Harvest Time
Harvest Time
a yiffy snuffie tale by Alex Reynard
~~~~~
In the days of man, fur farms were quite possibly the most hellish pits of unimaginable cruelty on the face of the earth.
Atrocities so hideous they could make the gods weep occurred routinely. Vile men with empty souls went about their work with as little conscience as a block of stone. For a weekly paycheck, they kept living animals in unspeakable captivity, ended only by a brutish twist of the neck or an electrode applied to the genitals or anus.
It is hard to imagine that any living soul could commit such acts upon a defenseless, weaker being. That they could do so day in and day out, treating the animals as no more alive than statues. That anyone could possibly be so heartless and still be able to look themselves in the mirror each day.
It is hard to imagine, but it is true.
When the age of man came to an abrupt and much-needed end, Furries gradually filled the niche they had left.
They were a better lot; their ascendance from 'low' animals making them much more empathetic towards one another, and conscious of the true nature of right and wrong.
Surprisingly, the concept of the fur farm did not die out. It existed still, but in a form so radically altered as to be the total antithesis of its past incarnation. Technology had advanced to the point where it was possible to keep the fur business alive, but with every last trace of pain and cruelty wiped away.
After all, fur was still a soft, beautiful material for making coats, mittens and other garments. And many fursons enjoyed the thrill of wearing the skin of another.
And none appreciated the fur farms more than those who willingly gave their own pelts to be harvested...
***
'Papa' Gregory glanced repeatedly up at the clock as he wolfed down his lunch. He was a badger; round and plump and jolly, and the owner of a relatively small, but wildly profitable fur farm.
Noon was fast approaching, and the little foxes would be eager for harvest time to begin.
Swallowing the last fourth of his sandwich without even chewing, Papa Gregory jumped up from the table and sprinted off down the hall. He adjusted his glasses as he jogged. He gradually slowed down a bit before reaching his destination, panting and out of breath. After all, he was much older, and admittedly much fatter, than when he'd first started in this business.
He opened the door to the Fur Room, and beamed with pride and love at what he saw.
The day's chosen were already there, lined up and waiting for him. Four young fox boys, ages nine and ten all, were standing patiently by the machines, all ready for them. Their coats were beautifully fluffy and soft, immaculately clean. It was obvious that they all took pride in their fur, and enjoyed looking their best. Their bright eyes sparkled and they were all grinning in happy anticipation of what was to come.
The fox boys gave a yip of happiness as Papa Gregory entered the room. They all ran from their positions and embraced their loving owner. He smiled warmly at his young charges, petting them and stroking their fur, giving out plenty of kisses and hugs.
As he led them back to the machines, the old badger told them all again how proud he was of them and how brave they were. The little ones ate it up. They giggled and 'erf'ed and wagged their tails.
It was widely known throughout the fur industry that Gregory's Fine Furs produced some of the very best pelts available anywhere. They were soft as dreams and warm to the touch, as if sewn together with sheer happiness. What was not widely known was Papa's secret method for producing such perfect pelts.
All of his young fur-donors were handpicked. Not for any physical trait, but for their situations. Papa sent out a carefully hand-selected group of his most trusted employees to the back alleys and dim corners of the cities where bad men lurked. There, they would seek out young furs in distress. Little ones being sold as sex-slaves, or for their meat or fur. Girls and boys with eyes wide from crying. Papa's scouts would acquire the cubs through zealously immoral methods, employing an astounding array of tricks to get the young ones safely away from the sellers without actually paying a dime. There were regular complaints to the police force about Papa's unorthodox methods, but nearly always the authorities looked the other way with a smile. Who could possibly prosecute a business that risked its operation, and sometimes even the lives of its employees, to save cubs from cruel and horrid situations?
The little ones were taken back to Papa's enormous farm. There they were bathed, clothed, fed, and given lots and lots of affection and reassurance. The farm housed an enormous dormitory for the cubs, stocked with comfy beds, plenty of activities, and oodles of free toys donated from loyal customers. It was a paradise. The little ones often could barely believe they'd been brought to such a wonderful place. And it was made clear right from the start that they were always free to leave at any time if they wanted to. But if they stayed, they were respectfully asked to willingly give their skins as payment. Over 90% of all the rescued cubs agreed to the deal. Those that didn't were given over to reputable adoption centers and wished the very best of luck.
The little furries were groomed daily, bathed in top-of-the-line fur-care products, fattened up on sweets and treats, and cuddled and kissed almost constantly. Happy giggles rang through the farm day and night.
The secret to making the best furs, Papa knew, was to love his little cubs as much as possible. To let them know they were safe and special and beautiful and cared for. This love would make even the scruffiest coats transform, as if by magic, into perfect, luxurious pelts. This secret method seeped through even to the final product. Many of Papa's customers told of an inexplicable feeling of sudden happiness overcoming them the instant they put on one of his fur coats.
And now came the moment that Papa Gregory loved best. His little foxes lined up again, proud of their adorable young bodies, under his inspecting eye. He told them that they were all perfect, and ready to be harvested. They smiled big proud foxy smiles.
The pudgy badger wandered about within the large room, making sure that all the machines were ready for operation. Everything looked fine. He had plenty of technicians on his staff to make sure all his miraculous machines were always in tip-top condition, but Papa always liked to do as many harvestings as possible himself. Seeing the expressions of trust and excitement on the little cubs' faces was the best part of the job.
When everything was ready, Papa Gregory led the little ones over to the first machine. They grinned and fidgeted excitedly. They all knew what this machine would do. All four of their small penises were out and fiercely erect. Four little fox cocks pointing up in the air.
Papa picked one boy at random, and ushered him forward. The first machine looked somewhat like a telephone booth split in half. The young fox stepped in and placed his feet in two indentations in the padded rubber floor. Immediately, metal clamps with soft leather interiors emerged and clapped around his ankles to position him correctly. At just the right height, there was a black rubber-lined hole in the back of the machine. The boy knew just what this was for. He slipped his genitals inside without hesitation. The machine hummed. The rubber hole expanded and contracted, fitting itself comfortably around the boy's cock and balls, enclosing as much of them as comfortably possible in its grip. The little fox moaned.
The hole began to undulate. Soft squeaky rubber caressed the little penis like a loving mouth. The boy put his arms up over his head into two more padded indentations. More clamps secured his arms in place, and another moved behind him to support his back. This was not to hold him fast, but to gently prop him up. The clamps were all pressure-sensitive so the boy could easily break away at the smallest struggle. Papa Gregory believed firmly in never forcing his young ones through any step of the process. They could stop and back out at any time.
The young fox moaned and bucked his hips into the motion of the machine, pressing himself further, wanting even more of himself to be gobbled up by that wonderful rubber hole.
The other three looked upon the sight with almost tangible anticipation. Papa Gregory had to tap them on the shoulders and give them a wink more than a few times to stop them from pawing off. After all, they'd need those erections soon enough when it was their turn.
The machine wasn't just stimulating the boy, it was also collecting important data on the size and shape of his organs. This would determine exactly what would become of his genitals once they were removed.
The little fox let out a long howl of ecstacy. His orgasm was fast approaching!
The machine sent out a little suction cup which fastened to the tip of his penis.
He shouted out in pleasure and came!
A hungry pump slurped up every last ounce of the precious boy semen, vacuuming it right out of his balls.
The young boy gritted his teeth and 'merf'ed at the intense situation.
When his balls were empty, there was a swift flash of heat across his genitals, and the machine released him.
Papa was there to catch the little fox as he stumbled backwards out of the first machine, panting and smiling and totally satisfied. The little one's crotch was now completely smooth. There was just a patch of perfect pink skin between his legs.
The boy looked down, and pronounced the sight; 'Cool!'
The other three boys watched in fascination as their friend's package was slurped up by the machine and went swooshing up a clear rubber tube up through the ceiling.
Papa asked who wanted to go next, and all three boys surged forward.
Once it was decided who would go next (they played rock-paper-scissors), the second boy stepped happily into the machine and cooperatively let the clamps position him.
He ended up having and even more intense experience than his friend. The machine determined that his parts would be better as parts, instead of a whole.
After all, Gregory's Fine Furs did not sell just furs. For starters, cub cum was a valuable commodity. All of the little ones on the fur farm donated their cum whenever they could. It made a delicious ingredient in many recipes, as well as a tasty treat when drank as-is.
Cub genitals also had many uses. Some boys had theirs removed whole. These would become a particularly special cut of meat, or preserved and used as sex toys.
However, sometimes a particular set would do better when separated into its component pieces. Penises could be put to all sorts of uses. Boy balls were considered a delicacy, or were gilded and made into jewelry. And the matchlessly soft fur of sheaths and scrotums made perfect lingerie, glove linings and coin purses.
As the second fox was masturbated by the machine, a laser beam split his scrotum almost without him noticing. Special cups held his testicles out from their previous home. As soon as he came, his cum was sucked up, the cords of his testes were snipped, his sheath and scrotum were cut in such a way so they simply fell away from his penis, and his cock was removed with a single, neat slice of the laser.
The second boy wobbled out of the machine with a goofy smile on his face and his tongue hanging out. He looked both proud and contented to look down and see that his maleness was gone.
Boys three and four were both chopped intact, so they were treated to the sight of their genitals zooming up into the ceiling just like the first boy.
Now that they had all cheerfully given their boyparts, it was time for the second machine.
Papa Gregory picked another boy at random and helped him up into machine number two. It was like an operating table, except for a smooth, boy-shaped indentation in the center. The little fox's tail was wagging as he settled down into the comfortable groove. The cool leather interior of the indentation felt good on his naked fur.
Papa gave the little boy a kiss on the forehead. He thanked him for giving so generously of himself, and turned on the machine.
Instantly, it began to vibrate like a massage chair. The boy let out a small yelp as seven tiny needles pricked him at once. He knew though that this was the only part of the whole procedure that would involve any pain, and it was over in an instant anyway.
The needles had injected a very special chemical, one that made the entire fur industry possible. As the boy relaxed and let the vibrations loosen him up all over, the chemical injection was going to work, spreading throughout his body. Two lasers crisscrossed in the blink of an eye around the fox's neck, halting the spread of the chemical before it could reach his head.
The chemical's job was to dissolve the bonds between certain layers of the boy's skin. It worked quickly and painlessly.
As the table increased the vibrations, the boy's skin got looser and looser. Soon, the others could see it shaking around like baggy folds of clothing. The boy murred quietly to himself. The sensation was wonderfully calming.
When the machine was done, the vibrations slowed slowly down and finally stopped. Precision lasers sketched a series of lines across his backside. The boy knew what would happen as soon as he stood up, and he was alternately interested and a little bit scared.
Papa Gregory held out his big furry paw to the boy. He gave him a gentle, encouraging smile.
The boy was ready now. He wanted to do this. For Papa. For the wonderful man who had given him such a happy life. He loved knowing he could give his own body back in return.
He took Papa's paw, and the instant he sat up, all of his fur fell off like a heavy blanket.
The boy got to his furless feet and gaped in amazement. His pelt was lying there on the table without him! He was now completely smooth and pink below the neck. He still had a very thin layer of skin left, just enough to cover his muscles and to keep him from feeling any discomfort.
He did feel extremely tender all over though. Papa knew there was no time to wait while the other boys went through machine number two. The boy waved goodbye to his fur as the table tipped up and let the fluffy pelt drop down into a collection chute that emerged from the floor. Then Papa led him by the hand to machine number three. The second boy was already getting up onto the table and waiting for it to start vibrating.
Papa Gregory gave the little depilated fox a long, gentle hug. He thanked him without needing words for the deep sacrifice the boy was willing to make for him.
The little fox smiled and snuggled up to the gentle badger. He kissed him on the cheek, and said with his eyes, 'I'm ready'.
Papa Gregory opened the door to the third machine and helped the little cub step up into it.
The door shut with a hydraulic wheeze. Almost immediately, vents opened in the sides and the boxy glass rectangle began to fill with a clear fluid slightly thicker than water. The foxboy cooed as it puddled around his toes. It felt very soothing on his raw skin!
A hose with a mouthpiece on the end dropped from above and the boy took it and placed it in his mouth. As soon as he bit down, it inflated slightly so that it would stay in his mouth by itself. A small plastic cap fit up over his nose and sealed it off too.
The fox looked out and could see his friend on the table grinning as the vibrations made his fur shake all over. The clear fluid quickly filled the little glass box. It was a sterilizing chemical mixed with a nerve agent that flip-flopped the boy's pain receptors, turning pain into pleasure. As soon as it was up over his eartips, the final preparation began. This was the machine that would butcher him for meat.
A web of plastic tubes snaked out from the sides of the machine like tentacles and gently ensnared the boy. Tiny lasers sprang to life and began to dance about the boy's body, carving him up more finely than any knife blade ever could. The boy murred and giggled at the tickly feeling of the beams crisscrossing.
The butchering phase was designed to be fun and exciting for the cub, as well as keeping them alive as long as possible. The little fox's tummy was opened up first. A vacuum tube emerged and began to diligently remove his intestines. The young fox watched in amazement as his guts were swallowed up by the machine, and it didn't hurt a bit!
The machine left behind just his lungs and heart. That was all that was needed to sustain life for now.
Then the lasers went to work on his body. For the boy it was just a quick tingling sensation, then some part of him would go numb. First came his tail. Swoosh! It was gone in a flash. Then, while the tube web held him gently, firmly in place, his feet were taken next. The boy 'yiff'ed at feeling his paws go away forever.
The cutting continued up his body. His tender calves and succulent thighs were both separated and taken away by the machine. It also neatly severed his hands. One moment he was clenching his fingers in a fist at the intense, wonderful feelings the machine was giving him, and then suddenly they were gone, as if by magic! He was being taken apart, just like a toy!
The little fox boy closed his eyes and relaxed into a pleasant daze as more and more of him was removed. His buttocks, his belly, his back, his arms and shoulders, all became choice cuts of boy meat and were taken away, until all of him that was left was his head, heart and lungs.
A small earphone emerged from above and gently entered the boy's ear. With vibrations adjusted for being underwater, it played, perfectly clear, the voice of Papa Gregory saying a final 'I love you'.
Then the last laser cuts were made. The heart and lungs were taken. And the boy became quiet and still.
Papa Gregory and the three other boys (one furless) watched as the machine drained of its fluid and the door opened. Papa reached inside and tenderly took the boy's head in his paws.
The old badger placed a kiss on the little fox's forehead. He sat the last of the boy down on a special table, with spaces for three more boy heads.
The furless boy felt a rush of emotions. A small twinge of fear, but mostly love for Papa Gregory, and the enthusiasm of giving himself.
Papa hugged the fox, and helped him up into the machine.
And soon, there were four small heads on the table. All of them had their eyes closed, smiling peacefully, as if taking a nice afternoon nap.
Papa smiled wistfully at his four beautiful boys. Once more he told them he loved them, even though they couldn't hear him anymore.
He pressed the button, and activated the fourth machine.
Clamps rose from the table and held the boy's heads in place. A tube rose up inside each of them and began to delicately remove their minds.
Cub heads were a favorite home decoration or conversation piece for many fursons. Most homes had at least one little boy or girl's head hanging serenely on the wall, or sitting cutely on a table. Some fursons even got the option to make sex toys from them, so they could have their own little cub head to suck them off whenever they wanted.
The four foxes' grey matter flowed down a long tube, deep below the floor, into the fifth and final machine, the most complicated one of all...
***
Exactly fifteen days later, the lids opened on four sleep-pods, and four newly reborn foxboys began to awake.
They yawned and stretched, their new bodies feeling tender and strange. Their muscles ached, and their eyes were sensitive to the room's dim light. Understandable, since this was the first time they'd ever used them.
Gentle staff members in white lab coats surrounded the boys, patting them on the back proudly, hugging them, kissing them, thanking them for their wonderful gift to the fur farm. They boys all lapped up the attention.
For most of them, they'd gone through the harvesting process so many times now they'd lost count. After their rebirth, they went through one week of physical therapy and then they were as good as new once more. They returned to the dorms and got to tell all their friends about their latest experience. It would take three more months before their bodies were ready to go through the machines again, but many of the little ones wished it didn't even take that long, so they could give themselves again and again and again.
Soon, Papa Gregory came into the room and gave all the boys lots of hugs and kisses. Shouts of happiness filled the room.
And as the little ones sat around on special cushioned chairs, Papa Gregory displayed all the beautiful fur garments the boys' skins had become. All of them felt proud and glad to have helped create such beautiful clothes. Their bright orange fur glinted like pure sunshine.
The End
for now...
~~~~~
End note:
As I probably don't have to tell you after reading this, I am very much against the fur industry. I would like nothing more than to see every fur farm in the world all attacked by animal rights activists in one day, and millions of foxes, rabbits, minks and chinchillas set free. Watching the farms' owners weep on the TV news about how they're financially ruined now would be quite amusing too.
Simply put, there is no longer any excuse for most people to wear fur. There are so many alternatives, one can freely assume that fur-wearers only do so out of simple, innocent ignorance, or willful heartlessness. If you are freezing cold, if you have absolutely nothing else to wear, if you are a member of a tribal people that still hunts with honor and respect for animals, then okay, you can wear fur. Everyone else, you're getting the ketchup bombs tonight.
This story is a fantasy, okay? That means it's not real, and it's not supposed to be real. I just liked the idea of taking a concept (the fur farm) that in reality is obscenely horrible, and stripping it of all its evilness. Ripping away all the terrible powers of fear and sadness it possesses and turning it into something loving and sweet. It's a theme that runs deep through most of my work; taking bad, scary things and changing them to make them gentle and playful.
So remember; don't wear fur. Unless you like walking around with a live fox perched on your shoulders. (And actually, that sounds rather fun!)
And one more note; 'Snuffie' is a new word I've coined (at a friend's suggestion) to describe a certain kind of variation on the whole snuff/mutilation/necro fetish. Snuffie is similar, but has one very big difference; the 'victims' are okay with it. It involves cutting, squishing, voring or otherwise manipulating the character's body, but in kind of a lighthearted, cartoony way. Look at Wile E. Coyote: all sorts of horrible stuff happens to him, but he's always back to normal in the next scene. Same with snuffie. It's like snuff/mutilation/necro, but without the blood and meanness. Furs can be sliced to ribbons, beheaded, skewered, whatever, and it'll feel nice and they'll be just fine in a little while. Or, if you're a vore fan, having the prey actually enjoy being cooked and eaten alive, instead of just sliding into a tummy. In a way, it's a lot like having an invulnerability fetish. So, if you like your snuff tales cute and playful with a happy ending, be sure to spread the word about Snuffie.
Alex R.
Mar. 8th, 2005. 12:58 a.m. to 2:22 a.m.