FITZChapter 14 Poor Judge of Character
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FITZChapter 6: The FITZ Gather free porn video
The door opened to another hallway. Doors on both sides of the hallway had signs: "Dojo," "Clinic," "Classroom," "Workout," "Toilet," "Storage." Beyond the hallway, the space opened up, becoming a living room, dining room and kitchen. It resembled a modest, tastefully decorated middle class home except expanded. The kitchen's size bordered on industrial. The dining room had a large table and four smaller tables surrounding it. The living room, defined by a large pastel carpet of pale pink with amorphous, cloudlike teal shapes seemingly floating within, had three areas of couch-loveseat-armchair; the biggest at center and reaching the wall to the left of Joseph sporting the longest couch which bent gently at one side until it created a 90 degree angle to the main part of the couch.
Youth filled the homey space with subdued bustling and noise. Mostly young women, ages 16 to 20, sat in the living room and dining room in various small groups or alone studying, although a couple young men also added to the bustle.
"Victims," Billy explained to Joseph. "Soldiers in training." To the puzzled look on Joseph's face, he added, "All will become clear."
Doreen approached a lovely, almost handsome, tall, slender middle aged chestnut haired woman at the center of activity in the kitchen—two young women assisted her—and hugged and kissed her on the lips. A short dialogue brought concern to the older woman's face, but Doreen waved it away. "I'm sure it's nothing, Martha. Is Mom home?"
"Not yet."
"Okay. I'm going to talk to Doc."
"I'll send her in when she arrives," said Martha.
Doreen nodded and headed back to the hallway and entered the clinic.
When introduced by Billy as simply Martha, Joseph asked why she wasn't given the FITZ prefix.
Martha smiled and explained. "The FITZ are the generals, the rest subordinates."
Billy disagreed. "You're essential personnel and sounding boards. You're equals."
"Ever the socialist, Billy. But the hierarchy exists and marked by the prefix. It's a hierarchy of intelligence: geniuses and not so smart minions."
"I'm no genius," Joseph remarked.
"FITZjean thinks otherwise, and I agree," said Billy. "Come. I'll show you to your room."
The stairs, beginning just left of the entrance to the house and numerous to accommodate the high ceiling of the main floor, brought them to a hallway which angled to the left into the neighboring house. Billy guided Joseph to the right and right again past the wood slat gate of the elevator. When they entered the corridor, neon lighting alit. "Motion detectors," Billy explained. Halfway down the corridor one door awaited opening.
Joseph noticed no keyhole and inquired.
"No need," Billy explained succinctly.
Inside, the large window with an amorphous pattern overlaying it brought daylight. A king sized bed with a tan comforter tightly made sat near the window. On the wall across from the bed hung a large canvas depicting a swordfight between a willowy blonde older woman and a richly endowed young woman with raven hair. Each had small swords in both hands. The raven woman's left hand sword approached the neck of the blonde, about to decapitate. The blonde looked fierce yet frightened. The raven beauty looked unemotional, concentrating intensely. The figures seemed to move. The colors were gradations from yellow to red with a dark brown being predominant. "Molly," said Billy.
"Amazing," Joseph murmured.
"Isn't she?"
Above the bed, two swords similar to the ones in the painting hung crossed. The rest of the walls, above two chest of drawers and two desks hewn from maple and two maple bookcases, only one with books, hung black and white nude studies of men and women, alone and in couples, many striped with wounds.
"Gina," Billy explained. "She's our photographer."
"There's two of everything. You expected me."
"Of course. You're our last FITZ."
By seven-thirty that evening all the FITZ had arrived, Gina being the last. She surprised Joseph by the ferocity of her hug and kiss. Joseph felt his penis swell. Gina did too, and rubbed her belly against it.
"I'm glad you decided to stay," she whispered.
"Did I?"
"Yes. Come sit."
They sat on a loveseat. Each couple had their own. A rolling table entered the space, pushed by a pretty teenage girl with sad eyes. Martha followed along with another pretty teen looking proud and serious. The three brought plates of food--an eggplant mousaka—and poured a rich red wine tart with rennin. Once the FITZ had been served, and after Martha hugged and kissed Calvin sensuously on the lips, the servers immediately left.
The five couples chatted throughout the meal.
"What happened next?" asked Joseph.
Gina knew his reference and continued her story. "I was born and raised in the plantation mansion. My mother acted as a servant in the house, a house slave really, and the beautiful and nasty matriarch pretended to be my mother. I remember hazily though my mother mothering me, but that ended when I started school. Like the matriarch's grandchildren, I attended private school. If they wanted me to feel like one of them, an upstanding young member of the landed gentry, it failed. Mother wrote me notes, leaving them under the pillow, detailing her slavery—her torture and rape—and never letting me forget where I came from. I kept the notes as per her suggestion stashed in an envelope at the back of the middle drawer of my vanity. Along with her plight, she informed me of the plight of other slaves, especially Martha whom I had befriended while still in my mother's care. Actually I knew her as Ginger until we became reacquainted here.
"Of course I became a rebellious child, though I learned restraint over time. Mother suggested it, and the viciousness of the paddling gleefully administered by the matriarch using a professional dominatrix paddle promoted quieting my anger.
"A devout tomboy, the matriarch tried to fit me into genteel dresses. I played the spoiled brat enough to make an agreement: if she let me study martial arts instead of piano--I worked really hard at being the worst musical student ever—I would become her little southern belle. I think the matriarch enjoyed my spunk, and she agreed. While studying Karate and Kung Fu, I also studied the art of manners. Along with the martial training, I worked out with weights and ran like five miles. Straining muscles, I discovered the wonders of massage and pleaded for lessons. Of course a sex slave skilled at massage would be an asset, so she acquiesced."
"So this was ultimately training you to be a sex slave?" asked Joseph.
"Of course. I wasn't landed gentry. I was white trash. The matriarch never considered me worthy of her class. She saw me as potential profit like a sheep of finest wool able to provide the house with a continuous flow of money. Except for the cost demanded for deflowering adolescent girls, I would bring them more money than any of their other slaves.
"Deflowering?" asked Joseph. He saw Gina shiver and grimace.
"God, I remember when I got my menses at 12 years old, I immediately felt a constant cloud of fear. Mother told me what they did. Girls not much older would appear at the house. Mother knew all of them. They'd be coddled for awhile, kind of like me with their pretty dresses and learning manners and so forth. Then they'd disappear for a couple days and return ... a wreck, raped, brutalized, destroyed. They'd been sold to some rich bastard who got to fuck a virgin for a ridiculous amount of money."
"Your mother knew all these ... victims?"
"A silent witness, yes. She became the most subservient slave possible, never speaking much louder than a whisper, cowed by constant humiliation and torture and rape. Only those secret letters to me kept her sane I think. If they had found those letters, they probably would have killed her because she acted simple for them, stupid, you know? She had been stupid once, being charmed by the chauffeur and creating me. But even then, at least according to her, she had chosen wisely. Handsome and intelligent, he produced a brilliant and beautiful progeny. Whatever."
"Uhm, your mother ... Can you tell me..."
"I don't know, but I fear she's dead. The last victim we rescued from that plantation never saw her. In a way I hope she's dead, because life ... especially when I escaped..." Gina cried.
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay. I need to tell you. It's why we're here. Ask me something."
"I don't want to..."
"Please. You have to know."
"Okay. The deflowering."
"Yes. I guess I kind of lucked out. They used me to train the matriarch's son in the art of sex. Groomed to take over the business, they wanted him to learn about pleasuring, and I became his practice dummy. First lesson: deflowering. It actually went really well." She blushed. "Aside from his father tutoring him while he readied me for the big event, it turned out remarkably loving and intimate."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Nelson and I, we grew up together. Despite his parentage, his inbred involvement in the white slavery business, I had a crush on him and I guess he had one on me. What can I say? The guy's handsome and charming, even as an adolescent. So, yeah, the pain breaking through my hymen subsided fairly quickly what with his lengthy foreplay and gentle fucking turning me into a panting and moaning and squealing young woman. Love happened there. And it continued for years. Weirdly though, because his father had me and his mother and his sister, a real fucking crazy, and they whipped me and chained me and ... but he refused to be that way. Of course after the deflowering they finally explained my status as slave and my future as sex slave to rich men. I no longer left the estate, and only left the house to walk the grounds with Nelson or a big guard. Education, including the martial arts training, happened inside the mansion.
"Things changed between Nelson and me. A couple years older than me, Nelson went off to college. Losing him burdened me, not just because we loved each other, but he protected me, kept me from being sent off to the crueler of the masters. But him gone, the matriarch made up for the money lost in restricting who I got sent to and I got beaten and raped and nearly murdered by one fucker, and a couple others weren't much better. But when he came home from school the first time when I was there too, I vented, and he didn't seem to care. He suggested being the best girl his mother ever had, that he had been holding me back and losing money for the family as if that made any difference to me. I didn't get paid. I was a slave. But damn it if within a week we fell right back in love.
"A friend visited from college. While in high school he would bring friends, even girls I once had as classmates. Occasionally, especially his senior year, they stayed the night and shared the bed, both boys and girls, and Nelson shared me. I didn't mind, especially the girls. After the boys left, I joked about how much he charged for my services. Responding seriously, he claimed they could never afford me as if that was some sort of compliment. This friend was different.
"It was Billy. Within minutes we bonded. Not only did he refrain from staring at me lasciviously, he talked to me as an equal. Mostly we talked about dance and martial arts, comparing the two. He'd give me details about dance performances he saw live or on film. I explained the philosophy and methodology of the styles, demonstrating occasionally. He often stared into my eyes as we talked.
"That first night I paid more attention to Billy than to Nelson. Stripping for them, playing with my breasts and my cunt, I only stared at Billy. When I came to bed, I immediately kissed Billy. When Nelson removed his pants, I sucked Nelson's cock, but stared at Billy. Billy helped me onto the bed and brought me to climax with his tongue. I screamed his name. I mechanically fucked Nelson, riding him, and only became excited when Billy pressed his cock into my ass. I cried his name, panted his name, and screamed his name when I came.
"Those chats earlier made me realize Nelson and I had little in common. Sure, Nelson knew every pleasure button, but outside the bedroom, he rarely listened. Love evaporated.
"The following morning, the family allowed me to stroll on the grounds with Nelson and Billy. Again I latched onto Billy and Nelson hated it. He left us, replacing his presence with one of the goons. At last alone sort of, Billy asked me if I was a slave. My eyes must have popped out of my head. I nodded. 'I could see the scars, ' he explained. Then he asked about my stooped shoulders, that he thought I needed to be perfect. I told him I straightened out for the clients, presented myself properly, you know? But at home, I didn't bother. 'I can help you, ' he said. 'I can help you if you escape.' I shook my head and explained about my mother. Then I remembered something. Mother had written about the eighteen year old rule. My birthday would arrive in a couple months. I'd be gone anyway or I'd be dead. They'd send me to Saudi Arabia or someplace or send me to my grave if they couldn't find a buyer. 'What can you do for me?' I asked. He smiled and hugged me and kissed me and whispered, 'There's a shack just outside the plantation grounds south of here, a mess of corrugated metal and rotting wood about 100 feet from the road on the western side.' I nodded. It had always been a curiosity. 'If no one's there, there'll be a small panel with a button under the table. Press it. Someone will come.' 'Promise?' I asked. He nodded and kissed my cheek. 'I promise.'
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