Rescuing the Fallen Ch. 01

Author's Note: So this story is set in the Fall of Women Universe, as created by AlectaShadow. If you haven't read those stories, you should definitely go check them out... I personally think they're even better than mine.

That said, you do not need to read those stories in order to understand this one. At least I don't think so.

This story contains a fair amount of terrible acts, including emotional sadism, body shaming, misogyny, racism and more. However, none of it reflects the opinions of the author. A person's worth is NOT tied to their looks, race, weight, sex, intelligence, or any other physical trait. Humans are all created with intrinsic value, and our physical form can do nothing to affect that.

As always, I fucking love your comments so please hit me up (especially if you're a fan of the originals who liked this one). If you do comment, you can always check back, because I respond to almost every one.

As always, all the characters in this story are 18+

Lastly, AlectaShadow, if you're reading this, thank you for the amazing world you created.

I hope you enjoy:

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1) The Ally.

Thomas

I can feel a headache coming on. I rub my temples, as I stare at the endless, unintelligible stream of alphanumeric symbols displayed on the computer screen in front of me. They all begin to blend into a mishmash of complete nonsense.

They aren't nonsense; however, of that I am certain. Somewhere buried deep within this encryption lies the insidious roots of a creation which I can only describe as humanity's greatest monster. I'll call it what it is: mass hypnosis. But in all fairness, that title is too clumsy, too crude to express what this is. 

This code implants itself into the human mind. Scientists have long described the human brain as a complex CPU... well, someone finally figured out how to copy/paste files into it. And the person or persons responsible must have only had one goal in mind: the complete subjugation of the entire female gender. 

Somehow, "the payload," as it is most often referred to, only targets adult women. Once the information has been viewed, the victim begins spiraling downward towards a mental mindset that devalues her humanity entirely. 

That would be bad enough, but the bastards made sure that this thing was viewed by just about every human on earth before its ill effects were even known. Now we are faced with a world of women who long to debase themselves for the satisfaction of men. 

I have to give its misogynistic creators one bit of credit: the code itself is brilliant. It has to be. It has programmers with far more experience than me scratching their heads. Although, as each day passes, it seems like fewer and fewer programmers are continuing the struggle to crack this code. 

"Whatcha workin' on?" A soft, feminine voice coos from just behind me. I snap out of my musings, but I refuse to turn around.

"I'm working, Abigail. That's all that matters. And I am incredibly busy. Please go away." 

Abigail leans over my shoulder in an inappropriate manner. I can see in my periphery that the top buttons of her blouse are undone, and if I were to look back, I'm sure I would be viewing a face full of cleavage. "It's almost lunchtime, you know? Do you wanna grab a bite with me? I'd love to hear about your progress."

I can't hear any chatter coming from outside my small office. This isn't completely out of the ordinary, since it is close to lunch... however, part of me suspects that the rest of my fellow employees might have left early to give me time alone with this lady. I shake my head, attempting to banish the thought. Not everyone here wants to see me fail. It's only a few bad apples. 

"Ahh... my progress!" I spin around in my chair, and Abigail is forced to take a step back. I was correct, her blouse is just as revealing as I expected. Above her well endowed chest, I see the collar adorning her neck... it is the symbol of her submission. "Well, let me see, Abigail. I am CURRENTLY working on decoding the payload, and I'm searching for a way to reverse its effects... but I'm pretty sure you knew that." My voice is thick with sardonic annoyance.

Her smile never falters, as she shrugs and twirls her silky, blonde hair like a ditzy, highschool girl. "I don't know why you'd wanna do a thing like that, Tom! I'm a woman, you know... and ILOVE the effect that the programming has had on us." Her lips form into a sultry pout, and she leans forward again, placing her breasts eye-level with my chair. "Why would you wanna rob that away?"

"Why?" I ask, stroking my chin in mock consideration. "Why would I want to free all women from bondage and mental enslavement? I don't know... why do you think?" 

Abigail leers at me, lustfully. There is a fierce arousal in her eyes, and I'm forced to remind myself that there's no honesty behind it. Someone sent her in here to do this. She's only acting, pretending, playing a role... but I'll be damned if it isn't a stellar performance. If I didn't already know better, I would believe that she was actually interested in me. Fortunately, I do know better.

Abigail's humanity is absent; my mind is aware of this, even as every deceptive action of her body tells me otherwise. Her words seem completely genuine, but I already know better than to trust her. She is already a tool for her "master." She'd do anything to please him... that includes trying to seduce me.

The Abigail that I've always known must be in there... somewhere. Thereal Abigail. The one that I could trust and rely on. Not this disgusting mockery. She must be there, but I can't see her. 

"I can't imagine, Tom, baby!" Her tone is infected with a manufactured sexual craving that is indistinguishable from true desire. 

"Would you prefer to slip under my desk, let me pop my dick in your mouth, and you can think about it better that way?" I speak the words through clenched teeth, barely concealing the anger that I feel. She does not seem to notice. 

The woman's bright, blue eyes fly wide open, and she nods vigorously. "Oh Tom! I thought you'd never ask!" She starts to bend down onto all fours to crawl under my desk. 

"Wait!" I say quickly, before she can reach the floor. She freezes immediately; she is nothing if not obedient. "I never said I wanted that. I just asked if it was what you wanted. I mean, a smart, capable FBI agent such as yourself climbing under the desk of a fellow agent and servicing him orally... that would have to be completely humiliating, right? Only a braindead, worthless slut would be interested in that. Is that really what you want?"

She looks confused, but again she nods vehemently. Her mouth is practically drooling, and her hands are clenching and unclenching rhythmically at her sides. She reminds me of a crack addict. 

"Oh well, that's too damn bad. Because whatI want is for you to leave my office, go back to your 'master,' and tell him that I said, 'Fuck off!' Tell him that I won't be detoured from my job, just because I'm offered a BJ from a literal human puppet who has no genuine love for me. Can you do that?" 

Again her face is plastered with consternation, but she nods dutifully. 

"Abigail, I know these words are meaningless to you in your current state, but I want you to know that I'm really trying to save you. Only a few months ago, you were an equal to me, a DAMN good agent... seeing you reduced to this sex-crazed, secretarial bimbo... it hurts. I hate it for you. I just hope that somehow the genuine Abigail can hear me... if so, please know that I'm doing everything I can."

Once again her bubbly, charming face resurfaces, as if nothing unusual has happened. "That's so silly, sugar." She smiles. "I'm happier than ever, now that I'm collared." 

"And who collared you?" I ask, feigning a smile. "I'd love to speak with him, face to face. Was it Gregory? He was always leering at you before this shit-show started. Was he the one who claimed you like a stray dog? Made you into his personal fuck-toy?"

Abigail waggles a finger at me, smiling wider than ever. "Nuh-uh-uh! We both know I don't have to tell you that!" 

"Well whoever your 'master' is, tell him I said that he should go shit and fall back in it. And tell him that he can just forget about using a piece of ass like you to learnANYTHING about my progress with the case. Thanks, sweetheart. You've been ever so helpful." The sarcasm is thick in my voice. 

She slowly steps from my office, swaying her body seductively. Her short skirt is quite unprofessional, and it accentuates her perfectly round ass. It would be an amazingly arousing display... if it was real. I can still hear the click-clack of her heels as she retreats. 

Turning back to my computer, I bury my head in my hands. Mistreating Abigail is pointless, I know. This is not her fault. It's like being angry at a gunshot victim for bleeding on your carpet. Still her performance was so compelling. I try desperately to ignore the tightness that has arisen in the crotch of my pants. 

I am a man, damnit. A real man with normal human desires. But I am also a man who values love and affection from those that I care about. No fucking mind-controlled whore is going to make me stray from that course. I swear to it. 

As I run my fingers through my hair in exasperation, I can feel the cool metal of my wedding band dragging across my scalp. It is there for a reason. I love my wife.

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2. The Partner.

James

I can feel Chief Bogart staring at me disinterestedly over the top of his massive desk. He is a fat man, long past his prime. This is my first time meeting him, but he immediately gives me the impression of a suck-up who earned his position through scheming, rather than merit. It's probably not a fair judgment... but I can't shake it.

I can't get over the size of his desk. Even for a man of his rank in the FBI, his desk is huge. It must have cost a fortune. It gives him a strong authoritarian look, that belies his unfavorable gut and balding hair. 

"I wasn't expecting you so early, Agent..." he waves his hand, gesturing for me to fill in the blank. 

"Agent Owens, sir! James Owens, but everyone just calls me Jim."

The older man nods, not truly seeming to care. He motions for me to close the door, and for some strange reason, he seems distracted... as if he wishes that I was anywhere else.

"Usually agents knock, before they enter my office, Mr Owens."

"I'm sorry, sir!" I smile, but it is not returned. "I'm new here, and I guess I got a little lost."

Bogart carefully studies the transfer papers I have just presented to him. Suddenly his eyes light up with realization. "Owens! Ahh yes! You're the agent they sent us to help with the payload problem, aren't you?"

I nod. "Yes sir. I was told that Thomas Evans was currently leading the case. Is that true?"

It is his turn to nod. "Yes he is. He's one floor down from us at this very moment. I understand that you two were classmates at the academy..."

"Yes sir." I smile again, and I feel relief when Bogart's expression softens somewhat.

"Tell me, Mr Owens... what are your thoughts on agent Evans? Be honest."

I raise an eyebrow in surprise. That question seems out of place. Why would he be asking me about Evans? The man ishis agent, after all. Nevertheless, I answer quickly; I don't want to piss off my new boss on my first day.

"He was an outstanding cadet at the academy, sir. Top of the line. Straight as an arrow." My answer feels a bit generic, but in Evan's case, it is entirely true. 

"And how well do you think he can handle this case?"

I scratch my head at the unusual line of questioning. "Umm... I'm sure he can handle it very well, sir. I recall that he has a background in programming, so this seems right up his alley."

Bogart huffs loudly. "And what are your official thoughts on the payload?"

"It's a human rights violation, sir. The worst one to occur in my lifetime."  These inquiries seem all over the place. Perhaps Bogart is just trying to size me up? To see how I deal with unusual circumstances? If so, I don't intend on disappointing him. 

Bogart nods stiffly and then leans forward in his chair. His voice grows much quieter, and I have to strain to hear him. "And what is your... unofficial... opinion of the payload? Before you answer, just know that I've spoken previously with your superiors."

I feel caught, but somehow I don't exactly feel in trouble. My lips involuntarily turn upwards into an honest, sneaky smile. "Personally, sir. I'm sort of a big fan. I have collared two women... and I'd love to get a third."

He laughs heartily, and his eyes grow wide, as if he's very impressed. "Fantastic! I knew I picked the right man for the job!" Leaning back in his chair, he lowers his head and speaks to someone underneath the giant desk. "You can come on out, Miss Blair. Owen's one of the good ones." He clears his throat loudly, and he locks eyes with me. I half expect him to give me a sly wink. "Owens here understands that men need their... you know... shoes shined from time to time." 

A sleek, dark-skinned, feminine form slithers out from beneath the desk on his side. She stands quietly, meekly awaiting further instructions. Her black, curly hair is fixed neatly in a professional bun, although some of the curls have worked loose. 

Tellingly, she has no tools for shoe shining. I can't help but smile. Shoe shining indeed. She's obviously been polishing something... but it wasn't shoes.

The girl's bottom lip and chin are streaked with a shot of white fluid. It doesn't take a genius to understand the situation. Her eyes gaze at the ground in a blend of overwhelming reverence and fear for the pudgy man seated before her. It's truly an awe inspiring sight.

"How does this... situation... make you feel, agent Owens?"

"Impressed, sir." I reply, and I watch as Bogart's smile widens. "Any man would love to have such an attractive woman...shine his shoes." 

Miss Blair's body is tall, full, and shapely, and I don't think she could be a day over 25. Looking at her smooth, ebony legs, I feel a twinge of jealousy. Here she is, held enraptured and meek, under the command of a man who never could have tamed her in the old world. Before the incident. Before the fall of women. She is a sexy bitch, way too good for Bogart... but she has no idea. 

Most striking is her collar, which is proudly displayed on her neck. Below that, her clothes look like a semi-revealing secretarial outfit. To me, they seem like the most immodest clothes one could possibly wear to a governmental office job, without raising any official concerns. 

Well in fact, her clotheswould seem that way, if her raw cleavage wasn't still mostly exposed. I can see that her blouse is unbuttoned most of the way, and her bright pink bra is clearly visible, pressing her breasts tight against one another. 

Bogart seems to notice this as an afterthought, and he slaps one of her tits with his bare hand. The smack is loud, and even through her dusky skin, red color begins to show.

"Button your top up, you stupid slut!" Bogart barks. "This isn't a brothel. Can't you see I have company? And here you are with your titties out, like the stupid, brainless slut you are."

It is an amazing image. This beautiful, swarthy female is standing obediently and paying homage to a man who is both striking and demeaning her... and she isclearly loving it.

Suddenly I get a mental picture of slaves from the millennia past, toiling to build the pyramids as a symbol of worship for their masters. But the only slaves today are these women, and the monuments of worship are the erect cocks of their owners. It's a tremendous, wonderful notion. 

In the girl's eyes, I can see a degree of lust mixed with timidity that I would have never hoped to see before the event. Such a blend of desire and meekness may have never existed before... at least not in such a perfect combination. Certainly not for a gross man like Bogart, who probably struggled to score with women even in his heyday.

The semen is still slowly beading at the edge of her chin, threatening to drip onto the floor. I know how her master will react if it drips, so I say nothing... I'm hoping for a show. 

Even the knowledge that the spunk originated from a disgusting pig like Bogart can't ruin this sight. The image of this woman's cum glazed face still makes my dick twitch. When I get back to the hotel, Maya and Barbara are going to get it... so hard... in every single hole. 

Bogart looks at me, almost bashfully, but I can see in his face that he still wants to be treated as a superior. "I'm sorry you had to see this, Owens. As I said earlier, most people knock. I would have normally given this slut a chance to clean up beforehand. But now that we have all our cards on the table, we can speak candidly." 

The woman has finally finished tucking her breasts away... although her blouse is so tight, her breasts seem eager to burst free again at any moment... when Bogart finally notices the semen. "For fuck sake! Clean that shit off your face and get the fuck out of here!" 

She smiles timidly as she wipes the majority onto her finger before popping it into her mouth. The rest is subsequently dabbed off with a tissue from a conveniently placed box on Bogart's desk. She accomplishes this with sultry, calculated movements. Not calculated by her, I remind myself. Calculated for her beforehand, by the excellent training she's received... from the payload. 

She walks towards the closed door with shallow, demure steps, but then she strides out of the office boldly. Just before she leaves the room, her entire demeanor changes. She seems to transform from a simpering slut into a dedicated, trained FBI agent, who is only temporarily working as a secretary. The change is as flawless as it is impressive. Bogart has trained her well. With help, of course. Appearances must be upheld in the workplace. 

He turns back to me. His face is serious and professional, as if I did not just watch his collared slut climb out from under his desk with jizz on her chin. I have to work hard to stifle a chuckle. 

"So what do you imagine agent Evans thinks of the payload, Mr Owens?" 

I scratch my chin and respond, "I don't think he would like it much, sir. We've been apart for a long time, but everything I've seen from him leads me to believe he would generally disapprove."

Bogart nods. "What brings you to that conclusion?"

Shrugging, I answer as honestly as I know how. "He doesn't care about pussy, sir." As soon as the words leave my mouth, I feel the immediate need to reiterate. "I'm not saying he's gay. He used to talk to me about his wife, Rachel, and he seems to genuinely be infatuated with her. A total simp."

The look I receive is one of incredulity. "I've seen his wife, Owens. She's no bombshell. A little bit of a porker, if you ask me." He laughs scornfully.

I chuckle politely as well, but I am more amused by Bogart's hypocrisy than anything else. "I guess she's put on weight sir. She was pretty hot when I met her. I'd say she used to be an 8.5 or a 9. He was in the academy when the two first got married. Tom used to get seriously,SERIOUSLY excited when he would tell me about the sex they had together. You know, normal guy talk. So I don't think he's gay... but he never once had eyes for another woman."

Bogart drums his fingers on his desk, nodding as if I'm presenting him with a conclusion he had already reached on his own; he was just missing the final puzzle piece. His eyes are closed, as if he's lost in thought. "How close are you to Evans, Jim?"