Wages of Cyn 2

story continued from part one

Part 2

Larry's phone chirped. He didn't need to answer it. He knew the number.

"I have to go into work."

"What? Now?"

"Yeah."

"But Larry! We hardly ever have a Saturday night together."

"Kelly, it doesn't happen often, hardly ever, you know that."

"You gonna be late?"

"Midnight...ish. We can still go out after."

"Yeah."

Larry drove across town, down into the industrial complex, pulled into the warehouse parking lot. He flashed his badge at the security guy who barely acknowledged his existence.

"Asshole," Larry muttered.

He understood the need for security, but did they have to be such pricks? Never smiled, never acknowledged your existence unless it was to pat you down. It wasn't Fort freaking Knox for Christ sake.

He walked out onto the floor, didn't bother clocking in. Technically he wasn't there.

The warehouse was huge, several tens of thousands of square feet, with receiving at one end and shipping at the other. He was night supervisor for the bulk shipping side, but there would be no shipments tonight. Well, except one.

The place was nearly pitch dark with small pools of light from the few scattered ceiling lamps. He climbed into the cart and rolled between the aisles, all the way to the back, to the large, fenced-off area, to the metal door, the one with the keypad.

Inside the room he flicked on the lights. The screen saved on the computer read 9:48. He wiggled the mouse, found the order buried in amongst thousands of others. Three units. Typical. It was almost always two or three, never one, sometimes four, but no more.

At 10:00 a bell rang. Larry climbed up onto the forklift, spun it around, stopped by the door, reached out and jabbed the green button. The overhead door rumbled upward.

The white van was backed up against the shipping dock, its rear hatch open. Larry pulled up until the forks extended into the van. The guy looped a cord over the fork, followed by a second, then a third. The cords were cinch cords for three largish sacks. Larry raised and tilted the forks and backed into the room.

He set the sacks down and opened each in turn.

The girls were naked. each had tape over their eyes, were gagged with some kind of plugged thing, and had tape all over their bodies.

He pressed two fingers to one of the girl's neck, found a good, strong, if not a bit unsteady pulse. Typical.

Larry nodded. The driver handed him a white envelope. There was a reason Larry didn't clock in. This was strictly off the books. He would split the money with Stan tomorrow. He didn't know exactly what Stan did, but that was the deal.

The driver climbed into his van and rolled away. Larry lowered the door.

Back at the computer, Larry noticed the date. It was this day, the day three years ago when Neal had come to him. Asked him to come up to the office at quitting time.

Larry was a coordinator of sorts, supplying the packers with packing material, removing full pallets, replacing them with empty ones. It kept him busy and he liked that, liked flirting with the girls.

Stan was there, which surprised him. Stan was the first shift supervisor and, technically, Neal's boss. Larry rarely saw him, let alone speak to him.

"Larry, I'm not going to beat around the bush. You always go the extra mile, Larry. It shows. People have noticed. Since you've been here our numbers have been up and defects down. We'd like to offer you a promotion, Larry."

"Neal will be moving up, or more accurately out. He's going to our new facility in Canada and we need someone to fill his shoes."

"Now, I'm not going to lie to you. There will be extra responsibilities, but the pay is better."

"What do you think."

What Larry thought was a clear no. He liked his job, liked the girls, liked working regular hours. As a supervisor he'd be part of management and he remembered how ugly that got a few years back during the strike. But Kelly was making noises about getting married, about buying a house.

"Yeah. Yeah, sure. I'd like that."

"Good! Excellent."

Both men shook Larry's hand.

"Now you'll have to put in a bit of OT during the transition, but your raise will cover that."

During the next few weeks Larry split his time between the floor and the office. His replacement was coming along well, not great, but well enough.

One night Neal asked him to stay late. Larry busied himself tidying up the work areas, restock materials, and whatnot. At 10:00 Stan found him.

"Climb in."

Stan drove to the far corner of the warehouse, to a place Larry had never been. He pressed buttons on a keypad next to a metal door, pushed it open. Larry followed him in and stopped dead in his tracks.

Two girls. Naked. Taped. Gagged.

They sat in half-open canvas sacks. Neal was arranging packing materials.

"Remember when we spoke of special processing, special orders?

"Yeah."

"And remember when I told you not to be too curious, to just process the shipment and don't ask any questions?"

"Uh huh."

"Well, this is one of those times. We don't know who they are, where they come from, or where they go."

"Do you... do you mean you really don't know or you're not telling me."

"No questions, Larry."

Larry nodded and looked at the girls.

"Hand me the envelope, Neal."

Stan opened it and showed Larry the contents.

"In addition to your new rate, you get, let's call it a bonus. We split it 70/30. You keep the 70%."

"These shipments come in once or twice a week, sometimes none, sometimes more. You'll get a call from me. Come in, process the order, go home."

Stan counted the money, took his cut, and handed the envelope back to Neal.

***

Larry pulled the sack down and off of the first girl. They were always passive, docile even. But they didn't appear to be drugged. He'd take care of that.

He checked her tag, removed it. It was green. Larry pulled a green, spandex sack from the shelf. He popped the cap off the syringe, snapped on the needle, set it aside.

He laid a bit of cardboard on the floor. The concrete was cool, even cold. He knew that. Knew that from that day three years ago.

He was straddling a girl and he was nervous. He had only done it a couple of times on his own. Alarms went off. Startled, Larry jabbed himself in the thigh. He rolled off the girl onto the floor.

He could see and hear, but he couldn't move. Time passed. His eyes were dry and burning. Then the door opened.

Feet appeared, then someone turned his head. It was Stan.

"You stupid fuck," he chuckled.

He pressed Larry's eyes closed. Larry lay there, immobile, helpless. He heard Stan process the order. Heard the scuffing and scraping, the sound of doors opening and shutting.

He lay there for over twenty-four hours. Slowly, bit by bit, Larry realized something was changing. He could move his eyes, but not open them. And then he could. And then he could move his hands and feet, arms and legs.

He crawled over to his lunch box, pulled out the Thermos. Later he managed to stand, to walk. He staggered his way across the warehouse, stumble up the stairs to the office.

Neal looked at him and laughed.

"Good morning, sunshine."

Larry collapsed in a chair.

"Good thing the alarm went off. All the supervisors had to come in. If Stan hadn't found you who knows what would have happened to you or, more importantly, to the shipment."

"Sorry."

But that was then. Now he had a shipment to prepare.

Larry placed the girl on the cardboard, grabbed the hypo, and jabbed her in the ass, pushed the plunger. He wondered, not for the first time, how long they'd stay out. The needle wasn't there when he'd woken up, but he was sure he hadn't pressed it all that far, certainly not all the way.

He sliced and ripped the tape off her skin, rubbed her down with cleaner to remove the bits of adhesive, wiped her down again with moisturizer. His dick was hard in his coveralls, but he had selected the one he would fuck - the tall skinny one with big tits. He save her for last.

Larry stretched the green spandex sack, pulled it over the girl's head, fed the tube through the hole. He bent her body and worked her feet into the opposite end. He rolled her onto her belly and zipped the sack.

It was tight. They always were. But the spandex expanded and the flesh compressed. And soon the girl was reduced to a brightly-colored, roughly human-shaped package.

Larry took a bundle of straps from a box. There was one long strap with several smaller ones attached to it.

He rolled the girl onto the strap, wrapped and buckled the shorter ones. One around her neck, two above and below her tits, one around her waist, three more at her thighs, knees, and ankles.

He pulled the black plastic case from the pile. It, too, was roughly human-shaped. Hard plastic with a metal rim on both pieces, three hinges, and three clasps. The interior was lined with foam, like that acoustic foam with all the little bumps in it.

He hefted the sacked and strapped girl into the case, closed the lid. He aligned the tube with a hole in the case and pressed down. As with the sack, sometimes this took a bit of effort.

Finally the metal bits interlocked and Larry snapped the three clasps. He took a green card from the stack, stuck a clear shipping envelope to outer case, and slipped the card into it.

One down, two to go.

He repeated the process with girl #2. Her tag was blue, so she got a blue sack and a blue card.

He prepared girl #3 as the others, removing the tape, cleaning her up a bit. But before putting her into the sack, he retrieved a pile of foam, made a makeshift pillow and draped her over it, face down.

From his lunch box, Larry took the jar of Vaseline and the vibrator. He unzipped his coveralls, shrugged out of the sleeves, pulled the garment down to his knees.

He opened the jar and smeared the grease around and into the girl's ass. First one finger, then two, then came the vibrator. While he pushed the vibrator in and out of the girl's ass, he stroked himself with a greasy hand.

Kelly, while great in bed, never let him near her bottom. Even after he'd shown her information on how it can be pleasant if done properly. But she was adamant. No buggery.

But now he didn't care.

He had wondered at first about whether he would get in trouble. Nobody said he couldn't play with them a bit before shipping them off. And he had tried fucking them once or twice, but doing an unconscious girl left him cold. Sodomy? He loved the look of the girl's rump thrust up for him, the feel of being in her. Tight, but not too tight. Hence the bit with the vibrator. He did one girl each shipment. And, truth be told, he was disappointed those weeks when there were no shipments.

When he finished with her he packaged her and laid her box next to the others. He used the forklift to bring over a pallet. He hefted two of the cases onto it, grabbed a roll of shrink-wrap plastic, and sealed the cases, and the pallet, in a layer of opaque white. Larry punched an X into each breathing tube. Once shrunk, the plastic would expand a bit around the holes and adhere to the tubes.

He set the sealed pallet off to the side, brought over a second. The green girl had this one to herself and was soon sealed and secure.

Larry took two more colored cards, two more shipping envelopes, and stuck them to the taut plastic of their respective packages.

At midnight the bell rang.

It was, as usual, a small, white, panel truck. It nearly came to the height of the loading dock and Larry was able to slide the pallets inside.

The guy handed Larry an envelope, he closed the doors, and drove away.

Larry lowered the overhead door, checked his workspace, rolled back to the office. There he removed his portion of the cash and left the envelope in Stan's desk draw.

Back home, Larry climbed into the shower. He took a bit of extra time getting the grease off. When he came out of the bathroom, Kelly was holding his coveralls. She had the cash in her hand.

"Well, at least they pay you."

"Yeah," he said ruefully. "The wages of sin."

 

 

28.11.13