MPI
(c) Aiken, 2002, All rights reserved
Chapter Eight
4:42 PM:
Amid the beeps of his backup siren Don nudged his truck up to dock number 5 and
engaged the parking brake.
"Very well done, Sir!" Jeneen said unbuckling her belt, "Congratulations on your
first day at MPI."
"Thank you," Don smiled, rubbing his eyes for a moment before turning to his
assistant. "I certainly couldn't have done it without your help. So, what was
our final tally?"
Jeneen glanced at her computer notes and compared them to the manifest sheets in
her logbook, "Let's see... on dispatch, we came close to selling out, delivering
all 16 of our spits, and ten of our twelve roasters. Our two remaining roasters
still have 9 days of stasis time left, so they'll be fine for later delivery. On
arrivals we did very well too. We're returning with 22 wenches in tote-frames,
and 15 more in stretch-lockers. Good numbers for early June."
"I see," Don said as they climbed down to the pavement, "But we aren't near our
capacity are we?"
"Nearly sixty percent full," Jeneen replied, "Well above our average per truck
on mondays. Janice will be very pleased."
"How about that," Don grinned, "So the numbers get better during the week?"
"Sure do," she said as the two of them walked up the stairs to the truck dock,
"Deliveries stay level at about ninety percent. But non-holiday pickups range
from about thirty percent full on mondays to 90 percent on fridays. We are off
to a good start."
"Hi Tracy!" Jeneen called to the blonde woman collecting logbooks from two other
drivers.
"Well, how did it go for you two today?" Tracy said, twirling her ponytail to
exchange smiles with both of them. Tracy was a petite, fit-looking woman of 25,
clad in a blue rubber jumpsuit, black rubber boots and clear safety glasses.
"Great!" Jeneen responded handing Tracy their logbook, "Mr. Bowman here is a
natural. We hit nearly 60 percent on pickups."
"Not bad," Tracy smiled, looking over the logs, "And two away from a sellout I
see. Looks like you're our top producer for today. What do you think so far, Mr.
Bowman?"
"It's great," said Don, "I'm... uh, very impressed."
"Any special handling for the new wenches?" Tracy asked.
"Nope," Jeneen replied, "By the numbers mostly. One mother-daughter combo that
might be interesting to look into. And I'm thinking about putting a reserve on
one of the girls, named Pamela."
"Thinking again?" Tracy said, her blue eyes shining cheerfully from behind the
goggles, "Always thinking... maybe she'll be the one, eh?"
"Guess we'll see," Jeneen replied, "She's one of Mulholland's wenches though.
I'll need his say-so first."
"Put it down in your report," Tracy said sternly with a slight wink, before
turning to greet two other drivers who were approaching.
"We can complete our log entries in there if you like," Jeneen said to Don,
pointing to a glass-enclosed room near a corner wall, "Much quieter, and a
better view of things. Come on, I'll show you how we finish up our day."
The dock was teeming with activity as workers slammed open truck doors and
gunned their forklifts around. Climbing up five more steps, Jeneen walked Don
through a thick glass doorway that sealed most of the racket behind them. A
half-dozen drivers gave them friendly nods as the pair found an open table
between several vending machines and the observation glass.
"This com-port allows you to update daily reports in our business library,"
Jeneen explained, plugging a retractable cable into the back of the note pad. It
was one of four ports accessible from a central stalk on the table. "There's one
in your office too. Hard data and invoice information from our day is already
saved inside the mainframe. It's uploaded hourly from all the trucks. But each
day we take a few minutes to notate any extra thoughts or observations. How your
clients are doing, ideas for improving our methods, any special requests or
unusual wench situations. Those sorts of things."
"I see," said Don, watching Jeneen scroll through the chronicle of their day's
activities, "Like when the mother and daughter pair came aboard, was that
significant?"
"Very much so," Jeneen said, pausing at Lorraine's and Misty's entries. "It
helps our staff here to know those details." Jeneen quickly typed: Misty
distraught at losing mother Lorraine to employer's option, volunteered, hoping
to spend time with her. Talked her friend Gail into coming too. Neither had a
clue what they were getting into.
"The wench conditioning staff always likes to know what the girls have been
through recently," Jeneen said, scrolling through the entries till she got to
the part about Bradshaw's runaways. "It helps them to gauge how resilient new
girls are, and which buttons they can push." Jeneen noted that Becky and Jocelyn
had been dealt several days of breast torture and public humiliation prior to
pickup, and would need extra breast reconstruction.
"Do you want to mention the fact that Tonya was deflowered today?" she asked Don
with a smile, "They can use that knowledge to exploit her situation further."
"Sure," Don said, watching Jeneen type in the words: By mother's request both
Tonya's cherries taken by driver while in her tote frame and prior to loading.
Mother and younger sister had great fun watching.
"And what about that reserve business you mentioned to Tracy?"
"Oh, yeah," Jeneen said, backing up to that portion of the log, "I fancied
Pamela for a special project girl. She was so sweet, and I guess I teased her a
little bit about my doing that. But I would need to talk Mr. Mulholland into it,
and I'd rather not owe that man any favors. Jeneen typed in: Pamela tempted by
Jeneen's thoughts of reserving her. Very receptive to that idea. Unfortunately
it won't happen."
"Probably the smart thing to do." Don agreed, "Will our staff play up that idea
some?"
"Yes, they generally like to keep wenches' hopes alive," Jeneen said, "Even
subtle information like this is very valuable to them. Conditioners are known
for using everything at their disposal."
A few moments later they were done with their supplemental entries. Jeneen
unplugged the pad from its cable.
"All finished, Sir. I told you it would be easy!" she said cheerfully, handing
Don the computer tablet, "You can grab some coffee or snacks in here if you
like, explore around a little bit, or check out your office. Some drivers call
it a day right after their reports are done, and others like to stick around and
unwind a while. I'm sure this has been quite a day for you."
"Yes... quite a day," Don said, searching Jeneen's eyes. It was surprising how
much he desired her, even after purging his excess lusts upon the Hillock
daughters. He was wondering how improper it would be to ask Jeneen out for
dinner or something, his first day on the job and all.
"Um... OK, right," Jeneen said, picking up his signal and plucking at her hair
wisps again, "We'll be together each day in the truck for a while yet, so if you
have any other questions, you can always use my extension. I'm to go check in
with Janice now."
"This is a special card," Jeneen said softly, rising to leave and glancing
around at the other tables, "You can reach me at any time. Right?"
"Right," Don nodded and accepted Jeneen's business card which listed her work
extension along with her home number and computer's web-address. He smiled his
thanks to Jeneen and watched her leave the break area.
Don needed to see Janice soon also, but decided to take Jeneen's suggestion
first and kick back for a few minutes. He grabbed a cup of coffee and sat back
down to watch the goings-on in the dock area from his table. He noticed what an
advantage the tote-frames were at the plant. Strong men working the docks
offloaded two wenches at a time. Grasping them by the handles at the backs of
their steel-hogtied girls, workers placed the wenches on motorized conveyors
leading them through large double doorways. Just inside those doors medical
personnel looked the girls over quickly, and guided them down one of several
different conveyor paths.
Keeping a fast tempo, teams of workers at the far ends of those pathways stacked
girls neatly onto shelves and gondolas. Just like in the truck, fresh nose hooks
were reattached and breast rods resecured beneath them, all without any fighting
or struggling for handlers to deal with. Anuses were inspected, and any girls
who weren't wearing butt plugs were promptly equipped with large-sized models.
Their continuing tongue bondage spared handlers from any cursing or bargaining
attempts by the meat, so the work flowed smoothly amid the sounds of helpless
weeping and babbling.
"You're the new guy, right?" a man said behind him, "Name is Albert McCoy. I'm a
driver too."
"Don Bowden," he smiled, turning to accept McCoy's handshake, "Don't mind me,
I'm just a little dazed right now, trying to assimilate all of this."
"You'll be all right," Al sniffed, pulling up a chair to sit down, "My first
week or two felt just like that. That was nearly three years ago. I love working
here and I bet you will too. It never quits being interesting."
"Those people are grading the girls now, aren't they?" Don asked, pointing to
several pairs of men and women wearing white jackets and stethoscopes.
"Preliminary sorting, yes," said Al, "Based on their arrival condition and how
long we have to prep them. Specials number 5 through 15 give us ten to
forty-five days to work on them, so those girls are candidates for live-spitting
if they prove strong enough. Classifications one through four allow only three
to eight days before shipment. There's almost no way a girl can survive a
spit-poling in that short a time, so they're usually used for parts, roasts, or
extended work-studies.
"Work studies?" Don asked in puzzlement.
"Yes," Al replied, "Girls who come in with exceptional good looks and only
borderline heartiness can be given temporary work status here at the plant. We
still try to have them ready for prime roasting in three to six months and they
get regular therapy, which is expensive. So we use them for low-cost labor and
entertainment to help pay the freight. The prettier they are, the more visible
and um... accessible we try to make them. Work-study wenches sleep in special
dormitories upstairs.
Don thought of Janice's beautiful secretary Tera, and how it had surprised him
she was in fact a long term spit-roaster in the making. He wondered how long she
had been striving to please her cruel bosses in the plant, and how much time
remained before the inevitable outcome.
"They have to be owned meats of course," Al added, "not just a contract
prepping."
"Of course," said Don, looking over to see his girls being taken from the truck.
He watched Misty and Gail being dumped unceremoniously onto the conveyors.
Shocked, hopeless expressions flashed across their eyes. Eight of the women were
being marching away from their stretch lockers, including Misty's mom, Lorraine.
The ladies were lined up single file, standing tall and grimacing in anguish. A
worker had splashed wound-prep onto their breasts and affixed each woman's
nipples to the cunt-lips of the woman ahead of her, using strong copper clamps
and cables. One worker tugged the front woman of the queue along, using her
breast cables for a leash. The woman in back was prodded forward by a man
carrying a rod dispensing powerful electric shocks into her ass cheeks. Any
woman who tried to stoop or crouch down to ease her pain was jolted by the
device too, and its painful electricity conducted to nearby women through the
copper cables.
"Wow. They've almost got my truck emptied already."
"Yeah. They move fast down there," Al said, "Everyone here really knows their
jobs. In a few more minutes they'll have the spit rack platform hauled out of
there, the insides of your truck cleaned with high pressure hoses, and
everything ready for tomorrow's loading.
"We're very good at what we do," Al added, still staring at the spectacle,
"That's why MPI has the franchise for 14 states with several more pending. We
run processing in 9 other countries too. Most of our innovations have a way of
becoming industry standards in a year or two. I guess it's a compliment of the
way we do things..."
"Are you a history buff by any chance?" Don asked.
"Sure am," Al said, "I love reading history, especially from the last hundred
years."
"Me too," said Don, "I was just thinking how lucky we are to be living in this
time. And how unfortunate those poor women out there are."
"I think of that almost every day," Al said, "How different do you think the
world would be right now if our parents hadn't passed the UPL?"
The Uterine Protection Law, or UPL as people called it, was actually a
constitutional amendment ratified in 2288 which changed women's political status
forever. Among other things it finally put to rest the issue of women's control
over their own bodies. Americans had grown weary of the supreme court flipping
back and forth on that issue every 25 to 30 years. Whenever a political party
succeeded in repacking the high court with biased justices, the court reversed
its Roe vs Wade ruling, only to re-uphold it in a following court. The UP
amendment denied women their choices for good. Radiating from the worlds' legal
epicenter, this decision triggered other far-reaching events too -consequences
never dreamed of by moralistic proponents of the law.
"Things would be very different now, I think," Don said, "Once the state had
permanent control of wenches' reproductive organs, it was a simple matter for
men to regulate women's lives in all other ways. Prostitution, pornography and
general female enslavement weren't just mafia-run businesses anymore. They were
high-tech commodities, a basis for trade agreements, treaties and international
cooperation."
"That's right," Al echoed, "The new common ground, my teachers called it. It
didn't bother folks anymore where borders were drawn, or how their cultures and
religions differed. What mattered was that all of us mistreated our women in
interesting ways, and benefited from it. That was something we could always
agree on..."
Both men knew their history well. It started with the Serbians, kidnapping girls
throughout eastern Europe and trafficking their slaves to international buyers,
mostly through Israeli and central asian bordellos. Soon France, Russia,
Singapore, Brazil and South Africa got into the act, financing deals to buy and
sell their own female cargos, which could be used in any manner to please their
final owners, including rape, torture and cannibalism. America quietly engaged
in this commerce also, secretly routing female captives through clearing houses
in Puerto Rico and Hawaii. The U.S. government prospered in many ways before its
public was finally made aware, but by that time nearly all nations were openly
involved in the slave trade, and applauded the trend's latest vindication:
Israel and its Moslem adversaries had finally struck a permanent peace, based
mostly upon their common interests in mistreating women, and the booming economy
that they shared.
"It's a lucky world, isn't it?" Don asked, "No wars of any kind in thirty-five
years, and steadily increasing living standards all the way. What more could you
ask?
"Besides fresh nookie whenever we want it, you mean?" Al said with a grin,
"Well, you're working at MPI, buddy, so that much is a given."
***
After visiting with Al for a few more minutes, Don decided to take a look at his
new office.
He found it to be an average-looking room with a well-equipped desk graced by a
stack of MPI news briefs. There was the usual boring compliment of office
furniture and shelving, plus a surprisingly comfortable couch. A floor-length
window on a far wall reminded him of the one he had seen earlier in Janice's
office. Don slanted the vertical blinds open to discover the window was actually
a small patio doorway that opened out to a personal balcony overlooking a vast
factory floor.
Unlatching the door and pulling it open Don heard the clanking of distant
machinery and the faint cries of wenches being processed below. Stepping
outside, he saw scores of other offices with balconies just like his, arranged
on six levels around a huge open space. Years ago this area had been a
climate-controlled indoor park, with 7 acres of garden trails, swimming pools
and tennis courts for hotel visitors to enjoy year-round under the skylights
looming fifteen stories overhead.
Squinting his eyes downward, Don could see the floor level was criss-crossed
with MPI equipment and arrayed into dozens of elaborate processing stations.
Most of the large trees had been cleared away, but much of the plant life
remained. Grasses, flowers and shrubs formed natural borders between the
cemented work areas, adding a cheerful green tonic to a ship whose purposes had
darkened in the extreme.
Mounted on a post to Don's left was a telescopic viewer reminiscent of the
quaint devices found at tourist lookouts, only this one didn't require coins for
operation. Don looked through its twin eyepieces for a moment and discovered the
unit contained a high-powered digital binocular coordinated with a
voice-spectrum audio zoom. Using two small levers on its sides he could adjust
the viewer to lock in on sights and sounds with precise clarity from almost any
distance. Don picked out a group of girls that could barely be seen lined up
near a distant wall. Even with his 20/20 vision they were still no more than
tiny blobs to Don's naked eye.
"Woah..." Don breathed as he peered through the lenses, sliding himself into
startling closeness to a perfectly-focused live image.
The viewer brought Don's eyes close enough to count freckles on the nose of a
teary-eyed youngster almost 200 yards away. A white-jacketed female technician
was tattooing the girl's lips a bright cherry-red. Through small speakers
mounted inside the viewer Don heard the technician humming a soft melody, and
her victim moaning in pain.
Easing his field of view backwards and down, Don saw the girl was perched on a
pole-mounted saddle designed to impale her bowlegged thighs with a number of
vicious steel spurs. Her arms were bound behind her in some unknown way, and she
wore silvery ballet boots similar to the ones Tera had hobbled around in early
this morning. The poor girl quivered with sweaty exertion, in mortal terror of
relaxing her thighs into the fiendish saddle, which was free to rotate on the
pole. She jammed her boot tips against the slippery platform beneath the saddle
In an effort to angle her legs away from the sharpened spurs, slipping every so
often and choking back a desperate sob.
"Be still, baby," the technician cood, firmly holding the girl's chin and
working the tattoo needle against her trembling lips, "and let me finish you
nicely, or I'll turn the electricity in your ass probe up to double what it is
now. You know, Theresa, I could always go paint the lips of those other three
wenches, and leave you here to fidget all night in your lipstick saddle."
Hearing that, Don moved his viewer over slightly. He saw that three other girls
were indeed arranged on saddles nearby, awaiting their tattoos. Facing the same
impossible assignment of keeping their toe-booted legs both rigid and flexed
beneath them, they too struggled to balance the strain in their feet and legs
with the mischief in their rectums and thighs. Like Theresa, they did their best
to remain stoic and become statues, but exhausted muscles betrayed them. Their
bodies swayed and rotated in a perpetual dance of pain.
Don backed away from the viewer, and blinked his eyes. "This thing was only
using half of its power," he thought, "A cool toy indeed."
Noticing that the other balconies seemed to have viewers like his, Don tilted
his unit up to examine one of them more closely. Zooming across the dizzying
expanse, Don could see a man in a business suit standing at his own viewer. He
was studying something of interest on the factory floor, while receiving a
blowjob from a slender girl crouched in front of him. She was dressed in a black
spandex unitard, silver bracelets and toe boots, exactly like the costume Tera
had worn. It appeared to be some kind of standard uniform for work-study girls.
She could have been Tera's twin, Don thought, except that this girl's hair was
light blond, and cut to a shorter length than Tera's brunette wedge.
"Ah-mmm, that's right," the man muttered in response to the girl's earnest
suckling noises, "Do me good, child, or it'll be twenty minutes more for you in
the hanging closet." His cute fellatrix responded with frightened moans and more
energetic sucking sounds.
"Looks like some heavy duty work-study over there," Don chuckled to himself,
pulling away from the eyepieces, "and a good perk for the professor too..."
Don strolled back into his office, which looked somehow cozier than it did
before. Then it struck him - did he have one too? Yes! There was the digital
control pad right next to a folding closet door. He had an autocloset as well.
"Things are starting to look better around here by the minute," thought Don.
***
"Yes," Janice said, responding to the knock on her office door, "Come in."
"I didn't see Tera at her desk," Don said, entering her office, "I was checking
back with you like you said."
"Yes, I'm glad you did!" Janice smiled up to him, "I'm sorry there was no one to
show you in. Tera's been recuperating downstairs, and all of the other office
girls are currently spoken for. Have a seat, Don. Jeneen was just in here to see
me, and she gave me some good news about your day together. Tell me what you
think about MPI."
"I'm thinking this is about the most incredible place I've ever seen," Don
sighed, settling himself into a chair, "It may take me a little time to get used
to it though."
"I understand completely," Janice said, "There's nothing else quite like this
business, or the services we provide. And it's a bit shocking at first, even for
the most seasoned sadists. But trust me, Don, after a few days everyone settles
in nicely. You'll see. Did you look at your office yet?"
"Yes," Don said with sudden pleasure, "The closet space is to die for, and that
view is very nice!"
"So you liked it! Good," Janice said, smiling radiantly, "I had hoped your first
day here would go favorably. I was even a little worried about you for some odd
reason. But then you two go out and bring in the top truck of the day. Piece of
cake, eh? And Jeneen tells me that even with all the usual first-day stresses,
you were able to unwind and... um, enjoy yourself a little bit?"
"Oh... yeah," Don answered feeling a little guilty about the sex he had before
lunchtime, "I had hoped that would be all right, my taking the woman up on her
offer."
"Of course it was all right," Janice assured him, "I encourage you to relax like
that whenever time and opportunities permit. Didn't Jeneen give you a green
light on it?"
"Sure," replied Don, "I just didn't want to step out of line here by indulging
myself too much."
"Not a chance," Janice said, "What a gentleman you are, Don! Jeneen tells me you
haven't facefucked any of your wenches in the truck yet. And you must be getting
an urge to do that too. So don't worry about it - you have my permission to
screw their mouths as often as you want to. Hell, most of our drivers need four
or five birdies a day just to keep their wits about them. Remember I told you we
liked our managers to be rested and refreshed? Well that goes double for our top
producers. By the way, here's your bonus check for taking the Monday Cup."
Janice handed Don a check that was equal to nearly a month's wages at Champion
Mills. Stunned, he stared at it for a moment before glancing up, looking for
words to thank his generous boss.
"First of many, I have no doubt," she said, shuffling some papers and moving to
the next order of business.
"I've assembled all of the paperwork for you." she said, handing Don a stack of
documents. "The usual tax forms, non-disclosure agreements, disclaimers and
such. I took the liberty of including a promise of promoting you at least once
each year during your first three years in good standing with us, though I
suspect you'll move up more quickly than that. I also put you down for executive
in-house privileges and full medical coverage at no cost, instead of the co-pay
plan we normally offer.
"Wow, that's great," he said. Looking over the contracts, Don noticed his
monthly salary was bumped up higher than he'd originally been promised.
"Janice, I'm overwhelmed," Don said to her, "Everything you have done for me so
far has been above and beyond the call. You're exceeding my expectations in
every way."
"You'll find that's exactly what we like to do here," Janice said sweetly, "It's
MPI's secret weapon, actually. Besides, you're worth it!"
"Well, I'm certainly sold on this place!" Don said, shaking his head and signing
his name hurriedly on nine different documents.
"Thank you," Janice said, taking his completed forms and placing them neatly
into his folder. "Your copies will be e-mailed to you later this evening."
"Now, here are your keys to the main doors, and to your office. And here is your
executive security badge. Take very good care of it. Any time you eat in the
commissary, or want a room to stay in upstairs, or require the complimentary
services of one of our work-study girls, just present your badge and everything
will be taken care of. By the way, here is that video of Tera I promised you.
Her autobooth time was delightful. I find it sometimes helps to unwind from a
long difficult day by remembering how someone else's time on the noose seemed
infinitely longer."
"What a fantastic company to work for," Don thought as Janice walked him to her
door with warm pleasantries, "This place seems almost too good to be true."
After leaving Janice's office Don decided to try out his new security badge and
get a room upstairs. It would do him some good, he thought, to relax for a
couple of hours before driving back to the apartment.
The man at the attendant's desk was very courteous. After scanning his badge, he
asked Don if a suite on the 25th floor of tower number one would be
satisfactory, and whether Don would like a girl sent up to him shortly.
"Yes... and yes," Don smiled his response.
"Any preference on the kind of girl you'll be needing, Sir?" the man asked him,
"We have types C through L available."
"I haven't studied their classifications yet," Don admitted, "I'm kinda new
here. How about you just pick one out and surprise me. Would that be OK?"
"Certainly, Sir," the man said, "We do that all the time. Your girl will be
chosen at random by our computer. She will arrive at your room within 20
minutes. You have suite number 2519. Just use your badge as the key. It's coded
to give you full access to that room for the next two days. Enjoy your stay,
Sir."
***
Flipping on the light in his room, Don was pleased to find a classy-looking
suite with a king-sized bed and a large sunken Jacuzzi. He pulled the curtains
aside to reveal an impressive view of the other two MPI towers and the downtown
skyline. The skies were clear blue now, and there would be a beautiful sunset
soon.
At the table Don saw a bottle of champagne chilling in ice next to a basket
filled with fruits and snacks.
"That's right," he thought, loosening his tie and hearing a soft knock at the
door, "It's time to toast the end of an awesome day, and the beginning of a new
career."
END OF CHAPTER EIGHT
MPI
(c) Aiken, 2002, All rights reserved
