In Other Worlds

Everyday I pass the place where criminals are punished on my way to the factory.  While I try not to look, focusing instead on sunshine and butterflies, I can hear their cries as their fingers are severed, their eyeballs poked out, their tongues branded. Their punishments imposed for stealing, missing work shifts, whispering forbidden words.  The Office of Punitive Matters is just down the street from my work.  Sometimes the line drags out the door and onto the street.  The Government is so inefficient.  Everything takes forever.  You show up, wait in line, take a number, wait in another line, take another number, wait in another line, just to be granted your sentence.  I used to really hate waiting in line, but after awhile, you get used to it.

And to make it worse, our employers often make it very difficult to get time off to go to OPM, or any Government office, for required appearances.  So you can lose your job for receiving your punishment, which then racks up more punishment for being unemployed, and so on.  It’s almost impossible for a regular person to get ahead anymore.  It was easier for our parents.  I heard back in their time, employers used to be required to give you time off to go to the OPM, although they’ve never been required to accommodate you after your sentence has been executed.  It’s dangerous for me to even be having these kinds of thoughts.

I need to refocus on happy things. I daydream of my future Husband. I think of our wedding and our family and our future life together. Finally, I get to work. And not a moment too soon - only 8 minutes before the doors are sealed. I have just enough time to change into my cleansuit and find a place at my station.  I was sealed out once before.  Thank God the OPM only took a toe.  I was able to come back to work for the afternoon shift and makeup my time.  It hurt like hell for a couple weeks, but losing a toe wasn’t a nail in my professional coffin.  And luckily, it’s easily concealed thanks to the boots we wear on the floor.  Evening heels though... let’s just say I have to be careful when selecting my footwear.

I studied hard at University for my degree that enabled me to get this job. And my debt is substantial. If I lose this gig, that could be the end. There is no mercy for deadbeat debtors. Deadbeat debtors are the lowest of the lowlifes, and frankly, they all deserve to be killed.  The Party should just round them up, throw them in a pit, and set them on fire.  I didn’t work this hard to get where I am just to give handouts to some lowlife.  They deserve what they get.

I pull up to my workbench and sit down next to Julie.  Julie Chan speaks with a lisp, after having some teeth taken by the OPM. She was caught looking unhappy over her rations a few months ago.  Females are required by the Party to be joyful at all times. It is our Civic Duty to spread lighthearted cheer.  The Men have so many struggles, they don’t want to be brought down by some gloomy-whiny female. And they shouldn’t be. They work very hard keeping us safe from undesirables. They run everything: the country, the economy, the Church. They deserve our gratitude, and I do my very best to show it.

Poor, pathetic Julie.  She’s going to have a hard time finding a Husband with that gap in her grin. She only has a few months left, too, before her expiration date. She brought it upon herself, though. So I don’t feel bad for her. I just want to make sure that nobody thinks she’s my friend. Sometimes at work she tries to talk to me, so I wear headphones. Our Leader’s Mantras are so much more beneficial to my mental health, anyway, than associating with a loser like Julie Chan.  In University, we learned about the History of the Mantras and how they were bestowed upon our Leader by a divine force with ancient, cosmic knowledge of spiritual vibrations. The sounds and the melody were a gift from the heavens to keep us happy and focused in order to maximize productivity for our National Economic Health.

Time to get busy. Monica pulls up to our bench.

“What do we have for fun today?” I ask her with a smile. I hope my eagerness to contribute to the overall productivity of our Nation is obvious to the digital eyes watching us.

“Let’s see,” she says, as she starts pulling units from her cart. They’re frozen solid.

I can’t help but giggle when I hear them hit the steel table. It cracks me up to see their faces frozen, mouths open, yellow teeth.  First batch is mostly possums and raccoons. But they’re frozen so hard, work is initially slow. I’m smiling, not just because it’s required, but because I’m genuinely happy for this job. It’s a good gig and I’m lucky. That said, breaking down these units is hard when they’re so cold. And as the cold creeps into my fingers and my grip becomes less sure, I worry a bit about my numbers.  Julie Chan slipped and cut herself pretty bad last week. She had to get stitches after our shift and her numbers slipped for the day. But she’s a loser, so it’s to be expected.

Some of the smaller units are starting to thaw a little and soften up. I take a young possum from the edge of the pile and push my knife into its shoulder joint.  The arm pops off with a satisfying snap. I was top of my class, and I’ve been doing this for 2 years now, so I’m pretty good and can break down a unit with my eyes closed. I love knowing I’m contributing to the economic strength of the Nation.  

Job growth lately has been tremendous, and unemployment is at an all time low, thanks to our Leader’s policies of easing regulations that used to prevent unnecessary barriers to supplying consumers with products they really want. I love Tyson Possum nuggets - almost as much as I love our Nutria patties - and I’m proud to tell people I work in the Tyson factory.  I love knowing that not only am I helping to feed our great People, but also contributing to the ecological health of our Nation by thinning out populations of unnecessary species in a green and sustainable manner.

I spent $468,988,800.00 at Uni for my BS degree in Urban Wildlife Management, and I’m proud to say it was worth every penny.  Monica went to a second-tier school, and it shows.  Her productivity is only 88% of what I can pump out in a shift, and she’s been here longer than I have. No wonder she’s having a hard time finding a guy. She still has another 14 months before her expiration date, so there is hope for her, but I think I can see a wrinkle forming between her eyebrows, which might mean she has been frowning in private.  She says it’s from squinting. Maybe that’s true. Before I was born, the Party declared eyeglasses to be unattractive on females, so we don’t wear them. Wouldn’t want to, anyway, it’s better to be blind than ugly. Monica had better get some Botox and fillers and fix that mess of a face.

“It’s such a beautiful day today, Monica. It would be even more beautiful if you got some Botox.” I consider her my friend, and it’s my job to make sure she knows she’s looking a mess. “Your eyebrow lines are hideous.  Hello, resting bitch face!”

Jessica at the next workbench starts laughing.  She’s the one to watch. She’s beautiful, and so productive. I bet her ovaries are bursting with ripe eggs. You can almost smell her fertility from here. She’s lucky to be such a catch, but she better get married soon.  Every time she walks to and from work or the Market, she risks being fertilized by some poor Man who can’t help Himself.   Her beauty really is irresistable, with those enormous mammaries and long, golden hair.  She is the Aryan ideal, for sure, lucky bitch.  I secretly hope that she is fertilized out of wedlock soon and taken off the Market. Leaves more Husbands for the rest of us.   Her teeth are straight, she has all her fingers and toes, and her smile is contagious.  Why she’s still here, breaking down units is something of a mystery, but she hasn’t been on the Market that long.  Only a couple weeks.  She must have a flaw we can’t see. She probably has something weird about her vagina.  The thought makes me smile: beautiful Jessica has a deformed vagina. Dear God, I hope it is so. It’s girls like her that make it so hard for the rest of us to get taken off the Market.

I’m burning through units like nobody’s business.  They’re thawing out to room temp and I’m a Possum-nugget prep machine. Snap, Flip, Slice, Skin, Gut, Chop, NEXT. Even Golden Jessica can’t keep up with me. Maybe her deformed vagina hurts. The thought makes me smile brighter.  Maybe her deformed vagina is why she hasn’t been fertilized by some poor Man who can’t restrain His lustful passion. That actually makes sense. I’ve convinced myself now that her vagina is deformed and under that facade of beauty is a gynecological mutant. Mystery solved. I smile even brighter.

“ Hey Monica,” I whisper.

Monica looks at me, smiling.

“Did you know that Jessica has a deformed vagina?” I say, just loud enough that Monica and Julie Chan can hear, but Jessica can’t.

Julie grins at me with her stupid, gap-toothed face. She’s such a loser. “What?” She says, a little too loudly.

“Shhhhhhh,” I scold and I lean forward over my unit. I repeat, softly: “Beautiful Golden Jessica has a deformed vagina, and that’s why she’s still on the Market.”

“That’s why she hasn’t been fertilized yet, either,” I add.

Monica’s eyes light up.  She and Julie look at Jessica and her big boobs and blonde hair, working away, breaking down a unit.

Jessica feels the stare and looks back, beaming. She knows she’s the prettiest girl in the room. She knows that none of us has a chance as long as she’s on the Market. She’ll probably get a bidder with enough dough to pay her student loans back. And she’ll probably never have to work again, she’ll become a kept woman, a housewife - the ultimate dream.

Even though I love my job and I am the most productive on the floor, I dream of one day being a housewife: the most noble position in our society for a female. Nothing could be more fulfilling than being completely devoted to the pleasure and care of my Husband and the regeneration of our People. I want my womb to be a treasure of the State, as all little girls do. So far I’ve managed to avoid unmarried fertilization, so I am still a worthy vessel.  But secretly, in the darkest recesses of my mind, I worry that my time will be up and I’ll hit my expiration date before I’m taken off the Market.  

So far, I’ve had more than a few looky-loos, but nobody who’s wanted to commit.  There are a lot of Men who just enjoy browsing. And who blames them - they’re under a lot of pressure with all the important work they do and their responsibilities. Of course they want to have some low-key, no-pressure fun with a female every now and then. And it’s our duty to provide them with the relief they need. I’ve had a few test-drives, but no buyers.  I’m trying not to worry, but with girls like Jessica on the Market, it’s easy to see why a female like me gets passed by. I’m on the plain side of pretty, but gosh, I’m no Julie Chan.

I do worry though. Females aren’t allowed to say no to a test drive. If a Man wants to try us out before buying, we’re obliged to say yes. And it’s for our own good, really, as no female would want to end up with a Man who wasn’t satisfied with His decision to buy.  I often wonder if they’re just testing me out because they’re curious to know if what they heard about redheads is true.

“Jessica has a deformed vagina?!?” Julie Chan squeals out. God, she’s such a loser.  The Boss hears her.  Everybody hears her.  Jessica definitely hears her, and her beaming smile cracks just a little.  Just barely cracks.  In her eyes.

This is great.

The Boss comes running over, taser ready.  Julie is cracking up laughing. She’s stopped working, she’s laughing so hard.  Monica and I pick up the pace and through our smiles, we watch the Boss taze Julie Chan.  Julie Chan drops to the shop floor and pisses herself. That loser didn’t even have her catheter in.  “Jessica has a deformed vagina!” she manages to shout out again from the floor before the Boss delivers another pulse.

This is pretty much the best day ever.

Now all the girls on the floor know that Jessica’s vagina is a wreck, and Julie is going to go to God-knows-where after a work infraction like that.  I don’t know what OPM is going to fine her, but it’s not going to be pretty.  Julie is done. She was a loser, anyway.

Monica and I silently smile into each others’ eyes.  Both our worlds just got a little brighter.

We focus on work - gotta keep our numbers up.  The Market updates our productivity numbers on our profiles hourly, so any potential Husbands out there may be keeping track.  The rest of the day flies by.  Mantras on repeat, and my mind keeps replaying the image of pathetic Julie Chan, pissing herself on the floor.

Our shift ends and the doors are unsealed.

I run to the ladies room, remove my catheter for the day, and change out of my cleansuit.  I have a super sexy mini dress in my locker - lots of cleavage, lots of legs.  After dressing, I apply my makeup, false lashes, and put on my heels.  One last check in the mirror, and I’m ready to go to the Market. I haven’t been given anything but water rations in two days, so I look hot.

I check our standings on the screen on the way out. Golden Jessica has already fallen from the top 3. Has news of her vagina already leaked out? Most of the girls haven’t even left the factory yet; they’re still getting ready in the locker-room. News won’t be the only thing leaking out of Jessica’s vagina. I am so clever sometimes, I impress myself.

It is imperative that single females arrive at the Market with positivity intact.  Some of the Men can sense false hospitality.  If one of the Men recognizes any of us to be disingenuous when enthusiastically accepting their advances and attention, we can be referred to the OPM. So I get myself pumped up on Mantras and practicing my sexy walk.  I’m getting pretty good at the ol’ sexy sache. I think about Julie Chan pissing herself, and instantly, I’m genuinely gleeful. That loser. Jessica’s deformed vagina! I may have taken two bitches out in one day.

One last peek in the shop window confirms it, tonight I’m going to slay at the Market. Tonight may be the one I find my Husband and I can fulfil my destiny as a housewife.  If only I were blonde, I would have been tapped for the selective breeding program. It’s well known only a certain kind of Man would ever be Husband to a redhead.

Not to focus on that. Time to look pretty. Time to work it. This was my third of four required visits to the Market this week.  All available females are required to report to Market at least four calendar days each week, and to be available for any Male browsers for a minimum of two hours.  This is for our own benefit, to make sure that we are actively engaged in bettering our future.  The Men really do know what’s best for us, and we are lucky that we are so well looked after by them.  Us nice girls, that is. Not females like Julie Chan, or anybody with a deformed vagina.

It’s because they care about us so much that each of us has until our expiration date to visit the Market. The Leader decided we shall do so, to make sure that we don’t give up on our dream of finding the perfect Husband. Otherwise,  He  says, females would just sit around at home and get fat. And a fat lazy single female is of no value to anybody. She’s probably a lesbian. Going to Market four times a week definitely cures any female of thinking about being a lesbian.  Which is a good thing, because lesbianism carries a terminal fine.

Jessica just arrived at Market.  I can’t wait to see what is going to happen.  A crowd is starting to gather already around her stall. One of the Men is laughing. I have to admit Jessica looks beautiful, her giant boobs on display for all the Men. Sometimes I wish I’d spent less on student loans and more on my surgical enhancements. I’d probably be a housewife by now if I’d spent the extra to get giant augmentations like Jessica did. But at least my vagina isn’t deformed.

All eyes are on Jessica. She is trying to remain happy and upbeat while the Men are taunting her. She graciously accepts their advances as they grab her and reach for her crotch. There’s a Boss standing nearby, His hand on His taser.  He’s ready to jump in if something goes south. Jessica better stay sweet if she wants to avoid being tased.

This is great. Jessica is losing her cool. Everybody is laughing. There are several Men over there grabbing at her. One old Man is rubbing her between the legs with His walking stick. I hear another ask loudly if  He  can inspect her vagina. Only,  He  used another word for it.  He  says heard something’s not right.  He  says  He  wants to make sure there are no damaged goods at the Market.

I look around the room. Dammit. Monica isn’t here tonight. She would love this. Females aren’t permitted to speak to each other at the Market. Female attention is to be devoted 100 percent to the Men who are needing some cheer in their night. There is a Man looking at me right now, dammit. Why did He have to show up right when things are getting interesting with Jessica? I have to remember to stay upbeat. Think happy thoughts. Think happy thoughts.

So of course my mind wanders back over to Jessica. I am trying to remain attentive to this Man who’s arrived, but my ears are straining to hear what’s happening in Jessica’s stall.  So when  He gets close enough, I lean forward and brush my lips against His ear and whisper: “If you want to see something good, take a look at what’s happening over there.” in my sexiest of sex kitten voices.

The Man in my stall suddenly becomes angry. “What did you say?”  He  asks me with a stern voice. His eyebrows furrowed in anger as He glares directly into my eyes.  He  grabs my left breast with one hand, squeezing hard, and my right wrist with His other hand and places my hand on His bulge. “This,”  He  says, “This is what you should be looking at. Do you understand? You’re lucky I don’t call the Boss over here.”

I know the Boss is busy at Jessica’s stall, but I don’t want an infraction so I grab His bulge through His pants and feel it swell. “That’s better,”  He  says. “I always wondered if it was true what they say about redheads. Is it?”

I silently nod my head yes, looking into His eyes, forcing a smile. In truth, I don’t know what it is they say about redheads, but I’ve learned to play along and not ask questions. Men don’t like to be questioned by females.

“Unzip my pants and show me,”  He  says. I don’t think this Man is looking for a commitment. Regardless, I smile and I still try to imagine Him as my Husband and me, His devoted housewife as I unzip His pants, revealing His cotton undershorts. I imagine a four bedroom house in a sunny neighborhood with green lawns and trees. There are red tulips growing in a patch around the base of the white mailbox and a shiny, clean, black luxury station wagon with a sunroof parked in the driveway.

“Take it out,” He says. I reach down behind His undershorts’ elastic waistband and feel His Manhood’s skin for the first time. It’s sticky, sweaty. It probably smells bad. But before I get negative I imagine the shiny appliances in the beautiful kitchen this Man would provide me as my Husband, and I’m motivated to perform. I pull the waistband down and His Penis springs out, like it’s looking at me. I refresh my smile.

“Get down on your knees and put it in your mouth,” He says, grabbing my hair and forcing me to the floor.  It’s hard to maintain graceful posture when being pulled to the ground by your hair while wearing high heels and a tight, dress, but I’ve had a lot of practice with this move by now and am getting better at it. My first few trips to Market, I was clumsy and almost got the Taser a few times. But now, I’m better and I take pride in my ability to perform.

I put His Penis in my mouth and He yanks my hair again. “Look me in the eye,” He says.

I look up at Him. Suddenly, there’s a loud scream from Jessica’s stall. A blood-curdling scream. An animalistic, primal, guttural scream, like you sometimes hear from the OPM or the hospital. We hear these types of screams often, it usually means somebody is being fined or a Man got a little to impassioned with an off-Market fertilization. It happens sometimes, Men are very passionate beings and can’t always control their impulses. That’s why we learn, as females, we should always graciously accept their advances. It’s for our own good.

The Man with His Penis in my mouth is unfazed by the screaming. In fact, He seems to become more aroused by it. “Suck it, female.”  He  says just before He squirts His seed into my mouth.

It tastes bitter, but I swallow it all and then thank Him for the test drive. I smile and try to look wifely for Him, but he’s already disinterested.  He  zips up His pants and walks away, not looking again in my direction.

I turn my attention towards Jessica’s stall. There are several Men standing around smiling, talking, some with hands in their pockets. They look pleased. They look happy. At their feet is Jessica. She is naked. A pool of dark blood spreading out from between her legs. The old Man’s walking stick is shoved far up inside her vagina. She’s breathing, but still.  Her golden hair is spread out around her head, like a halo. 

“Excuse me, please,” she keeps saying. She’s trying to smile and not bother the Men. “Excuse me?”

“Shut up, bitch, are we talking to you?” a Man says, walks over to her, and kicks the side of her 

beautiful face. “Shut up!”  He  says as He grits His teeth together and stomps down on her neck, shifting His weight to the foot on her throat until  He  can see she’s stopped breathing.

“Somebody get a janitor over here!” He calls out. The group of Men disperse and leave Jessica’s lifeless naked body in her stall. The old Man tries to dislodge His walking stick from her vagina. It takes some work, it’s really far inside her, and it’s difficult for the old Man to bend down that far towards the ground, so a pair of younger Men assist, one steps on Jessica’s body to hold it still while the other dislodges the cane and returns it to the old Man. “At least there’s no blood on the handle!” He smiles and He shuffles away.

Jessica’s gone. One less competitor. I turn to the mirror in my stall and fix up my makeup, get a quick drink of water and a mint from my purse, and put on my happiest, sexiest, most wifely smile. I check my standings, and it appears the last Man who took me out gave me 4 out of 5 stars. Not bad.

I’m still on the Market, but in all, today was a good day.