"Meat Exchange by Spitman"
By robblu (https://pastebin.com/u/robblu)

URL: https://pastebin.com/NmWZBR3s
Created on: Tuesday 21st of March 2017 11:57:06 PM CDT
Retrieved on: Saturday 31 of October 2020 03:22:40 AM UTC




Meat Exchange 
by Spitman


Are you ready, Mary?' Elaine called as she knocked on her friend's door.


'I'm coming!'


Mary opened the door and the two girls kissed happily. Mary was wearing a 
bright red uplift halter made from shiny plastic. Her nipples thrust tautly 
against the sheer fabric, teased by the texture of the material. Her breasts 
were a fine conjunction of firm, tantalising curves and youthful resilience. 
Bright red, shiny high-heeled sandals and a matching mini-skirt completed 
her outfit, slit front and back from waist to hem and overlapping enough to 
create the merest illusion of modesty.


Elaine was taller and dark-skinned, her magnificent high buttocks her most 
eye-catching feature, although her beautiful upturned breasts had nut-hard 
nipples that projected like turrets, pierced by thick golden rings. Her neck 
was encircled by a dazzling yellow collar. She wore matching sandals, as 
well as a subtly slit skirt similar to Mary's.


'Mmmmm, you look good enough to eat, Elaine!' Naughtily her fingers strayed 
through the slit in Elaine's skirt to find a smoother, warmer female slit. 
She ran her fingers between Elaine's lips, over the smooth plastic form of 
the tracker moulded over her clitoris hood, then down to where a Smart Stock 
Tag hung by two welded links from a ring through her left pussy lip. She 
gave the heavy disk a playful tug. 'I think you'll pass!'


Elaine laughed. 'We'd make a fine pair. Come on, or we'll be late!'


Just then the warning bell rang in the entrance hall down below. The two 
girls joined the others who ran helter-skelter down the stairs, heedless of 
their flying skirts and the distracting tugging of those heavy tags. There 
was bedlam at the door, as usual. A forked post rose to crotch height in the 
middle of the doorway, forcing the girls to straddle it as they passed. Mary 
felt a tug as her disk slid neatly into the fork and was caught for a 
moment. She glanced at the screen as a voice announced: 'Category 
CALNG-045-OB9, Item VUS-2192, Lot CALNG-51362-257203E2.' Elaine stepped up. 
'Category BBHYG-523-OA2, Item MAD-46970, Unallocated'.


Breathless, the two girls relaxed on the short journey to the metro station.


'Congratulations,' Elaine told her friend, who was visibly affected by the 
surprise discovery of her allocation, seemingly recorded overnight.


'Oh my God!' Mary replied. 'What am I going to do?'


'I expect you're going to be processed, Mary,' Elaine answered flippantly, 
'and soon, I expect. Maybe . . .' She paused, 'maybe you'll be lunch!'


'Don't joke about things like that. It's not funny.'


'It is so!'


'Tisn't!'


The idea of Mary becoming lunch conjured vivid images in Elaine's mind of 
her friend pierced right through by a thick steel spit from her delightful 
pussy to her mouth, and she was a very tasty looking girl indeed, enough 
that Elaine's mouth watered at the idea of her meat being served for lunch.


Mary's thoughts had begun to wander on similar lines, and she squirmed as 
the prospect sent a tingly feeling through her body. She wondered what her 
fate was going to be. Allocation was not the end of the world. Sometimes 
those lots were traded back and forth for months before they were finally 
delivered to a processing company for redemption. Some stock categories were 
allocated years before they were ready for processing, on the futures 
markets. But 23 year old, perfectly conditioned blondes were rated as one of 
the best and most visually appealing categories for a seasonal barbecue. Her 
heart beat fast. But suddenly she had another thought.


'Anyway, they can't draw me any more in the Daily Selection. Maybe they will 
draw you today. You never know, they might even serve us together!'


That was a very squirmy thought, from Elaine's point of view but suddenly 
she discovered that she was becoming very wet indeed between her legs. It 
was an even more tingly, exciting idea to be roasted next to Mary. It was 
certainly a possibility, although not a very likely one. They only drew one 
from every 500 female staff. The main idea was to remind the workers that 
they were just as tasty as the street cattle they traded hour on hour during 
the day, but seeing a familiar body served as the daily special in the Meat 
Exchange restaurant certainly added a great deal of spice to the day. Once 
allocated, a girl would seldom know when or where she might be claimed for 
processing. In the meantime Mary was simply a trading commodity.


'I don't think that's very likely, Mary.'


'Do you understand these Lot Codes? Can you explain mine to me?'


Elaine had remembered Mary's Lot Code automatically, as she dealt with 
similar codes at work, all day long. It was CALNG-51362-257203E2.


'Let me see: CALNG is your category. C stands for caucasian, A is blonde and 
L is twelve years older than the age you became eligible for futures 
trading. The other letters are for your physical type. The 257203 is a 
serial number, and E2 is a delivery location. 51362 is the stock trading 
licence number of an investment group. That's about all I can tell you.'


'Oh.'


'I can look up the investment group for you, and tell you later, if you 
like.'


'Oh, can you? Thanks a lot, Elaine. I don't have access to stuff like that.'


Elaine smiled. Working on the trading floor of the Meat Exchange had its 
advantages, and you soon got used to trading meat that might belong to a 
girl who worked in the Meat Exchange herself. A good trader soon learned to 
ignore the provenance of the commodity she traded, known to insiders as 
'Street Cattle'. Outside the trade, it was widely believed that workers in 
the Exchange were somehow protected. This simply wasn't true. All that 
counted, in the end, was supply and demand for your type of meat. Still, she 
was lucky to know more than most about the way meat was traded.


'You're welcome, Mary. I'll tell you on the way home - unless one of us is 
served for lunch, that is!'


They laughed until Mary had one of her fits of the giggles, and then the bus 
arrived at the Metro station. The girls passed through another gateway where 
Elaine was relieved to see that her status was still 'unallocated'. The 
journey on the silent, ultrafast train was over in no time. Emerging onto 
Wall Street the girls passed through another monitoring gateway, and after a 
short walk they reached the imposing entrance of the New York Meat Exchange. 
The glass facade was at least ten stories high, giving light to a huge 
atrium.


'Good morning, ladies,' the Commissionaire greeted them cheerfully.


Good morning, James,' they replied in chorus.


Inside the building they arrived at the security gateway, a cubicle recessed 
into the thick glass vertical barrier, with a single entrance, but several 
exit doors leading to different elevators. Mary went first, feeling the post 
tug at the thick heavy disk of her stock tag, holding her in place while the 
entry door slid shut behind her. And then, to her surprise, the door to her 
left slid open as the post released her. Usually it was the right hand door 
that opened onto the main elevator bank. She trembled as the oval tracker 
fixed over her clitoris ridge prickled insistently. She entered the elevator 
which immediately closed and moved swiftly downwards. Three floors down it 
opened into an unfamiliar reception area. Again she felt that uncomfortable 
prickling and stepped over to the desk.


The receptionist smiled. 'Mary VUS-2192? I see you are in perfect time. I 
have your form ready for you. Would you please sign by the little cross.'


'What is it? What is it for?'


'It's the regulation meat requisition. It won't make the slightest 
difference, but we have to follow the procedure.'


Mary felt that uncomfortable prickly feeling again and decided perhaps she 
had better sign and get it over with. Her heart was beating a million times 
a minute, or so it seemed, as she scribbled her signature.


'That's fine, Item 257203. David!'


A muscular man appeared, wearing only a collection of straps. He was 
carrying a very professional looking whip.


'Show Item 203 into the changing room and take care of her.'


'Yes Miss.'


'Come on now, Item 203. I'm in charge of you now. As long as you don't give 
any trouble, I'll make it as easy for you as I can. Put all your clothes in 
that basket over there, and come with me.'


'Now get up on that seat and I'll strap you in!' The plastic seat he 
indicated was raised above the level of Mary's waist, and had obvious 
perforations. He fastened the straps over her upper thighs and around her 
waist.


'Ooooh!' She gasped instinctively as he pushed the nozzle into her bottom 
and then lowered the seat to hold it in place. She felt the familiar 
sensation of warm water rushing into her intestines, then a gentle suction 
as effluent was discharged from her body. Eventually he was satisfied and 
removed the nozzle. He unfastened the straps and helped her off the seat.


'Now just keep still for a moment, Item 203. That's right!' He bound her 
wrists tightly together while she stood obediently, docile, excited by her 
increasing sense of helplessness. The inability to reach out with her hands 
and protect, or even touch her breasts and her pussy started her tingling 
all over again. Her nipples stood out stiffly and she found herself 
wondering how it would feel to have them ringed, like her pretty black 
friend Elaine.


'Well done, Item 203. Now come with me and I'll get you fixed up.'


Obediently Mary followed him through another door, into a large kitchen 
area. She gasped as they approached a gleaming Jessica machine. She had a 
funny feeling in the pit of her stomach as they drew closer. Dreams and the 
real thing were suddenly a world apart, but the excitement she felt was just 
as real as it had been in her dreams.


'Right, you know what to do. Get into position!'


Trembling, Mary knelt down with her knees apart in those deep grooves, and 
leaned forward over the terrible machine. In a moment he had fastened the 
straps and a sturdy iron bar over her legs, and more straps over her waist 
and neck. She felt his fingers exploring her pussy, sinking easily into her 
wetness. She gasped as his fingers sank deep and rubbed gently around her 
cervix, while the tracker made her clitoris tingle fiercely with pleasure. 
Something thicker, hard and warm pressed suddenly against her vulva and 
forced its way deep into her body. She gripped his cock with her muscles and 
squeezed him as he rode her delightful body. Her orgasms came again and 
again and at last his come spurted delightfully, deep into her womb.


'Haaaaa!' She exclaimed as the cool point of the spit eased gently forward 
into her vulva, stretching her entrance wider than anything she had known.


'Well, young lady, here we go!' He told her, activating the spitting engine.


She felt a pop as it forced her cervix, and then the pain began, like 
nothing she had known or imagined. The steel slithered steadily through her 
vulva, teasing her lips, gently rubbing the very tip of her clitoris.


She felt a prick at each nipple as he fixed the injectors in place, and then 
he injected the special roasting mixture injected deep into her breasts 
until they were quite swollen and hard. Then she felt another awful 
sensation as the spit pierced her stomach wall and entered her gullet. It 
was like being about to vomit, something rising quickly up your gullet and 
then it was in her throat and her head was strapped so tightly back and in a 
moment, it seemed, the point was out of her mouth, and at least a foot of it 
emerged before it stopped, while a powerful orgasm convulsed her. It felt 
incredible to be spitted, but suffocating and the shaft felt unexpectedly 
rigid.


David smiled as she squirmed beautifully on the spit. He loved to prepare 
the stock for roasting. There was nothing like the look on a girl's face as 
she discovered how perfectly she was designed to take a spit right through 
her delicious meat from one set of lips to the other. Carefully he clipped 
her stock tag free from her pussy lips, unfastened her bonds and secured her 
ankles and knees to the spit with carefully greased cords.


The cooks lifted her from the Jessica, set her over the roasting pit and she 
felt them brush her body with a greasy basting mixture, while one of them 
explained, knowing how girls loved to hear recipes. It was girl-grease with 
garlic, herbs and chillies and the fiery sensation made her jerk as it 
heated the tender flesh of her pussy, inflaming her clitoris mercilessly. 
The heat of the flames seared her flesh as she turned, and she watched her 
nipples blacken as those delicious morsels cooked. The aroma of her own meat 
cooking was better than anything she remembered, but suddenly she felt her 
consciousness going and the heat just faded away.


***


Elaine watched as Mary was diverted at the security barrier, amused at the 
thought of her delightful body roasting on a spit, just as she had imagined. 
But there was no way to find out was really happening - not until she got to 
her desk, anyway. To her relief, the barrier opened to let her through to 
the main elevator banks, where she joined the crowd of girls hurrying to 
their various departments. She glanced at her watch. She had barely five 
minutes to get to her place before seven o'clock. Two girls crowded her in 
the elevator, chattering noisily. Their generous bosoms were encased in a 
hard shell of some composite material, with caps over their nipples. They 
were obviously milkers, Elaine reflected, her clitoris suddenly tingling at 
the thought of having her nipples constantly sucked like that.


'Yer jealous, darlin'?' One of them demanded with a cheeky grin.


'Er, I was just thinking . . . .'


'It's all right, lovey,' the other one said. 'You look a treat with those 
rings in your nipples. Right pretty yer are.'


'Oh thank you,' Elaine answered, blushing heavily.


'She'd look perfect on a spit, don't yer think, Rosey?' The first one leaned 
closer and whispered in her friend's ear.


Her friend just grinned knowingly at Elaine. It felt distinctly 
uncomfortable to be assessed like that. Knowing that they were right only 
made it worse.


'And how!' She replied from the corner of her mouth, without taking her eyes 
off Elaine's rapidly stiffening nipples for a single moment.


To Elaine's surprise they got out at the thirty-third floor, the same floor 
as Elaine's department, where several other girls were hurrying from 
different elevators to their offices, all dressed to display their perfectly 
conditioned bodies to the best possible advantage.


She entered the trading room and headed quickly for her workstation. The 
other two followed her into the room, where Colin, the operations manager 
indicated the two vacant milkstations in the bank of ten, at the back of the 
trading room. Those milkers turned over so fast, Elaine told herself. You 
never got to know them at all.


Rosie and her friend Carol were obviously familiar with the equipment, 
Elaine saw. They popped their nipple caps off and clipped the milkstation 
hoses in place, then snapped the power connector onto the pumps on each of 
their breasts, gasping with relief as the uncomfortable pressure eased and 
the milk flowed into the collection ducts. Somewhere in the building there 
was a trader dealing with the milk that was regularly collected from the 
loading bay by tanker. Hundreds of girls milked several times a day produced 
a tankerful at least every single working day.


Elaine imagined how it must feel to have her nipples squeezed and sucked as 
the milk was extracted from her breasts. The constant stimulation would make 
sure they produced the maximum yield, while they worked at simple tasks, 
entering data on their screens. Once she became a milker, she knew that even 
a former trader would lose her ability to concentrate on abstract tasks. She 
was basically a cow, and that was what she would become.


Elaine remembered vividly when they had pierced her nipples. For hours, the 
slightest movement had caused an unbearable explosion of sensation in her 
nipples. Even now the constant movement of her rings was distracting at 
times, but nothing compared to the experience of being milked all day.


There were two other strange girls taking their places at the central bank 
of workstations. Elaine wondered how much training they'd been given. Only 
too often the girls turned over before they got properly settled in. Growth, 
they called it. Those farms seemed to churn out prime girlmeat faster than 
it could be traded, until you really analysed the figures. At least a girl 
had something interesting to do until her meat was sold for processing. 
Elaine shivered at the thought of her meat being roasted to succulent 
perfection and then carved from the bone. Her mouth watered at the thought.


She settled carefully into the contoured seat at her workstation. There was 
a firm tug at her pussy lip, then a click as her smart stock tag locked into 
its slot. She felt a pleasant tingling as the neat, smooth oval clipped onto 
her clitoris hood responded to the control of her workstation computer.


The screen lit up with the familiar logo of the New York Meat Exchange.


'Good morning, Elaine. Here is your schedule for today,' it announced in a 
friendly, youthful male voice. Elaine had often wondered what its owner 
looked like, imagining that he must be a pretty attractive hunk. His voice 
was a real turnon, but somehow it commanded obedience. She imagined how 
easily that voice would convince her to kneel obediently over one of those 
awesome Jessica machines, ready to be spitted. She often dreamed she was 
riding a spit like that, rubbing herself against the giant shaft that filled 
her pussy, licking it with her tongue while she was turned over the searing 
flames.


'The Daily Selection will be at eight thirty, as usual,' the friendly voice 
continued. 'Today we have another Draw at three. This evening we have a 
reception for a visiting European trade delegation, in the roof garden. If 
you are unallocated, and in the top quartile of your stock class, you will 
be entered into the special draw. The winner will demonstrate the excellence 
of our meat standards for the entertainment of our distinguished guests.'


Elaine's heart thudded. Two more chances to be drawn, and the day had barely 
started. Life was a lottery, for a girl in her prime, but there was no point 
in worrying about it. One thing was certain. Every girl's turn came sooner 
or later, and at Elaine's age, with a body as perfectly conditioned and as 
stunningly suitable for the spit, it was probably going to be sooner.


'As this is a special trading day, you have each been authorised to allocate 
a thousand extra stock. You will find the designated Categories on your 
screens. Let's show these Europeans how we do business around here!'


Elaine scrolled quickly down her screen, thrilled to see the categories she 
was given to trade. Age codes H, I and J. Nineteen to twenty-one. Race codes 
B, I and O which were Black, Indian and Oriental American stock. Hair colour 
B. Physical codes W, X and Y in the first position and E, F and G in the 
second. Every one of those codes meant quality and price. Her heart jumped 
as she realised that her own category was included. It was not such a 
coincidence. Elaine knew she could compete with the very best there was in 
her ethnic type for flavour and the texture of her meat. It was like being a 
wine of a fabulous vintage.


As she paused her clitoris prickled, reminding her to get started.


Another sheet of figures flicked onto her screen. Futures age coded D and E 
were up a fraction, anticipating a forecast rise in demand. As usual the big 
catering companies were looking for deals, demanding stock available for 
immediate processing, ready to take categories that were out of favour with 
the big money players. Elaine smiled. Out of flavour, more like. She flicked 
to another screen. Pension funds going for low risk age B and C futures, 
with a little risk money looking for a quick profit. She checked a couple of 
prospects to contact later, and moved on to Ethnic Prices.


It was curious that white meat always traded at a higher price, but only in 
the most aesthetic, superior quality categories which only a small percent 
of the stock achieved. The vast bulk of it had exactly that, too much bulk 
and not enough muscle tone, and as for the flavour, that was inferior too. 
Dark meat stock was easy to keep conditioned and much more flavourful, as a 
rule. So on average, it held its price better. But the categories she had to 
trade were usually pure dynamite, and today was no exception.


Next she checked her trades from the previous day. A few were down but most 
of them were up. The tracker gave her a pleasant buzz as she checked the 
figures. It was a good result. A hundred thousand dollars profit on the day. 
Not bad, she thought. But today was going to be even better.


'What have you got, Patty,' she asked pleasantly, to the girl on her right.


'Oh, pretty much the usual thing they give me,' Patty answered. 'A mixture 
of white stuff from different states, town and country. Decent quality 
stuff, looks like. Funny thing, my category's in the selection they gave 
me.'


'That's odd. I've got my own category as well. What's yours, Patty?'


'It's CRIPG. What's yours?'


'Nice. In fact, very nice, Patty. Mine's BBHYG.'


'Very impressive. Want to swap, Elaine?'


'It's a tempting thought, but I don't think I'll let you sell my skinny 
ass!'


Patty laughed. 'Not so skinny, with a physique code like that. Most girls 
would die for an ass like yours.'


Elaine grinned. Patty was right. But she was a pretty tasty treat herself. A 
redhead, no less, with high, firm, perfectly formed breasts, adorned with 
tantalisingly perfect nipples, a tall, athletic looking body, long legs and 
meaty thighs, and probably cunt muscles that could crack a nut. Her own ass 
would make a fine display on a roasting pit.


It was time to get down to the real work. She called her first prospect.


'Good morning, John. Want some top ethnic?'


'You volunteering all of a sudden, Elaine,' he laughed.


Once she had met John at one of those roof garden receptions, that time for 
key clients with pension funds to invest. She remembered his compliments on 
her body, saying that she was a lot better looking than the special roast.


'Not me, John. But you might get lucky, one of these days. I'll tell you 
what, my category's included, so you never know. Want to buy some?'


'Shoot me a listing and I'll check it out.'


Elaine pressed a button and send the document.


'Wow! That's quite a selection you have there. What's the story on the I's 
and O's?'


'We're looking at ten percent appreciation minimum over three months. The 
B's ought to give you fifteen though. Better meat and more demand.'


'Hmmmm. Thats pretty much the way I see it. I'll take BBH's and BBI's.'


Elaine's heart thudded. Here we go, she thought.


'And the physical codes?'


'You'd better send me the category codes you have, and I'll pick some.'


Elaine entered the parameters and shot him the list. Against each category 
code was the number of items available for that code. The number listed 
against BBHYG was 40. Most similar codes had smaller numbers. There were no 
identity codes, as the computer selected those automatically once the 
parameters were entered.


'How many will you take?'


'Altogether two hundred. Twenty of the BBHYG's and BBIYG's