Secrets of The New World Order Ch. 03

Jennifer repeated this procedure until Mr. Mellon was satisfied his secretary's asshole was wet enough to accommodate him.

"ENOUGH!" he cried out. "Now my little ass-licker, take out my cock and put it inside my dear Miss Bevis...she's just trembling with lust today...aren't you my dear girl?"

"Ohhh-God---YES, MR. MELLON---PLEASE FUCK ME IN THE ASS, SIR----PLEEEEZZZZZZZ...."

Jennifer heard the man's evil laughter above her as she lowered his slacks and boxers. His boner was oozing pre-cum and she smeared it over his bulbous glans.

She looked first at his cockhead then at the older woman's tiny rosebud and wondered how in the world it was going to fit inside her without splitting her apart.

Jennifer guided his cock to the woman's opening. When she pressed the slick glans against her hole, the woman ground her hips backwards, and Jennifer held her breath as she watched his cock disappear inside the woman.

The younger woman was amazed at how easily the woman's asshole accepted his thick cock. When Mr. Mellon fucked her in the ass, it was still slightly painful until she found her rhythm.

"Hold my balls while I give Miss Bevis a good ass-fucking!" he said to Jennifer.

"Yes, Sir!" she replied.

"...and kiss my ass---I want to feel your lips and tongue on my asscheeks!" he said.

"Yes, Sir!" she replied; thinking 'yes, how appropriate is this?'

Jennifer obediently planted her lips on his fat ass and began covering it with kisses, all the while lapping his salty flesh with her tongue.

Her mind retreated to her 'safe place' to drown-out the moans and groans above her.

She wondered if the rest of her life would be like it is now: Having to submit to Mr. Mellon's increasingly perverted sexual demands, while working a demeaning job that was all style with absolutely no substance.

There were no such things as journalists anymore. She didn't even write her own copy when she faced the camera and recited the litany of lies and propaganda written by trained, corporate stooges.

Her only job was to smile and look pretty, and to cross and uncross her legs to give the viewers as many 'beaver-shots' as requested by the show's director.

Every day in the dressing room sickened her; she had a macabre fascination with what she'd find when she arrived for work. Just when she thought the panties they had her wear couldn't get tighter and more sheer---she would find ever wispier, and see-thru underpants she was forced to wear.

Even more degrading was 'the run-thru' before each broadcast. They had her sit on a tall stool while reading the 'script' wearing a dress with ample cleavage, and a hemline that reached no lower than mid-thigh.

She would start by sitting rigidly with her legs closed tight, her feet planted firmly on the low rung of the stool. The director faced her with a closed fist, and she had to watch for 'the signal'...when his hand opened sideways she would have to open her legs and cross them.

When she performed this maneuver, not only could the millions watching the broadcast see between her legs, but every member of the crew received an eyeful as well...and the tighter the panties, the more pronounced the plump lips of her sex appeared.

The only saving grace of her 'career' was that she now had the highest rated newscast in the country, even beating Fox news. The downside, of course, was the total lack of respect she received from the crew and other employees.

They had even given her a nickname...everyone now called her 'Lips'...."Hey—great show today, Lips!" or "Hey Lips---you missed a few hairs when you shaved down there today!"

Everyone knew she was Mr. Mellon's 'bitch' so they left her alone.

The only satisfaction she received was by the end of the broadcast, most of the men had bulges in their slacks and she hoped they all suffered blue-balls.

A split second after she felt his balls rise and expand in her hand, she heard him cry-out, and then Miss Bevis screamed her orgasm. It was rather titillating watching their shaking bodies and listening to their cries of joy.

The moment his deflated penis slid out of her asshole, he spat orders at Jennifer: "GET YOUR TONGUE IN THERE AND SCOOP OUT MY CUM---LICK HER ASSHOLE CLEAN!"

Her mind was numb. She robotically cleaned-out the woman's asshole then took his slick cock in mouth and bathed it, as well. All-the-while wondering how tight and sheer the panties would be for tonight's newscast.

Jennifer fixed Mr. Mellon's clothing then assisted Miss Bevis stepping into her underpants.

Mr. Mellon asked his secretary, "Would you enjoy including this obedient cunt in our get-togethers, my dear?"

"That would be wonderful, Sir---she's very good with her mouth!" she replied and they both patted her head as if she was a puppy receiving praise.

"I don't know, Mr. Jensvold," I said, "...watching those nuclear attacks over-and-over-and-over-and-over---I can't see what's so wrong about martial law and having troops in the streets protecting us."

He gave me that 'oh, what a poor, misguided boy' look again.

"John, all I can say is the world we knew no longer exists, and it is never coming back," he said sadly. "The 1% have won a total victory...we are allowed to continue to live only at their good graces...with a snap of their fingers, they can either kill us or throw us in prison with no due process...it is all a numbers game to them...if you're obedient and conform to their rules they'll most likely find a place for you...either working construction, or joining the Army, or as a sex worker---there are not too many other opportunities available to the average man and woman---especially the women! Good God, how I pity the poor women these days...."

I knew for the most part he was right...especially about the women---I have personal experience concerning the lack of meaningful work for women, but I steadfastly refused to believe the world was as bad a place as he made it out to be.

And especially his contention that all those nuclear bombs going-off all over the world on 6/6 were not done by Terrorist groups, but rather some sort of secret cabal of business and shadowy government people...that is a little far-fetched for me to believe.

But I do know something is terribly wrong when they take away people's social security and medicare because they claim they're 'entitlements' and they encourage laziness...that people must learn to take responsibility for their actions and choices in life.

Keep your nose to the grindstone and work hard and you too can become a millionaire!! Well, I wasn't so sure about that anymore. It seemed to me there should be a balance between business profits, and compassion for the less fortunate.

To suddenly strip older people of benefits for which they paid for themselves thru hard work, well, that just doesn't seem fair to me, and now it is clear to see that the game is being rigged...that business profits are the be-all and end-all of everything, and to hell with the average worker.

They tell us if we don't like our lot in life---change it! But how can you change it when all the available work doesn't pay a livable wage, and they're pricing a college education out of existence for the average working family?

Yes, I guess I can understand some of Mr. Jensvold's talking points, but I haven't lost hope...I still believe if you apply yourself you can get ahead in this world.

"John, have you decided what you're going to do?" he asked.

"Not yet...Mr. Massengale wants me to work for him, and there's the woman at All-American who bought your inventory...I'm not sure yet...." I said.

I saw the troubled look in his eyes. "Be careful, son, you know I only want the best for you, but it truly is a cold and cruel world now---there are many sharks out there who want nothing more than to take advantage of a nice, decent young man like yourself!"

I felt a cold chill race-up my spine. I knew what he was saying. I was afraid for my future too but I didn't want to admit it to anyone.

"John, our group is still going to meet once-a-week...if you want, you're always invited to sit-in," he said.

"Thank you, " I said. "I might do that! I'm going to miss our talks...."

We took one more turn around the empty store. I knew he was going to miss the place after thirty-years in business.

He turned out the lights for the final time and we went outside.

When we shook hands I felt him trembling, his eyes staring at me with a deep concern, and with deadly earnestness he said, "Good luck, son."

A huge lump of fear caught in my throat.

"Would you like fries with that?" Sarah asked the customer standing before her. The plastic smile frozen on her face belied the turmoil in her mind.

The moment she completed the transaction she felt the icy hand of her boss grip her shoulder then heard his crackling, high-pitched voice in her ear.

"I'm going back to work on next week's schedule---lock the door when you come to my office!"

Sarah waited on two more customers before she figured the lunch rush was over, and she would be able to leave Mary Jane alone. The girl was a twit, and Sarah couldn't in good conscience, being the good employee she was, allow her to work by herself.

Why the hell do I care about this company? wondered the pretty blonde girl. I have to work 50-54 hours a week at five-dollars-an-hour just to make ends meet...they took away our health insurance and I have to buy an expensive private premium...and I have to diddle the owner's son just to keep my job...this New World Order-thing sucks!

When the store was empty, Sarah turned to Mary Jane and said, "I have to talk to Pizza- Face about my schedule."

Mary Jane's eyelids fluttered over her vacant eyes then the girl winked at Sarah and said, "I know...."

Sarah cringed at the thought her co-worker knew what she was really doing for Pizza-Face. Of course, Sarah was well-aware of the number of visits Mary Jane made to the bosses office, too, and she was sure he made her use more than her hands.

Just as she had the past few weeks, Sarah opened the office door without knocking.

She locked the door, stood before his desk, and opened her uniform until her magnificent breasts spilled into his view. She locked her hands behind her back, disdainfully stared down at her boss, and waited for his command.

As always, when he finally pushed away the paperwork on the desk, he looked-up and gazed at her breasts when he spoke.

It infuriated the young girl that he didn't have the decency to look her in the eyes when he talked to her.

She watched the man-child push his chair backwards, and place his hand to his crotch...once again, she watched her boss openly massage his prick thru his slacks to get himself hard...his eyes never leaving her breasts.

"You know, I've been thinking about making you an offer to become my Personal Assistant!" he said.

She immediately shot back: "You couldn't afford me!"

His salacious smile turned into a pathetic chuckle.

"No, I don't suppose so," he replied, rubbing his crotch more fervently. "I'm sure a snooty bitch like you will sell your pussy to the highest bidder!"

Since she had no respect for the guy, his degrading comments never affected her.

She watched him open his slacks and push them and his boxers to his knees. He then held his hard cock in his hand and waved it at her.

"I get everything I need from Mary Jane...she's so stupid she gives it all away for five-bucks an hour and an occasional pretty bracelet or ear rings---get over here and play with my cock!"

And for the first time as she sat on her bosses lap, with his hands and face buried in her breasts, she felt sorry for her co-worker. Mary Jane couldn't help who she is; it wasn't her fault she isn't very bright.

Sarah vigorously tugged on her bosses hard penis all the while thinking: God damn, this New World Order isn't fair at all!

John sat across the huge mahogany desk from Ric Massengale. His father had worked for the man many years, and John had met him on several occasions.

"I'm so sorry what happened to your father...he was a good man---an honorable man...thank God Barnhouse did the right thing and killed himself...."

John sat stoically, listening to his words. After all this time, Mr. Barnhouse's suicide/confession didn't ring true to him. He'd discretely asked around and no one admitted seeing the suicide note; and it seemed strange how fast Mrs. Barnhouse and the kids left Flowerton.

No, something wasn't right with both my father's death, and Mr. Barnhouse's, as well.

"You could have a bright future with us, son...you probably know that I sold the place to Fidelity Investments, but I can assure you they have some exciting plans for the factory...they've retained me as President, and once the re-tooling is completed, we'll be on the road to becoming one of he biggest armaments makers in the country...yep---that's right---we'll be supplying our military everything they'll need to win The War on Terror!"

I stared at him intently as he rambled on about the patriotic nature of the new company, but all I could think of was Mr. Jensvold's admonishment:

"The War on Terror is the biggest scam ever perpetuated on this country...we are fighting endless wars against enemies that we ourselves created, just so a few greedy and psychopathic men can make endless millions-and-millions of dollars...they have sold-out our country just to make money!"

"...you know, son," he continued, "...we're going to need a strong IT department, and I understand you're quite talented with computers..."

My ears pricked-up; I felt a rush of adrenaline running thru my veins. Am I hearing him correctly? Is he about to offer me a job in his IT department?

"...since you really have no practical experience, I can only offer you a starting wage of six-dollars an hour---"

OH MY GOD---one moment my hopes are sky-high and two-seconds later he crushes them!

"...but, I will give you an opportunity to make some good money..."

My heart is soaring again....

"Have you ever thought of becoming a Personal Assistant?"

CRASH-AND-BURN...I see stars before my eyes...he can't be serious can he?

He laughed and said: "By the expression on your face I can see you didn't expect that kind of offer...well son, let me clue you in on the ways of The New World---a boy like you who can't afford college and with no skills to offer any employer has to be open and flexible to new ideas...in all honesty, son---the only chance you have to make real money in this world is with your body---and you'd better take advantage while you're still young, and men find you attractive...boy, it won't be long until the only use your Superiors will have for you will be as cannon fodder for the Army, or as an inmate in a BCC!"

I'd never felt such all-encompassing fear in my life because deep-down I suspected he was right!

"Johnny, I know you're not gay---in fact, I know you have a very pretty girlfriend...but in The New World you have to think of sex as just another commodity to be bartered and traded---not as something you do for fun and pleasure...you see, I don't care whether you enjoy it or not---it's not about YOUR likes and dislikes---it's about your SUPERIORS---and if your SUPERIORS are willing to pay you a generous sum of money to use your pretty mouth, or to stretch your tight little bunghole---you need to seriously consider their offer!"

And then he said something that absolutely made my blood boil with fury and rage:

"Son, if you don't believe me---just ask your mother...."

The Baron asked Richard for his assessment.

Richard squinted at the paper before him and read: " The 24/7 media blitz of the attacks on Salt Lake City, El Paso and Cleveland had the predicted effect...all affected areas have been cordoned-off, and the population quarantined...the media has featured non-stop images of death and destruction to the point where the useless eaters are pissing themselves clamoring for more protection and safety...it has been an unqualified success---even better than we'd planned!"

"And martial law?" asked The Baron.

Richard laughed then said: "The idiots almost demanded we strip them of their rights! I'm working closely with the media to ensure they report only scenes of celebrations as troops overrun the cities...not a single image of protest is allowed on-air...it is stressed on every newscast that patriotic citizens across America support martial law, and are demanding that spending on the countries military budget be doubled or tripled...the Behavioral Centers are filling quicker than anticipated, mainly with rioters and looters, some dissidents, and women who have yet to learn their role in The New World...we will have one-hundred additional BCC's online within six-months!"

"Do you have an adequate labor pool for the construction industry and the Army?" asked The Baron.

"It fluctuates...it is still too early to determine some of our needs, however, since the BCC inmates are a large percentage of the workforce now, businesses have been saving huge amounts on labor cost, and profits are going thru the roof!"

"And the women?" asked The Baron.

"All the women in BCC's are re-educated and taught to accept their 'Womanly Duties'...they are then required to work thirty-days in a brothel so we can ensure they can be returned to society with no further problems...we could use more females, the workload for many of the women we have in the brothels is staggering, but we'll make do with what we have for now...one problem we have encountered is so many women are opting to become PA's it leaves us with a shortage for the brothels."

"Yes, we have found that to be the case almost everywhere," said The Baron. "One solution we are considering is a mandatory two-year service to the state for every eighteen-year-old---the one's with no exemptions, that is...the males will serve mainly in the Armies while the females will be trained to staff the brothels...we expect 18-year-old girls to be so horrified at the prospect of servicing twenty-thirty men per day, they will overwhelmingly choose to become PA's...this will have a two-pronged effect...."

The Baron puffed his Cuban cigar, took a sip of cognac then continued:

"With a larger supply of eighteen-year-old girls---many 'Superiors' with PA's will terminate their contracts with the older women and hire the younger girls...this will not only force millions of older women into the brothels, but it will enable all of us to negotiate lower prices with the inexperienced girls---it should greatly reduce our 'labor cost'...and may I add---hahahha---provide increased entertainment value of breaking-in a young girl...this, we believe, will alleviate our labor shortages in brothels...."

"Good," said the Director of Northern Europe, "...PA costs are skyrocketing every day...not only that, some of these women are becoming complacent---they feel like they're better than the average useful idiot...I say we put a stop to their rising confidence and put them in their place!"

"With that in mind," said The Baron, "...it has been determined many women in brothels are being paid far too much money for their services so we're adjusting the pay rate from 'per man' to 'per sex act'...this will give the women added incentive to increase her volume of business...beginning next week the following rates go into effect: Handjobs will be $2...blowjobs $5...vaginal intercourse $9...and anal intercourse $15---"

Richard interjected: "Looks like women, if they want to make real money, will be traveling 'the old, Hershey Highway'..."

Laughter filled the room.

The Baron continued: "Yes, the lower earning rates will certainly motivate some women to provide services they may find distasteful...moving on, Richard, how is your elimination program coming along?"