Underworld Ch. 01

We were told not to speak unless spoken to. Of course, we knew that already. No one came through the doors of that house on Highbury Street without knowing the basics and usually more. We came with no clothing, no jewelry, no accessories or make up allowed. It was October that year that I arrived and we were allowed, or rather issued, a pair of simple canvas slippers, like ballet slippers to wear on the hardwood floors. The recruiter who had brought us carried with her a portfolio with eight neatly organized folders, all different colors. Mine was green. In those folders were pages of information about each of us; our identification, our marriage records, criminal records, educational transcripts and any other information that could be gathered. My file was notably the most sparse. I was the youngest. I had no children, no marriages, no criminal record, and my academic performance had been average and not worth writing about. Clipped into the file was a single page that mentioned I had been a mezzo soprano in a school choir, that I had taken twelve years of ballet classes and that I had once sang the national anthem at a baseball stadium in my hometown of Chicago. Those were probably the only things about me worth mentioning.

"Stand still, shoulders back." The recruiter, a woman who called herself Ms. Ari, instructed. "Let them get a good look at you."

I stole glances at the other slaves when I thought no one was looking. We were eight all together, five girls and three boys. I thought of us that way; as girls and boys instead of men and women, even though at nineteen I was the youngest. Somehow it seemed out of place to think of people who had given away their very control as full functioning adults. I felt like a scolded kid when the bitch of a recruiter smacked me on the ass with a thin birch switch. She didn't bother with leather straps and all the trappings. She was a real cowgirl, that one, down to the Texan accent. She wore a fucking cowboy hat, and those crocodile skin boots, jeans so tight she might bust out of them, and that black tank top she always wore (must have twenty of them!) that made her seem Absolutely not. Art man and part woman. But there was no mistaking she was all female. That first night at the hotel in Chicago, when she had told me about Highbury House, and how she wanted me to come with her to London, to meet Natanyel Sezayan, I had been entrance by her. It was that genuine swagger she had, almost like a man- stringy blond hair, fierce blue eyes, a golden tan that was very real. None of that Hollywood spray on bullshit. There were lines on her face, just around the eyes. There were calluses on her fingertips. Still, she was raw and very sexy. She did not ask me if I wanted to go to her room. She told me I wanted to go to her room.

"You're so damn pretty, sweetheart." She said, just like a man in a bar. Her thumbs were hooked into the belt of her jeans. I drank a cosmopolitan. She drank whiskey. "You're dreamin' right now about bein' right up in between my legs with that little pink tongue, lickin' my clit, right down on your hands and knees, face in my pussy. Put that chick drink down and go on up to my room now. Wait for me. I'll be up there pretty soon."

She had given me her key. I had never been that wet in my life.

She courted me for a week. I hate to admit that's all it took. She told me about the training house, and not some half ass bullshit story either. She had all the books with her, the paperwork, the photos. The woman had phone numbers of people I could call for references. What exactly was Ms. Ari? What did she do? Plain and simple, Ms. Ari was a broker. She scouted potential sex slaves for the high level market. Yes, there is one. There is a low level market for this kind of thing too and trust me, it is a whole different scene. Ms. Ari rounded up the pretty and depraved from all corners of the globe and sold the right to train them. She was a recruiter. A headhunter. In that week, I had learned that her business had taken her to nine countries and that she had successfully recruited 127 slaves who were accepted into training by agents. These agents paid her $15,000 for each slave accepted. Do the math on that.

The agents, who ran the training houses, then trained the slaves, hoping that the slave would turn out to be talented. The cream of the crop were placed in the private homes of the secretive and exclusive rich, as well as in private clubs, resorts and other training houses. Slaves were sold at auctions and sometimes by appointment. Negotiations were the kind that lawyers were called in to attend. Those who did not fare as well were sold to high priced brothels and to lower bidders with lower expectations.

When a slave was sold, the trainer got thirty percent of the negotiated contract. The slave kept the rest, as well as any other negotiated perks. If you were average, this might mean a few thousand in cash and a year long contract with an owner who has a summer place in Maui. If you were sublime, it could mean millions, expensive cars, a yacht in Greece and a mansion in the South of France. Ms. Ari had showed me the files on a girl called Calliope who was trained by Natanyel Sezayen who was bought by a ridiculously rich Arab sheik who kept her in a palace in Morocco. Her contract was in the millions. Calliope was a girl with rubies and diamonds, gifts of private houses in Spain and France, and an owner who adored her. By all accounts, Calliope was the perfect pet. Natanyel Sezayen trained perfect pets.

We did not all do this just for the money. I want to make that clear. Every single one of us was a natural born slave. It was just the way we were. If these training houses did not exist, if there were no auctions, we would all be kissing the boots of a master in a tract house in the Mid-West. The training houses, the auctions, the cloak and dagger world we threw ourselves into simply elevated what was already there. The money was nice too.

And there I was, standing in a sterile white office that looked much like a doctor's office in any small town in America. The eight of us naked and standing upright, nervous as hell. Ms. Ari stood nearby, cowboy hat tipped down and chewing gum replacing her usual Winston cigarette. A slender female trainer was looking us over, and curtly ordering us to each step on the weight scale. We were measured for height, weight, our bust, waist and hips. I was surprised that she was not very attractive at all. An Asian woman of about forty, she looked past her prime and her face seemed stern, despite her smallness. She clicked a Bic pen against her teeth and wrote notes on a clipboard. She seemed like an office assistant, except that she wore a tight black dress with long sleeves and a high neck. The hem reached just above her knees. It would have been modest if it had not been so tight and paired with impossibly high heeled boots. She wore no make up except very red painted lips and the lips were done perfectly, like they were painted very carefully with a brush.

We had just finished being weighed when the Asian suddenly stood at attention, like a soldier would. Down the staircase came a man who looked very much like a believably handsome college professor. He was not very tall, but carried himself with confidence. His hair was a flaxen blond crop of gentle curls which set over glittering dark blue eyes that almost looked gray. There were strands of gray in the curly hair too. He might have been forty-five or fifty-five. He was very fit, with a compact body. I could tell he kept himself in shape even under the soft cashmere sweater and unstructured jacket. I saw a gold watch glitter on his wrist. His hands were perfect with short, neatly clipped nails. Physically, he did not seem stern at all. He seemed more like a pre-Raphealite painting. I did not believe that this man could be one of the finest trainers in my cloak and dagger world.

Until he set those gray eyes on me.

"Ari, is this the best you can do?" he said.

His voice was accented but I could not place where from. I heard Ms. Ari sigh irritably and felt the tension in the room. I found myself staring at his gray eyes and I immediately paid the price for it because he chose me to examine first. He ordered me to step forward out of the line. The mean little Asian woman stood close behind him. She handed him a latex glove and he slipped it over his hand without taking his eyes off of mine.

"You should know better than to look at me." he said flatly. I cast my eyes down.

Without warning, he lightly pinched my nipple and I flushed pink instantly. My nipple hardened and he tugged at it, rolling the point between his fingers.

"Perfect breasts." he said aloud. The Asian woman noted every word on that clipboard. "A little large for her size but perfectly formed. "No piercings or tattoos?" He asked and the Asian shook her head. He slapped my breast then, watched it jiggle and then settle again. He held them both in his hands as if to test their weight and fullness. I took in a deep breath, trying not to moan, and with that breath I inhaled the scent of his cologne. The scent of him was dark and warm and it made me dizzy with desire. His hand traced down over my belly and to the thatch of hair between my legs.

"You may answer me when I ask you a question." He said. "Do you want to be here?"

"Yes, Sir... Master."

"Sir is acceptable. Were you brought here by force or coerced?"

"No, Sir."

"Do you understand what it means to be here? That you will be trained as a sex slave and sold to the highest bidder?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Lean back on the desk and open your legs."

A wave of horror rushed over me. I would be exposed, right here in this little office- the wicked Asian woman, my fellow slaves and this strangely fascinating man looking at me. I obeyed, laying back on the walnut desk and spreading my legs open, bent at the knee. The Asian woman held one of my knees, balancing me on the desk as he opened my pussy lips with his fingers. He instantly found my clit, hard and swollen already. My clit had always been hard for men to find. It is very small and hidden. He had no problem finding it and working it with his fingertip.

"A very attractive vagina, everything in it's neat little place." he said softly, almost warmly- but not quite. Something just a little bit sinister. I heard the sound of a pen on paper. I was shaking, struggling not to throw my head back and wail in pleasure. "And this one gets wet very quickly. Very sweet, almost innocent look about her. Song, look at how her thighs are quivering. She is trying not to come." He then smiled almost warmly and worked a latex finger into my pussy, then a second, and then a third. I was biting my lip now, and struggling not to orgasm. I turned my head to the side and gasped to see the bare legs and abdomen of the other slaves, all watching me. I could not see their faces but I knew they were watching me. The three males were all hard, their cocks jutting up from neatly cropped thatches of hair.

I saw a pretty blond pussy, the kind with just the little airstrip neatly shaved on it, and a manicured female hand, pale white, discretely slipping a finger in between soft pink lips. That was gonna do it for me. That would have sent me flying, but the fingers inside me were suddenly pulled out and I saw a flurry of action as the Master of the house pointed with a slick wet gloved hand at the pretty blond slave who was touching herself.

"What is this, Ari, fucking amateur hour? Get her out of here! No self control, disgusting."

Ari grabbed the blond girl's hands and clasped them behind her back, pushing her into another room, and I could hear Ari snapping at the girl- "there, you blew it, couldn't keep your hands off your cunt, and now you're gonna be on a plane back to California" and the girl was crying.

"Stand up." Natanyel said to me. I obeyed him, terrified of being humiliated the way the blond had been.

Then, to my horror, he roughly tilted up my chin and cranked open my mouth with his latex covered fingers. He examined my mouth the way an animal handler examines a horse's teeth. I could smell my own juices on the latex glove. I could taste my own wetness. Even worse, I had nowhere to look but right at him, his face so close to mine. If I closed my eyes he might be offended. If I looked at him, I would be disobeying. I chose to look to the side instead, my face horribly contorted. I imagined my eyes looked wide and possessed. To the side, I saw the men's cocks again, hard and hungry. Another flush of wetness between my legs. He seemed satisfied with my white teeth, and made a complimentary note of the small gap between my front teeth- "a sign of nobility centuries ago."

He was so casual about everything, as if this was not sex at all. He could have been doing his taxes. He snapped off the latex glove and handed it to the woman named Song who quickly disposed of it and fitted him with a fresh one. I heard the latex snap onto his skin and I jolted. I heard him chuckle.

"She is very responsive, Ari, I will give you that." He pulled me up from the desk and pushed my long hair over one shoulder. "Get on top of the desk, my dear, on your hands and knees, your elbows on the desk. The others, take note, this is exactly how I will examine you when I am finished with her."

My face was burning red. I was completely exposed. The walnut desk top was cold and hard against my palms and my ass was pushed up in the air, legs open. I felt his hand again, fingers pushing against my asshole, and maddeningly, the smaller hands of Song, who assisted by pushing apart the cheeks. I saw her out of the corner of my eye. She moved to the counter and came back with a bottle. Then cold liquid, like gel rubbed over fingers and rubbed into my asshole as slick fingertips pushed against the ring of muscle.

"She's very tight," the strangely accented voice said. "Both the vagina and the anus. It could be youth, or a lack of proper experience. Ah, very lovely. She is contracting around my fingers. Superb, really. Very good muscular control."

I wanted him to fuck me. I wanted to be bent over that desk and fucked hard. I imagined what his cock looked like. It would be just a little above average in size but thick and hard, and I would suck it while those three male slaves took turns with me from behind. But that was my head talking. Natanyel Sezayan was clinical and uninterested, or at least he seemed to be. Once he felt inside my anus, he was finished with me. He removed his fingers, the glove and gave me one smack on the backside.

"You will go to the young man with black hair and suck him until I am ready to examine him. You will do this on your knees with your hands behind your back. When I examine him, you will suck the next male slave until I am ready for him. When all of them have been examined, you may stop. And you, boys, will not come. If one of you comes into the girl's mouth, I will have you beaten, and then I will beat her for making you come. Understood?"

Everyone nodded, and the men looked terrified. I was in Hell. I would have cocks in my mouth but my pussy was empty. I wanted desperately to be filled. I went to the black haired boy named Zachary and I got on my hands and knees. I clasped my hands behind my back and took his organ into my mouth. He was almost hairless and I sucked and licked at his balls as well. I felt him tighten, heard him gasp and struggle. When he became too tight, I backed off a little, just giving him little licks and nips with my teeth. I could hear what was going on behind me, the next slave, a female, being examined, much the same as I had been.

When he was finished with her, he ordered her to do the same, but with a female slave, on her hands and knees, between the girl's legs. Next was another girl, and her orders were the same. Finally, Zachary was called to the desk. I instantly moved to the next male, a tall and muscular black man with a tattoo of a tiger on his inner thigh. I sucked at his cock, as I had Zachary's. He groaned and I hoped the Master did not hear it. I could hear the sounds of the girls sucking each other next to me, two of them, already examined, on the floor, heads cranked back to lick the pussies of the ones who were standing. I could hear Zachary moaning and the odd little comments from Natanyel quickly noted by Song. I wanted to see what they were doing so badly but I did not dare stop sucking. He examined the third male next, a handsome man with a surfer blond look, but I sucked and kept my face buried in thighs.

When he finally examined the black man, my jaw was aching. I stayed on my knees but turned around to face them, hoping I would be allowed to stay that way. I was. The black man named Kamil was ordered to stand up tall and Natanyel casually took the thick black cock into his gloved hand, stroking it's length and rolling the fat head in his fingertips.

"Beautiful, thick cock this one has on him. Song, get me a plug."

Song moved to a cabinet and came back with a blue silicone anal plug about the size of two fingers. Natanyel bent Kamil over the desk and opened him up as Song slicked up the plug with gel that smelled like honey and almonds. Natanyel took the plug and gently pressed it against the secret hole. He seemed to be having trouble. Kamil's face contorted. He bit at his lip.

"He is too tight. I cannot get a plug inside him. Tell me, have you been fucked by a man before?"

"No, Sir."

"Not in the anus?"

"No, Sir."

"Have you sucked a man's cock before?"

"Yes, I have, Sir."

"How many cocks have you sucked?"

Kamil hesitated.

"Maybe... six, Sir."

"Did you like sucking those cocks?"

"Yes, I did, Sir."

"But you did not let them fuck you? Why?"

"I'm real tight, and it hurts too much, Sir."

"If I wanted to fuck you in the ass, right here, right now, would you let me?"

I saw a shudder shake Kamil's shoulders.

"Yes, yes Sir, I would."

Natanyel smiled wickedly and ran his bare hand down Kamil's spine. He bent over him and said into his ear,

"I can break you in."

But then he rose up and snapped the glove off of his hand. He did not finish examining the slaves. Instead, he casually sat back in the chair at the desk and gave Ari a slightly annoyed look.

"I'll take two of them. The redhead and the black one."

"Only two? What about Rachel, you didn't even try her out?"

"I only have places for two. It's those two or none at all." he leaned back in his chair lit a cigar. "And I'm not paying full price."

"Nate, I swear to God..."

"Don't give me any shit, Ari. You were supposed to have them here a month ago. Harvest Festival is in six weeks. No chance I will have them ready by then. Their debut will be half cocked and I lose money and reputation. Ari, I fear our business together is running sour and may end soon."

Ari suddenly looked worried.

"They're good, Nate. Look at them."

"I'm looking. The two. And I pay this." He scribbled something on a note card and Song passed it to Ari who jerked it out of her hand.

"You're fucking kidding me, Nate, this is insane! Is that what they pay in fucking Lithuania?"

"Latvia, my dear, and that is what I pay for slaves who are late delivered and ill prepared. I will be understocked at the Harvest Festival. Take it or leave it, Ari, but if you leave it, then in the future I take my business to Adam Sterling."

Ari had daggers in her eyes, but she took a pen and scribbled something on the note card, handing it back to Song. Natanyel looked at it and nodded.

"I can agree to that. Song, have the papers drawn up and see that the new slaves are sent to the Facility at once. I want them put through the entire routine today. Ari, you can leave."

I watched Cowgirl Ari storm out of the room, with the rejected slaves following her, all of them looking confused. The blond crying. A cute brunette sniffling, 'But this is all I want in the whole world, he's gotta take me!' I jolted when I felt Son's hands on mine, clasping them behind my back, and fixing some kind of cuffs to them. When I was firmly tethered, Natanyel went toward Kamil with a thick black marker in his hand. Quickly, he wrote "K A M I L" on his chest, then wrote "S T A R L A" on mine.