Don Bowden entered the front door of MPI Central in downtown Cleveland, Ohio. The large revolving doorway blunted the howls of motorcars from the street behind him as he entered the cavernous lobby of what was once a huge hotel. He had gotten ready extra early this morning and was right on time, but he didn't feel that way. Don never felt quite right on his first day at a new job. It wasn't the jitters exactly, just a vague feeling that his tie was on crooked, or that some bathroom tissue might be trailing from his foot.

His three years spent at Champion Fabrics in Akron felt like a distant rut to Don, as did the two years before that working at Powell Security Systems in Nashville. Don managed a team of late night assembly workers at Powell while finishing up his degree in Industrial Management at Tennessee State. He recalled his college days as very fun times, racing between studies, his work, and play time, but the intervening years had frustrated Don as he tried to climb the management ladder at Champion Mills. Don routinely watched IM grads from Boston and Berkeley being hired straight into upper management while he remained, slighted on the production floor. "You're just too valuable in production," they told him, as they slipped him token raises and awards, "We'll get you an upper office soon, as soon as you can be replaced."

"Bullshit, as always." Don recalled. But it was true, sort of. Don was very good at what he did. He liked a fast pace, and he had a feel for getting the most from his workers. His bosses had other considerations too. Don's test profiles revealed a natural team leader, with an infectious competitive spirit. He certainly had aspirations of higher positions, with title and authority. But they felt he would be wasted in an office. Especially since his strongest motivations were rooted directly in pussy flesh, and the excitement he always felt while controlling his teams of bound female slaves.

"Jeez, I forgot how big this place was," Don thought, "You could easily fit a Chang 828 inside of here."

Don walked the marble-covered expanse to a hallway of MPI offices at the wall to his far left. There he found a curvaceous girl of about 19 sitting behind a receptionist's desk nearly blocking that hallway. She was clad in a tight black spandex unitard that seemed to cover her cute figure completely. The girl wore heavy silver bracelets on her wrists and a matching silver necklace which collared her neck as tightly as the bracelets held her wrists. "Miss Meeks? It's Mr. Bowden, Ma'am. He's reported in for his first day," whispered the adorable brunette with a prim wedge-cut into her headset phone-com.

"You may show him in, Tera," Janice Meeks answered pleasantly. Janice had just settled in behind her desk for the morning, and was pleased to know her new man had arrived early. The 35 year old Vice-President of MPI Transport Division, Northern Ohio was dressed in her MPI lady-exec monday-blues. A stretchy royal blue polyester skirt-suit clung to her narrow hips, topped by its matching blazer bearing ID tags clipped to the top button hole, and complimented by blue three-inch tall square-heeled pumps. Her high-collared blouse and sleek hosiery were woven from a glossy light-gold fabric that shimmered in the light as she twisted her chair to retrieve Don's folder. "Nice looking young man I recall," Janice thought, opening it to the first page, and his employment mug shots.

Balancing awkwardly on the tiptoes of her heavy silver ballet boots, Tera opened the door and led Don into Janice's large office.

"Yes, good morning! Come in, Don . . have a seat, " Janice smiled. Don offered his hand to the seated woman, who shook it warmly. He sank into the nearest of two butter soft leather chairs alongside her desk. "Ter', honey, be a dear and run these documents over to Bailey's office for his mid-month cost report."

"And no dawdling," she scolded gently, "He needs them right away." Janice handed the girl a stack of folders and documents several inches high, and watched the girl retreat dubiously from her office to begin the 150 yard round trip through MPI's huge front foyer to Jerry Bailey's accounting office.

"Oh, and Tera!" Janice added before the girl shuffled out, "Please grab Mr. Bowden and I a hot cup of coffee on your way back too, OK?"

"Yes, Ma'am." the receptionist answered with a slight catch in her voice.

Smiling brightly, Janice looked up for the welcome change in Tera's pained expression, which darkened slightly before the door was closed. The woman pondered briefly how her coffee request would add another 50 yards to the girl's agonizing journey in those highly arched boots.

"Lovely girl," she beamed at Don, "and a lovely assistant too. It's good to see you, Don! I trust you enjoyed your month off?"

"Yes, very much," Don replied, realizing all over again how attractive his new boss was. Her shining blue eyes were framed by a well-tanned face and medium blond hair layered into a short businesslike cut. Her smile revealed even white teeth, lips fashionably painted a dark matte red, and just a hint of thirtyish smile lines at the outer corners of her eyes. Janice exuded a heady mixture of professional intensity, and sex appeal that could take a man's breath away. And well she knew it.

"And the move? Did it go well too?" She continued, enjoying Don's gaze.

"Yes Ma'am. Your team took care of everything for me," Don replied, returning her smile, "I hardly had to lift a finger. I thank you for that."

"Please, just Janice," she chided softly before looking at her folder again. "I'm glad everything went so smoothly. We like our new managers to arrive fresh and rested. That's why we insist on paying for everything. . .the move, travel and the time off."

After a quiet moment inside the files, Janice cocked her left eye over at Don, "It says here that your greatest frustration at Champion was not being promoted quickly enough. Is that right, Don?"

"Yes it was," he answered, shifting a little in his chair. "I enjoyed the work, of course, and the challenge. We set production records all the time at my division. But It felt like I was being punished for that, rooted to one spot, while new hires got the upper positions. But, I'm not a complainer or anything. It's just that. . . I get impatient after a year or two, for new opportunities."

Janice scanned Don's files as he spoke, secretly reaffirming her decision to hire him six weeks earlier, "Hmm," she thought, "Six -two, 180, single, 25, works out regularly, manages his own investments. Reads when he can, travels when they let him. Ambitious too, excellent school and work records, always gets the job done, pretty sharp guy. . ."

Suddenly she stopped looking at Don's folder, thinking about what he had just said. She closed the folder slowly, turning her chair slightly toward him and crossing her legs with a look of calculation on her face. Don wondered if he had been talking too long, saying too much. But her leggy new pose distracted him from his concerns. He was dazzled with the sight of Janice's beautiful legs, clad tightly in her sparkling golden hosiery. Don recognized some of Champion's finest silk caressing those legs.

Janice paused meaningfully to stifle her own excitement, while allowing his to build. She then looked directly at Don with a serious expression. "You remind me of myself, not quite five years ago. I came from a pharmaceutical firm in Salt Lake where they strung me along just like you talked about. But that isn't the way we do things here, Don. That was four promotions ago. I started out driving a truck just like you'll be doing. And I was just as overqualified as you are now. But I was told management moves up quickly here, and that was no joke. And when we get high on the org-charts we know everything there is to know about the operation, the nuts and bolts from our docks to the corporate stocks. I have a feeling you are going to do very well at MPI, Don."

"I get that feeling too," Don echoed, reassured by her candor, "I can't wait to get started."

The phone-com chirped twice and Janice picked up.

"Meeks here," she answered curtly, "Yes. Oh. . OK , all set, huh? And is it full of fuel? Good. Mr Bowden is in my office now. Have Jeneen come up right away to meet our new driver. Tell her to bring Don a clean smock and his log-books. Thanks, Tracy. Meeks out." She snapped the receiver down just as Tera opened the door, quivering in pain and holding a drink carrier with two large coffees inside it.

"It's about time you got back here, young lady," Janice said sternly, "I was just telling Mr. Bowden here that if you didn't get a move on, I would let him frame you up and carry you away on his first haul."

"Oh! I'm -I'm so sorry, Ma'am, I hurried. . I really did," Tera blurted, tears filling her eyes and terror gripping her throat, "I ran most of the way. I fell down twice, but I couldn't run with your coffees. . and risk spilling them. ." Tera's voice trailed away when she saw Janice's unmoved expression and the fury in her eyes. Trying hard to compose herself and teetering in the locks of her cruel metallic footwear, Tera pulled out the first steaming cup, and offered it to her boss, "Your coffee, Ma'am?"

"Where are your manners, wench?" Janice fumed, "You should have offered the first cup to our guest! Perhaps we should let him pour that hot coffee all over your breasts right now! What do you think we should do, Mr. Bowden?"

Don was very impressed. This woman had power all right, and wasn't afraid to use it. He would do well following in her coat tails. But Janice was after more than a little bit of fun at her secretary's expense. She was putting him to a test, and he knew it. He looked coolly back at his boss, then into the desperate eyes of the panic-stricken teen.

"Well, we could do that." he started out casually, as if discussing the advantages of a certain type of golf club, "Hot coffee would sear her breasts nicely enough through that tight fabric. And, as you say that was a very rude thing for her to do, on top of wasting so much time on a simple errand." Janice's eyes widened a little bit in appreciation. She liked his style!

"But then we wouldn't get to drink our coffees." he mused, "Or, I could just slap her into a tote-frame, as you suggested earlier. Snap on the turnbuckles and we could watch her deal with those feelings, while we enjoyed our coffee . . ." Janice remained silent, cocking her head a bit as she listened intently.

"But, that would be a lot of work, and she looks pretty remorseful about all of this. Plus it might be nice to save her pouting breasts and general wench-framing for another day. So, I was thinking that, ohhhh, about 30 minutes of stretch-hanging would help Tera to improve her ways."

Janice's generously painted mouth broke into a lusty smile, and she nodded her head. "Excellent idea, Don!" she exclaimed, "And I have an autobooth right there in my closet. Tera, hand that coffee over to Don and the next cup to me, then please go to the closet, enter 30 minutes into the keypad and hop in. Leave the doors open wide, dear. We want to watch your beautiful struggle."

Tera's fear diminished, but only to a slight degree. Lucky her, she wouldn't have to die today, or have her breasts disfigured, but 30 minutes of strangling agony still awaited her. She handed over the coffees with trembling hands, and hobbled across the room to open the french-louvered doors of Janice's autocloset. She pressed the keypad as ordered, and started to go inside.

"Severe setting, please!" Janice called out just before the girl entered the closet. A groan escaped Tera's lips as she turned to amend the keypad instructions. There were four ranges of pressure used by the booth, beginner, intermediate, severe, and lethal. Tera had experienced beginner dozens of times which was certainly bad enough. She had even gotten the intermediate setting on three or four occasions, which was a gut-wrenching hell, for as much as 20 minutes. But never severe, and never for 30 minutes. Her friends had told her how dreadful severe was, and she was in no hurry to find out. Apparently this was her day. Tera began to cry softly, and she froze in her tracks just before entering the closet.

"Hurry it up girl!" her boss commanded, "You know the drill. Try to wimp out on me and we'll double your hang time, and frame you up right afterwards!"

Tera choked back a sob, as she reached behind her back and struck her two silver bracelets sharply against each other. The bracelets locked together instantly, fused by a magnetic bond which could resist 700 lbs of pressure per square inch. Crying, cuffed and helpless, Tera entered the narrow closet and turned around. The steel plate under her quaking feet took a moment to register her size and weight, as a microchip calculated the severity and duration of the pull she would receive. A moment later a wide rope noose automatically lowered in front of her face, and moved back slowly. Tera's job was to bow her head and then lift her chin slowly, allowing the rope to rotate it's way around her throat, until its knot was secure under her left ear.

There were two buttons on the wall behind her at waist level. The larger button, about two inches across, was a reset switch, which the victim would press if the rope wasn't aligned perfectly. It instructed the booth to loosen the rope and repeat the alignment process for a better fit. Once the rope was in it's correct place, the half-inch wide button below the reset switch could be pressed by the victim. This was the commit switch, which ordered the booth to perform whatever hanging sentence was prescribed on the keypad. Once the commit switch was pressed, both switches would remain inactive until the sentence was carried out. The only thing that could stop an autobooth hanging was the abort button on the keypad outside the booth, far away from its agonized occupant.

The first time the rope closed in, Tera lifted her chin, and turned her head in exact symmetry with the motion of the machine. She got perfect placement on the first pass. "Janice will like that," she thought bitterly. "I guess practice makes perfect."

That left only one thing for Tera to do. One very difficult thing. Tera took a couple of deep breaths, trying to prepare herself for pressing the commit switch and the pain that would follow. Her teeth were chattering with raw fear. But she knew she couldn't delay. After an autonoosing was complete, an autobooth victim had 30 seconds to press one of the buttons, or the self-hanging procrastinators alarm went off, and she would receive a series of horrific electric shocks through the steel panel beneath her feet. Likewise if she pressed the reset switch more than twice, shocks would strike her with equally blinding intensity. Each time an autobooth induced its victim with shocks, two minutes were automatically added to the keypad sentence. So it was no use putting off the inevitable . . .

Summoning all of her courage, Tera jammed her fingers into the commit switch, squeezed her eyes together, and. . . nothing.

She opened her eyes to see Don and Janice stirring creamer into their coffees, smiling and chatting.

"Oh, It appears you have your autobooth set for suspense activation," Don queried.

"That's right!" Janice answered him excitedly, referring to a special feature of the newer booths. A random amount of time, ranging between 2 and 15 minutes, would elapse after the commit switch was pressed before the actual hanging sequence began.

"My girls tell me their suspense time is the worst part of all." Janice added, dropping a sugar cube into her java. "They can hear the equipment clicking and jiggling and starting to go into motion every few seconds, only to relax, and make them wait longer. It's like a damn bomb ticking at their throats, driving them nuts."

"No kidding," Don agreed, sipping on his brew.

"Especially with them teetering around en pointe with those wicked boots on." Janice responded with a wink over her coffee. "I just love that. I insist all my girls wear the silver plated ones to work. They are much better conductors of the electric shocks given to stubborn victims."

The door opened again and Jeneen entered wearing her MPI rubber smock over the front of her dress. She was carrying a log book and a similar garment for Don to wear.

"Oh, good," Janice smiled, "Right on time! Jeneen, dear, this is our new driver Don Bowden. Don, this is Jeneen Claret. She has been assisting drivers for nearly a year. She will be your helper for the next couple of weeks, while you get in the swing of things."

"Hi, boss lady! Pleased to meet ya, Don." Jeneen chirped in an english-sounding accent as she accepted Don's handshake, then noticed the panic-stricken receptionist standing in the autobooth. "Well now, has that little minx Tera been acting up again?"

"Hi, Jeneen!" Don greeted her, glancing back at Janice's conspiratorial smile, "Yes, it would appear so."

"You two better get going," Janice said looking up at the clock, "if you want to be rolling by 8. Listen to Jeneen, Don. Trust in what she's learned. She'll steer you right. I'll take care of all the hire-in paperwork for you. Check in with me when you get back. We'll discuss how your first day went and finalize everything."

"Thank you," Don said, taking another large drink from his cup, and setting it on her desk. "And thanks for the coffee, Tera," he called to the teary-eyed girl standing in the hanging booth.

"Welcome aboard, Don! Too bad you won't get to watch Tera's luscious sentence play out," Janice said, as she shook Don's hand once more, "But you'll have even more exciting things to see driving the truck today. How about I record her booth time for you as a special treat for later?"

"That would be great, thanks!" Don said, "See you when we get back."

With the door closed behind them, Don and Jeneen began walking briskly down the long shipping hallway that led to the truck docks near the far end.

"Did Tera really do anything wrong?" Jeneen asked him with a wry smile.

"Nah," Don replied, "I think Janice just wanted to see if I would flinch at handing out some undeserved agony to an extremely pretty girl.

"That sounds like Boss-lady alright!" Jeneen laughed as they walked swiftly on, "And it looks like you just passed her test!"

Don and Jeneen walked past more than a dozen office doors along the way. "That one is yours," Jeneen said as they moved swiftly past the 10th door. "Not that you'll use it very much. We check our trucks out between 7:30 and 8:00 every morning. Unless we get stuck in traffic or something, we're back by 4:30. You can do your paperwork in there, but that rarely takes more than 10 minutes, so most drivers finish up their logs in the break area out by the docks, where the scenery is much better. Here, slip into your smock as we go."

Don took the long-sleeved black rubber garment from Jeneen. It resembled the top portion of an open-backed surgeon's scrub. There was a small V-shaped portion at its top with an elastic strip behind it, which Don pulled over his head snugging the V-top to the base of his neck. Then he began pulling the sleeves up on his arms and shoulders. The smock came down halfway to his knees in front, apron style, but was cut high in the back, where a set of strings tied it together at waist level.

"Here let me help you," Jeneen said, stopping at the double-wide doorway leading into the warehouse and freight dock, "It's always a little awkward doing your own strings at first. It's memory fabric rubber, so you have to pull it twice." Jeneen pulled the stringties firmly and held them there for a moment. She then pulled them again, stretching the rubber fabric tightly across Don's midsection, while tying the strings off.

"Hey there," Don complained mildly, "Is it really supposed to be this tight?

"Yes sir, it is," Jeneen answered, running her fingertips lightly over Don's stomach to check that the smock was wrinkle-free. "Exactly this tight." Don's erection had diminished slightly after leaving Janice's office, but Jeneen's touch almost tickling his stomach triggered his cock to enter launch mode again.

"That way it won't ride up during the day." She added with an extra lilt in her british accent. "This seems a good enough fit. It's a man's large, so It's roomy enough in there for your shirt and tie, and it lets you move your shoulders about. A man's smock has one tie in the back, but us ladies get two, see?"

Jeneen turned around to show Don her two ties, one nipping her in at the waist, and another one halfway up her back, stretching the garment tightly just below Jeneen's breasts.

"No slack at all, see? The top one's a real bugger to do," Jeneen said proudly, turning back to face him and brushing hair wisps from her eye, "but at least we girls have some experience with that, what with our bra straps and all. ."

Don took a good look at his smiling assistant for the first time, and decided she wasn't bad. Jeneen's reddish blond hair was pinned into a loose bun atop her head, and there seemed to be a lot of it. Under her black rubber smock, she wore a simple blue cotton dress, tan pantyhose, and a pair of sturdy tennis shoes . Besides a slash of dark brown lipstick and eyeliner, she wore barely any makeup to obscure the burst of freckles across her nose. "21, or maybe 22, 5 foot six, or seven," Don thought, "slender too, but nicely built, downright cute. But mostly it's those eyes."

Jeneen's eyes were amazing; they were sparkling hazel orbs, piercing yet playful. And those eyes were playing with him now.

"There is another reason for the tight drawstrings you know." Jeneen whispered, gesturing with her expressive eyes to the bulge under Don's apron. "Mine make the most of my breasts of course. But yours, well, let's just say that under smooth shining rubber, no ripple escapes the discerning eye."

Unembarassed, Don smiled back at her for a moment. Their thoughts were suddenly interrupted by two claxon blasts from the freight dock, just inside the doorway.

"Five till eight," Jeneen yelled, "It's time to roll."

Their 24-foot truck was parked inside the 5th truck bay, with its rear door still open. Inside Don could see a row of spits lined up crossways in the center aisle on notched rungs. Each spit supported a live-spitted girl, impaled from her posterior to her mouth with her wrists tied behind her and her legs folded underneath. He saw the doomed girls silently shivering in the chilled air of the truck, and writhing feebly on their long metal stakes.

"Hey, Tracy!" Jeneen called above the din of truck engines and warehouse equipment, "You've got us loaded with 16 spits, and 12 roasters, right? Good! Log us out -we're gone!" Jeneen pulled the canvas strap down sharply, and secured the door.

"Boy that looked pretty rough." Don said hopping into the truck. "I had no idea MPI delivered their spitted wenches alive. I always thought they died as soon as they were impaled."

"Oh no. We can keep them going for up to 10 hours with oxygen infusion," Jeneen admitted, settling into the passenger seat, "Along with a few other tricks I'll show you later. But It gets much worse, Don. Or. better I guess, depending on your point of view. From the size of that lump I can already see under your smock, I think I know which point of view you'll take."

"Well all right, of course I'm turned on by it," he answered, rolling his eyebrows in dismay, "I'm just not sure whether to be impressed, shocked, amazed, or come all over myself.

"All of the above I guess," Jeneen smiled sympathetically, "But don't worry about it. Everybody's emotions run a bit riot when they first see live-spitted wenches. But you can handle it. That's why you're the driver. Remember everything here is by design. Spits have always been our number one seller, so their packaging and presentation are all about bowling customers over. You'll settle in soon enough, Don. Now, go south on highway 77, and exit left on Snow Road."

As Don pulled the truck onto the crowded downtown expressway, he glanced over at Jeneen's face. She bore an amused expression that seemed to say: "You better shape up, mister!" She had a funny way of teasing him with his own doubts. But it relaxed him too.

END OF CHAPTER ONE