She hobbled in pistoning movements, up and down on the one shoe until the thin peg broke off and caused her to twist her ankle. She shrieked in pain, but the man kept pulling her forward and she had no choice but to kick off the injured footwear when her foot left the cement.
Her expensive French nylons were shredding under her feet, and the makeup she had conned Gertie into artfully applying to her face that morning, was running down her face in muddy streaks. Monique had lied and convinced the cosmetician to push off a ‘paying’ appointment by saying that she had an interview for a trade magazine. Gertie was the only one that she trusted to fill the little lines at the corners of her eyes.
They reached the end of the darkened hallway, and the man kept tugging her forward. When she balked or stalled, he squeezed her breast harder, and it felt like the meat was sponging and churning inside of her. Her terrified mind barely registered muted screams behind doors they were passing, and she was finally led into a small room where her breast was released to throb into blood circulating fullness again. She glanced down at the bruises forming, and sobbed.
A machine spat out tags that were inserted into leather restraints, and Monique made a feeble attempt to kick out a foot when the man lifted her leg and ripped the nylon over her ankle. After her ankles were cuffed, her wrists were released and they fell in numbed strain to her sides. Damon did not give her time to rub the chafed skin before he wrapped her identifying cuffs around her wrists and secured them behind her back. The collar was replaced, and Damon reached forward to center the commodities identifying tag. The one time top model of 2013 would now be known as US28BN97.
Monique’s frazzled mind still had trouble accepting that she was not going to be given an executive apartment for guests of the Commodity Training Compound. It had taken many years, and even more sexual favors, to rise out of the poverty of her small town. Now, she would trade this situation for life back in Martinsville, just to be back in her small bedroom in the farmhouse.
Further down the block from the Training Compound… next door to the Commodity Law Firm, in fact, stood the fifty-seven story brick building that housed Sanford Human Commodity Investments. Mason Sanford manned the helm of his firm, glaring at the monitor on his desk. He yearned to smash the digital clock for relentlessly counting down the numbers too quickly.
The firm in Dubai had not managed the sale of the 23NN lot before the overseas Exchange had closed. Enough commodity movement had taken place to split the lot, and now he had the anticipated loss on the level three through seven trainees, and they could expect a loss on the eight through tens this afternoon. It was not really a loss, of course, but anything that earned Mason less than his strategic planning counted on, he considered to be a financial blow.
The Exchange had opened ten minutes ago, and the three associates sitting across from Mason tried to keep from squirming. Whatever their employer was watching was clearly not making him happy. That meant another long day of pressure as they tried to produce the orders he issued while improving the outlook for the following day.
“Fifty-four, push the DU23NN level eights to the smaller off-street firms. For fuck’s sake, don’t let them beat you down below seventy-five thousand each. Fifty-five, take level nines. Your ass is saved with anything over a hundred, so you better get in gear before the ‘golden boys’ realize that we’re dumping them. Fifty-six, level ten. Anything over one-fifty earns an associate split of an additional three percent.” Mason mentally calculated that the damage could be minimized to a loss of an anticipated half a million. He would have to be satisfied with the five hundred thousand the firm would be gaining on dumping the commodity.
The leaders of the lower three floors stood in unison, and left Mason’s office in silence. Mason had noticed the strain around the eyes of the fifty-six floor manager, and he realized that “Purgatory Hill” would be needing a new leader within the month. The man’s figures had been steadily dropping, and his efforts had quickly dissipated since he had been promoted to the top associate position. Mason was not going to get a year out of the stressed out planner, and he wondered how the hell the associate had managed to climb the brass elevator to the top.
He scribbled ‘Dubai’ on his notepad. There would be several overseas floor leaders and an executive beating the streets for a job by tomorrow. He also wrote ‘Hill’ and circled it, already considering replacements for the fifty-six floor manager. Mason’s fickle clock clicked another second, and he stood and stretched. There was a tattered magazine he had placed in Lance’s tray, and smiled at the picture of the woman on the cover. Monique Bouvier, his college fantasy, should be receiving her cuffs. Mason entered the elevator and descended to the basement tunnel to make his way towards the Training Compound.
Monique was pulled down the hall to another door, where she waited in a dark cubicle for a red light to turn green across from them. A panel slid open and she was roughly pushed into a clinic. Eddie turned to see the ruined mess of Monique, and he noticed her cuffs latched behind her. “Reluctant?”
“She’ll come around,” Damon assured him. Monique twisted and turned while Damon pulled off her skirt. He lifted the front band of her pantyhose, and with it popped up over her ankles, it dug painfully between the lips of her waxed pussy. “Shut up,” he demanded.
The girl continued to shriek, until the cutting band wedged so deeply she was forced to her tiptoes. Monique managed to quieten to erratic sobs, and Damon pulled the ruined hose from her legs. Eddie looked at the girl and noticed the softening tissue gravity was fighting for. Her wet makeup stuck in the creases around her eyes, and the deepening hollows spreading down from the sides of her nostrils and the corners of her mouth.
The door behind them opened and Mason came in, expecting to see the desirable girl he had jerked off to when dates blew him off in college. He studied the fallen beauty in front of him. “How the fuck old is she?”
“US28,” Damon replied. “Though, we’ll be changing her bands next month.”
“Crap! She’s going to be US30 when she’s offered for sale?” Mason calculated the financial damage.
“That’s right.” Eddie chuckled. “And Phillip called to tell me that she actually had the nerve to bring a three page addendum of requirements with her contract.”
“Ah, Monique,” Mason sighed. “I’ll be tossing your magazines in the trash, I guess. My dick won’t rise to salute your picture when my thoughts turn to the reality of the true visage before me.” Mason turned and left without another word, already planning afternoon interviews for the positions in Dubai and the ‘Hill’.
“You know, Eddie, sometimes Mason confuses me,” Damon said, as he forced Monique over to a metal table.
“Join the club,” Eddie chuckled while he organized instruments.
“Seriously. He has to be one of the smartest dudes I know, but it doesn’t occur to him that a girl he jerked off to six years ago might have aged a little?”
“Not just a little, Damon. Once we get that makeup off her, you’ll see what damage the lights and fast life-style have done,” Eddie replied.
He was right, Damon discovered, when the makeup was harshly scrubbed off with a watered cloth instead of using the creams that Monique had faithfully applied for years. “Damn, Eddie,” Damon said, staring at a rather washed out face with average brown eyes… perhaps a little small, in fact… that did not pop and beg for sex without the careful shadow and makeup lined accents. Her complexion was a mass of little raised bumps and veins.
Monique cried in embarrassment. No one other than the cosmeticians had seen her bared face in years. She knew what the men saw… the mottled complexion of her mother’s ancestry, destroyed by years of working in the hot sun on the farm when they could no longer afford a full crew of laborers. To make it worse, Eddie picked up the phone and said to Phillip, “Whatever you paid for her, cut it in half.” Eddie listened while Phillip informed him of already cutting the fee for the age fraud. “Give him the lowest amount to bind
the contract. We’re going to have to take our chances and throw her in with a lot.”
“Shit… that bad, Eddie? I figured we’d get a decent return from some reminiscing old fuck.” Phillip wrote a check for ten dollars, and sealed it in a courier envelope that required a signature as proof of accepted payment.
“She’d be lucky to pass for 35,” Eddie answered, and hung up the phone.
While Damon continued to pinch her nipples, waiting for a less than arousing response, Eddie pushed her secured ankles up and studied her pussy. “Fuck… she’s had a kid. She’s as loose as a cow down here, and there’s makeup covering stretch marks on her thighs and pelvis.”
Monique began wailing. Her mother adopted the boy when Mary Bentley had spread her legs for a seasonal foreman after celebrating her high school graduation. It had been the last group of laborers they had been able to afford, after covering the cost of a new baby. She wailed harder when Damon licked his finger, and smeared off the foundation covering the white spidery lines on the breasts that had blossomed and thankfully never retreated after the baby was born.
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.
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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.”
Human Commodity Page 5
