BDSM Library - FREEDOM: Class Warfare

FREEDOM: Class Warfare

Part One

The Beginning of the End

Thoughts? Encouragement? 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.

“There is no such thing as a free society unless consenting adults have the right to manage their own lives, even towards actions widely agreed upon to have long-term, negative consequences. The thirteenth amendment to the constitution forbids involuntary servitude, but it places no limit on a person’s ability to consent. If they chose to make a legal agreement with lifelong implications, it is their right as a human being to make that decision for themselves.”

-Supreme Court Justice Eugenia Wight, Majority Decision for Fitzgerald v. Oregon.

“Please, don’t do this. You have no idea what you are exposing yourselves to by signing that contract!”

“Do you really need to proselytize? Now, of all times, Father Wilson? They’re adults now. They have every right to make legal agreements that they feel are beneficial to them.”

John Wilson, the principal of Seven Saints High School, slammed his fist into the conference room table. “You’re a sick bastard, Peter. You want to see horrible things happen to your students.”

He chucked. “No, John. I want to see terrible things happen to your students. Mine will win. They always do.”

“This is preposterous!”

“This has happened countless times before, John. The rules have been developed and refined for the fairest game imaginable.”

“Is that what it is to you? A game?”

“That’s what it is to everybody. Don’t you watch the news anymore?”

Father Wilson turned to the girl beside him. “Judy…”

The redhead stared straight across the table at her rival. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead. “Sorry, Mr. Wilson, but there are some things that need to be done.”

His voice waivered erratically as yelled at his prized student. “You can’t throw away everything!”

Judy Goodheart looked away from her teacher and closed her eyes. “There’s just so much to gain. I can’t pass this opportunity.” She turned to the arbiter that sat at the edge of the long conference table. “Give me the pen.” She took it from the middle-aged woman’s hand, found the appropriate X on fourteen page document, and signed here name:

Judith Olivia Goodheart

“There. Now it’s your turn, Elizabeth,” she said as she threw a winning smirk across the table at her lifelong rival.

“Thank you, Judy. At last we can prove how inferior you are.” The pompous and arrogant heiress took the pen from Judy’s hand and signed her name opposite her rival’s:

Elizabeth Montgomery Monseto

Elizabeth placed the pen neatly on the table and slid the contract back towards the arbiter.

“Thank you, girls. I’ll have to transcribe a copy by hand and present it to each of your teams personally. You have until then to make your case for the game.”

“It isn’t a game!” yelled Wilson, rising to his feet and leaning towards the government agent, his face red with rage.

Principal Peter chuckled under his breath. “How is it not a game? It has teams, rules, and goals. The only thing that makes it seem any different is the stakes.”

Judy ignored Peter’s words and rose from the table. “Come, Father Wilson, I’ll need your help convincing them to join my side.” Together, they exited the conference room, the teacher following a few steps behind his student.

“What have you done, Judy?”

“I did what was necessary.”

Wilson placed his forehead to his palm. “I… I’ve failed you Judy. I thought I was a good teacher, but anybody that is willing to bet their freedom for some money is a failure of a student.”

Judy brushed aside his concern and continued, “Are you going to help convince them to join my cause, or not?”

“I would never encourage a human being to gamble their humanity.”

“Fine. But I hope you will be happy with the consequences.”

The fifty-one year-old priest held back his tears and followed his prized student, struggling to say anything that could make a difference. However, words failed him. The deed was done, and the lives of his students had already slipped far beyond his control.

The senior class of Seven Saints High School gathered in the gymnasium of their rival school, situated just a mile away from their own small campus. Two of her friends ran up and asked how the meeting went.

“The rules have been finalized. Elizabeth and I are the first signees. Now, the question is, how many of you will join us in this war?”

“How can you think this is a good idea?” yelled one of the boys from the back of the crowd. “I hold no interest in owning slaves!”

Another voice from the corner yelled out, “And rape? Are you serious? Those students might be insane, but we’re good people! The entire law is an abomination.”

One of the smaller girls in the front of the crowd chimed in, “And what of us? What makes you think we’d be willing to sign up when we know what is coming afterwards?”

Another voice, this time from one of her closest friends—Julia Wurtle. “This isn’t like you, Judy. You’re a good person; why would you be interested in owning slaves?”

“I’m not, which is why I intend on selling them. Their families— every single one of them-- are rich. Can you imagine the price they’d pay to spare their daughters a life of slavery? We can charge anything we want for the captured girls. Most of us are at this school because we’re poor. We have no hope of an easy life, or even attending college, but if we win this simple game we will have the resources to pull ourselves and our families from the gutter.

“I’m not going to downplay the risk here, but how long do you think we can live in our current states? The world is dying around us, and now that we’re adults we finally have the tools necessary to fix our lives. Everything is getting worse, but this can solve all of our problems.”

Rachel Gritz pushed her way to the front of the crowd. “You’re losing it, Judy. We’re not a bunch of stupid gang bangers that will risk our lives fighting little wars for piddling rewards.”

“This feud has gone on long enough. They treat us like dirt every single time they cross our paths, but we all know that they have it wrong. We’re the superior ones. Smarter, kinder, more cunning—we have everything you need to succeed in life except a massive trust fund. However, in the middle of the game, wealth will mean nothing. It will be an even playing field. We’ll win. I know it.”

The senior class of Seven Saints High School broke off into smaller groups, each discussing the rules and risks of the sadistic game. They had all grown up as witnesses to such atrocities, the first generation in nearly two hundred years to witness legalized slavery, but none had ever truly considered participating in such an event. An industry had risen over that cursed ruling, and each and every one of the students was raised to believe that the entire institution of slavery was an abomination.

But, that was not enough to deter those young students. Hundreds of thousands had played with their lives since Fitzgerald v. Oregon, and more would continue as long as they had the freedom to do so, no matter how grave a mistake it would prove to be.

Elizabeth Monseto and Principal Peter Goldberg exited the conference room. A servant girl stood outside the door with her head bowed.

“Come, Tracy,” commanded Elizabeth. Her slave followed silently. The dog collar around her neck was barely visible behind the tangle of brown hair that draped her shoulders, but the gleam of the metal nameplate was visible when the light hit it just right.

The Principal locked pace with Elizabeth’s quick gait. “So do you think you’ll be able to recruit enough people to match their team size?”

“Certainly. There’s no doubt that they’ll be the limiting factor. For all they say about being as good as us, they are nothing but a bunch of poor and dirty cowards that aren’t willing to follow through with their threats. No matter how many they field, we can match it with stronger, bigger, and faster counterparts.”

“At the very least, we’ll have that bitch Judy.”

“Of course. I know how long you’ve pined for her body, and I have full intentions of following through with our deal. You’ve helped us start this little war, and you can share in the spoils.”

He chuckled. “They have no idea what is coming.”

Elizabeth too laughed at the thought of their impending victory. Her wide blond curls bounced up and down on her shoulders as her body shook from the boisterous laughs and her 36D tits shook beneath her tight red sweater.

She and Peter barely had to persuade the others, for the students of Rowan Preparatory Academy did not have the same reservations as their rivals. Born in the first generation since the legalization of contractual servitude and fueled by the classist views of their wealthy parents, the senior students of the wealthiest high school in the state knew their place in society.

And-- more importantly-- knew the place of the poor.

“I take it many of you will be joining me in this brief little war.”

Most of her classmates grinned and nodded. She, along with many of her classmates, already owned slaves, or at least their parents did. Not a single one of them didn’t had not envisioned an expansion of their private stables, each of them mired in their own juvenile lust for dominance.

One of the boys spoke up. “Why would they do this? What are they up to? Did you ever think that maybe this whole game was their eventual plan, that they have something in mind?”

“This game has always been my intent. From the moment we escalated the rivalry by vandalizing their school, to when we pushed it to the breaking point by slaughtering their mascot, I’ve always had this endgame in mind. They are worthless trash, but unless we do this, we can do nothing but look down at them with contempt. Can you imagine the satisfaction of owning them as slaves? Of having them kneel at your feet with sadness and misery in their eyes and knowing that they’ll never be free?”

Without breaking her eye contact, Elizabeth commanded “Here, Tracy.” Her slave approached from behind and took her side. “Kneel, Tracy.” And she knelt. “Tell us how you ended up like this, Tracy.”

Tracy began her story. “I… I was a college student. When my financial aid was pulled, I needed something to cover my expenses, so I responded to an ad in the paper.”

“And what was that ad for?”

“A game show. There was a million dollar reward for beating my competitors, and the contract made it clear that only the lowest score would lose their rights.”

“And what happened on that show?”

Tracy began to choke up. “I… I was in second place the entire time until the final round. I… I bet too much and ended up in last place. The floor dropped out from beneath me… and… and I was surrounded by men…”

“And?”

Tracy could not continue. Tears streamed down her cheeks and sobs choked her words.

“We all hate the students of Seven Saints High School. They are arrogant, condescending, and fueled by supposed moral superiority. Look at the wreck that Tracy has become in a mere six months. Can you imagine that bitch Judy Goodheart in the same position, pleading to be sold back to her family?

“But what if we lose? We’ll just end up like her,” said Jamie Black, pointing at the crying slave.

“No we won’t. Don’t you see the beauty of it? While we want them to be our lifelong slaves, they want to play the game with their patented noble intent, nor matter how foolishly imbalanced it may be. They know that our parents will pay anything to get us back. They want us for ransom.”

“Ransom?”

“Yes. They have no intentions of keeping and defiling us. They just want to sell us, knowing it’s the only chance they have to get rich. There is no risk to us. They probably wouldn’t even take the opportunity to fondle us.”

“Huh?” asked one of the girls that drew closer as the tales became more optimistic.

“Nuances of the rules. We’ll get into that later.”

Elizabeth Henrietta Monseto had made the case to her people. She was certain they would win. Visions of Judy Goodheart submitting to her power once and for all danced in her mind and made her wet. She retreated to the restroom, slave in tow, to relieve her anxiety.

The arbiter lectured the students of Seven Saints first. From Elizabeth’s guess, she was about fifty years old. Her hair was graying, but her skin was still tight. She wore a wrinkled pantsuit, as if it were required of her government work but she didn’t care to make it look any nicer.

“I am here in accordance with section 8, paragraph 7 of the Contractual Servitude Management Act, requiring the presence of a government official to ensure that all signees are of legal age and that they understand all ramifications of the contract.”

“By signing this contract, you will become registered in a game of ‘Capture Collar version 4’, as administered by Property Management Technology of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Each participant will be locked into a Model 4 Capture Collar. Removal of the front tag will result in the injection of a long-lasting muscle relaxant, of which can only be cured by game administrators at game’s end, or by reinserting the tag into the appropriate slot. Any participant whose tag is removed becomes classified as a ‘loser’

“All losers immediately enter a contract for Class-D servitude with the remaining players, with each remaining player at game’s end having an equal right to the contract. The contract is for life, and has no explicit limits except for those required by state and federal law. The contract is specified as transferable, and does not expire with the death of the original contract holders.

“All signees must be over the age of eighteen at for least fourteen days prior to the signing.” She continued with the nuanced rules of the game, as specified by Property Management Technology. The boys and girls of Seven Saints High School listened intently, the majority of them unfamiliar with the specifics of the game and still unsure if they would gamble everything they had over a simple game.

When it came time to sign, only Judy’s closest friends and associates stepped forward. “Nobody else is with us? It goes without saying that any of you that lose will be released the minute we win.”

Mindy Holding stepped forward, fiddling with the hem of her skirt. “What makes you so certain we’ll win?”

“We’re smarter than them, that’s why. This isn’t some arranged sports match, this is a careful strategic war game. Just as we crush the hell out of them at every academic competition, we’ll win this game and spend the rest of our lives living in luxury.”

“You’ve gotten greedy, Judy,” said an unknown voice from the crowd.

“So what if I got greedy? The odds of failure are so slim that you’d be foolish not sign up.”

Only a few more stepped forward to sign the contract.

“How can you let their behavior slide? How can you not be itching at the opportunity for revenge? They’ve mocked us for years, vandalized our school, killed our mascot, and all you can do is sit back and watch? You’re all cowards. Now is the time for us to put it all on the line and show them that their wealth doesn’t make them better.”

By the time Judy had finished coaxing her classmates to enlisting in the game, sixteen students signed that sheet of paper, every one of them a fool. They had crossed a line that should never be crossed. But, that is the nature of risk versus reward. For the boys and girls of Seven Saints High School, their futures were on the line. Win, and they would live the rest of their lives in luxury, knowing that their slaves would be repurchased at any price from their parents. And, if they lost, they would become the personal playthings of their rivals for the rest of their lives. Any observer would think them insane for playing with such brutal risks, but such is the folly of youth.

Judy Goodheart smiled with pride at her powers of persuasion. She had lied to her teammates about her intentions, but it didn’t matter. Their victory was an absolute certainty.

Or so she thought, completely unaware of the days and nights of unspeakable travesties that awaited both sides.

The senior class of Rowan Preparatory Academy did not require such persuasion.

“They won’t even touch those of us that lose,” Elizabeth promised. “They think of themselves as too pure, too nice to ever do something so low. We risk nothing doing this. Nothing. Our parents will have their checkbooks ready the moment we lose, as if that would ever happen.

They had no problem matching the number of signees. The surplus allowed them to pick the biggest men and fastest women. It was an insurmountable advantage—or so they thought, for their opposing team had picked brains over all else. In a game of war, strategy would prove to mean far more than the wealthy students had ever imagined.

And, with the final signature, the two teams met face to face, Seven Saints versus Rowan Preparatory. The feud of two women had come to a head. Both teams were certain of victory, completely dismissive of the ever-present risks. Like drag racers ignoring oncoming traffic, those unfortunate boys and girls could not see what was staring them in the face.

Half of them would pay the ultimate price for their naiveté.

“Why do we have to wear our school uniforms?” griped Julia Wurtle. Her uniform was two sizes too small, a hand-me-down from her older and shorter sister.

Judy pointed to the cameras mounted to the ceiling. “Whoever wins gets rights to the video footage. Some people have a thing for uniforms.”

Julia turned her back to the camera and finished dressing, hiding her privates with her hands as if somebody were watching her in the tiny second-floor bedroom. Once it was made all nice and neat, she exited into the foyer and down the stairs to the central hall of the lodge.

The eight boys and nine girls that comprised the team gathered in the central hall of their main cabin, where they were greeted by a team of representatives from Property Management Technology.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. May I ask which of you is considered the ‘Queen’ for this week’s game?”

“That would be me,” said Judy Goodheart as she stepped forward from the crowd. She wore the Seven Saints uniform in perfect order: the long green skirt that descended down to the ankles, the dark green vest over the white undershirt, and the black armband that signified her status as class president. The only deviation from the normal outfit was a good pair of running shoes, a necessity for the war game.

“If you’d like to sit down, Miss,” said the technician. She looked to be about thirty years old. She wore a pure black shirt and black pants, with no markings save for ‘PMT’ in small white letters above her left breast. The technician grabbed a red collar from the box and locked it around Judy’s neck. “This woman is your Queen. She is your life. If she loses, you all lose.

“Now, you’re probably wondering what it means to lose. Well, I’ll show you.” The black haired technician turned and nodded to a short blond girl in the same uniform as herself.

The blonde girl wore a black collar, much like the ones reserved for the rest of the Seven Saints team. She looked as young as the rest of the participants, but had a busty rack barely constrained by her corporate T-shirt. Judy looked into the girl’s soul dead eyes and could tell she was a slave. She was not here willingly.

“You are still in the game until the moment your tag is removed.” The technician waved her hand around the one-by-two-inch tag like an expert show girl. “Once it is removed…” she paused, grabbed the tag between two fingers, and yanked it from the clip. A hissing noise emanated for the collar and its wearer immediately collapsed to the floor, flat on her face. “…A fast acting, long lasting sedative is injected into your neck.”

While the technician continued, her associates—all well-toned men—went around the room locking black collars around each students’ neck. Once fastened into place, each collar shone with a slight green light next to the metallic tag.

The technician bent over and grabbed the fallen slave girl. She sat on the floor, her legs spread in a V, and pulled the limp girl so that she leaned against her owner. “While under the effects of the medicine, you will feel everything but have very little voluntary motor control. Note that you will be considered a loser the moment your tag is removed, so everything is fair game.” The technician grabbed both of the slave’s tits in her own and squeezed.

The blond slave girl moaned and rolled her eyes, but she offered no signs of resistance aside from the occasional muscle twitch.

“The only ways to undo the relaxant are at the game’s end, when the winners will be given the antidote, or by reinserting the tag into its place. While the losers metabolism should slow where they won’t need food, they will need water. If their vitals show dehydration, we will send a message to the team leader. Failure to remedy the problem will result in confiscation of the loser until game’s end.” The technician grabbed the numbered collar and slid it back into the clip. Another hissing noise sounded off and the slave girl slowly regained the use of her body.

“If your Queen’s tag is taken, you have six hours to return the tag before the entire team losses.”

“During the game, only sanctioned weapons supplied by Property Management Technology will be allowed. While designed to supply non-lethal, debilitating force, there is the potential for greater harm if used improperly. In the event of life threatening injuries, PTM representatives will stop the violent activity and remove the injured participant from the game. If the violator is deemed to have acted with intent to kill, PTM reserves the right to remove their tag, and, if deemed necessary, turn the violator over to local authorities in accordance with state law. Remember, your actions are being video recorded at all times, and PTM always cooperates with state and federal authorities in matters of law enforcement.

“Once both teams are considered ready, you have three hours to strategize and build defenses. After that, the game will officially begin and will continue until a winner has been determined. You will be given limited food and necessities as a means of forcing a timely conclusion.

“You’ll each be given a printout of the rules in case you need to go over them after the game has begun. Just keep in mind that only non-lethal force is allowed, and that a player is only considered as having lost once their tag is removed.

“Property Management Technology wishes you the best of luck in the game.”

Mindy Holdings stepped forward. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

The technician smiled. “Sorry, but you’ve signed the contract. The only way out of here as a free woman is by victory.”

“No!” She sprinted for the door, but the male technicians blocked her path and grabbed her arms. Thrashing about, she kicked and screamed, but the guards held her perfectly such that none of her kicks or punches landed anything but glancing blows. They waited until she tired herself out, then dropped her back to the floor.

“If you run out of bounds, you automatically lose. You’re in this to the finish.”

The boys and girls of Seven Saints looked to each other, finally accepting everything that the game meant.

Judy Goodheart, now wearing her Queen’s collar, walked to the front of the crowd and officially commanded her troops for the first time. “There is no need to fear. We’ll win.” She smiled, but beneath it she hid her own fears. While she portrayed nothing but extreme confidence when persuading her friends to join the war, there was an ever present sliver of doubt. What if they lost? What if she led all of her friends to their doom?

It made her sick to her stomach, but she swallowed the terror and hid it.

“We’ll win. We have to.”

One mile away, through the unbeaten summer woods of Camp Judgment, was another lodge, exactly like the one where the students of Seven Saints were being lectured on the rules of Capture Collar. Though the scene played out mostly the same, the mood was far different.

Elizabeth Monseto watched the demonstration with a grin on her face, wondering what sad tale had let the poor redhead into being a unwilling employee of Property Management Technology. She still looked like a teenager, hinting that she was one of the game show contestants trying to earn money for college. Very few young women outright sold themselves for the benefits of their family; that sort of selflessness takes a certain kind of maturity that youth often lacks. However, potential rewards with improper risk analysis drew tens of thousands of sub-twenty year old women into slavery each year.

Elizabeth had no pity for them. Born just one year after the Supreme Court decision, she had been raised her entire life in a world with a clear power structure. It was a world that her parents had always desired, a world where they could truly be better than others. Their house was filled with slaves. Some degenerate gamblers, some loving parents that sold themselves to ensure health and education for their children, and some outright stupid lovers that believed in total power exchange without realizing the fickleness of love.

But that is why they were poor, she convinced herself. The wealthy rose, while anybody that would dare lose a bet, have kids they can’t support, or blatantly give somebody their lives deserved everything they got.

Elizabeth knew that each of the Seven Saints students deserved their inevitable fate, but what of her own team? She looked around and analyzed them, one by one, wondering is there were any weak links to be willfully pruned early on.

“Property Management Technology would like to wish you the best of luck in the game.”

The technicians opened up the stack of cardboard boxes and left the students to peruse their contents.

Elizabeth lorded over the items like a treasure trove. She had seen the weapons used hundreds of times in the fantastic and enthralling videos that resulted from games like this, but she never had the opportunity to use them in person.

The first box held low-voltage cattle prods, strong enough only to briefly stun the victims. They were of varying lengths, all black with comfortable plastic grips, and emblazoned only with white letters reading ‘PMT’. Two of the seventeen were basically pole arms, over four feet in length, while most were just over a foot long—melee weapons to use when all else fails.

The second box held stun guns—hardened plastic pistols with two tethered diodes where the muzzle would be. Though offering much better range than the cattle prods, Elizabeth knew they were less reliable, but still appreciated their utility.

And the last box held packing tape—the preferred bondage of Capture Collar spectators and players alike.

“It’s all yours,” commanded Elizabeth, turning over the boxes and letting her team scavenge whatever they wanted. She did not believe they needed strategy to win.

It would prove to be a grave mistake.

Three hours later, the sirens sounded. The sun had set hours earlier, and a hundred miles away the students’ parents were coping with news that their sons and daughters had put their lives on the line for foolish and childish reasons.

Judy Goodheart stood on the second floor of their lodge and stared into the darkness through a floor-to-ceiling window. Far in the distance, another light glimmered. She knew it was the enemy headquarters.

It was two days past a full moon and scant traces of moonlight filtered through the tree cover. All was quiet, and she did not know if Rowan Prep would be the first to attack, and if so, how soon it would come. However, their arrogance and violent tendencies gave her a good idea of their initial strategies.

Silhouettes flickered against the blue-tinted forest. Judy flinched her wrist, a signal to her friends that something was coming.

The shadows inched closer until they were just outside the seemingly unguarded entrance to the lodge.

A flash lit the forest.

Screams echoed in the night.

The plan had worked. The first raiding party of Rowan prep had blindly stumbled across a puddle of water and been communally shocked by their waiting enemies.

Within seconds a raiding party swarmed out of lodge, flashlights in hand. They pounced on the stunned enemies and plucked the tags from their necks. One by one, the pneumatic hiss of the sedative injection could be heard as each of the Rowan Prep students went limp.

The war had its first losers.

“Good job, team,” said Judy Goodheart to her friends as they dragged their new slaves on the floor behind them. “Tape them up and store them in the middle room.”

Six of their enemies had already been defeated—four men and two women, over a quarter of their team. Judy returned to the lobby and dragged her two commanders away to discuss strategy; strategy had proven to be their strength, and it would continue to be so.

Within an hour, the following day’s plans were established. It was getting late, and it was unlikely that the Rowan Prep would think send another attack so quickly, especially when they did not know the fate of their first.

Judy Goodheart returned to the holding room to check in on her captors. One by one, she checked their eyes and pulse and fed them a slight amount of water which they gulped down happily. However, when she made a full round, she froze. Somebody was missing. “Where… where did Michelle Graves go?”

None of her teammates knew. However, two of the boys that were supposed to be resting were missing from their cots.

“Find Greg and Lincoln. Now.” She thought she was managing the team properly. She thought she was doing everything right. She thought they were all on the same page as to their intents, but she thought wrong. The boys were doing something they had agreed not to, and it sickened her.

A scream came from one of the back rooms. Judy sprinted back into the central lobby and towards the scream. Delores Clamp stumbled out of the room, her skin pale, her lips trembling. Judy sprinted past her, into through the dorm room, and into the back room.

Greg Berry was on top of Michelle Graves, humping violently. His pants rested in a pile on the floor next to the bed, while Michelle was completely naked except for the collar around her neck and the packing tape that silenced her lips. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she did nothing to fight off her attacker, her arms just resting limply at her sides. Lincoln Lee stood off to the side holding a camcorder as he recorded every minute of her violation.

Judy was shocked that such a deed could be committed by the two men. They were the smart, nerdy kind—the type of guys that were always polite and thoughtful. She stared at Michelle’s tits sway with the violent thrusts. “Greg… Linc… how could you?”

Lincoln turned towards Judy, keeping the recorder focused on Melissa but covering the speaker with his hand. “Psychological Warfare, Judy. Rape the captives, and let those arrogant fuckers know what were doing. Send them the videos and let them know that the same will happen to them. It will unsettle them, which is when we strike. They have to watch and listen to whatever we send to their central monitor, even if it’s the defilement of their closest friends.

“That…”

“You said it yourself: the reason we’ll win is because we’re smarter. We know tactics and strategies that they could never possibly come up with.”

“But… but this is so wrong!”

“Sorry, Judy. When everything is on the line, I’m not going to sacrifice our only advantage out of moral qualms.”

Elizabeth Monseto was getting worried. Where was the raiding party? The plan was simple—to find their guards and overpower them, one by one, until none remained. Her team was physically superior, after all, so how could the plan not work?

By midnight, even her teammates were complaining.

“What’s happening?” nagged Fiona Fiore

“We better not fucking lose,” said Will Powers, pounding his fist into his other palm in a needlessly vague and unguided threat.

“Please, please. Give it time. I’m certain we’ll hear back from them any minute.”

But in her heart, she was not so sure

Sometime during the middle of the night, the TV screen turned on. It was a video message from the other a team.

A video of Michelle Graves being raped, her limp body sandwiched between two naked men. Her tear filled eyes gazed into the distance, ruled by wherever her head tilted after each violent thrust.

The camera turned. On a cot in the corner were the distinct flaming red curls of Lauren Sandina. A man held her thighs underneath his arms and rammed into her repeatedly.

“Liz!” screamed Fiona Fiore, also awoken by the distant moans of their friend.

“Oh… oh my god…” said Trevor Gates, craning his neck up to the screen, his jaw slack at the sight before him.

“I thought you said they wouldn’t touch us!” yelled Pauline Winters, her voice quivering at the fate of her friends.

Elizabeth didn’t know how to respond. Her entire plan hinged on her enemies’ noble intentions, believing the goody two-shoes of Seven Saints High School would never bring themselves to rape another person or to own another human being as a slave.

But the evidence was right in front of her. She had thought too highly of her rivals. And, if they broke her assumptions in a matter of rape, could her other assumption also be wrong? Could they really be playing for keeps, with no intent of selling the rich kids back to their parents?

Her stomach dropped. For the first time in her life, she seriously considered the possibility of being used as a slave for the rest of her life. All of the indignities that she submitted on to Tracy, back at her… for decades.

Elizabeth stumbled back into her room and cried. She could never let her team see her like this. Never. She was one of the ruling class, one of the eternally strong bastions of leadership that others needed. Crying? No. Not her.

The students of both schools went to sleep, shocked at how quickly their morality had been abandoned in the face of adversity. But it was only the beginning. There was far more sorrow and suffering in store from the students of Seven Saints and Rowan Prep.

To be continued…

FREEDOM: Class Warfare

Part Two

Hedging Bets

Thoughts? Encouragement? 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.

Does anyone still believe that those five justices understood the implications of their decision? We have thousands of men and women gambling themselves into slavery each year, all because of a loophole in how the contracts are written. Some of us foresaw these problems from the very beginning, and our worst nightmares are quickly becoming a reality. Overturn Fitzgerald v. Oregon now. It is the only way to save our freedom and our country.

-Erin Jefferson, President of Fundamental Freedom

The second scouting party dashed carefully through the forest, encircling the enemy headquarters from its rear. If the boys and girls of Seven Saints High School saw their enemies, they made no sign, nor did they move to attack. It was exactly as Angelica wanted, exactly what she needed to right her course.

Gilbert Manchester led the way though the untamed brush of the summer forest, followed fifteen feet to his sides by Gwyn Thyme and Angelica Chenowitz. He raised his hand, and both of them stopped in their tracks.

“They aren’t coming,” he announced, turning his back to the enemy lodge.

“Good,” said Angelica, glancing towards the lodge, hoping to see signs of movement. Getting ambushed before her mission was complete would ruin everything.

“Christ, this terrain is tiring,” mumbled Gwyn, bending over and stretching her arms and legs. “It’s been way too long since I’ve been out in the woods.”

Gilbert huddled the three of them closer. “Can you see anything?”

Gwyn turned her eyes towards the distant lodge. She glanced from side to side, shifting her focus every half second. “No, nothing I can see from here. I don’t even see any of them standing guard outside their cabin.”

“Any idea what we should do from here?”

Angelica pounced on the opportunity and offered her plan. “Perhaps we should get closer. If they aren’t even outside, then there isn’t really anything to fear, is there? There’s no way they would attack us head one, right?”

“Probably not. Gwyn, keep an eye out as we move closer, okay?” Together, the trio moved closer through the woods, not bothering to separate into the spread formation.

As they made their way through the woods, Angelica sized up her teammates. Though she had known both during school, they were only classmates, both athletes while she spent own her time tenaciously clinging to the popular clique. Gilbert was short, but had a well-toned frame with tan skin and wavy blonde hair. He had numerous personal trainers, which helped him endlessly tune his tennis skills, leading him to be a two-time state champion.

Gwyn too was athletic, her body perfectly toned for her outfield position. She walked with a gangly confidence as she stepped through the brush.

What really gained Angelica’s attention, however, were the tags that dangled from the collars. To think that a simple tug could change a person’s life forever. It was terrifying on some profound level, but also exciting in a way that confused her deeply.

Elizabeth Monseto claimed to have a plan, to know the motivations behind the team from Seven Saints. But the brutal video sent in the dead of night changed everything. The good, humble, moral Christian students had descended to the level of vile and base rapists just hours after their first capture. If that part of Elizabeth’s prediction had already proven false, what about the rest? Would they really keep their enemies as slaves?

Angelica’s stomach dropped. What was once a no-risk gamble was turning into a terrifying ordeal. Something had to be done, and she knew exactly what that was.

They were but a few hundred feet out of the enemy lodge when Angelica Chenowitz made her move. Before Gwyn could even blink, the tag was plucked from her collar and pinched between two of Angelica’s fingers.

‘Pfffft’ hissed her collar as the sedative was injected.

“Wa…” was all that could escape from her lips as she collapsed into the undergrowth.

Gilbert jerked his head to the side to check out the noise, only to catch Angelica’s cattle prod in the side of his neck, forcing him to the ground. She pounced and grabbed the tag in a single swift motion, robbing the athlete of his motor skills.

The first part had worked. All that remained were negotiations. She laid down her prod and stun gun, raised her hands in the air, and walked straight towards the enemy headquarters. She was flanked by two girls and a boy as she neared the main entrance, each with their guns drawn and prods at the ready.

“Please,” said Angelica. “I’m unarmed.”

“What are you doing?”

“I offer my assistance.” Her voice quivered with fear, uncertain if her plan would work and constantly afraid that she was throwing her life away by even trying. “Two of my teammates are de-tagged a few hundred feet behind me.” She held their tags into the air for her opponents to see. “All I ask for my cooperation is that you let me go when you win.”

The students of Seven Saints turned to each other to discuss the offer. “Give us their bodies and you can go.”

“I… I’ll need some help.”

“No, you don’t,” answered the redheaded boy. “You want to go free, give us their bodies and their tags.

Angelica didn’t think she was strong enough, but she had to comply. She dragged their bodies through the brush, tearing their clothes and straining her arms, but soon both Gwyn and Gilbert were lined up, side by side, outside Seven Saints’ lodge.

“You can go,” said the redhead.

“Do… do I have your leaders word?”

“Don’t worry, we’ll tell her.”

Angelica didn’t quite trust them, but she had no choice. It was the best course of action, even if she had no absolute assurance. Now came the most difficult part—persuading her team that she her teammates were legimitamately defeated.

“Okay…” she said to herself quietly. She crouched to the forest floor and grabbed fistfuls of dirt. She smeared it across her clothes and in her hair to give her a worn appearance, then took off in a spring straight towards her own lodge.

Within ten minutes she was back, ready to collapse on the floor as she stumbled into the main hall.

“Angelica?” asked Elizabeth, rising to her feet to support her exhausted teammate.

Angelica closed her eyes and slurred out her message, hoping the exhaustion would hide her complete inability to lie convincingly. “They… they ambushed us.”

“What?”

“They knew we were coming,” she said, her speech stopping and speeding as she spoke between exasperated breaths.

“Fuck.” The leader let go of her classmate and returned to the her room, her close friends in tow, undoubtedly to devise another plan.

They returned half-an-hour later.

“When do you think you’ll be ready to go out again?”

Angelica had already catched her breath. “I’m ready now.”

“Good. Take Mary with you and see if you can get something worthwhile this time.”

“What?”

“Go. You have to make up for your mistakes.”

Angelica nodded politely, exited the lodge, ready to repeat her scheme.

She returned alone over an hour later. Elizabeth Monseto sat in the center of the main hall on a high backed chair. Her legs and arms were crossed, as if angry with some unseen threat.

“Back again, Angelica?”

“We… we got ambushed.”

“Again?”

“Yes.”

Elizabeth stood and approached Angelica. “Why does this always happen to you, dear?”

“They saw us coming.”

“Haha, there’s no need to lie, my sweet.”

Angelica’s blood ran cold. Did she know? How could she know? Her worst fears were confirmed as Elizabeth reached out with her right hand and gently grabbed the number five tag that dangled from her capture collar.

“Tell me, Angelica, what are you getting out of betraying your friends?”

“I…”

“Oh, wait, I don’t care.” Elizabeth yanked the tag from Angelica’s collar.

Angelica Chenowitz, eighteen year-old wannabe, collapsed onto her knees, then forward onto her face. With every ounce of willpower she struggled to get up, but her muscles merely twitched, then went silent. Her face pressed against the brown carpet and her eyes stared lazily into the ground.

“So, who wants a shot?” announced Elizabeth Monseto.

Her teammates stepped forward, the remaining three guys at the front of the line. One of the girls held the camcorder. It was already pointed straight at Angelica. Two boys lifted her off of the ground and slung her arms behind their shoulders. They carried her just of the ground, her sneakered feet occasionally swinging down and hitting the floor of the lodge.

Angelica knew what was coming. “No, no,” she tried to scream, but all she did was pant heavily. They exited the main hall into one of the side bedrooms. The room was cleared of furniture except for a single bed, set up in the middle of the small, windowless room. And, at that moment, she broke down. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but for as much as she wanted to scream and resist the monsters that were about to rape her, she could do nothing.

That was the point of the game. Until game’s end, she was their property. And from the looks of it, they had every intention of milking her for everything her body was worth.

They threw her onto the sheetless bed and turned her upright so that she stared at the single light that adorned the ceiling. Her face flopped to the side, letting her stare at the parade of boys and girls that entered the room. Not many remained; over half had already been taken by Seven Saints, their fates completely unknown save for the unfortunate girls that had been raped mercilessly throughout the night.

She noted the irony. Her actions were meant to spare her the harshest indignities of slavery, but instead they would bring an even worse fate. But it would only be a few days, far better than losing to the other team.

Elizabeth Monseto followed the swarm into the room with a grin of satisfaction. She approached the side of the bed where her betrayer motionlessly rested and folded her arms across her chest, pushing up her rack. “This bitch wanted to see us all lose, to end up like Michelle and Lauren as the rape toys of those Seven Saints monsters. Can anyone think of a reason why she does not deserve the same miserable fate?”

Silence from her teammates.

“Then make an example of her. Show what happens to those who defy us. Show our enemies the hell that awaits them.”

The mob pulled closer. Two boys shoved each other back and forth, fighting for who would have the honor of fucking Angelica first. A girl crawled onto the bed beside her and straddled her face, rolling up her skirt and shoving her pussy right into Angelica’s face.

It was Fiona Fiore, Angelica’s raven-haired lab partner.

Angelica could only stare at the animal print panties that were shoved into her face. She didn’t know what to do, nor did she have the basic motor skills to anything;

“I don’t think her tongue works,” said Fiona, looking around at her teammates for advice.

Elizabeth responded, her voice quivering in excitement. “Then pee on her. Show her the disgrace of being a traitor.”

Fiona turned down and stared Angelica in the face, then pulled down her panties and kneeled closer to her captive.

It smelled, but Angelica could do nothing but stare at the unshaven genitals in front of her. Nothing happened, and she thought that perhaps Fiona would be unable to produce anything. She was wrong; a stream of warm fluid soon sprayed down and splashed Angelica in the face, draining down her cheeks and into her mouth. She coughed instinctively as it filled up her mouth, but soon it became too much, and she swallowed the vile fluid.

Laughter erupted from the spectators. The destruction of their own pleased them greatly, but Angelica could not tell if it was because she was a traitor, or if they had always hated her. Angelica Chenowitz, the smart, mousy girl that pretended to be something she wasn’t with the sole goal of being popular. She wasn’t like the rest of the Rowan Prep students, but she wanted to be.

That wouldn’t happen, though. Not anymore. She had lost the game, and until the end, she would be their property.

As another girl took Fiona’s place, a guy finally crawled between Angelica’s legs. He rolled down her plain white panties and left them dangling on her right ankle, then pulled down his own pants and underwear and pressed his hard cock against Angelica’s entrance.

She moaned, “Uhhhhhhhhh…” wanting him to stop, wanting to keep the virginity she had protected, wanting to avoid the horrible fate that befalls traitors, but her prayers and wishes meant nothing. Trevor Gates shoved his cock into the hole and began pumping back and forth while tears streamed down the cheeks of his unwilling partner.

So many boys and girls that she wanted as her friends took satisfaction in her misery. They smiled and laughed, showing no hesitation when it was their turn to use Angelica’s body. She knew that most of their families owned slaves, but she had no idea that they would be so desensitized to the misery of other human beings.

But, isn’t that what she wanted in the first place? Though her registration was fueled by her childish desire to be with the in crowd, she knew deep down that there was a genuine hint of malice underlying it all. The students of Seven Saints school had offended everybody of Rowan Prep, and Elizabeth’s speech about wanting to see them suffer had moved her in some subtle way.

Another man took place between her legs and another girl sat on her face. At that moment, Angelica Chenowitz realized the fatal flaw in her plan.

There was nothing in the rules that said all members of the winning team were set free upon victory. She was their property, and she would only be set free at their discretion. And, considering how quickly they had jumped on the opportunity to defile her body, something told her that she was not on their good side.

And for the future? She had learned long ago that once you fall out of Elizabeth Monseto’s good graces, it was nearly impossible to return.

It was over. She would pay for her treachery for years to come.

FREEDOM: Class Warfare

Part Three

Hope

Thoughts? Encouragement? 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.

Perhaps the worst consequence will be the effect it will have on the public psyche. Horrible sexual crimes will grow to be thought of as a business. People that would otherwise good and harmless lives will use these laws as justification for crimes that exist distinctly outside their scope.

And what of the future generations? For two hundred years, we’ve insisted that all men are created equal. But how can a society promote that view when it allows slavery of any kind?

It’s all deeply troubling.

-Richard Kimmel, Professor of Sociology, Placid State University

+++

Cum pooled with blood and soaked the plain white sheets beneath Gwyn Thyme’s thighs. It had been over half-a-day since her betrayal by Angelica Chenowitz, and her captors had given the six-foot-two outfielder nary a rest from what they laughingly referred to as ‘psychological warfare’. They filmed every moment of her defilement, speaking of their actions in purely business terms—instead of fucking her, described the deed as “using the prisoner.” Instead of admitting to themselves they were doing it of the their own lustful glee, they insisted they were “making propaganda.”

She knew why they clung to such superficialities, for it was the same reason that had made her and her classmates hate the students of Seven Saints High School. For all their claims about morality, and their venomous contempt for the decadent upper class, they were as sinful and filthy as the rest of humanity. Gwyn had always suspected that they were a bunch of perverts beneath their rosaries and Sunday best, and her treatment confirmed it. They spoke of it as if it were their job, but she knew the truth—they enjoyed it. They loved every single minute of using and abusing her defenseless body. They called it business, but it was rape and torture, pure and simple.

“Stop it!” screamed Judy Goodheart as she pushed her way through the crowd of men that surrounded their prey. The class president threw herself between the sobbing mess of a woman that lay on the bed and the next in line. “What has gotten into you all?” she screamed.

Her thin presence was no deterrent to the men’s hormones. The man in front pushed her to the side and undid the buckle of his belt as he crawled onto the bed.

“No! You can’t do this!” yelled Judy. She dove at the would-be rapist but was effortlessly ignored, her tiny fists unable to break the men’s focus on their prey. Her words plead for a halt to their sins and evils, but they fell on deaf ears.

In the distance of Gwyn’s line of sight, she could see the rest of the Seven Saints women, lingering in the hall, too timid and nervous to stand up to their demented teammates.

Judy Goodheart continued to beg and plea for an end to the horrible sex crime. “We need to attack! We can win this game as it is… all we need to do is stick together and strike now! So, please, stop this!”

But still they ignored her. She kneeled beside the bed and touched her right hand to the stream of tears that trailed from the corners of Gwyn’s eyes and whispered through pained and feeble sobs, “I’m sorry.”

Though it cheered Gwyn to know not all of the Seven Saints students were monsters, the unending violation between her legs robbed the meaning of their compassion. Judy soon retreated from the chambers, leaving Gwyn Thyme to the ravenous teenagers.

During those long hours on her back on that small barracks cot, she could do nothing but stare off to her right and accept the constant stream of men as they crawled between her legs and pumped her with their cocks. She could feel each violent thrust as it tore into her body, but she was completely incapable of fighting back. Violated, exhausted, and pained, her thoughts constantly turned to Angelica the betrayer, the girl that had plucked the tag from her collar and doomed her to this fate.

What did she do to deserve it? What could she have done differently to escape that newfound hell? For years Angelica Chenowitz had lingered around the popular cliques of Rowan Prep as an unwanted wannabe. Though the overwhelming majority of her cruel torment came at the hands of the elitist Elizabeth Monseto, Gwyn could only wish that her hands were clean, but they were not.

And, as her torture continued, something deep down inside Gwyn’s cold heart felt as if she deserved what was happening to her. However, she did not know the other acts of retribution that dangled above her soul.

Hours later, after her rapists had moved onto the newest prey, a shadowy figure approached through the darkness. It moved slowly and deliberately, as if not wanting to be seen or heard by Gwyn’s captors.

Could it be a rescuer, a teammate that could not watch Gwyn’s torture any longer? Her hopes soared for a brief moment before crashing back to Earth upon the identity of the man before her: Sean Oak, resident scum bag of Seven Saints High School.

“Hello, my sweet,” he whispered as he gently brushed back Gwyn’s long brown hair. “Remember me?”

It was hard for her to get. Not only had he already raped her twice that day, but he had haunted her for years prior, a not-so secret admirer that crossed countless lines in the pursuit of his purported love. She grunted disapprovingly.

He placed his right index finger to her lips. “Silence, my Gwynevere. We have much to discuss.”

Something did not seem right. It was as if he no longer pretended to be sane, no longer wished for Gwyn to like him. “Do you remember that time at the mall, that time you embarrassed me so?”

Gwyn remembered instantly. He had approached her in the mall and asked her out in front of all her friends, a lower class psycho asking out one of the wealthiest and prettiest girls in town. She didn’t even respond with words, just a deep, uproarious laughter that soon spread to her friends. His face turned red, tears welled in his eyes, and he sprinted away, saying not a word as he disappeared back into the crowd from whence he came. Though cruel, Gwyn knew that such harsh members had to be taken, lest an endless stream of rabble make moves on what should never be theirs.

“Well, it’s time for payback, you fucking bitch.” He leaned forward onto the bed and spread his arms wide his left hand exploring her tits and his right hand caressing her red and swollen cunt. “Do you know what I’m going to do to you?”

Gwyn could only speculate more of the same, but she was quickly proven wrong.

“Me and my friends are going to drag you into the woods and we’re going to have a little fun. Not these playful little games like before. No, this time we’re playing for keeps.” He pressed his mouth against chin and delivered the details. “We’ll fuck you two at a time… no, three at a time, using branches and twigs to do the job when we can’t.”

Gwyn shivered in response.

“But that isn’t the worst of all. My friends have been nice to you so far, only raping you like you fucking deserved. But after this?” He paused. “I’m going to kill you. Clean and simple, a nice little gash across your throat, the only retribution suitable for what you did to me.”

Her blood stopped cold, her brain taking a moment to process his threat. Murder? Something in his voice convinced her of his intent, and it terrified her unlike anything she had ever experienced.

For the first time in her life, she contemplated her own death, visions of blood spraying from her throat as everything faded to white. Would it hurt? Where would she go afterwards? Her body seized in panic as Sean Oak lifted her over his should and carried her into the main hall.

It was dark out, and there were few guards around as the bulk of the team slept. Sean and his accomplice were clearly two of the handful of people awake during the early morning hours—wherever they had abandoned their post was the perfect path to steal Gwyn into the night.

Not a soul was to be seen in the woods. The lights of the lodge lit the surrounding area, but the flank guarded by Sean and Josh was now deserted. Were Gwyn’s teammates watching, they would realize how foolishly unguarded the enemy headquarters was.

Over a mile into the woods, they stopped. Sean oak dropped Gwyn into the brush with a thud. “There. This is as good a spot as any. Are you ready, my sweetest Gwyn?”

In her mind, Gwyn begged and pleaded to be spared, but her words escaped only as anguished moans, her tongue unable to do its job. She closed her eyes and prayed that somebody would see them, that somebody would step in and be a guardian angel.

He kneeled between her bare legs and unzipped his pants. “Did you ever think things would end up like this, all those times you rejected me?” He forced his cock inside.

Of course not, she thought to herself. He was an annoying and creepy little brat from her rival school, and there wasn’t a chance in hell she’d ever be seen in public with him. Every moment of rejection and embarrassment was justified in her mind.

But now things were different. Though Sean Oak was still the creepy boy she had humiliated a dozen times, he held the power over her life. If only she had accepted him, if only she dated him, if only she loved him, perhaps none of this would happen.

They were foolish thoughts. He was insane, and neither would have gained anything from an emotionless relationship driven out of fear.

“Nobody will find your body out here,” he taunted as he slowly pumped away, his dick sliding in and out of her raw cunt rhythmically. “There are no cameras, and nobody will know it was us.”

Us? Gwyn remembered the other boy with him. How he agreed to assist in her murder was beyond her comprehension, but he stood there, just off in the distance, staring at Gwyn with no sign of emotion.

His hands closed around her throat. “This is going to be so easy. I was too scared to rape you before this game began. You’re too athelitic. You’d probably tear my arms off before I even had a chance.

“Remember that time at the football game, when you threw your drink at me? That must have been worth a laugh.?

Gwyn struggled for air and remembered that game. He organized the band to play a song dedicated just for her, but she rejected him outright before the entire crowd. It was the most embarrassing moment of her life, but, with the life draining out of her body, something changed.

It was regret. Regret for her intolerance, regret for her selfishness, and regret for her cruelty. But… it was too late. Nothing she could do now would save her life. She turned her eyes down and stared into his.

“What is this, a plea for mercy? Fuck you.” He tightened his grip and pumped harder. It didn’t take long for him to shoot his load, and his grip loosened. But her reprieve was to be short lived. Soon his friend took the position, and it began all over again.

Over and over, the two sadists kept their cruel promise to rape and torture her body, until both were too exhausted to continue. At last, it was time to fulfill their final vow.

“So this is it, eh?” asked Sean Oak. His hands tightened around her throat, this time harder than ever before. “Are you going to apologize for what you did?”

What could she do? The sedatives still ruled her body, leaving her utterly defenseless and hopeless to his violence. She was going to die. She knew it. In what she believed were her final moments, her thoughts turned to her family. Born to a distinctly middle-class parents, she was nowhere near as wealthy as most of her classmates. However, her parents cared for her deeply, and had sacrificed so much to send her to the prestigious Rowan Preparatory Academy.

Gwyn Thyme was accepted immediately, her athletic ability and outgoing demeanor quickly assuring her a position atop the social ladder. But what she didn’t account for was the impact the school atmosphere would have on her.

She used to be such a nice girl, but the young monsters that filled those halls had corrupted her. They all owned slaves, or were wealthy enough to get something when they wanted it. None of their actions or words showed the slightest appreciation for what they had. Gwyn was once different, though. Her parents bought her nice clothes, a car on her sixteenth birthday, and every other amenity to help their daughter have the happy and privileged childhood that they had both lacked.

Her parents never intended her to end up just another member of the arrogant ruling class.. In their desire to see her get a good education, they had neglected the inevitable corruption that would come from hanging out with the ‘in’ crowd. Slowly but surely, the once kind and gentle daughter changed to fit in with her classmates. Arrogant and cruel, the graduating Gwyn Thyme was barely recognizable compared to the one that had entered Rowan Prep four years ago.

Her eyes met with his for one last time. This time, she was truly sorry for the hell she had put him through.

All he did was smile back.

“Huh? Do you like this, you fucking cunt?” He pushed against her throat harder as she gasped for air, but he did not stop.

Gwyn’s vision began to fade. She was dying, completely forgetful of the rules she had been read before the game began.

Sirens blared. Loud, obnoxious sirens, screeching through the early morning forest. Footsteps rushed towards the clearing and tackled Sean in a single, swift motion, allowing Gwyn to fill her lungs with vital air.

One of the masked guards yelled loudly as he shoved Sean’s face into the brush. “Under New Hampshire State Law, we are placing you under citizen’s arrest for the attempted murder of… fuck it, whatever her name is.” He turned to his compatriots and ordered. “Take both of them in, and get her to the medical tent.”

A guard lifted the limp body of Gwynevere Thyme above his shoulders and carried him with haste deeper into the forest, towards some unknown destination. The siren ended, and in the distance, more screams erupted. What was happening?

One scream joined another alongside started yells and yelps of shock. They were coming from the Seven Saints headquarters, and it took only a brief instant for Gwyn to realize what it was.

It was a raid. Her own teammates had used the temporary suspension of the game to get into place and used the disorder to their advantage. She could imagine them rampaging through the lodge, plucking the tags from their enemies necks, and leaving the losers where the lay. It was their first victory, and only hope towards regaining her freedom.

Though her muscles were weak, Gwyn’s face contorted into a simple smile. Her team had finally struck back. Her fate was not as hopeless as the one she had resigned herself to.

FREEDOM: Class Warfare

Part Four

Blind Fury

Thoughts? Encouragement? 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.

These games that people play are the most fascinating article that has arisen since the ruling. Russian Roulette is almost uniformly illegal the world ever, but the United States sanctions games that frequently have every bit the brutal stakes. Though murder remains unsanctioned, the participants still wager all of the freedoms that make themselves human. I’m deeply fascinated to the comparative psychology of those that make such brutal wagers; is there greater perceived risk in death, or in a life of slavery? What does it take for a person to wager their life?

-Julius Whittaker, Professor of Psychology, Herbert Methodist University

++++

Judy Goodheart sprinted from her room, her cattle prod armed and ready. But it was too late. The limp and sedated bodies of her friends were strewn about the main hall.

“What’s happening?” she yelled, frantically searching only to find her friends as befuddled as she. Nobody could answer with certainty, but whatever had happened was over. The sirens, the screams, none of it made any sense.

Only over the next hour could she begin to comprehend the losses incurred. A masked representative of PTM notified her of the murderous intent of Sean Oaks and Joshua Grump, and that neither of them would be allowed back into the game. From her teammates, she pieced together the perfectly timed raid from Rowan Prep that had incapacitated three of her teammates and captured another four.

The lead Seven Saints had developed was gone, fizzled away in an instant.

The psychological warfare enacted by Seven Saints soon came back to haunt them. The main screen turned on, and on it showed a horrific scene that far eclipsed the sins committed by Judy’s teammates.

The four captives were lined up on the floor in a cross, each staring up into the camcorder mounted in the balcony above Rowan Prep’s central hall. The tattered remains of their school uniforms clung to their body, leaving their tits and crotches completely exposed. Packing tape quieted their pained moans as the circle of Rowan Prep enacted their sadistic dreams.

Lincoln Lee and Greg Berry were simply being tortured. A group of women stood above them and trampled their bodies, clearly not forgetting what role the two perverts played in the rape of their friends. Bruises covered their body and tears of pain slid down their cheeks, but despite their pleading eyes there was no end in sight.

Kelly Rottweiler and Delores Clamp were far less fortunate. Boys kneeled between their legs and ravished their bodies without the slightest hint of remorse or mercy. Cum covered their chest and thighs, and one more kneeled besides Kelly and jerked off across her face, staining her cheeks with splashes of cum.

“No…” muttered Judy Goodheart as she watched the rape and torture of some of her closest friends. Though her plans had accounted for possible losses, it was still disturbing to see the crimes perpetrated.

“We have to save them!” screamed Melissa Sinclair, addressing the team in a way that Judy was yet to do. “Now is the perfect time to strike, while they are preoccupied with the violence.

Judy Goodheart reached out and grabbed her friends hand and pulled her closer. “Melissa!”

“Sorry, Judy, but we have to do this. It’s now or never.”

“No, we need to come up with a plan. There’s no way we’ll win in a straight fight!”

“But look at them, Judy. How can you watch your friends suffer like that?”

Only two teammates stepped forward—Logan Durst and Holly Oak. Combined with Melissa Sinclair, it was almost half of Judy’s remaining team.

“You can’t go. I won’t let you.”

Logan thrust his hands against Judy’s shoulder and pushed her back. “What type of a leader are you? Our friends need help, and that’s what we’re going to do. Isn’t that what makes us different than them?” He pointed to the screen emphatically.

Judy knew he was right in a way, but lowered her head in shame. “No… we need to do this calmly rather than rushing in!”

Melissa smiled meagerly and held Judy’s hand in her own. “We’ll be okay, Judy. God is on our side.”

Her friend’s words did not comfort her. “We need to stick together, Lisa.”

But it was too late. Melissa Sinclair had already made up her mind, leaving Judy helpless but to watch her friends gather their weapons exit towards a disgraceful end.

++++

Judy Goodheart’s deepest fears were soon realized. She and her remaining teammates sat in her upstairs quarters, drawing up plans on how to salvage the remnants of the game. The limp bodies of friends and enemies filled the empty beds, breathing lightly in their drugged stupors. Though Judy wished to bring back her friends from their drugged chemical paralysis, she knew it was impossible. The raiders had grabbed their tags and hidden them away, just like the stash that Judy herself held on to.

Screams bellowed from the central hall and shattered the pensive planning session. Her stomach dropped, and she sprinted out to hear the sound.

The monitor had turned on again, relaying another sadistic message from her lifetime rivals. What she saw there would forever be burned into her memory.

The cameraman stood in the middle of a semi-circle of flesh, the captives from Seven Saints laid out in a sun burst, their heads at the inside and their bodies and legs spread out. It was a tangle of flesh as the Rowan Prep men rammed their cocks into the hapless captive’s cunts, while their woman kicked and stomped on the captive men. It seemed as if they had not forgotten that first attempt at psychological warfare. However, the camera began to move, until it focused only on the centermost girl. And at that moment, Judy Goodheart knew that it was all meant to be a message to her.

A familiar voice yelled directly into the microphone. “Do you see this, Judy?”

Dead-center was Melissa Sinclair, life-long best friend of Judy Goodheart, raped, defiled, and covered with cum. Tape covered her lips and tears rolled down her cheeks as she stared directly into the camera. Judy knew the message behind her eyes. Melissa had only joined the game on Judy’s confidence in victory. With her loss and punishment, Judy’s confidence was shattered. She had let her best friend down in a way that she could never makeup.

At that moment, the true stakes of that foolish game hit her, and hard. Father John was right; it was an abomination, but she had thought it a good deal in her naïve youth. But no more. Watching her best friend get raped punched her in a gut unlike any of the atrocities she had seen so far. She knew that it was the time to stand up, stand tall and inspire her team to victory.

She stood up straight and walked to the monitor. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Nothing was how it should be. Nothing.

Standing in front her team, Judy Goodheart collapsed to her knees and cried. She wanted to be with her family, within their loving and protective embrace and far away from the twisted Pandora’s Box she had opened. The tears flowed freely. “I’m… I’m sorry.”

Her team stood and stared in stunned silence, unable to grasp the panic that had stricken down their trusted leader.

++++

Little happened the following day, the remaining few students of Seven Saints huddled in a corner room of the lodge, armed to the teeth and surrounded by defensive traps. Their losses had been too severe and too quick, and they now stood little chance of victory. If there was salvation to be found, it would arise only from strategy.

“We have to scout them out,” announced Judy, rising from the cot, her cattle prod in hand.

“Sit down, Judy. You’re our leader.”

“So what? It’s not like we have much of a choice.”

Keith stood up again and jumped in front of her way. “No, Judy. You need to stay here, for the good of the team.”

Judy backed away. “Stand down, Keith. I need to contribute.”

But still he stood his ground.

“Fine.” Judy swung out the cattle prod and zapped Keith in his side, eliciting startled screams from Mindy and Julia.

Judy Goodheart sprinted through the woods, desperate to find something that would salvage a victory for her team. Persuading her friends to risk their freedom over greed was the worst thing she had done in her life. Already half had been captured and raped, and she knew that within the enemy headquarters Elizabeth Monseto was devising a plan to claim the rest, all part of the slow but sure domination by the upper class.

Things weren’t always like this. Long before Judy was born, the country was a land of the free, where the poor could rise from the masses and succeed in life. It was a world she had only learned in history class. Since that Supreme Court decision nearly twenty years ago, everything had changed. Now that people could be owned and treated as trash, affluent society twisted and distorted, slowly growing more corrupt and power-hungry.

Elizabeth Monseto was a sign of things to come. In any other decade, she would have been just an arrogant and condescending cunt, one that consistently thought herself better than the poor. But now there were other outlets her dreams and fantasies of unquestioned superiority. Though barely an adult, Elizabeth Monseto had proven herself as a sadistic and greedy bitch.

Judy shuddered at memories of Elizabeth’s threats.

“Do you think your parents would sell themselves if I brought them to financial ruin?”

“What’s the matter, Judy? Scared your little brother might die if he can’t get that surgery? My lawyer can sign up a contract if you want. Who knows, perhaps your parents’ health insurance will decide not to cover it… for no good reason, of course.”

“Wouldn’t it be great if my Daddy bought your mortgage?”

Judy knew such coercion for means of forcing a contract were illegal, but it didn’t matter. Even if somebody could afford a lawyer to sue, and win after years of legal battles, extensive damage would already be done.

It needed to stop. Though Judy had promised her team that each of their captors would be sold for ransom, she had no intention of unleashing Elizabeth Monseto back into the world. She knew the atrocities that the arrogant bitch would unleash if she were allowed to roam free, and if preventing them meant keeping the spoiled bitch in a cage for the rest of her life, so be it.

And, in a way, it was worth the risk. Though she gambled the lives of sixteen friends, she knew that far more would be enslaved if Elizabeth Monseto were allowed to live the life of her dreams. The Monseto Corporation was huge, and if that wealth fell into the hands of the sadistic daughter…

Everything was on the line—both her life, and the power to stop a genuinely evil bitch from having her way with the world. Through the trees, she could see Rowan Prep lodge.

And with a shock to her side, Judy Goodheart collapsed to the ground, waylaid by those she wished to defeat. They shocked her over and over until she could barely move, but they did not pull her tag, instead picking grabbing her wrists and dragging her through the twigs, leaves, and brush.

Judy Goodheart had been defeated, though her captors were hesitant to make it official. She still had a role to play in the sadistic game, one she would learn about in just a few moments.

++++

Elizabeth Monseto was in her chambers when a commotion erupted from among her friends and captives.

“We got her!” yelled a familiar voice.

The meaning of his word instantly lifted her spirits and squelched her ruminations on how to defeat her enemies. She turned to her friend and commanded, “Get the camcorder. I want those pieces of shit to see it live.”

She descended down the chambers of the main hall towards her archrival. Judy Goodheart dangled limply, her arms held in the hands of Will Powers and Trevor Gates.

“Hello, peasants,” taunted Elizabeth Monseto staring directly into the camcorder. “I have something I want you to see.”

The camera turned to Judy Goodheart. She was held firmly by both arms from two much larger men. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Her lips contorted in misery and she wailed uncontrollably. Behind her were a line of urinals, revealing the location as the first floor restroom of the Rowan Prep lodge.

“Do you see what this is, peasants? We have your queen. Do you know what this means?” She paused. “Let me explain it to you.

“From the moment you were born into the lower class, you were destined to serve us. However, up until this week you had the slightest chance living a life of freedom, . But from now on, things are going to be different.” Her voice slowed with emphasis. “The game is over. You’ve lost. You’re going to spend the rest of your miserable little lives as our personal sex slaves, destined to experience nothing but misery and suffering. For so long you cunts and shitheads defied our superiority, mocked us openly, acted as if you were our equals. But no more. No, for the rest of your days, you will gaze up at us from your knees, each moment regretting the day you decided to play this game.”

The camera turned back to Judy’s neck and focused on the collar. With expert showmanship, Elizabeth plucked the tag from Judy’s neck. Instantly, the queen’s body went limp. However, the camera did not retain focus on the victim. Instead, it followed the tag as Elizabeth turned around and entered one of the bathroom stalls. She held it down to the rim of the bowl and with an accentuated flick of her fingers let the tag slip into the toilet water.

And with a flush of the toilet, the boys and girls of Seven Saints High School lost all hope of victory.

Elizabeth Monseto broke down into uncontrollable laughter, her wide blond locks bouncing up and down along with her massive tits. “Enjoy your last six hours of freedom. The moment the clock runs down, your lives of hell will begin. How shall it start? Oh, I know. We’ll line your limp bodies up in a giant circle and wake you up, one by one, to gangbang you into submission. Whether or not it is rape is up to you—but I sure hope it is…”

Her laughter erupted again, this time even more insanely. Her back arched and every uproarious gust of breath revealed her absolute malice for her enemies.

The camera returned to Judy Goodheart, laid out on her side on the bathroom floor. Why did her captors not use her body like they did the rest? Why did they let their biggest enemy rest in peace?

They were saving her for last.

FREEDOM: Class Warfare

Part Five

The Countdown

Thoughts? Encouragement? 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.

There is no doubt in my mind that eighteen years of age is not old enough to make such monumental decisions. When pundits and philosophers sit down and wax poetic about the right of humanity to determine it’s own fate, they aren’t imagining hormone addled eighteen year-olds. As a high school teacher, I think I can truthfully say they’re a bunch of morons.

-Luisa Aldridge, English Teacher, Sexton High School

++++

The countdown began, leaving the last few survivors of the team from Seven Saints in shock. Like the sudden unforeseeable death of a loved one, each of those students faced a gaping wound in their life for which they could barely envision the consequences.

“That’s… it?” asked Mindy Holdings as she stared up the timer overlaid onto the image of Judy’s degradation. “We lost?”

Keith Hayes voice shook with rage. “Shouldn’t have trusted that bitch.”

Mindy turned to admonish his swearing, but stopped. If there were any time to be angry, it was now. In an instant, everything had changed, and frivolities like swears didn’t matter any more.

“How about one last dance, Julia?” asked Keith.

“Wha… what?”

Keith pulled Julia closer and kissed the base of her neck. “We might as well do it while we have the chance, you know?”

But Julia Wurtle wanted no part of the hoodlum’s antics. “No! I’m not going to do that!”

He whispered into her ear, “You’re going to lose it anyways, honey, so you might as well give it up willingly.”

“Stop that!” she yelled as she jumped between Keith and his prey, but a swing of his arm knocked her back and onto the floor. She steadied herself, but Keith had already lifted Julia from her feet and sprinted for one of the side rooms.

“Help me, Mindy!” yelled Julia, her words muffling behind a door as it slammed shut.

Mindy Holdings threw her weight against the door, but it did nothing. The combined weight of Keith and Julia held it shut. “No…” She was helpless to answer the pained whimpers from mere feet away. No matter how much she pushed and slammed, the door would not budge. Defeated once again, she sulked away to one of the rooms upstairs and contemplated the state of her existence.

Only hours remained to her life as a free woman. She thought of her deceased parents, the couple of famed writers that had squandered everything in their dying years, leaving their only daughter alone and broke after their deaths. Mindy cursed them under her breath, but knew it was not entirely their fault; the literary world had changed beneath their feet, and their income completely dried up as they joined the long list of forgotten authors.

Her thoughts soon drifted to her friends, or the lack thereof. Just as in her family life, the social life of Mindy Holdings was desolate of anybody that actually cared. Year after year, she sat in the back corner of her classrooms, writing prose in emulation of her parents’ style, making no attempts to befriend her classmates or participate in classroom discussions.

In the end, her lack of effort paid off, and at the age of eighteen she had not a friend in the world. When Judy Goodheart made that impassioned speech to rally the troops to defeat Rowan Prep, Mindy was the first to make up her mind. All she desired was the prospect of money, fueled by a distant wish to return to the splendor of her parent’s successful youth. She had become greedy in her isolation and would soon reap the consequences of her sin.

But despite the doom that hung over her life, there was still a good deed for her to perform. She grabbed her cattle prod for self defense and visited the rooms where the losers of both teams were kept.

Walking from victim to victim, one by one, Mindy Holdings made her amends, unsure if her words meant anything but still apologizing profusely.

“I want you to know I’m sorry for what my team did to you,” she said, over and over to each of the men and women that had spent days getting abused as part of a misguided strategy. “I tried to get them to stop.”

Would her words do any good? She knew it was unlikely. Her life would be theirs, and there was no reason for any of them to show mercy in exchange for platitudes. But still she pushed on, resolved to do everything she could to right her wrongs while she still had the freedom to try.

When her rounds were complete, the clock showed only thirty-eight minutes remaining. She tried to think of what to do with her last half-an-hour of freedom, but could think of nothing.

And so, she ran. Ran out of the lodge, into the woods, as fast as she had ever run in her life. There were limits to her flight, she knew, but with so little time left to be free her destination didn’t matter. A final act of freedom.

Two miles out from the lodge, her collar shook—a warning against the encroaching barrier. But she continued to run, her feet flying through the air weightlessly.

Another mile out, and the collar began to shock her. The barrier was coming close.

She sprinted deeper into the woods and the shocks grew longer and harsher, but they were not enough to stop her progress.

Only when she crossed that invisible barrier did the her motion and the shocks stop. The sedative quickly crippled her body and sent her stumbling onto her side. Alone for miles around, she rested there in the twigs. Though helpless, she could still savor the peacefulness of the natural world. The end would come any minute now.

Sirens blared, just as they had with the attempted murder of the prior day. Seconds later, a second set of sirens overlapped the first, beating through the woods with an ominous whir. The game was over, but something else had happened.

FREEDOM: Class Warfare

Part Six

A Much Deserved Victory Celebration

Thoughts? Encouragement? 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.

So now people are saying eighteen is too young to sign one’s life away? It’s old enough to sign up for the military, and that’s a life-changing contract if I ever saw one.

-Michael Whitman, Peace Activist

++++++

Sadness overwhelmed the students of Rowan Prep as they coped with the loss of their dear friend Danforth. They had thought their victory was complete, that the game was won with the capture of Judy Goodheart, but a last ditch effort by a doomed soul took the life of classmate, teammate, and lover. Though the screens inside both headquarters bore news of their victory, they also flashed with the departure of Danforth Wales the Third.

Whatever impact the death had on Elizabeth Monseto, however, was shirked off with barely the slightest pause. Like all other tragedies, this one too would be turned to her advantage. “Isn’t it time we make them pay for what they did to us? They act all high and mighty, criticizing our supposed immorality, but which team here resorted to murder? They’re supposed virtue is a sham.”

Only six of her teammates had survived the ordeal unscathed, the rest captured, beaten, or raped by the callous students of Seven Saints High School. Now it was time to clean up, put their failures behind them, and celebrate their victory in one glorious debauched feast.

A team from Property Management Technology greeted Elizabeth and her friends. “Congratulations on your victory. There is a bit of business that we must discuss before the results are finalized. Mind if we all sit down to sort through things?”

Mercedes Quanz wiped tears from here eyes. “Can’t we just go be with our friends?”

The representative motioned her hand to the couches. “Please. That is something that we must discuss.”

++++++

“So everybody but us is a slave now?”

The representative responded as her assistants looked on. “Not quite, Miss Monseto. They are the ‘losers’, as defined in the contract, and it is the responsibility of the remaining members whether to free them, or retain their implicit contract for slavery. Furthermore, there is the issue of those currently being questioned by local authorities. Sean Oak and Joshua Grump will likely be charged with the attempted murder of Gwyn Thyme. Keith Hayes might be facing the death penalty for murdering Danforth Wales. Gwyn Thyme looks like she will be making a speedy recover from the attack, and is expected to be in good condition with a few days. The rest is up to a vote between the rest of you.”

Elizabeth mulled over the consequences with a smile. Not only were the Seven Saints students doomed to be slaves, but she also had a chance at enslaving her own teammates. They deserved to be slaves, after all. The game was survival of the fittest, and those that lost warranted no better treatment regardless of what team they were on.

She dismissed the thought. Her friends would never go for it. They were too mired in interpersonal relationships and friendships to condemn their own. However, there was one that deserved whatever fate befell her.

“Angelica Chenowitz.”

“What?” asked Will Powers.

“Angelica Chenowitz must pay for what she did to us. Our friends were raped because of her.”

The five teammates nodded in agreement. With a stroke of her pen, Elizabeth Monseto placed an X in the box beside Angelica’s name, signaling that her contract would be retained. Elizabeth scanned the rest of the list and checked the names of the Seven Saints students, as well. In all, ten women and five men would become the joint property of the fifteen Rowan Prep students, each holding an equal share of each slave.

“Is that all, then?” asked the representative of PTM. “Good. I’ll return to the control center and enter your decisions. You have twenty four more hours to use these facilities as you see fit. Congratulations, and enjoy your victory prizes.” She and her cohorts left the lodge and returned several minutes later with two pushcarts carrying two suitcases and three sets of stretchers.

Elizabeth opened the cases and smiled. One of the contents was completely expected, but the other made her mind swirl with sadistic possibilities. It was going to be a fun evening.

++++++

The pitiful losers of that fool’s game were left strewn across two buildings and the surrounding forest. Though given enough antidotal syringes to the collar’s sedatives, Elizabeth insisted that it only see immediate use on their fellow victors, for she had a special induction ceremony envisioned for her precious new possessions.

A quick shot of the antidote was enough to revive their incapacitated comrades. Though the boys sprang to their usual selves within minutes, the three women did not respond well to the sudden regaining control of their bodies.

“I know how heart broken you may be, but if you want revenge, now is the time to get it. Just don’t do any permanent damage.”

The sun was beginning to set when all the bodies were gathered inside the lodge’s main hall. Each was left leaning against the wall, still sedated, their heads carefully positioned to stare at the two beds dragged and placed dead center in the central hall. However, one girl remained outside the circle, her role in the evening pageantry a unique one.

Judy Goodheart, Senior Class President of Seven Saints High School, hung from the upper balcony by her heavily taped wrists. Her long green-skirt still remained, but her sweater and bra were long since cut to ribbons, leaving her 36C tits completely exposed to both friends and foes. Tears streamed down her cheeks and pained sobs escaped her throat.

Satisfied that everything was perfect, Elizabeth Monseto addressed her new human property. “Aren’t you all glad you listened to Judy Goodheart? Your beloved class president had you convinced that you could beat us, that you could ransom us to riches. Tell me, how does it feel to have lost everything?”

But the boys and girls only stared at her blankly, unable to respond with anything more than muffled groans and slight contortions.

“Do you understand the magnitude of your mistake? Until you listened to her, you stood a chance of living a free and happy life, but you squandered that opportunity out of greed. You’re going to spend every day of the rest of your miserable little lives being used by people better than you. Today is the day it all begins.” She walked over to Melissa Sinclair and grabbed a fistful of her hair. “I think we’ll start with this one.”

And thus began the sad, pitiful cycle that would continue throughout the night. One by one the girls were dragged to one of the beds, gagged with tape, and mounted before being injected with the antidotes. They squirmed and moaned as their new owners took turns dumping load after load into the cunts and assholes, but there was no way for them to fight back. Their lives were at the mercy of Rowan Prep, just as they would likely be for the rest of their lives.

Melissa Sinclair, best friend of Judy Goodheart, was the first to be officially inaugurated into her life as a sex slave. In her free life, she was a verifiable genius, thinking tirelessly of the future and how to make the most of her family’s little resources. But in her new life, her intellect would not matter at all. Only her small and defenseless body would determine her fate. Her three brothers, four sisters, and single mother would feel regret for decades, believing that their inability to take care of themselves had pushed her into risking everything.

When her body was spent, the men dumped her onto the floor, her hands still bound and mouth taped over. Cum covered her face and clouded her glasses, hiding the tears of misery that slid down her cheeks. Blood tinted the fluid that spilled from between her legs, a sign of the honor plucked from its natural place.

The next victim was Mina Patel, one of the few Indian students that attended Seven Saints High School. Though she was the school’s star badminton player, her hopes had recently been crushed by a stream of rejection letters for every scholarship she had applied for. Without a victory against Rowan Prep, there could be no college for her. And so she placed everything on the line, and lost.

When Rowan Prep finally allowed her a break, her brown eyes were wide with shock, her body stretched and sore in ways that she had never imagined. Her broken body and mind were left on the floor, forced to watch and hear the punishment of all that would follow.

The third to fall was Julia Wurtle, the only member of the Seven Saints team that could be considered fat. She had tried to control her weight, but failed at each attempt. Throughout all of High School she was utterly dateless, but now her weight problems were unfortunately not the repellant that they always were. Just like those that had fallen before her, Julia was sandwiched between a stream of boys and raped until they had each gotten their fill. She collapsed to the floor, her long blond hair and big tits splashed with the men’s cum.

The fourth girl to be destroyed was Kelly Rottweiler, the closest Seven Saints had to a stereotypical mean girl. Six feet tall, blond hair, blue eyes, the only child had a natural advantage over most of her competition, a fact that she never let go unknown. But in captivity, she was just the same as everyone else—an unwilling fuck toy to be bounced up and down on as many cocks as time and stamina would allow. They grabbed her flesh with great ferocity until they lost interest and dumped her body alongside the rest.

Fifth came Mindy Holdings, the writers’ daughter. Always a loner, she had never even been touched by a boy in her life, but she quickly learned to detest their groping hands. Her ratty clothes and dirty hair mattered no longer; she would learn to be a prostitute, just like the rest of her classmates. Fueled by greed to regain the wealth squandered by her parents, she made a foolish and immature decision that would haunt her for decades.

Delores Clamp was already broken before that ceremony began. She was never strong enough to survive in the real world, free of her parents’ protective arms. Ever the follower, she had only registered for the game because her friends did, but when things went bad her mind almost completely shut down.

And then there was Holly Oak. Tall, aloof, and homely, she had a natural beauty that could have made her famous. Alas, her family had trained her that sexuality was a sin, and she had forsaken everything for a life of chaste solitude. But her parents’ wishes no longer meant anything. Her big bare tits bounced and swayed with each violent thrust, her mind slowly becoming used to the world of pain that would become her life.

Gertrude Bentz was the most naïve of them all. She had never even considered the brutal consequences of failure, foolishly believing that her life would be spent as a peaceful house slave like on her favorite TV show. Now, on the night of her failure, she was learning the harsh realities of life that her overprotective parents had hid her from. Her screams died quicker than any of her friends’, and the empty gaze in her eyes betrayed the mental toll that even a few minutes of extreme hardship had wrought. Curled on the floor, covered in her cum, she stared of vacantly into the distance, her consciousness having already retreated to the depths of her mind.

And then there was the traitor, Angelica Chenowitz. She thought she was smart. She thought she could get away with scheming with the enemy. Already she had suffered greatly for her crime against her teammates, but it was not a sin that would soon be forgotten. The men ferociously tore at her body and raped her ass and cunt, but that was not enough to satisfy their anger. The pinched, punched, and kicked every inch of her body, but still it was not enough.

“Would you girls like a chance at her?” asked Elizabeth Monseto. Her girl friends smiled with glee and pounced on the gagged and bound traitor. They pulled her hair, pinched her nipples, stretched her body in unimaginable ways. Of all the brutal events of that sorrowful evening, none matched the outright torture of Angelic Chenowitz.

But those unlucky women were not the only victims of that cruel ceremony. The men, too, were unfortunate human specimens. When Property Management Technology left those suitcases behind for Elizabeth to administer, it did not only include the antidote to the sedatives, but also aphrodisiacs designed to grant the physical status necessary for a sex. One by one, the remaining men of Seven Saints High school were led to that center bed and spread eagle on their backs. Their wrists and ankles were bound with cloth and tape to the corner bedposts, their mouths gagged with layers of tape just as their female classmates.

A simple injection to the base of the neck forced their cocks to life. They were almost all rapists that had taken joy in the defilement of Rowan Prep’s women, a sin that was remembered by all. Though cock riding was not punishment in the way the women desired, they made sure that they spent their time in a world of pain. With tape wound tightly around their balls and dicks, the women bounced up and down until the cocks were sore and red. Tears streamed down the men’s cheeks, but there would be no mercy.

And when the party was over, fourteen human failures lay scattered across the floor wearing nothing but tape and the tattered remains of their school uniforms.

But one failure had thus far been spared. Taped to the support beam, the unfortunate Judy Goodheart could only watch and absorb the consequences of her childish rivalry. Rape, defilement, torture, degradation—all samples of their lives to come.

Her punishment would prove to be the worst of all.

FREEDOM: Class Warfare

Part Seven

Game Over

Thoughts? Encouragement? 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.

No good can come from this decision. It will be heralded as a monument of human freedom in the short run, but the coming decades will inundate us with a constant stream of atrocities born from today’s ruling. There is no doubt in my mind that it is the worst Supreme Court judgment in nearly one-hundred years. I wish I were wrong, but this is the beginning of a truly horrific era for the United States.

-Hannah Goodheart, Columnist for the Wickerton Bee

Judy Goodheart hung from the balcony of her rival’s lodge, her arms spread to her sides and bound with layers of packing tape. Though her lips too wore the same brown gag as her friends and classmates, it was not yet needed.

“Cut her down,” commanded Elizabeth Monseto as she stood among the defiled bodies of her victims. “It’s time for their queen to suffer the same fate as her peasants.”

Two men climbed to stairs to the top of the balcony and snipped the reams of tape that kept Judy suspended. She dropped to the floor in a heap, all the while her glare landing wherever the weight of her head would allow it.

“Bring her here.”

Her classmates complied. They slipped her arms behind their shoulders and dragged her to the center of main hall, forcing her to her knees, surrounded by her new owners.

Elizabeth Monseto grabbed a clump of the girl’s hair and pulled it up, forcing Judy to look up at her. With a quick stab of a needle, movement returned to the captive’s muscles.

“How does it feel to have fucked up your entire life?”

Silence. Though it had been hours since the brutal celebration had begun, Judy’s cheeks were still flush red.

Elizabeth slid her hand down Judy’s cheek and grabbed a corner of the tape gag. “Oh, that.” With a clean and painful tear, it was gone.

“Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”

Elizabeth smiled. She stared down at her slave with pride and gave her first command. “Why don’t you apologize, Judy?”

It took her a few moments to regain her composure. But still, she continued, sobbing and stuttering the entire time. “I… I’m so sorry! I’m sorry! Oh my God, I… I… I’m sorry. I thought we would win, I swear!”

The eyes of her classmates all stared back at her with contempt.

“Please… I thought we would win. I was certain of it.”

“But you lost.”

“I…”

“Tell them what’s in store for them.”

“I…”

“Tell them they are going to be slaves for the rest of their lives and that it’s all your fault.”

“You’re… You’re going to be slaves for the rest your lives… and it’s all my fault!”

“Louder!”

“It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault! It’s all my fault!” Her words echoed throughout the room as everyone, both her friends and enemies, watched in stunned silence. She meant every word of her confession, and the intensity of her voice carried that to everybody that watched. Judy Goodheart, senior class president of Seven Saints High School, daughter of two loving parents and big sister to three younger siblings, was no more. Lured by the temptation of money to ensure a good life for her impoverished family, she placed every thing on the line and lost.

It would be a decision she would regret for the rest of her life. That was something that Elizabeth Monseto would be sure of.

The silence was broken by the laughter of the enemy queen.

“Good job, Judy. Now, come over here.”

But Judy did not move.

Elizabeth took a step forward and rolled up her short black skirt. She was not wearing panties underneath, a strict violation of her school’s dress code. “It is time for you to learn, Judy.”

“What?”

“Don’t make me ask. A slave should know what to do.”

She turned away, and looked at the boys and girls that had squandered their lives because of her leadership and false confidence. Each and every one of their tortures had broken her heart. Compared to their suffering, her own torments would mean nothing.

Her eyes darted back and forth between her friends bruised, bloody, and cum covered bodies, and the shaven snatch of Elizabeth Monseto. The rival queen beckoned her closer, and at that moment Judy decided her own fate.

She would be a good and obedient slave. While her original wish was to rid the world of Monseto’s blight, it was no longer an obtainable goal. However, by pleasing her, sating her desires and occupying her time, Judy Goodheart could still bring some good into the world, no matter how much it hurt her body and pride to do so.

Judy Goodheart, eldest daughter of two kind and loving parents, crawled forward on her knees and buried her face inside her rival’s crotch. She didn’t know what to do, but she would learn.

But even the eternally lustful Elizabeth Monseto did not spend the entire evening enjoying the pleasures of her newest pet, for the failed leader was not her property alone. No, she belonged to the entire team, and they had a right to her body too.

Judy fulfilled her obligations without an extra tear. Though she was a weak and foolish leader, her resolve was true. She sucked their cocks and accepted them inside her while allowing the groping hands of man and woman alike. It took every ounce of strength to not puke at their revolting taste, but she swallowed her pride—and their cum.

It was only the beginning of Judy Goodheart’s new life. She was a very special girl, for few women can ever make such a grave mistake that leads to the enslavement of all her closest friends.

+++++++

That fateful, foolish, and immoral game ended with the defeat of Seven Saints High School. Tempted by wealth and fueled by greed, ten girls and five boys lost their freedom and became the property of their sworn enemies, doomed to a life of servitude.

But that is not the end of this story. Their adult lives have just begun, and there are countless threads of fate to follow, all of which trace back to this singular travesty-- stories of the misery that plagued the lives of the losers, of Judy’s unending regret for her role in the disaster, of the worldwide outrage sparked by that despicable game, of the brothel that was opened to meet the public demand, of the reporters that sought to document the travesty, of the coordination difficulties with having joint property, of Elizabeth Monseto’s mysterious disappearance, or the silver lining in the lives of those who once faced unending sorrow. Those unfortunate students from Seven Saints still have stories to tell, filled with rape and torture, but also a brief glimmer of human emotions and hope, always lingering at the end of a decades-long tunnel.

FREEDOM: Class Warfare

Part Eight

The Men of Seven Saints

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.

FREEDOM: Class Warfare

Part Nine

Graduation Plans

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.

The only reason I am here today is because I saw the future before anyone else did. I’m not smarter than my competition. I’m not a better businesswoman. And I am most certainly not a harder worker. I just got in the business on day one… and showed my upstart rivals not an ounce of mercy.

Trust me. It’s more that way.

-Lily Walter, CEO of Property Management Technology

A projected video filled the warehouse wall. Boys and girls dressed in green graduation gowns walked across a brightly lit stage with broad and innocent smiles, taking their diploma from waiting hands and posing for photographs.

Seven Saints High School Auditorium. Graduation Night. For decades it was a triumphant event, where the students, faculty, and families celebrated the end of one chapter and the beginning of another.

This year, however, was different.

The camera panned out, revealing seventeen empty seats among the graduating seniors, reserved for the failures that would never graduate.

Those boys and girls, with few exceptions, now sat in cages inside a distant warehouse, forcibly watching their missed graduations as cameras recorded their own responses.

Some cried.

Two yelled.

A few watched quietly.

Others slept.

Each reaction was unique in their own way, a subtle sign that within the broken bodies and demoralized spirits still rested unique souls.

“People really get off on this kind of thing?” asked Elizabeth Monseto to her special guest.

The woman beside her “You’d be amazed at the market for misery. Especially if the miserable are naked. Never, ever, underestimate an opportunity to generate profit.” The prison’s guest was Lily Walters, founder and Chief Executive Officer of Property Management Technology. She stood only slightly over five-and-half-feet, her hair shaped into a black bowl cut. She wore black-rimmed glasses and little makeup. “Once again, thank you for letting our people in to film this.”

“Oh, no problem. I love the notion of making them watch the lives they could have had. It will destroy them, over time.”

Lily froze in her tracks. “Please, Elizabeth, don’t say such vile things while I’m here. You shouldn’t be so intent on breaking them.”

Elizabeth snapped back. “These little worms deserve everything they get!”

“Don’t let your want for revenge blind way. Do you realize the gold mine you’re sitting on?”

“I’m not intent on making chump change.”

“Chump change? Are you that oblivious to the state of the world? Your game has made the news on every continent. Pictures of the human failures draw sympathy, pity, and prayers, while events like graduation and various anniversaries ensure that it won’t soon slip from the public’s eye.

“What does it matter how pissed the public is?”

“Sure, many, and probably most people regard you and your friends as monsters, but notoriety and fame go hand in hand. Do you understand how much people would pay to fuck Judy Goodheart? God, she might be the most famous girl in the world right now!”

“You mean make her a prostitute?” The conversation began to bother Elizabeth. She didn’t like being in the dark, led around slowly by a superior.

“Exactly! Or, almost, I should say. There’s so much more for you to offer than simple prostitutes.”

Elizabeth began to understand what Lily was hinting at, but parts of it still eluded her. “What’s the difference if we’re lending them out?”

“You’re ignoring the subtleties of seduction, Elizabeth. Most whores linger on street corners in the cold wearing next to nothing, giving whatever they can to scrape by an existence. But above that, there’s a higher tier, those that have spent years mastering the art form of making a man feel special. But here, here you have an opportunity for something else entirely. You own their lives, Elizabeth, and you can mold them in any way you see fit. Each of them can be their own fantasy, their own theme, tuned with years of training to be the absolute best that fetish has to offer. Think of it as the benefits of specialization without the barriers of human dignity.”

Elizabeth mulled over the offer. Since the moment she hatched her plan nearly a year ago, her only wish was to see the students of Seven Saints defiled and degraded, forced into deserved servitude, each of them on their knees begging for mercy that would never come. Now, another option sat before her, one that could turn her slaves into a source of continual income.

She didn’t need the money, nor did a few of her classmates, their families’ wealth so overwhelmingly large that they would never have to work a day in their, should they so choose. However, some did need the money, enough such that Elizabeth might lose a vote if that was what it came down to.

“Do you have any specific ideas?”

“Plenty, Elizabeth. Plenty.”

It would prove to be a long and successful business venture.

FREEDOM: Class Warfare

Part Ten

Judy Goodheart, Prostitute

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. Any resemblance to persons real or imagined is entirely coincidental.

Judy looked into the mirror once more, appalled by the woman that stood before her eyes. Scantily clad, wearing little more than black lace undergarments and a fine mesh veil, the young Christian woman looked more like a belly dancer than the pious and chaste woman she had always wanted to be. The foreign sensation of makeup caked her face, applied with the help of one of her owners. Her long brown hair hung in curls on her shoulders.

“My owners,” she muttered to herself, still not used to the expression.

Three weeks since she led her friends into a lifetime of slavery. Barely a moment passed without soul-crushing remorse for her role in that tragedy. The constant sight of her friends getting raped and degraded was enough to push Judy to the edge of sanity, but neither that or her own degradation were the worst parts of her new life as a slave.

It was the unending derision that hurt most. At all hours of the day and night, the boys and girls that placed their fate in her hands called out.

“How was the fucking, Judy?

“I hope it hurt.”

“You better hope we are never left along with you.”

“I hate you so much, Judy Goodheart.”

They were once her friends, but now she feared them every bit as much as her rivals from Rowan Preparatory Academy. They wanted revenge for her trespasses. She didn’t know what form that revenge would take, however, nor which she would prefer.

All through her schemes, she had acknowledged the possibility that her and her friends would spend the rest of their lives as slaves, though she regarded it as only the slimmest chance. However, it had to be done; without their help, there was no way they could have the resources to out strategize their enemies.

In the end it was all for nothing.

The reward for her failure was special treatment. Though none played a more important role in the loss, Judy was treated better and more humanely than her classmates, having procured a special place in Elizabeth Monseto’s cold heart years ago.

It made her feel rotten. Though constantly afraid of what laid in her future, she wanted to be beaten and humiliated, degraded beyond her limits. It was always her intention to control Elizabeth, one way or the other, but thus far she had failed to draw attention away from her friends.

Even more upsetting was the concerted effort to destroy Angelica Chenowitz, the traitor. Judy could only watch from her cell as the boys and girls of Rowan Prep raped and tortured her almost constantly. It churned her stomach to see such horrifying deeds perpetrated against a woman so young for such trivial crimes. Yes, Angelica had conspired to undermine Liz, and yes, Judy had knowingly allowed her to do it, but the tortures inflicted upon the traitor pushed Judy to tears.

If Judy could take everybody’s suffering unto herself, she would.

But Judy was special. The world knew Judy Goodheart by name. They knew all about her humble beginnings, her role in class government, her perfect GPA. In the face of her failure, her lifetime of success only accentuated the magnitude of her loss. Like a horrifying train wreck that slows the daily commute, the world wanted to see and understand the disaster that had become Judy’s life.

“You’re going to earn your keep,” Elizabeth announced one afternoon as they walked to one of the back trailers. “Someday, we’ll have our own brothel, but until then, this trailer is yours.”

She spent days alone in that trailer, untouched by the hands of Rowan Prep. Even though a camera mounted in the corner stole her privacy, the quiet solitude and comfortable bed were enough to feel like heaven. Her wounds healed and her spirit recovered. It was as perfect as she could hope for in the life of a slave.

The sabbatical ended with a knock on her door, just after sunset.

“Tonight is the night, Judy,” announced Liz. “Time to prove your worth.”

“What do you mean?”

She smirked. “You’ll see.”

Hours later, she sat on the bed, waiting for the first of many rendezvous. Did she follow Elizabeth’s demands? Or should she resist, instead drawing her mistresses fury away from her friends? The question soon slipped from her mind, the consequences of her actions too abstract to make a meaningful conclusion. She would do her job… for now.

A knock came on the trailer door. It squeaked open before she could welcome in her guest.

“Hello, Judy.” The voice belonged to a short man in his mid-thirties. He wore black pants and a beige button-down shirt, both several sizes too small and barely able to contain his flesh. He was not particularly fat, but the mismatch between his clothing and size showed his weight gain to be unexpected.

Judy stood from the bed to greet her guest, in accordance with the only advice that Elizabeth had given her.

“Show the guest a good time, or I’ll let you spend the night with your friends.”

She knew exactly what the cruel girl meant, though the veiled threat was not necessary. Judy had no intention of disobeying her orders. Not yet, anyways.

“Good evening, sir.” She gave a slight curtsy, grabbing the reams of green fabric that hung around her waist.

He smiled lecherously. “You’re even finer in person than in the photos,” he said, with a slight southern drawl.

“Photos?”

“Yeah, they’re all over the place. You’re famous.”

“For what?”

“For being a dumb cunt!”

The words stung, but she tried to keep her composure.

He stepped closer to her and slipped his right arm across the small of her back. “All of your friends are sex slaves because of your stupidity. Tell me, how does that make you feel?”

She wanted to confess her soul, to tell him how much it hurt, but she knew that was what he wanted. He was a sadistic and horny fiend. Misery would only make him more savage.

“What, no answer?” His left hand slid up to her bra. He slid his fingers inside, pulled down and exposed her nipples. “Very nice.”

She closed her eyes and took a slow and deep breath, fearful of his aggression but not wanting to resist. Even if he repulsed her, she was growing accustomed to being taken.

He grabbed her right breast in his hand and squeezed tightly, her pale and pure flesh oozing between his hands. He pulled her in tighter, lifted her off the ground and his lips onto hers. His tongue slipped inside her mouth, and she accepted it limply.

Never before had she felt so small. Though the man that held her was not a large, he handled her with ease. Within his arms she was utterly defenseless. She let him push her against the wall and let him grope every inch of her body. Why? Because she knew deep down inside that she didn’t have a choice. What would happen would happen, not because God willed it, but because her owners did.

She thought it was going to be a routine fucking, a horny man that just wanted to get his rocks off and nothing more. However, it proved to be something far worse.

His left hand slid up to her throat and applied a bit of pressure.

“Hey…” she muttered, believing he was going for breath play. She had become familiar with erotic choking from her many encounters with Fiona Fiore.

He laughed into her face and squeezed a little bit tighter. “I’m allowed to be rough, you know, as long as I don’t leave many marks.”

“You’re hurting me…”

“So?”

She squirmed against his grasp, but his grip and weight against her held her firmly in place. It was going to be a night just like any other, her body used and penetrated without an ounce of concern for her humanity.

He pressed against her throat harder.

She gasped for air as darkness edged in from her periphery. She thought she was going to lose consciousness, but his grip loosened. Her lungs filled with air.

He grinned, and began the cycle over again, each time bringing her to the brink of lucidity and letting go. The man knew what he was doing, his fingers alternating between cutting off her blood flow and choking her breaths.

“You’re…” she muttered, but she lacked the strength to continue. The man’s brutal game of control robbed her of her will. She was putty in his hands.

She barely moved a muscle when he threw her to the bed and muttered nary a protest as he crawled between her legs and tore away her panties.

His cock was already hard, fuelled by his sadistic glee.

Judy Goodheart could feel his cock inside her, but it brought it did not feel like the rapes that filled the last few weeks, her thoughts too muddled to comprehend the moment. The man knew what he was doing, cutting off her circulation just enough to keep her dazed. Even if she were aware and capable, there’s no way she could resist. He pinned her down with his body and spread her tits against his chest.

His cock thrust in and out of her body, each forceful pound supported by the full weight of his body. He completely dwarfed her. Whatever he wanted to do with her body, he did without resistance.

With a grunt and disgusting breath, he came inside her and collapsed. However, his cock did not subside and his break was only temporary. Judy rested on her back, perfectly still, as the cycle continued, drug induced frenzies interspersed with moments of rest.

Even after he was finally done, she spent the night on her back lying perfectly still, the customer’s left arm sprawled against her naked chest. His very being repulsed her, but she knew that struggling would prove fruitless.

When she awoke during the middle of the night, he was gone. She fell back asleep, knowing that she would have peace and quiet until her body was next needed.

The muted yells of argument woke her sometime before noon.

“Get out of my way!”

“We need to talk about this some more.”

She recognized the voices as those of Elizabeth Monseto and Will Powers.

“I’m going to take what’s mine.”

“Not this week!

Judy peered out the trailer’s barred window from behind the thick curtains. Will held tightly to Liz’s upper arms, restraining her approach.

“I swear, I’ll…” cursed Elizabeth as she struggled against Will’s grip.

“You’ll what? She said you shouldn’t abuse them”

“Then fuck it! I don’t need the money.”

“But we do. Not all of us are as rich as you, and I’m much rather have her as a continuing income than a mindless fuck slave.”

“But she’s mine! I defeated her.”

“We defeated her. Don’t forget that. You’re not her only owner, and we can vote away your privileges if that’s what it takes.

Judy had no idea the circumstances surrounding her prostitution were so complicated. For the first time since her failure, she considered the logistics of having fifteen owners, each with their own intentions.

“I wouldn’t have given the cunt’s plan a shot if I knew I was forfeiting my rights to Judy.”

“Just for this week, okay?” His voice was low and soothing, as if he had much experience in comforting and commanding others. Will was tall, his body toned from whatever sport he pursued.

Judy never knew him before the game and did not know the details of his life. For all his skill in handling others, Judy resented him. Of all the men that spent hours between her legs, Will Powers was the worst. He barely treated her like a human being, never speaking a single word except in command. Judy had quickly learned that his demands were to be taken seriously, for his every wish would be supported with his fists. She had the bruises to prove it.

Elizabeth pouted and turned away, leaving her classmate guarding the door to Judy’s trailer. He stood there, waiting a few minutes longer, before following Elizabeth back in to the warehouse.

Judy let the curtain fall back into place. She knelt beside her bed and said a quiet prayer.

“God, grant me the serenity, to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can and wisdom to know the difference.” She crawled back into the bed, pulled the covers up over her body, and fell asleep peacefully.

Another night, another customer. With an hour’s notice, an outfit was delivered to the trailer that had become her new prison cell. It was a school uniform, but not one that she had ever seen before—its grey skirt only inched onto her knee, and the cut of the button-down vest accentuated her bust. She rarely paid attention to her appearance beyond being clean, back when it mattered.

Staring at herself in the mirror, a simple thought crossed her mind. Not a thought, really, but a fact.

She was pretty. Not just a little, but exceptionally so.

Was it the events of the previous week that seeded her mind with thoughts of sex? The topic was perpetually repressed, and she expected it to remain so until marriage, exactly like her parents and church expected of her.

That hadn’t lasted nearly as long as she had hoped.

Each day she rested, and each night she whored herself at her owners’ command.

Tuesday night was spent dressed as a schoolgirl, submitting to the whims of a closeted lesbian school teacher. Judy became an empty proxy for all of Ms. Smith’s perverted fantasies about her own students. From a loving embrace to reaming the teacher with a strap-on, Judy fulfilled her job without complaint.

The next night saw Judy Goodheart quadruple-teamed by a group of drunken frat boys. She was a graduation gift for the seniors of Pi Zeta Epsilon. The men filled her holes with cum and showered her body with piss. Though revolting, she played the role of teenage cum dumpster without resistance.

Her fourth night saw her on all fours, licking the clean and shaved cunts of a group of women in their forties. She couldn’t tell of they were lovers or friends, but they took delight in a their time with a celebrity slave as some sort of girl’s night out. Lesbians, sadists, or something entirely unknown, their motivations did not matter.

Life as a prostitute was degrading and filthy, but if she tried, she found sex could be pleasurable. That wasn’t always easy in the face of bizarre fetishes, but she got what satisfaction she could.

On the last day of Judy’s trial week Elizabeth dropped off a surprising outfit, one that Judy had never expected to wear again. It was a Seven Saints school uniform, exactly Judy’s size.

“Why this?”

Elizabeth smiled. “You’ll see.”

Just after sunset, a knock came at her door. A couple entered each carrying a duffle bag. They sat on the edge of the bed, side-by-side and holding hands, staring at Judy.

She could not tell whether their eyes held lust or contempt.

“Do you remember us?” asked the woman.

“I…” she was about to say no, but as the words came out of her mouth, recognition dawned on her. They were the parents of Logan Durst, one of the classmates she led into slavery. The apologies flowed from her mouth in an instant. “Mr. and Mrs. Durst, I…”

But they would have none of it. “Shut it!” Jeremiah Durst yelled.

The wife jumped in, “We offered so much money for a chance to meet with Logan one last time, but they refused us access. But Elizabeth, that mean bitch, let us talk to you instead, and for free.”

So it wasn’t prostitution, not a forced rendezvous. But if not for prostitution, what was the purpose of their visit?

Revenge. Pure and simple.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done to us?”

“Yes…”

“Liar!” Jeremiah yelled, rising from his seat. He raised his right leg, reared back, and booted Judy in the shoulder.

She fell back on to the ground, but did not even try to stand or even look them in the face. They had every right to despise her. It was her that led their son into slavery. It was her that started the game in the first place. If anyone was to pay for the game’s outcome, it was Judy Goodheart.

“What do you have to say for yourself?”

Judy looked up at Mrs. Durst and said calmly. “It is my fault that Logan can no longer be with you. I’m sorry.”

The mother rose and joined her husband, her boot landing in Judy’s ribcage. “You fucking bitch! You should be begging for forgiveness!”

But the time for tears was over. For weeks she had been forced to face her role in the tragedy. She begged for absolution a hundred times yet never received the slightest ounce of support in return. Her friends had grown to hate her over a single misdeed, and there was no conceivable deed that would reclaim their favor.

“Cry!” yelled the father. “Show us how much you regret what you did to our son.”

“I’m sorry,” she responded without strength or vigor. It was the truth, and nothing more.

Mr. Durst grabbed a clump of Judy’s hair and pulled her to her knees. “You don’t sound like you mean it.”

Judy peered up at her attacker and spoke slowly and clearly. “I do. You have no idea how many times I’ve apologized to Logan, but he won’t even respond.”

Blood drained from the mother’s face. “Is there something wrong? Can he not speak? Please, you have to tell us!”

The sudden shift in tone and power startled Judy, yet she responded as calmly as she had delivered her remorse. “He’s fine. The women suffer things far worse than the boys.”

“What’s happened to him?” asked Trudy.

Judy paused, unsure of whether the parents of a victim were better off knowing what was happening inside the private warehouse. However, she had never learned to lie well. It would be better to say nothing at all.

“Answer me!”

But she said nothing.

Both husband and wife opened the duffle bags in anger, each riffling through in search of some unseen item. A brief glimpse at the contents revealed the nature of the bags.

They were goodie bags from Elizabeth, filled with some of the same bondage gear that was strewn across the warehouse floor and cages. Some of the dildos still glistened with cum, while others showed the dull red patches of dried blood.

“So what are you going to do to me?”

The father answered with a calm voice. “Elizabeth came up with a few rules for our little discussion.”

Judy knew immediately what those requirements were, for Elizabeth Monseto never passed up a chance to sow rape and misery.

Mrs. Durst took the initiative, her face frozen in a malicious scowl. She slipped a strap-on over her denim pants and pushed Judy to the floor. “So this is what your life is like now, huh? And Logan’s?”

She couldn’t bring herself to correct the mother’s misconception. The captured girls of Seven Saints had it far worse than the men. Not only was there more interest in using their bodies, but there were far more options towards harming the female form within the letter of the law.

The husband stood by and watched silently as his wife grabbed Judy’s head with both hands and steadied it.

The plastic cock slid slowly into Judy’s mouth. She could smell and taste the rancid tinge of dried cum as it penetrated deeper and deeper into her mouth. It took all her willpower not to gag and just accept its presence, but she did all the way until it hit the back of her throat.

Mrs. Durst pulled it back out, then thrust it back in, again and again, the edge of the cock poking at the inside of Judy’s head.

“Mmmmmm!” Judy yelled, her protests muffled into the pink plastic. She had started the encounter wanting only to act as an outlet for the Durst’s pain and anger, but already she had regretted her compliance. She had no idea how bad things were about to get.

Mr. Durst knelt besides her and pawed at her body, caressing and groping her breasts beneath the green school uniform.

His hands slid up to her face.

Judy had no reason to think anything of his perverted actions.

A pinch of his thumb and index finger across her nose change everything.

With the dildo in her mouth and his fingers pinching her nostrils together, she couldn’t breath. She gasped for air, but only got the sputter of her saliva mixing with the dried blood and cum that covered the dildo.

They meant to kill her.

“They’ll consider it an accident. We’ve seen the type of sentences dished out to customers that go too far with prostitutes. We can deal with that.”

Part of her wanted to die, to accept the final disgrace of being murdered for her crimes. But even pure Judy Goodheart—the girl that had always espoused the potential of willpower—could not overcome her basic biological urges. She had to survive.

“How does it feel, Judy Goodheart?” taunted Mrs. Durst, her hips pushed forward as far as possible.

Her husband said not a word.

All hope seemed lost. Judy Goodheart relaxed her muscles and readied herself for a death that she felt she deserved. All those people, slaves forever because of her…

Her thoughts shattered with the thunderous crack of plastic. The trailer door burst off its hinges and amidst its remains stood Elizabeth Monseto. She was naked from the waist down and fluids soaked her inner thighs. Her right hand grasped a still coiled leather whip.

“What are you doing to my Judy!?” she yelled.

“We were just…”

Elizabeth dashed for Mrs. Durst with her shoulders lowered, knocking the customer backwards and pulling the dildo from Judy’s mouth.

“What the…” mumbled Mr. Durst as he held Elizabeth back from his wife.

“Get out of here!”

“Wait a minute. You said we could…”

“I told you to torture her, not kill her!”

“But…”

The lashes began. Elizabeth put several yards distance between her and the couple and unfurled her whip.

They didn’t even try to fight back. Within seconds, they were out the door.

“Are you okay?” asked Elizabeth.

Judy had never heard anything so caring from the evil bitch’s mouth. She nodded.

Liz extended her left hand to Judy and helped her to her feet. “Good. Now get cleaned up. This little experiment is over.”

But not forever. Though the brush with loss terrified both the mistress and her enslaved rival, the money earned would prove too tempting for the other owners.

FREEDOM: Class Warfare

Part Eleven

The Dehumanization of Angelica Chenowitz

What happens if a contract expires? There are protections against permanent physical disfiguration and dismemberment, but that doesn’t nearly cover the extent of possible damages. A human being may enter a contract… but what remains after the damage is done?

-Gregory Schultz, Professor of Philosophy

A rumble in her belly stirred Angelica Chenowitz from slumber.

Her first instinct was to stretch her limbs, but the touch of cold metal bars against her feet and palms constrained her from sating her urge. The reality of her situation returned to her mind.

The lights were on. They were always on. How long had it been since she was separated from the other slaves and placed in her own dog cage? A few days, at least. Maybe weeks. It was getting hard to remember such things, and none of her visitors would answer her questions.

From the moment Angelica Chenowitz betrayed her teammates many weeks ago, she doomed herself to a sorrowful fate worse than any student of Seven Saints. Betrayal was a dishonor far worse than any degree of opposition, and none of her fifteen owners would ever dare let her forget that simple fact. Her former classmates had been raped because of her, and for as long as she was the human property of her betrayed friends, her life would be defined by torture and disgrace.

Now, weeks after her failure, she was confined to a dog cage in the far corner of the holding warehouse. The days of aimless rape and fucking had passed. Each of the slaves was developing towards their true purpose as a slave, what CEO Walters would refer to as “Specialization of Resources.” What precisely those purposes were remained unknown, but every slave was being shaped and twisted to their own hidden fate.

Her hands found her water bowl. She picked it up and took a sip from it, spilling a bit on her chin in the process. The warm water flowed down her neck and onto her bare breasts. The only piece of clothing she still wore was a black dog collar with a tag that read ‘BITCH’, and she wasn’t even sure that counted.

“Shit.” She couldn’t say how long many hours or days it would be before her owners saw fit to giver her more water, and accidentally wasting some would be no justification to be granted more. She flipped herself over onto her hands and knees and shouted out, “What day is it?” Her voice echoed across the warehouse. She was certain her fellow slaves heard her, but they did not respond, just as they were ordered by their masters.

“Anybody?” she asked again.

“No talking!”

It took a moment to identify the voice from across the warehouse. The clack of heels on the warehouse floor confirmed her fears.

Fiona Fiore approached, her strides short and slow. She wore a long black dress that matched her hair both in shape and form. Like most days, she wore little if any makeup. A wide belt hung loosely around her waist. From one side dangled a short black baton. From the other, a large ring filled with keys.

Angelica shivered in fear at the cruel girl’s presence. “Fiona, I…”

“I said, ‘no talking’.”

Angelica quieted herself. Fiona was not a girl to cross. Not without a good reason, at least.

“That’s better.” Fiona slipped a bronze key into the cage’s lock and slid the door open. She motioned the slave out with her right hand, taking a single step backwards to clear the way.

It felt fantastic to be free of the tiny cage’s restraining bars. It felt like days since she last stretched her muscles. The slight pain came as an overwhelming relief. She sighed in pleasure and began to rise to her feet.

A sudden slap stopped her mid motion.

“Back on all four!”

“What?”

Another slap. “No talking!”

She fell back to the floor, and rubbed her cheek. “What is that for?”

“Doggies don’t talk. Doggies don’t walk on their hind legs.”

“I’m not a dog,” she spat back.

Fiona swung out the baton and batted Angelica in the side. “Yes, you are. Or you will be.” Even though Angelica was taller, Fiona’s weaponry and viciousness tipped the balance of power.

Angelica hunched over and fell back to her knees. The hit of the baton’s rubber tip stung, and she expected a bruise to form over the coming days.

“That’s better.” Fiona bent over and attached a pink leash to Angelica’s collar. With a slight tug, their walk began.

Though she had only been a doggy girl for a short time, calluses were beginning to form on her palms and knees. The impact of her flesh against the warehouse’s concrete floor still hurt, but she no longer felt the persistent pain of scratches and cuts.

Her dog cage had rested in the very corner of the warehouse ever since she moved into it, her previous cage resting completely unused among the rest of the teenage slaves. Though painful and depressing, she longed for a return to her days in the spacious cell. It had room to stretch, to lie down, and a far more comfortable bed than the tiny piece of furry foam she now used.

They reached the center of the warehouse within a few minutes. Angelica took her position atop one of the mattresses, knowing what would be expected of her.

Ten mattresses without box springs had been strewn across the warehouse within the first week of the slaves’ arrival. They were new and pristine when they arrived. Now, weeks later, they were stained and ragged with patches of red, white, brown, and yellow obscuring the original pattern embroidered into them. At first, the prisoners leered at the beds longingly, all wishing to sleep on something soft. Weeks of torment atop them ended such appeal.

Fifteen owners for sixteen slaves. Few of the masters and mistresses showed up every single day, but it was enough for each of the pets to live in fear, all knowing that they’re turn on the mattresses could be next. Not all of the slaves were treated equally, but none were completely spared.

Of the captive men and women, none had it worse than Angelica Chenowitz. The physical and verbal abuse was never-ending.

“Filthy, treacherous, traitorous cunt.”

“Dumb bitch.”

“Worthless scum.”

Angelica’s betrayal had led to the rape of her classmates. She understood the desire for revenge, but what she was forced to experience was something else entirely. The girls that suffered because of her did virtually nothing to harm her. Instead, she was targeting and feasted upon by the most cruel of the victors.

Elizabeth Monseto, the unopposed queen of Rowan Prep.

Fiona Fiore, a girl experimenting with her newfound sadism and lust.

Will Powers, a cruel bastard with few interests beyond sating his own desires.

They had no reason to hate Angelica, but they did, and they made sure to never let her forget that.

“Kneel,” commanded Fiona.

Angelica took her position on the centermost mattress.

“Good girl. Perhaps there’s hope for you yet.”

A voice from afar chimed in seconds later. “So there’s the little bitch.”

Angelica turned to see Liz walking towards them at a brisk pace.

“What has she done this time?”

“She won’t keep her whore mouth shut.”

“Have you thought about what we discussed earlier?” asked Elizabeth.

Fiona’s attention snapped to her friend. “Oh, you really mean it? That’s an option?” A grin crept across her face as she pondered the unspecified offer.

“If that’s what it takes, then absolutely. There’s no point in putting up with anymore of her shit.”

Angelica had no idea what they were talking about, but whatever it was would have lasting implications on her life, health, and sanity.

Fiona smiled and knelt besides Angelica, cupping the slave’s right breast in her right hand and giving it a gentle shake. “I like her tits. I’m glad we decided to keep her.”

“So am I,” responded a voice from behind them. It was Will Powers, entering from the same door Elizabeth had come from. “She’s got a pretty good body. Much better than what I expected from her.”

Angelica blushed slightly at the compliment. For all her efforts, she had never before been complimented over her looks. However, in her new life, natural looks were a defect more than a gift. Her thin frame and ample breasts helped put her among the most beautiful of the slaves. Both boys and girls alike used her body constantly, and though she lost count weeks ago, she believed herself to be by far the most abused.

She remembered the conversation between Elizabeth and the founder of Property Technology Management. Didn’t they say they’d end up prostitutes? Angelica believed she would be one of the most popular girls, being both beautiful and unique among the slaves as the only one from Rowan Prep. In the eyes of the world she was a traitor, and as the woman had said, stories sell.

She didn’t notice Will kneeling behind her, or that he had already removed his pants. Still, the touch of Will’s palm against the shoulder prompted her to lean on her hands and knees.

Oh my god. Did I just do that out of instinct?

It scared her to realize how far she had fallen in just a month. In a single month she had learned to obey by merely a touch, and she could feel herself already becoming wet in anticipation. She hated Will Powers, Fiona Fiore, Elizabeth Monseto, or anyone else that abused her, but it wasn’t quite as painful as it once was.

Still, she could not help to emit a slight yelp as his cock slid inside her.

Fiona and Liz stood on each side of her, waiting for Angelica to screw up and forget her inhuman role. Her resolve remained strong, and she thought she could hold out without uttering another word. Though only eighteen years old, they were completely independent. Without limits on their lives of any kind, their sadism would grow unfettered.

Out of the corner of her eye, Angelica could see Elizabeth’s hand moving around inside her pants. Her other hand kneaded her own breast through her tight red sweater. Fluids soaked through her brown Capri pants and nobody batted an eye, her insatiable lust and perversion completely accepted by both her friends and slaves.

Will’s speed and force intensified, the slaps of their flesh echoing across the warehouse. It hurt, but pain was Will’s specialty, his sadism and size proving a miserable combination for all of the captive women.

Angelica couldn’t take it anymore. “Stop!” she yelled.

“Don’t speak,” commanded Fiona. “The words of traitorous bitches mean nothing.”

“But…”

Fiona’s boot connected with Angelica’s stomach. “This is your last chance! Speak one more word and it will be your last.”

The severity of Fiona’s tone scared Angelica into line for the moment. Her attention returned to the probing hands of Will Powers as he grabbed her baseball sized breasts. A slight moan of pleasure escaped her lips. Though she had grown accustomed to a significant level of abuse, her nipples remained sensitive even after an entire month of slavery.

Will’s cock slid out. She anticipated another forceful thrust, but was surprised to feel his cock around her ass. His intentions were clear.

“Please… no…”

He forced his cock inside, and she doubled over in pain.

“Stop!”

But her words were ignored. Will gripped her waist tight and pulled her into him with each thrust, the grunts of pleasure and slaps of their flesh dominating the spacious warehouse.

All around her, the boys and girls of Seven Saints sat in their cages. Some watched, while others shirked away, wanting to shield themselves from the kind of sex that now defined their lives. How many times had their bodies been used? It was a horrible life to live. Their cries of pain and pleas for mercy would forever go unanswered, for they were getting exactly what they signed up for. It was not rape in the eyes of the law. They had all signed unending contracts of consent, and that made it legal forever.

Will pushed harder and Angelica bucked.

“Ahhhh…!” Though regular sex had its moments, anal never ceased to hurt her, especially when it was with Will’s cock. She was relieved to feel his warmth spreading inside her, if only that it would allot her a moments rest. She collapsed to the floor and regained her breath.

“So is that it, then?” asked Fiona.

“Yes,” responded Liz. “There is no hope for her.”

Angelica turned her head up to her mistresses. “What are you talking about?”

Fiona giggled. “We tried to get you to change your ways and accept your life, but you resisted every turn of the way. But not anymore. We own you, and our will is absolute.”

Something about their tone scared Angelica. “What are you going to do to me?”

“We’re going to take your voice. Make you a real doggy, once and for all.”

“No…”

“Who knows, maybe if all goes well, we can give you some drugs. There’s plenty of cocktails that can kill the mind. It will make you as smart as the dog that you are meant to be.”

The very concept horrified Angelica. She had contemplated her death at the hands of her owners, but the ordeal facing her now was too shocking, too bizarre for her to wrap her head around. An injection, one that could kill the mind. What did that even mean? Would she just become stupid… or would consciousness as she knew it end?

Intense fear and panic overcame her. She rose to her knees and clawed at Elizabeth’s blouse. “No, no, I swear, I’ll do anything! Please, give me one more chance! I’ll be the doggy girl you want me to be! Please, don’t do this!”

But the queen of Rowan Prep smiled. “You had your chance, Angelica. The world will be better off without your treacherous lies.”

She cried all the way to the doctor, but her trio of tormentors clearly took pleasure in her suffering. “Please, I’ll do anything!” Completely immobilized by chains, cuffs, and spreader bars, words were her only chance of escaping her fate.

The doctor’s office was a small storefront in an upscale neighborhood. Though the door labeled him as Charles Bowie, M.D., the private practice seemed unlike any office Angelica had ever been to. There was no receptionist’s desk or seating area, just a small lobby closed off by a thick metal door.

Elizabeth pressed the buzzer, and the door buzzed back.

Waiting in the hallway on the other side was the man Angelica could only presume to be Dr. Bowie. He was old, bald, and walked with a slight hunch.

“Ah, Ms. Monseto. Nice to see you again. Last door on the right. I’ll only be a few more minutes.” He disappeared into the nearest room. The quiet sobs of a woman could be heard emanating from it, drowning out the muffled conversation between Bowie and a client.

Angelica deduced immediately that he was a slave doctor. He likely specialized in procedures that, though legal, were frowned upon by major medical organizations. His expertise was in surgeries and treatments for unwilling patients. Even though slaves had rights, they had no recourse against doctors that overstepped their bounds. From procedures like sterilizations or breast and genital enhancements, to more rigorous changes like pigmentation or gene therapy, doctors like Charles Bowie would never say no a client.

The examination room held a variety of tables and equipment strewn about with no concern for safety or sanity. It didn’t look dangerous, but it still looked far worse than any clinic she had ever been to before.

They forced her into the gynecologist’s chair and strapped her wrists and ankles to the armrests and stirrups. She fought and against them with all her strength, but none of her efforts amounted to anything.

“I’ll do anything you ask of me!”

Fiona smiled. “All we ever wanted was your silence, and we’re going to get it one way or another.”

It was futile. They wanted her to never speak again so as to fulfill their perverted notion of a completely subservient pet girl. That meant never speaking, no matter the circumstance. Regardless of whether it was by medical procedure or her own willpower, the end result would be the same save the ease of reversing the outcome.

Will sighed. “Damnit, Fiona, you’re making me hot.” He stood beside Angelica and grabbed her left tit through the plain brown frock. “Do either of you mind?”

“No,” answered Fiona.

“Not at all,” responded Elizabeth.

Each of the girls slid their hands to their chests and waists, exploring their sensitive parts through their clothing. Both grew wet as Will assaulted their pet, and neither cared about the growing stains in their crotches. Nobody that would see them in their filthy states mattered.

For Will, however, his own hands were never enough. His cock only felt at home inside a woman’s holes. Any hole.

Angelica’s muscles tightened in response, but heavy bondage encircled her body. Leather straps held her torso, arms, wrists, forehead, thighs and ankles firmly in place. Though the bondage was designed for medical causes, it forced her to absorb the brunt of every violent thrust.

For some reason, Angelica doubted she was the only unlucky girl to experience a similar fate. Something about stirrups always gave her that mental image.

The doctor returned ten minutes later. By then, Will had blown his load, while Liz and Fiona continued to fondle themselves. Behind him followed a nurse in a short and tight red nurses uniform, pushing a cart loaded with scalpels, clamps, syringes, and other pieces of gear that Angelica did not recognize.

The magnitude of she was about to lose sunk in deeper, and in an instant she regretted everything--the betrayal, the game, even knowing Elizabeth Monseto in the first place.

Her mind turned to a single moment, months earlier. All of the girls of her class sat around the senior table inside the school lunchroom. Elizabeth sat at the center, sharing a story that none found funny but all instinctively laughed at. Angelica laughed, too. All she wanted to do was be part of their clique, to be accepted as one of them despite not having the same wealth or stature as most of Rowan Prep.

It would never be. From the moment they met, Elizabeth Monseto viewed Angie as a lesser being. One of them. A peasant. Nothing Angelica could ever do would change Liz’s opinion.

Even if she hadn’t betrayed her team and lost the game through regular means, would Elizabeth have been more kind? She couldn’t say, but she expected her to be doomed no matter what she did.

Elizabeth and Fiona. Never had she hated two human beings more.

The doctor finished the preparations beside her. He turned his head to Elizabeth and gave a slight nod.

“Do you have any last words?” Liz asked.

That’s what they would be. Her last words. The prospect scared her, but she truly believed it would come to be. But in her last moments she uttered the notion that dominated her thoughts.

“I’m sorry, Elizabeth.”

“For some reason, I don’t believe you.”

The doctor’s hand rose and pushed a mask against her face. Gas filled her lungs and weakness overcame her body.

Her two mistresses talked among each other as she slipped into darkness. She would not remember the conversation when it was all over.

“Can you really do that to her? The mind thing?”

“Of course we can.”

“What about the law? Is it reversible?”

Elizabeth smiled. “Some of the methods, sure, but so what? There’s not the slightest ounce these losers will ever be free again.”

Another giggle escaped Fiona’s mouth. “Perfect logic, Liz. I like it.”

And with that, everything faded to black.

When Angelica awoke, she was back in her cage. She tried to speak, but no sound escaped her throat except the hollow wisp of breathy air.

Her stomach growled. It was time to eat. She crawled to her bowl, bent over, and dug in.

FREEDOM: Class Warfare

Part Twelve

An Interlude: The Grand Opening

Thoughts? Encouragement? Hate? Email me at Razor7826@hotmail.com. I’m always interested in hearing from my readers. Any similarities to persons living or dead is purely coincidental, as is the case for all of my stories. It is intended for the eyes of legal adults only, and in no way reflects my views.

“It beats working the corner.”

-Amanda Holmes, brothel owner

The brothel was completed in less than two months time, built as cheaply as possible with the financier’s unusual requests. At its very core, it was an extensive modification of a long deserted factory on the city’s far north side, roughly twenty miles south of Seven Saints High School.

It’s proximity to the hometown was far from coincidental. Everybody in the school’s constituent towns openly cursed the visitors, but deep down many appreciated the economic upside of the students’ failure. It was their own faults, after all, and at least some good could come from their foolishness.

A cheap facade was placed around the old warehouse to hide its shattered glass, peeling paint, and chipped brick. Its structural support was important, but its history was most certainly not. It would be the site of countless stories yet to be created, and nobody would care about what came before.

Just inside the entrance was the foyer. It branched up a flight of stairs to the main lounge, and beyond that to private rooms on the third floor. To each side of the foyer were event areas. One was a stadium with seating on each side of a central arena, for any competitions that would be played with slaves’ bodies. The other contained a large amphitheater, each seat facing a theatrical stage.

The second floor lounge was little more than an elaborate strip club. There was a bar, a catwalk, and sixteen cages strewn about between tables. However, the back of the stage, hidden from view until needed, were devices to create shows far more interesting than the average gentlemen’s club. Bondage crosses, wooden horses, whips and chains—everything necessary for countless nights of sadism and masochism. Instead of paying the dancers for feigned affection, the patrons would pay for the right to abuse.

On the third floor was the great hall and private rooms. It existed almost exclusively for wish fulfillment. Slave fantasies of any kind were supported and encouraged, with each room designed with a different theme or fetish in mind. Bondage chambers, mental institutes, classrooms, hospitals, rooms for every kink that was common enough to be profitable. However, not all fantasies are bite sized morsels, and the great hall was for exactly those kinds of special events.

On the bottom floor, beyond three security doors, was the dungeon. There were more than enough rooms to hold each of the slaves individually, covering a wide array of sizes from only a few square meters to what appeared to be full-studio or suite apartments.

Elizabeth Monseto’s first desire was to shove all of them in as tiny boxes as possible and to keep them there forever, but her friends and colleagues persuaded her to do otherwise. A high-standard of living would be a much better carrot, they said, and they hoped that the constant appeal of a better life would be enough to get the slaves to do anything.

For some, it would be enough. For others, nothing could dominate their spirits.

With few exceptions, the cells were complete living quarters. Each had a bed, a bathroom with a shower, and personal amenities and outfits custom to its occupant. However, not all of the cells afforded a nice standard of living.

There more than enough punishment cells to hold the slaves. Seventeen were simple and barren cells. If the slave deserved a mat to sleep on, they would be given one. If not, they would spend the night on the hard and cold bumpy floor. In the smaller rooms, the slaves would not even have enough room to fully lie down.

At the far end of the dungeon was a selection of torture chambers. All three held varying assortments of cruel devices to fulfill the owners’ sadism and slaves’ nightmares. Racks, saw horses, and worse were positioned as centerpieces, but there were enough hooks and latches around the perimeter to restrain any extra boys and girls that needed to be punished.

Newly built offices, sleeping quarters, and storage remained hidden behind the main building. Maintenance of a functioning business requires many basic services, and the advice of Lily Walters helped them foresee the problems to come. There were janitorial supplies to keep the place clean, to be used by whatever slave was deemed fitting for the task. Accounting too could be performed by any slaves interested in earning their keep via a non-physical role.

It was the Seven Saints Brothel, where dreams and nightmares would become reality.

All of the owners from Rowan Prep sat at the main table of the great hall, their faces illuminated by the flicker of candelabras. Elizabeth claimed the head of the table. Will sat across from her. A great feast sat before them, funded by a single night’s pay of Judy Goodheart’s prostitution.

The underside of the table was even more crowded. Kneeling between the legs of most of the guests were the slaves of Seven Saints, sucking and licking at whatever was forced before them.

It was the last time they would all be together. Within the coming weeks, many of the owners would leave for college. Some would return, but others would move on with their lives, regarding the brothel as only a steady source of income. Still more would grow to view the entire slave business as amoral.

At least they had a choice. For the boys and girls of Seven Saints High School, their lives as slaves and whores were still only beginning. Few yet understood the fiendish roles they would be forced to play.

FREEDOM: Class Warfare

Part Thirteen

Seduction, with Greg and Lauren

Stop acting like all slaves are destined to miserable lives. A great many find true happiness within slavery’s constraints. That’s why they signed up for it, after all.

-Zelda Hawkford, Spokeswoman for Freedom to Decide, and temporary Slave-for-Hire

“Are you sure you don’t want a private room? It smells down there.”

Lauren Sandina ignored Fiona’s words and entered through the double doors directly across from the brothel’s entrance. The dungeon was not locked—it rarely was during off-hours—and she proceeded to the backmost rooms, passing only a few of the slaves. Most of the slaves were deemed no threat by their owners and allowed to roam the brothel freely. It was good for the muscles, or something—Lauren wasn’t sure, and didn’t really care.

There was only one slave that mattered to her, and she did everything to ensure that he remained locked in his cell. She still had business with him, and she would not allow anybody to get in the way.

Greg Barry cursed aloud. “What the fuck is she doing to me?”

He had not left his cell since the opening ceremony three nights ago. Or, more precisely, what he assumed was three nights ago. Mounted into the wall of what his owners called his “chambers” was a digital clock, showing both time and date. He wouldn’t put it past them to slow the clock down or speed it up, just to fuck with him.

What did he do wrong to deserve being locked in his cell? He could see and hear his former classmates roaming the halls. A few even stopped to speak with him briefly, but they quickly moved on to whatever duties they had around the building, few offering the cryptic message, “It was what Lauren asked for.”

“I’ll make sure you get something extra with dinner,” promised Judy Goodheart. She did not deliver.

Meals were bland mush of varying flavors. Everything tasted so bad that he knew it must be healthy. Still, he gobbled it up willingly, correctly believing it to be course correction from the horrible malnutrition and starvation from the weeks spent at the warehouse.

He was glad those days were over. For all that he hated his tiny cell, he at least had his own bathroom, bed, and amenities. The food sucked, but it was a hell of a lot better than the disgusting mixtures of bodily fluids that Fiona forced him to drink.

Fiona Fiore. Mere thoughts of her name and face made him slam his fist into the wall in rage. He hated everything about her. Her straight black hair. Her pouty glare. Her unrelenting cruelty. But what could he do? He had thought of strangling her during more than one pegging, but restrained himself each time, knowing that prison would likely be worse.

He sighed and awaited his new mistress.

She barely knew his name before the opening banquet, but she knew what he had done to her.

Why had she signed up for the stupid game? In ways, her loss still hurt her, but her own implicit approval dulled the pain ever so slightly. Her rape was the result of her own poor decision making, not some random force beyond control.

That did not fix her want for revenge. During the victory celebration, she barely made a move against her prone enemies. Taking advantage of them in their pitiful states felt wrong. They may have been the enemy, but she could not overcome her own sense of right and wrong.

It was only some of them, really. Many of the boys and girls of Seven Saints High School treated their prisoners with respect, abusing them with neither words, fists, or worse. It was only a select few that pushed things too far.

He was one of them. And not just that, but one of the masterminds. She could not forget his tan skin or black hair. Something about his mere existence beneath the brothel lit a fire in her soul. He belonged to nobody but her, and it would be up to her to avenge his wrongs.

The door to his cell opened. Greg looked up at Lauren Sandina and put on a fake smile. Everything about her seemed so unexceptional. She was not slender, fat, scrawny, or fit. All of her features landed somewhere right in the middle. Long brown hair, brown eyes, pink designer clothing that didn’t quite fit.

He remembered their little affair from the banquet. She had reluctantly allowed him to service her during the meal, kneeling beneath the dining hall table like most of the other slaves. Licking girls off wasn’t his idea of fun, but it was better than the outright torture delivered by the more sadistic girls from Rowan Prep. However, as the night drew on, she became more and more demanding of him, eventually pushing his face into her snatch with all her might. But when all was done, she parted with a smile.

Why had Lauren taken a shine to him? In the months since his failure, he had learned to smile at any owners’ remarks and laugh at their jokes, realizing that they would have far more difficulty hurting a person that pleased them in the slightest of social ways.

Lauren was different, though. He could tell that she thought of the slaves as real people.

“How are you doing, Lauren?” he asked.

“I’m fine, thank you. Have they left you alone?”

“Well enough. They don’t let me wander around like they do the others, though.”

“It was my order.”

“So I heard.”

She closed the door behind her, but it did not lock. “Now, get up.”

He did exactly as she asked, not wanting to risk upsetting her. He long ago learned the results of directly defying an owner.

She had no intentions of letting him loose into the brothel. He would be hers, and nobody else’s. To hold and torture, until she felt completely satisfied.

Would that day ever come? She didn’t know or care. It felt good to have the rapt attention of a man, even if at threat of violence. She crawled onto the bed and began to work off her clothes.

“What are we doing?” Greg asked.

“You’re going to fuck me.”

He nodded timidly, as if completely accepting what he was going to have to do.

Lauren removed her blouse, denim jeans, and panties, and set them on the nightstand. She spread her legs and commanded, “Do it, slave.”

That’s it, he thought to himself. All she wanted was for him to fuck her?

He crawled onto the bed between her legs and grabbed his cock in his left hand. It wasn’t ready yet, but would be soon. Even though preparation on a whim wasn’t as important for male slaves as it was for women, he had still learned the necessary steps to arouse himself.

It wasn’t that Lauren Sandina was ugly. No, anything but that. She just wasn’t entirely seductive, except for those that had a thing for clumsy and awkward women. Her skin and hair were nice, her dress befitting of her class, but she just didn’t know how to handle herself. She was perpetually awkward, without fail.

Whatever. Greg dove in, vastly preferring Lauren’s box to Fiona Fiore’s heel.

His cock was barely inside her when he felt her legs curl around him and pull him closer. She was not strong, but their presence was enough for him push harder; from the other dominants, it was usually a sign of disapproval.

“Unh…” she grunted with each thrust.

He leaned in further, and felt her breasts against his chest. His next move surprised them both, as he kissed her square on the lips.

She didn’t seem to min.

Their bodies ground together faster and faster as his kiss went deeper. Her body convulsed wildly beneath him in orgasm, then went slack as she no longer held him close. She smiled as she stared off into the ceiling.

Seeing her satisfied, he let himself go, collapsing on top of her in exhausted complacency. They rested together for several minutes before she left, not even sharing another word.

That was fantastic, Lauren thought to herself, unable to wipe the smirk from her face. She locked the door behind her and took her walk of shame through the brothel corridors, paying no attention to the slaves or co-owners that passed.

Something inside of her was stirring, but she couldn’t tell what exactly it was, only that it was an entirely new feeling.

***

“That fucking bitch!”

Even hours after her departure, he could still feel the whip on his behind.

It had been months since the opening ceremony, and Lauren’s interest in him had only intensified. He now understood the reason; she was among the first girls that he and his friends had raped, the night after she was captured in the trap outside the cabin. It was only meant to be a scare tactic, a tool to frighten their enemies into making mistakes.

For a while, it looked like it was working, but soon everything fell apart, and the rapists became the raped.

Somewhere along the way, Lauren had grown brutal in her pursuit of revenge. She would show up at all hours of the day carrying dildos, stun guns, clamps, gags, and chains, always with a precise plan of what the day’s punishment would be.

“Gyah!” he screamed one day as she was fucking him in the ass with a strap on, more out of frustration than pain.

She stopped. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah… I’m fine.”

“Oh.” She paused. “I think that’s enough for the day.”

She left him there, puzzled with her actions. Did she really not want to hurt him too deeply? Why?

For the rest of the day and throughout the night, he thought about what her actions meant.

“She cares,” he finally muttered to himself in his darkened prison cell. “She cares about my well being.”

With that in mind, he devised a plan. A test, of sorts.

Lauren was barely into her third lash of the whip before Greg was in tears.

“Stop!” he yelled, as he thrashed against the chains that held him to his bed.

Had she gone too far already? Was she breaking him? His newfound turn to strong reactions concerned her.

“Why should I do that?” she asked, doing her best to sound stern and powerful.

But he only sobbed in response.

Something about his pain hurt her. “That’s… that’s good for now. Do you want me to get you anything?”

“Just leave me alone…”

She did just that.

It was easier than he imagined. Screams of pain presented the illusion she had power. He did everything to make her feel satisfied. Crocodile tears were far preferable to real ones.

“Gyah! Stop!” he said, writing wildly to her meager whip lashes.

She stopped. “That’s enough for today.”

It was exactly as he planned.

Had she become more brutal over the months? Had she broken him to the point where the slightest pain caused even greater agony? No matter how much she wanted to see him suffer, she could not bring herself to push him beyond his limits.

The next day, too, he broke down in tears. Two days later, as well, and again on the third. His howls of pain echoed through the brothel’s halls. Friends and slaves glared at her in the hall as if she did something wrong.

It had all happened so suddenly, and it scared her. For an entire week she did nothing, living her life as a community college student without any midday or midnight visits to the brothel. Finally, she confronted him. “What happened? You used to be so resolute.”

“I can’t handle it anymore,” he said, his eyes overflowing with tears. “I’m done. I can’t take it anymore!”

She smiled. “So now do you feel bad about what you did to me?”

He couldn’t even look her in the eye. “Please, just kill me. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

His words gave her pause. He wanted to die? Had she really been that harsh to him? If her intent was to make him suffer for what he did to her months ago during the game, she must have long ago reached equivalence.

She sat down on the bed alongside him and place her hand on his chest. The whip marks were already swelling up, a clear reminder of the power she held over her slave. “Can I ask you something?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“What was going through your mind when you raped me?”

“I… It’s hard to say. We thought it would help us win, to scare your teammates into doing something stupid. The pain was not our intent.”

It was a lie, of course. Sure, it wasn’t his main goal. He was honest when he said they wanted to win. But inflicting pain and suffering to the snots from Rowan Prep was a long intended perk. All of the women he raped cried tears of newfound sorrow, and he enjoyed it. Their pain granted him solace, a nice little badge of accomplishment that he was upending the social structure. Besides, it was the only chance they would get. Once the game was over, the preppies would be ransomed off to their parents, and that would be they end of his power.

Lauren’s attempts did hurt, just not as much as she intended. She wasn’t incompetent, but she clearly did not have the knack for sadism and control that Fiona or Elizabeth did. Her demands were those of somebody that had authority thrust upon them. Her lashings were those of a woman who had been raised never to hurt another.

And what about his act? How long could he keep it up?

Lauren crawled onto the bed beside him and placed her arm across his chest.

He didn’t know how to respond. Something about her action seemed caring and tender. Were she one of his past lovers, and if his arms were not still chained to the bed post, he would have held her close to him and enjoyed the moment. She cared about his safety, and of cared about hers—at least a little.

What more could she ask for? She had broken him, pure and simple. Any will he had to remain strong in the force of torture had collapsed, and she had unlimited ability to push him to the brink of madness.

It hurt her. She hadn’t seen that coming.

Now overwhelmed by simple affection, she slid her left hand down to his junk. It took little effort to force an erection. “Are you ready?”

He nodded.

She threw her green lace panties to the floor and seductively slinked to his cock. Her body descended in one swift motion, his cock piercing her deep. The feeling of it inside her filled her with a fire she only knew from him. Before she knew it, she was gyrating her hips, grinding against him, doing the work that would bring them both to climax.

“Aaaaaaaaaah!” A loud moan of pleasure flew from her throat as her body began to convulse in beautiful climax. Her body flailed uncontrollably in pleasure. Exhaused, she collapsed atop the man that she considered her lover.

Her daily visits no longer involved torture of any kind.

In some ways, he was beginning to like her. But definitely not as much as she liked him.

It was that gradient in affection that gave him so much power.

But life still sucked inside his tiny room. No matter how much he did for Lauren, no matter how close she grew, she never moved him to a larger room. He was still confined to a room only slightly larger than a closet. All he had was his bed, a few square feet of standing room, and his bathroom.

It was a difficult game. Life was better than the days of being raped and tortured by Fiona or Elizabeth, but good enough to live the rest of his life like this? Hardly. His only ticket out was Lauren, a young and naïve girl that was too dense to understand she was being played. The little bits of subtle affection Greg threw at her were enough to win her lonely heart.

But how strong was his hold? Playing the role of helpless slave was easy. A few tears and a few moments of begging were enough for her to treat him well. Improving his hand in life would take far more thought and effort.

By the time he fell asleep, he had a plan. It was a good plan—if he survived.

It took days for him to get a chance. Sometime after three in the morning on what he believed was a Tuesday, he awoke to screams of pain from across the hall. He rose from the bed and slid open the eye hole on his cell door.

The screams belonged to Mindy Holdings, the writer’s daughter, who was in her own horrible predicament. Bound in chains, she was on her bed getting double teamed by Fiona and Elizabeth, assailing her from the back and front with what appeared to be large, studded strap-ons.

Both of the attackers wore full bondage suits, Elizabeth in red and Fiona in black. They wore thigh high boots, long gloves that extended to their upper arms, and latex leotards that fixed the shapes of their bodies and supported their breasts. Their preparations suggested that it was a planned midnight raid. Mindy must have done something to deserve it.

Elizabeth Monseto yelled into Mindy’s ear. “This is what you get for rejecting your job, you little bookworm bitch.” Her wide blond curls bounced up and down with each thrust, at their shortest just barely gracing her own shoulders.

Fiona added, “This is your job. Being afraid of men isn’t an excuse to resist. Not unless that’s what the customer wants.” Her sleek black hair hung down to the middle of her back.

“I can’t!” screamed Mindy, struggling against her chains and the grasps of her owners. “I can’t…”

“You’ll learn,” responded Elizabeth. “You have your lifetime ahead of you.”

Mindy shook violently, her frizzy brown hair swinging back and forth. “No, no, no!” Her pale naked flesh was a sandwich between the colored uniforms of Liz and Fiona.

He could barely imagine how much pain Mindy must be in. The dildos were long and thick, and both of their users pulled in and out in a perfectly smooth motion that seemed only professional. It was so completely controlled and aimed, as if the rest of their body remained perfectly still except for their hips, which they shoved in with all their might.

Greg watched silently as Mindy’s body began to shake, her eyes rolling black into her head. Despite the horrors being visited upon her, she was cumming.

“She’s a squirter, too,” remarked Fiona.

Elizabeth laughed. “Now was that so hard? You can get into it. Now all you have to do is do it with a man.”

They threw Mindy onto her side unceremoniously and made for the exit of her suite. But before they were on their way down the hallway, Greg stopped them.

“So is that how you cunts spend your time? Raping timid little girls like Mindy?”

Fiona stopped in her tracks and turned to Greg. “It’s been a while, Gregory dear.”

“And they’ve been the happiest months of my life. Your ugliness never fails to ruin my day.”

Fiona smiled. “Have you really missed me so much that you want me to beat the shit out of you?”

They unlocked the door and entered. Though neither woman looked strong, their punches still packed power. Fiona’s fist landed on his neck. Moments later Elizabeth’s connected with his bread basket. He dropped to his knees and gasped for air.

They spared no time in attacking him, their strap-ons still ready from their attack against Mindy. The plastic still dripped with the previous victim’s fluids. Elizabeth took his rear and Fiona his front, their fake cocks sliding in with ease.

He flailed his arms around, trying to get a hold on something, anything, that would free him from the attack, but he found nothing but Fiona’s thighs.

The dildo slammed into the back of his mouth. He gagged and screamed, but nothing escaped but a muffled growl. All her could see was Fiona’s waist as it bumped into his nose over and over as she shoved her toy as deep inside him as she could.

To his rear, Elizabeth did much the same. Her hands were clawed deep into his sides, using all her strength to leverage her thrusts. The dildo was far larger than the ones used by Lauren, and hurt him tremendously. But no matter what they did to him, he would stomach the pain. It was the only thing his plan yet required.

Fiona apparently grew bored of simple face fucking. She clenched her right hand into a fist and swung out at Greg’s shoulder.

Elizabeth chuckled, then followed suit, punching him in his lower back.

Skewered from both ends and violently assaulted, tears flowed down his eyes. It was the most brutal punishment he had ever experienced, and it was all on his own accord. During the first month of his captivity, he was just one of 17 playthings owned by Rowan prep. He was not special then, and remained that way to all but Lauren.

Tonight, however, was his shining moment. He wanted to be beaten and bruised, and he got exactly his wish. It was all for the greater good. His greater good. The only one that mattered.

“Never, ever talk to us like that again, Greg.”

If everything went as planned, he wouldn’t have to. He fell asleep, bloody, bruised, and in shock.

Lauren Sandina was completely unprepared for what awaited her at the brothel.

Greg was curled up beneath his blankets.

“Good morning, Greg. I brought breakfast.” She set the bag of bagels down on his nightstand. At that moment, she saw the blood and bruises. A gasp escaped her throat. “Greg?”

He looked at her, grunted, and turned away.

“What happened to you?”

“Liz and Fiona.”

“But I told them…”

“That doesn’t matter to them.”

She didn’t know how to react. Not only was her precious slave in no condition to do anything, but her friends and co-owners had violated their agreement. She stormed from the room without saying another word.

Elizabeth was in her office with the door open. Judy Goodheart and Tim Burrows knelt obediently by the side of her desk, naked except for the straps that comprised their harnesses, and thin fabric that covered the genitals.

“What the hell did you do to Greg?”

“Excuse me?”

“What the fuck did you do to my slave?”

Elizabeth laughed. “Your slave? He’s our slave. You have no right over him.”

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I want him to be mine. I’m taking him home with me.”

“No!” yelled Elizabeth Monseto. “You can’t just keep one of the slaves.”

“Well why not? I’m taking exactly my share, just split differently. Probably even less. Nobody cares about him, and I can’t trust you to leave him along.”

“This wasn’t the deal. It’s not in the contract.”

“So what?” It was the first time Lauren had ever stood up to her former social superiors. For years, she was on the outskirts of Liz’s clique, but none of that mattered anymore. She knew what she wanted to do, and exactly how to achieve it. “They’ll overrule you, Liz. From a financial perspective, you all are getting a much better deal. I’m taking my share of the winnings once and for all.”

Liz stood up and yanked on the two leashes that she held in her right hand, eliciting yelps of pain from her two favorite slaves. “I won’t allow it.”

“Every thing is determined by vote. You’re the only of us that’s so megalomaniacal that you want control rather than profits. There’s no reason for the rest of them to want Greg.”

“You’ll see…”

But Lauren Sandina would hear none of it. She turned and left the office, slamming the door behind her.

He didn’t see Lauren for days afterwards, leaving him stuck in his cell but for the brief contact with his passing slaves. Food came regularly, as usual, but nobody had any idea where Lauren had gone.

Had his plan failed? There was no way for him to know.

She finally arrived over one week later. “You’re coming with me,” she said.

“Where are we going?”

“You’re moving in with me. You no longer belong to the Seven Saints brothel.

“What? Is that even possible?”

“I relinquished my share in the other slaves and took only you.”

He didn’t even know that was possible, but it solidified his escape even more. Once he left the brothel, there was nothing Fiona Fiore could do to hurt him ever again.

“So get dressed. I can’t have my slave running around in public ass naked.”

It felt fantastic to be outside and unbound again. Though his life still belonged to another, the mere freedom to move his arms and legs freely was the happiest day since the pitiful game that nearly destroyed his life.

Lauren’s home was larger than he imagined. Two stories and built of brown-red brick, it had five bedrooms, five full bathrooms, and a furnished basement. Nobody else was home.

“Where are your parents?”

“My mom is out visiting friends. My dad passed away a few years ago, but left us well-taken care of.”

He pondered what impact the death may have had on her.

She led him the stairs, and into the first bedroom on the left. It was a guest room, holding a single bed and dresser. However, the bed was flipped onto its side, to make space the room’s newest edition.

Sitting before him was a full-sized cage from Property Technology Management.

“It’s a start, until we get something more permanent set up.”

Even a cage would be enough for now. He was not a free man, but it was better than the alternative. Even if he was abusing Lauren’s naiveté, that did not prevent him from having genuine feelings for her, no matter how small that affection may be.

FREEDOM: Class Warfare

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