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FREEDOM: Class Warfare
Part Eight
The Men of Seven Saints
By Razor7826 (Copyright 2008)
Thoughts? Encouragement? Hate? Email me at Razor7826@hotmail.com. I’m always interested in hearing from my readers.
This story in no way reflects the views of the author. It is intended for the eyes of legal adults only.
All I’m trying to do is bring light to all the victims of Fitzgerald v. Oregon. Everybody pays attention to the unfortunate women slaves, but few publicly speak out against the enslaved men. Just as in decades past where the male victims of domestic abuse were regarded as less important or weak, the horrors of male slavery are consistently overlooked, all regarded as degenerate gamblers or foolish youths.
The widespread ignorance of the Fitzgerald’s male victims is a sure sign that sexism is still with us. In the world portrayed by the media, only women are defenseless victims, forced into lives of slavery by unscrupulous tricksters. But men can be victims too, and the only hope for the repeal of that case lies in accepting reality for how it truly is. All over the country, families are missing their sons, brothers, husbands, and fathers, and we must not rest until each of them are returned to their rightful place in the world.
-Rudolph Carboni, President of Fitzgerald’s Men
As usual, Elizabeth Monseto was the first to arrive at the warehouse. Given excused absences by Principal Peter Goldberg, Elizabeth devoted each day since the victory to the maintenance, care, and usage of her new slaves. She parked her SUV just outside the warehouse door, hopped out, and strode inside.
The lights were on. They were always on, casting constant illumination down on the sixteen cages strewn across the warehouse floor. Each cage was exactly the same, crafted by Property Management Technology as a gift to the victors.
A few teenage slaves stirred on their cots as Elizabeth entered the array. She looked down and inspected each, making mental notes about their appearance and state. None were doing any worse than the night before.
She had just finished her morning rounds when the warehouse door opened again. A young redheaded woman in riding pants entered, her boots clacking on the concrete floor.
Elizabeth turned and smiled. “There you are,” she said as she walked to greet her guest.
Mercedes Quanz smiled to her best friend. “Did you think I wouldn’t come?”
“I wasn’t entirely convinced. You haven’t been out here yet, have you?”
“I’ve been busy. There are a lot of preparations to take care of for graduation.
“Such as?”
“Well, not just graduation. Sure, there’s a bunch of party planning involved with being rid of high school forever.”
“It’s a bit surprising to see you here. You haven’t shown much of a drive for this sort of thing.”
“Listen… I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be in town, and I want to try something.”
“What.”
“Jack won’t go down on me, so…”
“So you want one of them to do it for you?”
“If possible.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Oh, it’s possible all right. Let’s take the men for a test, shall we?”
“Oooh, sounds like fun.”
“It is. I mean, they’re young and inexperienced, but they have a lifetime to improve their skills.”
They entered the center of the holding area and looked around. Though the rights of eight men had been claimed in the game of Capture Collar, only six remained. Sean Oak and Keith Hayes still sat in prison, deemed too dangerous to roam free after their brutal crimes.
“Can we handle them?”
“The men? Oh, don’t worry. Look at what they’re wearing.” She motioned to the chains and cuffs that bound their wrists and ankles.
“Are those…”
“Weights. We’ve addled them so significantly that there’s nothing the worms do to fight back.”
“So we just take them out and do it?”
“There are trailers out back for these sorts of visits. At least until we come up with a more permanent solution.”
“Good thinking.”
“It isn’t much thinking. P.T.M. practically gave us a guide on how to manage large acquisitions like this. Whoever founded that company is a genius.”
They spent a few minutes going from cage to cage, pointing out the features on the captive men and wondering who would be good for what in their new lives.
“So who’s first?”
“Your call. I’ve already had my fun with everyone here.”
“Wait, everyone? All of the men and women?”
“Yes.”
“But that’s fifteen people?”
“So?”
“I mean, aren’t you concerned about disease?”
“I’ve had them all checked out. They’re clean. Most of them were virgins, remember?”
“But…
“My parents own more servants that this, and I used all of them long ago.”
“Damn, Liz. I had no idea you were like that.”
Elizabeth Monseto chuckled and smirked. “I’m just making use of my privilege. God has given me these wonderful gifts, and it would be a sin to reject them.”
They perused their inventory, eventually stopping at the cage of Lincoln Lee, the self-proclaimed mastermind of the game’s psychological warfare.
*
Lincoln Lee was cold. He was always cold, and being laid out naked atop a cot in drafty warehouse didn’t help.
“Get up, trash,” commanded Elizabeth, rattling her baton back and forth against the metal bars and startling him from his daze.
Lincoln stirred and rose to his feet. “Again?” he asked, his voice weak and hoarse from the physical and psychological torment that now filled his life.
Liz opened the door and ushered him out. “Mercedes hasn’t gotten a chance yet.”
“What are you talking about?” he quipped, recognizing the shy but proper looking girl several paces behind Elizabeth. “She was there the first night.”
She responded with a smirk and tugged on his leash. He stumbled forward a few paces behind her, stepping lightly on the cold warehouse floor. His body, from his head to his cock to his feet, was completely exposed.
They exited through the side door of the warehouse into the parking lot and towards one of the trailers. Inside was only a queen sized bed and a couch facing it. The mistress forced her slave to his knees in front of a couch, and both women took a seat.
“So, Lincoln, how have the past few days been?”
“Fuck you,” he said.
The baton cracked into his shoulders.
“What was that?”
Though he wanted to fight, he longer had the strength or determination. “It’s been kind of boring. And I’m cold.”
“But you’re with all your friends. Doesn’t that matter for something?”
“Most of them aren’t in the talkative mood.”
Both women laughed. He couldn’t tell if their chuckles were at his joke or his pitiful state.
Elizabeth pushed the baton up against his chin. “Today, we’re going to have a little lesson, to see how good you are at giving head. Have you ever done that before?”
“To who?”
“Oh, are you a little fag or something?”
“That isn’t what I meant!” he snapped back.
“To women, as far as today is concerned.”
“Oh…” He pretended to think for a moment, then answered, “Only after the game.” In truth, he was a virgin until the game. Most of his teammates were, he presumed.
“Did you like it?”
He paused. “What… no.”
“You really should try to get used to it. Mercedes, are you ready?”
“Yes,” she answered nervously.
Elizabeth laughed. “I don’t think he can give you head with your pants on.”
“Oh…” she responded, fidgeting with the waist of her riding pants.
“Why are you being so shy about it?”
“I’ve never really done this before.”
“What about the victory party? You were there, and you seemed pretty damn thrilled to be there.”
“It was a frenzy thing.”
She smiled. “Well, you’ve already done it once, you can do it again. Come on, take of your pants. I’ve seen plenty of snatches before, and I doubt yours is special.”
Mercedes stood and worked off her pants, exposing her black lace panties. She slid her fingers underneath the fabric and lowered them to the floor. “Is that good?”
“Perfect.”
She took a seat back on couch and spread her legs wide. Her bush was unshaven, but slightly trimmed. “Are you coming?” she asked with no sign of conviction in her voice.
“Fine, fine,” Lincoln muttered as he leaned forward and stuck out his tongue a little bit, lapping at her clit but cringing his tongue away in repulsion. “Ech, still disgusting.”
“So what’s wrong with him?”
“He doesn’t seem very confident.”
He looked up at her with trepidation, a retort lingering on his lips but never escaping.
“Sounds about right. I just mean, look at him. There’s not a lot for the little twerp to be confident about.”
The words stung. “Hey!”
Elizabeth’s voice grew stern. She ran her hand through his dirty and uncombed hair and grabbed a clump, pulling him closer before growling in his face. “What is the problem, you little bitch? No motivation? Fine. You better do it well, as whoever gets judged as the worst has a night filled with torture ahead. Does that motivate you any more?”
Mercedes looked to her friend, confused, but Liz only smirked in return. “Fear can be a powerful tool.”
But Lincoln continued to be terrible, stuck in foreign territory without the slightest inkling of how to give good head.
“Enough.” Mercedes pushed him away and turned to her friend. “I’m done with him. Get somebody else.”
“Whatever you want.” She grabbed the leash that dangled from his collar and led him away, returning minutes later with their newest test subject.
*
Greg Berry. To all that met him, he seemed a completely normal teenage boy. He spent his days playing games, hanging out with friends, going to movies--- all of the markers of a stereotypical high school student. It was every bit the façade he intended, for, inside brewed a monster. Though his parents had tried to instill in him a moral center, their lessons went unheeded. Instead, a calm and cunning manipulator festered, watching the every day actions of his friends and family for any opportunity to better his position.
Though his days of captivity had been an unimaginable hell, he truly believed that there were better times in his future. He had no intentions of letting Elizabeth’s sadistic little game leave him in the cold again.
It seemed like a sure bet, a quick and easy way to get seed funds to live a fabulously extravagant life of wine, women, and wealth. He never considered that he could be bested by the pompous brats from Rowan Prep that he would end up on his knees in servitude.
During his days of freedom, plenty of women had given him head without any need for reciprocation. He laid the foundation, presented himself, and got exactly what he wanted without fail.
Now he was the subservient one, forced follow the orders and whims of others. The failure of his teammates was the only major setback he had ever suffered, but it was one that would take years to overcome.
He stared at the snatch before him, swallowed his pride, and moved in.
Mercedes did not respond with the moans he hoped for.
“Another bad one.”
“Hmm, he’ll have to suffer later.”
He remained calm as Elizabeth led him back to his cage, but inside his mind he cursed her violently.
Not just her, but everybody. Everybody would suffer for what happened to him.
The classmates that failed him.
The friends that refused to join the game.
The rivals that subdued and humiliated him.
All would pay, but it would be a long and calculated climb back to the top.
*
Joshua Grump. Joshua the passive. Joshua the bland. He had helped Keith try to murder Gwyn Thyme, or at least that was the plan. When it came down to those final moments, he did and said nothing, merely standing there and watching as sedentary accomplice. Arrested and charged, he was granted bail, deemed too harmless to be held until his trial date. As a slave, he posed no flight risk, not that anyone would ever expect him to take that kind of initiative.
“What the hell are you doing? Anything at all?”
He looked up into Mercedes eyes with sadness. He was lapping at her with his tongue, but her body did not respond as he had hoped.
“Eh, this isn’t as exciting as it should be,” criticized Mercedes, her voice unenthused. She grabbed his head in both hands and pulled him closer. “That’s a little bit better.” But not much, or enough, and she let him go again unsatisfied.
He returned to his cage, defeated and still demoralized. Bored and helpless, he could not fathom what his future held, or how he should spend his downtime. He just was, a piece of meat to be used by his owners and nothing else.
*
Logan Durst the arrogant. A genuine pretty-boy, he barely fit in at Seven Saints except for his family’s poverty.
The cruel mistresses had beaten out his youthful vigor within days. Once, he would never leave the house without perfecting his hair and making the most of his limited wardrobe. Now, his hair clumped in patches and his skin was slowly losing its smooth and pure appearance, bruised and pocked from whips, batons, and clips forced to his skin with no regard for his health.
Elizabeth forced him to his knees before Mercedes Quanz. “It’s a little contest to see who can give the best head.”
“Oh? What do I get if I win?” he said, a weak grin across his face. He was proud that he could still think of witty responses, even to cold and cruel demands.
“How about me not raping you in the ass?”
The enthusiasm drained from his face. He stared down at Mercedes pussy and sighed. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t done before, but he still did not like it, or the circumstances behind the encounter. He leaned forward and buried himself in her flaps.
It did not take long for her to vocalize her boredom. “He’s so lifeless,” she said. “I expected more than that. Isn’t he supposed to be a ladies’ man?”
He was a ladies’ man, in his own right. However, the skills of seduction mattered little to a collared slave.
“So are you done with him?” asked Elizabeth?
“I think so. This just isn’t going to work out.”
Logan returned to his cage dispirited and confused. His looks and charisma no longer mattered. For years, he counted on his gift’s, never anticipating that he would he left with nothing except for a lifetime contract.
He cried himself to sleep, his sobs barely audible above the low wails that filled the warehouse.
*
The next was Joe Banes, the biggest and strongest of Seven Saints foolish men. He long ago accepted that he was not bright, believing that God had given him brawn over brains for a greater purpose. When the smartest boys and girls of his class chose to put everything on the line, he felt that it was right to offer them his strength.
God had failed him. His might had proven useless, and though the kicks and prods of his captors hurt little, something about the open cages and constant nudity shamed him deeply. It was not the place of a man to be a sexual servant, he thought.
Elizabeth led him by his leash to the trailer. He was not afraid of what tortures awaited him. It would hurt, but he had a high tolerance for pain.
“What do I do?” he asked, looking down at Mercedes’ shaved cunt. “I’ve never done this before.”
“I’d rather see how you do. It’s the only way to make sure our little contest is fair.”
Contest? Is that how his mistress’ regarded their fate? Fine. Though their wishes were clearly to spur the prisoners, he contemplated treating it as an opposite effect. If he were to lose, his friends would be spared.
But… how could he throw the contest without making it obvious? He was smart enough to understand the problem, but not enough to solve it.
He had no choice. Not any he could see. He tried his best, burying his face deep inside and lashing his tongue furiously.
“Oooh! This one’s lively!”
“Really? He looks like a lump.”
Her body bucked. “No, no, he’s the best so far.”
But for all his vigor, he still couldn’t finish the job. Elizabeth led him back to his cage, defeated but spared of complete failure.
From the cage next to him, he could hear the sobs of Logan Durst.
“Cheer up, Logan. There’s always something nicer ahead.”
Logan did not respond.
Joshua accepted his failure to save his friends but did not give up. Despite his slavery, he could still do good deeds to help others. The lessons learned at Seven Saints High School still mattered, and he would rather die than ignore the influence they held over his mind.
He would not allow slavery to change him. No matter what horrors his masters and mistresses had planned.
*
At last, they had reached the final contestant. Tim Meadows, the most kind and gentle senior from Seven Saints. Tall, handsome, and polite, the priests regarded him as a shining example of what a Christian man should be.
However, he was not a perfect man, nor would he ever get the chance to become one. With his success in both academics and social strength came arrogance, a sense that he could do no wrong, that he could never fail. He thought that the men and women of Rowan Prep were as good as his to sell, but he never considered the possibility that he would end up the one on his knees.
“So, go ahead. Go down on her,” coaxed Elizabeth.
“Yes, ma’am,” he responded before leaning forward and munching deep into Mercedes’ pussy.
All he did was what was expected of him. No defiance, no failure, no hatred, no quitting, just precisely what his Mistresses demanded. He rose to the occasion, just as he almost always did.
Tim didn’t understand what was happening when her body bucked and juices flowed, so he continued without restraint.
“Woah!” she yelled.
He paused. “Should I stop?”
“No, no! Keep going! Keep going!” She grabbed his head with both hands and pulled it in.
Though completely unfamiliar with the body of a woman, he took it as the intended sign and hastened his pace. The taste bothered him only a little, but fussiness was a vice. It was his duty to do his job well, and do it well he did.
“Holy fuck! I… wow.”
The contest was over.
*
It was the hour of judgment. Which of Seven Saints’ male slaves would suffer for his inability to give good head, and which would be rewarded? All only eighteen years old and property for mere days, none had the opportunity to hone or practice their skills. Their prowess hinged only on their intuition, will to please, and any limited experience they may have had.
“So, how did they do?”
“Most of them were pretty bad.”
“But not the last one, from the sounds of it.”
Mercedes blushed. “He was pretty good.”
“So he’s the keeper of the bunch?”
“Definitely.”
“I never really expected that from a goody two-shoes like him. He’d probably get along with Judy. Hmm… now, how about the worst? One of them has to pay for their sloth.”
“Grump.”
“I expected as much.”
“So you’re really going to fuck him over it?”
“Of course.”
“I… I don’t know if I want to see that.”
“You should get used to it. You did it to them.”
She paused. “That doesn’t mean I have to watch.”
“Hmpph.”
“I have to get going. More appointments to schedule for graduation.”
“Goodbye, Mercedes. Thanks for your help.”
Mercedes waved goodbye and left, both the warehouse and the lives of its unwilling inhabitants. She would be the first to forsake her duties of ownership, but not the last.
It did not matter to Elizabeth Monseto, still high on the rush of victory. She had always longed to exert her superiority over the Seven Saints trash, and that dream had finally come to fruition.
Standing at the edge of Joshua Grump’s cage, she interrupted the silence. “Hello there.”
“What do you want?”
“You lost the little competition, so now you have to pay.”
His eyes fell to the pink plastic dangling between her legs.
“No, no, noooooo!” he yelled, his voice echoing against the distance warehouse walls.
As he screamed and plead for forgiveness, the eyes of each of his friends and classmates turned to him. They watched silently as Elizabeth Monseto grabbed Josh’s arm, flipped him onto his stomach, and mounted him from behind with her pink strap-on.
She had to push with great force, the dildo barely fitting into his virgin asshole.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”
She pushed in all the way, and pulled out, her speed limited only by the friction of his insides. With each cycle, the slide became slightly easier. Little by little, her speed hastened.
His screams soon faded to whimpers, and whimpers to mere grunts.
Elizabeth did not stop when his pain did. She continued until exhaustion, pounding into his sprawled body with no concern for his well being. Her parents’ slaves had been outstanding practice in learning the physical limitations of unwilling flesh.
Once finished, she locked the cage and returned to a trailer for a little rest, just as her some of her classmates were arriving for their own spins with the newfound novelties.
*
She woke up hours later with a sense that something remained unresolved. She pulled a bottle of lubricant from the shelf and exited the trailer.
The lights were still on inside the warehouse, just as they were supposed to be. She crossed the floor to one of the far cages and flicked her finger nail against the metal bar. “Hello, Lincoln.”
“Mistress,” he responded, nodding his head in deference.
“The competition wasn’t very fair for you, and I apologize.”
“What?”
“You never got a chance to prove yourself with everything on the line. I didn’t come up with the rules until after you were done.”
“Oh, um, no, that’s fine.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“So… what?”
She opened his cage. “You were pretty awful, you know. Probably not as bad as Grump, but enough to need some reeducation.”
His eyes fixated on the fake cock between her legs. “No, no! I’ll do better next time, I swear!”
She laughed. “Oh, I believe you. That doesn’t mean this won’t be really fucking fun.” She descended upon him, and the bound scrawny computer nerd was no match. She forced him onto his knees and pulled on his leash tightly, fully aware of how it would strain his breathing.
That was what excited her most. She knew that thoughts of suffocation would flow through his mind as he violently came, the notion of which thrilled her sadistic and dominating whims.
He struggled to get away, but the weights and his naturally small physique addled him entirely. On his knees, he could only accept the choke of his collar and Elizabeth’s strap-on.
His gasps for air didn’t matter to Elizabeth. Her attention rested only on Lincoln’s stiffening cock. She slipped her left hand around front and grabbed it in her hand. “Getting hard over this? You really are a little queer.”
“I’m not!”
“Of course you are.” She slid her hand up and down across it’s length.
“I’m not!” he cried.
His cock sputtered and sprayed in explosive orgasm, in a way that Elizabeth had never before seen.
Lincoln Lee collapsed to the floor of his cage.
“You’re pretty quick. We’ll have to fix that.”
But he did not respond with words, still sobbing uncontrollably from his violation.
“Stop crying. You could have avoided this if you had actually tried.” She stood atop her slave, one boot digging into his back, and addressed the rest of the warehouse’s prisoners. “Now let that be a lesson to the rest of you! If any of you defy move, or don’t give your duties your all, you will suffer. There is no hope but to do as you’re commanded. . You had your chance at a free life, but you failed, just like the poor, miserable sacks of meat that you are.”
None had any hint of the monumental decision that was soon to be made.
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