Back to the Meat Grinder

Bridget was shimmying back into her unsoiled emerald evening gown when Cynthia walked back into the master bedroom on shaky legs. "Teddy worked out his frustrations, I see." Bridget said. The lovely blonde smiled weakly as cum oozed out of her. She excused herself as she closed the master bathroom door. Bridget was wedging her toes back into her high heels when she heard the medicine cabinet open, the water run, and a rattle of pills. "Poor thing, must be sore." she thought; not realizing Cynthia was taking a powerful contraceptive.

Part of her wanted to knock on the door and clean the beautiful teacher with her tongue, but she knew that if she got going again she'd never get out of here. When she emerged nude and steaming from her bath, she looked much more sedate, and even managed a warm smile. "My apologies. Just wanted to freshen up and get the uhh, soil off of me." Bridget nodded, not saying anything. She could imagine the amount of attention she must get as a high school teacher. She watched as Cynthia slid a pair of lacy garters without panties up her legs, followed by thigh-high cream colored pantyhose. Over this, she wore a slim waisted white dress with a black corset. She extended her long, smooth leg into a pair of white high heels to complete her outfit. "Are you ready?" she asked.

Bridget nodded and followed her back down the stairs where Elliot was waiting. She looked around the magnificent house one last time before stepping outside and into their car, Cynthia now sitting up front with her husband. "So you are a teacher, then." Bridget said just to make conversation.

"That's right. Its important to put your stamp on them while they are young to make the greatest impression." she said. Bridget remembered the rulers, the paddles, and eventually much more intimate punishments from the Sisters of St Michael. She wondered what sort of stamp they'd made on her...

Moments later, they arrived back at the grocery store. Her bike was as she left it, which didn't surprise her in this quiet neighborhood. Cynthia opened the door and let her out, gently brushing her fingers along Bridget's arm as she exited the vehicle. Bridget stepped close to her as Cynthia wrapped her arms around her shoulders, drawing her into a sensual kiss. The redhead's eyes slowly floated open as they broke, and satisfied smile parted her lips. "You know, if I didn't know any better I'd say that you just might be a little into girls, too." Cynthia followed up the long kiss with a short peck.

"I just might be. Where can I get a hold of you?" she asked. Bridget wrote down the shop's number. "Excellent. We'll be in touch." she said as she slid back into the car. Bridget mounted her bike and watched as they drove back to their perfect domestic life. She turned her head, her smile fading as she gazed on greater Diesel City. An hour later, she was home. She looked around her crummy, concrete apartment and her broken bed. She removed her mother's dress, and carefully placed it back in its drawer along with the emerald shoes. She liked wearing them, but where she was going would ruin them in seconds.

She opened her middle drawer and pulled out a light blue mechanics shirt which she tied in a knock under her breasts, leaving it unbuttoned so it fell open when she bent over, and her fatigue pants. It didn't matter if they were dirty or not. Next, she tied her red hair back into a bun and held it in place with a red and black bandana. She reapplied her makeup, determined to use it all despite having months worth of it on her ration cards. She took two of the cards and tucked them in her pocket. Next, she clicked the wheel of her revolver open, inspected it, and slid it into her deep cargo pocket on the side of her pant leg. It would be easier to get to if she needed to shoot while riding.

Moments later, she hit the throttle and pulled back onto the highway, her destination the massive sprawling factory district. Black and gray smoke billowed constantly from the enormous factories churning out weapons of war of such a scale that they'd have been unthinkable at the beginning of the conflict. Trains constantly ran day and night with their precious iron ore to the foundries, or away from it with giant plates destined for the Fleet, rivets, rifles, spoons, grenades, helmets, bombers, bayonets, and radios; Diesel City would take whatever was thrown at it and churn out the material cogs of the Endless War Machine.

The people populating the outskirts of the factory district were filthy from the gruelingly long shifts they worked. Newspapers and other refuse blew along the cracked concrete streets as she saw junkies and Night Shifters walking aimlessly around as they waited for the incomprehensively loud air horn to sound, a rusted trumpet signalling the hours of a perpetual industrial apocalypse. She gazed up at the iconic air horn tower stretching into the sky; 150 stories of riveted iron and steel topped with a horn so loud that it could burst and airship; which was its primary purpose if it came to war. She knew its sound well.

Bridget rode alongside a train carrying iron ore to some destination or another before the road curved down and deeper into the dimly lit residential district. The homes were factory-owned and mass produced; each one a 600 square foot box of concrete and plaster. Officers here were often in full riot gear, and wisely so being that on any given day, at least a handful of the thousands of unions would be on strike and all that that entails.

Her destination loomed ahead; Factory D-447/S. Its exterior was a brutal collaboration of pipes, concrete, and steel with a wide open, glowing maw as scrap metal was fed in on enormous conveyor belts to be remelted and repurposed. Hundreds of people moved through the heat and smoke along metal catwalks and industrial elevators. Bridget pulled up to the gate house and could already feel the heat. The man in the gate house slid a window open. He was large at around 6'3 and had a roundish face with a potato-like complexion and greasy hair stuck under a standard work cap.

"Well, what can I do for you, doll?" he said, looking her up and down. She pulled out her first ration card and held it up. He eyed it for a moment, and then focused back on her.

"I need to speak to a worker here; a man named Simon Hale...umm....employee ID four four seven dash eleven...seventeen I believe." He flipped open a ragged edged ledger. His eyes looked up at her. She sighed, and slid the ration card through the window.

"He's up there on the observation platform doing quality checks today according to the assignment book; but this time of day he is probably at the Wall." he said with a grin. She had no idea what that meant.

"Where is that?" she asked, getting more annoyed at this by the second.

"5th floor, south catwalk. Can't miss it." he said with a chuckle as he hit the button to raise the bar. She drove in after giving him a short nod. She pulled her bike alongside a beat up old Pontiac and began the walk to the factory itself. Its massive, coal encrusted shell billowed with smoke as she approached. A warning alarm went off and the caution lights turned red as several of the chimneys belched sulphurous yellow clouds high into the atmosphere. She waited for the lights to change back before walking up the grated metal floor onto the foundry floor proper. To her surprise it looked mostly deserted. She spotted an exhausted looking man sitting on a bucket and eating a sandwich; which appeared to be composed of a C-Ration "Lunch" can eaten cold between two slices of stale bread.

"Hello. Can you help me find something?" she asked. The heat was incredible once inside the structure. Bridget was already sweating. He swallowed his food and looked up at her. He squeezed his crotch nonchalantly, decided he was good for now, and grunted.

"I'm looking for "the Wall", whatever that is." she said. He smiled with his mouth full, dropping crumbs onto her sweaty chest.

"Take that elevator up to 5. You can't miss it." he said. She nodded as she walked over to the 20' x 20' grated floored elevator. "I'll be right behind ya!" he said with a laugh. She didn't know what that was all about, but it didn't sound good. She still had her revolver, she reminded herself.

It started as a sound, distinct from the noise of the metal parts of the elevator lifting her up the elevator shaft. It wasn't the roar of the foundry or the high pitched squeak of unoiled metal; it was similar to same sound she'd heard as a little girl when the Stadtis did a bombing run near her and all the factory men rushed her into the shelter with her.

When she saw it, her eyes locked open. She panned her head from side to side as she slowly stepped off the elevator and onto the catwalk. Before her was a sight straight out of Dante's Inferno. Hundreds of women were lined up against a wall shoulder-to-shoulder, their blast-tanned skin sweating as hundreds of their male coworkers grunted as if one mad, rambling beast; their sweat-drenched, muscular bodies arching and thrusting as they fucked the women savagely.

"Best get against the wall, honey. You don't want to get surrounded up here." she heard from an old man with wiry muscles with singed chest hair who was walking toward the industrial orgy. He elbowed his way through the line, shouldered a man away who was mid-thrust into a lovely, but filthy curly haired girl, hoisted her sweaty leg, and started fucking her in his place; one pair amidst hundreds against the backdrop of a blast furnace. Bridget heard the elevator descend behind her. She was stuck up here...