Human Commodity (2 page)

“No,” Kayla said.
 
“They contracted a friend of mine, about three months ago.”

Bethany dismissed the interruption.
 
“A few contracted girls have been rushed through a quick course to establish beginning market shares, but
we
are the first to go through the entire training program.
 
I imagine we will have quite a few more choices in direction than those that follow.
 
I’m sure that several of you have either executive administrative skills or were on a path to a professional position before the collapse, so I guess we know where we’ll be heading.”
 
Bethany winked at the group of ‘street’ clothed women.
 
She turned back to the young girls in the shifts.
 
“If you did not take any college courses in high school, the market is going to be flooded with untrained commodities.
 
I suggest you make it clear you expect to be educated in domestic leadership so that the newer girls are placed under your position in the household.”

Kayla tried to digest the self-assured woman’s words, and her mind blinked onto the girl in the brochure serving tea.
 
“Is that all you think we’ll have available?
 
I mean, maybe there’s gardening or brushing horses in stables or something.”

“I guess it’s possible.
 
I imagine they would expect you to already have a rudimentary background in those areas, though.
 
Just follow my lead, and we’ll stick together through this,” Bethany finished.
 
She was pleased that the women were falling into line under her leadership, and she would make certain this quality was noted by the trainers.

Eight more women were led in, and Bethany quickly filled them in on what was to be expected.
 
“These new trainers are going to be feeling their way through this first session, also.”

Kayla found herself to be slightly comforted by Bethany’s convincing reassuring speech.
 
As the women soon discovered, Bethany was a fool.

They were led down a long dark passageway that appeared to travel under the sidewalks overhead.
 
It opened to a small office, and they were led through a side door to a large, circular room.
 
This room was better lit, and the grouped girls… ‘street’ clothes on one side, shifts on the other… looked across to two seated well dressed men.
 
A doctor stood beside them.

“Oh my god,” Bethany gasped, and her hands flew down to smooth her skirt.
 
“That’s Mason Sanford.
 
I guess he wanted to see the first group going through.”

Kayla peered through the shadows across the room, locating the handsome fantasy man who had been the object of many pleasant sessions when she was alone.
 
“Who are the other men?” Kayla whispered.

“His attorney, Phillip, is sitting next to him.
 
He’s the man I just finished going through my contracts with.
 
I think the other man is Eddie, the third partner in charge of the Training Compound,” Bethany gossiped.
 
She had already decided to raise her sights, and maybe forgo Rome or Paris if the handsome Mr. Sanford… single too, from what the tabloids reported… needed an executive assistant commodity.

Bethany’s batting eyes widened, as did those of the rest of the gathered women, when a door to the side opened and four half-naked muscle-bound men walked into the room.
 
One of the large men, a man with a long dark ponytail, began issuing orders and separating the women into groups of five.
 
Bethany ended up in his group, and he led them to stand in front of the seated executives.
 
Bethany lifted her chin and straightened, in an attempt to present herself to Mr. Sanford as the capable person with the ability to quickly control adverse situations.

“Strip,” the brutish man in charge of her group demanded.

Bethany’s eyes widened in shock and she stared at him.
 
“What?” she asked in confusion.
 
Her jaw set and she sneered, “Who the hell do you think you are?”
 
She straightened further and glared at the trainer, and then Bethany, aka Betty Ann back in Farmington, Alabama, was thrown completely off balance.

The sadistic looking trainer took two strides forward, and she felt his strong fingers grip through her hair.
 
Fingers dug under her lace collar and he tore the blouse that had cost Bethany the partial return of her apartment deposit, clean down to her waist.
 
The faux pearl buttons clattered towards the walls, and by the time his fingers dug into her breast and squeezed until she was practically pushed out of her bra, she was screaming in terror and trying to claw up at him.
 
She felt him lean down and his beard brushed her ear as he hissed, “I am your Master, slut.
 
Now strip, or you’ll be sucking my cock while we watch your friends obey.”

Kayla had been watching the self-assured woman in horror, while standing across the room with her group.
 
She reached under the hem of her shift, and slowly raised it over her head.
 
Somehow, her trembling fingers found the edge of the pink panties, and she pulled them down her long legs and stepped out of them.
 
One arm crossed over her breasts, while her hand cupped over her pussy.

The man in charge of her group approached her, and Kayla instinctively took a step back.
 
“Easy, girl,” the man said softly, and she recognized his voice as belonging to the man who had taken her from her bedroom.
 
Her eyes widened and filled again with tears.
 
Her mascara was already running down her cheeks, and his thumb smeared it, thinning the streaks until they were wiped away.
 
There was a hint of a smile in his sadistic eyes when he lifted one of her hands.

Kayla watched from a detached perspective as he locked cuffs onto her wrists and ankles.
 
When the collar snapped around her throat, she pictured her fantasy from her bath the night before.
 
There was nothing erotic or arousing about the reality of the scene.
 
Kayla was terrified.

The big man leaned down and whispered, “Just follow my orders, and you’ll be fine.”
 
His hand pushed down on her shoulder, “Kneel.”

Kayla sank to her knees.
 
Her legs really did not want to hold her, anyway.
 
She watched him secure the cuffs and collars on the other girls, and all but one was told to kneel next to her.
 
One of the ‘street’ clothes was pulled from their group, and she watched the other trainers each select a young woman.
 
The women were sobbing as they were secured to a wall across from them, and Kayla cried as she clenched her fists that were secured by the wrist cuffs locked together and resting on her bottom.

The big man with the ponytail turned to them and said, “Count the strikes.
 
If you refuse, you will be exchanging places with them.”
 
When the crops lashed out, Kayla quivered and choked out the count as the man had ordered her to do.
 
When the whipping was over, her group of five followed the trainer out of the room down a hallway of the Training Compound.

While Kayla had spent the previous night wondering fearfully if she was to be contracted for this unknown terror, Mason Sanford had spent the evening in his fifty-seventh floor quarters with one of the hastily trained contracts that had been rushed through a quick semblance of the program.
 
The girl, US18BB9, was part of a lot he had sold to their firm in Japan.
 
Pushing the BB commodity overseas would drive the commodity price higher.
 
She was set for transport in the morning.

The girl, though quickly following all of his orders, was nervous and obviously more worried about punishment than devoting efforts towards pleasing him.
 
It was a sacrifice he had agreed upon, to get his commodity firm moving.
 
The group that would be properly inducted in the morning would be the first to be guided through the full ten levels of training.

This one had spent a few months at the firm boarding school where psychologists adjusted her psyche from a sobbing reluctant mess to a resolved slave who only slightly balked at being trained quickly through level three.
 
The first levels prepared them for sexual requirements without the additional erotic scenarios they might have to endure when sold on the open market.

Mason sat in his overstuffed chair with a glass of scotch while the BB swallowed his cock.
 
Even trembling in half-trained compliance, she allowed his stiff rod to travel the length of her throat, gagging and clenching her fists but not daring to pull back from the owner of SHCI.
 
Patsy’s trainer had already threatened her with punishment, and he had swiped a crop down the soft exposed flesh of her pussy to make sure the bruised throbbing would remind her of the consequences of displeasing Mason Sanford.

While the BB sucked his shaft, Mason thought back to what had delivered him to the level of owning the flagship of Human Commodity firms.
 
He had offices and compounds in six overseas companies, as well as this firm on Wall Street.
 
He closed his eyes and pictured life six years ago, when his partners thought that he was crazy for staying with a degree in economics in college.

Mason and Eddie rang in 2011 with two girls in their economics class wrapping tequila and champagne coated tongues around their cocks.
 
It was a noxious combination that could be tolerated by those in who were in their twenties, but hell, almost any combination of booze and sex could be tolerated by college hormones.

Their roommate, Phillip, had gone to his room at 11:00, missing the final moments of 2010.
 
They invited him to stay and celebrate with them at midnight, but as soon as Andrea slammed down her third shot of tequila and began a slow striptease in time to Eddie’s beat of the saltshaker on the stained coffee table, Phillip’s eyes widened and he made predictable excuses.
 
Issuing a final depressing departing statement, he muttered, “I don’t know what the fuck is so ‘Happy’ about this.
 
I feel lucky my scholarships were funded in bonds.”

Mason pumped into Sherry’s mouth, hurrying his thrusts because he felt the heavy weight of unconsciousness beginning to overtake her.
 
She had stopped stroking his cock with her tongue a few minutes ago, and her hand was working his balls more in the distracted method of dreamlike reaction than sexually aroused effort.
 
His load shot into her mouth, and as he gripped his fingers through her hair and pushed up, he felt his sperm slide back down his shaft and dribble between her lips onto his thigh.
 
“Fuck.
 
First blowjob of the New Year, and I’m wearing it on my leg.”

Eddie commiserated with Mason as Andrea had passed out with her head on his thigh and his cock resting in her slack-jawed mouth.
 
He had not come close to erupting, and after her teasing all night, his stiff rod would be celebrating 2011 wrapped in his fist again.
 
He ran his fingers through her bleached hair.
 
“Wouldn’t it be great to live in a world where the slut finished her job and didn’t pass out on you?”

The three young men were brilliant achievers but with very different strengths.
 
Mason was the pie-in-the sky schemer, with white papers tacked all over the light blue walls of his room like the clouds of his pipe-dreams.
 
Eddie was a behind the scenes activist who took the plan on the table and honed it, fine tuning the tools necessary to enact it.
 
Phillip… Phillip was a kind of moral compass who had been raised by a conservative minister, and had left to college in an attempt to escape the fanatic ideology.
 
Phillip could find soul pacifying methods to stretch the bindings of his restrictive background, as long as the methods were legal.
 
Somewhere along the way, compassion and the scale of what was good for mankind had become fraudulently weighted with the loosened chains from Phillip’s youth.
 
These unique traits that had brought the unlikely trio together in college, became the strengths that would eventually make them partners in a business with global repercussions.

The year 2011 had begun for the young men with a depressing lack of oral attention from the drunken co-eds.
 
There was also the not so small matter of their decision on a degree in economics becoming a questionably poor choice, as things in the world of finance had been pushed to a staggering, dripping flow.
 
Countries shuffled non-collateralized loans between each other on the same level as the increasing practice of people ‘kiting’ checks to cover expenses, and they took their focus off social matters until they could no longer be ignored.

The overburdened coffers of virtually every nation were stretched to accommodate skirmishes of war and civil unrest, as employment dropped to poverty levels and the citizens’ outrage was reflected in elections.
 
And who was to blame for the misery… the ‘golden boys’ handling the paper trade in places such as Wall Street.
 
Bone crunching regulations were forced onto the firms who were rapidly running out of maneuvering room with any possible investments to offer nervous buyers.

There stood Mason Sanford in the middle of the mess, with two years left towards his Economics Degree.
 
Students studying towards any degree involving finance were frantically changing majors… mostly to law and medicine if there were still openings to accept them.
 
Mason’s final semester had two classes that comprised of less than ten students, and even the professors looked at their students as if questioning their mental stability for pushing towards a degree in a completely unstable career.
 
His roommates had bailed on economics in the middle of their third year, with Phillip switching to law and Eddie picking up medicine.
 
They thought that Mason was crazy for staying in finance, but they made an agreement for the future with him anyway.