Pork By Northwest

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Seattle, August 12, 2037?Hey! My salmon!?The paper-wrapped package of fresh fish whizzed past me, splatting on the floor and sliding under one of the vendor tables. I'd heard someone yell my name, "Joe!" and turned to walk into the porky arms of two big dudes in suits.I fought back, applying some of my training. I even managed to chop a leg high enough to kick one of the snouts of these pig-eyed sacks of shit, drawing a little blood.They shouldn't have been able to identify me. Just before the whole world fell into the pigsty back in 2034, I had received advanced face implants. That's when I was still a Federal agent. Now much of what I do is undercover, because defending truth and freedom has become illegal.Anyway, a few motions of my forefinger and taps of it against my thumb, and my smartglasses could direct the implants to change my look within seconds.As these goons dragged me from Pike Place Market and threw me in the back of a van, I noted that they showed all the signs of Scorpion, an ultra-secret, global, elite crime organization that pretty much ran the world now. There was no rear window to see out of the van, but based on the turns, the short ride and a quick descent at the end, I deduced that I was being taken underneath Seattle Center's CannaPower Arena.I was taken into a luxury suite, where these henchhogs threw me on a couch. Some even more sinister-looking swine started interrogating me about some purloined property, but it was all Pig Latin to me.Frustrated, they snorted and left the room. I figured they'd return to slaughter me, but instead, I was greeted by two very beautiful, and very naked, women: a ponytailed blonde, and a freckled redhead with flaming green eyes.?Come on, Mister Kaplan,? the blonde pleaded seductively, circling me in nothing but heels. ?Just tell us what we need to know, and we will do everything you ever dreamed.?More like everything I ever creamed: they started kissing and squeezing each other?s supple tits and pointy nipples right in front of me.But ? Mister Kaplan? That?s not me, nor any of my aliases. I had actually heard of a Joe Kaplan in my circles, and come to think of it, my current disguise did look a lot like him. In attempting to catch a thief, had they abducted the wrong man?Well, I could slap some lipstick on this pig. Thanks to my undercover training, I have developed several vivid alter egos upon which I can call when I need to make up a story. I picked the one most like what I knew of Joe Kaplan and started squealing. I knew the swine watching me through the glass were rather nastier than neighborhood loan shark that you might deal with to, say, invest in pork belly futures. Knowing they might kill me anyway, I might as well go hog wild, for Pete's sake. It was all hogwash, but I really hammed the thing up for the ladies.I fed out my story slowly, enticing the women to take off my clothes and perform various acts as things progressed. As the redhead made out with me, I pulled both our heads down and we each started suckling on the blonde?s impressive porkchops. I told them a little more, then worked a finger into the blonde's cutlet. I pulled it out and offered it to the redhead, who sucked on my little piggie luridly, and I spun a little more of my twisted tale.This tit-for-talk game went on for some minutes, and before I knew it I was lying on a couch, with the blonde sitting on my face and sharing her juicy schnitzel while she capably chomped Yakacık Escort (https://yakacik.t2bro.net/) my chorizo.The redhead, meanwhile, was playing with the blonde?s hefty chops again, then spanking her across the hams, and finally licking her hoghole just a couple inches above my face. Next, she had the blonde sit up so I was licking both holes, and lowered her firehole onto my cockwurst. All through this I kept divulging little tidbits, though not of any real use to my captors. As my pølse plunged into the redhead, I felt the most amazing thing.So pussy implants were for real. What I was feeling was a pulsing, throbbing, squeezing vibration around my dumbfounded dinglewurst. Red switched to an action that milked my mortadella rhythmically from base to tip, emptying my loins within seconds in one of the most intense orgasms of my life.Per my usual inclination, I shoved my snout in her trough to slop up the mess. Curiously, the mixture tasted a little too much like peaches and cream, recalling rumors that these implants might have the capability to impart flavor as well as vibration. I'd been with a few wild redheads in my day, and none of them had needed any enhancement. This all seemed a bit ridiculous.Maybe her cunt juice was drugged too? The next thing I remember is running barefoot down Elliott Avenue in the middle of the night, an electric air taxi easing down in front of me. The driver asked if I needed a ride. Astonishingly, despite the world having gone to the hogs, Seattle had procured some federal pork to pay for drunks and stoners to get free rides home after midnight.In flying electric cabs, no less. First deployed on a wide scale for the 2028 global athletic extravaganza in Los Angeles, these cool copters had really taken off.I climbed a?bird, thanked the cabbie for picking me up and gave him directions to my place in one of many office towers long since obsolesced by hybrid work, retrofitted into flats with balconies and started to decay into tenements since the Hog Horror. At least an air taxi could literally take me to my apartment.Damn, my head was aching. So was my pork sword, come to think of it. That redhead sure had squeezed hard. I wondered if she had the ability to pinch an uncooperative client?s peckerwurst right off.Maybe the driver thought it clever to play the now-classic ?Drunk Drivers? while driving drunks home every night, but it was not helping my headache. I asked if he would turn it down.?You don?t like my fucking music???Listen, man, I?ve had a really rough night and I hate Car Shit Headrest.?He slammed the vessel into a deep dive, splashing down in front of the Harbor Steps, which, thanks to the new sea levels caused by manbearpig, now literally reached the harbor when the tide came in. So much for all that land they'd freed up when they ripped down the Alaskan Way Viaduct twenty years ago. So much for a lot of ideas that seemed great before the Pig Sick.?Get the fuck out of my cab!? Cranky Cabbie grabbed me by the shirt and threw me into the hock-deep water. I was soaked. Great. My once-lavish building at 1201 Third was only three blocks away, but I'd been counting on the air taxi to get me to my balcony since the elevators only worked half the time.I still brought home some bacon, by the way. Let?s just say I did some investigations. Some of these delved into various activities of Scorpion. Fortunately, I still had lots of informants and former fellow Agents dedicated Yakacık Escort Bayan (https://yakacik.t2bro.net/) to fighting them at every turn.One of my current gigs involved the origins of the great Hamdemic, in which I still suspected Scorpion had played a role. Over the space of a few weeks, all of a sudden people who ate pork started getting heart attacks. We figured this out pretty quickly when we saw it sparing most Jews, Muslims and vegans. No stranger to bacon myself, I had survived a heart attack of my own.The malady struck perfectly healthy people, and the actual medical cause remained a mystery. Autopsies revealed nothing, no ?smoking gun? virus had been discovered, and it wasn?t contagious. After a couple of months, the whole thing vanished without a trace ? other than five billion corpses and the remains of humanity in shambles.I now had a lead on someone who might have finally figured it out. They were, of all places, on a pig farm outside Olympia. In Hock Farm was just a few miles from the Olympia-Lacey CasTrak station, which is incongruously located out in the middle of the countryside. I could ride my bike the last few miles from the train out to the farm, stealthier than my car since the Scorpo porkos could still be on my trail and had access to the cops' license plate scanners.On this classic Puget Sound summer afternoon, cloudless and warm but not hot or humid, I pedaled past a long brick wall - sturdy enough to withstand any wolf?s huffing and puffing, I mused - and arrived at a closed metal gate. When I buzzed the intercom button, a breathless female voice answered, ?Oh thank God! Vibrator repair??This was the beginning of the agreed-upon call-response code, in this case an obscure line from a fifty-year-old movie. ?No ma?am, Los Angeles Police Department,? I replied flatly. ?Sorry.?The main gate swung open. Three exuberant border collies trotted out to greet me, followed by two smiling, wholesome-looking women in coveralls.The farm itself looked tidy and cheerful, with a bit of a hippieish vibe, almost as if untouched by the aporcalypse. There were chickens running all over the place, lots of casual artwork about, and a mural on the side of the barn depicting a flock of pigs lolling amongst clover and tall sunflowers. Very Olympia.The owners introduced themselves as Sylvia and Connie. They started by offering me a farm-grown joint and a tour of the place. They had met at Washington State, Connie a traditional young student and the somewhat more mature Sylvia restarting her life after a failed marriage. Bound by a shared dream, they had graduated and started the farm twelve years ago.The animals freely ranged over most of the farm?s 160 acres and were fed by organic grains and vegetables grown onsite. The chickens had been added three years ago to supplement their income when everybody stopped eating pork. Fortunately for In Hock, most of the larger pig farms east of the mountains had gone out of business soon after the disaster, leaving little competition. Pork sales had been banned, but the bacon black market kept them going until re-legalization earlier this year.As the tour went on, I couldn't help noticing that in addition to Connie and Sylvia, the half-dozen farmworkers were all female. Despite my wackenwurst being a bit sore from last night?s activities, the weed was getting to me and I couldn?t help imagining making some wienerschnitzel with them.We toured their rather sophisticated-looking Escort Yakacık (https://yakacik.t2bro.net/) lab, unusual amongst the bohemian farms in this area. As we entered the attached office, Connie explained the staffing arrangement. ?You see, Joe, the reason is that everyone here is strongly opposed to the Repopulator agenda. Even though we are a business, we do not believe the kind of growth the Repopulators want is good for humanity or the planet.?This was the big issue of the day: the Earth?s population having been reduced to just over three billion, shouldn?t we try to quickly reproduce our way back? The proponents of Repopulation kept telling us the economy would remain hooves-up without a lot more people. After five billion funerals and so many survivors sad and alone, wouldn?t it be nice to bring a bunch of life back into the world? For crying out loud, they pointed out, there were only five degrees of Kevin Bacon now!In a pig's eye, I thought. The economy was already starting to reorganize itself, and we had food in our larders, cleaner air and abundant energy. Maybe that was the problem. The war pigs that ran the world wanted more consumers, more conflict, more fear, more desperation. More people would mean more control.I happened to have insider knowledge that Scorpion, which more or less did the oligarchs' bidding, was fueling a lot of the debates behind this pigshit ?movement.? The chauvinist pigs had gotten abortion and homosexual activity banned at the federal level earlier this year. Birth control, even condoms, now required a marriage certificate. And proof of already having two children.Much of America was buying this pig in a poke, but the Pacific Northwest remained a haven. Just like the legalization of marijuana twenty years ago, these states? citizens had passed ballot measures explicitly permitting these taboo activities, even finally legalizing prostitution, all in open defiance of federal law. But federal agents still raided clinics, gay clubs, brothels and even the pharmacies they suspected of selling condoms to single people.Now you know why I had decided staying with the Bureau was for the birds. Scorpion had taken over everything, including the cop shops. I hadn?t switched sides. The Feds had.Connie continued, ?And so, to reduce our chance of contributing to their goal, we have all chosen to keep our distance from the world of men.??Awww.? I gave her a faux-hurt frown."Oh, we still like men,? offered Sylvia with a smile, locking my eyes with an intensity I couldn?t avert. She flipped her long blonde hair and sauntered towards me. ?We just choose to reduce the frequency of our temptation.??Temptation?? I asked, looking back at Connie.?Of course, Joe. Life has little meaning if you don't face temptation,? murmured Connie, her brown eyes boring into me. "And give into it once in a while."?If you stay the night, Joe,? implored Sylvia, now lightly running her hand up my arm, "we can offer you the warmest hospitality.??And temptation,? giggled Connie, pulling her firm body against me, her pale pink lips meeting mine as I grunted acceptance. Within seconds, the pig farmers had removed my pants and I felt two warm hands on my stiffened salami.Sylvia was a gloriously mature and natural woman: a beautiful smile with crow's feet that revealed experience and wisdom, big supple breasts, round hips, and a thick, full honey-blonde bush matching the roots of her long flowing hair. I lunged my lap cheong into her right there on the desk.Before long, I found myself erupting inside her, both of our bodies glistening with sweat. I immediately kneeled on the office floor, parting feminine folds as velvety and succulent as the finest prosciutto. I soon had her squealing.