Rescuing the Fallen Ch. 02

Author's Note: Welcome back. If you're here, it probably means that you liked the first chapter. I'm glad.

As stated before, this is a dark fantasy story; it is not a guide on how to behave. (I'd argue that it's a guide on how not to behave, for the most part.) Themes of body shaming and misogyny are prevalent, along with other awful stuff.

Again, all credit for the creation of the story's universe goes to AlectaShadow. I am in your debt for inventing this world in the first place.

All characters featured in sexual situations are 18 or above.

Don't forget to comment, folks. It's the lifeblood of us authors. And if you love it, please vote.

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5) The Punishment.

Abigail

I arrive at the office three hours before work, as instructed. As I pull into the parking garage, I notice how dead this place is. Exiting my car, I move swiftly into the main building. 

My badge gets me through the door, but all of the interior lights are still off. Only the dim glow of the exit signs illuminate the dark hallways. Earlier this morning, Dearest told me to meet him at Chief Bogart's office. I don't know why I am here, but I trust that Dearest has my best interests at heart. He is such a strong, masculine leader. I'd be so lost without him. 

He has instructed me to wear a form-fitting pant-suit... but no panties or bra, as usual. I can feel the soft fabric of my bottoms riding up my cracks, but I resist the urge to adjust them. Dearest likes when my body is properly displayed. 

Walking down these narrow halls, I ponder how much my life has changed in the last few months. I used to be an active Federal agent. It's amazing how I was able to squeak by for so many years without someone realizing that I didn't belong.  

I had taken part in the arrests of over a hundred criminals, but I shudder to think about how many more arrests would have been made, if a man had held my position. 

Fortunately, all of that is taken care of now.  I am working a secretarial job, and the men are free to solve cases more efficiently, without an emotional, error-prone woman hampering their efforts. 

Something within my domesticated mind thrums lightly, sending reassuring endorphins eking out into my brain, and rewarding me for my wise thoughts. I feel mild pleasure ripple outward from my nether regions, and my eyes flutter with sexual gratification. 

It suddenly strikes me as quite strange that I understand how my brain is behaving and why. I must have learned about this process at some point, but if so... I have long since forgotten. That's fine. Dearest always tells me that I think too much for a woman anyway.

Riding the elevator up, I pass the 6th floor, where Thomas Evans has been conducting operations to stop... something... I forget what. Dearest says it isn't important. But it's a bad thing Tom's doing. Of course, I know that. 

A little over a week ago, I failed at my one opportunity to make Thomas stop his efforts. It was my job to take him to lunch, learn about the case, and convince him that it was a waste of time. The plan was to suck and fuck him until he realized how amazing... the new order is. 

But he rejected me. The mere thought of it makes me hang my head in shame. One simple job, and I fucked it up. Of course I did. I'm a woman, and women are always fucking things up, as Dearest enjoys reminding me. 

Out of all the things I could have failed on, this one seems so simple though. My biology has flawlessly shaped every curve of my body to attract a man... to draw him into interest in my holes... and I couldn't even do that. 

Normally, I've found that humiliation thrills me somehow, and it pleases my entire body. From my brain to my eager womanhood. This brand of humiliation is the bad kind, however. To fail at sex.. what purpose does my life even have, if I can't successfully offer my holes to a man? None, that's what. 

Thankfully, Dearest was there later that night to reprimand me and give my body all the humiliation I could ever dream of. I was able to please him in that regard, so at least I succeeded at something. 

As I near the office, I can hear two male voices arguing. One is the voice of my Dearest, and the other belongs to Bogart. 

Even in my current, subservient state, I know that Bogart is awful. He has always been a disgusting, fat pig. His misogynistic behavior used to bother me too, but now I realize how right he was. 

That doesn't stop him from being gross though, and Dearest has been sure to remind me of what a foul, repulsive man he is. On the societal ladder, he does technically hold a rung higher than me... but he is at the bottom of all the males. No matter what job he holds in the Bureau. 

Before I was safely collared by Dearest, I was terrified that Bogart would try to collar me first. He has always been such a slimy weasel. He treats women like objects, which makes sense, now that I think about it... because we are, but he... well honestly, most of the same things I hated about him, I also hated about Dearest, before I learned to love them. 

As I ponder the reasons why I despised Bogart, I struggle to populate the list. Of course I always hated the way that he let his body go. Dearest hates that too, understandably. His stringy, balding hair and the sallow color of his flesh are still repulsive. His body is a bloated sack of shit.... but all my other reasons seem so silly now. 

I hated the way he leered at us as we worked. Now I realize that it's only natural. The female body was designed to attract his attention. I used to hate the way he spoke down to all the female agents, but he was just ahead of the curve.

I used to object to the fact that he loves to touch our bodies in subtle, seemingly inappropriate ways... but in reality, that makes perfect sense too. How else would he display his desire to breed with us? That is literally our natural purpose. I was a fool for disliking it. 

Dearest has informed me; however, that Bogart is a slimy, worthless loser. So I'm sure he must be. Still, I'm glad that I now know the real cause to hate him... instead of the petty, juvenile reasons I used to hold. 

I knock softly on his door, as I was instructed to do. Inside, the arguing ceases, and I hear Dearest call, "Come in."

Stepping inside, I see the repulsive Bogart seated at his massive desk, and Dearest standing at attention. 

"Ahh! Miss Abigail!" Bogart smiles, sinisterly. "I'm so glad you could join us. Gregory, give her the new orders."

Dearest's face is red with fury. I don't know what they have been arguing about, but if he asked me to, I'd be willing to dive over that desk and stab Bogart to death. How dare he anger my Dearest? 

Dearest speaks to me through teeth clinched in rage. "Bogart has told me to instruct you..." He whips around to face Bogart again. "Boss, this is bullshit! I only sent her to Thomas to HELP with our efforts... you know... to slow him down! This isn't..."

"Shut up!" Bogart barks. It was your ham-fisted attempt that made Evans more suspicious than ever! I've had to work double-time to cover for your stupidity! Now give Abigail her orders and shut the fuck up!"

I can see Dearest's fists clench. Again, he turns to me and says, "Abigail, for the next month, your salary and... servitude will go only to Chief Bogart."

My mind snaps. No. No, no, no... I look over  to see Bogart grinning as wickedly as ever. This is the last thing I want! I have been glad to serve Dearest in every way. Cleaning his house, warming his bed, taking his seed in every hole he desires... but Bogart? Dearest has spent the last few months ranting about this pig's flaws, and they all come to a polarizing head at once.

"I'm going to enjoy this so much... For the next month, my secretary, Miss Blair will teach you exactly how I prefer to be serviced; both at the office and at home. But for now, let's have a little test run, shall we?" Bogart grins, his voice dripping with a rapacious fervor. "Come over here, bitch."

I feel terror and disgust gripping my insides. I want to resist with every fiber of my being... with or without my training... I know that Bogart doesn't deserve me. He doesn't deserve the affection that I give to my Dearest. 

But my master has commanded me, and I am unable to disobey. I take an uneasy step towards the desk. 

"Stop!" Bogard demands. His powerful masculine voice makes my body freeze in place. I feel an electrical charge ripple down my spine towards my sex. He's speaking to me in such a strong, commanding, and demeaning tone. It's just how I like it.  "On your knees. Crawl to me."

Obeying this repulsive man's orders fills me with so much misery, so much humiliation... so much arousal. I see my original master frowning angrily as I slump to the floor. I'm dying for him to stop me, to tell me I can return to him... anything to keep me away from the monster waiting behind the desk. But he is silent. 

"Now crawl, bitch!." Bogart snaps, and my body obeys without my approval. "And move sexy." 

I crawl towards him slowly, with my head down and my rear raised, slinking towards him like a cat. Every curve of my feminine form works overtime to ensure that my motions are as sultry as possible. Bogart is a vile, dirty man... but he is a man, and it is my job to please him. Again, I feel a surge of reassuring endorphins as my mind accepts this truth. 

I am almost to the corner of the desk, when Bogart wheels his chair around the edge. The pleasure emanating from my properly programmed brain has been steadily increasing up to this point.

I look up at his seated form, and my misery and disgusting desires spike immediately. He is already naked from the waist down, with his pants pooled around his shoes. His stubby, fat prick is poking out from his unshaven bush like a thick, ugly mushroom. 

My mind reels with shame and excitement, because I know what I have to do next. I try to scream for Dearest to save me, but the words will not exit my mouth. 

I hear a furious, scoffing curse from Dearest, and he turns to leave the room.

"Stay, Gregory! I insist!" Bogart shouts. "I want you to watch every second! This is your punishment, after all... she's just your lovely whipping girl!" He lowers his gaze down to me. "Now, young lady, tell your former master EXACTLY how you feel about this. Tell him how the original Abigail feels about it. 

He rolls his chair close, until his stubby chode of a cock is only inches from my mouth, and he grips the sides of my head in a powerful grasp. The scent wafting up from his groin is musky and repellent. My programming is screaming at me that this is alluring, but the training from Dearest is screaming just as loud in disagreement. 

No matter which one I listen to, it is only a man's opinion that matters. I have no say in my decisions. The thought fills me with sickening rapture. 

From deep within my soul, a fallen voice is resurrected. I thought it was gone completely, but it was only waiting for permission to surface.

At Bogart's bidding, my tiny, humiliated psyche emerges and calls out in fear. "Please, Dearest! Don't let him do this to me!" I'm screaming into Bogart's thick penis like a phallic microphone. "I don't... I can't... I'll do anything for you! I've served you so faithfully! Don't let him... mmph!"

Bogart snatches on my ears, and I feel the wide head of his prick entering my face, silencing me. A cataclysmic surge of conflicting emotions wracks my entire being. My sense of self is destroyed, once again, and something in my brain begins reforming my self-image into something brand new. Something smaller than before. Something less.

He begins jerking on my head aggressively, trying to force his cock into my throat. He isn't nearly long enough to reach that deep, but judging by his efforts, he's determined to try. 

"You make her call you Dearest?!" Bogart chortles. "That's adorable. Unfortunately, for the next month the only 'dearest' she's gonna know is the one inside her right now!" His laughter is loud and bawdy. 

My lips are spread as wide as they've ever been... I've never had a dick this fat inside me before. I can feel an aching in my jaw, but it is dwarfed by the rising ecstasy flooding outward from my cunt. 

Seeking to perform my duties as well as possible, I gaze up into Bogart's eyes. He is looking down at me with fierce, possessive eyes tinged with lust. His thin lips are drawn up in a gratified smirk. I see him look up at my Dearest, gloating... winning... and suddenly I more clearly realize my true place in the world. 

I am a bargaining chip. A thing to be bought, sold, and traded at the behest of men. The notion that I was something more was nothing but the wild fantasies of an easily confused little girl. 

At this moment, I am serving a man. I am pleasing a man sexually. These facts give me value. My Dearest was wrong. Bogart's stubby little dick gives me just as much pleasure... more pleasure... because it has chosen me and won me. 

Two men desired me, but now only one has claimed me. How could I ever hope to know my place without this cock being violently crammed into my holes? Bogart's precum oozes into my mouth, and I feel my knowledge increasing. This is the source of female learning. 

The world fades away, until only the cock, my mouth, and the undeniable waves of pleasure remain. I feel Bogart's hands release me, but I maintain the rapid rhythm. As soon as he blesses my mouth with all of his cum, I will know that his wonderful masculine body has fully accepted my weak feminine one. 

I drive his cock inside my mouth repeatedly, trying in vain to lodge it in my throat. Bogart lowers his arms down to my blouse and pulls violently. My breasts burst from the shirt, as a shower of buttons land on the office floor. 

He grips his thick, hairy fingers deep into my soft globes, and another wave of pleasure and desire sweeps across my body. 

Over the sounds of Bogart's uneasy breathing, I hear my Dearest huff in frustration, and I know that he is watching. Part of me wishes that he would take me from behind in a TRULY humiliating fashion, but this isn't about my greedy desires. This is about my new master and his pleasure. 

I feel Bogart's cock begin to tighten, and I swirl my tongue around his head seductively. Soon, my delicious reward will flood out. I can't wait.

"Get off! I want it on your face! Open wide!" 

I instantly obey, snatching my head back, and opening my mouth as instructed. I hold my tongue out as an ideal target for the priceless liquid.

"Tell your 'Dearest' how much you love this, bitch! Tell him, and cream yourself!" His voice is so domineering and strong. How could any woman hope to resist such a command?

"Oh god!" I scream with my tongue lolling out of my mouth; enraptured pleasure is thick in my voice. "I love this so much! Give me your seed! Please! I need it so much!" The moment that the words exit my lips, a tsunami of intense, humiliating, euphoric sensations explode outward from my body. I experience a violent clitoral orgasm, but also a cerebral one... every cell within my body feels like it is climaxing simultaneously.

My own juices stain the crotch of my pants. I hardly notice, as my body trembles with pleasure.

Bogart isn't even touching me. It's unbelievable. Something in my mind is doing all the work... but I have no idea what. Not anymore.

Bogart gives his shaft a few rough tugs, and a warm shower of semen jettisons out, hitting my left eye, then my cheek, and then my awaiting mouth. One wild shot flies wide and lands in my blond hair, instantly oozing down towards my scalp. 

I lap up the semen that touches my lips, and I smile seductively at my fierce, masculine conqueror. If he tells me to climax again, I know I'll do it immediately.

Bogart stares at me in triumph. "Good." He says, with a post-orgasmic shiver. "The first of many. I hope you saw that, Gregory!"

I look over at my former master. His face is an even blend of dejection and rage. 

Again Bogart speaks. "She's got almost 3 hours before work starts. You can use her until then, I guess, and say your goodbyes. But I wanna see her again 15 minutes before 9, and she'd better still have my nut on her face." His laughter is full of insidious glee. "After that, she's all mine for the next month. Now, both of you, get the fuck out of my office." 

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6) The Request.

Thomas

I stare blindly into the bathroom mirror, hardly noticing the rough stubble decorating my face. Breathing a heavy sigh, I contemplate my current situation. I know that I have a critical job to do, but I am beginning to grow tired of the fight. It's exhausting.

I almost feel alone. My only lifelines are my family and my new partner at work. I've only been working with the newly transferred agent for a little over a week, but it's so good to have someone I can trust. 

Rachel had another nightmare last night. She has them almost every time she sleeps, but some are worse than others. Yesterday's seemed particularly awful. In the dream, I rejected her because she has never borne me a son. She has tried describing the dreams to me in detail, but often she can't even remember much about them. She can only recall them in isolated frames. 

Sometimes the dreams target her body, telling her that being overweight makes her worthless. Sometimes they target her mind, insisting that she's too stupid, irrational, and hormonal to make decisions for herself. Worst of all, sometimes they target the fact that she's been unable to conceive a son, to convince her that she's a failure as a woman in general.

But the dreams always supply an answer to their accusations: give in, submit, and hand over your personhood to a man... as soon as you do, all your problems will dissipate. 

Her dreams sound horrible, and they rob her of any restful sleep. It seems like the payload is using her own insecurities against her. I've tried to point that out, but it's pretty hard to convincingly "mansplain" to a woman about her own mental anguish. So mostly I just stay silent, or I try to comfort her. What other choice do I have?

I wish that I could do something for her... anything,  but I know that until I figure out how to shut the entire fucking payload down and reverse its effects... there's no way for me to help. 

Back in the present, I hear a subtle knock at the bathroom door. My thoughts crash around me, and I realize I've been wasting the precious time I have left, before the daily struggle begins. I start to shave rapidly, and I mumble, "Come in." 

The door creaks open, and a tiny foot steps inside. It's my daughter, Rosemary... Little Ro-Ro. She's my entire world.

"Daddy," she asks softly. "Can I task you a question?" Her voice is so innocent, yet It seems full of worry. She mispronounces some of her words; it's an issue she's been working on daily with her mother.

"Of course, pumpkin. What's up?" I tried to sound cheery, Even though I can hear trepidation in her tone; I'm afraid of what she is going to say. 

"What does 'Sub-da-gay-shone' mean?"

My eyes shoot wide open. "What... who...? Umm... Sweetie, where did you hear that word?" I kneel down to her level, trying to disguise the nervousness in my own voice. 

She can sense my concern, although she does not fully understand it. I see tears beginning to form at the edges of her eyes. "Mama took me to ta store to get grow-shees. A man we saw tawked to Mama. He was really starey and he said tat word 'sub-da-gay-shone'." 

I try desperately to hide the worry from my face as I speak. "Ro-Ro, you said he was 'starey.' Do you mean he stared a lot? Or do you mean 'sCary'?"