Bought or Rescued? Pt. 02

I was pulled roughly on a leash to the front of the faculty building, where a growing group of faculty staff awaited. I was forced to kneel before the college president while he screamed that I had disgraced the entire school with my unpatriotic opposition to slavery and treacherous act.

He demanded that the Marshals take me to the pony sheds, strap me to a mounting frame, and let the football team fuck me till I was raw. I was catatonic with shock on hearing that.

The Marshals intervened and said that normally they might have let that happen. But, as a Prime-Plus slut, I had a very high financial value and had to be delivered to the FBI office in Richmond, VA, without any external or internal damage.

In the ensuing argument, the Marshals pulled guns to protect me, and this being Texas, the faculty drew guns, and the mood got ugly. They compromised on letting one person use me. The President asked if there were any boys on campus that I truly detested. There was. His name was Dwayne, and he thought he was God's gift to women. He had groped me repeatedly to try and cure me of my, in his words, 'lesbian sickness'. He was the sick one.

He came and stood in front of me and whipped it out, "Heather, you won't be gay by the time I'm done with you. This is USDA approved, Prime Plus, 100% pure Texas cock. Guaranteed to cure lesbianism with a single touch."

Having a life-shattering orgasm from Luke's cock hadn't outed me as a Bisexual so I knew this jerk was lost in a fantasy world inside his own head.

The Marshals removed my gag but refused to release my hands. I was glad now for the experience Sara had made me have. I'd hated it at the time, but I knew what to do. The problem was I'd never tried it without being able to use my hands before.

I sucked his balls and licked up his cock before doing my best to bob up and down on him and hum. Despite that, whatever I was doing was not making him happy; as soon as he was hard, he told me I was useless and ordered me to slave fours.

The Marshals again refused to release my wrists from the belt, so I was pushed face down into the grass. He unceremoniously shoved his cock into my pussy without any attempt at lubrication beyond my saliva.

I was grateful that he was smaller than any of Anita's strap-ons. If I hadn't been shock-collared, I might have been tempted to ridicule him and ask if it was in yet. As he angrily pumped away in me, I became alarmed at my growing arousal. I was relieved when he came before I was forced to; having an orgasm in front of my classmates from being violated by the person I most hated would have been unbearable.

The students created a walk of shame for me. As the Marshalls led me slowly towards my dorm, each student could grope me and tell me what they thought of me. People I'd thought were friends just hours ago were some of the nastiest.

I was forced to watch as school staff ritually gathered all my possessions and put them in bags marked incinerate. I was horrified to see the 4-month-old MacBook Air I got for Christmas trashed by them. Medical texts worth nearly $1,000 went into the burn bags as well. I cried when the only picture of me with my grandmother was trashed.

I couldn't understand how any of this was happening: I hadn't even seen a lawyer or had a trial. Wasn't I innocent until proven guilty?

I was placed face down, still wearing the transport restraint in the trunk of their car. They drove to Easterwood Airport near College Station, backed me into a dog crate, and shipped me as cargo to the FBI office in Richmond, VA.

I was interrogated for two days and questioned relentlessly about my history, friends, and relatives. In between each round of interrogation, they took it in turns to enjoy the chance to face fuck a Prime-Plus slut.

I denied all knowledge of the underground railroad. I learned much later both Anita and my parents had been questioned for 24 hours straight before their attorneys had gotten them out.

On the second day, I met my court-appointed lawyer. He reviewed the FBI's surveillance video and the electronic logs of my dorm-room door and the building's front door with me. I was the only person with access to the slave girl that was unaccounted for that night.

They had a slam dunk case. My lawyer asked if I wanted to try and fight it anyway, but I knew I had no defence to the evidence they had assembled. I agreed to plead guilty. I asked about a plea bargain but was told the mandatory sentence for helping a slave escape was involuntary enslavement for life.

Since the FBI couldn't damage me, they gave up on further interrogation and passed me to the court. The hearing was two days later. The charges were read. I pled guilty. For half an hour, the judge harangued me about being a traitor to the US of A and a disgrace.

The following day they shipped me to Sotheby's for auction. The processing and sale of high-value slaves is a more careful process as they want to avoid damage to the merchandise and avoid breaking a slave's spirit in the way they do for regular slaves.

Like you, I was tattooed, subjected to a needlessly intimate gynaecological examination, slut washed, and forced to practice slave positions for the auction. They already had the obscene photos from my grading but still took new ones to use in the catalogue. I was held in Sotheby's kennels for a few days, so they had time to get the catalogue prepared and out to potential buyers worldwide.

I had to give the inevitable oral sex to so many staff members (including the British staff from Sotheby's) that I lost count. The female staff quickly found out I was a lesbian and expert cunt licker; I was in high demand.

I was OK with that. They brought out my sexually submissive side, and I love the taste of a clean cunt. I even enjoyed eating some of the better-looking women as they pretended to be my dominant girlfriend while using me to get off. Mercifully, high demand by the women cut down on the number of men trying to use me.

Rachel, you know what the appraisal and auction process is like, but it is a slower, more measured process for high-value slaves. I spent a lot more time on display for the appraisal and a lot longer performing on the block. I grew increasingly nervous about what kind of man was buying me as the price passed $2 million and then $3 million. I eventually sold for $3.8 million. That price made me mentally compare myself to a prized filly.

I knew I had a tracking chip installed so my parents could locate me, but I had no idea if I'd ever be rescued. We didn't have geofencing of slave centres in those days, but because of my message to my parent's burner phone, the organisation had been warned of my apprehension within an hour.

Because they knew my slave grade, they guessed I was highly likely to be auctioned by Sotheby's in Richmond. As Sotheby's had London offices, they subpoenaed their records to confirm their inventory while also searching for the GPS tracker.

I learnt later Prince Fatyan had been bidding against several other middle eastern royalty, which had driven the price high. I went through the same process you did of being told I'd been bought by the prince and the whole spiel about how he buys and euthanises Prime girls every month and felt the same terror you felt.

The organisation was still young then, and I was one of the first few girls whose rescues were by being bought, and they didn't yet have the aftercare program we now have. It was utterly surreal to be told after landing that, oxymoronically, I was now a slave owned by a British antislavery organisation.

Rachel:

Heather and I cuddled comfortably silent for the rest of the flight. As the plane stopped on the terminal apron, I could see my parents waiting for me. My heart leapt within me. Heather excitedly pointed to where her girlfriend, Niska, was waiting.

Never have I been so glad to be hugged by my parents. When they released me, I looked over at Heather, whose girlfriend was giving me very odd looks that weren't entirely happy.

My parents led me into the terminal, where I was whisked away to be given a full medical exam before being given a clean bill of health and released into my parent's legal custody.

They took me out for a meal and then home to sleep. I could tell my parents were pained seeing the ugly slave collar on me. My mother helped me pack clothes to take to Bruce's house two days later but refused to talk about him or why he'd bought me; they did at least reassure me that they thought I would be happy there.

I was still feeling a lot of uncertainty over whether I really had been rescued or just transferred to a more humane, sexier, owner.

Heather:

As soon as we deplaned, I ran to Niska, hugged her tightly, and whirled her around in the air. We kissed passionately for several minutes before she pulled away and stared at me. She knew me too well for me to hide anything.

"The new girl, you like her, don't you?"

"Can we please not have this conversation now. I need aftercare from this trip. You're not wrong; she's left me a bit flustered. I just need time in your arms to reconnect."

Since Niska was also a rescued slave, she understood how emotional these trips were for me and how much it took out of me to reassure each new girl and help them understand their legal status. She also knew the risk I took every time we touched down on American soil. Each trip, she feared I would be caught, and she'd never see me again.

After Dinner, Niska lit some candles, turned the lights off, and cuddled up with me on the sofa.

"OK, girlfriend, I want the story."

I sighed, "The rescue was typical of most of them, but she'd seemed more vulnerable. The revelation that she was offered a scholarship to Princeton specifically in the hope of tricking her into self-enslavement would be enough to shock anyone."

"I love you," I kissed Niska's neck and cuddled tighter. "Yes, she got to me, I've heard lots of tales, but Rachel's shocked me. Like most rescues, the hormone injections still had her wired, so we showered, and I went down on her until her needs were met. The sight of her face as she came and the sounds she made were exquisite. I didn't let her reciprocate as I didn't think she could handle something that could be seen as submissive. I want to share her with you. Maybe we could meet for dinner, then if you like her, have a threesome?"

"But there's a problem?"

"Yes, there is. Unlike the rest of us registered to the John Newton society as our owners, she was transferred to Bruce Stewart as her owner. I don't know why. I got an impression there may already be a significant connection between them, but she changed the subject to avoid discussing him. I'll give her a few days, then arrange a time to visit and take her out for lunch. She probably wants to buy a lot more rollneck tops because of the collar, so we can spend the afternoon clothes shopping."

"Aftercare?" Niska asked.

When Niska and I had make-up sex, it became a sex fight. We would try to out-domme each other and wrestle while arousing the other one to distraction. Finally, the winner would face-sit the loser till she was satisfied, then go down on the prone loser. We loved make-up sex.

Aftercare sex was the opposite animal. I'd come home feeling upset and disconnected from the love of my life. We needed to re-establish our trust and our bond. Niska led me upstairs with orders to strip.

We put a large beach towel on the bed. I lay down while she drizzled warm oil down my back. I moaned as her hands first glided over my skin. Her hands were always so soft and warm. She gently massaged me, then took two round stones from the heater and drizzled oil over them. She used them in tandem to massage up and down my spine and round the corners of my shoulders.

She kept going till I sighed deeply in the way that let my lover know I'd let go of whatever stress I'd brought home with me. She drizzled oil all down her front and lay face down on my back to slither her body over mine in a form of Nuru.

I loved the feeling of her boobs running from my neck, down my back, over my butt, down onto the tops of the thighs, and back again. On the next descent, her boobs straddled my other thigh. Her deliciously erect nipples left an erotic trail of sensate touch.

Rubbing her well-oiled nipples over the length of my body was getting her hot and wet. She found a good spot to give herself the stimulation she wanted and rubbed them quickly up and down against me before moaning, "I do love your sweet sexy body," into my ear. When she was ready, I rolled over for her to drizzle warm oil down my front and more oil over her front. We rubbed each other's bodies till they had an oily sheen.

She repeated the slow dance of oiled boobs from my forehead to my knees before we started writhing our bodies over each other: curves slipping easily over each other's curves. Oiled hands quickly found each other's shaved vulvas, and we slipped our fingers into the delightful gap between each other's inner and out labia.

We lay on our sides facing each other, kissing and finger fucking until we orgasmed together. Cumming together while staring deeply into each other's eyes was the love I craved. Mutual orgasm with deep eye contact broke down the boundary between our souls, momentarily allowing us to achieve a single wondrously-alive sexual gestalt. I revelled in it.

Knowing I loved my girlfriend above everyone, I fell asleep fully reconnected.

The End