"The Meat Wagon: A Short Story by Amy Alexis"
By robblu (https://pastebin.com/u/robblu)

URL: https://pastebin.com/LBG8XJgt
Created on: Wednesday 14th of August 2019 09:51:23 PM CDT
Retrieved on: Saturday 31 of October 2020 03:07:26 AM UTC


The Meat Wagon: A Short Story by Amy Alexis  

Note: this story is based on one of the best Poser art comics I ever read.
As far as I know it is only available to members of the City Council Forum.
It was posted by patrizia di battista and it can be viewed at this link: 
http://forum.dolcettgirls.com/index.php/topic,27875.0.html

 

Heather and I were the best of friends.
We did everything together. 

We were born to parents who were neighbors.
I could look out of my bedroom window to the bedroom window of Heather.
We developed a sign language unique to only the two of us so that we could communicate on summer nights long after our parents had sent us to bed. 

We played in the same sand box, shared the same plastic swimming pool from Wal-Mart. Later we learned to swim at the local quarry and we sat next to each other in the same home room from elementary to high school. We studied the same major in college, gossiped about men we dated the ones we loved and the ones we didn’t. 

There was only one significant difference between us; she was eager and I was not. 

She wanted us to be processed together.
When we turned 18 we went to the lottery board and registered as we were required by law to do. She begged me to volunteer with her that day but I had just turned 18. There was a lot of living I wanted to do, a lot of romance I hoped to have. It was then that she gave me her deadline. She told me, “If we aren’t processed by the time we turn 25 we are going together, deal?”

But I never agreed. 

We turned 25 last month. 
We were born in the same month; same year, not the same day, but we always celebrated our birthdays together.  

Since turning 25 Heather has been a bit down.
I know she expected to be processed by now.
I’ve been taking her shopping to cheer her up.
We buy new shoes that we don’t need.
I have a closet full but it feels good to slip into a new pair.  
We buy new dresses, bras, lingerie; we sit and chat while manicurists do our nails, anything to keep her mind off of the meat plant.  

But invariably we end up in the same conversation:  

“Please Amy.”
“I told you Heather I have no desire to be processed.”
“But it is every woman’s duty.”
“Not every woman is processed Heather. Our mothers never were.”
And so it would go time and again.

I wanted to take my chances with the lottery system.
We’d made it this far.  
Who was to say we wouldn’t reach the age of exemption? 
Some do.
Our mothers did. 
I hoped to be one of the lucky ones who marry and raise a family.
Heather wanted nothing more than to have her meat eaten and enjoyed by the town. 

One day we were walking to the mall. My heart nearly stopped when we rounded a corner and I saw the meat wagon parked at the end of the street. 

I call it a meat wagon. 
The name on the side of the van is “Mel’s Meats at Your Door.” 

We had to walk past the van to get to the mall or we had to turn around and go home. 
There was no third option.  

Heather shouted, “Yay, finally,” and started to pull me by the arm toward the wagon.

Meat wagons became popular about a year ago in our small town.
It was said that the lottery system wasn’t producing enough quality meat so, to make volunteering more convenient, the plant sent wagons – refrigerated vans, out to neighborhoods like ours to take in any volunteers who might be shy or hesitant about going to the actual plant. 
Each van had a display window for the freshest and best cuts and a complete slaughter facility which usually consisted of waste bins for heads, feet, and hands, stainless steel cutting tables, and blades, lots of blades.  

Most vans had two plant employees: a driver who was also certified as an inspector/grader, and a butcher. The driver recruited the girls, inspected, and graded them.
The butcher of course did what butchers do.   
Each doubled as a salesperson when a customer happened by. 

The van sat there on the corner like the ice cream trucks I so well remember from my childhood.
All it needed was a bell or jingle to attract the attention of the neighbors. 

Often a girl could be processed in front of her own home and her parts sold to her neighbors within minutes. It was fast, the meat was fresh, the profits to the plant were undeniable, and both the volunteers and the customers appreciated the convenience. For me, it was just another road block to my dreams.  

“Stop it Heather,” I resisted.
“Amy this is our chance.”
“If you want to die today be my guest.”
I pulled my arm free of her hand and stood my ground. 
“You can be so stubborn sometimes,” Heather said.
I laughed. 
She stomped off toward the van in a hurried huff. 
I had to run to catch up with her. 
This time I grabbed her arm.
“Slowdown, will you?” I said, “Shouldn’t we at least talk this over?” 
“Look Amy,” she said freeing her arm from my grip, “I understand that you don’t want to and that’s okay. I was hoping we could do this together.”
“I’m just not ready today.”
“You won’t be ready any day and I’ve been ready since I turned 18. Look they won’t take you if you don’t volunteer. At least come with me. Please. I don’t want to die alone and if I could choose to have any one person with me it would be my best friend which, whether you volunteer or not, you will remain.” 
I hugged her knowing it was the last time I would ever hug her. 
“Of course I will come.”  
“Thank you.”
And we walked toward the van at a more leisurely pace.  

The driver/grader saw us approach and step away from the van to greet us.
He was all smiles.
He should be. For every girl he signs his company keeps 60%.
The rest goes to the girl’s family. 

“Hello girls are we doing both of you today or did you come to buy?”

“Let’s see what you’ve got?” I was surprised to hear Heather say. 
The man put his hands on his hips.
He was trying to hide his disappointment but he wasn’t trying hard. 

“Well step this way,” he said directing us to the van with an outstretched arm. 
The butcher stepped out wiping his bloody hands on a white towel. 
His apron was also covered in blood, by the look and smell of it, fresh, very fresh.  

“I just finished one,” the butcher said. “I have her torso right over here. I can give it to you at a good price but only if you buy now while the body heat is still in her.”

He extended his arm and led us to the other side of the van.
A woman’s torso was indeed in a refrigerated display window. 
Her legs, arms, and head had been removed and she’d been gutted and sewn. 
Her breasts were firm and perky and her nipples were hard. 
She might have enjoyed the process or maybe the interior of the van was intentionally cold to make the nipples more attractive to the consumer. 

“Who was she?” Heather asked. 

The butcher started flipping through paperwork on his clip board and humming as if perplexed. 

“I have her head over here in the trash,” he said motioning us once again with his hand.

A garbage can was full of feet some still in heels, of hands with polished and finely manicured nails, and heads, some were wearing glasses, others had their eyes and mouths frozen wide in what must have been a final moment of horror. Still, there were some heads that looked serene and peaceful.

What struck me the most was that it was still early and yet the garbage can was almost full. 

Most of the girls we knew from the neighborhood.
Among the pile was Cindy who’d just turned 18, and Becky who recently divorced, and Alyssa one of the many town beauty queens; all volunteered, now all dead. 

“The torso must be Cindy,” Heather said, “it looks slightly underdeveloped the way an 18 year old body might look.”

“I’m sure you are right,” the butcher said. “Now may I interest you in some cuts or…”

Heather opened her blouse exposing her breasts, smiling at the butcher. 

“I see,” the butcher smiled in return. “Ben we have another volunteer. Please come grade her meat and get her paperwork signed while I ready the gear.”  

The butcher walked away and “Ben” joined us carrying his own clipboard. 

“Will this be a two-for?” he asked.

“No,” Heather said, “It’ll just be me.” 

“I ask because we are running a special. If you both volunteer together we will give 50% of the proceeds on your meat to your families.” 

Heather looked at me. 
I lowered my eyes. 

Ben must have noticed the exchange because he said, “Oh yes well some girls are shy but if you should change your mind…um…”

“Amy,” I said.

“Amy,” he said, “yes if you should change your mind Amy at any time during or shortly after the butcher is through with your friend here the offer still stands but once we have her meat priced and displayed we’ll have to do the normal 60/40 split.” 

“I understand,” I said.

By this time Heather was naked except for her heels. 
Ben handed her the clip board.
There was a pen attached to the board by a string.

“Please complete all highlighted areas and then sign at the bottom,” he said like he’d said those words too many times already today and far too many times over the course of his career. “We at Mel’s Meats appreciate your faith in our company and we are dedicated to managing your body and your meat with the utmost care. You are now one of our family and we will make sure that we get top dollar for your cuts and that they are processed and displayed to the best advantage for you and for your family.”  

Before Heather finished signing he started examining her body. 
He looked it over like he was trying to decide on a new car. 
He cupped her ass, her breasts he kneaded, and he ran two fingers up her cunt. 
She parted her legs as she signed to give him access then she handed the board back to him.

He looked the paper work over then sat the board down on a ledge attached to the van.

“Heather,” he said, “it’s true what you said about 18 year olds. We get a lot of them eager to volunteer and of course we take them but a 25 year old is ripe and your body is ripe. Your breasts are firm and full, there is good meat on your legs, and overall you are just a better choice. That is the difference between a Grade-A and a Grade-A Prime and Heather you are definitely Grade-A Prime.”

He pierced her left nipple with a tag that read “Grade-A Prime.” 
She screamed a little when he did that.

“Oh I know those nipple are tender but in a few more minutes you won’t be feeling a thing.” 

He swatted her on the ass and told her to get inside the van.
As she entered he smiled at me. 

“This will only take a second,” he said. 
I nodded. 

He walked over, started to play with my hair.

“You are a beauty you know that.”

He wasn’t hard to look at himself but romance was the last thing on my mind. 

I heard a clever ring and a sigh.  
Ben looked over his shoulder. 
“That would be her head,” he said.
I felt kind of sick. 
“Our butcher makes fast work of the girls.” 
I nodded again.
“You are nervous aren’t you?”
“She was my best friend.” 
“But what she has done today is so unselfish. She has given herself to her community and her family will prosper by her generosity.”  
“I know but I…”
“Come on around,” he took my hand in his and started pulling me to the display side of the van. 
As we rounded the van I saw the butcher toss Heather’s head to the already full garbage can.
Her head was followed quickly by her feet, still in her heels – new shoes that I bought with her last week at the mall.
Her hands were next. 
Her finger’s had a fresh manicure and she loved rings especially on her first finger.
Her nails were beautiful, polished, and peach. 
Her rings were still on but at her wrist where her arm and body used to be was a bloody stump. 

I turned away.
“No, no,” Ben said, “I want you to see the work we make of her.” 
When I turned back around I looked down at her head.
Her eyes lifted to meet mine.
Her mouth moved as if to speak.

“She’s still alive,” I said.
“Oh yea,” Ben said, “They remain conscious for several minutes to an hour.” 
I walked over.
“Heather can you hear me?”
She was maintaining eye contact and trying to speak. 

As I was watching Heather, Ben ran his hand up my skirt and over my ass. 
“Oooooo a thong,” he said. 
“What are you doing?” I turned into his lips.
He kissed me. 
I kissed him back. 

I suppose I didn’t realize how aroused I was being near the meat wagon but Ben knew. 
Of course he knew. 
It was his job. 
He knew what a woman felt and how to stimulate those feelings. 

He pulled my skirt up and deftly slid his other hand over my blouse opening every button.
My bra latch was in the front.
He released it.
His hands were on my breasts. 
My nipples were hard.
As he lifted me, pressing my back against the van, he pulled at my thong until it fell.
I let it slip over my heels so I could spread my legs for him.   
Then, his hard long shaft was inside of me pumping.
I slid up the side of the van and wrapped my legs around him as he pumped. 

“Mmmmm,” I started to groan.
It was so good to feel his want, his passion, and lust. 
His desire satisfied me as much as any orgasm but his steady circular thrusts were awakening my body.
I was wet, very wet and he slid all the easier, then deeper. 
I caught his waist between my thighs and began to take control of his motion so that it hit me where I wanted it to.  

I began to cry out, he began to groan.  
I was cuming as my best friend’s body was being butchered behind me. 
I looked down.
Heather’s head was facing away.
She couldn’t see but she might hear. 

As I came I clung to his body.
As he came I felt the goose bumps on his skin.

We remained one flesh for a few blissful moments after then he eased himself out of me, smiled at me, and kissed me. 

“Oooooo you were wonderful Amy,” he said.
I smiled.  

Then he looked at my breasts but not as a lover might.
He cupped them and kneaded them.

“Hmmm,” he said, “Amy these are a marvel. If you were volunteering I’d have one tonight, maybe both. The shape is as near perfect as I’ve ever seen and your nipples are perfect.” 

The window slid open and the chef called out, “I’m gonna price this meat; last call for the two-for deal.”  

Ben smiled at me as if to say ‘come on.’ 

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” the chef said.

“Oh,” Ben said, “I think we were finished.” 

My feet were on the ground, my hands on his hard, firm shoulders, I was looking into his pleading eyes. He wanted more than sex, he wanted to consume me, he wanted to know that he’d taken all I had to give and in that moment I had a reason to say yes. I wanted to satisfy him deeply as he’d, a moment before, satisfied me. 

I stepped away from Ben, turned and looked down at Heather.
Miraculously she was still alive. 
Her eyes were on mine pleading like Ben’s. 

I looked up at the butcher who was waiting on my answer.
It was then that I noticed the torso in the window was Heather’s.
Her arms were removed just below the shoulder, her legs and head were gone, but she looked lovely and for the first time in my life I saw the beauty in the sacrifice. 

I smiled at Ben as I slid my skirt over my hips and let it drop to the ground. 

“Yes!” his smile could have lit the neighborhood on a dark night. 

I let my blouse and bra fall and stood naked before the two of them. 

The chef smiled as he handed Ben the clipboard.
Ben walked over to me indicating where I was to sign.
I did. 

“Hey Charlie,” he called to the chef. The chef poked his head out to listen, “These tits are mine.”

“You got it Ben,” Charlie sad. 

“May I,” Ben said as he held his hand out to me.

I placed my hand in his and he led me to the back side of the van where Charlie was waiting for me.

“She’s all yours,” Ben said as he transferred my hand to Charlie’s.

I was led inside and told to lay on my back on a cold steel gurney. 
I did.

“Now,” Charlie looked at my chart, “Amy is it?”

I nodded.

 “Since I have an order from Ben for your breasts I’m going to butcher you differently. Would you like to know what it feels like to be de-breasted before I take your head?”

I nodded.
I imagined Ben’s face pulling my tits off the grill, sitting down to eat.
I wanted him to watch but I knew he had a job to do outside. 

Charlie grinned from ear to ear as he reached for a long blade.  

It happened with remarkable speed.
In hardly the time it takes to blink my breasts were sitting on a smaller steel gurney next to where I was laying. 
Charlie put a small “sold” sign in one of my tits – it looked like a small banner on a thin steel toothpick, like a tiny mountain climber had marked his conquest with a flag. 
It was only then that I began to sting and feel woozy. 

Charlie was busy flame shaving me.
I certainly wasn’t expecting to be butchered today and I rarely shave myself completely clean.
Most of my boyfriend’s enjoy my patch but it had to come off for what Charlie told me was my “decadently delectable cunt.”  

A few sharp stings, a wet feeling between my legs, and Charlie was laying my cunt next to my breasts. 

“Amy I think you’ve had enough,” Charlie said. “Much as I enjoy butchering live women I know by now how much they have before I lose them. Chin up.”  

I lifted my chin and heard the same ring of steel against steel I’d heard earlier when Heather entered the van, earlier when I made love to Ben. 

I saw the window open. 
I flew through the air to the trash can.
I landed facing Heather.

Her face seemed to come back alive when she saw mine.

She smiled and then her eyes went blank with death. 

Finis 
©Amy Alexis