The private line light came on, and Mason scribble ‘Ingram bonus’ on his to do list as he lifted the receiver while he watched the girl. “Yes?”
“Twenty-seven, sir. JP’s are going to nose-dive. Japan twenty-seven just called, and he said that they have an STD running rampant through the lots.”
“All of them?”
“Yes, sir. Though, it seems the 35s and up are catching it more severely than the younger commodities.”
“Dump them.”
“Yes, sir.” The line disconnected.
Fuck me. Mason punched the Compound number on the phone. “Eddie, get DC over to the JP lots and quarantine anything brought in within the last month. Test all JPs for an STD, and have them call Japan Disease Control to find out if it can be treated and immunized. Do testing on everyone, including trainers and anyone who has come into contact with the girls. I need to know if this thing can cross blood types and if it is limited by ethnicity. We don’t need this spreading more than it has. I want a full report on the lots affected by noon, so that we can get them moved before the news hits the streets.”
Eddie gave one more push to completion, down the throat of a new contract he had been inducting through the clinic. The AG would be bypassing training, as she was led to transport with lot one. He had an eye on the screen as the Training Compound’s surplus of AGs was quickly being committed to buyers, and an 18... even untrained… would sell. Eddie had counted on a quiet afternoon once the sold commodities were prepared in the transport cages… now, he had a fucking JP epidemic to deal with. “Done,” he answered Mason.
Mason hung up and punched Fifty-six. “Armand, we have an STD in the JP lot commodities.”
“Twenty-seven just called me, sir. Mike’s group is waiting for the order to sell on the AGs, and they’re prepared to dump the JP lots when you give the order.” Armand glanced at his clock. Fuck, less than five minutes left on the AGs.
“I’ll have the Compound report by noon.” Mason noticed Armand look at his clock, and he shifted his eyes to the top left box. Shit. AG had stalled, and it was seconds away from the arrow going red. “Sell the AGs. Now.” Mason clicked off and called Fifty-five and Fifty-four to give the order to sell.
While Mason was placing the two calls, he noticed that Armand had looked out onto the floor where Mike, Tom and Jack were already watching for the signal. The three traders had been keeping an eye on the commodity’s numbers closely. Armand raised one hand, and there was immediate chaotic activity as fifty-six men cradled their phones on their shoulders and scribbled their sales. The leader of the ‘Hill’ had his other fist wrapped around the phone, and it was only Armand’s eyes that betrayed the agony raging in his belly, as he calmly sold the last two in lot ten.
Damn, Duclay was good. If Mason had any regrets for kidnapping wifey number one, they were dismissed. He placed another call. “Fumitaka, dump them.” Mason listened to two words of balking. “All of them. Now.” He slammed down the phone and jotted JP56 and 27 on his notepad. As an afterthought, he underlined Ingram.
Mason decided to move up his trip to Japan to the end of the week, and the idiot trader who questioned his order would be beating the pavement and looking for a new job on Monday. Floor forty-one in his New York firm had settled into a listless routine. Jumping Twenty-seven manager up fourteen levels ought to shake things up a bit, and Forty-one could commiserate with Fumitaka while they looked for new jobs. Mason flashed a look at the AG, and he saw that she was distracted by something over his shoulder. Fuck, Eddie sure as hell better find a suitable girl to send with this AG to appease Ingram.
The AG had been standing quietly for over an hour. She had gotten bored with the opulent office décor, and had no interest in watching the man barking confusing orders into the phone. There were some birds dancing on the window ledge that currently held her attention.
Fuck me. Three hundred thousand, Mason reminded himself. He opened up screens on the monitor as the reports began pouring in. The frenetic activity had slowed in less than fifteen minutes, and Mason studied the results. He had been left with no AG18s… thank you, Armand… one AG19 and one 20, two AG24s, an AG27 and three AG28s. Mason bet they all had big boobs and full asses, as he looked at the apathetic girl whose eyes were following a plane across the sky towards the airport. Her breasts were firm and average sized, and she had slender hips sporting a bottom that rounded out nicely.
The more he looked at her eyes, the more his assessment of her changed. On first glance, he thought she was pretty enough. Something in her eyes was transforming his opinion, to consider her almost exotically beautiful. They had a depth of knowledge completely the opposite of her distracted nature.
Mason stood and stretched. He gave a loving brush across the top of his closest friend, and the clock flipped its blue seconds digits in reply. He walked over to the bar and poured a celebratory scotch. Mason sat down in an overstuffed chair in the seating area, and he sipped his drink while he looked at the girl. Even with the enormous commissions to the three floors beneath him, this plain substandard slave had just earned Sanford Human Commodities Investments over three million dollars. He envisioned the lots being brought to the floors for the traditional sendoff blowjobs they would be giving the associates who sold them.
“Get your ass over here, slut, and suck me.” The green eyed girl attended his rod… damn… oh, god dammnn… he was plunging fully down her throat while she rolled his balls.
Between trying to calm her nerves while she attended Mason, Daria reflected on the nerve-wracking time she had spent in his office. She had spent the morning standing in front of his desk and looking at the obscene wealth the bastard had surrounded himself with. All of it was earned through the sale of young women like herself, and she winced with each frantic call the man took.
Something was happening with Japanese women, and Daria was nervous it would take him off-track of moving the AGs. Fuck, he’s pulling sales force off to dump the JPs. That problem seemed to be handled quickly with a few more phone calls, and Daria stood staring out the window, trying to look bored while she waited nervously for the order to sell.
“I’ll have the Compound report by noon,” Mason said to a man on the phone while he stared at his computer monitor. Daria saw surprise in his eyes, and he bellowed into the receiver, “Sell the AGs. Now.” Mason clicked off and immediately placed two more calls.
It was fascinating watching the genius at work, as he deftly choreographed the sale of the women. As the minutes ticked by she watched his smile broaden, and Daria realized that almost all of the AGs must have been purchased.
He kept staring at her eyes, even when he thought she was not looking, and Daria hoped he would not think of her mom. It had been several months since Mason had seen Vanessa in the initiation room of the compound. Finally, he stood and stretched. His hand stroked the top of his clock with almost a tentative reach, as though he was afraid it would break.
Daria’s eyes followed as he walked over to the bar and poured himself a drink. Mason sat down in an overstuffed chair in the seating area, and he sipped the amber liquor while he looked at her. The smile of the greed in his eyes made her shiver, and Daria realized this morning’s trading must have made him an enormous amount of money.
“Get your ass over here, slut, and suck me,” he ordered.
Daria smiled with a touch of shyness, and pulled down Mason’s zipper. She carefully stroked with her tongue and used her hands in an effort not to make the act seem rushed. It must have worked, because he closed his eyes, lost in some pleasant revelation.
Mason groaned while she filled her mouth with him, taking him deep down her throat as she had been taught. There was that benefit from slave training… because he had to be deeply seated when Daria pinched the skin at the bottom of her neck that had been protected by her collar, to pop open the little sack with Lizzie’s strain two version of Doc Hancock’s virus.
Epilogue
AGs that Claree and her father had e
nlisted were deployed throughout the seven firms as soon as Daria was ensconced in SHCI headquarters and Annie and Lizzie were released. The girls had all been trained at the BDSM club with Claree’s knowledge of what would be expected. That way, none of them would become so fearful through the levels of training, as to give away their mission.
When the AG commodity stocks went wild, the AGs were rapidly shuttled… and more importantly used… throughout all of the firm’s domestic and overseas compounds. The ecstatic associates celebrated with one last blowjob from the commodities that had earned them all healthy commissions. The blonde and redhead members got to sit out deployment, and were waiting on the sidelines studying finance until it was time to retrieve and rescue their auburn sisters as soon as their work was done.
The girls in the attic had discovered that Lizzie was more than ‘pretty good’ in science, when some of the sites they discovered on the Internet had been research areas Nancy that had been scanning. The POHO members had no idea that Daria’s methodical mind had figured out the doctor’s password in less than five minutes, and the girls read through her notes, tracking her discovery.
Annie had been the one to suggest an alternative method of infecting the bastards, as the cursed cavern seemed so obvious. Claree was relieved her contact called her to say that the candle had finally been lit, and when she left the girls she held a stack of pencil sketches that had adorned their walls with Lizzie’s new virus instructions written on the back. Penicillin was not going to cure it.
They were lucky that Damon had managed to arrange the auction so that Daria was presented last. It gave Claree time to insert the viral pack down her throat, and calm her down for display. Daria was the last one they had thought would be kept to deploy, and it took coordinated effort over months of ‘casual’ visits with Mason for Claree to convince him that the AG market could produce a financial bonanza.
Throughout the seven SHCI compounds, the AG slaves gave their trainers and some associates deep-throated farewell blowjobs of magnificent talent, before being shipped off to their new owners. A new contract, barely eighteen, had outdone herself by convincing Eddie when he had un-strapped her from the table.
Claree had left poor Phillip gasping in ecstasy with a goodbye orgasm before she left on vacation. Damon met her at the airport in a business suit, and he accepted the crate holding Daria for his family’s company, the Ingram Corporation. He was still miffed that Mason had pushed the price up so high, and he had to reluctantly signal his brother to back off.
“I’m worth it,” Daria smiled up at him. “I was trained by the best.”
By the time they made it to LA, Annie and Lizzie were exuberant. Thanks to Claree and Damon’s financial backing from the commissions they had earned over the years, their three overseas firms along with headquarters were open. They had just accepted their first contracts for Omnipotent Trade Resources.
OTR’s trade floors were quiet, because the strain two virus would not make its presence known for another five days. By then, the sold lots of AGs would have spread it through all of the bastards that had purchased them, and their brunette and blonde rescue teams would be whisking them to OTR facilities. Their education had been choreographed perfectly, so that no college economics program received an inordinate number of women seeking the degree in a career that for decades had been primarily a male oriented field. The new female associates were already trained for opening day of a new epic in commodities exchange.
The infected men’s spears would wither and shrink, leaving women in the precarious position of buying guaranteed virus free stock from OTR inventory, and the green commodity arrows would switch from women to men. The women conceded that the evil world of human slavery was necessary, to keep the economy flowing. Claree and Daria had tried to explain that to their mom, but Vanessa was obsessive in her desire to abolish it all.
“How’s the Training Compound look, dad?” Clarett asked.
“All set, honey. Except Lizzie wouldn’t let me put a bar in there,” he chuckled.
“Or the stripper poles,” Annie called over.
“Shit, I’m lucky they let me keep the cages,” he laughed.
He walked up to Daria and gave her a hug. “Clarett told me you got your mom’s eyes.”
“Thank god I got your smarts, daddy,” Daria laughed.
When she was sixteen, Claree took a month off Dom training with her father. She spent the time in POHO headquarters preparing the girls, and letting the ‘moms’ know what was necessary to enact their plan and infiltrate SHCI. With their destructive radical thinking, the older women were too obsessed to catch on that they were never to be a part of it.
“You okay with this, Damon?” Clarett asked.
Damon smiled and gave her a squeeze. “Spike, I can work both sides of the fence… all sides of the fence. Fuck, I can work the whole pasture.”
The End
Human Commodity Page 16