Bought or Rescued? Pt. 01

Bought or Rescued? Pt 01

Avicia

Author's note: I wrote this after reading many of the stories in the world of the 34th Amendment that relegalised slavery in the USA. If you want to start somewhere, I highly recommend "Learning Slave Psychology" by Carl Bradford. I borrowed many elements from those stories but avoided any reuse of people, places, or company names.

However, I struggled because there were no anti-slavery sentiments in any story. So here goes, what has the anti-slavery movement been doing since slavery was relegalised?

Trigger warning: this dark story is non-consensual and contains scenes of sexual violation. In line with Literotica policy, the victim who's violated comes to orgasm and gets some enjoyment from it. If this will upset you, I beg you, please do not read it and look elsewhere for something erotic.

Everyone is over the age of 18, and the story is set in an entirely fantasy world. Slavery and sex trafficking still happen today in this world and are utterly evil. Please consider supporting an anti-sex-trafficking organisation.

***

Dear reader, I'm writing this in the hope of warning young women everywhere about the danger of spending time in the USA until involuntary legal slavery for life has been repealed or at least significantly reformed. I hope to spare more women from enduring what I endured. I am one of the lucky ones, and my ordeal ended quickly. Although my legal status as a slave still stands with no hope of manumission, my owner has encouraged me to publish this.

I know now that just as it did with abattoirs and chicken farms in the early 21^st century, the US has violently suppressed the truth about involuntary slavery, prosecuting and enslaving any who would challenge the system. Politicians have become so enamoured of the election funding they get from slavery and the boost to the stock markets from cheap labour I fear only violence will force them to act.

Let me start at the beginning and tell you how my ordeal began.

My name is Rachel Collins; I was a 21-year-old, out-going, confident feminist looking forward to graduating from Oxford in May with a degree in PPE (Politics, Philosophy, and Economics). At 5'10", I'm tall enough for the runway and have the figure for it, too: lean with a flat tummy, tight butt, and modest B-cup boobs mounted high on my chest; my perky nipples point upwards as if to say 'Hi.' I've been told that if you google the porn star Tiffany Thompson, you may get some idea of what I look like.

Sexually, I would have described myself (based on my meagre experience) as a cock-preferring Bi.

After one lecture, Dan Richards, an American professor at Rhodes House, took me aside.

"Rachel, I've been meaning to catch you. I've been very impressed with your work, as you know. I'm a talent scout for Princeton, and they are always looking out for articulate Oxford grads with the assets to bring value to their graduate program. I can help you with the application and recommend you for a place if you are interested."

"Wow, seriously, Professor? That would be a dream come true. However, my parents could never afford it. It would completely depend on me getting a scholarship. Would that be possible?"

Two months later, I got a letter formally offering me a place at Princeton to do a Master's in Morality and Ethics with a full-ride scholarship. I was on cloud nine. I phoned my parents with the exciting news. In the past, they have unconditionally supported me in whatever path I chose; I was shocked when they poured cold water on the offer.

"Rachel, please do not act on this yet. Your Mum and I will drive up to Oxford this weekend to discuss our concerns, concerns I can't discuss on the phone."

***

"Rachel, we haven't discussed this in the past; you know your mother and I work in a classified environment, so we usually can't talk about our work. One aspect of that job requires your Mum and me to be members of the John Newton Society."

"We are working to reform and ultimately repeal involuntary legal slavery in the US. We fund research, help Americans with their legal bills, and support US-based anti-slavery groups. Given the violent nature of the FBI's clampdown on activists, it must be done undercover. You must never mention it in America or to any Americans here."

"What you've read in the press and seen on TV is a carefully constructed lie designed to conceal the true evils of involuntary enslavement. It is far easier to enslave someone for life or for someone to inadvertently self-enslave than you realise. Once you are enslaved, the process is irrevocable. You are deemed no longer human but humanoid. You may look like a human, but you are not one; you are an animal with no more rights than a goat or a lamb."

I looked at them quizzically, "but what about voluntary enslavement? Many American women sign up for a 30-day slave experience as a fantasy, or for a year to save money for college, or voluntarily sign up to avoid bankruptcy which might lead to involuntary enslavement."

My dad sighed, "Yes, Rachel, they do. That is part of the deception. Voluntary enslavement ends after a set period or when the debt is repaid. They showcase beautiful young women acting out a sexual fantasy to make the industry seem glamourous. With voluntary enslavement, you remain classed as a human and retain some legal protections. Involuntary enslavement for life is very different. When your usefulness ends, you are used for the donation of body parts, then euthanised."

"I don't understand. I've been told it is illegal to kill involuntary slaves?"

"Yes, it is, while they still have economic value. However, when they get too old or sick to work, they are put down like any farm animal, which becomes a financial burden on the owner. Think about it, no slave owner will put a slave in an elderly care home for five years. Slaves that are exported have no protections at all."

"Dad, I already discussed my safety with Professor Richards; he assured me Princeton is very careful to guarantee the safety of foreign female students and protect them. I really don't see an issue with going to college there. If you let me go, I will promise to stay in Princeton and not go off exploring without you visiting to escort me. OK?"

They reluctantly agreed to let me go on the condition that a physician who works for their employer give me a complete physical exam first and injections designed to boost my health while out of the country. I readily agreed.

***

I settled into life in Princeton quickly. There were so many similarities to Oxford I instantly felt at home. In Oxford, I'd been very conservative, only having vanilla sex with a few boyfriends and one very cute female foreign student. I'd been too focused on my academic studies for a nightlife.

America seemed to be such a sexually-liberated country: you see naked sex slaves in the street being led on leashes and slaves giving oral sex in public. I felt this was my chance to be more adventurous and try new things before going back to England to please my parents by looking for a man to be my life partner.

I quickly found an ally for my feminist view of the world in one of the Professors here. Phillip Beckett taught a class on freedom and morality. After a passionate discussion of the pros and cons of voluntary enslavement, which, shockingly, several of the girls in my class had done and defended vigorously, he took me aside.

"Rachel, I like the way your mind works. For your next essay, I want you to discuss whether enjoying sexually dominant or submissive behaviour in the bedroom means that you are dominant or submissive in real life or that fantasies are just fantasies that don't reflect your psyche's ideation. I give you my word no one else will ever read it, so it is safe for you to be honest."

In my paper, I argued that, by definition, fantasies are not who you are; otherwise, they wouldn't be fantasies. He gave me an A+ on that paper. I was thrilled and continued to explore the meaning of fantasies with him over the following weeks. Sometime later, he drew me aside again.

"Rachel, a quiet word, please. One of my TAs is very interested in asking you out but worried about approaching you directly because of our anti-harassment policy. He asked me to sound you out privately so you would not be put in the position of having to say 'No' to his face."

"Who?"

"Andrew Jordan."

"Oh my, he's dreamy. Are you sure he meant me?"

He laughed, "Yes, I'm sure. I think you'll find he's very interested in exploring the same kink topics as you and, like you, he's interested in playing both as a submissive and a dominant."

Our first dates were amazing. Andrew took me to interesting restaurants and concerts and never offered more than a warm hug and a peck on the lips. I loved feeling respected and unrushed but was getting frustrated. I made it clear that I was ready for more. A lot more.

We started exploring kink together and switching so we could experience both sides of each scene. The fact that Andrew could spend an evening being submissive to me made me feel safe and sure nothing bad could happen.

Since Andrew was much more experienced than me, our first two play sessions were with him dominant, and he used the time to teach me about the toys and play space we had access to. He helped me understand what did and did not turn me on. From the beginning, I set a boundary of no name-calling: words such as slave, slut, cunt, whore, and fuck toy turned me off, and I knew were dangerous in America. I also made it clear I would not call him Master or wear a collar. He agreed, again making me feel safe and respected.

For our third session, Andrew wanted me to play dominant. He asked me to think of a scene that would mean something to me and what equipment would be needed. I spent a guilty evening watching femdom on PornHub before something from real life clicked.

I told Andrew to come still dressed for the gym after his workout: a sleeveless tee and wearing a jockstrap and groin protector under his shorts. He raised an eyebrow at the request for a hard groin protector, but I told him I was trying to act the scene without hurting his crown jewels because I needed them to be in full working order afterwards. That got a gorgeous lopsided grin from him that melted my heart.

Unknown to him, I asked a mutual friend, Mia, to work out in the gym at the same time as him. I also asked her to do it in as sexually provocative a manner as she was willing. We both had crushes on Mia, a drop-dead gorgeous gym-bunny lesbian. He lusted after her, but as she played for the wrong team, I teased him instead of feeling jealous.

I got to the dungeon space we rented ahead of him to get ready. I retrieved a spreader bar, a set of padded handcuffs with a suspension loop in the middle of the chain and got the hoist positioned. I'd come wearing my favourite knee-high leather boots with black leggings and a microskirt, a black bralette with nothing over it, and a black velvet choker that made me look sensually decadent.

I hid behind the door with a riding crop in my dominant hand and waited wet with anticipation. I'd not given him even a hint of what I planned. Five minutes later, he casually strolls in, expecting to talk first. I gave him no time.

My crop descended hard against his calf, "Boy, get down on your knees now. You have a lot to answer for after that gym session." I could see his mind reeling without understanding what the scene was yet.

"What? Nothing? No acknowledgement of your shitty behaviour and why you deserve punishment? Confessing first will save you a lot of pain later."

I walked in front of him and enjoyed his rabbit-eyed stare at the crop swishing through the air.

"Mistress, mercy, I honestly don't know what you think I did; please give me a hint?"

"Were you alone in the gym? Were any other women there? More to the point, was my friend Mia there?"

He looked crest-fallen, "Sorry, Mistress."

"Sorry for what, exactly? I want explicit details," I said, swishing the crop through the air again.

"Sorry, Mistress, for lusting after Mia while I worked out; sorry, I picked pieces of equipment where I would be positioned to watch her. Sorry Mistress, for disrespecting you by lusting after another woman."

I bring the crop down hard on his butt, "I want details of the sordid little fantasies that were going through your mind; confession is good for the soul."

"Mistress, I fantasised about tying her down on the pommel horse and reaming out all three of her sweet hot holes."

I tap his cheek lightly with the crop, "Good boy. Don't you feel better for confessing to your Mistress?"

Now it is time for punishment; fix your ankles to the spreader bar. When he'd done that, I handcuffed his hands in front of him and brought the winch down. I attached the hook to the ring between the handcuffs and hoisted him till he stood on tiptoe.

"It's your cock getting you into trouble, boy, isn't it?"

"Yes, Mistress."

I reached between his legs, ensured the groin protector was in place, and then backed away. I'd never told him I had attended a kickboxing summer camp, so he was caught in shock as I whirled around, and my boot caught him right in the groin. He cried out at the unanticipated invasion of his most sensitive area.

"Fuuuuuck! What the hell, Rachel."

I bring the riding crop down hard on his abs, "Mistress Rachel to you, boy. You will take your punishment like a man, or it will go much worse for you."

I could tell from his smirk that he was actually enjoying it and had no intention of safe-wording out, so I kept going. I lowered the hoist till his feet were flat on the ground. Standing before him, I played with his boxed-in groin and looked him steadily in the eye. "You know what's coming next, don't you, boy?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Then beg for it, beg for your Mistress to correct your despicable behaviour."

"Please, Mistress Rachel, I know I've been very bad and need to be punished for lusting after Mia, cheating on you in my mind, and disrespecting you. Such severe crimes need severe punishment. Please knee me in the groin as hard as you like so I may show you my complete submission to your female superiority."

I caressed his cheeks and kissed his neck while my other hand still toyed with his box.

"Andrew, look at me, look me right in the eye and don't flinch. Tell me you trust me by how deeply you look into my eyes."

I waited till his breathing slowed, and I felt the soul connection in the intensity of our mutual gaze before I brought my knee up hard into his crown jewels. He cried out, and his legs collapsed, leaving him suspended by the handcuffs.

I gently kissed him and murmured my love into his ear as I removed the cuffs and spreader. I slid his shorts down and removed his groin protector and jockstrap. I gave him a minute to recover while I lubed a modest 6" strap-on.

"You fixated on Mia's ass, so now I'll punish your ass, boy." I slid slowly into him; I picked this strap-on as it would be more sensual for him and less painful. It didn't take him long to enjoy that nice woozy feeling you can get from your back passage. When he was nice and hard, I pulled out, turned him over, and rode him.

I grinned, "I told you to wear a groin protector because I wanted your wedding tackle working to end the evening." I rode him for a while, then shuffled forward to face sit him for my first orgasm. I was so worked up from dominating him that I came too quickly for it to be as intense as I'd hoped. I shuffled back and rode him again harder. As we found our rhythm, we continually adjusted and managed to finish together.

That mutual orgasm was glorious. Our bodies jerked and pulsed and quivered together. Each other's spasms forced our pleasure to continue for longer. Being dominated must have made him pretty wound-up because his cock pulsed much harder than usual when he came. I could feel his hot white cum pooling in my birth canal. I cried out his name again and again as I came down from my pleasure.

I leant forward for him to hug and caress me, not wanting to move even as his cock slowly deflated inside me. Since I was dominant tonight, I slid forward and lowered my cum filled pussy over his mouth and told him to clean me and give me my third orgasm. I kept the riding crop in my hand and gave him the gentlest love taps on his thighs to keep him motivated.

My final climax was wonderful; it rolled through me like a Canadian 4-engine freight train through a road crossing -- it just went on and on and on. I finally collapsed on top of him, kissing him and murmuring my thanks for a wonderful evening. We blissfully cuddled like that for the best part of an hour. He seemed genuinely shocked at how dominant I'd been in my first scene. Score one for British feminists.

Dear reader, you may be wondering why I relayed this one episode in such detail in a story about my enslavement. It will become apparent later when they claimed I was a natural submissive who longed to be owned by a dominant man.

Gradually we got kinkier and kinkier, hogties, rope bondage, dildo-gags, clamps, anal hooks, and upside-down suspension. Andrew made all of it seem so fun and exciting. As we got kinkier and kinkier, I got hotter, wetter, and more lustful. I felt safe knowing my submissive behaviour never left the play space.

***

I have one other evening to relay to you, dear reader, in some detail; this one because it directly led to my legal downfall.

My dad had warned me strictly to never use the words Master or Mistress to anyone or accept being called Slave, Cunt, or Whore, and especially to never wear a slave collar in roleplay because of the danger of self-enslavement. There was no danger in him calling me Mistress, but I never called him Master. I also never let him collar me despite repeatedly trying in the final stages of our relationship.

One night Andrew wanted me to call him 'Daddy' when it was his turn to be dominant. I objected at first, but it wasn't on my dad's list of dangerous words, and it was so illicit that I started to get hot and wet. I agreed but didn't foresee the problem that would cause.

Before dinner, he handed me a very slutty cheerleader outfit from a Halloween rental shop. After eating, I ran back to my room on campus, changed into it, and put my hair in pigtails. I got an illicit thrill walking to our rented play space in such slutty attire.

I arrived at our play space and knocked on the door as instructed. I heard Andrew yell, "Get in here," and entered to find him sitting in an armchair with a crop in his hand and looking very stern.

"Rachel, I just got your school report; it is utterly disgraceful. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I'm sorry, Daddy. I got so distracted by all the gorgeous guys on campus, that in the evenings I wasn't getting ploughed, I frigged myself instead of doing my homework. Please don't be mad."

"I'm not paying $50k a year for you to moon over boys. I'm pulling you from school, and you can work as a waitress and be paid while you moon over them."

"Please, Daddy, no, don't do that. Is there anything I can do for you, anything at all, that would make you let me stay in college?"

"Yes, young lady, there is. Kneel before me. You know what slutty cheerleaders are expected to do to make men happy."

"OK, Daddy," I replied cheerfully, "I will do anything to make you happy."

I loved Andrew's cock and played along while giving him a sloppy blowjob.

"Oh, Daddy, I had no idea you had such a gorgeous monster cock. I'd love to know how it would feel inside me."

He ordered me onto my knees, lifted my slutty micro-skirt, pulled down my thong, and ploughed me. In a wild moment of full-blown lust, I unthinkingly told him, "Use me as your fuck toy, Daddy. Please ram your monster cock into all three of my tight hot wet holes. My holes belong to you, Daddy."