Rescuing the Fallen Ch. 04

And... we're back! For those of you keeping score, this story has been told from 5 different points of view so far. This chapter adds one more, but I promise we shouldn't be gaining any additional POVs, (at least not for a while). I don't need this turning into A Song of Ice and Fire. Haha

Remember all the disclaimers from the previous chapters, and let's get started!

Enjoy!

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9) The Runaway.

Naomi

I pull down my ratty pants and sit on the toilet. The seat is cold, but I hardly notice. I am alone for a moment; that gives me time to think. Privacy will probably be a scarce commodity in the days ahead, so I savor it while I can.

I've been collared... with a witness. That fact is simultaneously comforting and terrifying. My "master" has yet to fill out the paperwork, but as soon as he turns in one official document with my signature... I'll essentially be his property.

Of course, the documentation doesn't call me "property." It only lists this as "guardianship." As far as thelegal side of it goes, I'm simply under his "protection," like a minor, or a geriatric old woman.

They can disguise this violation of human rights with whatever legal terminology they choose. But I'm not an idiot. Every man who sees my collar is going to expect me to follow Tom's instructions to the letter, just like a good little slave. That's the life I've doomed myself to.

Hopefully Tom will treat the collaring as a nominal one. The very fact that my future hangs in the balance, depending entirely upon his mercy.... it fills me with shame, but I can see no other recourse.

My mind races as I consider the repercussions of today's events. Thomas, the man who collared me, seems like he may be the last decent man alive. When I saw him hurl that damn collar... the same collar that currently rests around my neck... I knew that he was the only man I could trust to "own" me.

Still, I cannot trust him too much. I am in danger. Every day that the payload exists, my situation remains incredibly perilous. Thomas seems to be honest and trustworthy, but if I have misjudged him...

Women have lost so much already. Everything that we've worked so hard to build: gone, as if it was never ours to begin with. Tears threaten to flood my eyes once again. Female equality has essentially been erased, and now our individuality, our very personhood, rests on the edge of complete ruin.

All has been swept away under the unstoppable tide of the patriarchy. Women are being treated like pets now... property to be claimed. It's heartbreaking.

In this moment, I realize how physically exhausted I am. I double check to make sure the bathroom door is locked; I see that it is. I think it might be safe to close my eyes for a few precious moments. I wouldn't dare fall asleep though.

I'm in James' hotel room. He's one man Iknow for a fact I can't trust, but the urge to rest my eyelids is overwhelming. Still, I can't actually risk falling asleep. I'm just going to relax for a few seconds, but I know I can't allow myself to doze off.

Inexplicably, I am suddenly back in my foster-parent's home, in my teenage bedroom. The change is completely abrupt, but my mind doesn't question it.

I rise from my bed and glance around the room. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, but there is a deep sense of fear resonating within me. I open my door, and I am immediately greeted by a flood of balloons. It's my birthday. Why does that fact fill me with dread? For the life of me, I can't remember.

My body begins to walk down the hallway. I can feel my unease growing exponentially, but my steps are constant and robotic... they are leading me towards... what? I don't know, but it's something bad. It's something evil. It's something that is unfathomably heinous. The hallway seems incredibly long, but again, I don't really question it. All I can focus on is the looming sense of dread, which rises with each step.

The hallway finally ends, and I find myself in the kitchen. My foster-mother is standing in front of a sink full of dishes. I can hear her humming a cheery tune as she works. She is wearing a housewife's dress from the 1950's, and her hands are covered with yellow gloves, shimmering from the sink's soapy water. She turns to me, and I can see the dullness in her eyes... the listlessness.

"Your father wants to see you in the garage, Naomi." She turns back to the dishes, still humming. Her words are quiet, unassuming, and meek. They lack any of the fire that she had always possessed before... before something changed. But what caused her to weaken? The answer continues to escape me. "Happy birthday." She drones, as if the words lack any meaning to her.

The words mean everything to me, though. They somehow sound like a death sentence; although, I cannot fathom how such mundane words can generate so much dread within me.

I turn automatically, even as my fear redoubles. I shouldn't go into the garage; it's dangerous in there. I need to stop, Stop, STOP!! My body takes one step after another, refusing to acknowledge the objections from my terrified mind.

The kitchen seems unbelievably small, as my hand rests on the doorknob. The brass knob turns, and I slip into the darkness within.

A burst of light fills the room, and my foster father is standing beside me. He is massive, taller than I've ever seen him before. He places one colossal hand on my shoulder.

"Happy eighteenth birthday," he breathes. These are the words I've wanted to hear my entire life, but now they seem so repulsive to me.

I look up at him, and I can see his rapacious eyes looming over me. He wants power, control... and deep in my heart, I know he wants something else. He has been a trustworthy father figure to me for years, but now the way he views me has changed.

He no longer sees me as his daughter. I am a woman. I am an object to be possessed. The growing desire in his eyes breaks my heart. I thought I could always trust him. There was a time when that was true, perhaps... but he has changed. He has been corrupted.

Immediately, I realize that I truly hate him. I have never felt so betrayed. I want to lash out at him, claw at his face, and spit in his eye. Instead, I do nothing. I have always been a good, obedient daughter... suddenly changing at this moment is harder than I would have expected.

"Watch." He commands, and somehow I am compelled to obey. A screen appears in front of me. Flashing lights beam outward, and my eyes seem transfixed. My brain knows what the lights mean, but I cannot look away.

I stare at the glowing, pulsating lights for a tortuously long time. When the illumination fades, I blink. I expect to feel entirely different, but somehow I feel just the same. The only change within me is the looming sense of hatred and disgust that I feel for my father.

He pulls my head up to look into his face. His expression sickens me to my core. It is the look of a king, a ruler, an unquestionable despot. His lips stretch into an insidious grin.

"You already saw this during the event, but you were too young. Now since you are a grown woman, it can run its course." An overwhelming sense of deja vu accosts my mind. I have heard these words before... while standing in this room... with this very man. Every fiber of my being hoped that events would change this time, but they did not.

I see a collar held in his grip, as it approaches my neck. I am doomed. He presses a powerful hand onto my shoulder, and I cannot help but kneel. He is so much stronger than me.

The leather slips around my throat, and the clasp seals it tight. I expect a powerful change to sweep over me, but again, I feel unaltered. My deep, passionate hatred for him remains, and I feel absolutely no different.

I close my eyes, in a vain attempt to block out this horrific moment. I hear the sound of a loosening belt, and the jingle of a buckle... this is followed by the sickening sound of a fly unzipping.

"Now, Naomi, it is time for you to..." He stops, and sniffs the air. There is a sudden commotion from the kitchen. Smoke? Fire? Something distracts my father for a moment, and he storms away from me, angrily.

Again, the sense of deja vu floods in. Thishas happened before.

I look around the garage, my mind still swirling with fierce emotions. I see the back door. It leads to freedom... to a chance at a free life.

I try to move toward it, but my feet feel so incredibly heavy. Each step is unbearably slow, and my hand reaches out for the doorknob, as if it is my only lifeline; in this moment, that is exactly what it is.

I hear the footsteps of my father approaching from behind. I have to move faster... IHAVE TO BE FASTER!

"Hey! is everything okay in there?"

The voice crashes into my mind, and I awaken with a violent start. It is the voice of Thomas, just outside the bathroom. I fell asleep! Even after I told myself I couldn't. My hand moves reflexively to my throat, and the symbol of my oppression is still there.

"I'm fine." I say, embarrassed. "My stomach is hurting a little. I'll be out in a second." I try to keep my words as demure as possible, but I have no idea if I'm doing a good job.

"Okay I'm sorry. Take your time." Thomas' words sound calm and caring, but I've been fooled before. I hear him talking with James again, although their words are indistinct.

Through the wall to my left, I hear another strange sound. It sounds like muffled female moans. Moans of pleasure. This is a hotel, so I suppose it's just some guests in the next suite over... but by the layout of this hotel room, I thought that this wall adjoined the kitchen, and the little broom closet I passed on my way in...?

It doesn't matter. I have my own problems to deal with.

The nightmare, which I was just forced to relive, floods back into my mind. It was almost more of a memory than a dream; although, some facts were distorted. I suppose that always occurs with dreams.

My foster-father did betray me, and he placed a collar around my neck. That's all that matters. I escaped him; I tore his collar off... but now I am collared yet again.

I have only one theory to explain why my father failed in his attempt to claim me. Of course, I can't be certain, but it's the only thing that makes sense.

He didn't remember (or perhaps he never bothered to learn) that the date on my birth certificate is wrong. I wasn't born on the 12th of this month. I was born on the 21st. It is the one typo that saved my life.

I was not a woman when he tried to collar me. I look at my flip-phone and breathe a reluctant sigh. Today is the 24th. My window of safety is gone.

I must be the strangest anomaly on the planet. I am a collared woman, who has never been subjected to the payload as an adult. I have taken part in a collaring that was, perhaps, the world's firstactual nominal collaring. How ironic.

Now comes the hardest part. I must pretend to be conquered, in order to maintain that status quo. If Thomas turns out to be a monster, I will run again. This is my life now.

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10) The Reward.

Thomas

The moment I step through the door of my house, I am greeted with the most loving embrace that I can imagine. Rachel coils her arms around me, and instinctively I lean down to kiss her.

Work was a bitch and a half today, quite literally. The office was buzzing with the news that I have a collared woman. The situation will only get worse, once it's revealed that I collared Rachel as well.

Most of the men seemed incredibly envious of me, the moment they saw Naomi. I'm not blind. I know that she is young and incredibly beautiful... but she is a person, and I have every intention of respecting her wishes.

Obviously, I can't trust any of my fellow agents with her; their greedy, lustful eyes stared at her with nearly transparent desire. Even James seemed to have a twinge of envy, although that might have been my imagination. If I had to trust anyone with her, it'd be him.

But the moment my lips touch Rachel's, all of my worries drain away, and I am lost in this wonderful kiss. I move my hand to cup her chin, and my fingers drag across the loathsome leather that adorns her neck.

Reality sets back in immediately. This is still my wife, and she loves me; however, this adoring display didn't originate from her. It was forced upon her. I maintain the kiss for a moment longer, and then pull away.

I feel one of her arms drop from my shoulder, and her fingers brush gently against the crotch of my pants. My manhood stirs immediately. The payload has robbed me of a normal sex life for such a long time, but now it is begging Rachel to increase it exponentially... if I let her.

The reason is as obvious as it is painful. Providing sex for a man can be viewed as an act of servitude... and she's dying to serve. She wants to debase herself, lower herself, do anything she can to make herself smaller than me. When she acts only as a lowly, humble servant, she receives a reward from the payload. It's like a heroin addict getting their fix.

Outwardly, I ignore her sensual touch. Her body is pressed tightly against mine, and the soft motions of her fingers are discrete. Bringing it up now won't help anything. The fact that it feels amazing is less important to me, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit that it's a factor.

"Rachel, I have something to talk with you about." My voice is calm, but I'm sure it contains volumes. Rachel doesn't seem to notice anything amiss.

"Yes Ma..." she begins, and then clears her throat. "...my dear, what is it?"

She changed it at the last second, but "Master" was clearly the word on her mind. She must know that I would hate that title, but her desire to be owned, dominated, and enslaved must be almost overwhelming.

I ignore her slip up. "I need you to meet someone, Rachel." I step away from her, and gesture to Naomi, who steps around the corner timidly.

I closely watch Rachel's face as she examines the new arrival. Her emotions are too numerous to fully interpret. I see her eyes widen as they land on the collar, but as she scans the rest of Naomi's body, I see other expressions that I don't recognize.

My wife looks so beautiful to me. I suddenly notice that I've been distracted by the loveliness of her face. She couldn't have changed that much in a single day... why am I so mesmerized?

It takes a moment to realize that it's probably because she's made herself up. Rachel has never needed much makeup, but she's always been a master of accentuating her own attractiveness. And this is the first time she's worn makeup in months. It puts her natural beauty on full display.

Of course she would make herself look as attractive as possible. Isn't that exactly what a doting wife would do? She's filling her societal role so impeccably, like a perfect house-wife. Part of me wants to enjoy this... but her reasons are all wrong.

After a moment of silence, she speaks. "Who is this woman to us, Thomas?" I have no idea what could be swirling around in her payload-addled mind.

"She is... *ahem* umm... she... will be staying with us for a while, in order to keep her safe. I saved her from being collared by an attacker, but... I had to bring her home. That's because... well, actually, I was the one who ended up having to collar her... in order to save her life." I say the last part defensively.

The situation seems so embarrassing to me. I'm introducing my wife, whom I love, to the slave-woman I acquired. My mind can't help but imagine the fury I'd feel if the roles were reversed... but if I was expecting anger from Rachel, then I'm a fool.

Rachel steps close to me again. She hugs me, returning her hand back to its dirty work. Her fingers dance across the outline of my cock, moving faster than before. I see a mysterious smile forming on her face.

"I'm so proud of you for rescuing her!" She coos with admiration. "I'm sure the two of us will be able to make this house into a perfect home for you!"

Rachel's simple response has left me flummoxed. Of course, if Naomi is staying with us and eating our food, I have no problem allowing her to help out with chores... That's fine, I suppose. But I certainly don't expect her to'make my house a home.'

I honestly don't know what I expect from her. I suppose I will... I mean,we will... I guess it'll take time to agree upon her place within this household. My life has gotten so complicated of late.

"Come inside, Naomi. We have a spare bedroom you can use." Naomi nods obediently and follows me inside.

As I step into the living room, my eyes widen immediately. The entire place is spotless. In our former lives, my wife was reasonably tidy, but the event threw a monkey wrench into that... but this? This is immaculate. Rosemary always has at least a few toys spread across the floor, but they are all conspicuously put away.

I turn back to my wife, inquisitively. "Where's Ro-Ro?"

"I sent her to my sister's for the evening. Is that alright?" Her words are honest, as if she's seeking my approval.

"Wait, I thought that you didn't want her to spend time with her aunt and uncle, because Jason collared Cheryl." The absurdity of my statement hits me immediately.

"Yes my dear, but now I'm collared too. It doesn't make sense for us to hold back at this point, does it? I apologize if I made a mistake."

Her words are far too meek, and they sound very little like my actual wife. Nevertheless, her new logic is mostly sound. Ro-Ro is too young to be affected by the payload, and Jason isn't a monster... even if he collared his wife far too quickly.

"No... it's fine. I suppose I'll get supper started. I can cook up some burgers or..."

"Oh sweetheart, you've had a long day! Wouldn't you prefer for me to whip up something for you? It's no trouble! I can make whatever you're in the mood for!" Rachel smiles at me, innocently.

I can feel annoyance rising in my voice. "Rachel, where did you put the list we made this morning? Go get it."

Rachel's shoulders drop in defeat, but she moves quickly to the bedroom. I follow her, and watch her retrieve it from her bra-drawer. It was placed beneath all of her clothes, as if she intended on hiding it.

She holds it out to me. I take it, walk back to the kitchen, and stick it on the refrigerator.

"I think you'll notice that an item on the list is: *Tom continues doing the cooking.* That hasn't changed, Rachel."

My wife nods quickly. "I'm sorry Thomas, honestly! I didn't know we were still following that pointless list I made. After all, you collared another woman already. I thought you must have decided that the list was unnecessary. Please forgive me."

"DAMNIT, RACHEL!" My voice reverberates angrily within our small kitchen. "THE LIST ISN'T POINTLESS! I ONLY COLLARED NAOMI TO SAVE HER LIFE! THE REST OF THE LIST STANDS!"

I can see that my words are having a profound effect on my wife. I am yelling at her, quite disrespectfully, and yet a sick part of her seems to love it. There is shame in her eyes, blended with arousal. She drops to the floor and begins kissing the tops of my shoes. "I'm so sorry, Thomas, I'm such a retard!"

Behind her, Naomi follows suit, kneeling, but not approaching.

"STOP THAT, RACHEL!" She freezes immediately, and I pull away from her. "Don't kiss my feet. My shoes are probably filthy. I had to run through a back alley this morning." I breathe a deep sigh, and I try to center myself. "Look, I'm sorry for yelling. Just stand up, both of you, and I'll start cooking."

Somehow, I can sense that my raised voice and demeaning tone have caused the payload to pleasure Rachel. She displeased me, so I "punished" her, and she's reveling in the abuse. If anything, my apology at the end seemed to leave a dissatisfying punctuation to her experience.