Clarett had her own division of trainees who were separated for her tutelage. The number of women investing in the purchase of slaves was increasing, and no other firm had accommodated for that share of the market. She continued her promiscuous travels through the trainers, but Damon and Phillip held her heart… if she had one. Her attempts to get Mason bagged had become a private joke between them. She did seem to be the only one outside of his partners to whom he would let down his guard and actually ask her opinion, and Clarett decided that she was satisfied with that measure of security.
Clarett was headed towards level four, when she remembered that Damon was working level seven today. Shit. She turned on her heel in search of another available trainer to fuck her brains out.
Damon ordered the girl out of her cage, and she trembled slightly. The girl was a private order, separate from SHCI. Phillip contracted a few of the high priced agreements to the Training Compound… though, it was much more economical for a buyer to chose a girl from a commodity lot.
This one was the stepdaughter of a rancher in Montana. The man was a former school buddy of the partners, and they were helping to extricate him from an impending messy divorce. There was proof that wife had been screwing one of the ranch hands, so Phillip had no problem dealing with his friend’s economic repercussions. It was the mental rage the rancher was left in that no agreement in court could appease. The bitch had siphoned several hundred thousand dollars before he had caught her.
Phillip managed to collect a good chunk of the money, but over one hundred thousand had vanished on a trip to Vegas. The woman wailed while Damon held a cattle prod against her daughter’s bottom, and she finally signed Phillip’s contracts on both herself and the nineteen year old. The girl was very pretty, but she had been raised to be as much of a conniving bitch as her mother.
The rancher decided he liked the ‘younger’ model better. As the paperwork flew through SHCI’s records, the mother found herself chained to a horse stall in the stable for use by any of the ranch hands. The woman and her daughter had treated the cowboys so poorly that they all took frequent pleasure debasing the bleached blonde former trophy wife.
Even the foreman she had been having the affair with, enjoyed the liberty of sticking his cock down her throat or up her ass… two luxuries she had always denied him. Now that she had no access to the rancher’s money, it was all that she was good for. Hank still had no idea how his boss knew that his wife had been screwing around, but he readily agreed to seduce the bitch so that he could keep an eye on the rancher’s money. Luckily, he was not held to blame for the hundred and twenty thousand the stupid bitch had thrown during a marathon poker match.
The daughter was shipped to the Training Compound for rehabilitation, and she spent two days screaming for her mother. The dazed young woman had battled herself out, and had finally succumbed to the Master’s training. She rarely thought of herself as Heather Monroe any more. She was US20BB970 after celebrating her birthday a month ago with new identification bands and twenty lashes all over her body.
Damon checked with Phillip earlier, and the rancher had not changed his mind. “You don’t know him, Damon. That man gets as obsessive as POHO when he gets his mind set on something.”
Damon had been walking a fine line with the girl, between what the rancher requested and the US20 shutting down. It was an extreme form of training that Damon had not used since he had worked for a private outfit before signing on with SHCI.
“Suck,” Damon ordered. The girl dropped to her knees and reached out her hands towards his zipper.
“Dammit…” Damon grabbed her blonde hair and lifted her, and the girl was wailing by the time they got to the door.
Heather’s mind scrambled to figure out her mistake. “Master. Yes, Master,” she wailed as he continued to drag her down the hall by her hair.
They stopped in front of the first door on a hallway of ten training rooms. “You will convince every Master on the floor to interrupt his training so you can suck his cock. I expect full throat and no spills. For every failure, I’m whipping your pussy.” Damon poked her forehead in time to his words. “You… will… learn… to… acknowledge… your… Master.” God, most trainees had that one down before they left level one.
Damon opened the door to Rodrigo who was fitting a large anal plug into a girl who had tears flowing. She was fighting crying out loud, a mistake she had already made twice. The penalty was an even larger phallus stuck up her rear. The trainer looked up, and Heather approached him with faltering steps. “Master,” she gulped. “Can this slave please suck your cock?”
“Fuck no,” he exploded. He looked up at Damon. “I’m a little busy here.”
“Please, Master.” Heather panicked and reached for his zipper, and he batted her hands away.
“I said, no. Get the hell out of here.”
Heather felt her sex lips shrink and squeeze, as if already trying to hide. She jumped when Damon said, “That’s one. Count it.”
“One… Master,” Heather whispered.
“One whip on your pussy, slut. Say it.”
“One whip on my pussy, Master,” she sobbed.
Damon watched her already shuddering as they walked to the second door. Heather approached Bill. The mask he wore scared her worse than Damon did. “Please, Master, can this slave suck your cock.” Heather shivered, and thought of her little blistered pussy. “Please, Master,” she begged.
Bill shrugged. He had a girl hanging strapado that was trying to keep a dildo trapped inside her pussy. “I guess.” He made no motion to move to the chair, so Heather knelt in front of him. She silently cried while she pulled out his stiff shaft. Bill’s penis had a decided curve, and she knew the odd shape would gag and scrape as she tried to swallow him. Eventually, she got him seated in her throat, but her stomach clenched spasmodically as he plunged in and out. When he finally erupted he gripped her head, jerking mini-thrusts and blocking her air passage until she thought she would pass out. She forced herself not to let the gag make her vomit as the shaft softened and she slipped it from her mouth. “Thank you, Master.”
All in all she had managed half, and Damon brought her back to her training room. She cried harder when he laid her over the edge of the table with her thighs spread and her feet planted on the floor. Damon picked up a cane and she sobbed out loud. God, how the thin reed stung. “Spread yourself.”
Heather’s shaking fingers stalled several times as they lowered to her bald pussy. She wanted to beg, but she was sure that would only earn her extra swipes. Her fingers pinched her lips as she exposed her pink folds. Sometimes, if she pinched herself, whatever punishment she was receiving did not hurt so badly. It did not work this time. The cane sliced down with a crack, and a moment later one hundred needles were pushed into her sensitive tissue.
“Aaahh… oh, god.” Heather curled onto her belly, clutching her tortured mound.
“Position,” Damon roared.
“No… no,” she screamed.
Damon grabbed her and dragged her to her cage. He fastened her wrists behind her and bent her back over the bars. He clipped her collar to the far top rail, and spread and latched her ankles to bars by the door. She gripped the rails beneath her bound wrists, and continued to scream until the fourth stroke. Damon did not bother with a fifth… the girl was unconscious.
Eventually she passed through level ten training… though barely. The rancher seemed happy because the brat was more than willing to serve him or any of his friends. He had no idea that Damon told her he had an agreement to take her back when the rancher was through with her.
Chapter III
Mason looked out his window, down fifty-seven floors to the sidewalk below. It was Monday, the first day of the trade week, and the day that the small gathering with signs marched up and down the block of his buildings. It had been going on for so many years that Mason anticipated the drab garbed women as much as his compulsory notice of seconds’ block of numbers on his clock.
He was a creature of habit, and although POHO was irritating, if the group completely dissolved he would feel unsettled by their absence. Vanessa had no more motions the courts would listen to, and Phillip had succeeded in his own litigation to allow the organization only one day a month of demonstrations in front of the buildings. Vanessa showed without fail, and Mason made a point of smiling pleasantly at the woman whenever he passed her. On ‘Demonstration Mondays’, Mason always visited the other offices by way of the outside instead of the underground passages.
Long ago, perhaps three years into the ritual, Mason had the uneasy revelation that Vanessa was… or had been… a beautiful woman before the crazed look of burning hatred filled her green eyes. He even had uneasy dreams of her contracting herself and belonging exclusively to him to train. As the years wore on, her beauty faded to the tightened, slightly sagging lines of her consuming mission against him. Luckily, Mason’s circumstances had not forced him to settle for the aging façade of his slight obsession with her.
Ashley’s parents had contracted her two days ago, and Mason had seen her in the induction room with five other recent acquisitions. Damon saw the look in Mason’s eyes and did not bother to assign her a trainer. Whether or not Mason acknowledged his compulsion was irrelevant. The rest of the firm knew that he kept thin reminders of Vanessa in his suite for private training.
When Ashley saw the middle aged man staring at her in mesmerized arousal, she recognized him immediately and began to cry. The way that he gazed at her, with a mixture of desire and hate, was terrifying. She had tried so hard the past year to do everything her parents asked of her. By the time that she was a month shy of eighteen, she was doing more work around the docks than her brother had been doing, and she was sure her parents could see that she had far more value as a permanent worker rather than the one time payoff to contract her. She had been wrong. When her mom lit the candles on the white birthday cake with yellow roses, Ashley had taken it as a positive sign and she went to bed content that she would be waking to the sounds of the gulls and waves. Instead, she found herself rousing in the small cell of the Training Compound.
Mason approached her, and she backed slowly towards the door. Her hand reached behind her and twisted the locked handle. He stood in front of her, pinning her between his body and the wood panel behind her. Mason reached out a hand and cupped her chin, and while her auburn waves slid off the sides of her face, he raised her green eyes to look into his. “Do you know who I am?” his deep voice queried.
Ashley’s green eyes swam while she stared into his fixed gray gaze. “Y..y..yes, Mr. Sanford,” she trembled a whisper.
“And you know why you’re here?” he asked.
“Y..y..yes, Mr. Sanford.” The girl had tears leaking down her face and wetting the strong fingers still gripping her chin.
“Then, you will be punished for backing away from me,” he stated, and slight amusement was added to the frightening look in his eyes. The girl gasped in fear and automatically pressed back into the door. “Damon, get straps on this one. I’ll be handling her initiation personally.”
“Yes, Mason.” Damon brought the cuffs and collar over, and Mason stood back while they were secured to the frightened girl. The trainers never bothered to grumble to Eddie about Mason snagging the girls. The commission on an AG was usually not very high, with only the NN’s reaping less compensation to them. While Damon was locking on the collar, he leaned down and whispered, “Wouldn’t have mattered, girl. That auburn hair and green eyes got you in his radar the minute your folks signed the contract for you.”
Ashley had no idea what the cryptic comment was referring to. She had no idea that Vanessa Boudreaux had become Mason’s obsession. Vanessa was the one woman who led the only remaining opposition to his Epiphany, the one woman who stood against his lure of money and genius… and yes, he had tried to bribe her once, in the early years… the one woman who had, and always would, remain obstinately elusive to his obsessive compulsion to control her.
Mason snapped a leash onto the front of the girl’s collar, and her knees almost gave out on her as he pulled her towards the door that led to the passageways under the buildings. As he tugged her through the dimly lit cement hall, he reflected on the crazy desire he had to walk just one AG in the open, leashed and cuffed… maybe even gagged… past the POHO demonstrators and within Vanessa’s view. Just once, he would like to let the woman know that he thought about her other than on ‘Demonstration Mondays’… and how he dealt with those thoughts.
The passageway ended in an underground warehouse stocked with replacement computer terminals, paper supplies, and other materials and equipment the associates and accountants working on the floors above might require. By the time they rounded the corner to the elevator, the girl was following silently behind him with only an occasional sniffle.
In all the years that the Human Commodity Exchange had been in business, it was an unwritten law that the firms… all the firms, not just SHCI… kept their training programs secret. Contracted young women still had no idea what to expect once they disappeared into the market. A few parents or left behind lovers had tried to pursue the girls, but the courts had held the same litigation that the commodities rights belonged to the owners. Young women still contracted themselves, or were contracted by their parents, under the assumption they were being trained for domestic or legitimate employment.
When Mason hit the button for floor fifty-seven, Ashley’s knees turned to jelly again. She had read a magazine article several years ago that had pictures of Mason seated in front of a wall of windows in his office. The receptionist did not bother looking up as Mason turned and led the girl to his suite.
He placed the girl in front of his chair and unclipped the leash while her green eyes widened, and she studied the frightening equipment he had occupying the main room. “Strip.”
Ashley jumped at the order, and her eyes snapped back to him. Even one of the terrifying trainers was preferable to being alone with this man. She stared at him, her body frozen, but her mind desperately wanting her to bolt to the elevator. If she could make it downstairs, she could find her way out of the building. She could somehow get a ride back to Louisiana and back to the dock before her parents could spend the money. She would beg them and tell them how horrible it was. She would plead with them…
Mason was standing in front of her before she finished the thought. “I paid for you, slut.”
Ashley’s shaking fingers reached for the hem of the sheer shift, and she lifted it quickly over her head. The blue silk thong left her feeling vulnerable and exposed. His eyes were filled with sadistic passion edged with a fierce anger that made them appear to be a darker gray. “P..p..please, Mr. Sanford. I’ve never…”
“I don’t give a shit,” he hissed.
Ashley pulled at the thin lace waistband and lowered the silk panties. She felt the band peel and pull out from between her bottom’s cheeks as she lowered them down her legs and cried. Her feet caught in the material, and she stumbled forward into Mason’s thighs as she kicked them free. Ashley stood and crossed an arm over her small breasts and thatch of pubic hair.
Mason grabbed her wrist cuffs and pulled her arms to her sides. “I paid for you.” He turned and stormed to a wardrobe, and returned to his chair. He tossed some shoes with six-inch heels at her. “Put those on and buckle them.”
Ashley was sobbing quietly as she reached for them. She could tell they were too small, but she sat down and worked at cramming her toes into the pointed tips. Her tear-filled eyes looked up at him once, but his narrowed glare let her know that he was fully aware of her discomfort. With painful tugging, she groaned and she managed to seat her foot and buckle the thick straps. Every part of her foot was pinched to confining pressure, while she raised to a stand and teetered in misery.
Mason walked slowly towards her, circling to her back. He pulled her wrists behind her and latched them together. When he began tugging her backwards by her loc
ked cuffs, she leaned forward in panic, trying to keep from losing her balance. She felt something hooked onto her joined wrists and begin raising her arms towards the ceiling.
The line stopped with her arms almost resting on her back as she bent forward. It was not too uncomfortable… not compared to the footwear. Mason left her, but Ashley could not see through her curtain of hair where the cruel man had gone. He returned a moment later and she saw the shiny black leather of his shoes on the floor. “Stand.”
The sob she made hardened his cock as she struggled to stay on the shoes and lift. Her arms stretched to an awkward angle, and she only managed to raise half way. He placed a tray on the floor and was rewarded with another sob.
Zip-tape. Oh, god. The canvas strips were too small for her legs, so Ashley had a dreaded feeling of his intention. They were an unsuccessful transmuted generation of waxing that never succeeded because of the pain involved. The results were longer lasting, but no one tried more than one attempt with them. The glue was a special emollient that did not stick to skin, but it coated and dried on each individual hair. She watched him remove the backing and his fingers reached between her thighs.
Mason spread her fleshy lips and pressed a glued tape strip on each side, smoothing the tape to make sure that no hair escaped. These zip-tapes were different and made specifically for SHCI. They had rings threaded through the outside, and Ashley felt him push her forward, easing the strain on her arms while he hooked thin chains between the rings on the tapes and the buckles on her shoes.
The girl had no idea what he had planned for her, but she heard him walk away and the sound of the cushion in the chair when he sat. She began to feel the tightening on her sex as the glue dried, and the soft clicking of shoes as Mason rose again. He returned and knelt in front of her, and she cried out when she saw metal clips in his hand.
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