Human Commodity (9 page)

Ashley’s arms were throbbing and her nipples felt as if they were on fire.
 
The only way to stop the agony was to stand, and hope that he would release her when the zip-tape did its job.
 
Twice she counted to three, willing herself to jerk upright and get it over with.
 
In the end, it was a cramp in her leg that caused her ankle to twist, throwing her off-balance and sliding the other heel as well.

The screams had Mason rubbing his cock, as he imagined Vanessa bound in front of him.
 
First one splat hit the floor, followed quickly by the other, and the two zip-tapes covered with auburn curls lay slightly in front of the pointed toes of her shoes.
 
He walked behind her while she sobbed and scrambled to get her feet beneath her with the chain pulling her arms and nipples.
 
He spread her thighs while she continued her panicked precarious footing, and she heard his zipper right before he pushed deep between her sore swollen lips.

Mason left her in a cage for the night, with her arms bound behind her and the heels still cramping her feet.
 
He dreamed of all the AGs he had used in Vanessa’s honor, envisioning the POHO leader’s horror at having tribute paid to her in such a way.

The next morning, he pulled the girl out of the cage and ordered her to suck his cock.
 
Predictably, she refused, and he dragged her to a dark wood beam, two inches wide.
 
He spread her tortured pussy on either side of the wood.
 
If there was any relief, it was when he removed the shoes.
 
The relief was short-lived when he lifted her ankles and secured them high behind her, with a chain that wrapped over the beam and attached to the cuffs and the back of her collar.

Ashley watched in tormented terror, as Mason ran a comb through his dark hair and walked through the door to his adjoining office.
 
The door closed and she was left in agony, with her full weight resting on her pussy.

Mason checked his monitor and clock, while the receptionist opened the door for the top selling managers of the upper floors.
 
The floor fifty-four, fifty-five and fifty-six managers sat on the other side of Mason’s wide wood desk.
 
Their backs were stiff and their mouths were closed, and they watched Mason’s eyes shuttle between the clock and his monitor.

Floor Fifty-four’s eyes glanced over to a naked BH that was kneeling on the carpet beside the desk.
 
The blonde had a vacant expression in her hazel eyes that was sometimes the unfortunate result of ten levels of training.
 
Thomson had no idea where the girl had come from, or where she was going.
 
His only concern was the effect that her sale had on the commodity prices.

Mason looked up and smiled, and the three associates felt uneasy relief.
 
“Fifty-four, push levels three through six to our Japan law firm for thirty thousand a piece as a sale.
 
Reynolds is expecting your call.
 
Fifty-five, the sale to Japan will show as an anonymous buyer in an hour.
 
As soon as the commodity hits fifth line, sell levels seven and eight the same way to Dubai for sixty.
 
Duclay, move levels nine and ten to London for one hundred, when the Dubai sale hits line four.
 
The men rose and left the office.

“Fifty-six, I don’t understand,” Floor Fifty-four said, when they were sealed behind the brass elevator doors.
 
“The firm is keeping them?”

“Mason is pushing up the price.
 
BH is only slightly unique… enough that other firms will not have a large supply in them.
 
The market for them has stalled and he’s shaking things up, but he doesn’t want to liquidate until he gets more of them trained through level ten.
 
He’s probably arranged a few private sales for the top tier in the last hour of trading, when the London sale pushes the level tens to line two.”
 
Armand Duclay was slightly relieved that with the prearranged sales the day would be a relatively easy one.
 
His stomach was already churning acid with the thought that Mason might dump the responsibility of the outside sales to ‘Purgatory Hill’, late in the afternoon.

After the associates left the office, Mason rose and made his ritualistic walk to the bar.
 
It was barely after nine in the morning, and he poured two fingers of scotch in a crystal rocks glass and settled into his overstuffed chair.
 
“Suck me, slut.”

The girl quickly rose and rolled to her knees between his spread thighs.
 
Just as her fingers reached for his zipper, he lifted her chin.
 
“Fuck.”
 
He let her go back to her work, and while her soft lips sucked arousing pulls on his cock, he called Damon.

“US20BH1286... remember her?”
 
Mason shuffled his position while the girl reached for his sack.
 
“There’s no emotion in her eyes.
 
Zilch.
 
Check the lot and narrow it down to her trainer, if you have to.
 
We’ll take a loss on them if they are so mind-fucked there’s no fear left.
 
Shit, I’m getting blown by a robot.”

Mason hung up and grabbed the sides of the girl’s head.
 
He thrust deep down her throat, and although the talent for the tight muscled training was obvious, he had the idea he could stay lodged in her throat until she passed out and she still would not change the vacant expression in her eyes.
 
He squeezed his climax into her mouth, and after she licked him clean and zipped him away, he rose.

He punched a number into the phone and said, “Have someone pick up the BH in my office and deliver her to Damon.”
 
Mason walked over to the despondent slave.
 
“Position S4,” he ordered, and the girl immediately dropped onto her belly, with her wrists held behind her and her legs bent so that her feet rested side by side on her bare ass.
 
With the girl compliantly lying in the Secured 4 position, Mason connected her wrists and ankles, leaving her in the hog-tied configuration.
 
He picked up his half-finished drink and walked through the side door of his office to his apartment suite.

“Good morning, AG.”
 
Mason sat across from the girl, and he stared at her swollen pussy while he took a sip of scotch.
 
He pointed a finger that was wrapped around the glass and said, “Looks a bit painful.
 
Are you ready to do what I ordered?”

US18AG1389 was in too much agony to register terror of the man.
 
“Yes, Master,” Ashley moaned.

Chapter IV

Years marched on for three little girls, observing life from their world in the attic of POHO headquarters.
 
Lizzie and Annie created fanciful stories and acted out imaginary scenes from what they thought happened outside the back garden walls, while Daria wore a smooth path in the wood planked floor with her musing wanderings.

The governess assigned to watch over them and see to their needs, used to be a teacher.
 
Sheila had been married to her high school sweetheart, who had been a struggling associate on the twentieth floor of Dugan Securities before SHCI took them over.
 
The pressure of working investments during the height of the financial collapse had led him to a brief affair with a likewise depressed associate.
 
It had been a two time meeting that he had confessed to her, and that they had vowed never to discuss again.

A few years later, a photo had surfaced and Mason Sanford had threatened to blackmail him.
 
Her husband’s already depressingly fragile state could not handle it, and he committed suicide while Sheila had been shopping.
 
As if the death of her husband was not enough, the bastard Mason Sanford had blackmailed Sheila.
 
To keep the indiscretion quiet and her sweetheart’s reputation intact had cost her all of the money they had been saving for a house to start a family.
 
Mason, the financial genius, did not consider… nor would he have cared… that insurance would not pay on a suicide.

Sheila was left destitute, and the consuming hate she felt for Mason had led her to the Preservation for Humanity Organization’s doorstep.
 
After meeting with Vanessa and Doc Hancock, she was offered an immediate position in headquarters to look after the babies and guide the girls in POHO rhetoric.
 
It was challenging, as the daughters would have no outside contact to pollute the lessons she would instruct them in, yet they were to appear ‘normal’ when finally deployed.
 
Sheila’s own little mind bend matched the other members of the group, and they slowly lost the ability to understand just how different their fanatic beliefs made them appear to others.

The girls were not locked in the attic, but they were only allowed to the lower floors to clean, dust or sweep.
 
These were privileges and had to be earned through recitation of the organization litany, and some other mysterious accomplishment that the little girls could not decipher.
 
Sometimes, it almost seemed that their mothers
wanted
them to come downstairs and weed the garden or scrub the floors, and they could not figure out what they had done to deserve the treat.

The daughters were given the discarded shifts that the women decided were too worn and faded for them to wear outside for demonstrations.
 
At first, the girls had to use string to tie them up and fold them over their waists to keep them from dragging on the floor.
 
A woman’s mid-calf dress on a six year old was far too long.
 
The girls instinctively knew not to cut the material because they were never sure if this garment would be their last… though, the longest they had gone without a replacement had been two years.

By the time her daughter was twelve, Vanessa was the fully accredited leader of the organization… and Daria had come to the conclusion that her mother was a little ‘off her rocker’.
 
Lizzie and Annie’s mothers were also leaders, and they agreed with Daria’s carefully wondered and mused theory that they were
all
a little ‘off their rockers’ in their obsessive commitment to beat down a world wide system that had virtually saved the global economy.

If anyone had found time to ask the girls their opinion on matters, they would have discovered a slowly evolving twist in the daughters’ beliefs.
 
The fanatics printing pamphlets in the spare bedroom downstairs would have been surprised to learn that the girls had no particular bonding to either their absent mothers or to the other women housed in the brick building.
 
Even the governess who had raised them in emotionless commitment had been so enveloped in the organization’s plan for the girls that she missed them bonding with each other.

Despite the restrictive upbringing, or perhaps because of it, the daughters maintained independent thought… not from each other, as they had learned and formed their conclusions together… but they were ignorant of the basic ideals the members had taken for granted in their frantic commitment.
 
The young girls had no ‘horse in the race’, no ‘personal gripe’ with SHCI, and no understanding of what it meant to be ‘free’… so the loss of human rights that was preached to them, meant nothing.
 
Instead of the solid foundation in POHO’s self-righteousness views, the girls thought that the OTRs… ‘Off Their Rockers’… were compulsive and unable to understand the bigger picture.

With little distraction and no social interaction outside headquarters, the young women were intelligent and completely focused on creating the world as
they
saw it.
 
Thanks to an old, beat-up computer, they reviewed the history leading up to and since the financial collapse in 2012.
 
They combined a slanted distortion of the Preservation of Humanity rhetoric mixed with the brilliance of Mason Sanford.

If the OTRs had guided POHO to devise a serious alternative, perhaps their daughters would not have veered so far off course.
 
The disruptive demonstrations and futile legal battles seemed redundant and created slight diversions, but they held no real impact in society.
 
In the early days, the Preservation of Humanity had been a respected organization of do-gooders.
 
Now, they were becoming known as an eccentric fringe element, membership was dwindling, and the OTRs were beginning to panic and become even more bizarre as their life commitment slipped through their hands.

As Lilly had suggested after another failed court hearing so many years ago, the OTRs had a backup plan… and they still had hope left in the form of a redhead, a blonde, and Daria with her straight auburn hair.
 
The girls’ formal education had ended when Annie turned seventeen… and the OTRs suddenly began paying attention to them.
 
Daria and Lizzie were ten months older than Annie, and it was a little late to try to form the mother-daughter bonding they had found unnecessary while the girls were children.
 
The daughters found themselves spending hours of the day in one of the OTR’s company, and they had no alternative but to listen to the strange and sometimes frightening ideology of the POHO leaders.

The brief glimpses on their computer monitor of the outsiders’ lives had not been able to make the girls turn their backs on the organization.
 
The snapshots of life on the other side of the high brick headquarters’ walls had merely added an exciting bit of alternative life.
 
It was rather like religious fanatics who abstain from earthly evils but secretly wonder what it would be like to get drunk… just once.

A few months into the OTRs’ training, the daughters finally discovered why their mothers had laid with a bastard.
 
To the girls’ knowledge, none of them ever had lowered themselves to do it again.
 
The girls were amazed to discover that they were the Preservation of Humanity’s secret weapon, and they were completely in awe that their mothers had put into motion their insane plan of destruction almost two decades ago.

If Daria and her friends had not been assured that their work was of the utmost importance… and who does not dream of being womankind’s hero at seventeen?… they never would have considered the plan.
 
After almost a year of OTR teaching on what documents and meetings they were supposed to observe, their mothers began making a peculiar sort of sense.
 
Perhaps it was only because the girls wanted to believe that their mothers had not abandoned them for a wasted cause.
 
Perhaps it was because they secretly hoped that the OTRs were as much geniuses as Mason Sanford had been.
 
Perhaps the thought of their mothers bearing them only to contract them for slavery… was too horrible to think of any other way.

The girls were to spend a year in the Commodity Training Compound and, as they all had different physical traits, they would be sold in separate commodity lots.
 
After one more year in whatever situation their lot had ended up in, the OTRs would organize their rescue to debrief what incriminating information they had gathered.
 
They had to wait until Annie turned eighteen so that the whole plan would be kept on schedule and the girls could travel the road to slavery in sync with each other.
 
After a lifetime of self-righteous POHO ideology, the OTRs were certain their daughters would not be swayed by going through whatever training and brainwashing methods SHCI employed.

Blonde haired Annie, the youngest of the daughters, had been born ten months after Lizzie and Daria as a replacement for the disappointing birth of Barbra’s baby boy.
 
The OTRs agreed, after watching commodity holdings, that sweet Annie with her golden locks would be of the most value to SHCI, so it was Annie that received extra attention from the OTRs… especially Doc Hancock.

In the evening, the girls spent their time in the attic with Annie and Lizzie discussing options, while Daria paced the floor.
 
They snuck down to the clinic when the OTRs were sleeping, and ignored the bastards in the cages while they researched their plan.
 
A few months later, they lit the red candle in the window that the kidnapped ‘outsider’ had left more than a decade ago, before Daria helped her escape.
 
She showed up the next night, and by dawn the four young women had devised a back up plan for the POHO scheme when it failed.
 
The daughters felt no responsibility to offer suggestions to the OTRs when they realized the flaw, because they knew the futility in trying to sway them on their decades old decided course.

Two days after Annie’s eighteenth birthday, the girls were given new shapeless muted shaded shifts that were the norm for the feminist women.
 
The girls were excited as they helped each other into their first bras… white cotton affairs with thick straps.
 
They strutted around laughing in their matching white panties.
 
The luxury of underwear had never been wasted on them, and they were dumbstruck when they were even given shoes.
 
They walked around the attic in the brown leather flats for hours to get used to them.

With no contact with peers as they grew up, the girls maintained a naïve innocence of social immaturity.
 
Though undeniably intelligent with a lifetime of no outside distractions to impede their ability to simultaneously figure solutions of their own, they maintained a childish purity in their behavior.
 
As the POHO members did not interact with outsiders… other than their manic demonstrations and disdain… the unusual behavior of the daughters had not occurred to them.

The OTRs told them that they had to blend in with other young women that were contracted.
 
The lifestyle the leaders had constructed for themselves and their offspring gave them no indication how odd their daughters would appear to others.
 
Added to that, the girls had virtually no skills at meeting outsiders… much less the bastards who would be judging their sexual value.

The girls were contracted on October 20, 2036, and were to be kept isolated in the Commodity Training Compound with no external information breaking through the intensely secretive new world.
 
They would have no idea that the POHO headquarters had been raided and the OTRs carted to some unknown destination, on the morning of October 21
^st
.

Unofficial blame for POHO’s dismantling, was placed on a radical group who were convinced that the organization would eventually drive a new worldwide financial collapse.
 
‘Unofficial’ was typed on investigative reports, as the search for the leaders ended quickly.
 
The world was revolving in financial complacency, and many breathed a sigh of relief that Vanessa and her Preservation of Humanity Organization’s disruptive antics had ended.

Daria and her friends had been taken to an office by a taxi that had picked them up a block away from the POHO headquarters.
 
Lilly had escorted the wide-eyed girls, and had paid the driver in advance.
 
One thing the OTRs knew very well was the cost of the ride from the corner to SHCI’s block of buildings.
 
Their last demonstration in front of the Training Compound had been two weeks ago.

Lilly never looked back after the door to the cab closed on the frightened girls.
 
None of them had ever been in an automobile, nor outside the walls of headquarters before.
 
By the time the car stopped in front of the Commodity Investment Law Firm, the girls were trembling.
 
They had spent a terrifying ten-minute drive in a mobile cage, locked inside with a bastard.
 
The driver had to open their door, and he tried to gently coax them out.
 
It was not the first time he had delivered frightened young women who were contracted by parents who preferred the money over further obligation to them.
 
His own daughter walked through the glass doors three years ago.

Louise looked towards the sidewalk at the three plainly dressed girls.
 
A vulture from Jordan and Compton was angling towards the frozen women, and she quickly hustled to greet them.
 
Louise stared the man down and said, “I’ll take them, and I’ll be sure Mason is aware of how you tried to help.”
 
Color drained from the vulture’s face.
 
He knew that if Mason relayed his foolish move back to the commodity firm, he would be fired.