Med School Acceptance Ch. 01byA_Vronsky©
This is the only installment of this story so far, but I expect to write more when time allows. It is a fantasy involving sex trafficking. If such things bother you, skip it. It goes without saying that actual sex trafficking is a horrible crime.
She ran into her bedroom with shrieks of joy and collapsed back onto her mattress with the folded sheet of paper in her hand. She could barely restrain her smile as she held it up before her eyes and read the letter one more time:
On behalf of the admissions committee at the London School of Medicine, I am very pleased to accept you into our accelerated professional training program. As you are no doubt aware, competition for positions in the APTP is extremely stiff; you are joining a very select and exclusive group of promising young people from around the world. Let me be the first to congratulate you on this fine achievement!
Your training will begin on 1 September. Please complete the enclosed forms and return them as soon as possible so that we can prepare for your arrival appropriately. We look forward to meeting you in the flesh before long.
Director of Recruitment and Admissions
She could hardly believe it. She had only learned of the program a few months before, when one of the instructors at her current university had approached her and suggested that she consider applying. He had explained that the APTP kept a low profile and preferred to do much of its recruitment face-to-face. He himself had been through the program, and he said it had changed his life. There was a curious twinkle in his eye when he said it, but she didn't think to question him. He went on to explain that only students with the greatest potential were even asked to submit applications.
She felt a thrill deep in her heart. This was finally her chance! In just a few weeks, she would be able to put her sleepy central European hometown behind her and move out into the great big world, and she'd be doing it as a student in one of the most exclusive medical training programs in existence. She let out a deep, satisfied sigh as she relaxed into her bed and dropped the letter to her side. She stared up into the ceiling and tears of joy clouded her vision.
The next month flew by in a blur. There was so much to be done -- making her travel arrangements, purchasing a more professional wardrobe, bidding farewell to all of her friends. The last had taken up most of her time. Not that she minded, of course. All of the excitement, all of the goodbyes: they meant she would soon be on her way.
She stood in her bedroom on the night before her flight, packing the few belongings she was taking with her. The APTP hadn't required much in terms of supplies and equipment; they had assured her that everything she needed would be provided to her, free of charge. She had already decided that she wouldn't sleep tonight; her heart was pounding excitedly and she would never be able to relax enough to doze off.
She folded her newly-purchased clothes carefully. She had done this on her own initiative; the letter hadn't mentioned anything about appropriate dress, but she wanted to have a fresh start in every way. She had bought enough to make up four or five outfits that perfectly straddled the line of professional and sexy. After all, a doctor doesn't have to be frumpy, she told herself with a smile.
The bag she packed her things into was new, too: one of those black, rolling numbers that everyone seems to use these days. Hers was bought at a high-end shop in her hometown; she was determined that she wasn't going to be sneered at by anyone as she traveled. She smiled at the neatness and tidiness of the bag as she closed it and zipped it up. As an afterthought, she reached beneath her pillow and pulled out her vibrator. She slid it into one of the bag's side pockets. She hadn't had much time for the real thing lately, especially with all the preparations for her move, and she didn't know if that would change in London. In those situations, a vibrator is a woman's best friend.
Everything was ready. She looked at her watch and realized that her ride to the airport wouldn't arrive for several hours yet. She let out an exasperated breath, full of nervous excitement. Hmmm, she thought playfully, maybe one more time to say goodbye to the room that had given her so many memories. She lay back on her bed and reached back to the side pocket she had just closed, pulling the large purple cock out again. Her hands moved slowly over her body, the rumble of her vibe met her most sensitive bits of flesh, and she lost herself in the moment until she was crying out her orgasm, releasing the tension that had been building up for weeks. She closed her eyes as the warmth spread to her fingers and toes.
The next thing she knew there was a knock on the door, her father reminding her that the car would be there in 15 minutes. She yelled back an acknowledgment and sat upright with a start. She quickly dressed in the outfit she had laid out the night before -- a red v-neck cashmere sweater that she had bought because she thought it would offer tantalizing glimpses of her cleavage even under her white coat, a fitted black skirt that fell just above her knee, and a pair of sensible black shoes. It struck a good balance of comfort and style; perfect for the flight.
By the time she was ready, she could hear the car horn on the street, and she grabbed her suitcase and dashed down the stairs to the front door. Her parents stood at the door looking on nervously, and she gave them each a quick kiss, perhaps a little too eager to get going. She walked out the door and handed her bag to the cab driver, who threw it into the trunk of the car. She turned back toward her parents and gave them a wave, yelling goodbye. They stood on the doorstep, filled with happiness and anxiety for her, and they yelled back their love.
She sat in the backseat and the car peeled out, her little street fading in the rear view mirror as she took her first steps out into her own world. She looked out the window and saw the familiar sights zipping by, drawing her closer to her future. She said nothing for the 45 minutes it took to get to the airport, but she could hardly sit still. She kept shifting against the smooth faux leather of the seat, vainly trying to find a position that would soothe her nerves.
When they arrived at the airport, she took her bag from the cab driver and handed him a bill to cover the fare and his tip. She stood on the curb for a moment and looked up at the façade of the airport. She took a deep breath and walked in through the glass doors, finding the counter for her airline and checking her bag. She watched the piece of luggage being carried down the conveyor belt and into the heart of the airport. She didn't know it would be the last time she saw it.
The flight went by more quickly than she had expected, and since she had checked her bag and only carried a handbag with her, she was able to disembark quickly. She walked through Heathrow, blending into the crowd of tourists and businesspeople and students. She felt right. This was the world she belonged to. She was going to make a name for herself.
She passed through immigration and customs without trouble. Anytime she was questioned in any way, she simply pulled her letter of admission from APTP out of her handbag and that seemed to answer any concerns the officers had. As she stepped out into the arrivals area, she immediately saw a tall, handsome young man wearing a plain black suit and a chauffeur's cap and holding a sign bearing her name. She stepped up to him with a smile. He was positively dreamy, though she had always preferred her men somewhat older.
She followed him as he guided her immediately to a luxurious black sedan parked out front in a zone clearly marked "NO PARKING." When she protested that she hadn't fetched her bag from baggage claim, he answered that it had been sent ahead already and that she was expected at an orientation program within the hour. She accepted the answer with another smile. There was something truly exciting about belonging to a program that could take care of everything so easily.
She looked out the window once more, this time acclimating herself to all the new sights and sounds, contrasting them in her mind with the familiar countryside of her childhood. At every turn, there was some new sight to thrill her. Her full breasts rose and fell beneath her sweater as her breathing quickened. This was going to be home, she thought to herself. This was where she would be living and learning and exploring. She couldn't imagine anything better.
When the car finally drew to a stop, it was at the front of a fine hotel in the West End. The chauffeur came around and opened the door for her, and she stepped out onto the curb, looking around with wide eyes. She turned and offered the chauffeur a tip, but he waved her off and simply told her that the reception was being held in the Queen Anne Room on the first floor. She nodded and stepped to the front door. A doorman yanked it open for her with a flourish, and his eyes looked her up and down subtly as she stepped through. She was used to this kind of attention, but she was reassured to find that she could command it even in this new and glamorous setting.
She stood immobile in the lobby for a moment, overwhelmed by the crystal, the veined marble, the gold leaf. She noticed after a few seconds that she hadn't breathed, and she inhaled an excited breath. She couldn't hold back an ecstatic smile as she approached one of the attendants and asked for the room. She caught enough of the response through her excitement that she was able to find her way to the room.
She walked past the placard reading QUEEN ANNE'S ROOM and through the double doors to find a reception room that was more intimate than grand, decorated in soft, plush textures and deep, sensuous colors. She surveyed the room quickly and discovered perhaps a dozen people around her age, of whom only 3 were young men. They were dressed in a wide range of styles, some betraying their different national origins, but most simply testifying to the fact that they had come directly from the airport as she had. Alongside the young people, scattered throughout the room, were five or six people who were clearly older, ranging in age from their thirties to their fifties. They mingled with the young people and engaged them in conversation, discovering more about their origins and plans. A few servants in tuxedos also wandered the room offering beverages to the guests.
After a moment of hesitation, she stepped into the room and joined a pair of students who were talking to a handsome middle-aged man with flecks of gray in his perfectly coiffed head of black hair. She listened attentively, smiling where appropriate, and she learned enough from the conversation to know the two other students' names.
The young man standing opposite her was Seung Wook. He had beautifully soft East Asian features and particularly striking eyes. The young woman closest to her was Anya, a tall Russian blonde who seemed almost to have been selected as a physical contrast to her. Anya was long and lean, whereas she was full and womanly. Anya had the sharp, angular features of a model, whereas she had the warm, soft features of home. Anya's skin was fair and light, whereas hers was golden and dusky. They each had a different kind of beauty, and they recognized it in one another.
Both of the young people spoke in virtually perfect, unaccented English, and she felt a little self-conscious, constantly worried that she would make an embarrassing mistake. The older man set her at ease, however. He introduced himself as Alistair Forsythe and asked her to call him Ali. There was something welcoming about him, something that reassured her and told her that she belonged among this group of accomplished young people.
The volume in the room picked up as groups engaged in more animated discussion, until the attendants circled the room offering flutes of champagne. Ali excused himself from the three students and stood at the front of the room, tinking his glass for attention. All eyes turned to him as he spoke a few words of greeting.
She took the opportunity to look over the other gathered students. They were all strikingly different from one another, but she couldn't help noticing that they were all beautiful in their own way and that they seemed almost to glow with excitement. She turned her attention back to Ali as he spoke and she caught the last words of the toast he was offering. She mimicked him and lifted the glass of champagne that had found its way into her hand almost without her noticing; she hardly knew where it had come from. When Ali finished his toast, she lifted the rim of the glass to her lips and drank deeply from it. The warmth of the alcohol heated her throat and brought a flush to her cheeks, and she joined another group as everyone fell back into conversation.
She didn't notice the pattern until the third student excused herself to have a seat. The young people seemed to be falling away to the sides of the rooms, where they reclined on couches and closed their eyes, sometimes with the aid of one of the adults. She herself began to feel lightheaded and she wondered whether the alcohol had combined with the fatigue of the flight to overwhelm her. As the dizziness grew in her head, she turned to lean on the closest arm, Ali's. He helped her to one of the couches and sat her down, and her look up into his eyes confirmed that her lightheadedness was no surprise to him. He looked different than he had before. He still had a welcoming face, but his eyes revealed something else -- a power over her and a hunger. She knew in that moment that she was the feast. He whispered to her, "Quiet now, sleep," and she slipped into unconsciousness without knowing what had happened to the other students.
She woke in the dark. Her head ached in that dull way, not enough to be painful but enough to confuse her thoughts. She tried to look around, but the darkness was total. She couldn't even tell how big a room she was in. There were no windows, and the walls seemed an infinity away.
She knew that she was laying down on a firm mattress. She could feel restraints on her wrists and ankles and the cold air on her body confirmed that she was nude. She let out a low moan of despair. She didn't remember anything of the last day at first. She only knew that she was scared and alone.
Slowly, the details began to reemerge from her consciousness -- the letter, the preparations, the flight, the chauffeur, the reception. She must have been drugged, she realized. And based on what she had seen before fading into unconsciousness, so had the other students. She was in a strange country, imprisoned in a location she did not know, betrayed for a reason she couldn't quite understand.
She began to panic in her restraints, pulling on them to see if she could find any give. It didn't take her long to realize that was hopeless. She let out a defeated whimper and sunk back into the mattress.
Suddenly a voice came out of the darkness. She couldn't tell if the man was in the room or speaking over some kind of intercom, but she recognized who it was. It was Ali, though his voice had a cold, hard edge now that it didn't have at the reception.
"Relax. You belong to us now. There is nowhere for you to go, and nowhere for you to hide."
She wanted to scream back in anger, but something held her back. A sense of total abandonment and despair washed over her, and she lay her head back on the pillow. She didn't know how long it took, but she eventually faded back into sleep.
It seemed like she had hardly slept at all when she woke up in a blaze of light. She could see the room now. It was completely bare and the walls were plain and white all around. The only features in the room were the metal bed to which she was shackled and the large mirror that took up almost the entire wall opposite her. She could see her reflection and she knew intuitively that someone behind that mirror was watching her. There were four speakers set in the corners of the room, built flush with the wall.
She felt tired and confused, and she wasn't quite sure how many times she had woken up in this room feeling like this. Every time she tried to recall how she had come here or how long she'd been here, it required a slightly greater effort. She tried to close her eyes and to invite sleep to come over her, but there was no chance of that with the blinding lights shining down on her from the ceiling.
Suddenly, that voice (whose was it again?) spoke into the air above her:
"You're a possession, a slave, a fucktoy."
It stopped speaking, and she didn't know whether she wanted it to be silent or to go on. She struggled somewhat against her restraints but gave up as she felt once more how snug they were.
She closed her eyes, but every time she felt sleep drawing close, just out of reach, a blast of loud music would fill the room, forcing her eyes open again. There was no way for her to block the sound, and she could feel herself growing more and more desperate.
At regular intervals, that voice would come back into the room and repeat its one line. She didn't even know where it was coming from anymore. She just needed sleep. She needed to be allowed to sleep. The voice was the only predictable thing left to her. There was no other stimulation or interaction of any kind, apart from the random bursts of music that denied her sleep. That voice was her salvation, wasn't it?
She began to mouth the words with the voice when it came back. She realized that there was a burst of static just before it spoke, and she used that to match her words with his.
"You're a possession, a slave, a fucktoy."
She only mouthed the words at first, but she built up to a whisper, and before long, she was saying it aloud. It was her anchor in the storm of forced consciousness.
Then it didn't come. Time seemed to go on and on and there was no voice. She began to grow frantic and terrified. She needed it. She needed that voice to give her a hint of stability, a hint of sanity. She craved it. She mewled and whimpered and whined through tears as her terror grew.
Finally, when she'd nearly given up entirely, she heard the burst of static and she yelled it out, its grammar simplified by her desperation and confusion.
"POSSESSION! SLAVE! FUCKTOY!"
And the lights went out and she fell into blissful sleep.
She didn't know when they fed her, but she never felt hungry. She was well taken care of. After the first act of breaking her, Ali began to appear in her cell in person. He didn't speak much; mostly he came in and ran his hand over her. The contact felt so good, and she was surprised at the way her body responded. All of her sensations were somehow intensified by her stay in the cell. She needed to be touched. She almost felt as if it was her purpose. It sent a thrill of excitement through her and she could feel and smell how aroused it made her. She sometimes thought she should be embarrassed at how horny she felt, but the embarrassment never came -- just a warm longing to feel it more.
After what felt like day after day of this treatment, Ali entered her room and sat beside her in a chair. He touched her patiently, her body responded and lifted against his palm. He eventually lowered his hand to her exposed pussy and pressed a grinding finger down against her clit. Her reaction surprised her as she bucked and raced toward an orgasm that it felt like she'd been waiting for forever. Just as she drew close, he leaned in to her and whispered that it was nearly time. She had no idea what he meant, but those were the words in her ear when she screamed in pleasure, her body convulsing and shuddering wildly. When the last aftershocks faded away and she opened her eyes, he was gone and the darkness had returned.