Chapter 9: The Private Kitchen

The door to the private kitchen swung open on silent hinges, and Ducky released Jenny's shoulder mid-lick, her tongue leaving a cool stripe where oil and salt had been.

She hopped through the threshold first, her slim little body disappearing into the darkness beyond.

Motion sensors clicked. Banks of fluorescent lights flickered to life overhead, illuminating a space that smelled of stainless steel and bleach and something older—iron, maybe, worked deep into the grain of the butcher block table that dominated the far wall.

Jenny stood at the threshold. Her bare toes curled against the cold tile.

She observed Jenny hesitation, Ms. Baker may need to reinforce some additional triggers.

See For one thing she still refers to herself as Jenny whe introducing herself, she still hasn’t fully embraced her piglet self.

"Good girl,"

Ms. Baker murmured behind her, and the pleasure trigger unspooled through Jenny's limbs like warm ribbon. The hesitation in her chest loosened. She stepped inside.

Ms. Baker's smirk was barely perceptible. We will see if Jenny piglet self exits.

Jenny scooted across the tile to where Ducky was already bouncing on the balls of her feet.

"Umm Hello, earth to Ducky!"

"Look how big this oven is!" Jenny marveled

Ducky stood on her tiptoes, fingertips unable to gripping the handle of the massive oven door, her nose nearly pressed to the glass.

The interior was cavernous—racks large enough to hold a 10 chickens, heating elements dormant at the moment.

Ducky repeated what Ms. Baker explain in the past.

"Ms. Baker said it's that high so she can watch her delicious roasts,”

"Probably because it's easier on the back as well," Jenny said, practical even now.

Ms. Baker leaned against the butcher block, arms crossed, her summer dress whispering against her thighs. She gave them their moment.

A pet's personality emerged in these unguarded exchanges—

Ducky's boundless curiosity, Jenny's reflexive pragmatism. The girl still analyzed everything.

Every broken pet she encounters come with it own challenges, and reward.

She recall Mandy whom now is referred to as Daisy Moo.

She had been top in her class, cheer captain, head of the after school girls volleyball team—every moment of her life a sprint until her mind simply unspooled from exhaustion.

Coach had sent her to the clinic, and right into Ms. Bakers arms, she'd collapsed into the cow life like a body into water. Peaceful. No demands.

Her milk had come in Thanks to Coach and his practical insemination she was able to produce milk.

Daisy Moo’s belly was tight as a drum, the farm's first homegrown calf just days away. Veterinarian on call when it happens.

Ms. Baker has a special meal plan for that special occasion.

But Jenny?
Ms. Baker observed.

Jenny had basted Chick-a-Dee with something more than playful curiosity.

Ms. Baker had watched those fingers linger on the chick-a-dee’s oiled flesh, watched the brush slow, watched the jenny's free hand drift between her own legs.

A predator's hunger. Not prey at all.

Ms. Baker finds children so interesting, so resilient and of course delicious as well.

Ducky had another moment—Jenny could tell by the way she spun on her heel, eyes bright.

"Ms. Baker, can I play in the oven?"
Jenny laughed.

"Honey, that oven is used for cooking dinner for large gatherings." Ms. Baker dismissed the request. She mostly wanted to see ducky’s reaction.

She pouted but Ducky wasn't deterred. She grabbed Jenny's hand, her grip warm and insistent. "I had so much fun watching Chick-a-Dee on the rotisserie.

I want to try it. Would you not want to baste me?

The words hit Jenny's hindbrain like a struck match. Her pussy clenched. Moisture gathered, sudden and urgent, slicking her inner thighs.

She saw it in her mind—Ducky's body trussed up, oil glistening on her small eight year old little body, that look of surrendering and joy spreading across her features.

Ms. Baker caught the look.

There it is. That sexual hunger

"Okay," Jenny managed, her voice thicker than she intended.

Ms. Baker loved ducky’s progress, two months in and she already has a desire to be prey. She promises to discuss the idea later.

As for now... Ms. Baker paused.
Ducky’s pouty look of disappointed

"As for now, it's time to wash you two up."

Ducky ran ahead, as if forgetting her oven drama, her feet slapping against the tile as she disappeared through hanging semi translucent decider strips, a partition at the kitchen's far end.

Jenny followed slower, taking in the equipment she'd missed in her first dazed survey.

A rotisserie oven like the one outside yet larger, this one was restaurant-grade, its glass door gleaming.

Large enough to put chicken little and click-a-dee inside to play together.

Jenny laugh at the thought.

A giant stockpot hung over a cold burner.

Metal prep tables, a section with meat hooks and a bandsaw that Jenny's mind skittered away from.

Everything scrubbed to a surgical shine.
She pushed through the divider strips.

The shower room was just beyond the partition, all tile—white subway from floor to ceiling, sloping gently toward central drains.

Chains hung from the ceiling beams, four of them, evenly spaced dangling above individual wash stations.

At the end of each chain dangled a harness: leather cups for wrists and ankles, a narrow strip to support the back.

Ducky was already swinging gently from one, her fingers wrapped around the chains.

"Pick the one next to me!"

Jenny looked uncertain, Ms. Baker's hand settled on Jenny's lower back.

"Don’t let the harness frighten you. These harnesses suspend a pet for much needed deep cleaning. You two are a sticky mess and better then the cold shower out back of the farmhouse."

Jenny always felt at ease when her mistress ( a word she learn from ducky) talk to her. She has never felt freer if that make sense.
Jenny observed her mistress with an undesirable desire to please her.

Lifting Ducky was simple—the girl weighed nothing, and ducky giggled as Ms. Baker settled her wrists and ankles into the cups, the back strip taking her weight.

A spin of the chain, and Ducky rotated fast at first then slowly, her body fully accessible, her folds already glistening.

Jenny allowed herself to be lifted next. The leather cupped her wrists, then her ankles, spreading her arms up and wide as well as her legs.

The range of movement was generous—she could twist, arch, rotate—but she wasn't getting out this harness unassisted.

She looked up. Hoses hung from the ceiling, coiled like sleeping snakes. Each one ended in a dildo-shaped nozzle, pale silicone with a flared base.

Her pussy dampened further just looking at them.

Then she looked down between her legs. The pink metal tail plug was still there, nestled between her cheeks.

She'd stopped noticing it for the most part. Like the collar around her throat, it had become part of her. The only things she owned.

Ms. Baker excused herself, leaving them alone for the moment.

"Comfy?" Ducky swung her harness closer, the chains creaking yet sending her back to her normal position.

"Define comfy," Jenny said, gesturing at her bondage, her spread-eagled state.

"Safe," Ducky said simply. "Warm. Belonging."

Jenny considered this. Her anus clenched around the plug. "I must admit I’ve never been happier."

"Did you really mean it? Ducky asked “you know’ about basting me?"

The question hung between them. Jenny's tongue felt thick. "I... yeah. I think I did."

"Good." Ducky's smile was contagious.

"I want to be your roast." She said with a lite blush.

Those words made Jenny pussy moisten, she seen the seriousness in her eye.
She did look tasty.

Yet before Jenny could respond, Ms. Baker has returned.

She'd shed her summer dress and stood naked,
Jenny spread her legs out. It was like her vagina had a mind of its own. Wanting to be touched.

Ms. Baker is wearing only rubber gloves, her auburn hair loose around her shoulders, she carried two buckets swinging from each hand. Sponges. A bristled brush.

"Quiet now," she said, setting down her supplies.

The word she spoke next dropped into the tile room like a stone into still water.

"Obey."

The trigger seized Jenny's mind. The chatter in her skull fell silent. Ducky, too, went still in her harness, eyes glassy, waiting.

There would be no conversations, no questions. This was going to be a physical experience only.

Ms. Baker dipped a sponge into the first bucket. The water was warm, faintly green, smelling of spearmint and rose petals.

She began with Ducky, working the sponge across the girl's shoulders, her perky breasts, the curve of her waist.

Jenny watch intently, seeing ducky playfully twist, the sponge between her smooth slit. Jenny twist her head to watch. The stupid harness turn on its own.

Foam built in creamy peaks. She shampooed Ducky's short hair, working her fingers through the black strands until the girl's head was a cloud of suds.
Then she turnded to Jenny.

The sponge made first contact with Jenny's collarbone, and she gasped. Her freckle shoulder surrendering to the sponge.

The tingling was immediate—something in the soap, some botanical alchemy that made her skin hum.

Spearmint cooling, opening every pore her skin possesses. The smooth rose petals softening.

Ms. Baker worked downward, across her freckle breasts, her stomach, then her spread thighs.

The foam dripped from Jenny's body in lazy rivulets.

The harness swung as Ms. Baker control its movement, Jenny back gets soapy as her front.

Then Ms. Baker's fingers found the braids at Jenny's temples. She worked them loose, slowly untangling the strands, letting Jenny's hair fall around her shoulders. The intimacy of it made Jenny's throat tight. She let the suds do its magic.

Ms. Baker retuning her attention back to ducky.

She returned to Ducky with a different sponge, dipped in the second bucket. The smell was sharp, medicinal—disinfectant, the kind doctors used before injections.

When the sponge touched Ducky's skin, the girl hissed.

"Stings," she managed, her voice high. Trying to follow the command of not talking.

Ms. Baker worked methodically, covering every inch of Ducky's foam-coated body. The disinfectant found every micro-cut, every hair follicle, every sensitive fold. Ducky moaned—low, then louder, her hips twisting in the harness.

Her entire demeanor shifted, the playful duckling replaced by something rawer.

Then the sponge came for Jenny.

The sting arrived before the touch—her mind anticipating, her skin already prickling.

When the disinfectant-soaked sponge swiped her inner thigh, she cried out.

The sensation was like mouthwash on cut gums, like alcohol on a fresh scrape.
It bloomed across her nerves, and any movement made it worse, the harness chains rattling as she tried to hold still.
Then the stinging subsided.

Heat replaced it. A deep, radiating warmth that started in her chest and pooled between her legs.

Her pussy throbbed. She moaned, straining against the wrist cups, desperate to press her thighs together, to rub, to relieve the building pressure.

Impossible. She could only hang there, panting, while the heat built and built.

Suddenly the shower heads burst to life. Warm water cascaded from the ceiling, sluicing away the minty foam and the stinging disinfectant, swirling pink and green down the drains.

Jenny sagged in her harness, gasping.
Then Ms. Baker's hands were on her. Gentle rubbing, latex glove giving relief, soothing the scrubbed skin.

Her other hand traced Jenny's collarbone, her breasts, her stomach. Then lower to assist the finger assault, much needed assault.

Circling her pubic mound, brushing her clit with feather-light pressure.

One hand reached across to Ducky, giving her the same attention, and

Ducky's answering moan echoed off the piglet.
Jenny closed her eyes and leaned back into her harness, rolling her hips to meet Ms. Baker's strokes.

The pleasure built, approaching that familiar edge—

A tug at her anus. The tail plug rotated, then slid free.
Jenny whimpered at the loss. Emptiness where there should be fullness.

Yet what replaced it was the silicone nozzle of one of the hanging hoses. Ms. Baker pressed it against piglet’s loosened sphincter, and it slid inside almost without resistance—the plug had stretched her, prepared her.

Fullness again. Not her tail, but something.

Ms. Baker turned to Ducky, working a second hose between the girl's small cheeks.

It disappeared into ducky's anus with practiced ease, which surprised Jenny.

Ducky training consist of weekly massages, love and nurturing, and daily except for weekends something Ms. Baker called. (Cavity Capacity Training) apparently a it’s bird thing. Both her sweet holes have been systematically enlarged.

Ms. Baker stepped back. Her eyes traveled across her suspended pets—legs spread, hoses buried in their anuses, chests heaving.
She reached for a knob on the wall. "Water sports mean something different here," she said.

She turned the knob.
The water hit Jenny's insides like a fist. Her body jerked, the harness chains screaming. The cramp was immediate—a deep, visceral pressure as warm water flooded her bowels, traveling upward, filling her.

Her belly swelled visibly, and she thought of Daisy Moo in her yoke, that pregnant swell, that dreamy satisfaction.

Ducky was twisting in her harness, but she was smiling. A blissed-out, empty smile.

Her small frame was already distending, her stomach rounding with the volume of water she'd taken.

Jenny's legs shook. Involuntary. A moan tore from her throat, and she couldn't tell if it was pain or pleasure or both.

The flow stopped. Yet no real relief. The water sat inside her, heavy and cramping and painfully full.

Ms. Baker pulled Ducky's hose first. The nozzle slid free with a wet sound, and an explosive jet of brown foul water followed, arcing across the tile. Ms. Baker spun the harness with practiced efficiency, directing the stream toward the drain.

Finally she pulled Jenny's hose.

The release was violent. Jenny's body convulsed, expelling the enema water in a gushing flood. The sound it made was obscene. The smell hit a moment later—foul, embarrassing, making her cheeks burn even as the relief made her sag in her restraints.

The shower heads burst on again, washing the filth down the drains.
Ms. Baker returned to the minty soap bucket. She worked fresh suds across both pets' bodies, scrubbing away any residue. The brush came next—softer than Jenny expected, the bristles trailing over her soapy skin, scrubbing between her toes, around her ears, into the creases of her thighs.

When the brush passed over her clit, she bucked, a fresh wave of arousal cutting through the exhaustion.

Ms. Baker knelt before her. Pressed a kiss to Jenny's mouth. Then her hands found the pink metal tail plug, slicked it with something from a tube, and pressed it home.

Jenny sighed as the familiar weight settled into her.

"We're going to have to upgrade your tail," Ms. Baker murmured, testing the fit with a gentle tug. Looser than before. Jenny's body was adapting.

She didn't care about upgrades. She just wanted her tail back.

Ms. Baker released them from the harnesses. Both pets wobbled on unsteady feet, gripping each other for balance, still dripping. Fluffy towels were provided and they burrowed into the fabric.

Ms. Baker tower dried their hair. Piglets was a mess. Wild memes yet very attractive.

---

A light dinner followed—leftover goat meat and roasted vegetables, eaten with their fingers at the kitchen counter.

Jenny's stomach was hollow and clean, and the food tasted impossibly good.

"Since you two were good for the washing," Ms. Baker said, wiping her hands on a cloth,

"I'm going to give you a reward."

She led them through the farmhouse to a room Jenny hadn't seen before. Actually she really hadn’t pay to much attention to it at all. The cella, the barn, the enormous second kitchen. What other mysteries does this farm hold?

The door open to a theater room —plush seats arranged in rows, a massive screen on the wall, a refrigerator stocked with bottles of Daisy's milk. Fruit snacks.

Blankets were folded on a side table. The nice snuggle type.

"You can choose any movie on the shelf. Motioning of the row of movie selects.

No need to bother with the videos on the top shelf. They're more of an adult private collection."

Ms. Baker cupped Jenny's face and kissed her—deep, lingering, her tongue tracing Jenny's lower lip.

Their eyes locked when she pulled away. "Good night, my pets."

The door clicked shut.
Ducky pulled a cassette at random. "The Time Machine. Hmm… boring" she slid it back.

Jenny looked also, rattled off other titles, reading spines.
"The Hills Have Eyes, Wrong Turn,
Wrong Turn 2, 3, 4, 5... Night of the Living Dead. Ooh, that sounds good."

"It's about zombies that eat people's brains," Jenny read from the back of the box.

"Only the brain?" Ducky wrinkled her nose. "Sounds like a real waste of meat."

They laughed, and Jenny slid the cassette into the player.

They chose seats in the center of the front row, seats wide enough so they could sit together dragging a blanket over their laps.

The previews started.

Ducky's looked at Jenny’s uncombed hair, she felt it. “I like your messy hair.”

Jenny hated her hair, curly unmanageable. That Wes why she wore braided pigtails. Less washing. Though she liked it when her mistress did it.

Ducky liked it because it made her look like a wild animal. hand found Jenny's thigh, then lower, her fingers sliding through the wetness that hadn't diminished all evening.

Jenny returned the favor, her palm cupping Ducky's warm little mound.

Jenny thinking they might not make it through the movie.

Jenny glanced up at the top shelf. The cassette cases up there were identical—plain black spines, no titles.

Whatever was on them, Ms. Baker kept for herself.
Ducky's fingers slipped inside her. Two fingers, curling.

The opening credits flickered across the screen, and Jenny forgot about the top shelf entirely.