’t, as though the residual cinnamon was protecting me.

Joan strapped me in, the stocks tight against my thighs. My pulse was a mile a minute.

“Last chance to back out,” Joan said. “I won’t rub your face in it or anything.”

“No, I want it,” I pleaded.

“You sure?” Joan asked.

“Spay me, spay me Joan!” I begged her. My restrained limbs tingled as I wriggled them against the leather straps.

“As you wish, princess,” Joan said, then stuffed a leather bit in my mouth before I could complain. “You know,” she continued, her hips pressed up against my flanks. “I’d be lying if I said this never crossed my mind. Honestly, I’d thought about doing this… well … something like this… since the first day we met.”

The fact that Joan wanted it to make it a million times better. Or it would have, if I allowed myself to believe it, which in that moment felt impossible.

The next moment, she pierced my side with the curved blade. I bit down and screamed. The pain was much more intense than I had anticipated.

“There you go, good girl. This is for the best. It’ll calm you down,” she cooed, repeating the words over and over she had said to Ida, in just the same reassuring voice.

Almost immediately, the pain faded to nothing. My mind seemed to be wrapped in a blanket.

I felt pressure, pulling. For brief, terrifying moment, I had a pang of regret. What in the world was I doing? Maybe I’d be a wonderful wife. A loving mother. Maybe, just maybe, my parents were right about everything after all.

Snip, snip… then thud. Something landed in a metal pail.

Snip, snip, snip… thud.

The moment I heard the second thud, my regrets, worries and second guesses all faded away forever. The moment I realized there was no going back, I was flooded with a breathtaking, dizzying, sobbing euphoria.

“Can… can I see them?” I asked. She pulled the two bloody orbs out of the bucket, holding them up in her huge hand.

“They were pretty small, you won’t miss them,” she said, before tossing them over her shoulder like a rotten apple core. They landed in the mud with a wet smack. Ida squealed a little, shuffled over, and slurped them up.

I hope you enjoyed the story! My dms are open if you want a custom story commission.