Rescuing the Fallen Ch. 01

He's already using my first name. I feel like this will be a good boss to work for. "Not very. We're still friends online I believe, but we haven't spoken in years."

A folder is slid across the desk to me. "Take a look at this. It's a complaint report filed by Evans. Actually it's several reports."

I scan through the files briskly, and my eyes grow wide. "Tom filed official grievances trying to ban collared women at work?!" I can't believe my eyes. Evans was never a player, but he used to be a decent wing-man. Why would he try to hamstring the rest of us, just because he isn't interested? 

"He did indeed." Bogart's voice is thick with disgust. "He took it as high as the Deputy Director."

"Why would he do that!?" My voice is full of anger and betrayal. I can't imagine why Tom would want to fuck over all his brothers at the Agency. Having collared women at work to boss around is an absolute dream. What kind of man would want to ruin that?

"It's all in the report. He says that since it is our job to end the payload, having collared women on site could be a 'security risk'."

I can feel my blood boiling. "It's only a security risk if the women are working cases! Since they've all been demoted to secretarial duties, it should be fine!"

"I agree! But Evans insists that trying to end the payload and having programmed women at our disposal is a 'conflict of interests'."

"Wait, so you're saying that Tom isREALLY trying to shut down the payload?! Everyone else is trying to crack it, and understand it better... even the guys who don't care for it... but I didn't think any guys were stupid enough toactually wanna shut it down!" 

Bogart nods again, a somber frown plastered on his face. 

"That fucking snake!" I declare, aloud. "Just because he's satisfied with the dried up cunt he has at home... he wants to prevent the rest of us from enjoying ourselves? He wants to let women rise back up to a station in society that they never should have held in the first place?!"

I look up at Bogart to find a wicked smile spread across his face. "If you are as incensed as you seem, then perhaps you'd be okay doing a little side job for me... off the record, of course."

"I'll do whatever you need." I reply. I can feel the honest anger dripping from my words.

.......................................................................

3) The Wife.

Rachel 

A wiry, masculine hand extends towards me, appearing suddenly from the darkness. I can feel fear rising, threatening to spill over into panic. I try to turn, but my movements feel sluggish, as if my body is submerged. The hand moves fast... so incredibly fast... I know that my only prayer is to keep it from my neck. 

My throat is so vulnerable. It feels so exposed... I wish there was something... anything... to keep that hand from strangling me. 

The darkness seems to grow as the hand moves; I can never see the form that the hand belongs to. Only the hand itself is visible, and this is both a relief and a horror. I cannot see, but I am seen. This realization terrifies me... and yet somehow it is thrilling. Why? 

The darkness thankfully hides the glaring eyes of my attacker, but I know that I am fully illuminated. I am exposed. I can feel invisible eyes leering at me through the pitch black; they pierce through me with overwhelming judgment. Somehow I am sure that they can see every flaw and insecurity within my being, of which there are so many. 

My physical female shape suddenly seems so drab and unappealing. Every ounce of fat on my frame adds to my shamefulness. I know that I have gained weight recently, but my body has never before seemed so ugly. So embarrassing.

Voices fill my ears, informing me of how gross and disgusting I am. I look down at my torso. The pudge that I have developed over the past few years is there... but suddenly I can see it as the men in my life must truly see it... repulsive, vile mounds of cellulite hanging from my frame like leeches. It is sucking away at my youthful beauty.

"My husband says he loves me no matter what!" I try to scream, but the words are captured and dragged back into my lungs. 

"Lies." The voices growl, merging into a single, deafening shout. It is the sound of every male authority figure throughout my entire life. "No man would ever desire you. Fat. Haughty. Disgusting. Unsubmissive. Worthless. Garbage." Tears stream from my face. "Weak. Pathetic. Unworthy."

The masculine claw has almost reached me now; it clenches repeatedly, aiming for my neck. I turn away, laborious and slow, but I barely manage to hide my vulnerable jugular from the hand's overwhelming power. Turning my back on the hand causes terror to grip my intestines, but I know what will happen if it grasps my windpipe.

I feel a sudden, violent snatch at my scalp, as the hand weaves itself into my messy brown hair, cinching tightly. I can feel a splash of pain as the grip tightens, snatching my head backwards. The words continue to resonate in my ears. "Irrelevant. Vile. Meaningless. Loud. Irreverent. Scum."

This is a dream. Iknow that this is a dream, but in dreams you aren't supposed to feel pain... but I do. I can feel the fingers ripping at my hair. I want to pinch myself to wake up, but my hands won't obey.

Pinching... a thousand hands suddenly coalesce from nothing, and begin pawing at me. My clothes are shredded, and the hands all descend upon my body. Gripping, pulling, pinching... The pain emerges, but it is twinged with a euphoric edge that my mind cannot fathom. 

I gaze down upon my body, but now it is bloated, a gelatinous mess... I try to shut out the sight, but my eyes cannot close.

My breasts are bare, and my legs are pulled apart. The unkempt hair of my sex seems so shameful when exposed like this. I writhe and shake, but the hands grip me with unyielding force. 

"Look at your filthy, grotesque body, Rachel!" The voice is screaming, demanding with the utmost authority. My head is shoved forward, and I am forced to see. "This is what men see when they look upon your repulsive form."

The body below me is not mine... yet it undeniably is, my mind insists. This repellent form is mytrue self. It must be. The voices insist it is so. 

"We will make you better! We will make you worthy! Your value comes from us, so we will shape you into something worthy of being seen!"

A hand grips the hair of my sex and prepares to pull. I expect pain, and I receive it... but in the moment I can feel my cunt gushing with sexual arousal. The other hands grip at every inch of fat on my body. They pull and push. I can feel the fingers digging deep into my flesh. The fat is removed in an instant with only the slightest sting following its departure. 

When the hands return, they begin caressing and massaging my breasts, my waist, my thighs, my feet, my face... I can feel every inch of my body being stimulated by the countless digits.

Fingers dance across my outer labia. I am silently begging them to drive into my pussy, but they merely tease. Hands grab each of my feet and begin rubbing the most delicate areas across the soles. Their motions are perfect, sensual movements, and I splay my toes apart, yearning for them to dig deeper.  

The combined touch of all these phantasms sends heavenly sensations across the surface of my skin. The independent woman within me wants to reject their unrequested advances, but the pleasure rippling through my body is too great. I love this. I know I shouldn't, but I do. 

"Look at your body now!" Unseen voices suddenly command. 

Gazing down, I gasp at my incredible, flawless beauty. My breasts are perky, my waistline is slim and sublime, and my pussy is perfectly smooth. I have never been this beautiful, since the day I was born. The voices yet again insist that this is true. 

"This is what we want!" The voices all chant in unison. "This is what you could be! This is what we WILL make you!"

The first hand grips my windpipe, and it squeezes. I can feel an orgasmic pleasure rising from below. The hand now has an arm, a shoulder, a torso, and a face. My husband stares down at me. He seems larger than life, and I cannot meet his powerful, authoritative gaze.

Thomas is naked as well. He exudes raw masculinity; he is perfect. Even with my flawless, feminine beauty, I am not his equal. What I see is not a form manufactured by a dream. This is his true, flawless self... only now, for the first time, I am seeing it clearly. How could I have been so blind? 

I look at his turgid phallus, and arousal floods my womanhood. I have never been so attracted to him. His cock is so perfect in every way. I long to shower it with humble, demure kisses. Never before in my life have I wanted him to violate me with his divine rod so badly. It is like a king's scepter; his symbol of absolute command. 

"Thomas!" I keen. I want his grip to tighten, so I can know that he truly wants me. That he truly desires to own me. If he squeezes only a tiny bit tighter, I know that I will climax, and the desire is driving me mad. 

"I would want you..." He mutters, dolefully. "...if you weren't so disgusting." His grip loosens, and looking back at my body once more, I see the bloated, repulsive form again. My true form. The one men must see.

I can feel myself plummeting into darkness. Thomas' face watches me as I fall, but then he turns away scornfully. I try to scream his name, before silence engulfs me.

I jerk awake, struggling to grasp my location. Beside me, Thomas grunts and rolls over, fluffing his pillow. My breath is ragged, and I am drenched in sweat. I feel more tired than ever. My cunt is aching with unfulfilled sensations... I was so close. So damn close. 

Glancing at the clock, I see 12:31 displayed in glowing red letters. I must have gone to bed at 8 o'clock, but my vivid dreams have prevented any real rest. I rub my eyes and huff in frustration.

I feel Thomas' hand drowsily caress my thigh; he's still half asleep. I don't remember him coming to bed. He must have stayed up late with work again. 

Looking down, I see my body. It is not thin, but it is a far cry from the monstrosity which I became in my dream. Even still, I can hear my mind insisting that I am indeed the monster from my visions, and what I see now is only an illusion I've created to cope with the horror.

"Bullshit!" I snarl. "It's just the payload's bullshit!" The room feels stuffy and humid, but the moisture in my panties has a more embarrassing point of origin.

Again Thomas stirs. "You had another nightmare, sweetheart? Shhh... go back to sleep." He wraps his arm around me, and dozes off again. Still I cannot shake the feeling that his words are lies... polite lies, to hide the truth from me. I am the monster. 

Pulling away from him, I climb out of bed. I walk downstairs to the kitchen. Snatching the refrigerator open, I grab a leftover cupcake. "Fuck the payload. Fuck the patriarchy. And fuck Thomas and his lies. They want me to have a perfect body? I'll fucking show them." I bite into the sweet cupcake aggressively, but it tastes unappealing in my mouth. I stand motionless for a long time, before I notice the tears that are spilling from my eyes.

I force myself to finish the food, just the same. As I walk back towards the bedroom, I suddenly notice how cold my neck is. My hands move up reflexively and touch my throat, as something in my mind reminds me how much warmer it would be with a collar. 

.......................................................................

4) The Slave. 

Barbara 

My body is motionless and bathed in shadow. I already know that it is completely dark in my enclosure, but the silk material covering my eyes would leave me blind regardless. Just on the other side of the door, I can hear Maya hum as she dusts the hotel room. Doubtlessly, she's wearing her skimpy maid's uniform... the one that Sir prefers. 

I'm glad. Sir demands that each of us handle our responsibilities dutifully, and the fact that Maya is performing her job to the best of her abilities is both right and proper. I'm glad for her. When Sir returns home in a few hours, he will need her to have all of her holes prepared for usage, but he will also want her to have the hotel room cleaned spick and span. 

I'm glad for myself as well. This tiny coat closet is more space than I could ever need, and the fact that there is no room to sit or lie down only improves the enclosure in my estimation. 

A long time ago, in what seems like a different life, I was horribly claustrophobic, and the idea of being blindfolded, gagged, and bound in an enclosure like this would have driven me insane. Especially after being in here for twelve or so hours.

I didn't understand then, as I do now, that Sir prefers me in here. Now I know better. He didn't put me in here for no reason. This is punishment. Sometimes when stupid girls clean, they break things. And those stupid girls invariably belong bound, naked, and gagged in the closet. 

I can feel my nude body shivering. It's uncomfortably cold in here; the only clothing I still have is the collar around my neck. I am so grateful that Sir let me keep it on. It provides more than just warmth. It offers me security, personal value, and relief. I cannot imagine the horror of losing it. 

Still, I try to rub my thighs together for warmth. Of course, this is largely ineffective, since I have a limited range of motion, with my hands bound tightly behind my back. I can tell that my nipples are incredibly erect at the moment, and I wish desperately that Sir was here to warm them with his mouth. 

I curse my rapacious mind for having such selfish thoughts. If Sir wanted to warm me, he would have done it already. Only a haughty, self-centered bitch like me would want to have something that Sir didn't want her to have. I smile. I deserve the closet. 

The space is incredibly cramped, and its scent is musky and used. There's an old coat in here that smells like it used to belong to a sweaty hobo. It reeks, and its overwhelming stench only adds to my punishment. 

This hotel's cleaning lady should be ashamed of herself, for leaving such a disgusting article of clothing for new guests. She must be a stupid girl, and she definitely deserves some time in the closet. Not as much as me, of course. I deserve punishment the most. 

A dark portion of my mind concurs with all these notions, and it sends waves of mild pleasure flooding outward from my womanhood to the rest of my body. I shiver, both in enjoyment and because of the cold. 

Shifting my back, I try to relieve some of the pressure that is forming in my frame. My body feels stiff and sore, and I don't want this to get worse. 

It isn't that I want to remove my discomfort! I know that. I deserve every ounce of misery that I get. After all, when stupid girls break things, they earn this punishment. And I am a stupid girl. This pain is what I need in order to better myself. That just makes sense.

However, when Sir arrives home, he might choose one of my holes to relieve himself inside. If he does, then I need to be as limber as possible to properly serve him. He wants every orifice of my body ready to serve his shaft at a moment's notice... and it's best to do that with a body that isn't stiff. 

I smile broadly at my own cleverness. I am a stupid girl, true, but at times I can figure out some simple things. Especially when Sir has pointed the answer out to me beforehand once or twice. 

Somewhere, deep within the recesses of my mind, I think I hear a voice whispering to me that this is all wrong. No human deserves to be blindfolded and bound... stuffed naked into a closet like a worthless object. I can feel moisture forming on the inside of my blindfold, but I refuse to consider where its point of origin is. 

"No!" I exclaim aloud, but the sound is mostly muffled by my gag. "Sir treats me exactly how I deserve! I love being mistreated because I am a worthless slut! And worthless sluts deserve to be mistreated this way! I love getting what I deserve. It is just and right!" Even through my muted sobs, I smile again at my clever logic. 

"Shut up in there, bitch!" Maya barks at me through the door. "Sir has given me permission to come in there and fuck you up if you misbehave... or even if I just want to. If I hear one more peep out of you, I'm gonna rip open that door and whip the piss out of you!" 

Her words are so demeaning. In times past, I know that she never would have spoken to me like this. She used to be the kindest, sweetest step-sister I ever could have imagined. Growing up, she was always mousey and shy. But Sir has transformed her into something stronger. Something better. 

She has threatened to whip the piss out of me, and I know she means it. The whip is currently hanging on the coat hook near the door. It would only take her a few seconds to grab it, snatch open this broom closet, andreally put me in my place. 

A sick part of my psyche wants her to do just that. It is a disgusting, wormy part of my being... and it truly loves the visceral debasement that Maya is capable of. If she were to start whipping me right now, I'm almost certain I would cum immediately. Only stupid girls love the whip... which makes sense, because I love the whip, and I'm a stupid girl. 

The whip wouldcertainly make me piss; I'm positive of that. Being inside an enclosure with no way of relieving oneself for over ten hours really takes a toll on the bladder. I've been trying to keep the topic away from my mind, but I have to pee so badly; I don't know how much longer I can hold it. 

I hear a jingle of keys at the front door. The door creaks open, and I can hear the heavy footsteps of Sir as he enters. 

"Good evening, Sir!" Maya says, with a sultry, demure tone. "I hope your day went well. How would you prefer to be serviced, after a hard day of work?" Somehow her voice perfectly balances subservience and fierce sexual cravings. I am jealous. She's exactly what Sir wants from a woman. 

Her skin is a beautiful olive hue, while mine is a pale, milky white and littered with freckles. The locks of her hair, which are a luscious jet black color, look so stunning and beautiful. By contrast, my ginger hair is entirely inferior. This has been a source of shame for me, all my life.

Maya is sexier, smarter, and better in general. I know this, and deep down, I've always known. I'm just a stupid girl. An idiotic, worthless slut. But at least I can take solace in the knowledge that the closet is improving me. 

Sir grunts. "My day was awful. First I saw that my boss has a sexy, black bitch who sucks him off all day. The rest of us have to leave our toys at home... but he gets to enjoy his AT THE OFFICE. How the fuck is that fair?" 

I can hear him shuffling around the room, placing down his briefcase and shedding his overcoat and his service weapon.

"That gross pig Bogart thinks he's so high and mighty, just because he's got a foxy nigger slut to please him, and he's weaseled his way up the Agency's ladder. It pisses me off."

His voice is thick with jealousy, and I wish that I could shove that little black chick's face under his boot for him. She should be servicing him, not some other guy. Every woman should serve him. Sir would improve them. Sir would make them better. 

I hear a subtle, telltale zip. "Get to work, bitch, while I finish telling you." He speaks the words so casually, in a voice that a man would use to command a dog. That only makes sense, considering it's better than we deserve. 

Through the closet door, I can hear soft slurping sounds. Maya is a master of oral pleasure; I wish I had her skills. My mouth begins to water as I imagine Sir's thick veiny shaft in my mouth. I wish I was in my sister's place, but I know I haven't earned it.