MPI
(c) Aiken, 2002, All rights reserved
Chapter Five
9:32 AM:
In short order, Jeneen attended to the job of placing Misty into a wench frame,
while Don carried Gail around to the back of the truck. After setting the girl
down gently on the pavement, Don unlocked and threw open the rear door of the
truck. As usual, the warm outside air blasting into the truck caused the
remaining live-spitted girls to twitch and shiver.
This animated behavior always seemed to draw crowds, creating a stir of
excitement as morning rounds were made. But this time it was important to move
quickly to stay on schedule. A couple of fresh gawkers arrived immediately, and
stood watching nearby, mouths gaping in fascination.
"Shit!" thought Don, "I've got to hurry. They'll be holding me up with stupid
questions any minute now."
Thinking back to his driver's manual, Don recalled where the frame hoist control
box was, and reached inside the left edge of the door railing. He felt around
for two fat buttons, then pressed the bottom one twice. A steel beam telescoped
out about three feet from the top midpoint of the door, while a motor-driven
cable descended from its outer end.
The cable, which held a large steel hook, automatically stopped when it got to
about twenty inches above the ground. Don pushed its hook through the grab
handle on the back of Gail's frame and pressed the upper control box button one
time. The cable drew up, jerking Gail's compacted body into the air. She
squealed in additional misery, as the steel straps of her wench frame pinched
into her breasts.
"Clear!" Don shouted as the hoist drew Gail steadily higher into the air. He
delivered a sharp slap on her upturned ass when saying this. As if on cue, Gail
shrieked again, and expelled a stream of urine behind her. Having studied his
manual, Don knew this was the best time for wenches to excrete any remaining
body wastes; it was understood that outside the truck was always better than
inside. So it was an MPI tradition to yell out the warning and deliver a hard
blow to get things going as wenches were lifted into the air. With the
combination of the slap, the sudden vertigo of dangling from the cable and the
agonizing grip of the tote-frame, it was common for a wench to abruptly piss,
vomit, shit ... or any combination of the above.
Yelling the word clear was a courtesy call to those who might be standing close
by, as any person within six feet faced imminent dangers of a new dry cleaning
bill. Don recalled the first time he had heard of this practice. It reminded him
of the slap doctors gave newborn babies when delivering them into the world.
MPI's slap was far more intense of course, but it delivered women into a brand
new world just the same. A world of ceaseless torment from which there was
little likelihood of ever returning.
Just before Gail cleared the floor of the truck, she groaned in agony and a blob
of her poop fell to the parking lot. Don heard one of the young men behind him
whoop excitedly and slap his friend on the shoulder. The other man growled
something back at him, and fished some money out of his pocket.
"Betters!" Don said under his breath with a wry smile on his lips. "I'll be
damned..."
Betting on exactly what a wench would do while riding up the cable hoist had
become a surprisingly popular, if somewhat bizarre, spectator sport. Don had
been briefed on that phenomenon, but these two goofs surprised him. He thought
they were going to be time wasting looky-loos, but they turned out to be
connoisseurs of a dark new diversion.
"Here's our little Misty now," Jeneen chimed out cheerfully, as she brought the
freshly framed girl into Don's view at the back of the truck. Jeneen carried the
tote-frame's handle with both hands, bouncing Misty along rudely against her
rubber aproned thighs as she moved forward. Misty wailed and sobbed piteously
with each thump, trying to issue an intelligible plea for mercy, but her
brutally restrained tongue made that impossible.
"Well done, partner," Don smiled to his helper, as he reached into the truck and
unhooked the cable from Gail's tote-frame, "I trust you gave her a good tight
framing?"
"Oh yes sir!" Jeneen replied, "She's nice and snug here. I gave her turnbuckles
a few extra twists. I also made sure to get her bosoms only partly into their
slots ... if you know what I mean?"
"I do indeed," Don said, pressing the drop hoist button again. He and Jeneen
shared the opinion that Misty deserved to suffer more than Gail, for initiating
the two girls unnecessary invokements.
"Watch your step, Jeneen," Don said, "Gail just did number one and two. By the
way, what about the pain medication on Misty's tongue disks?"
"Lowest possible setting, Sir," she responded quickly, setting Misty's knees
down carefully in the mess left by the victim's girlfriend. "It seemed the most
reasonable thing to do."
"I agree with you," he said, hooking up the cable to Misty's frame, "No sense
dulling the experience for her, considering how much she insisted on receiving
it. Would you like to deliver Misty's slap for her?"
"With pleasure," she said while Don pressed the lift button.
"Clear!" Jeneen yelled, winding up her arm to deliver a slap the second Misty
went airborne.
Don was amazed at the energy of her blow. Like a martial arts expert, Jeneen's
hand was balled into a fist at first, but opened out flat just before it struck
Misty's ass. It lashed out with the force of a boxer's punch, rocking Misty
violently on the cable as she rose into the air.
Misty's feeble cry rose slowly from her throat until it was a keening wail that
filled the parking lot. The eerie noise suddenly halted as she threw up. A
moment later with a gasping cry she ejected a large bowel movement, then began
to piss.
"Hat trick!" one of the men called out behind them, lifting his arms in victory.
The other better, who had previously won money on Gail's behalf, frowned in
disgust and began to drag out his payment.
"Damn, that's a lot of shit," Don exclaimed, stepping back from the spattered
mess as Misty's form rose over the lip of the truck bed.
"Better out than in," Jeneen said proudly, stepping back also as the last of
Misty's urine dropped to the pavement. "A whack's force has to land just right
sometimes, but wenches seem to go more when they get the maximum dose."
"Along with the minimum medication," Don added devilishly.
"Right," she admitted with a wink.
Driver and assistant both climbed into the truck bed to where the two wenches
trembled side by side on their knees. Don disengaged the hook from Misty's frame
and pressed the up button twice again, retracting the cable and wench assembly
into the roof of the truck.
"I'm a little fuzzy on this next part," Don said, "Could you walk me through
it?"
"Certainly, Sir," she replied eagerly, "Naturally, our two wenches are in
priceless torment at present, but some additional discomforts are prescribed for
them when loading time comes. As you know they are stacked in special shelves at
the deepest end of the truck and secured into narrow doorless stalls, with their
heads facing outward. These cells have a slight slope to the floor, sensibly
allowing liquid waste to drain behind them through slots in the truck wall."
Understanding those details well, Don nodded to his accomplice.
"But first we fit butt plugs into them to keep accidents from getting the floors
too messy." Jeneen opened a compartment on the wall of the truck and withdrew a
torpedo-shaped ass plug. It was a little over five inches long and almost two
inches thick at its widest point. It glistened with a greasy substance that all
the plugs swam in. "There's an assortment of three sizes in this boot. You just
pick the size you think will fit your wench the best. This is our medium size.
It should do nicely for Gail."
Jeneen pulled one of Gail's ass cheeks firmly to the side, and placed the tip of
the plug directly against Gail's anus.
"The lubricant is quite slippery, so one good shove usually gets the job done,"
Jeneen said as she pressed the plug firmly home. Gail convulsed in newfound
torment as her bottom swiftly filled with the rubbery intruder.
"Ga....ggaaahhh!" she blurted helplessly as the narrow neck of the device nested
itself past her sphincter which involuntarily held the plug fast.
"Just to enhance things for them a bit," Jeneen continued, "This lubricant has a
powerful pepper oil mixed into it. So be very careful not to rub your eyes or
anything. It burns like the devil. Would you like to do Misty's plug now?"
"Sure," Don replied, selecting one of the jumbo plugs from the bin, "I think
this one will be just right for our meddlesome young friend." The plug was
nearly an inch larger in all dimensions than the one Jeneen had selected for
Gail. With more force than finesse, Don pushed the plug deep into Misty's
pooper, amid her yelps and sobs.
"A good choice, Sir," Jeneen said, noting that with Misty's smaller sized body
the larger plug would serve its purpose well. "I think it fills her bum most
correctly." Jeneen pulled a couple of wet towlettes from a dispenser above the
plug bucket and handed one to Don.
"Now, if you will pick up Gail," Jeneen proposed once they had cleaned their
hands, "I'll carry Misty and we'll get them tucked in for their trip." Along the
way Jeneen held Misty in front of the small window of Lorraine's stretch locker
so that the doomed mother and daughter could view each other. Lorraine's face,
beet red from her hopeless struggle against the noose and breast daggers, took a
moment to register the horror of what had happened to her daughter. When
Lorraine choked out a sob of recognition, Jeneen winked at her. "It appears your
lovely daughter just couldn't wait to join her mummy aboard the truck," Jeneen
said loudly enough for the mother to hear through the door, "She had hoped for a
chatty goodbye scene I think, but unfortunately she now has less opportunities
of talking again than even you do."
When Jeneen had positioned Misty inside her two foot wide cell, she gripped a
two-pronged graphite hook attached to the upper railing of the stall by a thick
bungee cord and wedged it into Misty's nostrils. Before the poor girl's eyes
could reflect more than indignation, Jeneen took another short bungee with
spring clips on each end. She snapped this bungee to a center ring on Misty's
breast rod, and then attached the other end to a ring that was welded to the
middle of the stall floor between her knees.
"These two elastic bands have snugged Misty into place," Jeneen said, placing
her hands upon her hips, "Our wench is now ready to ride. You can do up Gail in
the same way if you like."
"The nose-hooks are shaped to hold up the wenches heads," Jeneen explained
further, as Don lifted Gail into the stall next to Misty, "while pulling firmly
against the downward tethers of their tits and tongues. The general idea is to
steady wenches inside their compartments and reduce the chances of bashing their
heads as the truck bobs along."
"On heavy volume days," Jeneen continued, "since these stalls are six feet deep,
there is room enough to load two meat wenches per stall. Earlier pickups can be
designated Scoots, and moved to deeper berths to make room for a second wench in
the front."
"Must be kind of cramped for them back there," Don observed, while placing the
curved graphite fingers into Gail's nostrils. Her head jerked up with the
menacing tension of the bungee, and her eyes fluttered in panic.
"Yes it is," Jeneen agreed, "Especially since their faces will be mashed right
into the front girl's buttocks. Scoots' faces are restrained by bungee cords
too, so there is no avoiding that one."
"Hmmm," Don mused while connecting the lower bungee to Gail's breast rod, "I
think I might know of a girl who should pull that duty."
"That's why drivers get to decide which wenches will be Scoots." Jeneen said
brightly, "And if he desires to, he may even remove the butt plug from the front
girl before mashing her arse against the Scoots face. Any accident she has then
will plaster the face and tongue of her caboose, and accidents are rather common
once the pepper oil has done its work."
"I see," Don smiled up at Jeneen from his crouch, "Driver's prerogative, huh?"
"Yes Sir," said Jeneen, glancing down at Misty who had heard every word, "Just
another indignity to be suffered by the most deserving wench. But even if the
driver doesn't remove the plug, the Scoot will likely still have to deal with
the front wench's pee. It has a way of landing onto a Scoot's outstretched
tongue."
Don stood back to admire their handiwork upon the two helpless girls.
"My goodness." Don pondered in amazement, "This is certainly different from the
transportation methods used where I come from. Ten times more painful I am
betting."
"It's off the scale, I wager," Jeneen reflected, "Schools try to prepare young
girls for the rigors of wench framing, but there's no way they can keep up with
us. Unfortunately, girls who find that out don't get to go back and correct the
textbooks."
"There's just no describing their look," Don continued as he stared into the
girls' eyes, "I don't think I've seen a girl in more distress in my entire life.
It's hard to believe they can even survive this agony..."
"I try to imagine it myself sometimes," Jeneen said thoughtfully, "A riot of
fresh emotion is occurring in those eyes - anger, shame, resentment, you name
it, all of it compounded by pain. Those feelings must be all that keeps them
going right now. But something else is in there too. I don't have a word for it
really, but it seems like... utter astonishment. Do you see it too?"
"I certainly do," Don concurred, "But to me it also looks like defiance. They
aren't docile yet like those spitted girls have become. Maybe these two still
hope there is a way out of this hell."
"That could be it too," Jeneen said, "The spits are a bit buggered out by now,
and quite used to being contorted like this, with their painted mouths pried
open. By now I suspect some of them even long for the fires."
"These two are still learning, aren't they?" Don suggested.
"Yes, and so are we," Jeneen said, "The tongue piercings and the bungees have
only been in use for a couple of months now. Our methods are always evolving.
Years ago drivers used to just toss wenches into pouches made of netting. But,
remember what I told you before? Nothing here is by accident. MPI's handling
processes are carefully designed to not be fatal. But the pain, shock and
humiliation of each dreadful moment must be just short of that."
"Absolutely," Don said, "And it has to be canceling out everything they've ever
known as human beings - in twenty short minutes they have become meat in the
truest sense of the word. They understand that now, don't they?"
"They must," Jeneen said, looking at Don intently, "That rather turns you on,
doesn't it?"
"Yes, it does," Don replied, no longer embarrassed by his erotic response, "And
that's part of the big plan too, isn't it?"
"Quite right," Jeneen smiled, "You see, this method of bondage not only
reconditions their bodies for the spit, it also provides a stimulating sight
from the rear of the truck. Virtually anyone who sees these little faces will
have the sublime reaction you are having now. We enhance the process further
with these..."
Jeneen reached over to a compact bank of electronic switches numbered one
through twenty four, and turned on numbers eight and nine. Two small spotlights
appeared, aiming straight into the victims' faces.
"Welcome to woody wonderland!" Jeneen stated triumphantly. "This is why rear
doors are now left open when our trucks return to the station at early evening
rush hour."
Suddenly Don understood. It was more free advertising for MPI. Loaded six across
and four tall in their stalls, as many as twenty-four tear-streaked faces,
distorted into pig-faced grimaces, and illuminated by bright spotlights, would
be seen stacking up as morning deliveries were cleared away, and afternoon
collections filled the truck. He shook his head in disbelief.
"Ruthless aren't they?" he said, smirking.
"Not where you and I are concerned," Jeneen said, reaching out and lightly
tracing the bulge Don's erect penis created as it strained against his trousers
and the rubber smock stretched over them. "Drivers are allowed to relieve
themselves on the job, you know. They don't want us to be too frustrated. It
wouldn't be healthy."
Reacting to her tantalizing advance, Don took Jeneen swiftly into his arms and
pulled her close.
"You mean they actually condone this sort of thing?" Don asked, brushing his
lips against hers.
Jeneen's pulse quickened as she took a moment to consider his offer of a kiss...
it felt delicious with his arms around her, swallowing her up in his embrace.
"Not between us, silly!" she said, reluctantly pushing him away and
straightening up her smock. She was surprisingly out of breath. "At least... not
while we're on duty. It's with them I mean, the meat wenches. You are allowed to
facefuck as many as two of them per shift, if you feel the need. It's considered
a recreational break-time by the management."
"That's incredible," Don said, trying to contain his hormones also, "I didn't
see anything in the manual about that."
"It's not documented, but it's true, Jeneen answered, "It's one of MPI's special
driver perks. They figure there's no reason to be miserable and distracted all
day long when there are meat wenches close by who have no way of resisting. I
just wanted you to know that you can choose one of them any time you like. I've
been told that guys adore fucking a wench's face when she is restrained like
this."
"What about lady drivers and assistants?" Don asked, "Do they get the same
privileges as the men? Of course... I can't imagine you women getting as turned
on as we guys do by all this..."
"Oh, we get worked up too," she confessed, loving his curiosity, "And
frustrated. The same as you do, maybe even more. You see, being girls, we relate
ourselves directly to a wench's plight. We experience every bit of it in a way.
We can't help it, and it's mind bogglingly sexy to us."
"No fooling," Don smiled, "I never knew that."
"Oh, yes," Jeneen reassured him, "Our excitement just doesn't show like male
arousal does. You wouldn't believe the number of feminine pads I go through
working here. So we are encouraged to avail ourselves of the poor dears too,
when necessary. Their warm tongues are a delight to us. All we need do is press
ourselves against them and... let the juices flow. Oh, I had better stop talking
about it..."
"Yeah, I think I understand," Don said, "Thanks for telling me about that. How
about we try to cool off and stay on our schedule? Maybe we can save some of
those pleasures for later."
"I'd like that," she replied appreciating his strength and sincerity, "A lot."
Jeneen reached up and brushed her lips against his in mischief "That's just to
get even..."
Eyes twinkling in the spotlights, she turned and walked to the truck door with
Don following close behind her.
Once inside the cab of the truck, Don buckled his safety belt and turned to
Jeneen.
"Where to now?" he asked.
"To Bradshaw's loan office on 9th and Douglas, Sir" Jeneen replied, all business
again, "Go back up Constitution for six or seven blocks until you see Douglas
Drive. Then you'll turn right and go until you see 9th Avenue. He's at the
northeast corner there. We should arrive pretty close to our ten o'clock pickup
time."
"What are we picking up?" Don queried, starting up the truck.
"Never know for sure till we get there," she answered, buckling up her harness,
"Sometimes he has as many as six or seven girls for us, sometimes none. But we
swing by every monday morning just in case. He is very aggressive with his loan
defaultees. It shows on my logs that three tote-frame signals arrived from his
location early this morning. But that may or may not be the full lot."
"I hope this Bradshaw guy isn't as nutty as Mr. Mulholland was," Don said,
shifting gears and charging the truck noisily up Constitution Avenue, "That guy
just about wore me out."
"They're all a bit kooky in a way, I guess," Jeneen laughed, "But they are all
good for business, and Mark's not too bad - better than most of them actually.
He's always been a gentleman with me. But he certainly is hell on his girls.
You'll see all about that..."
Four electronic tones sounded from the dashboard of the truck. Jeneen pointed to
a small device mounted underneath the radio.
"Tote-frame enclosure!" she cheered, "This device notifies us whenever a new one
occurs somewhere inside our territory. As long as a signal goes off before 3:00
P.M. we must swing by and load up the wenches on the same day. After that the
duty falls to the evening shift."
Text information flashed across the small vid-screen of the signal unit which
Jeneen took careful note of.
"It says here that we have one tote-frame ready for pickup at 1215 Liberty Lane,
the Hillock residence. It also says this is the first one ever for that
location. That usually means a family member or close friend is volunteering,
unless of course it is a comp."
"A comp?" Don puzzled, "What's that, a freebie?"
"Oh, no, I'm sorry," Jeneen said, "Nicknames for things get to be a habit around
here. Comp stands for compulsory submission. Either by the family or the state.
Those can be very interesting. We'll find out more when we get there after the
Bradshaw pickup, which is our last scheduled stop for this morning. We should
arrive at the Hillocks between 11:00 and 11:30, in time to take care of it
before lunch." Jeneen entered these notes into her digital logbook, and laid it
back on the dashboard console.
Don glanced at Jeneen's relaxed expression as he careened the truck onto Douglas
avenue. He was fortunate to have her as an assistant, Don thought. She was
efficient, helpful, quite pretty, and damned understanding when it came to the
difficulties of the job, primarily the constant horniness one felt witnessing
the anguish suffered by their cargo, and the occasional pangs of sympathy felt
for innocent women unlucky enough to become MPI meat products. It was as if they
were sculptors of pain, molding wenches feelings into a horrific new kind of
art, and taking that craft to the limits of human endurance...
"Penny for your thoughts, Sir?" Jeneen said, her pleasant face studying his.
"Well..." Don sighed, astonished by her ability to see straight inside of him;
he opted for understatement, "A bunch of things actually. I'm excited about my
new job. I am also just beginning to understand what a cutting edge company it
is that we work for. But mostly, I was thinking that we seem to make a pretty
good team."
"I agree..." she replied softly, "on all counts." They shared another smile as
the truck bounced them along to their next destination.
END OF CHAPTER FIVE
MPI
(c) Aiken, 2002, All rights reserved
