Free Market
Chapter 1

Caution: This Science Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, NonConsensual, Reluctant, Coercion, Slavery, Heterosexual, BDSM, MaleDom, Rough, Humiliation, Sadistic, Oral Sex, Sex Toys, Caution, Prostitution,

Desc: Science Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 1 - The most erotic protest to DRM you're likely to read.

It was half an hour after employee number two hundred and fifty-six's shift was supposed to have ended, but she couldn't remember the last time she'd managed to leave work on time. It must have been last year, she realised, before her new boss had raised the daily quotas again.

Suddenly, she heard footsteps: the slow, purposeful steps of someone in control, accompanied by the stiletto-heeled steps of the company secretary, not the bare-foot shuffle of a co-worker.

She slid off the bed she was sitting on, and crawled on her hands and knees to the room's entrance, a locked door comprised of vertical metal bars modelled on a prison's. She tried to look alluring as she slinked along on her hands and knees like an animal. Even if no one was watching - and she could never be completely sure of that

- it never hurt to get more practice.

Human resources had insisted the prison motif was provided merely to protect the workers from gangs of teenaged boys who might somehow break into the place of business, and to ensure that over-eager potential clients would never touch the merchandise before completing a transaction.

They'd never explained the closed circuit television cameras to her satisfaction, but they claimed they also had something to do with protecting employees from overzealous clients and from any disputes that might arise over services rendered. She tried not to picture the lenses set into the top four corners of the room, watching her every move, let alone the security guard or manager who might be watching her at any given moment.

Men had a lot of repressed sexual desire, the welcome pack had said, and it was the company's responsibility to protect its employees from any improper outlet of this desire - improper presumably meaning free. However, she suspected the prison theme was much more likely to do with maintaining the illusion that the clients were in complete control of the workers, when in reality they weren't even in control of themselves. Power play, amongst those without any.

"Please," she begged as the client approached her room, "let me suck you off! I'll do anything you want. Please use me." She'd long since learnt to say it with feeling, as if she meant it. That was the only way to compete with countless other workers all giving the client pretty much the same spiel. You had to stand out in some way, just like in natural selection.

Looking up through the bars, she could see that the client was a middle-aged, balding man in a smart business suit. Repulsive as he looked - and, more to the point, acted - his appearance was hardly surprising. Cute young men who knew how to be true gentlemen seldom visited places like where she worked. She still had fond memories of the last one who had, and that had been months ago. This man's type, on the other hand, was all too familiar: a pillar of society by day, and a loathsome, mysogynistic child by night. It was her job, in a sense, to make sure he got what he wanted. She felt her skin crawl as he looked down at her naked, cowering body. "Display yourself properly," he ordered.

Employee number two hundred and fifty-six realised she'd reflexively placed her hands on the bottom of the door's bars again, her arms almost covering her breasts. Such timidity was seldom popular amongst the clients, and although there was no official corporate stance on proper protocol, such a position was certainly frowned upon.

She shuffled back, her bare feet and knees barely making a noise on the cold tiles. Once she'd scrambled back far enough, she knelt on her legs, her feet tucked under her bottom, spreading her thighs wide open. She made sure to keep her arms at her sides, proudly displaying her body in all its unclothed glory. The only part of herself that she couldn't show was her vulva, as it was locked away inside her chastity belt, the same as everyone else's.

"You are an eager little whore, aren't you?" The man's tone of voice was approving.

"Yes, sir," she said, her eyes fixed on the cold, white tiles of the floor.

"No, let me do it!" came a voice from the next room. "Let me go down on you, please, sir! I'm much better than her. I won't spill a single drop or anything." Shit. The voice belonged to two hundred and fifty-seven. That tramp was just as eager to fulfil her quota as she was, and she had no shame. Two hundred and fifty-six watched helplessly as the man turned around and walked towards the next room.

"And just why should I pick you?" she heard him ask. She crawled back to the door and pressed her head against the bars, but they were too close together for her to poke her head between them. She could only see what was directly in front of her room, which at the moment no longer included the client. She wished she could still see him. It would have felt so reassurring, so much closer to a transaction if she could just see his face, but already he was slipping away, another client lost to a more eager co-worker.

"Because I'm so well trained, sir," came her co-worker's reply, the same as always. "I've been on three separate courses in advanced fellatio theory and applied technique. I can bring you to orgasm as quickly or as slowly as you want me to, and I promise I won't even spill a single drop on that nice suit of yours."

Two hundred and fifty-six knew that was true for all of them. She'd only let a stain appear on a client's clothes once, and it had come out of her wages, undoing three jobs' worth of work. A suit as expensive looking as this man's would no doubt set her back days, essentially making her work for free. She shuddered at the thought.

She was many things, but she wasn't a slave. Not technically, anyway.

Two hundred and fifty-seven's voice snapped her back to the present.

"I'm much better than that cheap whore next to me."

"That's a lie!" protested two hundred and fifty-six. "Just because

I haven't been on any fancy courses doesn't mean I don't know what

I'm doing. I bought a mannequin to practice on, and all my male friends are kind enough to give me private lessons every weekend, watching me perform on it and giving me tips."

She wished she could still see the client, just to gauge his reaction.

She didn't know if he was still entertaining the thought of using her or if he just considered her an annoyance now. "Some of them are even nice enough to buy my services here and give me pointers then too. I'm just as good as her, I know it."

She heard footsteps again, then to her relief, the man walked back in front of her room. She scrambled to the floor once more, spreading her legs wide open again.

"My tastes are very specific," the man informed. "Tell me, do either of you enjoy being tied up?" He looked back at where two hundred and fifty-seven must have been.

Her co-worker quickly chirped in again with another prepared line.

"I'm so cock hungry, I'd let you do anything to me as long as I got to suck you dry at the end. Tie me all you want."

"I see, slut," he replied thoughtfully. Then his gaze turned back to two hundred and fifty-six. "And how about you?"

"I can do it, if you'd like," she replied, her voice soft. It wasn't the scripted answer, but she was still naive enough to believe in the occasional honesty.

"But would you enjoy it, whore?" he demanded.

"I guess I wouldn't mind too much," she said. "But I wouldn't like it as much as just pleasing you." Her eyes remained fixed on the floor's cold, hard tiles on the other side of the door.

"Perfect," said the man. She glanced up at him to see him grinning back down at her.

"I'll use this one right here," he declared loudly to where the receptionist must have been standing the whole time. In a quieter voice, he explained his decision to the naked woman. "I told you my tastes were specific. It's so much more fun when I know you're not enjoying yourself, when you're resisting. I'll enjoy making you squirm."

Employee number two hundred and fifty-six cast her eyes back down at the floor, unsure what to say. She almost felt sorry for the guy. Maybe he was resigning himself to the fact that no woman would ever enjoy having sex with someone as obnoxious as he was, even going so far as to fetishise it, as if it was his choice. Then again, she was sure she'd have plenty of opportunity to lose all sympathy she may have momentarily felt for him.

"Very good, sir," chimed in the receptionist from out of view. "If you tell me your requirements, I'll have her prepared in just under five minutes."

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