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FREEDOM: Class Warfare
Part Thirteen
Seduction, with Greg and Lauren
By Razor7826 (Copyright 2009)
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.
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 naďve 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.