Chapter 6: MPD
The meatpacking district was a landscape of brutal function. Brick warehouses loomed over narrow streets stained with the ghost of old blood and disinfectant. Delivery trucks idled, diesel fumes thick in the cold morning air. Men in bloodied aprons smoked in doorways, their conversations halting as the silver sedan pulled to the curb.
Josie killed the engine. Her knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “This is insane. We can go to a grocery store.”
“This is where he gets his meat,” Annie said, her voice flat. “Top tier. You know that.” She unbuckled her seatbelt. “Come on.”
The walk from the car to the butcher shop was fifteen yards. It felt like a mile. Josie, wrapped in nothing but the black strings of the microkini and a thin, futile attempt at dignity, stepped onto the sidewalk. The chill hit her instantly, puckering her skin, hardening her nipples into tight points against the flimsy lycra. A low whistle cut from across the street.
“Ay, dios mío,” a voice called. “You lost, baby?”
Josie kept her chin up, her eyes fixed on the shop’s frosted glass door. “Fuck off,” she muttered, the words carrying.
“She talks!” another man laughed, hefting a side of pork onto his shoulder. “Looks like a premium cut to me.”
Annie walked beside her, dressed in her simple jeans and t-shirt, a shield of normalcy. She felt the eyes, but they slid off her, magnetized by the nearly naked woman shivering beside her. She understood, with a cold, clinical clarity, the addictive cruelty of it. This was the power Josie had wielded from the velvet chair. It was hollow, and it was vicious, and it warmed the frozen part of her that Levi had created.
The bell over the butcher shop door jingled. The inside was a cave of cold air, the sharp, metallic scent of fresh blood, and the rich smell of sawdust. Cleavers thunked on heavy blocks. A ceiling fan turned slowly. The man behind the main counter looked up. He was huge, with forearms like hams, his white apron splattered with crimson. His eyes took them in—Annie first, then the spectacular vision of Josie. They lingered on the strings cutting into her hips, the dark triangle of hair below.
“Help you?” he asked, his voice a low rumble.
“Bacon,” Annie said. “The thick-cut, applewood smoked. Three pounds. And a filet mignon. Two inches thick.”
The butcher nodded, wiping his hands on a cloth. “Got it.” He turned to his case, selecting a slab of bacon. He laid it on the block and began slicing with rhythmic, expert strokes. His gaze kept flicking to Josie, who stood with her arms crossed over her chest, trying to cover herself. It was useless.
“Cold?” he asked, a smile playing on his lips.
“I’m fine,” Josie snapped, her teeth faintly chattering.
He finished the bacon, wrapped it in white paper, then moved to the cooler for the steak. He weighed it, wrapped it, placed both packages on the counter. “Eighty-seven fifty.”
Annie nudged Josie. “Pay the man.”
Josie reached for the small pocket sewn into the side string of the bikini bottom, where she’d tucked her phone and a single credit card. She pulled out the phone, tapped the screen. Nothing. She pressed the power button. The screen remained black, dead. “Shit,” she whispered.
“Problem?” the butcher asked, leaning his massive forearms on the counter.
“My phone’s dead. I can’t pay.”
“Cash?”
She shook her head, a flush of real panic coloring her cheeks. “I left my purse at the condo.”
The butcher’s eyes travelled over her body again, slowly, appreciatively. The silence stretched, filled only by the hum of the cooler. He glanced at Annie, then back to Josie. A knowing, greasy smile spread across his face. “Well,” he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial rumble. “Top tier cuts for top tier customers. Maybe we can work out a… trade. Other forms of currency.”
Josie’s head whipped up. “You have got to be kidding me. No. Absolutely not.”
The butcher shrugged, beginning to pull the packages back. “Suit yourself. Have a nice day.”
“Wait.” The word came from Annie. She was looking at Josie, her face unreadable. There was no sympathy there, only a dark, calculating curiosity. It was the same look Levi had given her in the boutique window.
Josie saw it and understood instantly. Her eyes widened. “No. Annie. Don’t you fucking dare.”
Annie stepped closer to the counter, ignoring her. She looked up at the butcher. “What kind of trade?”
The butcher’s smile widened. He jerked his head toward a doorway behind him, shielded by a heavy plastic curtain. “Back room. Five minutes of her time. The meat’s yours. Maybe I even throw in some sausage.”
Josie grabbed Annie’s arm, her fingers digging in. “You listen to me, you bitch. You do not get to do this. This isn’t the same! This is some fucking sweaty stranger in a meat locker!”
Annie leaned in, her voice a low, calm monotone that cut through Josie’s panic. “He didn’t say fuck. You’re jumping ahead. But let’s be clear. If I order you to do it, will you still refuse?” She watched Josie’s face, the struggle between visceral revolt and the ingrained, terrified obedience Levi had demanded.
Josie didn’t respond. Her silence was the answer. Her eyes, wide and glistening, darted from Annie’s ruthless gaze to the butcher’s leering face. Annie saw the realization click. Josie would do it. She would hate Annie forever, would likely find some exquisite way to poison her for this, but she would obey.
“So it’s not a question of if,” Annie murmured, almost to herself. “It’s a question of what.” She turned back to the butcher. “She’s not fucking you. Not either of you.”
The butcher’s smile dimmed. “Then we got no deal.”
“I didn’t finish,” Annie said, her farm-girl bluntness slicing through the negotiation. “What about a blowjob? Or two. I saw your buddy in the back.” She nodded toward the plastic curtain, where another large shape moved in the shadows. “She sucks both your dicks for the meat. That’s the trade.”
Josie made a choked sound. “You are out of your goddamn mind.”
The butcher considered, his thick fingers drumming the bloody block. He called over his shoulder. “Tony! Get out here.” The second man emerged, younger, with a dense beard and the same corded muscles. The first butcher jerked his chin toward Josie. “This one says her friend here will suck us both off for the order.”
Tony’s eyes lit up. “Both?”
“That’s the offer.”
Josie shook her head, the movement frantic. “No. Absolutely not. No way.”
Annie stepped closer to her, invading her space. “Is that a ‘no’ to me, Josie? Or a ‘no’ to them? Make sure you know the difference.” The threat hung in the cold air, more potent than any cleaver. It was the memory of Levi’s punishment, the withdrawal of his favor, that solidified in Josie’s eyes.
Her defiance wavered. It didn’t break, but it softened at the edges, becoming something desperate and pliable. “I can’t… not both at once. That’s… that’s fucking disgusting.”
Tony shrugged, a slow grin spreading behind his beard. "Turns are fine. Ladies' choice." He already had his thick work belt undone, the heavy buckle clinking against the concrete floor.
The first butcher, whose name was Vic, gestured with a meaty hand toward the plastic curtain. "Back room's private. Cooler's off. It's clean." His tone was all business now, the transaction settled.
Josie looked at Annie one last time, her eyes searching for any remnant of mercy or solidarity. She found only that same flat, observational stare Annie had worn in the boutique window. "You're a monster," Josie whispered, the words hollow.
"Five minutes," Annie replied, checking her own plain wristwatch. "Starting now."
Josie turned and pushed through the stiff plastic strips, Vic and Tony following close behind. The back room was a stark, utilitarian space. White tile walls, a deep steel sink, stainless steel tables, and hooks hanging empty from moving tracks on the ceiling. The air was ten degrees colder, carrying the dense, iron-rich smell of raw meat. A single bare bulb overhead cast a pitiless light.
"Knees'll get cold on the floor," Vic observed, not unkindly, as he and Tony positioned themselves before her. They were already pulling their cocks free, thick and semi-hard, pushing their bloodstained aprons aside. Josie swallowed, the sound loud in the quiet.
She sank to her knees on the hard, damp tile. The chill seared through her skin instantly. She looked up at the two men, their heavy cocks now thickening to full erection in their hands. Vic’s was uncut, blunt and pale. Tony’s was darker, veined, with a prominent head. "Who's first?" she asked, her voice trembling despite her attempt to sound bored.
"Take turns," Tony said, stepping closer. "Start with me."
Josie leaned forward. She opened her mouth, taking Tony’s cockhead past her lips. It was warm, skin salty against her tongue. She used the technique she knew, bobbing her head, trying to lose herself in the rhythm of a task. Her mind fled to the condo, to Levi’s impersonal grip on her hair, to anything but the present cold and the smell of men and meat.
After a minute, Vic tapped her shoulder. "Swap."
She pulled off Tony with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting her lips to his glistening tip. She turned to Vic, repeating the process. He was thicker. She gagged, tears springing to her eyes as he pushed deeper, his hands coming to rest on her head, not forcing, just guiding.
"Fuck, that's good," Vic grunted, his hips giving a slight thrust.
This exchange continued twice more, a grotesque rotation. But the men grew impatient with waiting. On the next swap, as Josie took Vic into her mouth, Tony moved around beside her.
"Try this," Tony said, his voice rough. He nudged his cock against the side of her face. "Use your hand on one."
Josie’s eyes, wide and pleading, shot up to Vic’s. He just nodded, his own breath coming faster. With a shudder of utter defeat, she reached up, wrapping her fist around Tony’s shaft. She began to pump him awkwardly while her mouth worked on Vic, her rhythm becoming chaotic, messy.
But it wasn't enough. Tony swore, pulling his cock from her grip. "Both. At the same time. Come on, sweetheart. You can manage."
Vic pulled out of her mouth. "Yeah. Open wide."
This was the line. The act she’d called disgusting. Josie knelt frozen, their two hard cocks presented before her face, the reality of it crashing down. She saw Annie, a silent silhouette watching through the gap in the plastic curtain. That was the gaze that decided it. The fear of Levi’s displeasure was a colder chill than the tile.
She opened her mouth, straining her jaw wide. Vic guided his cockhead onto her tongue. Tony pressed his against her stretched lips, alongside the other shaft. It was an impossible, stuffed fullness. She couldn't move, could barely breathe through her nose. She made a low, gagging sound, her throat fluttering around Vic.
"Use your tongue," Vic instructed, his voice tight. "And your hands. On the bases."
Tears streamed freely down Josie’s face, cutting through the growing mess on her chin. She brought her hands up, gripping the root of each man’s cock where they met her mouth. She moved her head in tiny, frantic circles, her tongue licking clumsily at whatever it could touch. The sounds were obscene: wet, choking, guttural. Saliva dripped in copious strings onto her chest, soaking the tiny triangles of her top.
The men didn't last long. The sight, the tight, sloppy heat, was too much. "Gonna come," Tony groaned first, his body stiffening.
"Yeah, me too. Take it," Vic commanded, his fingers tangling in her hair.
Josie’s eyes screwed shut as the first hot, bitter pulse hit the back of her mouth. A second later, Tony’s release joined it, splashing across her tongue and overfilled lips. She choked, swallowing convulsively as they kept coming, thick ropes of semen coating her throat, overflowing, running in viscous streams down her chin.
It dripped onto her exposed breasts, painting white streaks across her skin and the black lycra. The men pulled out, spent, their cocks glistening. Josie slumped forward, coughing, her body wracked with spasms as she spat the excess onto the floor. The taste was overwhelming, a salty-bitter filth that filled her sinuses.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of her retching and the men’s heavy breathing. Vic tucked himself away, then reached down and hauled her up by her elbow. "Door's that way," he said, his business complete. He tossed a clean rag at her. It landed on her shoulder.
Josie took it with numb fingers. She wiped her mouth, her chin, her breasts. The white streaks smeared but didn't vanish. She didn't look at either man again. She pushed back through the plastic curtain into the front shop.
Annie was exactly where she’d left her, leaning against the counter. The packages of meat were now in a neat brown paper bag. Josie walked past her, out the jingling door into the gray daylight, the cold air shocking against her semen-stained skin.
Annie picked up the bag and followed. Josie got into the driver's seat, staring straight ahead through the windshield. She didn't start the car. Annie got in, placing the bag of meat at her feet. The silence in the car was total, broken only by the distant thrum of refrigeration units.
Josie finally spoke, her voice hoarse and raw, each word carved from glass. "That bacon had better be the best goddamn bacon on planet Earth." She turned her head, her eyes bloodshot, her face a mask of spit and cum and hatred. "For what I just had to do for it."
Annie looked out her own window, at the brick wall of the warehouse. A faint, almost imperceptible shrug lifted her shoulder. "I don't even like bacon," she said.
She heard Josie’s breath catch, a sharp, wounded sound that was more impactful than any scream. Then the engine roared to life, and Josie slammed the car into gear, peeling away from the curb with a squeal of tires that echoed down the long, bloody street.
The car smelled of her now, a pungent mix of cold sweat, semen, and despair. She drove erratically, jerking the wheel around corners, her bare thighs sticking to the leather seat. “You’re a psychotic bitch,” she spat, the words cracking. “A fucking farm animal with a mean streak.”
Annie watched the city blur, her fingers tracing the seam of her jeans. “You set the rules. I just learned to play.”
“Those weren’t the rules!” Josie’s voice climbed, raw. “That was a fucking abattoir! You think what I did to you compares? I made you try on clothes. You made me suck off two strangers in a fucking meat locker.” She swerved hard to avoid a delivery van, the tires screaming.
“You didn’t have to say yes.”
“And what would Levi have done? Huh? You know exactly what he would have done. You used that.” Josie’s knuckles were bone-white on the steering wheel. “So yeah, fine. A part of me probably deserved a comeuppance. But not that. You’re a monster, and I will find a way to fucking ruin you for it. I will dismantle you piece by piece.”
“You’re welcome to try,” Annie said, her voice low and weary. “But we both know who he’ll believe. The one who obeys, or the one who causes problems?”
Josie fell silent, the truth of it a physical weight in the speeding car. The only sounds were the engine and the ragged pull of her own breath. She didn’t speak again until they were in the underground garage, the engine cutting into a tomb-like quiet.
Inside the condo, the sterile air felt alien. Josie stood in the foyer, shaking, the dried remnants of the butcher shop stiff on her skin. “I need a shower,” she said, not looking at Annie.
“Ask.”
Josie’s head snapped up. “What?”
“You heard me. Ask for permission.”
“Go to hell.”
“Then stand there and stink.” Annie walked toward the kitchen, placing the brown paper bag on the marble counter. She began unpacking the bacon, the filet. The mundane act was a greater cruelty.
Josie stared at her back. The need to scour her skin was a physical itch, a scream in her muscles. The smell was in her nose, her hair, a coating in her mouth she couldn’t swallow away. Her shoulders slumped, the fight leaching out, replaced by a humiliated exhaustion. “Can I please take a shower?”
Annie turned, leaning against the counter. “Louder.”
“Can I please take a goddamn shower, Annie?” The plea was wrapped in venom.
“Sure,” Annie said, a faint, cold smile touching her lips. “Go ahead.”
Josie fled to the guest bathroom. The sound of the lock clicking echoed, then the frantic rush of water. Annie stood in the kitchen, listening. She opened the bottle of red wine Josie had left on the counter from the previous night, poured a glass, and drained it. The liquid was bitter on her tongue.
Thirty minutes later, Josie emerged wrapped in a towel, her hair in a dark, damp halo. She walked past Annie without a word, heading to the sliding glass doors that led to the terrace. She opened them, the city’s hum flooding in. She dropped the towel on the concrete and walked, stark naked, to the pool’s edge. She grabbed an open bottle of cabernet from a side table.
Annie watched from the doorway as Josie stepped down into the shallow end, the water swallowing her legs, her hips, her torso. She sank until only her head and shoulders were above the surface, the wine bottle held aloft like a torch. She took a long, direct pull from it.
The splash was irregular, agitated. Annie walked out onto the cool tile. “Since when does the help use the pool?”
Josie tilted her head back, floating. “Since the help just deep-throated a butcher’s special to buy your fucking supper. Come in. Or keep standing there being a cunt. Your choice.”
Annie laughed, a short, surprised burst of air. She looked at the glimmering water, then at the dark sky. “I don’t have a swimsuit.”
“So?” Josie took another swig. “You didn’t have one the first night you were here either. When you paraded your hayseed ass out here thinking you were claiming territory. Or did you forget?”
Annie hadn’t forgotten. The memory of her own naive boldness that first night, skinny-dipping, felt like it belonged to a different person. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her jeans, pushed them down, stepped out of them. She peeled her t-shirt over her head. The night air was cool on her bare skin. She walked to the pool’s edge and slid in, the water a shock that quickly became relief.
The two women floated, naked, a few feet apart. Josie offered the bottle. Annie took it, the glass slick. She drank, the wine rich and dark. It was better than the stuff from the gas station back home.
“I hate you,” Josie said, conversationally.
“I know.”
“I’m going to make you pay.”
“Probably.” Annie took another pull, handing the bottle back. The alcohol hit her empty stomach, a warm, quick bloom. She wasn’t a drinker. A beer at a barn dance, some homemade stuff her daddy kept for cold nights. This was different.
“Why did you do it?” Josie asked, her eyes on the skyline. “Really. Not the power trip bullshit. You had your revenge the second I got on my knees in the kitchen. Why send me in there?”
Annie was quiet for a long time. A plane blinked its way across the black sky. “To see if you would,” she finally said. “To see if his leash was that strong. And to see what it felt like to be him for a minute.”
“And how did it feel?”
“Empty.” The word came out before she could stop it. It was too true. The warmth from the wine was spreading, loosening the bolts holding her together.
Josie barked a laugh, a harsh, dry sound. “Welcome to the club.” She swam closer, taking the bottle back. Their fingers brushed. “He’ll break you, you know. He doesn’t want a partner. He wants a testament. Proof he can take the strongest thing he can find and make it bend.”
“I’m not bent.”
“You’re floating naked in a pool with the woman you just pimped out for steak. You’re getting there.” Josie took a drink. “The boutique… that was stupid. Petty. I wanted you to feel small. I didn’t think about the fact that it made him look like he didn’t have control. That was my mistake. He owns everything, especially the right to humiliate his possessions.”
Annie’s head was swimming. The water, the wine, the confession. “Why do you stay? You’re rich. You’re smart. You could leave.”
Josie’s smile in the dim light was bleak. “Because I’m not strong like you, Annie. I don’t have a horseshoe under my pillow. I have a hole where he is, and I keep trying to fill it with his approval. It’s pathetic.” She took a final swig and tossed the empty bottle onto the terrace. It rolled in a slow, clinking arc. “And now I’m out of wine.”
Annie giggled. The sound was foreign in her own ears. The world had taken on a soft, wavering edge. “You’re a mess.”
“We’re both messes.” Josie pushed off the wall, floating on her back. “Just different kinds. Mine wears Prada. Yours still smells like manure.”
“Fuck you,” Annie laughed, the words slurry. She tried to push water at Josie but missed, nearly going under. The pool lights made shifting patterns on Josie’s skin, on the curve of her breasts, the dark delta between her legs. Annie’s gaze lingered, a drunk, careless study.
Josie caught her looking. “What? Never seen a real woman before?”
“Seen plenty.” Annie’s tongue felt thick. “Just never one so… polished. Like a show horse. All looks, no sense.”
“And you’re a draft horse. All sense, no looks.” Josie smiled, a real one this time, wicked and alive. “But at least draft horses are useful. Show horses just get ridden for pleasure.”
Annie snorted, sinking lower so the water touched her chin. The warmth in her core was spreading, a lazy, buzzing thing. The hatred was still there, a solid lump, but around it, something else was coiling. A recognition. They were prisoners in the same glittering zoo. “He’s not coming back tonight,” she slurred.
“I know.”
“What do you do… when he’s not here?”
Josie turned, swimming to the shallow end to sit on the step, the water lapping at her chest. “I wait. I plan. I think of ways to make him need me. It’s a full-time job.”
Annie paddled clumsily over, collapsing on the step beside her. Their shoulders touched. The contact was electric, a jolt through the water and the wine. Neither moved away. Annie’s head lolled toward Josie. “I’m drunk.”
“I can tell, you lightweight.” Josie’s voice was closer now, a murmur. “Can’t hold your liquor any better than you could hold his cock in your mouth.”
The crude reminder should have sparked anger. Instead, Annie just hummed, her eyes closing. The memory of that night was blurred, mixing with the scent of chlorine and the feel of cool tile against her back. “You’re better at it.”
“I’ve had more practice.” Josie was watching her, her gaze a tangible weight. “On everything.”
Annie opened her eyes. Josie’s face was inches away, droplets clinging to her dark lashes. The sharp beauty of it was a physical ache. The undercurrent between them wasn’t camaraderie, not really. It was something darker and more tangled. A shared corrosion. A mutual, pathetic understanding.
Annie’s hand, moving with a drunkard’s lack of caution, rose from the water. She touched Josie’s cheek, her fingers trailing a wet path. “You’re still a bitch,” she whispered.
Josie didn’t flinch. Her own hand came up, capturing Annie’s wrist. Not to move it, just to hold it there. Her skin was fever-warm. “And you’re still a redneck cunt.” She leaned in, her breath smelling of tannins and defiance. “What are we doing, Annie?”
Annie didn’t have an answer. The world was tilting, the water holding her up, the wine pulling her down. The only anchor was the heat of Josie’s skin under her fingertips and the terrifying, electric silence stretching between them in the dark water.