The two security guards guided me slowly in the maze-like corridors of the airports. It was hard too keep up in the stripper shoes. I walked hesitantly and the long heels would sometimes get stuck in the fiber. Fortunately, I could lean against the guard who held my arm, supporting me. They talked animatedly to each other while maintaining a slow, steady pace. My cattle tag bumped rhythmically against my cheek, a constant reminder of my current, inferior status. I suddenly remembered it showed, just under my face, a picture of my most private areas for all to see.

We eventually reached a final door, where I was blinded by the cold morning sun outside.
Nobody there, thankfully. We got out of an alternate exit of the airport, a tiny door encased into the big, cold, grey wall behind me. I felt like I was stepping in another world, acutely vulnerable in my tiny blouse doing virtually nothing to protect me from the cold wind, my leg fully exposed, handicapped by this towering high heels and without any way to call for help! I've been clinging on the arm of the guy, feeling paradoxically reassured by his presence and even by the collar I was wearing. They wouldn't let me go alone in my current condition. Being collared was a sign they wouldn't abandon me, that they would take care of me. Wasn't it?

A car was waiting for me on the side of the road. I struggled to climb into the back seat, the rich leather groaning under my weight. For a moment I though the man who had helped me walk would ride with us, but he just entered the car to attach the chain, with another secured padlock, inside the car. Really? I wanted to speak my mind about how unnecessary and dangerous it was (what if I got stuck in the car?) but I couldn't utter a sound so I just gave him a stupid, panicked look, mouth and eyes wide open. He didn't care.

Leaving the two guys behind, the car departed to the quarantine area. We drove to the other side of the airport where I experienced for the first time glimpses of Weltbeltein's daily life.

A handful of men walking with leashed women, tottering in ridiculous platform heels even higher than mine, juggling their exposed, enormous, enhanced ass and breasts. One of the women had her leash connected to her nipple rings, the few other were collared and chained like me. We passed near a girl that was waiting to enter a taxi, dressed in an attire that would make a whore blush, and she was, I'm pretty sure, masturbating. In public, standing there for all to see, like it was the most natural thing to do!

The disturbing scene didn't last very long, because we quickly entered the high speed lane. After a few minutes, we exited to some industrial area, with mostly deserted streets. Some scantily dressed women here and there, prostitutes for sure, but nothing unusual for this kind of area. The car stopped in front of a small hotel.

The driver released my leash from the car (making me wonder if all men had master key). Yanking it, he tugged me to the reception area. He wasn't gentle at all: in the few meters to the lobby I almost felt flat on my face several time. I could tell my clumsiness with high heels was annoying him.
The hotel entrance was decorated with crimson padded walls adorned with rococo flourishes that appeared simultaneously simultaneously old and tacky. It felt strangely new despite its obvious fakeness. Like a cheap film set.
I waited, legs trembling, for several minutes. The receptionist and my chain holder talked a bit among themselves, ignoring me.
Then, my chain changed hands and the driver left without a word for me. I was dragged by a guard in the hallway. Old Victorian lampshades on the red, stripped walls. Fake woods ornaments.

We reached a wooden door with a pass-through slot that I assumed would be used to give me food. The door to my room was simply pushed: weirdly, it wasn't locked in any way.
We went inside. To enter the room, I had to step up, since the floor was curiously elevated. Same kind of decorum as the rest of the hotel: red tones, canopy bed, rococo vibe, lush carpet. Richly decorated, but sparse: the bed had no sheet and no furniture except a TV (turned on) lodged in the wall. No window either.

He removed the chain on my collar and explained, in broken English:
"You stay here. We will bring you food. You're forbidden to leave the room, ok?"

I nodded and tried to answer "ok", momentarily forgetting I couldn't speak anymore.

"Remove all your clothes and put them outside, through the door. Keep the heels."

He went out. I undressed, put my panties, bra and blouse in the pass-through, naively hoping he would provide me with some kind of uniform or gown.

But no. Cattle didn't get to dress, apparently, and there was nothing in the room to cover my nudity. No sheet on the bed, no pillow, no curtains, no towel, nothing.
I went to explore my little space. In a corner a squat toilet and a tap installed very low. I would have to kneel to drink.
In front of the big TV, in the carpeted floor, a small rectangular area was cut out. It looked like some trap door.

Why the fuck did I come here. I had researched the place as best as I could, and it wasn't easy, considered how secretive the country is. I estimated there was less than 5% chance for me to be classified as cattle. But, somehow, I had some physical or mental characteristic that put me in this discriminated category. If only I had my luggage and laptop as planned, these two weeks might have been bearable. I could have prepared for the meeting. I almost banged on the door to ask for mt laptop before remembering I couldn't talk. If only I hadn't been classified as cattle. If only I didn't come.

I laid down on the bed and cried myself to sleep.

I woke up several hours later, disoriented, thirsty. Some people were laughing too hard on TV. The room was so warm I didn't immediately register I was fully exposed, naked except my high heels, on the bare bed. I sat on the edge then crawled on the carpeted floor, toward the water faucet hanging low nearby. I pressed the only button that was on top of it and lukewarm water dribbled out for a few seconds. To drink, I had to press the button then quickly get down do collect the few spurt of water that would spurt out. Another sick way of humiliating women.

My thirst somewhat clenched, I turned my attention to the always-on TV. Nothing interesting really. Besides, I didn't speak the language. Lots of channels were demeaning, some were plain pornographic but most were somewhat normal with a touch of sexism/eroticism. Like a talk show with women with gigantic breasts lezzing in at the back. Or an advert for a car showcasing the wide trunk by using a gagged, bounded woman for scale. Or a detective show where the characters get their cock sucked in the meeting room. Or a soap opera with a married couple going to a restaurant where some women eats from dog bowls in the floor.
The focus wasn't on depicting women serving men or being humiliated. They were there, in the background, a reminder of this female, subservient caste that existed in Weltbeltein. For instance in the detective drama we would see the women's heads bobbing up and down but not the full thing. It wasn't pornographic. The cattle system was just a natural part of Weltbeltein's life.

In truth, the country was very similar to a standard westernized country, except that around 10? 20%? of women were treated like slaves, by law.

And I was one of them.

Without window or clock it was hard to track the time but I think around 8 hours has passed when somebody suddenly pushed the door, holding a platter. Instinctively, I covered my breasts and genitals with my hands, but he didn't look in my direction. Instead, he opened to trap door in front of the TV to put the platter inside.

"It's food.", he simply said, looking at my prostrated body on the bed. I tried to scream at him, in vain, mouthing only a silent protest. I must have looked very ridiculous.

"Get down here."

I refused, shaking my head. He tried to grab me, but I fought back.

"You'll just hurt yourself. Stop."

I've had enough. I wasn't going to be bossed around naked by some guy. He was larger and a lot stronger but I fought as hard as I could, punching, biting, kicking until he moved away from me. For a brief moment I thought I had won, but then he revealed a small remote from his pocket.

"Last warning. Get out of the bed."

I went back defiantly to the middle of it, foolishly determined to stand my ground.

So, he pressed on the remote and intense pain surged from my collar.

"You stupid woman."

He pressed again and my whole body convulsed under the pain.

"Get out of the bed."

Just before he was going to press, I gave up and quickly rolled off the bed to land on my knees on the soft floor.

"Good. Now, come to me. I just want to show you how to eat. Ok? Don't be stupid. There. There. Get in front of the panel. Place your hands on the pads on each side."

I complied. Near the trap door were indeed to metallic plates I didn't really noticed before. I stopped covering my nudity and as soon as both my hands were on it, the trap opened, revealing a tray with food.
It looked like some lasagna, in a brown sauce, with meat and vegetable. It didn't smell anything. To eat, I had to crouch on all four, hands on the pads on each side of my head to keep the trap door open, then bend into the lower space. Head down, ass up, my cattle tag dangling in the food from my ear.
I took a tentative bite and it rocked my world. In simple term: it was the most delicious thing I've ever tasted. It was simultaneously warm, hot, cold, some parts crunchy, some parts soft, some salty, some sugary. It was meat, carbs, vegetables, fruits, everything. The ultimate food, with multiple flavors ever changing in the mouth as I gulped it down. I devoured the thing, my hips up in the air as I went.
At one point, the man touched my lower back. I flinched a bit, but was so enthralled by the food that I let him. I ate ravenously, oblivious to everything except the exquisite taste. He moved his hand down and soon was rubbing my exposed pussy. I was on all four, eating, lost in the combined pleasure from the sexual stimulation and from the food.
When I finished the plate, I was a mess, with brown sauce splattered on my face and hair and my glistening pussy aching for more. To my relief, he simply removed the plate and left, leaving me kneeling on the floor, soiled and whimpering. It took some time to process what just happened. Trembling, I knelt down at the faucet in the bathroom to drink and wash myself, trying to get off the sauce covering my face as well of the shame and humiliation I felt.

Some hours later, I was woken up by another man bringing another tray of food. At first I tried to resist again but the facade crumbled fast. I was so hungry for this damn dish that I surrendered quickly and got down from the bed.

"Put on your heels.", he said, "It's illegal for a cattle to not wear heels."

I went back to wear the heels and knelt again in front of the trap. He slapped me, hard. A punishment for not dressing properly, I thought (I was wrong).

Still feeling his hand slap on my cheek I bent down in the lowered tray to eat, on all four, hands apart, head down again, ass up again, my small breasts dangling, ass and pussy fully exposed in the most obscene and revealing pose ever. I ate like a possessed woman. I couldn't get enough of that food. If anything, it was even better than the last time. I didn't protest when the guard rubbed my sex once more, stimulating my pussy as I was engrossed by the fantastic meal once again.

Once he left, I tried to find in me some shame, some anger, some fear maybe, something that I knew I was supposed to feel. But this time, it was very faint. To my shame, I felt full, satisfied.... for a fleeting moment. Soon, a burning desire for the food would slowly creep up inside me, that would turn into an intense craving by the time they would deliver me another plate.

I was disgusted by myself and what was happening. I realized what this "quarantine" really was. This wasn't quarantine; it was... training. They wanted to rob me of my humanity. Eating on the floor, bending like some farm animal, exposing my genitals like some... some cattle.
Two weeks. I could handle that degrading treatment for two weeks. I began counting the hours, using the TV to keep track of time. But that was around that time that most TV channels stopped working. The only available channels were now porn channels or teaching about how to be a proper cattle: how to dress, put on makeup, please men. Long educational content about sucking or riding a cock or documentaries explaining how women (except a selected few female citizen) were inferior to men.

I estimated at 4 hours the interval between meals. The process was identical each time at first : he would ask me to kneel in front of him, slap me and let me eat this cursed food they called "mush" while stroking my pussy from behind. Sometime, several men would come at the same time, one slapping me and giving me food, one touching me, one just watching.
It felt very clinical. They would talk to each other, touching me without enjoyment on their part and ignoring my naked body. Like feeding me was a simple chore.
I wanted to hate them for that, but, maybe because they were do dispassionate about it, maybe because they were bringing me the food I craved, or maybe because of some Stockholm syndrome craziness, it was very hard to be angry with them. I tried to fight again, once, but was quickly shut down by my damn collar. The TV kept me company and I think I was already getting aroused by the constant porn.

Then, at the start of the third day, something changed. It started like every other occurrence: a man brought in a plate of mush and I would roll off the bed and get on my knees, to get a strong slap on the cheek. But, this time, he didn't open the trap door. He simply dropped the platter on the ground next to the locked trap door. I looked at him, puzzled, and he asked me to eat. I obeyed, assuming the humiliating position and dived into the food ravenously, savoring the exquisite taste until... until I noticed something was missing.
I wanted to look up to see what the guard was doing, but it was a bit hard with my head down and I didn't want to stop eating. I tried to groan a bit (my voice had almost returned at this point), but nothing happened. Something was missing. The mush was as devilishly delicious as ever, but something was missing. A pleasure that would compliment the rest. An itch between my legs. A need.
I tried to ignore the tingling sensation between my legs as I ate, my pussy longing for someone to rub it, conditioned to associate this particular food with sexual pleasure, distracting me, until, finally, I gave up.
Never stopping eating, I removed my right hand from the floor and moved it toward my crotch. The pleasure was electric and I could repress a moan as my finger made contact with my aching pussy. This is what I wanted, kneeling on the floor, face stuffed into the dish, ass up, rubbing my dripping sex. I ate and ate, lost into a combination of a primal hunger of sex and food.

"Good slut."

The word of the guard, that had slipped out of my mind entirely, suddenly reminded me he was there, watching me. I stopped for a brief moment, but soon resumed masturbating in front of him.
A mental block had been lifted in me. I was OK being naked. I was OK bending down and showing my ass to the guards. And now I was OK masturbating with a guard in the room. I finished the food, watched the guard leave and I went back on the bed. I immediately resumed masturbating, this time while watching the porn on the screen.

Pleasuring myself watching surgically enhanced women get pounded in TV became my main activity in the room.

And my door could just be swung open. Men could and did enter at any time: to bring food, to clean the bathroom area, to fix the heater, to change the bed zipped slipcover. To my shame, the guards would often catch me in the act. But at one point, I didn't care anymore. Even when I wasn't eating on the ground and touching myself, I was now openly and almost constantly masturbating, even when I had visitor.

I would wait for the next plate of food, naked on the sheet-less bed, masturbating while watching smut. I found myself anticipating their arrival, craving the ritual-- the humiliation, the slap, the food, the touch. It was sickening, but I couldn't stop wanting it. Because that meant I got to eat the mush!

I couldn't count track of days anymore, feeling I was there for ages. Deprived of any other stimulation I was masturbating constantly to the porn on the screen, waiting for the mush.

Until the start of the second week, maybe? This is when, finally, I met another cattle.