Meet the Midnight Meat Train by Mr. Cage

**cage** · July 1st, 2009, 06:48 PM

As the pounding continued I wondered what might be going on elsewhere on the train car. The camera jumped again for no apparent reason. Then I realized the train was moving and having had the misfortune to ride the rails in New York I knew that keeping your balance was a sporting event. He got the camera back on Fatima?s battered boobs. I don?t know how many metal rings smashed those poor titties. Fatima had almost gotten her neck hole over her chin when Gita grew tired of pounding nipple. The Indian girl leaned over and used the huge wooden bangles on her wrists to grind back and forth across both swollen and wet looking nipples. Fatima?s legs kicked furiously.

The camera left the tit mauling and re-focused on the fighting pair further away. They were out from under the plastic bench chair. Kam?s forehead was split open and her face and now bare tits were red with her blood. However, at that moment Mina was the one in trouble. Kam was slamming the girl?s forehead against a metal arm rail on the bench. At first all I could see is the tangled black hair flying. Then Kam jerked Mina?s head way back to examine her handiwork. Mina was split open worse than Kam. My guess was that Mina had done the same thing to Kam first, but now the Indian was taking revenge with interest.

Just as Kam started slamming the head the cell phone view switched to the door of the sixth car. Mina and Fatima?s supporters were trying to break the window with a fire extinguisher. Damn, the window really was unbreakable. Just the same the transit cop had pulled his gun and motioned for them to step back. Then incredibly the cell phone moved down the rail car missing all the action. For a couple of minutes I saw the floor and the transit cop?s pants leg as the conductor argued with the Pakistani girls? supporters.

I was about to go looking for Lionel Twain with a gun when finally he turned the camera around. Mina was sprawled on her back. Her face was a bloody wreck, eyes swollen shut and even her eyebrows looked busted open. Kam was busy removing the girl?s boots. Then she struggled to get the pants off. Mina didn?t resist, but Kam was hurt and tired herself. Frustrated she pulled the girl?s belt out. Once the belt was in her hand it took her only a second to begin to whip the Pakistani?s body. Mina tried to roll away. Moving got her a knockout boot to the face. Kam wailed away with the belt until Mina?s tits were crisscrossed with welts and bleeding from gashes made by the belt buckle. At least Lionel captured the whipping, but I was wondering what had happened to Fatima and Gita.

Suddenly Gita?s hand grabbed her sister?s wrist from off camera. They argued for a second. To punctuate her opinion Kam dug the heel of her right boot into Mina?s bloody tit and then grinded about. Gita leaned over her badly bitten tits dangling. What the fuck had I missed? I was going to shoot Lionel Twain! I still had no idea what had become of Fatima. Gita finally got the tight jeans off Mina?s hips and completed the stripping. I thought maybe that was the terms of victory for a moment.

I was wrong. Gita plunged her hands into Mina?s pockets and finally came out with a key. She held up the key and showed it to car six?s window. Lionel fortunately swung his phone to the furious onlookers. Then he flashed it around. When I regained my balance I found he was focused down the car to the door to car four. Gita opened the door. Her boyfriends and about dozen others came into the car yelling and celebrating.

Lionel moved to a plastic bench and stood up. I know because the point of view of a window showing lights flashing by raised by about twenty inches. When he turned it down on the floor I got my biggest surprise. The boys and girls supporting the Indian sisters were fucking the bloody nude losers every which way. Cocks went into asses and pussies. The girls jammed in their fingers, fists, lip sticks, hair brushes, whatever came to hand. It was as brutal a mob fucking as I had witnessed outside my motorcycle cage matches or race war matches.

Ten minutes of brutal fucking followed as the train rocked the camera and the fuckers. Then Lionel opened the car doors at a station and the winners left. The losers? supporters were still trapped in car six. Lionel balanced his cell phone while he unzipped and pulled out a black worm of a cock. He held the camera down at arms length so he could convict himself showing his hard cock and grinning face in the same distorted angle. Then I got to see close-ups of his cock going into wet dripping asses and cunts. He and the transit cop enjoyed the hell out the meat that had been left on the bloody floor.

Finally the train came to the end of the line. Lionel poured something out of a canteen on what was left of Fatima?s face. Then he dropped a key on her belly. He and the cop left. I got a final view of the train stopped. The Pakistani sisters were framed in the open door of car five. Their supporters were banging on the still frozen side door. He stayed a bit until Fatima started moving. Then the cell phone cut off.

I figured the car washers would find empty cars ignore the red splashes as well as the smell of sex. High pressure steam would scour the cars down and put them back on line for the early morning. I wondered if any of the losers ever came back for Lionel?s ass. It wasn?t a secret where he was every nights five nights a week.

I called up the Political Hack and said, ?You want me to go in business with this guy. Right now, I wouldn?t know which side of the proposition bet to take: which happens first, Lionel goes to jail or Lionel gets his ass killed.?

The Political Hack laughed and admitted, ?Yeah, he?s pretty much of a disaster in the making. But this shit has captured the interest of some pretty wired in people.?

?OH, do tell.?

Political Hack was a political campaign manager who was hooked into a group of international speculators. They had just run a good game, shorted banks and insurance companies while their bought and paid for congressional committee chairmen wrecked the banks. Then they bought in at the bottom, organized a bailout and made more billions on the flipside. They took a fraction of their winnings and computer purchased a mass of prepaid credit cards from their captive banks to buy a President with thousands of under $200 ?anonymous? contributions guaranteeing no investigations and a continued flow of taxpayer money into their accounts.

Since I long ago moved my spare money overseas accounts with reliable dictatorships and stored gold bars in small banks around the Midwest, what the fuck did I care if they ruined the world economy and turned everybody into beggars. I made my money pimping pain and suffering to the real rich and the real rich stayed rich no matter how much ?change? there was. Mr. Political Hack was my ticket to big money perverts and gold-plated protection against the rare pain in the ass paladins of justice. Anyway, like most people high or low when Political Hack called I answered.

He told me how he had become involved. Narcotics cops had taken down a big dealer who had failed to pay off the Political Hack?s political party. The cops took their normal fifty percent of the cash and twenty-five percent of the dope to resell as their commission, but didn?t know what to do with the specialized video library of the dealer. The idiot dealer had protested about corruption and got shot sixty times while escaping.

Being in a criminal enterprise as well organized as New York City his belongings worked their way through the system. Low level bureaucrats stole the televisions and high end technology toys. But, someone who knew Mr. Political Hack snatched the dealer?s video hard drive and sent it along to the fixer as a ?remember me? gift. The dealer apparently had been Lionel?s only customer and he had hundreds of fights, men, women, girls, boys, girls and boys, you name it. It wasn?t too hard to follow the trail of signposts back to Lionel Twain.

Lionel Twain was a fat black guy five years from a pension and if he was lucky ten years to a heart attack or stroke. Whatever else I could find wrong with the guy I had to admit he had a sweet racket worked out. He had found the perfect night train team: a drunken motorman and the drugged out transport cop, blind deaf and dumb cleaners and broken security cameras. When they had bodies to remove they dumped them on the rails. What the rats didn?t eat the underground humanoids did. For two hours Lionel Twain was captain of his ship and he had found a way to make some small change, get his jollies and some young pieces of ass.

What he needed was a partner to make some real money with. And so Mr. Political Hack did what he did naturally, put two scoundrels together to make a profit on the backs of others. Yes we can.

I thanked him for his consideration and told him no thanks. Then he grimaced, a sure sign he was about to call in a market, reluctantly of course.

?Well, I?m afraid it?s gone a bit further than that. I showed this to a couple of our friends.?

I moaned, ?And they want more and they want Cage quality.?

?That?s part of it.?

?What?s the rest of it?? I asked becoming less and less happy, even losing my beat-down-rape-fight chubby.

?There?s this guy,? he said as he pushed his nose to the side, ?who has a girlfriend on the side.?

?The Mafioso wants to see his girlfriend fight??

He grimaced again and I felt my balls quake. ?It?s a bit more complicated than that. You see his daughter married a competing Captain and she wants a piece of the girlfriend for what the girlfriend did to her mother in this elevator duel they had in the Empire State Building.?

?Don?t tell me anymore.?

?Listen Cage, this is going to happen. Thank of it as a public service. Some of your own customers and mine very much like these Meat Train Fights. And, they very much want to avoid an interruption in their bribes that a mob war typically causes. You are going to help keep the peace and make some money too. You?re doing it for the good of the community, a brass-plated patriot.?

?And if I don?t??

He spread his hands and said, ?Well, it?s a New Age. Everybody has got take part. Either you are part of the Community or you are outside it. We fire CEO?s who don?t go along. You wouldn?t even make a mess on our shoes. We still hold elections, but they don?t matter. You are going to be dealing with me or someone like me from now on. This country is bought and paid for. So think about it.?

I thought for a second. ?You know I might like the Meat Train business.?

He nodded and said, ?I see another body of work to add to ?Cage?s Cage Fights, Race Wars Are Us, Back Alley Grudge Matches, Whore Fights, Sorority Row Rumbles and so on. Be proud, say it loud: Midnight Meat Train Fights by Mr. Cage. Lionel is expecting your call. Keep him on. He adds a certain flavor to the product.?

Who says the entrepreneurial spirit of America is tits up?