Human Commodity (5 page)

Most of the young women who had signed themselves over preferred to call themselves ‘Mistresses’.
 
They had Phillip tack on a separate notarized sheet outlining the type of service and environment they were agreeing to.
 
Invariably, this separate sheet of terms mysteriously found its way to the shredder.

Mason shook himself from his reverie, and stared down at the woman still working his cock.
 
Her hair was limp with the sweat of her exertions, and he decided to work up enough arousal to end her automatic movements.
 
He thought of the next morning and the anticipation of twenty new commodities.
 
For most men it might be the innocent eighteen year olds that aroused them.
 
Mason groaned his load with the vision of one of the twenty-two year old professional woman who was contracting herself as an executive assistant to someplace in Europe.
 
He imagined the look on her face when she discovered the terms of her contract had been altered a bit.

Mason met Phillip and Eddie at the Compound in the morning, to witness the first twenty women arriving.
 
Eddie seated Phillip and Mason in comfortable chairs at the side of the room.
 
He was so excited, he was surprised that
his
eye was not ticking, and he watched his friends’ faces as the young women were led in.
 
They were all quite pretty, in various sizes and colors, and nervously smiling at the well dressed men seated behind the doctor.
 
It was not until the trainers came in through the back door that fear registered on several faces.

The young, bronzed, muscle bound men wore black leather pants, and the one with the mask made even Phillip uneasy.
 
They quickly divided the girls into groups of five, and Damon smiled at Eddie as he led his group over to his seated employers.
 
He turned to the frightened young women.
 
“Strip,” his deep voice echoed in the sparse room.

“What?” a brunette asked.
 
“Who the hell do you think you are?” she demanded, straightening and glaring back at the trainer.
 
Bethany, aka Betty Ann, had an attorney draw up her third sheet to contract herself as an executive administrative assistant… preferably to someone in Rome or Paris.

Damon took two strides forward and grabbed her carefully coiffured brown waves.
 
His other hand snaked through the collar of her blouse and he ripped it to the belt on her waist.
 
A meaty fist gripped her breast, and he squeezed until it spilled out of her sheer lacy bra.
 
She screamed in outrage and pain, clawing frantically until he whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear, “I am your Master, slut.
 
Now strip, or you’ll be sucking my cock while we watch your friends.”

“
Fuck me
,” Phillip murmured.

Eddie chuckled.
 
“What did you expect, Phillip?
 
Did you think we were offering them pretty pastel shifts and teaching them ten levels of manners?”

“Something like that,” he said quietly.
 
Phillip’s throat was tight.
 
He watched a blonde with mascara streaking down her cheeks while she slowly lowered her pink thong panties down slender tanned legs.
 
His cock was so hard it was painful, and he was afraid if he moved an inch that he would shoot his wad into his seven hundred dollar linen slacks.

Eddie needed to keep an eye on the inductions, so he left Mason to explain the finer points of their new enterprise to Phillip.
 
Even in college, Phillip’s cool façade was seen through when Eddie and Mason tried to get him involved with edgier experiences.
 
He had a strange make up of shrewdness and desire for wealth that enabled him to research and push the boundaries with their legal portfolio while being completely counter-balanced with the conservative upbringing of strict parents.
 
Phillip had actually searched for the ‘nice’ girls in college.
 
He did not date much in his final years, and the roommates never remembered him bringing a girl back to their apartment.

“Phillip,” Mason began.
 
The lawyer’s eyes were widening in surprise, while the trainers began locking cuffs and collars onto the frightened women.
 
The brunette was now naked, with her wrists hooked together behind her.
 
The fight was out of her, and behind her silent tears a dazed shock was settling in.
 
The trainers picked one girl out from their groups, and led each of them to a side wall.
 
Phillip’s mouth dropped open as the young women’s wrists were released from the resting spot on their bottoms, and raised to a hook embedded in the wall that forced them up onto their toes.

Phillip felt his balls tighten, and Mason noticed arousal beginning to burn through his surprised wariness.
 
One trainer watched the girls on the wall trying to thrash and free themselves, accompanied by wails and sobs.
 
The remaining young women were ordered to kneel… some had to be pushed to their knees… and they were told to count the strokes of the crops that the trainers picked up from the hooks on the wall.

Phillip jumped as much as the kneeling women when the four trainers came down on bare bottoms with hard, welt producing blows.
 
The trainers turned, and amidst the screaming they ordered the sixteen witnesses to count or replace the girls on the wall.
 
Sobbing numbers were counted to five, and Mason realized that Phillip was chanting the strokes with them.

“Phillip,” Mason started again.
 
The trainers were unhooking the hanging women, and guiding their groups to the hallway that led to the cells.
 
“We are training the most submissive and sexually enticing commodities on the market.
 
Fuck,
our
lots will be setting the standard.
 
Right now, disjointed brokers are trading street urchins.
 
Hell, half the women being contracted are junkies or prostitutes.
 
The few daughters that are being signed over are fetching a slightly higher price, but well below what the market will bear.
 
The allure of young snatch wears off quickly when the kid ends up to be a demanding brat who is barely more accomplished in bed than the owner’s wife.”

Phillip finally turned towards Mason when the last trainer’s broad back disappeared from view.
 
The women’s echoed sobs were becoming fainter as they moved further into the basement of the compound,

“I gotta’ get to the clinic for initial assessments.
 
You good?” Eddie asked.

“We’ll be fine, Eddie,” Mason assured him.
 
“Phillip will get into the groove in a few minutes.”
 
Mason reached out a hand to Phillip’s shoulder.
 
“I think we shook him up a little more than we expected to.”

“Right… I’ll catch you guys for drinks a little later.”
 
Eddie followed down the hall the group had exited through.
 
He had noticed Phillip’s erection straining after the brunette had acted up, and he knew that with Mason’s schmoozing Phillip would be all right.

“We’re training sex slaves?” Phillip confirmed.

“Phillip, you knew damn well that this is what was happening.
 
You might have somehow tried to block it… but you’re too smart not to have come to the conclusion.
 
If you think you’re going to lose sleep over it, then look at it as a service we’re providing.
 
These girls are going to leave here prepared for anything.
 
It will make it easier for them to adjust, and their new owner will be getting a slave well worth the money he paid for her.”

“Okay, Mason,” Phillip murmured.
 
Mason watched his eyes clear as he sequestered the shocking news into files in his mind that he could acceptably rationalize.
 
“I think I knew, but I’ve been trying to convince myself that the girls are going to guys that just want company, housecleaners or someone to cook dinner.
 
I guess I knew better, but it’s going to take a while for me to accept what I’m involved in.
 
I guess you’re right that it’s better to let them leave here prepared.”

Chapter I

It took Philip surprisingly little time to accept that, as a once conservative son of a minister, he was now a slave trader.
 
Specifically, he was a sex slave trader, with satellite firms in six other countries.
 
Phillip smoothly covered the new legal precedence this twist in his legal career had required.
 
SHCI was a unique firm, though copycat brokerage houses scrambled to catch up, and some of the ‘golden boys’ staunch securities firms had stopped looking at them with disgust when they produced the almost forgotten euphoria of return on their clients’ investments.
 
The returns were admirable enough to warrant their attention… shit, there were even green arrows on the board again.
 
The ‘golden boys’, hanging onto traditional worn investments, were losing portfolios in record numbers.

Phillip’s restrictive upbringing gave him the presence of an attorney to take notice of in the courtroom as he battled the changes that SHCI needed to have written into law to strip their commodities’ rights away.
 
Phillip had decided early on that this would be his game plan.
 
The legislation quickly adopted laws that contracted girls were no longer sheltered by the human values and legal restrictions that protected the ‘free’ citizenry.
 
SHCI was holding countries by their treasuries’ destitute, shriveled balls, and leading them onto the road to recovery.
 
It was almost considered sacrilege to throw stumbling blocks in their way and, besides, the women were not abducted or taken against their will… not in the elite commodity structure of SHCI’s firm, at least.
 
They were all signed over by contracting themselves or through the legal rights of their parents.

POHO had not figured out Phillip’s design in time, as their lawyers were compiling legal edicts outlining evidence and cases against human slavery.
 
When they discovered the measure was passed that the women who were compensated upon signing the contracts had forever signed away their rights and irrevocably entered the evil world of human slavery, they were caught by surprise.
 
If the women were investment portfolios, it was going to require hearings just to have it acknowledged that they were even allowed to be covered under accepted human rights.

POHO tried to get the backing of civil liberties organizations, but the once respected feminist organization found themselves in the unfamiliar territory of being shunned.
 
The groups and unions were exhausted from trying to balance budgets and fight wars for members whose companies had folded without honoring the promised pensions.
 
They had a dismal record of producing little results of recouping even their paid memberships’ portion of the savings, as companies used the last ‘guaranteed and protected’ monies belonging to their employees to try to patch the rip in their finances.
 
There was nothing left to return to the workers, even if the unions won the lawsuits.
 
With no company to throw their anger against, members stormed their ire at their unions who continued to send yearly renewal notices to support them for services they could no longer provide.

It became quickly evident that POHO was the only real obstacle trying to block SHCI’s legislation.
 
The organization had yet to win a case, but the monthly hearings were as annoying as a mosquito buzzing on the other side of a screen, yearning to suck the blood money out of the firm.
 
Phillip was in his element… respected and looked up to as a leader among other attorneys struggling with the ideology of slavery as their client firms began trading in human commodities.

That was the business side of his occupation that he could discuss in vague terms with his parents.
 
The majority of his time was filled with the private contracts of purchasing women, who left his office as a future commodity offering through an underground passage to the Training Compound next to his law firm’s building.

His office was the last room the young women saw as free agents, and he carefully balanced the décor in a way that was in sync with his own unusual manner.
 
One wall held a tapestry with the muted soft colors of a foxhunt.
 
On another, hung a portrait of a bound, naked woman, kneeling at Mason’s feet and smiling up at him.
 
That one was placed so that the girls would only see it if they dared to look back at him as their trainers were leading them to the tunnel… and they usually did with a pleading look in their eyes that he found strangely arousing.

There were no blasted hearings from POHO that morning, so Phillip sat at his desk and studied the list of contracts he would have to go through that day.
 
Such a chore, to decide if a young woman was up to SHCI standards or had to be tossed to the street vultures, who were obvious by the very nature of the anxiety burning through eyes in their naturally unnatural appearance.
 
They knew better than to approach a woman going into the law firm.
 
Mason’s shrewd wrath and rumors of how he had blackmailed his way to ownership of the once revered Dugan’s Securities firm, caused uneasy competitors to back off and wait for any scraps or discards he threw back to them.

Competitors… and most probably the Finance Commission… knew that the three enterprises were connected by a bond much stronger than mere shareholdings.
 
The fact that Sanford Human Commodities Investments, Commodity Investment Law Firm, and the Commodity Training Compound might be set up as a monopoly, remained unchallenged.
 
But hell, their buildings stood beside each other and comprised a full block with rumored underground passages connecting them.
 
In the world of Wall Street, it was understood that it would be a quick road to bankruptcy, or worse, if anyone tried to block the dynamic trio… and Mason, Phillip and Eddie’s names were only referred to in hushed, revered, or cursed tones over cocktails and lunch.

“Sir, your ten o’clock is here.”
 
Noreen watched the former model cross long nyloned legs.
 
She had graced the cover of several magazines before her tumble from iconic heights as younger, fresher faces replaced her.

“Send her in, Noreen,” Phillip answered.
 
He glanced at the name, and smiled at the memory from a few years back, of the tall lithe girl running on the shoreline in a bathing suit splashed across the cover of some sports tableau.

Monique Bouvier, aka Mary Bentley to her mom and high school friends, stood with a practiced look of boredom, and nodded to the plain looking middle aged woman at the desk.
 
She did not wait for the receptionist to open the light wooden door behind her, and Noreen smiled down at her compensation reports as the model turned the handle and gushed, “Phillip, it’s so good to finally meet you in person.”

“Have a seat, Monique.
 
You’ve brought your contract?”

Monique slid the linen envelope onto his desk, managing to stroke one of his reaching fingers with a carefully manicured nail.
 
“You’ll see that my attorney added a few personal preferences on a separate page.”
 
Monique wondered if Phillip had a ‘personal’ commodity.
 
She could think of worse ways to spend the next few years.

Phillip was floored with the presumptive amount of specifics she had attached, and he looked up at her in disbelief.
 
Monique smiled, and with a dismissive wave of her hand, she added, “Nothing too specific.
 
Naturally, I’ll need to reside in an English speaking household and have access to a personal trainer.
 
The rest are just the usual requirements to keep me presentable… hairdressers and labels of designers that I’m fond of.”

“I see.”
 
Phillip lifted the three pages added to the back, and almost laughed at the last one indicating her menu preferences.
 
The first page indicated an
acceptable
buyer, and he noticed a theme describing the last actor who had dumped her for a twenty-year-old SHCI commodity.
 
Phillip hit a button under his desk, and Noreen chuckled under her breath.
 
She rose and bolted his door.

Phillip lifted the phone.
 
“I have a US28BN.”

“Monique?” Eddie queried.
 
He had been looking forward to seeing the voluptuous model naked and squirming in his clinic.
 
“Damon’s on his way.”

“I’ll never figure out those silly codes.
 
Why don’t you just use our names?”
 
Monique shined a nail with a pad from another finger.

Phillip lifted a sheet from a folder on his desk, and he replied, “Because, ‘Mary Bentley’ does not really describe you very well.”
 
Monique’s eyes flew to his face.
 
She had all but buried her past over the years.
 
“Now, Mary, some of the information on your top sheet appears to be a little inaccurate.
 
It may be considered an attempt to defraud SHCI out of funds, as a matter of fact.
 
Your sheet indicates that you are twenty-four, and yet, this copy of your birth certificate clearly shows you to be closer to twenty-nine.
 
There is a huge difference in opening price between a commodity in her early twenties and one pushing thirty.”

Monique’s mouth dropped open.
 
How dare you?
 
Here I am, one of the top models for the Schuster Agency
, though admittedly she now held the position as a matter of respect for the fees she had earned them during the financial collapse.
 
She responded in an icy tone, “The numbers may be fudged somewhat, but with my background you must admit my career more than makes up for a few forgotten years.”

“Mary, those fudged numbers are as detrimental to your earnings in the world of commodities as they had been shutting down your modeling potential.”
 
Monique’s mouth dropped open at the insult, while Phillip looked at his personal investigative report on the woman.
 
“Are your boobs real?
 
They don’t look like 36Ds in your graduation picture.”

Monique stood, trying to carefully monitor her anger.
 
She only needed to put up with this prick for a few more minutes before they took her to her room where she would calm herself with a shot of tequila.
 
The liquor was hidden in a plastic bottle in her makeup case, and as soon as she caught up with her suitcase…
 
A man opened a door on the left side of the office.

Damon raised an eyebrow at the scene of the angry woman facing off against Phillip.
 
“Problem so soon?”

“Absolutely not,” Phillip answered, and Monique pulled her eyes away from the half naked Adonis to watch the lawyer feed her last three sheets of carefully outlined requirements through a paper shredder.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded.

“Exactly what you have contracted for,” Phillip replied.
 
“Your outstanding debts will be paid, and the rest of the proceeds will be forwarded to your mother.”

“And how, exactly, are you going to accomplish that, if you have no idea of the position I’ll find acceptable?”

“The position you’ll find acceptable is whatever I tell you it is,” Damon responded.

Monique’s angry brown eyes met his.
 
“Excuse me, I’m not finished ironing out the conditions of my contract with your lawyer.”

Phillip smiled and stapled his ‘accurate’ investigative report to the top of her slightly inaccurate contract.
 
“The conditions are ironed out, Monique, with notarized signatures of both you and your attorney.
 
In your dire financial situation and with no modeling work on the horizon, I doubt if he’ll agree to represent you on fraud.
 
Hell, Mary, he’s not going to say a word about his culpability in this mess… even when I cut his fee payment out of your purchase price, in half.”

Monique’s anger was melting from her eyes as she realized the mess she was in.
 
“I’ve changed my mind about this.”

Phillip waved the contract.
 
“No you haven’t.”
 
He turned to Damon.
 
“I was just speculating as to whether that magnificent rack was natural.
 
Her price goes down further if she lied about that too.”

Damon folded his arms across his chest and said, “Lose the sweater.”

Monique glanced down at the soft cashmere garment, and her shocked gaze fixed on Phillip again.
 
“Take me to my apartment until I can sort this out.”

“Lose the fucking sweater, slave.”
 
Damon reached her in two long strides, and Monique looked up at him and backed into her chair.
 
She was five-ten, and this guy stood at least six inches taller than she was.
 
Damon wound his hand through her ponytail, and said, “Hand me your scissors, Phillip.
 
This shit’s a pain in the ass to rip through.”

Monique tried to claw at his face while he maneuvered behind her.
 
She was screaming curses while she tried to balance on her heels as Damon bent her back over the chair.
 
He whacked the last six inches off her hair extensions and dropped the mess of fur onto her chest.
 
“One more cut and I’m hitting the real stuff, bitch.
 
Where the hell do you think you’re ending up with a crew cut?”

“Phillip?
 
Phillip, this was a mistake.
 
I don’t think I understood the terms of my service correctly.”
 
It was the last vestige of civility Monique could muster as her mind spiraled into panic.