5 comments/ 86017 views/ 19 favorites Fight Test By: Catalingus2005 The ashes of what had been known as the American Dream scattered swiftly, until all that was left of it was a thin line of dirt on the faces of people standing in line at the bus stop, or waiting to be picked up by cabs. Fragments of utopian idealism fluttered in the breeze, with no more weight than the paper and styrofoam garbage that littered the vast underbellies of the largest cities. The revolution had seemed essential, the way a system reboot will sometimes help a computer run more swiftly and efficiently. Apathy had been kick started by some unknown event, now forgotten, into a chest-thumping pride in the ability to change. It had all happened quickly, without much real anger. It was just something to do, the way an offensive movie few people actually see or comments made by a drunken celebrity can sometimes ignite furor. It was an excuse to feel something. But the initial joyful drunkenness of success lasted barely a week. The hangover, a lifetime. It's hard to say what we were hoping to gain. We were dissatisfied, yes, but no more than anyone in the history of this nation. Less than some. It's questionable, really, whether our grievances were of any significance at all. But our patience, like our individuality, had been doped out of us by years of mindless television, immediate access, and escapist video games, until all that was left was a herd waiting to be led. And we were led. The brave new world was a bleak one. It was a world of corruption, of fear. A world where children must be closely watched, where you did not leave the house after 8:00 (unless you lived in one of the expansive corporate human resource farms, where rows of pristine houses and apartment buildings sat like crops waiting to be harvested). A world where power was closely tied to business...and this power was entirely unchecked. Government was neutered so effectively that many larger cities perceived themselves as states unto themselves, run by the wealthiest and most influential of their citizens. For these major structural changes, you would think that some visual element would be evident, but there was none. I mean, the buildings still looked the same. The cars as well. It was not a violent military dictatorship or a charred police state that was produced by the revolution. Instead, it was a world run by corporations. And those corporations were now ruled almost exclusively by men. So there was no reason for the world to look too different...the corporations had held most of the power anyway, right? That's not to say that you would not be able to locate difference. It would simply be slight, and easy to miss. For example, police officers would not be found in typical government-styled uniform, or driving brightly painted cars. Depending on where you lived, police officers might not be found at all. Each multi-billion dollar conglomerate had its own police force, patrolling its own area of town, where only that company's workers and the people who served them lived. If you did not belong to one of them, then you could not count on their assistance. If you were an in-house lawyer whose office was on the 53rd story, then you went home at night and felt safe. If you worked a cash register at the nearby gas station, you prayed. There were, of course, second-rate police forces available to those who were beyond the corporate containment, but the expense and incompetence of these forces usually made them highly suspect. The power held by the champions of business was virtually absolute. Environmental regulations vanished. Unions disbanded, or suffered for their stubbornness. Violent clashes signalling the death of workers rights movements went unreported. Little by little, the true nature of power began to be displayed: money, influence, and sex. This became very clear in the first days, when those people labeled as enemies of change, those who had been loyal to government or were simply lied about by their enemies, were turned into slaves, given to or bought by those who could afford such luxury, and used for any number of menial, grueling, or sexual work. Some powerful businesses bought slaves to use as unpaid assistants or pleasurable rewards for their employees. Cold winds weren't required for a chill to climb your spine, if you looked to carefully at the thing you had helped create. Most people didn't. As for myself, I was neither opponent to change, nor a contributor. I left the revolution much the way I had entered it. This seemed to me like the path to greatest safety and security. Wrong. What I discovered was that my neutrality left me as an insignificant nonentity. I was an accountant, working for a decently sized business that was immediately purchased and shut down by a larger rival. My boss, a heavy and surprisingly large Asian man named Harold King, had been sorrowful and apologetic about the merger. He wept for the business he had built from the ground up. But there was, he assured us, little choice. After all, what protection was left to us against competitors three or four times our size? "Tectonic shifting," he said as he poured a drink, "always brings down buildings. So let us drink to new real estate." He promised us all good references. I found myself out of a job in a world I did not yet understand. A world that did not yet fully exist. I also discovered that a great many companies were folding, succumbing to the influence of massive, ever-expanding corporations which were already well-staffed with expert accountants. They had no need for someone with four years experience and a B-average from a no-name university. It's hard to explain how terrified and desperate my wife and I were. To be unemployed in a world where what you did, and who paid you for it, was all that mattered. I eventually found myself hiring out my services to what few small companies remained. I was usually contracted for small, short jobs. None of them could afford a full-timer accountant. Some of them couldn't afford to pay me at all, when the time came. They were lean times. We sold the house, the cars, and eventually found ourselves in a small, cramped, leaky apartment that would probably have been torn down, if there was still anybody around to make such decisions. My wonderful wife, Tabitha, was patient and understanding. "We'll get by," she told me the day we brought her ceramic figurines in to pawn. And then she kissed me and smiled, as though nothing were wrong at all. Her gorgeous face was framed by soft auburn hair, which always seemed to look good even though we could only afford to run the shower every other day and she had to cut it herself. "I hope so, Tabby." I smiled, running a hand through my own thinning patch. "I've got a job with Omaha Beef Company today." She frowned. "I thought they skipped payment last time." "They did," I shrugged, glancing down the street and wondering what was taking the bus so long. "But they promised to pay me with steak this time." Her eyes closed and she bit her lip. Beautiful. "That would be delicious," she said. "I don't remember the last time we had steak." "Have you had any luck?" "Are you kidding me? Just more of the same." I grunted my irritation. In the world of total information sharing, it's amazing to find out who is keeping tabs on you. Tabitha had started sending out resumes for any job which didn't require a degree, and although nobody returned her calls we soon were inundated with offers from the new, quickly-growing sex worker corporations. The strange thing about a world built solely on competition is how swiftly is strips people of their basic human kindness, their liberality. In less than three years of the new world order, women had virtually vanished from the workforce, save for those poorly paying positions that exist in supermarkets and gas stations. Now that education was something you bought, and spent heavily on, many families were passing on school for their daughters, since their chances of employment were so nonexistent. Women's rights were being torn up from the very foundations, and for a beautiful young woman like Tabitha, the only available positions involved dancing, fucking, or serving at one of the elite clubs for people of status. And that last job was usually only a good idea for ambitious women hoping some rich fool would decide to claim her as his own. "Well," I smiled as the bus pulled up and I took out our prepurchased tickets, "maybe something will come up tomorrow." She nodded, doubtfully. I didn't believe it, either. But I was right. The next day, we found ourselves looking down at a letter of opportunity from ColCorp, the very same massive operation that had purchased my previous employer. They wanted me to call and set up an interview. "That doesn't make sense," I mumbled, staring down at it. "Why not?" Tabitha laughed, far more excited than I. "You applied, didn't you?" "A year and a half ago." I shook my head. "But only out of desperate hope. This company wouldn't take anybody who didn't have a degree from a well-known university, and a good deal of experience. There isn't a reason on earth why this letter should be sitting on our table." Tabitha laughed again, and put her hands around my shoulders. "But it is, Michael! Who knows why, but it's right there!" "What would convince them to send for me?" She slapped my rear playfully. "Because you're great. Because everything you've done the last few years is available information, now, and somebody somewhere found out that you're the best there is." "I'm not. I'm not even close." Two hands gently gripped my hips. "Oh, shut up and put out," she whispered in my ear. * You would expect that an interviewee would find themselves looking up at a gargantuan tower of commerce, feeling intimidated and small. But it wasn't uncommon now for an organization to own numberous city blocks, effectively creating a compound wherein executives ruled like miniature Roman emperors. Such compounds contained jails, hospitals, schools, malls, and everything else required to make it a miniature city of its own. The living was pretty good, in those areas. But to enjoy the empire, you must suffer the emperor. Employees had to be careful not to run afowl of their bosses. It could mean a night in jail, unemployment, or worse. Some executives, it was rumored, had even auctioned off the wives or children of failed employees as slaves. By the same token, there was a great many opportunities located in the compound for rewarding success. Arriving for an interview at ColCorp, I was directed to a small, 10-story glass structure on the corner of the compound. Inside, a woman beautiful enough to be a supermodel sat behind a desk. She wore a bikini top and a short skirt, and smiled at me as I walked in. A waterfall 30 feet behind her fell from three stories up. On either side of the room, massive flat screen TVs looped footage of employees enjoying games of tennis, relaxing in large cushy living areas, taking trips to an unidentified lake paradise, eating at a fancy restaurant, and selecting young women to take into a back room in what was clearly a company brothel. Everything was immaculately clean. "Mr. Young?" The beautiful woman asked me. I nodded. "Please take this name tag, and move to room 519 on the fifth floor. Mr. King is waiting for you." I blinked. "Mr. King?" "Yeah, hon." She winked. "Mr. King rarely interviews people. You must be pretty important." "I, uh...I doubt it." "Sure, hon. Sure." She appraised me in a way that said that she didn't believe my modesty, and might be willing to consider any offer I might make. As I clipped the nametag on, I noticed she had written her name and number on the back. On the fifth floor, I found myself sitting in a waiting room with an equally beautiful, even more lightly clothed, substantially younger girl who might in another time have been starting to think about what college to attend. She barely acknowledged me, except to point to a seat when I came in. She very clearly believed that she had already been claimed by somebody with more power than I would ever have. She was surely right. But who was Mr. King, that he was so important, yet was here to interview an insignificant accountant? I couldn't help but suspect... The doors opened, at last, revealing Harold King, the very man who had sold his company to this larger rival. My former boss. For the first time, it occurred to me to wonder what they had offered him. He had grown larger in his victory, obviously. His six foot frame, large for his heritage, contained a sizable layer of fat. If forced to speculate, I'd put his weight at somewhere between 240 and 260 pounds. His tailor-made suit and professional grooming made him look younger than his 50 years, however. The girl at the desk, who was probably five foot four and 120 pounds, looked at him with poorly-feigned devotion. He ignored her. "Michael Young!" He beckoned to me. I stood, and he shook my hand firmly. "So good to see you, my man! Can you believe it?" He winked at me. "What odds roll in our favor?" "I'm surprised, I admit, to see you, sir." I smiled back. If Harold King was in charge around here, the job was mine. My mind wandered to thoughts of beautiful receptionists with no clothes on, for a moment. Then I thought of my wife. "Come in, come in," he waved me into a large, plush office that looked more like a cozy living room than a place of business. "I so rarely use this particular office," he admitted, "so it may not be up to the standards you were expecting." I neglected to point out that I slept underneath rusted pipes that hung from my ceiling. I simply found my seat in front of the big desk. King dropped his massive weight on the chair behind it, and put his feet up. "I believe an explanation is due?" He winked. "I am curious," I smiled. "Congratulations, by the way." "Why thank you," he said. "The thing is, when it became clear that we were going to die a slow, aching death at the old place, I contacted ColCorp about making a deal. An acquisition of our size would put them above their biggest rival, and ensure domination for them. For now. I knew they would pay well." He poured two whiskeys, and handed one to me. "But the thing is, I understood on some level that power was going to mean more, in this new country of ours, and so instead of a large cash payment I requested a position of great influence in this company. I got it," he chinked his glass against mine in toast, "and spent the next year and a half maneuvering myself very near the top." He tilted his head, pleased with himself. "And now I have the ability to offer you employment once more." I sipped my drink. I hadn't tasted whiskey in over a year. Maybe that was a good thing. "That's very kind, sir. I am grateful. But this company is....well....why me?" He put his feet down, leaned forward, and acted like he hadn't heard my question. "How are things at home, Michael? Still married to that wonderful woman?" "Tabby?" I asked, looking around the room at the varying expenses and trinkets. He rarely uses this office. "I am. She's the love of my life." He grunted. "Did you see my pretty thing out there?" "I did. She's very young." His distinctly Asian features folded in a grin. "Seventeen!" It was a boast. "But merely entertainment, you understand. The thing is," he suddenly looked very serious, and not particularly friendly, "women can have a good many uses." It was a strange moment, brought on by a strange statement. I fumbled for words. "Do...would you like to see my resume, sir?" I held it out. He plucked it up and tore it in two. "Don't be silly, Michael. I'm not hiring you for your accounting abilities." He watched me over the rim of his glass as he finished his drink on one, swift gulp. "I don't understand." My pride was hurt, but mostly I was getting nervous. "The thing is, Michael..." he picked at something in his teeth, "I have always wanted a large family. Now, my ex-wife was sterile, and my life is getting late rather swiftly. I have acquired much, and I wish to have many dozens of children to share it with." "Dozens?" "Hm." He poured himself another drink. "That's a lot of children," I said carefully, and ignored a sudden urge to get out of this place. "It is a lot, yes." He sipped his whiskey. "But then women who are lucky enough to have the privilege of receiving my genes should be very grateful, I should think." He said nothing for a moment, as though expecting me to respond. Then he handed me a contract. "Sign it," he said. "It guarantees you employment opportunity here, with admittedly little room for promotion, but with a salary greater than your talents merit. I do not wish to insult," he waved his hand at my hurt look. "I only wish for you to understand that as good a man as you are, your talents alone do not earn this job." "Then what am I good for?" I asked, flipping through the more than twenty page document. "Isn't it obvious?" He gulped the last of his drink. "I'm going to get your wife pregnant." I sat frozen only for a moment. Then I stormed for the door. King must have pushed a button, or something, because two ridiculously large corporate police thugs met me there. They gripped my arms painfully and lifted me up. I wasn't dumb enough to struggle, and was quickly brought back to my seat. "Thank you gentlemen," King smiled. "You have the address and description, I believe?" "We do, sir," one said. He was a massive black man, who made King look short and looked to be strong enough to lift us both with one arm. "Excellent. The address is this young man's apartment. The description is of his wife. Find her and collect her. And gentlemen," he waved a finger, "she is not to be harmed any more than is needed to collect her. Have your fun elsewhere." "Yes, sir." They left. "You son of a bitch!" I spat at him. "No," he stood up, "you are the son of a bitch. A stupid, stupid man who couldn't smell opportunity if it shat on his face. And now look at you....all you have to offer is your wife's ass." He grunted. "Consider this: I have been collecting the varying women who will have my children in much the same fashion I am doing now. Young desperate men who need work, who have beautiful wives. I know what I'm doing. If you refuse, my friend, you will be dead in less than twelve hours, and your wife will be given to my police force, for their own use. If you consent, you will both live a life of relative luxury and happiness, together. The only downside is that your wife will be available to me, whenever and however I choose, for as long as it takes. Once she is pregnant, the two of you will be contractually obligated to raise the child and care for it according to a set of predesignated rules. But once the pregnancy occurs, your wife's time as my concubine is at an end." "We were friends," I whispered, deflated. "We are friends, Micheal," he smiled. "Or I would be offering a great deal less money. Tell me this," he walked around to my side of the table and sat on the desk. "Is the offer really so bad? Is it worse than your life now? How long can you hold out before...what is her name, again?" "Tabitha." "Ah, yes. You call her Tabby. How long before Tabby is sucking dick or dancing on a pole just so you can eat, Michael? How long before there's no choice left?" "Not long," I consented. "No, not long at all, I should think. So here I am offering you a much less terrifying thought. One man, not dozens, and for a finite period of time. And instead of living in that shithole you will be a part of this glorious company. All in all, a much happier outcome, yes?" "Yes," I wanted to cry. "Then will you agree?" "Tabitha never will." Fight Test "Hm," he stroked his chin, "that would be a problem. Is there any way we can convince her?" I thought about it, disgusted with myself. "She would do anything for me. I believe that. She will if it's for me." "And will you help me convince her?" I glared up at him. He went on looking sure of himself, unruffled by any of what was being said. "I don't know if I can." "You just told me it is the only way." I sighed. "Yes. I'll help." He clapped. "Sign the papers, if you would, Michael, and we'll discuss it further." "But..." "Oh, relax. Your contract is void unless she signs hers. It's harmless." I signed it, but I wanted to be sick. He pushed play on a small recording device. "Can I get audio confirmation?" I nodded. Such confirmations were standard. New recording equipment was such that imprinted information was unalterable, and easily checked for authenticity. It made for a safe back-up to negotiations. "I, Michael Young, have signed the contract on this, the date by which the tape is labeled." "And the contract was for?" "Long-term employment opportunity with ColCorp, subject to company standards, in exchange for sexual access and impregnation of my wife, one Tabitha Young, by Mr. Harold King." I held my head in my hands. The door opened suddenly, and two different large policemen stormed in. "Take him to the holding cell," King waved at me dismissively. They scooped me up, and this time I struggled. "Relax, Michael. In a few hours, you'll know if your wife has agreed because you'll either be alive, or not. I wouldn't worry. After all," he raised his glass as I was carried from the room, "she'll do it for you." * The holding cell, a security containment area, was isolated and small. That was nice, because I didn't have to worry about sharing a cell with anybody tougher than myself. Clearly King had no interest in physically harming me. He would make it as easy on me as he could, while still getting his way. I paced, sweating and crying silently. What would he say to her? How would she respond? Hours passed. I was still alive. She must have agreed. Jesus. Why was I still here, then? Where was she? With him? What was he doing to her? I threw up, stumbling into the corner as I did so to contain it. The smell filled the room. I couldn't believe what had happened, couldn't believe myself. My wife's first child would not be my own. My wife's body would not even be hers. An hour later, the doors opened. I was taken to a large condo on the East side of the complex. I was ordered to shower and change. I did so, wary of the guards standing watch over me as I did so. I was given a bathrobe. "What is this place?" I asked the guards, looking around. The furniture was all new, and the place seemed enormous. "Your home," one stated matter-of-factly, and then they left. I began to explore 'my home' carefully, curiously. But moments later the door opened and Tabitha walked in. "Tabby!" I ran to her, not bothering to close my robe. But I stopped short when I saw the red face, the tear-streaks on her cheeks. "Honey, I'm so sorry," I said. "I wish..." "I can't believe you agreed," she whispered. Her eyes looked at me like I was alien. "W...what?". "King showed me the contract you signed. Read to me what it said. He showed me footage of you agreeing to help convince me. He played you audio confirmation for me. You sold me to him." My knees nearly gave out. "No, honey! No! Look at my arms, for Christ's sake!" I rolled up my sleeves to reveal bruises where the guards had held me. "You know me, Tabby. Think. I wouldn't do this." "But..." She faltered. "We've been fooled. He told me he would kill me and send you to be raped if I didn't sign. And then he turned around and told you I wanted it to happen. He played us." I felt new tears well up. "Then we'll...." She blinked, and looked to me to finish the sentence. I shook my head. "We're under contract now. You know as well as I that contract is the new law. We try to break contract, and we may as well be dead already." She stared at me. "Did..." I stuttered, "Did he..." She shook her head. "No. Probably tomorrow." "Oh." She began to cry. I held her small frame against me. I'm no giant, at 5 foot 11, but I'm still a good ten inches taller than my sweet wife. And at 190, I outweigh her by seventy-five pounds. He body was soft against mine. I thought about Harold King, six feet tall and more than double her weight, and I prayed we would get through this. * I was due in the office the next day. My hours, I learned, were from 7 AM to 7 PM. Twelve hour days, fairly typical for lower-downs. However, I would be given a fifteen minute break at 11:00 and a thirty minute break at 4:00. My second break could be extended if I had a dinner scheduled with a member of management or wished to make a visit to the brothel. My section was fairly unimportant, dealing mostly in the finances related to small business acquisition, so our version of the regular office amenities was somewhat downgraded. In Accounting Major they had slave serving girls who walked around with food and coffee, and offered massages. We had two slaves, both in their late thirties and tired looking. They were still attractive, but there was no comparison. I never used the services of the slaves. I felt like one of them. Work was dull, and the faces of my compatriots were heavy with the weight of it. I doubted they went home to a condo as nice as mine. For me, the passing of every minute was hell. "Probably tomorrow," she'd said. But when, and what, exactly? For all I knew, Tabitha was under King right now. The very thought made me dizzy, angry. I didn't know his work schedule, but he seemed to have the kind of freedom to do as he pleased. "Many dozens of children," he had said. How many other women was he abusing? How many of the lined faces I passed in the office were suffering the same hell. At last 7:00 came, and I nursed a backache as I wearily made my way home. Pasing through the high-rise walkways, too tired to rush back to my wife, I thought about the large bathtub we now had. I was so glad to be done, to be up and moving, that I almost forgot about King. Until I opened the door. Sitting in my living room, on my new couch, with his feet up on the coffee table, was Harold King. He was wearing my new robe. Sitting next to him, knees bent so that she was sitting on her feet, was my wife. His arm was around her, and she rested limply against him. She wore a pair of bikini briefs, nothing more. Her left breast rested softly against his heavy belly. "Michael!" He smiled at me. "How was your first day?" "Exhausting," I said flatly. My wife didn't even look up at me. My heart went out to her. She, who so desperately would need consoling, was trapped in the arms of her abuser. He stroked her hair and waved me over to a nearby chair. "Have a seat, Michael," he said. "We were just finishing a movie." "I see." I sat down "Oh, now, don't be cross. Your wife did a good job today." He looked down at her, "A very good job. I am convinced I chose wisely." "I can't say I'm happy for you," I growled. His words had spread a dull pain across my guts. "Don't worry, Michael. I won't be here every day. I try to maintain four or five breeding partners consecutively, which means I'll likely only stop by twice a week or so. It's just that Tabby and I are in our honeymoon period now." He laughed at his own joke. "We can't keep our hands off each other." She didn't react, but kept her eyes submissively downcast. "Well, I imagine it can't take that long to conceive, anyway," I observed. He chuckled. "Silly boy. I told you that I wanted dozens of children, but that doesn't mean I want to have to keep track of them all at once. I try to limit myself to only two a year. That means that your wife is on the breeder waiting list, as it were," he gave her a gentle squeeze as he said that. "This is just practice." Her expression remained unchanged, and her gaze remained lowered. She had obviously already heard this drivel. I leaned forward, ready to attack. "That was not a part of..." "It was, Michael. And I recommend that you be a little more respectful. I don't have to make this as easy for you as I am." He sipped his drink. Another whiskey. "I don't have to make this as easy for her as I am, either. You should read contracts more carefully." "So," I sighed, "when will you..." I couldn't speak. "...will I plant my seed?" "Complete the contract.'" He winked and squeezed her again. She looked so small against him. "I suppose," he shrugged, "that if I do the math you can expect for this arrangement to continue for, oh....say, 18 to 24 months." My jaw dropped. "And, just so you don't get your hopes up," he stood up and walked into the bedroom, "there will be no mistakes. No unexpected, er, completion of the contract. I'm very careful. And your wife is blessed with a highly gifted mouth. With some tutelage, she will be amazing." He walked out, now dressed, and headed for the door. "Until next time," he waved to me over his shoulder. He didn't acknowledge her. She had served her purpose. After he left, I moved over to sit next to Tabby. She shivered and leaned against me. "I'm sorry," I whispered. She didn't say anything. That night, we made slow love in our new bed. We didn't speak, or cry out or moan. All that could be heard was the creaking of the bed and our shared, hard, breath. * The next few days were uneventful. We both found our new life pleasant enough that we didn't think so much about the cost. I was getting on alright with my new coworkers, although my boss was bearing down on me pretty hard. I knew I had a lot to prove. At night we ate in gloriously expensive restaurants. We went to movies. We didn't talk about King. Life was good. And then, on Friday, I came home to a pile of clothes on the floor, and the sound of a squeaking mattress coming from the bedroom. And the moaning wails of my wife's orgasm. I stood, immobile, for several minutes. When the squeaking didn't stop, but only became more persistent, I poured myself a drink and sat down in the living room. I stared at the floor, feeling emotionally and intellectually numb, as my boss continued to fuck my wife for another twenty minutes. During that time, she came twice more. At least three orgasms. She'd had two with me, once, when we were dating. Never three. I felt emasculated, humiliated. I felt utterly alone. Finally the squeaking stopped. A moment later, I heard him grunt as he came. This too seemed to go on forever. My stomach tightened and bile rose as I heard him growl the words "swallow it all." Then, silence. I sighed, and it felt as though my soul left stowed away in the air from my lungs. Tabby came out of the bedroom, nude, and went into the kitchen. There she poured a whiskey, and headed back for the bedroom. When she saw me, she froze and dropped the drink. Her wide eyes held guilt. For coming, perhaps? Something about that thought made me angry. "Lost track of time?" I said with spite. "I...he came over..." "He's waiting for his drink, dear. Don't you think you'd better get it to him?" "Please don't be like this," she whispered. She looked ready to cry. I'm such an ass. "I'm sorry," I said. "I'm just....look, go to him. I understand." She poured another drink, and went. Ten minutes later he left. He didn't say a word to me on his way out. But Tabitha escorted him to the door, and they kissed before he left. Then, she pulled on a robe and sat next to me. "I'm sorry," she said. I looked at her. Her face was flush. Her nipples stood out. All hope that she had faked to get him off quicker faded. She really had enjoyed it. "He's good," I said. It wasn't a question, and she didn't answer. She just looked away, humiliated. "Will...will you tell me some things?" I asked her. She looked at me carefully. "Will these things...will they make this easier for you, or worse?" "It can't get any worse," I said honestly. She sighed. "What do you want to know?" "Is he better than me?" She blushed. That meant yes. Somehow, it only made me want to ask more questions. If I was to be undone, at least I would be a part of it and not a silent fool. "Is he bigger than me?" The blush deepened. "Is that why you enjoy it?" She glanced at me. "Only partially." "So he's skillful?" "Yes." "And what else?" "I..." she sniffed, ready to cry, and I realized this must be devastating for her. "...I don't know. He treats me like...a toy. I shouldn't enjoy it." "But you do?" "No! Yes." She let out a sob. "I don't know!" She fell against me, heavy as I am useless, and cried. * The weekend went by quickly. But a new movie was out, and we decided to make a night of it Sunday. We picked out a restaurant, called some new friends, and arranged to meet them. And then King took my wife away again. At five o'clock two policemen showed up with a fancy dress, that revealed a great deal of cleavage and back. Attached was a note telling my wife to put it on and prepare herself. The guards would then escort her to the ballroom where she would be his date for the night. "It will be great fun," the note promised. "Great food, dancing, and a nighttime ride in the park!" "You can't go," I said stubbornly. "We have plans." But we both knew better, and she was already going into the bedroom to change. So I sat at home, and got very, very drunk. I felt sorry for myself, I felt sorry for Tabby, I masterbated twice. I don't know why. I was determined to wait up for my wife, but at around 1:30 I passed out. The next morning, I awoke late for work and hung-over. Tabby was not yet home. When I got to work, I was surprised to find a note on my desk from King. "Sorry about the last minute change," it said, "but I needed a beautiful date to impress an important guest. I understand that you're probably feeling a bit sore this morning, so your superior has been informed that you will be going home at 2:00. Your wife will be there when you return." Underneath the note was a minidrive. I attached it to the computer, and immediately a video popped up on the screen. The title said "A Night on the Town." The first thing it showed was a montage of security camera shots of my wife and King eating dinner. She looked so tiny and beautiful, wearing that dress. He was talking, waving his hands, and they both laughed loudly. She wasn't pretending. She was enjoying herself. They talked a while longer, and then she leaned in to whisper in his ear. He nodded, and they moved out onto the dance floor. King moved very well, for all his weight. He held Tabby close as they swayed to the music. My stomach knotted up as she rested her head on his chest. The scene faded, and was replaced by footage of what were apparently multiple cameras in his bedroom. Looking down from above, I watched my beautiful wife's head bob up and down over his pelvis as he lay there, hands behind his head, smiling. When she shifted lower to run her tongue across his balls, I was able to confirm that she had been truthful about the size of his member. Her hand was small upon it. She hoisted up her dress, and climbed up him. This was her own doing, with no command from him. Reaching down, she slid him into her body and moaned loudly. With patient movements, she began rocking on top of him. Disgusted and devastated, I reached up to turn the video off. Before I could, the scene cut to King, sitting in his office, smiling at me. "Hello, Michael," he said. "I suppose you are wondering why I would do something so hurtful as provide you with this footage. My reasons are my own, suffice to say, but it's important that you understand this: you will never tell your wife what you have seen. More videos will come. You will watch every one, and you will not reveal them to her either. You must know by now that I am monitoring you at all times. Do not try anything foolish." He leaned back, away from the video, and smiled. "This is not just to make you miserable. Rather, there is an ends to which this is a small part of the means. I enjoy my games, Michael. You understand." At two, when it was time to leave, I couldn't find the energy to go home. Instead, I sat in a company bar, sipping slowly on a drink, and thought about absolutely nothing. When I did stumble home, at around five, my wife was waiting. And she was angry. "Why didn't you come home at two?!" She demanded, hurtfully. Of course. I should have known he would tell her about what a great guy he was being. "I...I couldn't." She looked at me, suddenly nervous. "Why not? I missed you." I wanted to make one of a number of snappy comments. My wounded pride and bruised heart almost overcame me. I wanted to call her a whore, to spit at her for liking him. But I knew I must not admit what I had seen. Instead I walked past her, towards the kitchen. "Have fun last night, dear?" I deadpanned. "That's not funny." "No," I snapped, "it's not. It's not fucking funny at all. Could you still taste your delicious meal while he was coming in your mouth?" "Michael..." she whispered, and reached out for me. I broke. "I'm so sorry," I whispered, and went to her. This had to stop. * Days passed quietly. We both did our best to maintain as much happiness as we could contain. We made love once. She didn't climax once. That Thursday he was fucking her in the kitchen when I got home. She was bent over, moaning softly as he held her hips and pounded against her. He slowed his rhythm as I entered the condo, but pushed her head down against the counter when she tried to lift it. She purred and licked at his fingers. "I tell you, Michael," he gasped, "if you worked as hard as Tabby did today, it was a great day for the corporation." He slapped her ass playfully as he spoke. His heavy belly rested atop her. She pushed back against him. I turned, hoping to get out as quickly as I could, but he stopped me. "Don't leave yet, Michael. I'm almost done, and we need to talk." I sat heavily on the couch, waiting as he drove himself into her body repeatedly. She called out in orgasm, and then he withdrew. Still gripping her hair, he led her into the living room near me. Then he threw her roughly to the floor. He stood directly above her face, hand on his thick member, looking down at her. She looked back up with lust-filled eyes, still ignoring me, as he squatted down so that his balls rested on her forehead. His ass cheeks covered her face, and she immediately began licking his ass. She actually fucking moaned in pleasure as she kissed and licked his ass. "She's learning well," he pointed out, stroking his shaft slowly. I could see him relax and put a little more weight on her small head. It made me nervous for her. He moaned. "It's a very relaxing, yet arousing feeling," he admitted. "But it's also a show of power. Sort of like pissing in a woman's mouth, you know." I could punch him. He was close enough. My fist balled. "I'm going on vacation," he announced. "For a week. Tabby's coming with me." "No." I said it flatly, sternly. She slurped and moaned under his ass. He continued to calmly stroke his shaft, there in front of me. He looked at me curiously. "Your wife is most eager to attend. Isn't that right, sweetie?" I heard her muffled confirmation as she made out with his asshole. "You see, Michael, I have a few business associates who go out on my yacht with me every year. And every year I bring two beautiful women. I share the women with them, of course, and I have no doubt they'll be amazed at your wife's willingness to eat ass." He grunted and relaxed his leg muscles even further. I hated to think how much weight was on Tabitha's face. I didn't see how she could breathe. To hear her noises, she was in heaven. "Anyway, your wife will enjoy it a great deal." Fight Test "Fuck you!" I spat, standing up. "Why are you doing this?!?" He looked taken aback. "You don't get it, do you Michael?" He promptly stood up, and my wife moaned her disapproval. He stepped away, and she rolled up and crawled after, her eyes never leaving his cock and fat ass. "Stop," he commanded, and she did. She just knelt there, watching him. "Tabby, my dear," he smiled, I tell you what. You have been good to me, and you have never complained. I should honor that. If you wish me to, I will tear the contract up tonight and we will be done with it." Conflicted emotions ran across her face, but she didn't respond. "Well?" He asked. "Shall I tear it up? Return you to your loving, caring husband, and promise never to 'abuse' you again?" She blinked, and looked at me for the first time. Why wasn't she saying yes?! I mentally begged her, even nodded my head. She seemed too confused, almost hurt. She looked back at him. Then at his cock. "No." She said flatly. I couldn't believe my ears. He smiled. "But, Tabby, that means I will eventually fill you with my seed. You will be forced to carry my child. And in the meantime I will continue to require you to do terrible, disgusting things. Are you sure you don't want me to tear it up?" "Please, no," she whispered. He shrugged at me, as if to ask what more he could do. I started to cry. "In that case, Tabby, I think we should stop pretending the contract matters, and admit that you belong to me completely. Agreed?" "Yes," she moaned, eyes fixed on his cock. "Then allow me to seal the deal." He stepped forward, and forced her head down on his large shaft. He must have taught her how to relax her throat, because he slid all the way in and began fucking against her face in earnest. He pushed against her so hard he flattened her nose on every stroke. After a minute he pulled back and jerked a massive, thick, white load into her open mouth. I think she came when it hit her tongue. After he left, she finally realized I was there. It was like she was a different person. I pushed her away, swore at her, and didn't stop yelling until she slammed the bedroom door. And that's when I found the pills. Two of them, on the counter. I knew they came from a pharmaceutical company that had been purchased just after my arrival with the company. But I didn't know what they were. Curiousity seemed like a more survivable experience than heartbroken depression. My ID badge was enough to get the information I needed from a tired looking tech in the pharmaceutical wing. When he hesitated, I informed him that Mr. King had just then left my condo, that he visited me regularly, and that I would be mentioning the slow service to him. He believe me...you don't risk lying about connections to management. It's too dangerous. The pills I found. An experimental drug, which was being tested for use in the sex industry. Apparently, it created intense feelings of lust and arousal so intense that they had the potential to make whoever took it addicted to whoever they slept with while under it's influence. That addiction could be stronger than any other emotion...including love. It had the potential to be massively popular, as well as to destroy a lot of women's lives. And King was giving it to Tabitha when he fucked her. I wondered if she knew. I wondered if it was too late to save her. * The next morning they left for their vacation. I was in a panic. He now had a week to feed her that poison and addict her to him. If what little I knew was true, then that would almost certainly be enough to seal her addiction. It would cause damage to her psyche that couldn't be undone, and would leave her sapped of any true free will. My beautiful wife. I had abandoned her, refused to see her actions as any but what they appeared on the surface. Now, I wasn't going down without a fight. The morning of their third day, King gave me the in I needed. He sent along a video that featured hours of footage of Tabitha performing a variety of depraved acts. In spite of his description, most of the acts seemed to be with him. Knowing I was being watched, I viewed the entire film. I noticed that she had started gasping out that she loved him while he fucked her. I shuttered when he pushed his massive tool into her small ass. I fought the urge to look away when he got drunk and rough with her. I fought panic when, during the last two lovemaking sessions (and, for her, it was truly making love now), he began coming inside her. But then he made a mistake. At the end of the video, he told me that according to Tabitha's wishes he had rewritten the contract. He was obviously covering his actions legally. I was to go to his secretary at the human resources building, where I had been 'hired,' and sign the new one. So I did. The same, virtually-nude seventeen year old girl was sitting behind her desk when I got there. I walked up forcefully, trying to distract her, and knocked over her box of pens. "What the fuck!" She said as she reached down to pick them off the floor. "I get tired of being ignored," I spat, dropping one of the pills in her water. It dissolved almost immediately. "I'm here about the contract." "Yeah, yeah. Here," she held it out, "sign it." "I want to read it first." "Whatever." She went back to doing nothing. It took thirty minutes before she sipped her water. Then, only ten before her eyes glazed over. I made my move. I walked over and put a hand on hers, softly. She recoiled, and then stared at her hand in surprise. What had it felt like? "Miss," I attempted a deep, confident tone. "Can I speak with you?" She looked up at me, still looking confused. "I...." I put my hand back on hers. She didn't draw away. I rubbed it softly. "My name is Michael," I said. "I'm Tanya." She smiled. "Your name doesn't matter to me, to be honest." I rubbed up her arm, leaning forward so that I could reach up to her shoulder. She blushed. "Sir, I..." "This feels really good to you." She turned even darker red. "Yes." I leaned in close, and whispered in her ear. "Tell the guards that are following me that Mr. King says they can take the night off." "I can't do that," she just watched my hand rub up and down her arm. She was breathing deeply through her mouth. I had to make this work. I beckoned her up with one finger, and she rose until our noses were touching. "I want to fuck you in Mr. King's office," I whispered. "But I hate to wait." In no time, she had called off the guard dogs and unlocked the office. As I watched her soft, youthful form saunter into the room, I wondered if there was a way to get out of this without fucking her. I couldn't figure a way. For this to work, I had to have her complete cooperation. I walked up to her and slipped the other pill between her lips. "Swallow," I said, and she did. "Good girl." She moaned, and undid my belt. Five minutes into a surprisingly knowledgeable blowjob my mind wandered to King, and my wife. Not in an upset or angry way. In a curious way. Feeling a rush of power, looking at this gorgeous girl beneath me, I found myself grabbing her hair, bending her over the large desk, and plunging deeply into her. Fifteen minutes later, it was over. She was more than willing to go back out to her desk and let me explore. Whatever I wanted, of course. And I had no trouble finding, in a bottom drawer, a stash of no less than 5 bottles of 100 pills each. I took one bottle. I didn't even need 100. * King continued to send video tapes of him mounting, abusing, and cumming in my wife. I fought the urge to use these new pills...this new power...on any number of people. I couldn't risk getting caught. But the thrill of knowing that I could have any of the women I saw was an addicting experience, all its own. Disgusting, how quickly I began thinking like him. When the happy couple finally returned, they stopped by to see me. "Well, hello, Michael," King smiled. My wife ignored me. "Mind if I have a drink?" "Like I have a choice," I feigned anger. I had already put three of the potent pills in the whiskey bottle, knowing his penchant for it. "Michael, I thought we had agreed on civility." He poured a drink and dropped two ice cubs in it. "I know I don't have to tell you, but you missed a marvelous trip." "So I saw." "Indeed," he sipped his drink. "I got to thinking, after the first time I unleashed my seed into your wife's belly, that perhaps you deserve more. I realize that, as I have fallen for her and she for me, things have been rough for you." Another sip. "I'm going to supply you with some girls of your own. I do expect you to continue to care for my property," another sip and a patting of Tabitha's thigh, "while I'm busy with other toys. But the girls are for you only." "You're too kind. I want my wife." He shook his head. "Fool boy. She belongs to me, now." "She's half your age." "And half my size. I enjoy both of these facts." Another sip. Then a twitch. He looked at his drink, eyes mildly glassy, and at me, not quite suspiciously. I knew I had to take advantage of his state before he caught on. "Oh, finish your drink, you bastard, and get out. Why don't you have Tabitha gather some things and stay with you a while. I can hardly look at her these days." This seemed to please him, and he sent her on her way. And then he did, indeed, finish his drink. By now his eyes were darting, uncertain, but he watched me closely. I wasn't sure this would work. I was trying to get a very heterosexual man to fall for me. It could very easily get me killed. "Here," I handed him my untouched whiskey, "have another." I let my fingers brush his as he took the drink, and he gasped. "You know," I leaned back, "maybe I've been too confrontational. You really have been as kind as is possible, throughout this. What say Tabby takes an early night and we talk, just friendly like?" He nodded, still confused but saying nothing. He was mine. * Over the next three days I took him through 15 pills and a lot of teasing. It was uncomfortable and occasionally shutter inducing, but I had to have him in the palm of my hand. On the fourth day, I got him to sign a contract without reading it, and verify it with audio. On the fifth day, he presented it to the board, now so heavily drugged that he could barely walk straight. I almost hoped I wasn't killing him. On the sixth I quit giving him the pills. After all, he had already given me his shares of the company and all his possessions, as well as agreeing to be my slave. I knew that he would run, when the drug left his system. The pull he felt towards me still existed, but it hadn't been long enough to make the permenant damage very extensive. So, in a way, I guess I let him die. I knew he would run, I knew they would find him, and I knew he would fight. I felt no remorse. My wife spent most of this time in our apartment waiting, as per his final orders. On the seventh day, the day before we were set to move to our much larger new home, I finally returned for her. She looked irritatedly at me. I wasn't King. She didn't pay any mind to the two young, beautiful escorts I had with me. I knew the damage was permanent. She would never be my Tabitha again, not exactly. She was addicted to King. But I could change that, at least. I had to force the first pill down. The girls held her down and I kept her jaw shut until it dissolved. I've seen to it that our company research department develops a counter for the effect of the pills. It's got top priority. I might not be able to save her from King's legacy, but at least I can give her back some control. Give her back her own mind. I wonder how she'll feel about me, when that happens? I wonder how she'll feel about the child growing in her belly? For now, I take care of her, and continue to administer pills when needed. It makes her more pliable, less aggressive, more...pleasant. I'll never have my wife back, not really. But of all the girls I'm enjoying these days, she has the most talented mouth.