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 No.4923

Anyone has the full version of Recycling Rita from Meatlover?

 No.4936

Do you mean this?

The Virtues of Recycling

By Rubberwolf


Authors Note:



I have wanted to write a garbage story since Grommet first put this category on the site. I didn’t know quite how it would fit together, but the outline eventually took shape. It can be a little rough in places, but I always wanted a cat fight in one of my stories, so…. This also reminds me of a girl I used to know. She liked to wear bin bags and get smothered in goop. Hmmm (Fond memories). Anyway, enjoy.



Rubberwolf


The Virtues of Recycling



Jane was apprehensive. She had been sleeping with Ron for 3 months and they had known each other for over a year. It had started out as a friendship, but had rapidly grown into something else. Roy had asked her to move in with him and she had accepted. This, however, was not the reason she was apprehensive. For the past 5 months, Roy had been going out with Jane’s best friend, Rita. Rita did not know that Ron was seeing Jane.



Roy had said, for some months now, that he would tell Rita and break off the relationship. However, Jane was running out of patience. She had decided to tell her friend what had been going on and, at the moment, Jane sat nervously in her car with the engine running while she worked up the courage to tell her friend what had happened.



Jane and Rita had been best friends for as long as Jane could remember. Since she was in middle school, at least. This was why it was so hard. She could not help but feel as though she had really betrayed her friend and that she might lose her closest ally because of Roy. But things could not go on as they were. Roy loved Jane and Jane loved Roy. It was as simple as that and if the something that had to give was Rita, Jane could live with it. Having made up her mind, Jane put the car in gear, pulled out of the lay bi and headed off to have a devastating chat with her soon to be ex – best friend.



Rita was house sitting. It was a little extra money, which would come in handy with her final year at University. Also, it was rent free. All of the electricity and water was paid for and it came with a full freezer. What more could Rita ask for? Unfortunately, the Bishops had decided to throw a party before setting off on their three month, second honeymoon, cruise and had obviously concluded that house sitting also included cleaning up after them. Rita stared at the mountain of washing up with a sense of doom. It had obviously started as a dinner party, judging by the pots, pans and wasted food scattered about the kitchen. Looking at the mess, she supposed that a number of the guests, had stayed for breakfast, judging by the half eaten porridge scattered around the breakfast table in several boles. Who would have thought that such a respectable couple could throw an all night party for around forty people (Judging by the amount of plates and cutlery.



No, not a dinner party, but a buffet. OK the food was not the usual sausage roles, etc. she could see the remains of mash, roast potatoes, curries, Mexican and various sauces, but basically, this was an eat on your lap, while balancing your bear, party, which explained the carpet stains. Rita had come to the conclusion that she had been bought as a cheep alternative to a cleaning crew. Fair enough, she still needed the money, but where to start?



Rita was snapped out of her trepidations by the door bell. She headed towards the front door relieved to have a good excuse to put off the job. She was taken a little by surprise to find, instead of a delivery man or someone connected with the Bishops, to find her friend Jane instead.



Rita quickly ushered her friend in, noting that something was obviously wrong, judging by the way her friend carried herself. Normally, Jane was quite bubbly, but not today. Rita glanced over her friend. Still the same old five foot three, 23 year old brunet. Her shoulder length dark hair still made her look pale, but there was definitely something wrong and Rita quickly sat her friend down and had a coffee in her hand before she could take her coat off.



“Now, what’s the matter?” her friend urged as Rita stared into the depths of her coffee with a forlorn dread.



Jane had rehearsed this moment for months, but when she eventually opened her mouth, rather than a level delivery by a cool, collected woman, Jane garbled the story in one long burst, like a naughty eight year old who had been caught lying and wanted to tell the truth, but not have to think about the implications.



“I’ve been sleeping with Roy. We have been seeing each other for about three months and he wants me to move in with me. He says he loves me and I love him, but we have been afraid to tell you and.”



SLAP, Rita had lunged across the living room, sending coffee flying as she launched a sweeping blow across Jane’s cheek.



SLAP, another blow landed and then another and another. All the while Rita was screaming.



“You bitch. You trashy, predatory bitch. The one thing that’s mine and you have to take him from me. He loves me, not you. He.”



CRACK. Jane, although taken off guard initially was not going to stand for this and managed to land a cracking punch on the left temple that rocked her one time friend back on her heals, screaming her own abuse and denials. Before long they were both rolling about on the floor in a mad wrestle of claws, kicks and slaps. But it was no good. Rita was taller, stronger and more annoyed than Jane. She managed to batter the other girl into a senseless, sobbing heap. But that was not enough for her. As she was looking down at the woman who had slept with her lover and betrayed everything that she thought she had, an idea snapped into her head and she quickly dragged Jane, kicking and screaming, by her hair, into the kitchen.



“Get undressed Bitch,” Rita contemptuously spat at her former friend.



“W What are you going to”, but her sobbing question was interrupted as Rita answered her question with another slap.



Defeated, Jane started to undo her blouse. She was not sure what her friend would do when she found out, but she had never imagined this, or the venom with which she was now being treated.



Fumbling with the buttons, her hand was slapped to one side as Rita leant forward and ripped the buttons clean off in one, strong tug. She did not know what Rita had in mind, but Jane did not feel like finding out and, besides which, it was one of her favourite blouses. She had fought three other shoppers and an old lady to claw her way through the January sales scrum to get that it and be damned if she was going to stand for high and mighty Rita coming along and ripping it. Jane hit back, causing Rita to lose her balance.



This time the cat fight continued in earnest. Both parties vied for position as clothes were torn or ruined as the pair slid about on the floor amid the food and wine spilled the night before. It was only the low flying chicken leg that had unbalanced Jane enough to allow Rita a really good shove that had decided the issue. Jane had fallen backwards and catch her head a glancing blow from the dish washer.



Rita towered over her fallen enemy. She had just wanted to humiliate her ex friend by ruining her clothes and perhaps tipping wine over her, but as she looked down on her stunned opponent another idea came to her. Reaching into one of the kitchen drawers, Rita grabbed a set of scissors and, kneeling down, started to cut the clothes from the unconscious form on the floor.



Jane woke groggily. Her head hurt, she was cold and uncomfortable. She tried to sit up, but found that her limbs did not respond or at least they did, but nothing happened, other than a sharp pain in her wrists. Opening her eyes, Jane saw that she was lying on the floor of a kitchen. After tugging at her wrists, Jane found that they were tied. She also noticed a tugging sensation at her feet. Looking down, with her head clearing more and more by the second she saw three things at once. Firstly, that she was naked. Secondly that there was a black bin bag covering her thighs and thirdly that Rita was pulling a cable tie tightly around her ankles. Rita was tying her up.



“Rita,” Jane screamed shrilly, “what are you doing?”



Rita stood up, picked something off of the counter and then lunged towards her prone victim.



“Rita stop. Let go of.” SLAP “Mmphhh,” Jane’s further protests were cut short as Rita slapped her hard across the face and, as her ex friend gapped, open mouthed at the assault, shoved the wet, washing up cloth into Jane’s mouth.



“Oh shut up Jane. It’s always about you and what you want. Well now it’s my turn bitch and you will keep quiet until I am ready to speak to you.”



As she was ranting, Rita had pulled another bin bag from the role and wrapped it around Jane’s head, securing the wash cloth in place and knotting the bag securely. Reaching into one of the kitchen drawers and, after yanking Jane into a sitting position, pulled out a role of carpet tape.



“I have know idea why they have carpet tape in the kitchen,” Rita mused, “but I am glad they were so thoughtful.”



With that statement, she used the tape to secure the gag in place, tightly compacting the bag and wash cloth deeply into her mouth, so that Jane’s cheeks bulged like a hamster’s. Once she was satisfied, she reached down and grabbing Jane by the upper arm, pulled her to her feet.



Jane tottered unsteadily, wiggling to keep her balance, which was not easy considering that her ankles were tied together, as were her wrists. Looking down, Jane saw that the bag she noticed earlier had somehow followed her. After a moment though she was able to see that, for some obscure reason, Rita had punched two holes in the bottom of the sack and pushed her legs through the holes. Jane could imagine only one purpose for this, which was confirmed when Rita pulled the sac further up her legs until the bottom of the bag sat securely against her pussy.



Rita grabbed some kitchen role from the counter and forced it between Jane’s knees, so that the cardboard ends of the role nestled at the side of each knee joint. This caused Jane to wobble and nearly fall over, but Rita caught her and then bent down to her work. Because of the bag, Jane could not see clearly what was happening, but the ripping sound of carpet tape, followed by a tugging near her crotch was answer enough. Rita was sealing the leg holes on the bin bag.



Once each leg had received several turns from the tape, Rita bent down and pulled the kitchen towel free, before securing Jane’s knees with more cable ties. Rita now turned her attention to the kitchen cabinets, pulling open drawers and cupboards before cursing.



“Damn, either they don’t have any or it might be in the shed. Don’t go anywhere bitch,” Rita spat as she stomped out.



Jane weighed her options as she was left alone. She might be able to move further along the counter and grab a knife, but unless Rita was going to be gone for some time, she could not see how this would help her. Rita would surly punish her, but it might be worth the effort. She might try hopping into the street, but she would not be able to reach up and open the front door. She might very well fall over any way. The phone, given her current state, was definitely not an option. Looking around the counter, amidst the clutter of plates and leftovers, Jane spotted her knife. A quick hop to the left and then another, but on the third she nearly fell and it took some effort to get to the knife.



“Where do you think your going bitch?” Rita demanded as she stomped over and slapped Jane again. “When I say stay, I mean just that.”



Jane seemed to consider for a second before taking out what she had found in the shed or garage or wherever she had been. She had another role of sacks, but this one was larger than the household variety. These were larger, stronger, garden sacks. Pulling a sack from the role, she opened it, spreading it on the ground before Jane. She repeated the process so that there where two bags open on the floor, one inside the other.



“Since you like hopping, just jump into that,” Rita sneered as she grabbed her prisoner by the arm and pulled her forcefully forward.



Jane hopped into the sacks and was then forced down by the other woman so that she was sitting with her legs slightly bent. Rita then pulled the black body sack up, so that it covered her breasts and reached up to her shoulders, slipping underneath her tied arms. She then ruffled the two outer bags so that they stood up a little more.



“I bet you are wondering what all of this is about? Well it’s quite simple. Since you are a trashy little whore, I thought I would treat you as such. Your going to help me clean up bitch and then I am going to throw you away when I have finished with you, just like you threw our friendship away.”



Jane only had moments to shake her head in denial as the implications of Rita’s tirade sank in before the first unfinished bowl of porridge was scooped into the body sack. Jane shuddered and tried not to feel sick as more and more food was showered over her, sliding in a gooey mess down her front and pooling amidst her pussy hairs. After a few bowls Rita obviously decided that Jane needed something down her back and, pulling the sack backwards, emptied the contents of the cooking pot, half full of porridge down Jane’s back, so that it pooled in a sticky heap at her ass. Next came the curry and then the chilli sauce, alternating from front to back and, when Rita was feeling vindictive, over Jane’s head. This was accompanied by muffled squeals and squeaks, but eventually Rita grabbed the carpet tape and, attaching one end to the back of the sack, used it to create a shoulder strap as she attached the tape to the front of the sack. She repeated the process on the other shoulder so that Jane now looked like she was wearing an unflattering, baggy, swim suit.



Rita was not finish, however. Taking the tape, she attached one end to Jane’s elbow, wrapping the tape around Jane’s body, under her breasts, returning over her arms, in several turns, securing her prisoners arms tightly against her body. Next she attached the tape just under Jane’s knee. She then pulled Jane’s knees up, just under her breasts and pulled the tape so that she was able to wrap it around the girl’s torso and arms.



Rolling Jane over onto her side, Rita pulled a cable tie through the ankle and wrist ties, yanking them together in a painful hog tie. Satisfied Rita used her hands to smear the contents of the body sack into all of the little places that it had not reached, before pulling the girl up into a sitting position and pulling the outer bags up, level with Jane’s head.



All though out the first half of the assault Jane had whimpered, cried and pleaded or at least made pleading noises through her gag. Now however, she sat as a dejected heap, sniffing to herself as her tears and snot mingled with leftovers that had run down her face. She made no reaction as Rita started to empty more garbage onto her. Mash, dips, things in pastry cases, crisps, paper napkins. In fact, Rita was genuinely shocked by the amount of waste produced by the bishops. This did not stop her from dumping it onto Jane.



Eventually, the sack covered Jane all the way up to her top lip. This did not, however, stop Rita, who had entered spring-cleaning mode. She gathered up all of the waste baskets from the rooms and placed them in the kitchen. Going to the garage, she returned with something that she had seen when she was looking for the garden sacks.



“Can’t have you suffocating on me now can I?” Rita asked as she undid the wrapping on a dust covered and very unused brake fluid kit. Taking the vinyl tubing and cutting it in two, she forced the tubes painfully up Jane’s nostrils, before taping them in place. She had also found a sink drain kit. Taking the flexible hose from this, she taped the vinyl tubes into one of the openings. Satisfied. She then dumped the contents of the bathroom bin, complete with sanitary products, into the bag, just in front of Jane’s face. Next she unloaded more of the baskets and bins. She even emptied a sack that she had already filled, until all traces of Jane disappeared.



Satisfied, Rita pulled the flexible hose that was Jane’s only contact with the outside world, to the top of the sack and, using the cable ties, secured the bag so that the breathing tube just poked out, but was partially obscured by the bag.



Opening another garden bag, Rita emptied the contents of one of the sacks that she had already filled into the bottom, before lifting and rolling the Jane sack into the new one. More waste from other sacks was then poured down the sides so that, if anybody was to lift the sack, they would not be able to feel what, or who, was inside. Finally satisfied, Rita dragged the trash out and placed it next to the bin.



Jane had a terrible night. When Rita had piled the sanitary ware in her face, she had nearly wretched. Then, she had panicked as more waste was poured over her head until she was buried. She could not see and, by the time Rita had finished with her, all that she could hear was the rustle of paper and plastic. She felt cold and slimy. Gooey stuff stuck to her body in places that made it seem as though she had messed herself. She was a sticky, filthy waste. Perhaps Rita had been right. Perhaps this was her rightful place. After all, she had betrayed their friendship. Perhaps Jane was a trashy whore and deserved no better.



Jane spent a fitful night, either mourning her friendship, indulging in self pity or generally cursing herself. Finally she fell asleep. Luckily for her, it was a warm night and, although the various foods and sauces had cooled down, the extra paper and packing served to keep her warm enough throughout the night. However, it was still cold enough to numb her limbs and senses.

Jane woke with a start. She was being lifted. What, she wondered, did Rita have planned now? Then she heard a familiar noise. The sound of garbage truck. By the time she realised that the bin men had arrived, she was already being picked up and thrown into the garbage truck. She tried to call out, but the noise of the truck as its compactor got to work drowned out her efforts. Her limbs, still numb and cold, refused to obey her as she struggled in her sack and, still writhing, the compactor shoved her into the cramped interior of the truck.



Although she did not know it, this was her lucky day. The truck made a strange noise and, despite trying to clear debris from the mechanism and hitting the button several times, the compactor would not work.



“Bloody hydraulics init,” intoned Burt sagely as he gave the truck a good kick, spitting on the rear tyre for good measure.



“Wassat Burt?”



“I said it’s the hydralics init. Shoulda known soon as we booked out 97. Vis buggas been on it’s last legs for ages,” Burt continued.



The crew thought about this for a moment or two.



“Wat we doin then?”



Burt considered.



“Bugger all we can do. Can’t put much more in there. Lets dump vis load and gaback to yard. See if 38s out of the shop.”



After a little thought the crew agreed and drove the truck, with its half load, to the tip. Although Jane had heard the noise and despite being a little cramped, she did not know that she would not be crushed or suffocated and so was very surprised to feel the back of the truck deposit her and the rest of the load onto the garbage dump.



Old Ron was a scavenger. He had been scavenging for years, ever since he had started living on the streets. Begging was all well and good, but it couldn’t literally put a roof over your head, unless you used the money in one of those dam shelter things. Ron had grown too old on the streets to waste his money on such luxuries. But the amount that people just threw away. Now that was a crying shame. Ron darted in between the trucks, keeping out of the way of the scoops, as he searched for tit bits. Then, something caught his eye. An in tact bag. You could get all sorts out of a decent bag. Ron scurried over and pulled the bag clear of the diggers as they carried on their eternal quest of distributing the waste and breaking up the trash.



Jane woke to find herself in a strange bed. Squinting, she opened her eyes to see that she was in a very strange room indeed. The blankets were a grubby assortment. One of which might have been an old carpet. She was lying in a strange, roughly thrown together, four poster bed. It was mad from cheep pallet wood and, instead of plush curtains, had a variety of wind chimes, dolls, broken model planes and paper stars hanging from the improvised rails of the bed. Looking around she noticed that the walls were made of old bits of wood and corrugated iron. Old posters littered the walls in places and an assortment of shelves, laden with a wild assortment of odds, ends and just the plane strange.



As if sensing that his guest had awoken, Ron shuffled into the room with a chipped cup of what he informed her was soup. Jane was still too broken and weary to argue and drank it gratefully. She spent the next few days resting as Ron nursed her back to health. She had time to explore her new surroundings. Ron really was a collector. He had set up home in some woodland, just outside of town. Although he was known to the local authorities, he was generally left alone. He did not cause any trouble and the land owner had not complained. So Ron had made his home a little less transitory than was the norm. Jane found all manner of interesting items in the yard around the lean to house. Old water tanks, various items and bits of machinery that generally littered the area that Ron called home.



Soon, Jane was well enough to return home, after Ron had found her a dress and even a pair of grubby shoes, Jane returned to her life, with the promise that she would return to repay all that Ron had done, as well as buy a few of his items, if he would sell them.



Rita stood at the sink washing up. Her life was back on track. She had a date with Roy at the weekend. He had wondered what had happened to Jane, but Rita had professed ignorance, assuring him that she would probably turn up in a day or so. Rita wondered about Jane as well, keeping her ear on the local news to find out if a body had been discovered. Jane, Rita felt, had been buried in the filth and garbage that she deserved and would hopefully never see the light of day again.



Rita did not know why but some instinct told her to look behind her. As she just had time to see Jane swinging something at her. Before she could react, the 2 x 4 connected with her skull, felling her like a sack of potatoes.



Rita woke in darkness. She was sitting up, cross legged, in, as she discovered as she explored with her hands, a small cell, no more than a few feet across. It was cramped. She was also naked. She tried to stand, but hit her head on the low ceiling. With a grunt she sat down. Although she could move her arms, she would have to remain seated. Next, Rita tried shouting, but the walls seemed to absorb her cries and thumping the sides only hurt her hands. After a while she calmed down and continued to explore. Feeling underneath her, she found that she was sitting in, or just over a funnel shaped hole. Then, next to her head she found something taped to the side of her circular prison. It was a plastic cylinder, wrapped in paper. Pulling the paper into her lap she explore the cylinder with her fingers. At last, she thought she had discerned what the plastic rod was and, taking a chance, snapped the rod in two.



She was automatically bathed in a green light as the chemicals in the glow stick merged. Shaking the stick to mix the chemicals, Rita looked around and saw that her prison was just as she had imagined it when she was exploring with her hands. Turning her attention to the paper, she noticed that it had writing on it. She unfolded it and began to read.



Welcome to your new home Rita.



Let me first take this opportunity to thank you. Because of you I have discovered a new sense of worth and purpose. I have seen how much we actually waste. I have come believe that we should all do our bit to recycle and to dispose of our rubbish sensibly and responsibly. One of the first things that I have now installed in my house is a recycling unit. I have installed this unit in my kitchen, or at least the pipes run from a second sink, where the drain should be, outside, through my kitchen wall, to a small box underneath my kitchen window. The waste is then processed by this unit before the waste products are then fed into the drains to be dispersed among the sewers. In case you have not figured this out yet, the vital component of my new unit is you. I will continue to feed you. All you have to do is shovel whatever is put before you into that fat mouth of yours. You don’t even have to move off of your ass, just eat and shit. You could try to scream, but in order to ensure that you don’t freeze to death in winter, the unit has quite a lot of sound absorbing insulation. The only time you might have a chance was if you screamed while I put waste into the shoot, but since I run a loud cutting blade, like a traditional waste disposal unit, when throwing my trash away, it is not much of a chance. Enjoy your new life and thanks again.



Jane



P.S. Guess who I have a date with tonight?



Although Rita knew it was pointless, she screamed and beat the sides of her prison in despair.



Jane cleared the plates into the kitchen and began tidying her home. It had been a simple wedding. She and Roy had invited a few close friends and family to the service, followed by a small reception at their home. The guests had all left and now the couple prepared for bed before jetting off on their honeymoon.



Roy came up behind her and snuggled her neck.



“Happy?” he asked.



“Oh yes,” she purred.



“I am sorry that Rita couldn’t come, but despite everything I am sure that she would have wanted to come. No new news from the Police then?”



“No,” Jane replied. “Anyway, I am sure your right and that she would have come to the reception at least. But enough of this morbid talk, help me clear these dishes. You wash, I will dry.”



Below them, in the darkness that has become her home, the waste unit who was once Rita stirred. The sound of the garbage compactor vibrated down the pipes to her domain. Her anticipation was rewarded as a slurry of food dropped through the hole at the top of her world to land on her expansive breasts. She had change a lot since her new existence had begun. Her skin had become ghostly white and saws marked her once lovely skin. Her hair had become straggly and matted and she had gained wait. With no activity to occupy her time, other than eating sleeping and crapping into her drain, she had gained pounds. Her enormous bottom and massive legs now conformed to the shape of her prison. Her hands reached up on either side of her enormous breasts. Their only purpose was to shovel food and scraps into her waiting maw. If you were to cut the top off of her prison and turn it upside down, shaking and patting the base, Rita would pop out as a solid, cylindrical mass. But the garbage monster, which is how Rita saw herself, did not care any more. She had taken a new name. It was now Oscar. It remembered the name from a garbage monster in a children’s program, it could not remember what, but that is not important. All that mattered was that it recycled the waste which, once it had finished its meal, it did with a loud Phhhrting sound.



End.

 No.4937

I think this is the one you're looking for

Recycling Rita
by Meatlover

The forceps felt cold against Rita's sensitive flesh. She gasped softly as she peered down her smooth body and between her legs at the other end of the examination table. She laid naked and cold on the uncomfortable table, fully exposed and vulnerable to this man. Her legs were locked tightly into a couple of elevated stirrups. The Doctor squeezed the forceps around her tender clitoris and pulled the delicate sex organ upwards slightly so he could get a better look at her.

All that Rita could see was the wispy tuft of light-brown fur on the soft mound where her legs joined at the bottom of her slim torso.

The Doctor used his other hand to peel open the firm, slightly moist outer labia of his young patient. The clear latex glove on his hand transfered the heat from the nervous woman's skin to his own. The Doctor smiled when he felt his patient awkwardly adjust her position on the examination table. As he poked near her G-spot, he glanced up to see her toes wiggling helplessly in the stirrups.

The Doctor removed the forceps grip from around her tender clit and, holding the exposed woman's cunt wide open, gently inserted a cold metal cylinder deep into her sex. Rita put her head back and groaned uncomfortably as the steel intruder invaded her womanhood. The Doctor pushed a switch on the end of the cylinder and it came alive with beeps and buzzing sounds. A gentle vibration in the unit sent shivers up Rita's spine and pushed thousands of goose-pimples to her flesh.

'One moment, Rita. The scanner is collecting some data for your record,' the Doctor said in a soft reassuring tone as he tenderly massaged her right thigh, admiring the young supple flesh of the helpless woman on his table. He turned his head sporadically to check the readout on the computer screen under the table, directly beneath Rita's exposed ass. 'Mmmm, yes,' the Doctor mumbled softly, 'Yes, that looks normal...'

'It appears that everything is mostly normal,' the Doctor stated as he withdrew the long steel shaft from her vagina. He placed the instrument, now coated liberally with Rita's vaginal secretions, on a tray next to her suspended legs. 'I will make a notation on your record that you are clean.'

'Really, doctor? I can go?'

'As soon as I record your visit in the computer you can go. I should mention Rita that the scanner picked up some anomalies in your vaginal tunnel. You haven't been trying to cover anything up, have you?'

Rita lifted her shoulders off the exam table and propped herself up on her elbows. Her firm breasts jiggled slightly, but remained perfectly symetrical on her heaving chest. 'What do you mean, Doctor?' A nervous expression flashed across Rita's face.

'Well, it's nothing that will show on your record this time, but the scanner picked up some small abrasions on the inner wall near the cervix. Now, I can't make a judgement based on that alone, but the only way those abrasions could get there would be if you were putting something inside there. Have you been masturbating, Rita?'

Rita's mouth fell wide open and she looked directly at the Doctor. 'You...you can tell that just from looking inside me?'

The Doctor chuckled and shook his head as he put a hand on her trembling knee. 'Rita! Of course I can. All this equipment is designed to ascertain if you are sexually active.' The Doctor rubs his hand across Rita's tight belly. 'There wouldn't be any point in conducting these monthly check-ups if we couldn't determine your level of sexual activity, would there?'

Rita shook her head and hid her eyes from the Doctor's glare. 'I suppose not,' she said, as the Doctor's latex-gloved hand gently squeezed her firm breast.

'Now I think I understand,' the Doctor said. 'You're growing into a very beautiful woman, and I'm sure you're feeling the desire to entertain a man. You're exploring your body in that very sexual way. Can I ask, what are you using?'

'What do you mean, what am I using?'

'What are you putting into your vagina to simulate a man's penis?'

'Cucumbers. Sometimes zuchinni.'

The Doctor nods his head. 'I see. Have you experienced an orgasm?'

'Orgasm? What's that?'

The Doctor laughs. 'Rita, if you had experienced one, you would know it.'

Rita began to pout. 'Am I doing it wrong? Should I be having an...orgasm?'

The Doctor shook his head. He walked back to sit between her elevated immobile legs. 'I'm not really supposed to be telling you how to have sex with a vegetable, Rita. My point is that you should stop doing it altogether. The scanner can misinterpret the origin of those abrasions in your vagina, and then you will have some real trouble. If the scanner had determined that those abrasions were as a result of sex with a man, I would have had no option other than to make a terminal notation on your record.'

'No!' Rita gasped.

'Absolutely, Rita. You should save yourself until you are ready to be with a man. Let it happen naturally. Masturbation may feel good, but it could get yourself into something you're not ready for. You know the law,' the Doctor said, pointing to the poster on his wall.

Rita glanced up at the poster she had seen a hundred times before. On the poster was a picture of a man and a woman embraced in a tender kiss. The poster was part of a government program to control sexually transmitted diseases. The writing on the poster said:

Be a good citizen, keep society clean...
Fight the spread of STDs.
When you have sex with a man...
Remember that your first time will be your last.
Be a good citizen and report to your family doctor every month for your compulsory exam. Your Doctor will notify the authorities if your level of sexual activity is a danger to society.

Don't miss an appointment! Failure to report for a regular check-up is a serious offense!



'So please, Rita. For your own good you really should stop with the vegetables. When you meet a man that you like, and you're ready to commit yourself to the consequences, you should have sex with him.'

Rita looked at the Doctor between her smooth muscled thighs. 'Doctor? What happens to us after we have sex?' Rita asked with a puzzled expression. 'I mean, I understand why we should only have sex once, but nobody ever tells me what happens after that. I had a couple friends who decided to have sex with their boyfriends, and I never saw them again.'

The Doctor picked up a small laser scanner in his hand. 'I can't tell you that, Rita. I could lose my license for telling you those secrets.' The Doctor ran his hand up Rita's left thigh, down her well-defined calf muscle, right to her sexy ankle. He pushed aside the metal locking device to find the barcode - six red and six blue bars tattoed directly on her smooth skin - on the inside of her left ankle.

'Relax Rita while I make the notation in your record.' The Doctor passed the scanner over Rita's barcode ident and below the exam table, the computer beeped loudly.

The computer voice came from a speaker under the table. 'Subject name is Rita Fairweather, age 18. Residence is New York, New York. Rita Fairweather has thirty notations.' Rita took a deep breath as she listened to the computer recite the bits of information. She knew that each of the notations on her record indicated a previous visit to Doctor Grant.

The Doctor put the scanner back on the tray beside the vaginal scanner he used previously. 'Computer, make a new notation in Rita's file please. Today's date is January 12, 2145. Rita's vaginal tract is clean and virginal. No indication of disease or sexual activity.' The Doctor paused to check a calendar on the wall. 'Computer, please schedule Rita's next appointment with me on February 10th, 2145.'

The computer beeped once more. 'Notation is saved. Appointment scheduled for February 10th, 2145. Failure to appear for this appointment will result in Rita Fairweather's assigned status converted to TERMINAL.'

The Doctor stood up from his stool between Rita's raised legs. 'That's it Rita. Be sure to make your next appointment.' The Doctor unlocked the hasps around Rita's bound ankles. 'You can get dressed now.'

Rita sat up on the exam table, reached down to her ankles and massaged them softly. The locking deivces had made little red marks on her skin. After a few moments she stood on the floor and reached toward the pile of clothes on the side table. She picked up her tiny black bra and put her arms through the shoulder straps.

The Doctor, who was busy writing up an invoice for Rita's exam visit, looked up just in time to see her small pink nipples disappear under the black satin fabric. 'Have you given any more thought to my suggestion last time, Rita?' the Doctor says, looking over the rim of his glasses at the slim girl a few feet away.

'Suggestion?' Rita said as she pulled her matching black satin panties up her long smooth legs. 'What suggestion?'

'You know, about sleeping with me?'

Rita giggled. 'Doctor!' she said in mock surprise. 'I couldn't possibly sleep with you. You're too old for me.'

By now, Rita had her tight jeans pulled over her curvy bubble butt and was popping the button closed. 'You can't blame me for trying, Rita. Give an old horny bastard a chance?'

'Sorry Doc. I'm not just giving this body away.'

The Doctor smiled. 'See you next month, Rita. You can pay the receptionist on your way out.'















--
A few days later...












--

Rita adjusted her red tank top in the mirror. Beside her, Suzy was applying a fresh coat of dark red lipstick to her full, pouty lips. 'Fuck, there's a lot of people here tonight, hey girl?' Rita screamed.

Suzy puckered her lips. 'Lots of cute guys too. Did you see the way those two hotties were looking at us? Their tongues were just hanging out of their mouths!' Suzy giggled as she put her lipstick back into her handbag.

Three more girls walked into the washroom. One of the girls gave Rita a dirty look as they passed. The girls walked to a sink and pulled out a baggy of coccaine.

'Lets get out of here,' Rita said to Suzy, grabbing her friend's arm and leading her out into the strobing lights and loud music of the nightclub. 'Let's go find those guys!'

Rita and Suzy walked through the crowd of drunken partiers until they found their way toward the shooter bar. 'Hey, there they are!' Suzy yelled. With their sights set on the two twenty-something guys leaning against the bar, the two girls snuggled up beside them at the bar.

'Hey, girls, you came back!' the blonde guy said. 'We thought you left already.'

Rita winked at the guy with long black hair. 'We wouldn't leave you guys all alone here at the bar. We're just gettin' to know ya!' She snuggled up against the guy's muscular chest and he instinctively put his arm around Rita's shoulder.

'My name's Mark. What are you doing after this, cutie?' the guy said to Rita. 'I got an apartment not too far from here. A few of us guys were going to go back there when we leave the bar. You girls are welcome to come too.'

Rita looked into Mark's eyes, 'I'll come to your party, Mark. But I'm not going to sleep with you. Understand? I'm saving myself for someone special.'

Mark smiled. 'Of course! I wouldn't expect anything like that from you. Not tonight, anyways! Maybe sometime you'll get to know me enough and you'd want to, but I understand. That's a big decision for you. It is for any girl.'

Rita smiled her appreciation of Mark's respect for her wishes and gave him a little kiss on the cheek. 'Thanks Mark, you're a real swell guy.'

Mark bought Rita a gin and tonic and the two young adults went to the dance floor to dance the night away. Suzy did the same with Mark's friend Tom, but by the end of the night, Rita couldn't find Suzy.

'Dammit anyways, Suzy was my ride.'

Mark put his arms around Rita's shoulders. 'Don't worry about it. She's with Tom, and Tom is coming back to my place too. So I'm sure Suzy will be there too. Nothing to worry about, okay?'

Rita shrugged off her discomfort in losing her best friend and smiled. 'You're right, I guess. I just hope your friend Tom is as nice as you are.'

Rita finished her fifth and last drink of the night and walked out of the bar, hand-in-hand with her new friend Mark.

They walked to Mark's car which he had parked in the lot across the street. Rita began to feel a little nauseous before she got to the car. 'Am I ever drunk!' Rita screamed, laughing aloud in the cool darkness of the early morning.

Mark laughed with her as he helped Rita into his car. By the time Rita got settled in his car, she had passed out. Mark slammed the car door closed and drove off into the country. His smug grin belied the fact that he had drugged Rita's last drink which made her passively unconscious. She was helpless to ward off Mark's advances now...















--
Later that morning...












--

Rita woke up in the back seat of the car, freezing cold - shivering. Her nose was running and she felt like she had the flu. Her entire body ached something terrible. She realized that the car was moving as she opened her eyes. Still dark, she thought to herself.

'Mark? Are you there?' she queried.

'Of course, Rita. I'm driving the car.' Mark turned the radio down.

'W-what time is it?'

Mark checked his watch. 'It's four in the morning.'

Rita suddenly made a shocking discovery - her clothes were gone. She was stark naked. 'Oh my god, where's my clothes!?'

'In the trunk.'

Tears began to roll down Rita's cheeks as she sat up in the back seat. 'What the fuck did you do, Mark?'

Mark laughed. 'Nothing much. I just stuck my thing in you and fucked you silly, that's all.'

Rita touched her naked pussy with her right hand and felt the warm stickiness that reminded her of all those times she had spent frigging herself with the cucumbers from her mother's refridgerator. She couldn't be sure, but it felt like Mark must have been messing around down there while she was passed out. Feelings of deep resentment and furious anger began to well up inside her.

Mark turned a corner in the industrial area of town.

Rita's mouth dropped wide open as the car pulled up to a large brown-bricked building. There were several other cars stopped in front. Men were opening and closing their car doors, helping women out of the cars. Naked women. Some of the women struggled, but most of them appeared to be weak, or unconscious. It was hard to tell in the dark. The lighting on the street was not very good.

'FUCK!' Rita screamed. As Mark pulled the keys from the ignition, Rita began pounding the seats with her fists. 'You fucking raped me you bastard! No! No! No! It can't fuckin' be!'

'Afraid so, Rita.' Mark said as he opened his car door and climbed out of the car. He pulled the drivers seat ahead and reached in to grab Rita's arm. She fought with him for several moments until he got ahold of her and yanked her out of the car and into the cold damp street. Her naked body stood out like a white sheet in the dark as a car drove by, the driver getting a good eyefull of Rita's firm breasts - the car's headlights shined on Rita's own high-beams.

As Mark pulled Rita kicking and screaming toward a small door on the side of the building, she noticed a neon sign above that read 'Recycling - Night Drop-off'. Rita's face turned an even whiter shade of white as she dreaded the worst. 'Let me go! Mark, let me go! It's not fair, I didn't say you could have me!'

Mark pulled Rita up to the door, a five-foot by five-foot electronically-locked steel hatch with a lighted control panel beside it. 'Whatever, just be quiet,' Mark said dryly. 'Give me a second to read these instructions, will ya.'

Mark tried to read the instructions on the lighted panel while Rita did her best to escape his grip on her slim wrist. 'Fucking quit it, bitch!' Mark yelled as he wound up and punched her hard in the stomach. Rita immediately doubled over and fell to her knees in pain. She gasped for air but couldn't get any - he had visciously kicked the wind out of her.

With Rita on the pavement, Mark had a chance to read the instructions. He read out loud.

'Welcome to Fem-Biograde Night drop-off. For service during office hours, please use main reception entrance.'

'For Night drop-off, press this button.'

Mark pushed the big green button and the steel hatch swung open, nearly knocking Rita over onto her back. She barely ducked out of the way when Mark pulled her up to her feet.

Rita glanced into the space beyond the ominous doorway but saw nothing but blackness.

Mark read on. 'Insert subject's wrists into restraints provided at top of drop-off chute.' He pulled Rita's arms up above her head and slid her wrists into a pair of metal cuffs that were attached to the top of the doorway. When her wrists were inside the cuffs, laser sensors signalled the computer to close the cuffs tightly around Rita's dainty limbs, trapping her arms above her. She stood with her feet squarely on the pavement in front of the door, but felt more exposed than she had ever felt in her life.

Naked, cold, shivering and bound to the nighttime recycling drop-off chute, Rita suddenly began to wonder where Suzy was. 'Suzy? Where are you girl?' Rita whimpered.

Mark ignored Rita's mindless babbling and continued with the instructions. 'Once subject is secured in the drop-off mechanism, please provide information for the subject's terminal record by pushing one of the following buttons that indicate the reason for recycling.'

Mark laughed. 'Okay, whatever.' He took a look at Rita's shivering naked body and marvelled at how 'inhuman' she appeared, standing in the dim light on the sidewalk.

He read the list of reasons aloud.

'One. Voluntary submission without sexual intercourse.'

'Two. Voluntary submission with sexual intercourse.'

'Three. Subject committed a crime (including prostitution), citizen's arrest and submission.'

'Four. Subject committed a crime (including prostitution), law-enforcement officer arrest and submission.'

'Five. Involuntary submission without sexual intercourse, submission by parents.'

'Six. Involuntary submission without sexual intercourse, submission by friend.'

'Holy fuck, there's a lot of reasons cunts like you can get recycled,' Mark laughed. 'I didn't think it was this easy.'

He continued. 'Seven. Involuntary submission without sexual intercourse, submission by stranger.'

'Eight. Involuntary submission with intercourse (rape), submission by rapist.'

'Rape! That's the one we want!' Mark pushed number eight, ignoring the next four answers in the list.

Rita dropped her chin to her chest and sobbed openly now. Her anger was gone, but her disappointment grew. She was disappointed that she had not had the fortune of at least experiencing sex with a man. She was disappointed in the unfairness of it. She met a man who simply took it from her and robbed her of the pleasure. And now, regardless of fairness or unfairness, the law still demanded that she pay the consequences for it.

'Guess this is it, Rita. I'd thank you for the sex, but you really didn't do anything anyways. My dad always said that girls were better in the old days, when you didn't have to drug them to have sex with them. But you were good, nice and tight, and I didn't have to use too much synthetic lubrication. If it's any consolation...you were my first.'

Rita barely heard Mark's last words to her as he pushed the last button that the instructions required him to push. Beside the button, the control pad flashed a message that read 'Thank you for choosing Fem-BioGrade for your recycling needs.'

Mark was already walking back to his car when a bell sounded someplace within the brick building at the end of the dark drop-off chute. When he glanced back, he saw Rita get yanked into the five-by-five foot doorway by her cuffed wrists. Her feet dragged into the darkness, disappearing from Mark's consciousness forever. The steel hatch slammed shut with a hollow metallic clang and cut off Rita's echoing screams as she rolled down the dark tunnel into oblivion.















--
Into oblivion...












--

Rita screamed as she felt herself fall, suspended by her sore wrists. Her screams echoed and echoed until she couldn't tell if she was still screaming or if it was just the echo. It was deafening. And blindingly dark. The only sensation she had was one of gravity. It was as if she fell five stories below through impenetrable darkness, until the motion dampers slowed her descent and she dropped into a brightly lit cubicle.

By the time she reached the end of the chute, she'd forgotten all about Mark and how he'd cruelly used her body for a couple hours of fun. She continued to scream because it made her feel better - it was a release of energy which she would likely have taken out on Mark if she had the chance. The consequences she would have to pay for the fun he took from her body obviously caused him no remorse. She was now fully alert and aware, fixated and concerned about what might now become of her.

A bell was ringing when she arrived. When she dropped in, the thin layer of fat that covered her body jiggled and her breasts bounced for a second. She hung from the metal cuffs on her wrists which were attached to some kind of pulley and winch system in the ceiling. Her feet dangled about a foot off the stainless-steel floor. Directly in front of her there was a stainless-steel wall, but to her left she saw a man approaching.

The bell stopped ringing.

'Hey Karl, I hope this is the last one. Every night at this time its a big rush with these guys to drop off their one-night-stands. The bar rush always brings the slutty looking girls, eh?'

Rita could hear another man's voice off in the background. 'Yeah, skanky bar whores!' the other man yelled. 'Is that one as cheap lookin' as the rest of 'em?'

The man came close to Rita and put a hand on her hip, squeezed her buttocks and looked at her face. 'You bet, Karl. She's about as sleazy as they get. Just another worthless cunt for the morning crew. And this one has a piercing in her nipple!'

Rita's eyes filled with tears as she listened to the men talk about her like she was some cheap five-dollar hooker.

'You better take the damned thing out, you know how the morning crew gets pissed when we leave stuff like that in these whores.'

The man reached up Rita's slender body, squeezed her firm right breast then pinched her nipple ring very hard. Rita screamed loudly and the man punched her in the belly. Her instinctive reaction was to jerk forward, and as she did so, the man pulled hard on the nipple ring. The metal ring ripped through the tender delicate meat of her tiny nipple and blood trickled down her smooth skin.

The man tossed the piece of jewelry on the floor - a small shred of blood-soaked nipple-flesh hung to the silver ring. Rita whimpered, suspended precariously from the ceiling with blood trickling down her soft belly.

The man turned away for a second but returned with a hand-held laser scanner which he used to scan the barcode-ident tattooed on her left ankle. 'Let me guess. Rape victim?' The man asked nobody in particular. Rita guessed that he wasn't talking to her directly, and she didn't answer him.

The answer he expected came from the computer. 'Subject name Rita Fairweather. Residence New York, New York. Status is terminal. Received at Fem-Biograde recycling center number fourteen, reason-code number eight. Rape. No further notations required for this subject. Cancelling appointment with Doctor Grant on February 10th, 2145.'

And with that, Rita assumed, her life was over. Condemned to die because a total stranger tricked her into thinking he was a nice guy, drugged her, and raped her. Nice way to go, she thought sarcastically. The only thing left to be determined now was how she'd go out.

The man put the hand scanner away and stepped behind Rita, out of her sight. She felt his rough hands probe around her ass, wiggle in between her thighs and tickle her pubic mound. She wondered if this was just something he did for fun, or if it had some devious purpose. Regardless, she quickly felt herself go moist as he played with her clit. He rubbed her until she was nearly at her climax - her first orgasm. But he stopped touching her at the moment just before her point-of-no-return and left her hanging cold without allowing her to experience the rush of sexual climax.

He put both his hands on her naked rump and pushed her out of the small stainless-steel cubicle into a long dark corridor. The pulley and winch system above her ran the length of the corridor and she rolled along while the man pushed her firm young ass. On her short trip, she saw the other man which she assumed was named Karl. He was walking along a narrow stainless-steel bench in the center of the corridor that ran the entire length of the hall. The metal bench was only about six-inches wide and it disappeared into the darkness. At the end of the corridor - about four hundred feet away, Rita saw a brightly-lit room, but she couldn't make out any details.

Karl was waving the man behind her towards him. And the man behind her was pushing her closer and closer to Karl. As she got closer to Karl, the dimly lit corridor revealed something resting on top of the narrow steel bench in the center of the hallway. It looked somewhat human.

It was.

Rita barely made out the shapely spread of buttocks and the pussy and exposed asshole of another woman laying on top of the bench. When she was brought directly above and to the rear of the woman, Rita noticed that she was shackled to some kind of conveyor system on the floor. Her wrists and ankles were locked-in and she straddled the bench on her stomach. The woman's long blonde hair rested on her muscled back and something was being used to prop her head unnaturally backward so that her face pointed in the direction of the brightly-lit room four hundred feet away. Some kind of metal wedge was used to force the woman's pelvis higher into the air so that her ass was completely exposed.

To Rita, the woman almost appeared to be an inanimate object until Karl slapped the girl's ass, eliciting a muffled outburst from the other end of the body. Rita then noticed that there was another woman in exactly the same position directly in front of the first. The woman's face appeared to be pressed into the crotch of the woman in front of her. And in front of the second woman was a third, and a fourth, and a fifth, and so on. Rita guessed that the line stretched all the way to the brightly-lit room, but she couldn't see beyond several feet in the dim light of the corridor.

Rita recoiled in terror at the treatment that all these women were being forced to endure. Rita had never had to deal with humiliation of this magnitude. Her monthly visits to the Doctor were the worst she'd had to deal with before. She began to panic - she started to squirm and kick.

But the man behind her would have none of that. He quickly grabbed her ankles and steadied her while Karl pushed a floor-switch which brought her wrists down from the ceiling. The man behind her held her legs on either side of the metal bench as she was lowered belly-first onto the bench. Karl held the chain and pulleys near her wrists as she came to rest several feet behind the last woman in the line of women. Karl worked adeptly as he disconnected Rita's chains and reconnected them into the floor. Meanwhile, the man holding her ankles inserted her legs into large metal ankle-cuffs which automatically locked once she was in place.

When Karl pushed the floor-switch again, the chains and cuffs pulled tightly against the floor, locking her in, straddled against the cold steel bench. She felt the bench rise up under her pubic mound and push her ass further into the air. This was one more step towards total exposure, making her earlier experiences on the sidewalk outside of the building seem trivial. Although she could not see, Rita imagined that the two men were now taking a good long look at her spread buttocks and the puckered brown asshole between them.

Rita feared the humiliation that was still to come.

Karl brought forward a leather chin-harness that he inserted into a notch in the middle of the metal bench directly under her face. Rough hands pulled on her long brown hair as if it was the reigns of a horse-drawn carriage and her head lifted backwards until it could go no further back and it felt like her hair was going to be pulled from her scalp. Rita let out a short, sharp shriek in protest and the man behind her released his grip. Karl guided her chin into the harness and locked the strap behind her head.

Rita's neck was crooked backwards at an awkward angle and she faced directly into the faceless woman's crotch. She tried to moved her head but found it was impossible to gain any mobility in her neck. She was trapped. No hope of escape. Suddenly Rita felt the wet, dirty, rough treads of a boot on her buttocks and she began to ride along the bench toward the woman ahead of her in line. The men were pushing her with their boots on her bare ass. The skin on her breasts and belly was pinched and pulled as she glided along. As she got nearer to the other woman's bottom, Rita could make out the shiny slickness of urine as it trickled slowly from the woman's urethra and dripped down the inside of her thigh.

Just inches from the woman's crotch, Rita nearly gagged and puked as she smelled the putrid stink of the woman's urine-soaked pussy. The men behind her ruthlessly kept pushing Rita into the dirty woman's nether-region until her face squished right into the soft moistness of the woman's sex. Rita protested, trying to yell obscenities at the two men but it just came out all muffled. Her lips were pressed right into the woman's urine-soaked cunt and her chin rubbed against her clitoris. But worst of all, Rita's nose was nestled in the deep well of her anus. Rita could smell nothing but the stench of feces. Rita hoped that this woman did not find the urge to have a bowel movement right now, or she might asphixiate and die right here on the bench.

With Rita's face firmly lodged in the aperature of the woman's nether region, the men locked her in place and gave her a stinging swat on her ass. 'That'll hold the skanky bitch till tomorrow.'

As Rita felt the warmth of the woman's cunt grow, she realized that the effect of her chin against the sensitive clitoris was causing a great deal of arousal in her new partner in the recylcing line. The soft outer lips of the woman's labia began to swell and part and Rita soon found her lips pursed tightly against the tight opening of her vagina. Vaginal secretions flooded her face as the woman began to girate her hips against Rita's chin. As the woman did that, Rita's nose would press even tighter against the woman's stinky asshole. Rita couldn't be sure, but she guessed that her nose was probably smeared with the woman's feces.

While the woman in front of her was possibly experiencing her first - and last - orgasm, Rita's face turned red in shame.

The men behind her sat down on the bench to take a well-deserved break. Rita imagined that they were watching her own cunt, and maybe they might touch her. 'They might as well,' Rita thought to herself. 'I have no more dignity left anyways, and maybe they just might get me to have an orgasm too.'

As the faceless woman in front of Rita moaned in restricted delight, cumming violently against Rita's cunt-buried face, the men each lit up a smoke. Rita was nearly drowning in the thick pungent juices of her partner's climax.

'What a fucking night, eh Hank?' Karl said. 'How many is this, anyways?'

Hank got up from the bench and walked casually down the corridor towards the brightly-lit room. He got about five girls down the line when he picked up a can of black paint and began writing numbers on the taught naked backs of all the woman. 'One-twenty-one, one-twenty-two, one-twenty-three, one-twenty-four.' Hank painted the number one-twenty-five on Rita's back, close to her ass right above her kidney. She tried to squirm as he did so, but she was so tightly bound against the steel bench that she couldn't budge an inch. 'We got a hundred and twenty five so far with this skank. Hopefully that's it till the morning crew starts.'

Hank barely finished his sentence when the bell began to ring again. Both men looked at each other and cursed. 'Oh come on,' Karl yelled. 'What's with all the fucking horney assholes out tonight. Can't keep 'em down.'

Hank threw his smoke on the floor and stomped on it before trudging back to the drop-off chute to receive the next unlucky woman. Karl took a couple more puffs on his smoke before doing something exceptionally cruel.

Karl considered butting his cigarrette on Rita's buttocks, just to cause a little pain, but instead, he decided to push the burning end of the smoke into her tight, puckered asshole. The glowing hot end of his cigarette singed the light hair around her anus before it burned into the sensitive flesh of her nether-hole. She bucked hard against her restraints and tears ran down her cheeks. He crushed the ashes until they pushed into the sensitive lining of her bowel and Rita screamed louder than she ever did before. Even muffled against the other woman's crotch, Hank heard Rita's protest from the drop-off chute.

Karl and Hank both laughed from her reaction. Karl left the filter tip of the smoke sticking out of Rita's anus as he went towards the end of the stainless-steel bench to await the next recyclable.

Despite the sharp pain of the cigarrette burns, Rita recovered relatively quickly. She assumed it was because of extra adrenyline pumping through her veins. Or perhaps it was the knowledge that she was likely to experience something a lot worse before this ordeal was finished. Within moments, the most painful thing about the cigarrette burn was the uncomfortable, indignant prospect of having a snuffed smoke stuck in her shit-hole.

Rita vaguely heard Hank's voice echo from the drop-off chute when the bell stopped ringing. 'Hey Karl, another tramp. This one is really trampy. Another rape case. And guess what?'

Karl's voice: 'What's up?'

'She's not alone. I'm looking at the closed circuit monitor and there's a bus-load up there. Looks like an out-of-town football team or something. Must have had a gang-bang and raped a bunch of girls. I count about fifteen young ones being herded off the bus and toward the drop-off.'

Karl just about lost it. 'Holy fuck! What do they think, that we're machines or something?'

Just before the bell began to ring again, Hank yelled at Karl. 'I'm gonna just slide 'em down your way until we get all of them.'

With the bell ringing, the two men weren't able to hear each other from their seperate stations along the receiving line. While Hank received the girls at the drop-off chute and logged their final notation with the computer, he pushed them along the pulley and winch system towards Karl. Meanwhile Karl was doing his best to push the girls one by one into position down the corridor.

The first girl, Rita guessed, was dangling from her wrists just a few feet behind her own exposed ass. She imagined that the girl was terror stricken, gawking at the obscene procession of females locked into the recycling line. Or maybe she was staring at the extinguished cigarrette in her own asshole. But from Rita's vantage point, the only thing she could see was the warm, damp, smelly crotch of 'number one-twenty-four'. Rita was relying on her keen sense of hearing for information about her surroundings. And suddenly Rita came to the realization that the next girl, the one that Hank had said was really trampy, would shortly have her innocent face pressed into Rita's crotch.

The bell rang a total of fifteen times, and each time it rang, the drop-off chute produced another crying young woman that had her barcode-ident read into the computer and the final terminal notation made with a reason-code of 'eight'. Finally the bell stopped ringing and Rita heard the two men lining the girls up behind her. She heard the sound of the floor switch, and the distinctive sound of chain-links rattling as the first girl was lowered onto the cold stainless-steel bench. If Rita could talk, she would have comforted the girl by telling her that 'in time the steel bench warms up from your own body heat.'

Rita heard the girl whimpering as the shackles locked her into the motorized track in the floor. Karl fastened the chin-harness and Hank pushed the girl roughly until Rita felt the coolness of the new girl's skin against her own sex. She felt the woman's chin resting against her most sensitive sex organ and it felt good. The girl's soft lips were pressed against Rita's nether lips as they locked in a humiliating french kiss. And Rita could only guess that the girl behind her was now gagging on the stench of her own anus. 'If I have to, why shouldn't she?' Rita thought to herself, even allowing her the enjoyment of shifting her pelvis slightly so as to bury the new girl's nose even further in Rita's shit-hole.

'What happened to the cigarette?' thought Rita. She guessed that the girl's nose probably just pushed it deeper into her bowel. 'I wonder if I'll get any benefit from the left over nicotine in that smoke,' Rita had a giddy thought as she felt another jolt from behind while a second girl was locked into place behind her.

Rita felt a total of fifteen minor tremors come from behind her as the remaining recyclables were locked into the line. With each shock, Rita came closer and closer to climax as the sharp, boney chin of 'number one-twenty-six' rubbed her clit. But after the last girl was locked in place, Rita felt unsatisfied and came to the depressing conclusion that she would not experience orgasm before she was recycled. Even 'one-twenty-six' had an orgasm from the arousal caused by the girl behind her, which Rita felt by way of the loud moaning and facial gyrations of the girl. Rita ocassionally tilted her pelvis to grind her clit against the girl's face, covering the girl with pussy lube, but climax was frustratingly out of reach for Rita.

It seemed as if the entire line of women were eternally connected, causing arousal, orgasm, and humiliation to each other in an erotic cause-and-effect relationship. But Rita was unable to climax, and it frustrated her so. Rita's only thankfulness was for the fact that she was no longer at the end of the line and such an inviting target of the men's cruelty. She was simply 'number one-twenty-five' out of a much larger number.

Hank again picked up the paint can and brush and began painting numbers on the new girls' backs, starting with 'one-twenty-six', and finishing with 'one-forty'.

'Holy shit, dude. What's the record for a single night-shift?' Karl asked.

Hank set the paint can down and lit up another cigarette. 'One-Sixty. Long ways to go yet.'

Karl laughed. 'Another football team might do it though.' Both men giggled at the thought. Karl continued, 'I wonder where they got all these girls for a big gang-bang like that. They must have been collecting them or something.'

'Out of town girls, maybe?' Hank puffed on his smoke. 'Who cares, as long as they got some use out of them skanky cunts of their's, hey?' Hank was standing on one foot, with the other foot on the bare ass of 'number one-forty', leaning on the poor girl's firm, white butt-cheeks.

Karl nodded and checked his watch. 'It's seven-thirty, am. Morning shift starts in a half-hour. Think we should clean up?'

Hank butted his dying smoke into the tiny, barely visible clitoris of 'one-forty', burning it right off and eliciting a sharp muffled scream and a bucking pelvis from the tortured cunt.

The men agreed that it was time to clean up, so they went to some other place near the drop-off chute. Rita could hear the men washing their hands and changing their clothes. They were talking about sports or something that she knew nothing about, so Rita drifted off to an awkward, uncomfortable sleep with her face stuck in the crotch of one woman, while another woman had her face stuck in Rita's crotch. 'I've never suffered such humiliation before in my life,' was Rita's last thought as she drifted off to sleep.















--
8 o'clock AM, morning shift begins...












--

Rita awoke to the sound of a loud bell at the end of the corridor. As she opened her eyes, she noticed a man out of the corner of her eye holding a clip board and counting the women on the recycling line as he walked down the corridor. As he passed each girl, he was marking them with a paint brush dipped in red paint on their left buttock. 'One-hundred-twenty-three, one-hundred-twenty-four, one-hundred-twenty-five...' Rita felt the wet slick paint brush on her ass as the man painted a line across her white butt cheek. 'One-hundred-twenty-six, one-hundred-twenty-seven...' and so on the man went down to the end of the line.

The lighting in the corridor had changed to a dim bluish glow, but Rita still could not see much above the crotch of number one-twenty-four. Rita's face was wet, but this time she figured she had drooled into the woman's cunt during her fitful sleep. 'Thank-god,' Rita thought. 'I don't think I could handle any more piss from this bitch.'

The man who had been counting the women called out from the end of the line. 'One-hundred-forty. Counted and present, sir.'

From the direction of the brightly-lit room, Rita heard more men talking loudly. She also heard the sound of machinery. The sound travelled down the length of the corridor until it reached Rita's position. Rita felt the floor begin to vibrate and she guessed that whatever was going to happen, was nearly about to happen. The motorized track beneath her was coming alive - she could feel it through the metal shackles around her arms and legs. Her body vibrated, causing her ass to jiggle a small amount.

Suddenly, from the brightly-lit room, Rita heard a man yell 'CLEAR!' and the lighting in the corridor changed from the dull bluish glow to a bright red tone. A short but loud bell sounded, and the frantic protests of a terrified woman at the front of the line echoed down the hall. The woman's screams were unintelligible, but the urgency in her voice was unmistakable. She continued to yell and scream until she was abruptly cut-off. Some type of machinery interupted the woman with an ear-splitting 'CRACK!' and instantaneously the woman was quiet. At the same time, the lighting changed back to the bluish glow.

Rita felt an erie uneasiness pass through the woman in front of her, through her body and into the girl behind her. Muffled protests of the women in line could be heard echoing through the corridor. It was probable that none of the women had seen what actually just happened, but it didn't take a lot of imagination to realize that the screaming woman was likely dealt with in some incredibly harsh manner. Concern could be felt travelling through the line of women who were in constant, intimate contact with each other.

Rita sensed that 'one-twenty-four', the girl in front of her, was anxiously distraught about the situation as the woman shifted her pelvis about more than normal. With the woman's cunt pressed against her lips, Rita grew more and more alarmed, realizing she had nowhere to hide. Rita's face soon became the target for a torent of urine as the woman unleashed the contents of her bladder. Pungent yellow piss bubbled up between the woman's crotch and Rita's face as she tried desperately to keep her mouth closed. Urine filled Rita's nostrils and as she tried to breathe she took a snoot-full into her wind-pipe and began to choke, coughing up urine and swallowing more as her mouth opened.

As if all this wasn't enough for Rita, suddenly the motorized track in the floor pulled all the women along the metal bench one position closer toward the brightly-lit room. She slid across the urine-slicked stainless-steel, never losing facial contact with the other woman's wretched cunt. Rita gurgled on the putrid urine that now covered everything in contact with her face, including one-twenty-four's crotch, ass, and her legs. She was finally able to catch her breath but did not relish the idea of travelling the length of the recycling line covered in smelly, sticky, wet piss.

Again, the 'CLEAR!' signal came, the lights turned red, and another woman began to frantically scream and protest until the machinery coldly stopped her outburst. The lights turned back to blue, and a couple minutes later the line was moved one position closer. The process continued, it seemed, at a rate of one woman every five minutes.

With a lot of time on her hands, Rita decided to do the math in her head. If there were one-hundred and twenty-four girls ahead of her in the line, at five minutes per girl, it would take about ten hours for her to reach the front of the line. Rita wondered if the morning shift lasted that long, or if she'd be left on the line until tomorrow's shift, stuck here even longer with her face buried in 'Miss Bladder-control-problem' for another 24-hours. She dreaded the thought.

Without a clock to measure her progress, Rita soon lost track of how many women had reached the front of the line since the morning shift began. She noted, however, that the men working on the line were not taking any breaks, or maybe they rotated their breaks so that the line could continue moving along. Rita passed the time by singing songs in her mind that she remembered from her childhood. Ocassionally, she would hum a song, vibrating her lips against the cunt in her face hoping to send a little sexual torture up the line to the woman who had provided so much discomfort to Rita over the past several hours. Rita's ultimate revenge over the woman in front of her was that despite sharing the same fate - whatever that might be - 'one-twenty-four' would suffer it first.

Rita didn't want to think too introspectively about her life, since she figured it would only depress her already sullen mood. 'Best to just let it happen, whatever happens,' She thought. One thought she did allow herself, though, was her memory of past friends who had decided to sleep with their boyfriends, who probably already suffered through this ordeal. She had never seen them again.

With her recent experiences on the recycling line, Rita began to wonder if the laws that existed to protect the human race from sexually transmitted diseases were really some trick to subject women to this humiliating fate, just for the sake of some sick perverse male fetish. Rita certainly didn't feel like she was doing the world a favor by being recycled. She felt like an animal led to slaughter. She definately felt like she had been used - that her life had been wasted.

After several hours of... 'CLEAR!', red-light, screams, sudden mechnical intervention, blue-light and jerky motorized advancement to the next position... Rita realized that she was nearing the front of the line. The screams of the women at the front were more audible and understandable. She assumed that since the women were capable of making understandable if not frantically unintelligent speech, the women in front of them had been removed from the line so that their lips were freed from their humiliating pussy-prisons.

Typical things the women were crying as they faced the front of the line were:

'Oh my god, what is that thing?'

'Please, don't do this to me.'

And Rita's favorite, 'I don't want to die. Please don't kill me!'

Rita wondered how she would react when she got to the front of the line. Would she lose it like all the other girls? 'How bad could it be? It sounds like it's pretty quick - whatever it is.' Rita found it ironic that being so close to the other women in line - her face pressed into another's sex organs - she felt like she was in a solitary prison, more alone now than at any other time in her life. She was completely alone with her thoughts, left to contemplate her fate in such a ridiculous manner. 'If I were a man, I'd probably think this was just a stroke of genius!' she thought to herself.

The line jerked ahead once more and Rita stretched her neck as much as possible to take a look beyond the fleshy buttocks squished into her face. She saw men and machinery moving about inside the brightly-lit room. The end of the line was about fifteen feet ahead of her now, maybe five girls in front of her. The line seemed to end at the point where the corridor opened into the large room beyond. There was some kind of large metal contraption that lowered from the ceiling each time the line jerked ahead. Rita watched the metal shield come down on top of the girl in front. She heard some of the men laughing and then the girl at the front of the line started screaming.

'No!' she yelled. 'No! Please don't! This isn't fair! Get that thing away from me you bastards!' The girl's screams were so vivid to the other women near the front of the line that they all began to struggle against the restraints holding them onto the stainless-steel bench, including Rita. The bloodcurdling screams of the dying woman at the front of the line caused the first true feelings of fear to race through Rita's veins. As the loud 'CRACK!' echoed through the corridor - effectively ending the frantic woman's pleas for mercy, Rita finally loosened her bladder and let fly with a generous stream of steaming urine directly into the face of the girl behind her.

Rita felt no pity for the girl she was urinating on. However, the girl on the receiving end of Rita's hot piss reacted in a rather harsh way to Rita's disregard for her dignity. Number one-twenty-six angrily found Rita's clit with her teeth and bit into the delicate sex organ as hard as she could. Within seconds, the viscious bitch behind Rita had chewed her clitoris completely off her body and swallowed the tiny delicate bud. Reeling in pain, blood flowing from her ruined sex organ, Rita screamed hard into one-twenty-four's slick cunt, which only caused her to begin urinating again. It was a free-for-all urination fest with Rita right in the middle. Yellow steaming piss bubbled around Rita's tortured face.

When the lights turned back to blue, the large metal contraption that had lowered from the ceiling was now rising back to the ceiling. Rita saw the woman at the front of the line pulled off the stainless-steel bench hanging by a steel cable extended from the ceiling and looped around her right ankle. The limp body hung lifelessly from her right leg - the left leg dangled at an awkward 90-degree angle to the inverted body. The dead or dying woman's arms dragged along the floor as she was hoisted by cables into the center of the room.

Then the line jerked ahead again. The next woman was pushed to the front of the line to take the place of the woman dangling from the ceiling by her leg in the middle of the brightly-lit room. As the large metal contraption lowered from the ceiling, a powerful spray of water and soap rained down from above, splashing against the first five women in the line, which now included Rita. She tasted the bitterness of the soap in her mouth as it splashed against the firm buttocks in front of her face. The soap stung her eyes. She felt the warm water run over her body, finally cleansing the disgusting dried urine stains from her face and hair.

The water spray stopped as the ceiling apparatus came to a tight fit over the shoulders of the woman at the front of the line. It appeared to Rita that the device was perhaps meant to hold the woman still, trapping her head in a seriously immoveable death-lock. She couldn't quite tell what it was for. 'I guess I'll find out soon enough,' she thought to herself, and nearly wretched at the thought of her iminent demise.

Again, one of the men in the room yelled 'CLEAR!', the lights turned red, and the woman in the death-lock at the front of the line began screaming. The large metal device holding the woman effectively blocked Rita's view into the room, but as expected there was a loud 'CRACK!' and the woman stopped screaming. The lights turned back to blue and the metal death-lock device raised back to the ceiling.

Rita saw the girl pulled off the line by her right leg and dragged into the room upside down, just as the previous girls had been. As the line drove ahead again, the water and soap spray happened again. Now the fourth woman in line, Rita tried to wait patiently for her fate. But she had difficulty not focusing on the demise she faced which was now almost certain.

The woman in front of her was bucking hard against her restraints, desperately trying to get free in a panic-sricken last-ditch attempt for survival. Two more girls and it would be her turn. Rita had all but forgotten how glad she would be when the girl in front of her got whatever it was that was coming to her. Now Rita struggled to hold her own fear back. The woman's desperate panic in front of her exasperated her patience, however, and Rita finally wretched - vomiting over the panicking girl's crotch. The soap and water spray fortunately washed it away quickly, however, or Rita may have drowned in her own vomit.

Rita's final moments ticked away slowly. She was beginning to suffer physiological effects caused by the tremendous fear. Her chest tightened drastically which made breathing difficult. By the time the girl in front of her made it to the end of the line, Rita was hyperventilating and quite out of her mind in fear. As the water and soap spray hit her again, Rita watched the large metal locking device descend onto the woman's shoulders. The woman could no longer buck against her restraints as she had been. But with her face now free of the cunt which had been pressed into it for so many hours, the woman screamed bloody murder.

Unlike most of the other women in the line, this woman couldn't form any words as she screamed. She just made noise. Lots of noise. Rita's eardrums felt as if they might burst open as the lights turned to the bright red glow, indicating that her time was coming to an end. Rita heard some kind of machinery on the other side of the large metal locking device. The machine made a kind of 'whirring' sound while the woman screamed her lungs out. Then came the 'CRACK!' which was accompanied by a release of tension in the womans body. Rita felt the woman's body go limp, and with it came a release of her bowels. A large amount of stinky, soft feces evacuated from the woman's bowels and directly into Rita's face. Rita nearly blacked out from the stench that covered her face.

The lights turned blue again, but Rita couldn't tell since her vision was covered with shit. She felt the woman's body being lifted off the stainless-steel bench and then felt the familiar jerk and tug of the motorized winch system pull her to the front of the line. With the woman's ever-present cunt now gone from her face, but left speechless due to fear and humiliation, Rita could only utter 'Oh...GOD!'

One of the men at the front of the line was holding what looked like a garden hose and he sprayed water on her face to clear the horrible stinky feces from her face. The water sprayed with incredible force on her face, but left several soft streaks of the dead woman's shit hanging from her chin. Instinctively, Rita opened her mouth for air while the man drenched her head with the freezing cold water. Water mixed with shit and ran into her mouth. With the force of the cold water unabating, she was forced to swallow the turdid mixture and that made her gag. Hopelessly restrained with her shit-covered face completely exposed to these horrible men, Rita felt the most humiliating shame of her pathetically short existance.

Rita felt the spray of soap and water on her body again as the large metal locking device now descended upon her own body. The device locked firmly around her shoulders directly behind her head, holding her extremely immobile, totally at the mercy of the men working in the room.

From her temporary perch at the front of the line, Rita had a perfect view of the carnage in the room. She looked up at the limp dangling form of number one-twenty-four as she was pulled into the room. Her left leg dangled obscenely toward the floor while her right leg hung suspended from the ceiling. The light curls of her blonde pussy, which had been pressed into Rita's face for so many hours, were totally exposed as one of the men reached down to grab her left wrist. As he swung her body around, Rita saw the '124' painted on her back, and then she saw one-twenty-four's face for the first time.

'Suzy!' she screamed. Rita began to cry as she recognized her best friend Suzy hanging from the ceiling like a piece of meat in a slaughterhouse. Her beautiful face was twisted in fear, humiliation, and pain. Some streaks of brown shit, not entirely washed off, hung from her nose and chin - evidently Suzy had suffered the same fecal indignity just prior to her demise. In the center of her forehead was a large gaping entrance wound from which a rather copious amount of blood flowed over her face and onto the dirty floor. Rita suddenly felt a wave of remorse flush through her as she remembered her struggles with Suzy when she was but a faceless body on the recycling line.

The man who swung Suzy's corpse around was holding a large machette in his other hand and with Suzy's left arm out of the way, he swung the machette at her long neck. The first cut lodged deep in Suzy's spine but the man pulled his blade out for another whack. The second cut flew through the remaining bone and sinew and Suzy's beautiful blonde head dropped to the blood-stained floor. The man kicked her head across the blood-slicked floor with his big boot and it rolled towards a pile of severed heads in the corner.

A surprisingly large amount of blood gushed from Suzy's severed neck and flowed across the floor and the boots of the man who had just separated her head from her twitching, inverted body.

Suzy's head bumped against the severed head of some redhead bitch that had been killed sometime earlier. The redhead's face had been laying on the floor for quite awhile, resting in a puddle of congealing blood. The blood that covered the girl's face could have belonged to any of the dozens of women who had been killed that day.

All of the severed heads in the pile had large gaping holes punched through their foreheads. Brains and blood tissue leaked from most of the wounds. Another man reached down and picked up one of the severed heads - a girl with a cute asian face framed by long black hair. The girl's mouth and eyes were frozen wide open in shock. He took a wet towel and wiped some of the shit and blood from her horrifyingly shocked face, but really only managed to smear the mixture around more. The man cradled the girl's head in one arm while he used a sharp knife to cut through the skin in her forehead. He traced the hair line of the girl with his knife and quickly had her long black mane of hair seperated from her skull as if it was a fur pelt. He tossed the scalp of hair into a large bin labelled 'DELIVER TO FURNACE MASTER AIR FILTERS'. The blood-streaked gray-white of the girl's skull now figured prominently from Rita's vantage point.

 No.4938

>>4936
No, it wasn´t that story... But thank you anyways..

 No.4939

>>4936
No, it wasn´t that story... But thank you anyways..

 No.4940

Conclusion:



Rita watched the man toss the rest of the woman's severed hairless head into a gaping round hole in the floor of the room. The asian girl's head sailed through the air, spitting trails of crimson from the severed neck, and disappeared through the hole. Rita thought she heard a splash of water from below, but she couldn't be certain because of all the noise and activity in the killing room.

Rita saw another man in the corner of her eye approach her with a machine on a mobile robotic arm that extended from the ceiling. There were pipes and wires sticking out of the machine, but Rita was more interested in what the men were doing with Suzy's body than to watch what the man approaching her was doing.

The men pushed Suzy's inverted headless corpse over the large hole in the floor. The man with the machette flicked his wrist and sliced her large left breast open, bisecting the nipple and spreading it open so that the fat deposits could be seen. He did the same to her other massive mammory, deflowering Suzy's ample womanhood like a simple breast filet.

'Fucking cow had a couple of big one's, eh fellas?' The man said, showing no regard for the human being he was butchering. 'Look at 'em jiggle! Wouldn't mind sticking my prick between those for awhile, eh guys?' The men laughed cruelly at Suzy's expense. 'Look! The bitch-fat is just hanging out of those mammoth milk-sacks!'

The butcher with the machette stabbed ferociously at Suzy's inverted, headless corpse. The sharp tip of his weapon poked through the dead woman's exposed belly, through her guts and came out the back of her torso. Rita choked back a sudden uncontrollable urge to vomit as she watched the men indignantly butcher her best friend's beautiful body.

Another man grabbed Suzy's left ankle - the one that dangled away from her body. He pulled her left leg so that her legs were spread wide apart. The disgusting man with the machette stepped up to the inverted corpse and swung his weapon cruelly at her exposed, naked cuntmeat. Rita vomitted when she heard the machette crack into Suzy's pubic bone. The sickening sound of her best friend's pelvis being cracked open made Rita wretch uncontrollably. The vomit launched a few feet ahead and splashed across the dirty floor.

The machette-man belched as he wiped his brow. 'Best part of my job is breaking these worthless cunts apart! Hey Joe, pull tighter on her leg so she comes apart easier! Open the pig's wound so I got a bigger target!' Another sickening crunch echoed through the room. 'That's it, keep pulling on that leg! Pull her hips apart for me!'

As the man approached with the killing machine, Rita got a final look at Suzy as the men hacked her torso in half, allowing the left side of her friend to slide through the hole, disposing of it into the hidden lower level of the killing room. Rita was absolutely sure that she heard a splash of water this time. The right side of Suzy's torso remained hanging from the ceiling, dripping guts and blood through the killing room floor. Blood dripped from the fingers of her right hand and into the basement.

Then Rita's vision was filled by the ominous killing machine and she would never see Suzy again.

The killing machine was manuevered directly in front of Rita's face. At this point, Rita knew she couldn't do anything except pray for her own hide. Rita stared the machine head-on and saw the tip of a round tungsten metal bolt about one-inch in diameter. The rest of the bolt was encased within the machine. The man lined up the machine so that the bolt was aimed directly at Rita's forehead.

From beyond the blood-soaked killing machine, Rita heard the horrible sound of bones breaking and being pulled apart just before the distinctive voice of the disgusting machette-man echoed through the room. 'Another sixteen skulls to crack and we're done guys. I wanna be done before nine so we can go to Farlie's Pub and watch the game. I got money on Denver!' There was an agonizing pause, before: 'Okay Chuck, we're waiting! Hurry up and do the next cunt.'

Rita heard herself squeeling frantically as she bucked and fought her restraints as hard as she could. The sound was akin to a stuck pig at a slaughter farm, and she knew it. Her brain was not actually forming recognizable words as she lost it. It was a last-second attempt to get free which was impossible, but her fear-feebled brain did not recognize the futility. There was no rationality now. Her brain actually contributed to the indignity of her situation by forcing her body to react in a ridiculous manner. Her brain only reacted to the situation it had been placed in. Facing death in the form of the blood-soaked killing machine, Rita no longer cared about her friend Suzy or anything else but her own survival.

The men in the killing room laughed at her feeble protests as the one working the killing machine raised his arm and stood back. Rita noticed the lights go red as the man yelled 'CLEAR!'. A loud bell sounded.

Then there was a deafening 'CRACK!' which was followed by a brilliant white flash. Rita's lower jaw dropped open as she felt the pneumatic bolt plow through the hard bone of her forehead and about five inches into her brain. Soft brain matter gave way to the cold hard metal of the bolt. Blood squirted from her nostrils and erupted from her ears. Her eyeballs went cross-eyed and rolled gently into the back of her head as she felt her body go limp. As parts of her body loosened, Rita felt her bowel release. The wet turdid contents of Rita's bowels mashed into the face of the girl behind her and covered Rita's ass with slick brown shit.

The annoying loud squeeling had been stopped but a low murmuring whisper escaped from Rita's twitching lips. The man controlling the killing machine saw Rita's lips moving as if she was talking to herself. With the rest of her face hidden behind the devastating life-stealing machine, he felt himself curiously aroused by her blood-red lips.

As the bolt delivered the fatal blow to Rita's brain, her body twitched and spasmed as it died. Her eyeballs rolled back to the front of her head as the bolt retracted from the gaping hole it drilled into her brain. As the man pulled the killing machine away from Rita's face, a raging gusher of blood spat from the large hole in her forehead. It spurt several feet into the air and splashed on the floor, mixing with the vomit she had earlier deposited there. The blood spurt three times, but as her heart weakened and died the gusher slowed to a river of crimson that flowed down Rita's pretty face. From now until the end of her few remaining moments, Rita's failing vision would be rose-tinted, filtered through the thick blood covering her face. Blood filled her eyes and her mouth as the locking device was lifted from her body.

The machette-man paced in the brightly-lit room which, for Rita, had recently become execution chamber, mortuary, slaughterhouse, and butchershop. 'Get that fucking cunt off the line and over here. I'll take her head and then break the bitch apart. You guys hurry and get the next slut popped! And wash that fucking shit off her face! She looks like a fucking toilet, and it's starting to stink like a toilet in here!'

Another man's voice echoed through the chamber. 'When are they ever going to get that auto-enema machine working again? The night crew should be cleaning out these skanky whores' bung holes before we start the line up in the morning!'

'Just wash the shit off the fucking bitch's face. Get all of it this time, there's shit on all these cracked skulls over here. And let me worry about who does what! Jesus!'

Rita's brain, while fatally wounded, still had a handful of firing and misfiring synapses that sent mixed pain/no-pain signals to her brain's core. She felt her body being lifted off the recycling line by her slender ankle. Rita felt herself being pushed into the killing room, rough gloved hands on her naked buttocks and firm belly. Suddenly she felt a release of pressure at her left shoulder and saw her left arm being tossed through the hole in the floor. Blood spurt from the place where it had been connected to the rest of her body. Then there was a horrible feeling of weightlessness before a terrible crack on the back of her head and she felt the world spin. With the few functioning brain cells she had left, Rita realized that her head had been whacked off with the machette and was laying on the blood-stained floor. An incredible flood of crimson blood drenched her severed head before the big boot hit her square in the face, cracking and flattening her nose, and she was launched across the floor.

'Somebody better catch up with those scalps. You're falling behind! There's at least thirty cracked skulls on the floor! If I trip on one of those, somebody will be in big trouble!'

As her severed head rolled across the floor and slammed into some other girl's severed head, there was a loud hollow thump echoing through her brain. The last thing Rita heard before her hearing faded was the agonizing screams of 'one-twenty-six' as she now faced the killing machine. Rita's final thoughts were for her own body as she watched it being pushed over the hole in the killing room floor. As her vision narrowed into darkness, she saw blood dripping from the neck as her body swung back and forth like fresh beef in a butchershop. Her eyesight faded as she saw the '125' painted in black - the headless corpse that used be her spun in circles by it's right ankle. The disgusting machette-man stepped beside the swinging carcass of meat that used to be her beautiful body and started to hack it apart. Her large breasts were ruthlessly carved off her chest, dropped through the floor, exposing the gleaming white of her ribcage. She tried to press her eyes closed before she died so she could arrest a final bit of dignity in her last moments. The last visual signals her brain received was the sight of the wet, blood-slicked floor as she drifted away into death. Despite her best efforts, she passed into oblivion with the dim-witted half-open stare that so many other girls ended up with that day on the killing room floor.

All Rita really wanted was a little dignity, and it had been denied her in a most gruesome manner. In the final day of her life, she had suffered the indignity of rape, and the indignity of a cruel, humiliating death. But while Rita's life experience was over, the indignity was far from complete. The men still needed to finish Rita.















--
Finishing Rita...












--

The man with the machette brought the blade down hard on the girl's crotch. The sickening crunch that echoed through the killing room provided the feedback that #125's pubic bone had split apart. The machette blade was lodged tightly about six inches within the dead girl's pelvis. He struggled to get the blade out of the girl's yielding body and quickly brought the blade down again. The sounds of impact with the hanging corpse became more and more disgusting as the blade hacked through the innards of the woman's torso and cracked hip bones, vertebrae, and ribs. He continued whacking through the middle of the girl's corpse until he split the collar bone and the shoulders fell apart. The woman's left shoulder slammed into the side of the hole in the floor as one of the men kept a tenuous hold on the slender ankle. Blood, gore, instestines, and internal organs slipped out of the dead woman's body as the man holding the half-corpse let the entire thing fall through the killing room floor. The men watched the bodily remains fall into the vat of boiling water below to join the other pieces of woman meat.

The chunk of female remains slipped into the hot, bubbling water with a small splash. Other corpses submerged in the water rolled around and bounced with the force of heat bubbles. The corpses performed a gruesome dance of death and dismemberment in their underwater grave.

The right side of the corpse remained hanging by the ankle. Shreds of flesh and gore dripped and hung from the massive wound that seperated the woman's body into two distinct pieces. The men that let the left side of the girl's body fall downstairs stepped away to scalp a few more severed heads in the corner of the killing room.

The machette sliced smoothly through the shin bone of the dangling right side of the corpse. The woman's severed foot spun into the air, bounced off the killing room floor and then into the boiling vat below The rest of the body fell straight down like a sandbag into the boiling water downstairs.

The violated flesh of the woman's body was followed by several scalped, severed heads, including her own. The heads bobbed and floated on the surface of the boiling water with dumb, dim-witted death masks for several moments before the hot water seeped inside the skulls through the hole punched in the forehead. The bobbing and bouncing severed heads drifted slowly to the bottom of the vat. Near the bottom of the vat where the heat was most intense, eyeballs melted and the brains were poached.















--
Sorting it all out...












--

The men put their plastic coveralls on over their street clothing and slipped the eye-protection goggles over their heads. Before leaving the locker room, Jim and Frank lit up a cigarette.

'Good game last night, eh Frank?'

'Bitchin' game. You get Vat #12 cleaned yesterday before you left?'

Jim nodded. 'Yeah, it took a few hours of overtime, but I got it sparkling clean. Which vat are we working on today?'

Frank checked his clipboard and flipped through the pages. 'It looks like they filled numbers two and six yesterday. Number sixteen is cooling today, but number eight is ready to go.'

Jim puffed on his smoke and headed for the door. 'Number eight then. Ready?'

Frank nodded and butted his smoke out in an ashcan. 'Let's go.'

The two men walked out to the boiling room floor and joined the rest of their team near boiling vat number eight. The boiling room was a huge cavernous room on the next subterraneous level below the killing room. When the men that worked the killing room dropped the recyclables, the pieces fell into one of twenty different vats. Each vat was immense with a holding capacity of several hundred thousand gallons. A typical day's work on the killing room floor would fill one of these vats with as many as two hundred corpses. But most days a vat would hold considerably less than that.

The purpose of boiling vats, as tour guides usually told guests to the recycling center (no women allowed), is to begin the process of rendering the transient bodies into fundamentals. The only part of this process that is done on the killing room floor is the removal of hair from each recyclable. The scalp is cut from the skull to remove the hair and is then shipped to FurnaceMaster Inc. The hair component is used in the production of large industrial air filters. Most skyscrapers in the cities filter their air through these filters and replacements are required on a regular basis.

The rest of the process begins on the boiling room floor. The corpses are boiled for two days at extreme temperatures. Hot water cooks the flesh thoroughly and removes undesirable deterious material such as feces, urine, and blood. Much of the fat in the bodies flush into the water which can be extracted and used in the production of soap and detergent products. Most large fatty breasts that go into the vats come out flat, reduced to empty flaps of skin.

The soft fleshy pieces of the corpses are effectively boiled away from the bones during two days' exposure to the extreme heat. After the vat is allowed to cool for a day, it is drained and the remaining pieces are sorted into 'Solid' components (bone) and 'Soft' components (flesh and organ meat). That is what the sorters do in the boiling room. The only tools they need is their own hands, and a whole bunch of wheelbarrows. Sorters represent the least skilled workforce of Fem-Biograde facilities.

Frank put his goggles on and adjusted his work hat. 'Okay guys, Vat number Eight is finished the cooling cycle and needs to be sorted. There's a hundred and forty recyclables in it, so I hope you all had enough sleep last night. This will probably be a long shift.'

The men stepped alongside a long solid steel table that extended from the side of boiling vat number eight. Above the table was a large hopper with a bottom door five feet in diameter. When Frank pressed the evacuation button, the room filled with the loud sounds of the water draining from the huge boiling vat. The men around the table put their rubber gloves on and prepared to get to work.

When the computer indicated that the vat was completely drained, Frank pushed the green 'open' button and a pile of wet, cooked flesh dumped out of the hopper door. Several hundred pounds of cooked female meat and bones gushed onto the table. The boiled meat had turned the same color as the bones - a dull gray, devoid of color. The men began grabbing woman parts and carried them a few feet where several wheelbarrows were lined up.

Jim grabbed a stray muscular leg from the table and carried it over to a nearby wheelbarrow by the ankle. The flesh of the thigh and hip was attached to the leg, but the hip bone was not. It appeared as though the leg had not been severed but came apart from the rest of the body inside the boiling vat. The quadricep meat was dangling from the femur and as he held the drumstick over the wheelbarrow, he pulled on the flap of cooked flesh. The meat fell right off the femur and dropped into the wheelbarrow. Jim twisted the femur until it came out of the knee joint. He tossed the bone into a different wheelbarrow and then used his thumbs to pry apart the weak flesh in the shin of the lower leg. The meat came apart like nothing and he dropped the calf muscle into the growing heap of meat in the wheelbarrow. Twisting again, he pulled the foot off the lower leg bone, tossed the bone, and began pulling the flesh off the numerous bones in the foot. He pulled the toes off, purged them of meat and tugged the toenails off. Toenails and fingernails were the only part of the body that was not recyclable, so Jim dropped them on the floor and went back to the pile for another piece of girl meat.

Another man had a woman's bloated naked torso in his arms and set it down in an empty wheelbarrow. The arms, legs and head of the woman were missing, and probably located someplace in the pile of meat on the table, or in the vat of cooked woman-parts. He shook the torso up and down roughly until the pelvis came apart and the cooked internal gore dumped out into the wheelbarrow. He pulled the flesh off the rib cage then tossed the ribcage, intact, into another wheelbarrow full of other female bones. He picked up the woman's pelvis and ripped the fleshy buttocks off the woman's shredded ass. Within seconds he had all the flesh removed from the woman's hip and tail bones. He tossed the bones on top of the ribcage and several of the ribs snapped.

Frank grabbed a couple severed heads from the table and carried them to a nearby wheelbarrow. He pulled the lower jaw off one of the hairless heads, pushed the slippery flesh off the jaw-bone and picked the loose teeth out of the woman's cooked gums. By pushing his hand over the bleached-white skull, he took the rest of the flesh off the head. He pulled the face off the skull, poked the distended eyeballs out of their sockets and removed the ears. He dumped the skull in a wheelbarrow. Then he did the same with the other severed head, but he slammed the second skull into the wheelbarrow after it was skinned, smashing the bone to several pieces.

After a few minutes, several wheelbarrows began to fill beyond capacity, so several men each pushed a wheelbarrow across the room. The wheelbarrows holding skeletal remains were pushed into the drying room. The wheelbarrows filled with soft components were taken to a large steel hopper in the floor of the boiling room. The mouth of the hopper was about ten feet wide and made a loud mechanical sound like gears grinding on gears.

The first wheelbarrow was tipped over and the soggy, bloated flesh of several dead woman slid into the hopper. A terrible grinding noise echoed through the boiling room as the meat was torn apart by hundreds of spinning blades. The grinder chewed the flesh and bits of cooked girl meat spewed into the air.

Four more wheelbarrows of slippery female flesh-parts were tipped into the hopper and the menacing meat grinder made quick work of the soft meat. What better way to deal with the meat of women that needed to be recycled?
























Finding another way?






















The touring delegation of physicians stepped into the mixing room led by a tour guide. All the men wore white lab coats thrown over their suits and white hard hats. The tour group had just come from the bone-meal production room, so all the members of the group were wearing large yellow ear-protection covers. The grinders in that room produced noise at nearly 200-decibels. The tour guide moved his arms in an animated fashion as he spoke.

'Here at Fem-BioGrade we produce a wide variety of products. In this room you can see our hog feed production facility.'

From the low ceiling a constant supply of gray colorless meat, diced and cubed by the loud meat grinder, fell into a ten-foot wide mixing bowl. Beside the mixing bowl, a spout fed an equal amount of unrefined oats into the bowl. A large blade spun inside the bowl mixing the meat and the oats together into a fine-textured gruel.

The physicians were part of a government task-force to expand the possible uses of female by-products. They were under considerable pressure by certain politicians to discover a practical means for recycling the female flesh into human-food. Physicians were resisting this pressure because of a lack of studies surrounding the psychological effects of cannibalism on the general population - especially the female population.

It was felt that the female population was not prepared for the reality of their situation. The details of the recycling operations being carried out worldwide were still largely kept secret from women. The resulting by-products and the gruesome details of the process that prepared those by-products had been kept secret because of physicians' concerns. The questions regarding cannibalism that concerned physicians most were:

What would be the reaction of women when they discovered the end by-product of their bodies?

How would women react when they found woman-steaks and girl-roasts sitting in the meat cooler at their local supermarket?

The current solution for eliminating the transmission of STDs between heterosexual couples was largely based on a certain amount of cooperation by women. If they should discover what their role in the solution really required, there would undoubtably be a serious backlash, not to mention higher incurred costs of female procurement.

No, most physicians knew that it had to be kept secret. So the beef and hog markets were increased and the female by-products of the recycling process were added to the increased feed requirements of those industries. Better to hide the process than to blow the issue wide open.













--
THE END (for now)
. . . Meatlover

 No.4941

In Recycling Rita, for preventing STD, women can have sex one one first and last time, afterwards they dissapear.

The story starts with Rita in the gynecologist, afterwards she is raped and sent to a "Recycling Plant" where she is killed and processed for resources...

 No.4963

Apparently i was posting the story at the same time the OP was commenting on the story posted before before. i assure you the version i posted IS the actual story requested. its one of my favorites.

 No.15331

bump



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