Human Commodity (7 page)

Eddie tossed the speculum into the stainless steel sink with a clatter that made Monique jump amidst her agonized wails.
 
If they had given her the specifics she had asked for, no one would ever have known the truth.
 
Her misery filled eyes looked up at Adonis, and he glared back down at her.
 
Damon had been looking forward to dealing with a statuesque beauty, and she had ripped his fantasy away.

“Mason, we have to dump her.
 
She’s not worth wasting on training, and judging by the stretch of her pussy she’s well accustomed to the art of fucking.”
 
Eddie tapped his fingers irritably on the counter.
 
“No, Mason.
 
She’d be an embarrassment to the firm, and you know that will make future buyers squeamish.”
 
Eddie listened for a moment and hung up.
 
“Damon, bring her down to transport and I’ll have Phillip forward the paperwork to ship her out with the group of US37s headed towards Ecuador.”

Damon was somewhat appeased from his disappointing morning, when he found himself staring at the rounded perky bottom of a US21BB who had been a former paralegal in some law firm.
 
She kept screaming nonsense about suing him, and Damon found the misquoted rantings rather amusing.
 
He swiped a lash across her ass again, and while another red welt raised, he listened to a healthy, clear scream.
 
It was the perfect pitch.
 
“Now, what law does that break, again?” he asked.

“You bastard.”

“
Master
bastard, US21,” he reminded her.

Damon walked around to make sure the nipple clamps were secure.
 
The girl had jerked harder than he had expected.
 
He stared into her watery blue eyes and pulled at the squeezing metal clips to hear her clear shriek again.
 
His cock was throbbing in time to her sobs.
 
Man, she’s going to bring in a hefty return
.
 
Damon mentally calculated his commission percentage on her potential sale price.
 
He released his rod and stroked it down the hanging young woman’s thigh while she continued to wail and scream beautiful music.

Damon spread her pussy with the fingers of one hand, and stroked through the small amount of juice he found.
 
His other hand wrapped around his erection, and he pushed up into her with the accompaniment of her crying.
 
He felt the spongy insides grip onto him in convulsive jerks.
 
Whatever we lost on that bitch model, this one will more than make up for.
 
Damon could not believe the firm had been paid to take the girl, and he wondered who in hell her former lover had replaced her with.

Damon gripped her chin with one hand, forcing her to look into his eyes while a hand on her ass steadied her jerking body as he pumped into her.
 
“Thank your Master,” he demanded when she stopped screaming to catch a breath.

The girl looked at him through pleading tears.
 
“I didn’t sign.
 
I didn’t sign a contract.
 
It must be forged.”

Damon forced a finger past the tight rosebud of her asshole and she screamed again, causing his balls to tighten up with the melody.
 
“Of course it was forged.
 
Now, thank your Master,” he repeated in warning.

US21BB, aka Tiffany Shelton and former head cheerleader at Freemont High in Indiana, tried to push the thick finger of the terrifying man out of her bottom, and she wailed, “Thank you, Master.”
 
She sobbed when the finger did not pull out, but began to push in and out in time to the huge penis lodged inside of her.
 
“Thank you, Master,” she repeated.
 
“Please… oh, god… thank you, Master.”
 
She was reduced to wracking sobs again, and when Damon pushed a second finger into her tight ass, she screamed and he erupted inside her.

A week later, she was trained to the end of level one, and with her hands secured behind her, she rested on her knees and sucked her Master’s cock on the way up in the elevator to level two.

Across town in a non-descript building that housed the Preservation for Humanity Organization, Vanessa Boudreaux shrieked in pained anger as she pushed her daughter into the world.

Her given name, Daria Savannah Boudreaux, was typed neatly on the birth certificate that had announced her arrival to a single mother at 11:19AM on December 17, 2018.
 
Vanessa had chosen to leave the ‘Father’s Name’ line blank.
 
By then, she was already rising in the ranks of POHO, and SHCI was the recognized leader in the Human Commodities Exchange.

She climbed the stairs and handed the infant to the woman taking care of Doc Hancock’s daughter.
 
The babies were born three days apart, in the clinic in the basement.
 
Yesterday, Barbra had had a boy, and it had already been given to its father.
 
In ten months, a third baby girl would be handed over to be raised by the POHO governess.

Vanessa never looked back at her baby as she made her way to the office.
 
There was another court hearing against SHCI, and Lilly and she had to prepare.
 
They had no more money for lawyers, and the attorney who had been helping them had been threatened with divorce if she did not step away from POHO.

Vanessa had been so involved with her work with the humanitarian organization that it seemed she had little ‘humanitarian’ motherly time and consideration left for her daughter.
 
Daria would spend her childhood being tutored by various members of the feminist group, and she would be immersed in their philosophy and teachings.

Vanessa wrapped her auburn hair into a bun, and she stared at her green eyes in the mirror.
 
“We’ll win,” she convinced her reflection.
 
“We’ll get the bastards this time, and we’ll put an end to the evil world of human slavery.”
 
She smoothed her hands down her shapeless pale blue shift and met Lilly downstairs to walk to the corner and flag down a cab.

Vanessa was surprised to see SHCI’s leading attorney personally leading their defense.
 
“Lilly, that’s Phillip.
 
We must be making headway for them to have bothered to send him.”

“You think they’re worried?”
 
Lilly did not see why they would be.
 
She had to handle POHO’s hearing last month, because even the bland dresses could not hide Vanessa’s pregnancy.
 
She had stuttered through most of the charges and evidence, and was afraid they would not even get
this
hearing on the docket.

“Phillip, I believe you have a motion?”
 
Judge Tomlinson was getting sick to death of the lesbo’s wasting his time every month.
 
If the rest of the world was happy with financial recovery, what the hell was their problem?
 
The commodity market was working to everyone’s benefit.
 
He
certainly appreciated the NW19BB that SHCI had given him for his sixtieth birthday two months ago.

Phillip was not overly surprised to see POHO being represented by the stuttering, inept Lilly and the fanatical green-eyed witch Vanessa.
 
SHCI had monitored their finances through favors, and they knew that the radical group was hanging by a thread.
 
“Naturally, I want to give the representatives of the Preservation of Humanity Organization their chance to make their case, but at this point I think we can agree that they should have had adequate time to get all of their motions in order.
 
These harassing hearings are time consuming, expensive, and distracting.
 
We have been forced to keep answering the same charges on an almost monthly basis.
 
I would like to present a motion that unless they have something new to bring to the table, their future redundant complaints be closed and not open to future hearings,” Phillip finished.

Vanessa narrowed her green eyes and glared at him.
 
“And are you going to stop contracting new innocent unsuspecting young women?”
 
Vanessa countered.
 
She held up the three sheets in her hand.
 
“These are three more cases…
different
cases… and every hearing has represented new women.
 
That
is
new information,” she stated triumphantly.

“No, Ms. Boudreaux,” the Judge corrected. “We are merely hashing over your same complaints with different commodities.
 
SHCI is requesting a final ruling on the complaint itself, and any ‘new’ cases… as
you
refer to them… regarding the commodities, will fall under my ruling as to whether or not the complaint is valid to be placed on the docket.”

Vanessa scrambled through his statement, and Lilly was relieved this had not been presented last month.
 
She had no idea what they were talking about, but she fixed her glare between the Judge and SHCI’s attorney, and lifted her chin in stubborn support of whatever Vanessa decided to do.

“You’re stating that the women can not be heard on an
individual
case basis, if you decide that my overall complaint isn’t valid?”
 
Vanessa’s voice took on the self-righteous tone that grated on the Judge’s nerves.
 
“These women have rights.
 
Each one has the right to be heard on her own merit.”

“Those women have accepted monetary compensation to relinquish their rights to SHCI, Ms. Boudreaux.
 
Technically, it is only the commodity owner who can file complaints on their behalf.”
 
The Judge pointed at Vanessa.
 
“You, madam, have no legal right to represent them… unless you choose to purchase them, of course.”
 
Judge Tomlinson smiled at the shocked woman.

Vanessa began spluttering as badly as Lilly.
 
“I have to purchase a young woman to represent the injustices perpetrated on them by…”

“Give it up, Vanessa.”
 
Phillip shook his head and held up a thick stack of papers.
 
“Judge, these are contracts for fifty-three women that Ms. Boudreaux has illegally assumed representation for.
 
Every one of them represents hours of wasted legal motions, and every one of them has signed their legal rights over to SHCI.
 
For god sakes… end this.
 
Please… just end this.”

“The Court finds in favor of Sanford Human Commodities Investments and orders further that the Preservation of Humanity Organization cease and desist illegal representation of the firm’s property.”
 
He banged his gavel and turned to Vanessa.
 
“Ms. Boudreaux, the Court will fine you for frivolous lawsuits if you do this again, and that opens the door for SHCI to counter-sue and try to recoup some of the money your group has cost them.”

Vanessa jerked back as if a door had slammed in her face.
 
“How can I represent charges, if
they
own the women?”

“Exactly,” the Judge responded.
 
“Unless you contract yourself…”

“According to you, even that won’t work,” Vanessa interrupted.
 
“Once I’m signed over, I lose my rights.”

“Geeze, Vanessa.
 
I think you’re finally getting it,” Phillip chuckled.

“You arrogant bastard,” she hissed.

“Ms. Boudreaux!” the Judge thundered.
 
“I suggest your little group find some new cause to challenge, and leave the fine work SHCI has promoted to save the economy… to save a way of life for
you
and
your
children… alone.
 
This hearing is over.”

Vanessa was shaking, and Lilly put a hand on her arm.
 
“Come on, Vanessa.
 
Let’s get out of here.
 
We still have our back up plans.”

Phillip climbed into his limo and dialed Mason.
 
“Tomlinson came through.
 
They won’t be able to come after the brokerage firm, but I expect Vanessa to try the same type of thing with the Training Compound.
 
I’ve already got an immediate motion to counter-sue for harassment.”

“I think I’m actually going to miss tormenting that bitch,” Mason chuckled.

“Oh, you’ll have plenty of chances.
 
You are her reason for living, Mason.
 
You give her crazy life meaning.
 
I suspect we’re going to end up with weekly rallies in front of the buildings, now that she won’t be tied up preparing for court.”

“Shit,” Mason groaned.

“Well, I tried to warn you when you told me to put the hammer down,” Phillip laughed.

“Where are you headed?”

“The Training Compound.
 
We have half a dozen US18s coming in around noon.”

“Sounds like fun.
 
Let me see if I can light a fire under Floor Fifty-six to push some CL30s I’m trying to move, and I’ll meet you,” Mason answered.

“Who the hell is going to buy a 30 year old Chilean?” Phillip queried.

“Not my problem.
 
I just want them gone.
 
I’ve already replaced the contract attorney and commodity broker for sticking me with them in the first place.
 
I found out we’ve been sitting on them in training for over two years.
 
Two fuckin’ years, Phillip.
 
I mighta’ been able to dump them, when they were CL28s.”

Chapter II

“Mmmm… I love the end of May,” Mason murmured.
 
“The weather isn’t too hot yet, the market always gets a little bump, and Phillip contracts groups of recent US18 graduates.”

It was 2023, and the firm had been thriving for almost six years.
 
May had become Epiphany Celebration month, mostly because Mason had few fires to put out in the commodity market, Phillip had stacks of signed contracts for parents trying to cash in on their daughters before their price went down, and Eddie was euphoric over examining endless pussies of nubile young women.
 
Even the trainers, who now numbered over fifty, were happy.
 
It was the original four who greeted new contracts, and dispersed them to appropriate new Masters.

The group of four new contracts was led in, and the executives perused the third offering of young women.
 
One was a bleach blonde with a heart shaped sweet face; one was a plain looking brunette; the other two… the other two… were interesting.
 
One was tall with sharp features under shoulder length brown hair, and the other was also tall… five-eight, maybe… with spiky black hair and dangerously applied seductive makeup.
 
“She’s
eighteen
?” Mason asked.

“Verified through records,” Phillip assured him.
 
“Her graduation picture doesn’t do her justice,” he chuckled.
 
Phillip was fascinated with the woman.
 
She had a confidence that was not overpowering, but she was definitely a force to be reckoned with.

The trainers ordered them to strip, and all the women looked predictably shocked and frightened… except Clarett Dumont, the girl with the spiked hair.
 
She calmly began unbuttoning her blouse and dropped it, leaving her braless firm breasts demanding attention.
 
Phillip’s eyes never left her.
 
While the girl’s fingers moved to her zipper, she said in a calm voice, “Masters, do you mind if I borrow one of those crops?”

What the fuck?
 
Damon walked up to the girl and gripped her chin.
 
He looked into her eyes… and he saw the same sadistic aroused glow any good trainer possessed.
 
He smiled down at her.
 
“What do you have in mind, slut?
 
Want a go at a trainer first?”

“
Oh no
, Master.”
 
Clarett shook her head as she wriggled out of her tight jeans, exposing a bared bottom.

Phillip was beside himself, and had not been this aroused since the first group of women were brought in front of him, years ago.
 
He watched the girl’s unwavering eyes while she spoke to Damon.

“That ‘girl’ on the end is carrying a little extra baggage,” Clarett told Damon.
 
“I’m curious about why he’s here.”
 
Clarett could not believe her luck when she found herself thrown in the group with the transvestite.
 
She had not been sure how she was going to present her case to be a trainer… though she worked the submissive ropes equally well.
 
At eighteen, she had already spent three years at her father’s BDSM club, and she was as comfortable with SHCI and the trainers as she had been in the bar.

Damon’s eyes snapped to the worried tall ‘girl’ on the end, and he narrowed his eyes on the bump on his throat.
 
He stormed down and grabbed the ‘woman’ by her hair, and dragged her over to Phillip.
 
“You do screen these, don’t you?”

Phillip’s eyes widened, and he tried to think of who the girl was.
 
Sandra something.
 
He nodded his head.
 
“The contract information reads Sandra Wilson… though I don’t remember her being so tall.”

Damon dragged the ‘girl’ to the center of the floor.
 
Clarett was still standing nude and calmly watching the scene with only building arousal pulsing in her gaze.
 
Damon said, “Get those two strapped down, Bill.
 
Terry and Rodrigo, over here.”

What happened next was a thrashing battle as the trainers disrobed the ‘woman’.
 
Clarett backed into Mason’s knee, and while her eyes remained focused on the wrestling men, she said, “Excuse me, Mr. Sanford.”

Mason reached out and pulled the girl onto his lap, and she remained sitting quietly focused on the disruption while he played with her breasts.
 
His hand stopped moving, and everyone sat forward when a belted tight strap between thick thighs came into view.
 
Damon pulled off the band, and an averaged sized withered cock and balls dropped down.

“Fuck me!”
 
Phillip looked up at Clarett, who was staring at Damon and willing for his permission.

The men wrestled restraints onto the man, and secured him to the wall.
 
Damon grabbed a crop and held it out to the girl seated in Mason’s lap.
 
“Go ahead, Spike.
 
Show me what you have.”

“Clarett, Master.”
 
That
made her nervous, but she had to begin to demand the same respect as the trainers for them to take her seriously.
 
She knelt down in front of the chained man and grabbed an ankle.
 
Clarett snagged the ankle of the wailing girl hanging next to him, and latched the two together.
 
She did the same on the other side, leaving him spread-eagle against the wall.

Clarett picked up the crop and stood, and she ran it slowly down the bound man’s chest.
 
Phillip… hell, all of them… had not taken their fascinated eyes off the girl.
 
The man spat at her, and she wiped the puddle off her shoulder.
 
In a quick move, she stepped back and lashed the crop down on his hanging penis.

“Aayeee,” the man screamed.

“Who are you?” the girl demanded.

“Aah… aah…” the man gulped for breath through his pain.

Clarett swept the crop up through his balls, and Phillip’s eyes narrowed as they separated and briefly bulged on either side of the perfect strike.
 
“Who the fuck are you?”

“Tony,” he blurted.
 
“Tony Wilson.”

The crop sliced sideways across his thighs, and Phillip placed a hand over his crotch.
 
God, she’s magnificent
.
 
Phillip had never experienced such desire for any of the women they had contracted.

He missed Eddie’s nudge to Mason as they turned to watch their friend’s mesmerized face.
 
“Shit, Eddie.
 
He’s practically drooling.”

“We may have discovered a secret our friend has been unaware of,” Eddie smiled.
 
Over the years, Mason and Eddie discussed their partner.
 
Phillip would enjoy occasional slaves… but, something seemed to be missing.
 
They were afraid his restrictive upbringing had squelched his enjoyment for their trade.

“Why the fuck are you here?” Clarett demanded.
 
The trainers were standing behind her, nodding their heads in approval.
 
The girl was obviously accomplished.

Clarett raised the crop, and Tony blurted, “Sandy’s my twin sister.
 
Mom and dad kicked us out, and we figured that with the money Sandy could get as a contract, we could set ourselves up somewhere.
 
She chickened out when the transport papers arrived.”

Clarett stalled.
 
Shit… shit, what should I ask him, now?
 
She slammed the crop down on his red swelling organ, and waited for the shriek to end.
 
“Bullshit.
 
You knew they’d figure it out.”
 
She nodded to no one in particular behind her.

“No… I swear… oh, god.
 
Sandy signed up for domestic cleaning.
 
The lawyer said she’d be trained to be a maid.”
 
Tony hung his head in defeat and sobbed.

Clarett smiled triumphantly, and walked back and handed Damon the crop.
 
Their eyes met in an aroused beat, and Clarett glanced quickly at the well-endowed outline of his erection.
 
She whispered, “
You
better grab me, Master... and there better be an empty room close by.”

“No problem,” Damon murmured.

“Shit, Phillip.
 
What the hell do we do with him?” Eddie asked.

“Excuse me.”
 
Clarett approached them.
 
She had won them over to some degree, she decided.
 
“Mr. Sanford?”

“Yes?”
 
Mason wondered what the extraordinary girl was thinking.

“Grab the sister.”

“No,” Tony shrieked.

“Grab the sister and train them as a pair.
 
There are no parents to worry about investigating, and I imagine you could find a buyer willing to pay a hefty amount for the kinky siblings.”
 
Tony continued shrieking, and Clarett rolled her eyes.
 
“Excuse me, sir.”

She stormed over to the man, grabbed his bruised penis and twisted it sharply.
 
“Shut up.
 
You said you wanted to stay together with your sister, asshole.”

As the room cleared out, with Rodrigo leading the shocked silent man to a cage in seclusion, Damon held a door for Clarett.
 
He watched her tight ass as she strode down the hallway.
 
“In here.”
 
She backtracked to a small empty office with only a small desk and a chair.

Her hands deftly opened the leather pants, and Damon groaned as a black polished nail scraped the length of his shaft.
 
Pre-cum oozed impatiently through his slit, and the girl stroked her tongue across the surface of the purpling bulb.
 
“Oh… god.
 
God
damn
,” Damon groaned.

Clarett sucked the cap into her mouth while her hands reached under the waistband of his breeches.
 
Damon lifted his ass, forcing length down her throat, and she sucked greedily while they pulled his pants off him.
 
Shit… she’s got me halfway down her throat
, Damon acknowledged.
 
That was level four training.
 
Clarett recognized the tightening sack of impending release, and she lifted her lips off his cock.

“Not yet,” she teased.

Damon watched, open-mouthed, while the girl spread her groomed pussy and smeared the copious amount of cream along her slit.
 
She turned and bent forward, and smiled over her shoulder while she lubricated her ass.
 
Damon was trembling, and the girl spread her thighs to the outside of his, rose, and sank down in agonizing slowness.
 
She reached for his hands, and place one on a breast and the other between her spread thighs.

Damon busied himself with her clit, plunging his fingers into a dripping channel.
 
The girl did not rise and pump his cock in and out.
 
Instead, she gripped and released her internal muscles, driving him mad.
 
“Master?
 
You know what I want.”

“We’ve never had a Dominatrix.
 
We don’t trade men,” he ground out.

“Who the hell says I need to work a man?” Clarett asked.
 
“I can work both sides of the fence… all sides of the fence.
 
Fuck, Master… I can work the whole pasture.”

Clarett finally began riding his cock, while gently squeezing testicles trapping fluid with their swollen tightness.
 
Damon groaned, “Fuck me… oh, damn…
fuck me
,” and he exploded what felt like a week’s worth of load into her tight ass.

In the end, Clarett won her position as trainer.
 
Between her extraordinary display the first day and convincing the partners that training some of the women to eat pussy would increase their commodity value, she became an integral part of their outfit… and she moved into Phillip’s quarters on the eleventh floor.

She still met Damon for trysts… hell, she had been through half the trainers, but Damon was still her favorite.
 
Phillip held the key and security to her future, though.
 
He was also the only available
man
she could express her talents with.

“Clarett,” Phillip whined.
 
She had exited the shower a few minutes ago.

“You know I don’t answer to that,” she called back

“Mistress,
please
.
 
Mason’s going to be here any minute.”

“I know.”
 
Clarett exited the bathroom in a black push-up corset that exposed her breasts, five inch heals, and her hair and makeup applied with dangerous, seductive precision.
 
She poured herself a brandy and walked over to her hanging roommate.

Phillip was strung up with his wrists secured to a short beam his arms were wrapped around.
 
His ankles were bound to his thighs with coarse rope, and his balls were bulging through rings.
 
Clarett wrapped the hand not holding the snifter around his cock, and pumped him slowly.

“Oh… oh, god, Clarett.” Phillip groaned.
 
“Please… he’s going to be here in a minute.”
 
He was almost too aroused to consider the embarrassment of his friend seeing him in the strange predicament.

“
Mistress
, Phillip,” Clarett reminded again.
 
“And your friends are fully aware of what you’re up to.
 
Why else would I be living in your suite?”