Assassins Mc Pt 08

This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise showed, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents in this story are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Part 8. Awesome Morning, Depressing Afternoon

I awoke the next morning to the same sensation as the day before. When I opened my eyes all the women were around my waist, slowly coxing me awake. Julie was between my legs and rubbing my cock. On my right-side lay Nicole with her tongue, toying with the tip. Beth was on my left, her hands cupping my balls and massaging them, occasionally leaning in and sucking on one. When I lifted my head, they all looked up at me.

"Good Morning sleepyhead." Julie said, "Beth filled us in on your requirement of a wake-up blowjob. None of us wanted to be left out, so we joined in. Just relax. I think you'll enjoy this."

I laid my head back, propped it up on a pillow so I could see the festivities, and watched the women go to work. Each of them would wrap their mouths around my dick and suck it for a bit, while the other two would either stroke it or play with my balls. Occasionally one would rise and kiss my chest or try to find my tonsils with their tongue. They would alternate between different areas, each doing something different, but all in constant motion. The variety of sensations was overloading my system, and I didn't know where the next would come from. It was different, sometimes confusing, but overall, incredibly enjoyable.

They continued to work in concert for about 5 minutes, never letting me build up enough to take me over the top but keeping me right on the edge. When they were satisfied with their accomplishments, Beth spoke up. "Julie, he's your boyfriend, finish this off."

Julie didn't hesitate. She hopped up on top of me, found her footing, guided me inside of her, and lowered herself. She didn't have a problem this time and went down fast; she must have been extremely wet. She started fucking me slowly, quickly increased her rhythm. Nicole and Beth both flanked my chest. First one would kiss me, then the other. They would kiss me all around my chest and neck, and while one was in one area, the other would occupy another. I was being fucked, kissed, and licked, and it was outstanding. It didn't take me long to reach climax. Julie reached it at about the same time, and we both rode the waves together. Nicole and Beth took off for the shower. Julie laid down on top of me and put her head on my chest. She just told me to relax for a bit until it was our turn.

After everyone was showered and dressed, we all adjourned to the kitchen, where the women made some breakfast. The ladies were in silk robes we had purchased the night before and wore their heels. I told them that was ok in the morning, their corsets and boots were for after breakfast on days off or after work. We all sat around and discussed various topics, but one that drew the most attention was the living arrangements. The ladies agreed they felt safer and more secure with me, but being all together made them happiest. All three of them had spent a considerable time feeling alone and isolated. Spending time together gave them a support structure they needed. They disagreed on which house they wanted to live in. Julie didn't have a preference, while Beth and Nicole wanted their own houses in which they currently lived. Each woman had already built her nest and didn't want to go into another woman's nest.

I brought up the idea of all moving into a new, bigger house. That seemed to be satisfactory to all involved. Beth told me she knew of a property that they were attempting to sell, a 6-bedroom house across town, but closer to work for her. It was closer to most places we would all need to visit, except for our school. That didn't bother me, as we only had a little over half a year left. Before we cleaned breakfast up and we were ready to leave, Beth had worked out the details. We could plan on moving when we were ready. She said selling one big house or two smaller ones worked out about the same, so it wasn't costing the company any money and it may make them a bit more.

The ladies got dressed, and we all left. Beth drove herself to work, and I drove Nicole to her indoctrination. After I dropped her off, Julie and I went to school, which passed uneventfully. After school, I took Julie by for her indoctrination and told her I would pick her and her mother up in a few hours. I received a call from Roger. I was told to meet him in 20 minutes. He gave me an address and off I went.

As I drove, I thought life was good. I had everything I wanted, and it seemed the women loved their lives so far, accepting their positions. I didn't know at that moment how wrong I was. What would happen next would alter my view of what I was doing and what the club was all about. It would introduce me to something that would change my entire trajectory from a naïve kid to the man I would eventually become. The change wasn't overnight but taken in thousands of small steps, some good, some bad.

It would cause me to withdraw back into my head and question my motivations and my dedication to the club. I would come to realize my values and morals didn't align so neatly with the Assassins. As I learned more about the dark side of the club, I learned more about myself. I would both find what I truly valued and lose part of me in the process. Just talking about this next part causes me to pause. It would haunt me for years to come, only putting the ghosts to rest when there was little left I could do.

When I arrived at my destination, I pulled up in front of a small, run-down looking house. Roger was out front, standing next to his car. When I parked, Roger came over and climbed in the passenger seat. "Ok, Rich. Now it's time to earn some of your pay. Remember when I told you I like to bring muscle with me when I meet new women, well, today you are that muscle. We are meeting a woman who owes money to one of our businesses. She had a chance to pay her debt, in fact, multiple times, but she uses her money for more drugs. We're going to take possession of her today and attempt to recover some of that money."

"What do you mean recover? Are we giving her another chance?" I asked.

"If she has the money right now, she's good." Roger answered, "If not, we're taking her. It's harsh, but this is a harsh life; get used to it. You have a lot of privileges and perks of being a member of the Assassins, but this is the other side of the coin. Time to get your hands dirty."

We walked up to the door and knocked. Her porch was littered with trash, and an old broken chair set to the side. When she opened the door on a crack, you could tell she was strung out. Her eyes were bloodshot, from what we could see; her eyes were barely open. She still had the door chained and told us to leave. She must have recognized who we were by Roger's biker vest, and when she attempted to close the door, Roger pushed it in. The chain broke with a loud bang and he pushed her back into the living room; she was yelling the entire time, stumbling backward. I came in behind him, closing the door and locking it. He told her to sit down and shut up.

"We are here to collect on the debt you owe us. Do you have the money?" Roger asked.

"No, but I promise I'll get it back to you soon. I'm just having a hard time right now." She pleaded. "My boyfriend is out of work and I can't find a job. I'm looking hard."

"It looks like the only thing you're doing is finding another place to score." Roger answered, looking at her drugs sitting on the table next to her. "You're shooting up with the money you owe us."

"No, this was a gift." She replied, trying to convince us she was telling the truth. "I promise. I would never do that."

I closely looked at this woman. She was in her mid-20s, had blonde hair that was matted and dirty. Her face was streaked with either dirt or grease. I couldn't tell. Behind the grime, you could see her cheeks and eyes were sunken, with huge black rings under her eyes. She had wasted away from heroin, or crack, or cocaine. Honestly, I wasn't sure. I wasn't well versed in drugs, as I never really saw the need to do any. When I asked Roger, he told me it was heroin, but he was sure she was also smoking crack. When she talked her teeth were a mess, some missing and others black.

The room we were in was her living room. It was dark, with the windows covered by old taped up cardboard. The blue rug was dirty, with large brown spots that someone had attempted to clean at one time. There were assorted food containers scattered, with empty beer cans and bottles strewn about. The room smelled musty, of old beer, spoiled food, and a had a sickly sour smell as if someone had vomited. Standing there was nauseating, so I took down the cardboard from a couple of windows and opened them. This brightened the room a little, but it was still dark. When I tried to turn on a light, I realized the electricity was off. I took the cardboard down from all the windows, which allowed us to see what we were doing.

I looked around and saw some pictures on the wall and her end tables, all dirty. In them were photos of a young woman around my age, and some were of a younger girl. I could see some that were pictures of a cheerleader. When I examined them closer, I realized they were of her. She was beautiful. I mean, honestly beautiful. The boys must have fallen all over her in school. To think in just 6 or 7 years she had transformed into the sunken, broken woman in front of me. I felt bad for her.

Roger addressed her. "What's going to happen, Tiffany, is you're coming with us. We own you now. We will take you to a place that will help you clean up. Once you are better, we will decide what to do with you. Do you understand?"

"What do you mean, own? I'm no one's property!" Tiffany said, becoming both agitated and scared.

"Yes, you are." Roger assured her. "When you failed to pay us, you gave up your life; it now belongs to us. If you give us any shit or cause any problems, I'll sell you to the first slaver to Mexico for $50 today. We don't want that. So, we will clean you up, and if you're salvageable, we will either employ you ourselves or get our money back in other ways."

"Fuck you, asshole, I'm not going anywhere." Tiffany said, putting on a show of defiance, even though I could see the fear in her eyes.

Roger told me to hold her down. She attempted to jump up, but she was no match for my strength. I like to say that, but honestly, being as wasted away as she was, a 6-year-old would have been able to hold her down. Roger reached in his pocket and pulled out a syringe. He put it to her neck and pushed it in, injecting whatever solution it contained. Almost immediately, she relaxed. She was still awake and looking at us, but she was limp.

"That's a cocktail that our labs came up with." Roger explained as he capped the needle and put it away for disposal later. "It's a sedative, but one that still allows the person to be aware of what we're saying and makes them more pliable. It doesn't collide with any drugs they may be on. We made the mistake of using ketamine at first, but we lost a few people when it reacted badly with other narcotics in their systems. This is much safer."

Roger told her to stand up, which she did, and we grabbed her arms and walked her out to his car. He put her in the back seat, buckled her in, and closed the door. The entire episode would have just looked to anyone on the street as two men that were picking her up for a lift, although the drugs made her look drunk. Not that anyone in this neighborhood would have cared.

Roger turned to me. "Her house is also in her name, so we will sign some papers later and sell her house. That will recoup the money she owes. We will get her sober, clean her up, and see what we're dealing with. If she's presentable and not too far gone, we'll probably turn her into an escort. She has some serious recovery in front of her. Our investment will probably cost around $25 thousand, but a decent escort can earn double that in 6 months easily. If she isn't salvageable, we can always sell her. Right now, we would be lucky to get $100 from a Mexican donkey show. Once she's cleaned up, we could get upwards of $100 to $200 thousand from some Middle Eastern billionaire. Blonde Americans go for some big money over there."

"You've done this a lot, haven't you Roger." I asked, still wrapping my head around how nonchalant he was talking about selling another human being.

Roger explained, "Rich, my job includes this, but it also includes sending women for training and to college, assigning them positions, and keeping everything moving. If a position opens, I fill it. I am just like Human Relations and Staffing. I have people that work for me, but I like to do this myself. I don't trust many people to do the initial pickups. Why don't you follow me, and you can see what happens next."

I wondered if Roger believed what he was telling me. Assigning these women positions like a staffing agent? Was he just numb to the reality that he was turning these women into slaves, or did he truly believe this was for the best? I just wondered what was next. It was worse than I imagined.

I agreed and followed him to what looked like a one-story office building. Foundations, Inc. was the name on the sign out front. We drove up to the back and a pair of double doors opened. Out stepped 2 men in security uniforms. They took Tiffany out of the car, put into a wheelchair, and pushed inside.

I followed Roger in, and he explained what Foundations did. "Just like Nicole and Julie must go through indoctrination, so do these women. We have a doctor and nurses here to help them recover and get sober. Once they are sober, each woman will take the same tests that your women are taking. We do that because, occasionally, we find a pearl in all the oysters. It doesn't happen often, but it happens enough to justify our expense. The ones that we can use, we employ. A few may work for our businesses as non-club affiliated women. Your women are club affiliated. Do you get the difference?

"Yes, I think so. Susan calls them Assassin Sorority Sisters." I answered.

Roger laughed at that. "Yes, that's her name for them. She came up with that a while back, and while that's not their official designation, she won't let it go. Anyway, these nonaffiliated women are the workers, while the affiliated women are the bosses. You can't just employ bosses and expect anything to get done; you need workers. These women are still owned by the Assassins and can't leave, but otherwise, if they keep their nose clean, they can live their lives in peace. We assign the women handlers who oversee them. It's different from guardians, think of them as parole agents. They just meet with them occasionally and monitor their life. If they try to leave, we either sell them or retire them if necessary. They understand this and most don't try. I would say we have about 20 women a year try to leave. It doesn't end well for them."

Doesn't end well. Another phrase meant to sanitize the reality that these women ended up in a grave, the end of a life given up by a poor decision or two. We passed through some double doors into an open room lined with glass doors. These doors opened to smaller rooms, just big enough to fit a bed, sink, shower, and toilet. It looked like a jail cell. In the center of the large room sat a nurse/security station. Sitting in the station was a nurse filling out some paperwork, and a large man wearing the same security uniform I had seen outside. The room was brightly lit and everything shined like it was just polished minutes ago. The first smell that hit you was one of industrial cleaner, much better than Tiffany's house.

Roger introduced me. "Rich, I would like you to meet Wanda. She is affiliated, or as my wife says, Sorority Sister. We have another nurse who works here, also affiliated, and our doctor on staff is as well."

Wanda reached out and shook my hand, and asked, "Roger, is this Brian's boy?"

"He sure is." Roger answered.

"Rich, it's a pleasure to meet you." Wanda replied. "Your father was a great man. My husband, Peter, worked with him, running inventory. I remember you when you were just a small kid. My goodness, you've grown."

Wanda was a redhead, about 45, with a pleasing figure, standing about 5'7, and looking cute in her nurse's uniform. Her skirt came down below her knees. Her top buttoned up to her neck, not showing any skin at all. These people were all about function over form here. She looked professional, wearing minimal makeup and a pair of cushioned shoes you see nurses wear. She smiled, but I wondered if she too had been conditioned like Susan to be numb to what she witnessed here.

"I'm sorry, but I must have been young." I told her. "I don't remember you or your husband. It is a pleasure to see you again, however."

"And polite too. Beth raised a nice young man. How is Beth?" Wanda asked.

"She's doing good." I replied. "I'll tell her you were asking about her."

"Do that." Wanda answered. "We've fallen out of touch over the years, I'm sorry to say. I'll have to remember to call her."

Wanda walked around the station and started taking Tiffany's vitals. When she finished, she wheeled Tiffany into one room, and with our help, we got Tiffany cleaned up. Wanda put a hospital gown on her. We laid her down in the beds and Wanda locked her in. I looked around and another 5 women were occupying other rooms. Some were sleeping while others were sitting on their beds watching us. These women looked rough, but not as rough as Tiffany. Each was wearing a matching hospital gown.

"If you'll excuse us, Wanda, I'll take Rich on a quick tour." Roger told her.

We said our goodbyes and Roger walked further into the building. Our next stop was in an area that looked like a dormitory. There was a long hall, turning to the right and extending into another long hall. Doors lined the walls. I was told this was the housing for the next step of the training process. This was more like a boot camp, attempting to change their attitudes and their outlook. Each door had a glass window that allowed someone to see inside. The rooms were bigger than the rooms we had just seen, but not by much. It included everything the previous rooms did, but it also included a desk and a TV. They locked all of them from the outside. These women were prisoners here. That fact was apparent.

We walked into another hall, which held the kitchen, dining, laundry, and other administrative offices. I had to admire the organization and planning that went into this. As we walked past, I could see some women working in these areas. I could smell what appeared to be meatloaf cooking, and the women in the kitchen were all busy doing one thing or another. When we passed the laundry, it was loud with the running of the washers and dryers and had a humid smell mixed with soap. In each room, multiple guards monitored the women, and they were all armed.

At the end were double doors. Scanning his card and putting in his code, Roger opened the door, and we stepped into what could be best described as a multifunction room, about the same size as a high school gym, but with lower ceilings. Various women were in this room, with some men overseeing them. The women were wearing blue dresses that came down to their knees, matching the dresses worn by the women workers we passed on our way here. Each one had their name printed on their chest. Most were sitting at desks writing, almost looking like a school.

The floors were vinyl tile, white, and had the same shiny appearance as every other floor I've seen in the club's businesses. The lights were bright, all florescent, and the faint flicker of some lights with bad ballasts made me think I was back in an old school. The Assassins seem to be well organized, proficient but lacked any soul. There wasn't a bit of caring shown by any of the people or places I've seen. I wondered if the interiors of their buildings mirrored their owners; looked good, but very little warmth. I would have to watch myself in the future that I wouldn't lose my soul.