Chapter 12: Pet to the Vet


The farmhouse kitchen buzzed with the particular energy that only a birth could generate. Ducky bounced in her chair, a half-eaten cornbread stick clutched in her fingers, her dark eyes wide and sparkling.

"Twins! Can you believe it? Two perfect little critters a bull and a calves!" She took a triumphant bite, crumbs scattering across her bare chest.

"I'm going to be the best aunt ducky there is!"
Piglet laughed, the sound surprising her with its ease. A week ago, she would have analyzed the absurdity of it all—a naked girl with a duck charm calling herself an aunt to newborn cows.

Now she simply reached for her glass of Daisy's milk, the sweet cream coating her tongue. "I guess that makes me an auntie too."

"Yep it does because we are family!" Ducky's smile spread like sunrise, and Piglet felt it catch in her own chest.

"That makes me grandma," Ms. Baker said, collecting the breakfast plates. She moved behind Ducky and swatted her playfully with the drying cloth. Ducky quacked with delight.

"Of course it does." She set the plates in the sink and turned, her expression shifting to something more businesslike. "By the way, piglet. I've scheduled you for a vet appointment this morning."

Piglet stopped mid-sip. "Vet?"

"I wanna come!" Ducky was already half out of her chair.

Ms. Baker shook her head, her auburn hair swaying. "Pets need a little privacy when being examined."

The disappointment that flooded Ducky's face was immediate and genuine. She'd grown attached—Piglet could feel it in the way Ducky's hand found hers under the table, squeezing once.

Since Miss Goat had left, Ducky had latched onto her with a fierce, quacking devotion.

"Worry not, my pet. I've scheduled your vet appointment right after piglet's." Ms. Baker's voice carried something beneath the reassurance. Not appeasement. Anticipation, perhaps.

There was something she needed to discuss with Ducky—regarding the celebration dinner, something private.

The doorbell rang.
Ms. Baker set the kitchen towel on the counter. "We will most likely have visitors today. I want you two on your best behavior."

Ducky was already waddling toward the front door, her little hips swaying with exaggerated enthusiasm.

She answer the door delightfully screamed.

“Mr Farmer” she called out with excitement. Farmer Fred filled the doorway, his broad shoulders blocking the morning sun. Behind him, Dora carried a white wicker bassinet, and flanking them both were Chicken Little and Chick-a-Dee, already naked, already giggling.

The trio of pets collided in a tangle of hugs and squawks, Chicken Little immediately bossing Ducky about where to set the bassinet, Chick-a-Dee peering around with her usual dreamy vacancy.

Dora embraced Ms. Baker. "Always a joyous occasion when a new member arrives. And twins at that."
The pets' chatter filled the kitchen,

Piglet realized, that chickens and ducky devolving into senseless bird-noises and flapping arms.

She stood apart, watching. These girls seemed to digress in their pet pet characters, playful as children will be, almost simple.

Ducky's quackery matched theirs. But Piglets are different. More intelligent. More aware.
A hand settled on her shoulder.

Farmer Fred stood beside her, his grip warm and heavy. The same hands that had portioned Miss Goat. The same steady, confident fingers that had guided the cleaver.

Piglet's knees went liquid.
"How are you enjoying your stay?" His voice was gravel and honey.

She tried to answer. Her mouth opened, closed. His hand moved to the back of her neck, squeezing gently, and the sensation traveled directly between her legs. Moisture gathered. Her thoughts scattered.

"Yes," she managed.
It wasn't an answer. She couldn't remember the question.

Ms. Baker's voice cut through the haze. "Fred darling—thanks for coming." She moved between them with practiced ease, her hand finding Piglet's elbow.

"Piglet dear, be a pet and see how Daisy is doing. We'll bring out the newborns for their first feeding."

Saved.

Piglet pulled away from Fred's grip, his smile following her—all perfect teeth and patient hunger.

She gathered the others with a gesture, and the gang headed toward the barn.
---
The barn was warm with the heat of bodies and fresh straw. Daisy Moo lay nested in a deep bed of it, her blonde hair fanned out, her expression soft with exhaustion.

Ducky was already on her knees in the straw, stroking Daisy's arm. "You did so good, Daisy.
So good."

Piglet hung back, watching. Seeing Farmer Fred again had her mind drifted to the video—Miss Goat on the butcher block, the cleaver descending.

Death on one side of the barn, life,birth on the other. The farm's cycle, spinning like the rotisserie.

She was part of it now. What would her end be? Would she volunteer like Miss Goat, or would she…

The barn door creaked. Ms. Baker entered with Dora, carrying the sweet little moo’s. Behind them,
Farmer Fred knelt beside Daisy, his hand gentle on her flank.

"Don't you worry your pretty little head," he murmured to the cow. "No one's gonna hurt you."

Daisy moo'ed softly, pressing into his palm. But Fred's eyes flicked to Piglet as he said it. Loud enough for her to hear.

She stepped back.
The feeding began. Both calves latched onto their their mothers ample breast with hungry urgency, and the pets gathered close to watch. Nourishers nurture. Nature feeding the young.

Two tiny forms nuzzled against her breast, making sucking noises.

"They're so small," Chick-a-Dee breathed, her voice."

Daisy's eyes were half-closed, as the sucklings gorged on her breast, her milk-scented body radiating contentment.

Ms. Baker rose, brushing straw from her dress.

"Good girl," she said, the words directed at Daisy but landing on all of them.

Piglet felt the trigger wash through her—warm, tingling, obedient bliss.

"Come, piglet. It is time for your vet visit."
The command threaded through the pleasure. She was already nodding, already moving.

"Now Ducky," Ms. Baker continued, "listen to Fred and Dora's orders and keep the chickens entertained."

Piglet hugged Daisy goodbye, then submitted to the crush of embraces from the other pets.

Ducky held on longest, her fingers digging into Piglet's shoulders. "Come back soon," she whispered.
---
Piglet followed Ms. Baker out of the barn, across the dew-wet grass, toward the farmhouse. But when they reached the silver sedan, Ms. Baker kept walking.

"We're not going to the vet?" Piglet asked.

"My pet, I’m a certified veterinarian." Ms. Baker smiled, her hand finding the small of her back, steering her through the front door and down a hallway Piglet hadn't noticed before.

"I have a cozy little office and examination room."
The door swung open. The office was neat, professionally furnished—a desk, a computer monitor, a glass cabinet displaying instruments.

Beyond the next open sliding door, Piglet could see the examination room beyond: white vinyl table, stirrups folded against the sides, a tray of gleaming tools.
"Wait on the examining table. I'll return in a minute."

Ms. Baker disappeared through another door.

Her eyes wandered the office. A notebook on the desk. And there—Miss Goat's collar, the leather still dark, the silver goat charm catching the light.

She reached for it. Her fingers unintentionally brushed the computer mouse instead.

The monitor woke.
A camera view of the barn filled the screen. Piglet leaned closer. There was Ducky, tied up in the straw, the chickens crouched over her, pecking at her squirming body with playful fingers.

Ducky's muffled quacks of laughter filtered through the speakers.

"Mom did tell her to keep the chickens entertained," Piglet murmured.

The word caught her. Mom. She'd just called Ms. Baker Mom.
Her fingers found the controls. She clicked through the feeds.

The cellar—the bed now empty, sheets rumpled.

The theater—the camera aimed at the pews, not the screen. Ms. Baker must know she'd watched the tape.

Hadn't seemed upset. Hadn't mentioned it at all.

Clicking rapidly-The private kitchen, the butcher station.

Piglet's stomach clenched. An overhead shot of the butcher table. She remembered the cleaver, the neat cross-section, the meat stacked on trays.
Click click click. Different angles of the kitchen. The wall oven. The rotisserie.
Click. The examination room. Then the office itself. She could see the top of her head on the screen, she turned to look up at the camera, trying to find her own face. An unreachable task.

Heels clicked in the hallway. Piglet scurried to the exam room, dropping to all fours on the table.

Behind her, the monitor captured her dash.

Ms. Baker entered wearing a crisp white coat, a stethoscope draped around her neck.
Professional. Clinical. Her eyes flicked briefly to the monitor—still on—but she said nothing.

"Let's begin with the basics my pet." She moved through the motions with practiced ease: hands squeezing her body, it could be misconstrued as a butcher testing her meat quality, glands palpated with cool fingers.

A blood pressure cuff squeezed Piglet's arm, then released. "All good. You're in excellent health, piglet."

Her hands lingered on Piglet's hips. She enjoyed the touch, craved every bit of it.

"Now for the more thorough examination."
Fingers traced the cleft of Piglet's ass, finding the base of her tail plug. Ms. Baker twisted it—a slow rotation that sent sparks up Piglet's spine—and pulled.

The plug slid free with a wet sound, leaving her pucker gaping and empty.
Piglet moaned at the loss.

"Let's check what's going on in here."
Ms. Baker produced a probing wand—smooth, metallic, no thicker than the tail plug but somehow more clinical, more invasive.

She looked over her pet. “We must do something about her hair.” It was true. Since piglet’s braids were removed, her hair began to resort back to its original curly state.

Piglet's muscles clenched upon hearing the word drop:

"Obey."

Her body softened instantly. Compliant. Waiting.

"Good girl."

The double trigger flooded her system—obedience and pleasure tangling together until she couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

The wand pressed against her loosened entrance and slid inside.

Piglet's back arched. The wand was cool, its surface slick with lubricant, and it found depths the plug hadn't reached.

Ms. Baker worked it with short, precise thrusts, twisting occasionally, and each rotation scraped against nerves Piglet hadn't known existed.

Sparks of pain. Waves of pleasure. The two sensations blurred until she was rocking backward, fucking herself on the wand, her anus clenching rhythmically.

"Responsive," Ms. Baker murmured. She withdrew the wand almost completely, then drove it deep. Piglet squealed.

"Very responsive."
The pace quickened. Piglet's fingers curled against the sanitary paper, tearing it.

Her piggy tail was gone, but this—this was better, or worse, too much and not enough. A pressure built low in her gut, different from vaginal arousal, deeper and stranger.

Ms. Baker's free hand cupped Piglet's pussy. Then her tongue replaced her fingers, lapping at the wet folds from behind, and Piglet shattered.

The orgasm ripped through her, her anus spasming around the wand, her cunt gushing against Ms. Baker's chin.

When she came back to herself, the wand was gone. Her pucker gaped, open and loose.
Ms. Baker held up the new tail plug. The plug was larger—much larger—the pink metal corkscrew bulb thick as a small fist at its widest point.

"Your body has adapted. Time for an upgrade."
She pressed the tapered tip bulb against Piglet's open anus. Resistance. A little struggle. Then it slipped inside, the ridges dragging, stretching, filling her beyond what she'd thought possible.

Piglet moaned low and guttural, her body trembling around the intrusion.
Uncomfortable. And yet. She loved it.

Ms. Baker stroked her flank, soothing. "There's something I want you to understand, piglet.

About the life of a farm animal." Piglet listened, still panting, the new plug a heavy presence inside her.

"You have no decisions to make. No papers to write. No identity to perform. A piglet's only purpose is to eat, sleep, play, and be enjoyed.

That is freedom—not the freedom to choose, but the freedom from choice.

Miss Goat understood this. She gave herself willingly, and in doing so, she found the deepest peace a pet can know."

Piglet thought of the video. Miss Goat's serene smile. The way she'd climbed onto the butcher block without hesitation.

"Every pet on this farm will eventually serve her purpose," Ms. Baker continued.
"Some give milk. Some give entertainment. Some even give up there meat.

But all give joy. And when your time eventually comes, piglet, you will give joy too.”

Not because you must. Because you love. Because you belong."
The words settled into Piglet's chest like that all so familiar stones into still water.

True. All of it, true.

"Now." Ms. Baker's voice shifted, taking on that melodic quality that preceded hypnosis.

"I'm going to give you a new trigger. A word that will help you serve your purpose when the time arrives." She cupped Piglet's chin, tilting her face upward. "When I say the word 'perfect,' your hunger will awaken. You will eat with enthusiasm. You will consume with joy. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mother," Piglet whispered.

"Perfect."

The word landed like a bell. Hunger roared through her—not stomach hunger, but something deeper, something that lived in her bones.

She wanted to taste. To be tasted, to devour- to be consumed.

Ms. Baker smiled. "Perfect piglet."

The hunger doubled, then settled into a low, constant hum.

Ms. Baker helped her off the table. Her legs wobbled. The new tail plug shifted inside her with every step.

"Now," Ms. Baker said, opening the office door, "let's go see Ducky.”

She had something very special to ask of her, very important task in deed.

Big plans for the celebration dinner.