Rescuing The Fallen Ch 03

Authors note: Here we are again. Glad you could join.

I feel like a broken record, but here goes:

Blah, blah, blah, misogyny is bad, my characters are mostly awful, all characters in sexual situations are 18+ blah, blah... be sure to comment... blah, blah. hehe

Now back to the story! Enjoy!

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7) The Scheme.

James

Tom is sitting in my car, right next to me, and I feel both furious and vindicated. I try to hide my emotions; I'm certain that the dark sunglasses are helping. I've always had a decent poker face... it's a must in my line of work... but hiding this sudden flood of emotions is a challenge, even for me.

I set my expression to a facade of humor and surprise... but what has happened isn't funny, nor is it particularly surprising.

Thomas finally collared his wife. I saw it plain as day when she gave him his lunch. 'Mister-High-And-Mighty,'

The Great Thomas Evans,

has finally stooped down and claimed his fatass wife as property.

Up until now, he's had nothing but vitriol for the men who collar women... I wonder how he feels now that he's one of us.

I wish I could just kick the shit out of him right now. He's a deplorable, fucking hypocrite. But I suppose that this is for the best. The goal has always been to convince him to give up this pointless crusade against the payload. His decision to collar his wife is just one step on that road.

He's staring at me with a sheepish, embarrassed look. He's such a pussy. Finally, he makes the right decision for once. He puts his wife at his feet where she belongs, and the act has wounded him. I hate that I was ever friends with this shit-head in the first place.

"So I guess you saw the... uhh..." he gestures to his neck, "...collar on Rachel."

I nod. "Yeah, buddy. What's up with that?" I try to keep my face blank. I can't give anything away.

"Yeah, well. That was... umm... that was an unfortunate thing. But it had to be done, I'm afraid. A guy tried to collar Rachel, yesterday."

Behind my glasses, my eyes widen. "No shit? That's unusual. She's clearly married. Most guys wouldn't try a ballsy move like that."

"Well someone did. Ro-Ro saved the day, apparently. She started crying and scared the guy off when people started looking, I guess. Rachel said that the payload was commanding her so intensely, that she almost gave in."

"Wow!" My voice is full of more surprise than I really feel. Of course some guy would try to collar Rachel. She's a bit overweight, but she naturally has a beautiful face. It's nothing that a little forced diet and exercise can't fix.

And of course Rachel would want to submit. The payload only encourages the natural order. All female sluts belong on their knees. It just took a little computer program to remind them of that.

I don't blame the guy who tried to catch Rachel, either. If she's walking around with a wedding ring and no collar, then

clearly

her husband must be a little pussy-bitch who's too weak to secure his own property. Exhibit A? Thomas "Pussy-Bitch" Evans.

"I can't stand to lose her, Jim. She's my world. She and Rosemary are the reason that I'm fighting so hard to stop the payload. If I lost one of them, I don't think I could make it in life."

I say nothing. I wanna hear all of his thoughts before I make my next move.

"I know how much we both hate the payload, Jim, but I felt like I was running out of options. Rachel was begging for me to collar her, in order to save her from being stolen away from me."

I can tell that he's looking for approval, for acceptance. I won't give it to him. Not yet. If he ever discovers that I actually love the payload, then his trust in me will completely evaporate. That will ruin everything. I continue to stare at him, emotionless.

"I did come up with a compromise, though!" He says, defensively. "I got Rachel to make a list of rules highlighting how she wanted me to behave as her master. As long as I keep my word, and treat her like she requests, then I've maintained at least a portion of her autonomy, right?"

At the moment, I am eternally grateful for these sun glasses. If it weren't for them, Tom would

definitely

be able to see the disgust in my face. This man is a quivering pussy. A weak-willed, pathetic excuse for a man. If he didn't have a child already, I'd swear he has nothing between his legs.

Hell, maybe his daughter isn't even his. I bet Rachel got knocked up by a neighbor, just to feel a

real

man's touch for once. That wouldn't surprise me. Because Tom is anything but a real man.

Hiding my repulsion is one of the hardest things I've ever done. "What rules did she give you, buddy?"

Thomas shrugs. "Mostly petty shit, honestly." He chuckles, "I was expecting her to add all the human rights that she wanted to maintain... but it was mostly about chores and stuff." I see his countenance fall a bit. "And she banned some sex stuff that she's not into... so that sucks."

Okay, now I understand. Tom is actually retarded. What kind of fucking idiot would take a

gift-wrapped

pleasure machine, and then allow half the settings to be turned off?

We've already reached the city, and we're getting close to the Bureau's Field office; I'll be glad to get out of this car. I need to get away from Tom before his faggotry rubs off on me.

I need to brief Bogart on the developments Thomas has made with the case. So far, we've been able to hamstring his efforts without him noticing. Feeding him misleading information and secretly hampering his progress has been like

giving

candy

to

a baby. He trusts me completely.

"STOP THE CAR!" Tom shouts, suddenly.

"What the hell...?" I slow the car rapidly, pulling over to the side. Tom jumps out before the vehicle has even fully stopped, and he moves hurriedly towards a darkened alley.

"Back me up!" He shouts through the open door. "Non-Consensual collaring in progress!"

"Fuck!" I snarl, as soon as he has moved out of ear-shot. That motherfucking, hypocritical

"white knight"

is at it again. Nevertheless, I throw the car into park and jog after him.

As I round the corner, I see that he has confronted a man and a woman. The woman is on her knees, with tears streaming down her face.

I am immediately stricken by the woman's raw, unadulterated beauty. She is a perfect 10. Her hair is a bright, intense blonde... almost white. Bright, silvery-blue eyes gaze out tearfully from her flawless, porcelain face. Her figure is the finest I think I have ever seen.

The clothes she wears are ill-fitting and dirty, but even they can't hide the perfection beneath. In her face, she looks young, no older than 18 or 19, but she has the vivacious hourglass shape of a full grown woman.

Maya and Barbara are both attractive, Maya especially, but they both look like dogs compared to this lady. She isn't tall, but every inch of her looks as if it was sculpted by the gods.

The man by contrast is a joke. He's even shorter than she is. He's pudgy, and it looks like his hairline is beginning to recede. Honestly, his face looks like a true anomaly. He seems to have teenage acne on his cheeks, but also graying hairs in his patchy goatee.

You poor bastard. Your fugly ass was about to land the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, but you couldn't pull it off. Too bad.

The man is glaring at Tom with a look of anger and fear. What he's doing isn't technically illegal, but the woman crying on her knees isn't a good look.

Well

technically

to me, it

is

a good look, because I know that catching women is amazing, but of course I'm not allowed to express that sentiment openly.

Tom is holding out his badge with his left hand, as his right rests on the grip of his service weapon. I can tell he's trying to proceed cautiously. He doesn't have the legal right to arrest this guy, but the guy may not even know that. Even though I'd love to fuck up Tom's plan, I won't risk blowing my cover, just so this loser can claim a hot piece of ass.

"Ma'am, excuse me, Ma'am! Are you in trouble? Do you know this man? Are you here against your will?" Thomas speaks loudly, and his attention darts back and forth between the girl and her attempted-catcher.

"She's with me, and she's not being forced to do anything, officer! Tell them, bitch! Tell them you're my girlfriend!" The man's voice sounds a little crazy, bordering on hysteria. What's his problem?

The girl's eyes are as wide as saucers, and they are streaming tears. I can see the violent turmoil in her face. She's being ravaged both by fear of this man, and the payload's wonderful power. Her terror is tantalizing, and I can feel my cock stiffen.

"I... uhh... I'm not... uhhh..." She can't even form coherent sentences. What a pathetic, yet erotic display.

"This woman is clearly not well. Ma'am, would you like to come with us?" Thomas' voice is calm and reassuring. His eyes are resting solely on the woman now.

Turning my attention back to the man, I notice that he is still gripping the collar tightly in his left fist. I take a step to my right, so that I can more clearly see what he has in his other hand. As he steps to the side, I see the unmistakable shape of a pistol grip.

This fucker has a firearm? What kind of psycho brings a gun to a collaring? The payload does all of the work for you; you don't need a weapon like a traditional rapist.

My hand instinctively drops to my sidearm. All of my training tells me to draw it, notify Thomas that the suspect is armed, and demand that he drop his weapon.

It takes every ounce of my will to resist that urge. This guy is armed, and he's pissed at Thomas. If something were to happen, and Thomas got shot... he'd be off the case indefinitely. That is exactly what a large portion of my fellow agents want.

I don't want Tom to die... not really... but if he was injured, it would make things so much easier. No one else is going to pick up the slack in his case. Bogart has ensured that everyone working this case loves the payload just as much as I do... with one unavoidable exception.

Tom. He is the linchpin. If he's removed from the equation, then nobody will be left to carry on his crusade. At least not at our field office.

A portion of my mind screams at me that I'm being insane. I'm not actually going to let a fellow agent get shot, just to stop him from working this case. Am I? I can't decide.

"DROP THE GUN! GET ON THE GROUND! DROP IT!" Thomas has begun screaming at the man, and he is brandishing his department issued Glock. I suppose he saw the weapon and made the decision for me.

I draw my sidearm as well, and I move forward, repeating the same commands.

The man immediately panics and drops the gun, taking off down the alleyway. Tom holsters his weapon and takes off running after him. "Secure the weapon and the girl!" He calls to me, his voice full of adrenaline.

I holster my gun and step closer to the lady. She is still weeping openly. In such close proximity, her beauty astounds me yet again. Her lips are full and soft, and I cannot help but think about how good they would look, wrapped around the head of my cock.

She looks up at me, pleadingly. She is seeking security, hoping that I will be the one to protect her. I could give her both security and protection... but it would be on my terms. Not hers.

If she was mine, she would sleep beside me every night. Maya and her sister can share that tiny closet for all I care. This woman's raw, undomesticated sexuality are all I can think about. I could perfect this creature. I could teach her to serve men... to serve me... like an impeccable, doting goddess. A goddess who only answers to me... her god! Her lord and master.

I reach down to secure the firearm, but when I bring my hand back up... I find it holding the collar instead.

She sees the band in my grip, and her tears begin flowing anew. She knows that I have the power in this situation. Her body trembles with an electrifying fear, but she seems unable to move. Deep in her soul, she longs for the collar. She wants to be my slave. She wants to be lowered down to the station at which all women belong.

Her feminine mind knows by now that her rightful position is on her knees... face down, ass up. Serving a man is the ideal job for her, and she can be a perfect queen. Ruling above every other woman she meets, and subservient only to the superior sex. The payload has helped to put her in this place, but now that she's there, she must know this is right.

"Please," she croaks, "Just let me go."

So she senses my plans. But she is powerless to stop me. The only reason I haven't already placed the collar around her neck is Thomas. If I collar her now, my cover will be blown.

Is this one girl worth it? Bogart will be furious, and Thomas will never trust me again. Is this one beautiful, flawless, young slave truly worth it?

She is. My mind, my soul, and my cock are all in agreement. As soon as her cunt is wrapped tightly around my shaft, milking it with everything she's got... it

WILL

be worth all the necessary repercussions.

I reach down, opening the collar just wide enough to slip the girl's delicate neck inside. She whimpers slightly, aware of what's coming but helpless to stop it. I can sense that her mind is screaming out in terror, but her body is motionless, obedient, demur.

"Fucker got away!" A voice from behind me dashes against my ears, and I snatch my hand back, guiltily. "He left his car running. I guess he wanted to make a quick get-away. Shit!"

I can hear Thomas' footsteps approaching from the rear. He is close, but I can tell by the inflections in his voice, he didn't see what I was doing. With my back turned, in-between him and the girl, it must have blocked his view.

Part of me considers lunging forward and applying the collar anyway. The woman's frightened eyes are the fiercest aphrodisiac, but I swallow hard, taking a step back. I may have to postpone my plans, but this girl isn't safe from me. I'm still going to collar her; I just need a better opportunity.

"I've got the fucker's collar." I say, loudly. I flavor my tone with annoyance, which is easy, considering what I just missed out on. "Bastard was planning on an armed collaring. I've never seen anything like that before. What a psychopath..."

"That rat-fucker!" Thomas hisses. "Let me see that thing." Begrudgingly, I hand him the collar. He rolls it around in his hand, gripping it with simmering rage. His eyes narrow. "These collars..." I can hear the hatred in his voice. "These damn collars! Fuck the payload!"

He turns and hurls the collar down the alley. It collides against a far wall and falls into a pile of backstreet refuse. It comes to rest on top like a discarded crown. So much power... wasted.

The girl is still on her knees, but she has turned her back to us. Thomas gives me a tired smile. "Thanks for the assistance, Jim. I wasn't expecting to draw my weapon or rescue a woman today... but I'm glad I had you backing me up."

Again, my dark glasses save me, as I roll my eyes in frustration. Saving a woman? From what? From her proper role in society? Part of me wishes that the guy had just shot Tom.

Remembering the firearm, I turn to pick it up off the ground. It was right at my feet. Looking down, I see only concrete. "Where... uh... Tom, did you grab the...?" My mind recoils like a snake, and I jerk my body rapidly away from the woman on the ground, placing my hand back on my own pistol.

She slowly stands, raising the gun to her own chin, pointing up towards her brain. Tom notices, and immediately steps back as well, holding his palms forward in a pleading gesture.

"Woah, woah, WOAH, Ma'am!" He shouts. "Put the gun down! You're in no danger! Don't do anything crazy!"

The woman's eyes are gushing tears, and she lets out a pained cry. "This life isn't worth it! I don't want to be a slave!" She screams out, a million emotions thick in her voice.

"Please! Ma'am! We're Federal Agents tasked with shutting down the payload! You can trust us! You're safe with us! Please! Don't hurt yourself! You can stay free, I swear!"

Her eyes fall on me, and narrow with distrust, but they soften as she looks back at Thomas. "You say that... but you or any other man could claim me as property! Women have already lost the right to vote... the right to equality... all I have left is my personal freedom! And I'd rather

die

than relinquish that!"

"I'd never ask you to submit, Ma'am! I want you to live and be free! I hate the payload just as much as you! Please give me a chance to save you! Please! I'm trying to end the payload to save my wife and daughter. But I need more time!

Please!

"

I can see the gears turning in her mind. She's an erratic, hormonal woman, but she's clearly hatching a scheme. What is she planning?

She turns back to me. "YOU!" She shouts, angrily. "Go get that collar!"

I love her idea, but it's been months since ANY woman has raised her voice to me. Her audacity makes me grit my teeth with rage. Still, I wanted to secure the collar anyway, so I move slowly to retrieve it.

When I return, she gestures with her head toward Thomas. "Give the collar to him!" I hold still. "Do it! Or I'll paint this alley with my brains!"

I don't trust the ragged tone in her voice, but I slowly hand Thomas the leather band. He touches it with repulsion, reminding me once again how much I hate him.

"Now, you!" She snaps at Thomas, "Collar me!"

"WHAT THE FUCK?" Tom and I cry out in unison. What is this crazy bitch planning?

"I have to be a slave in this world, but if I am going to live... then I WILL be a slave to the master of my own choosing! On my terms! Or I'll die. It's your call."

"There has to be another way! I swore to my wife that I'd never collar another woman!" Thomas insists, with unbelievable sincerity. My hatred for him is reaching all new heights. He is refusing to become the master of the sexiest slut on earth.

"Do it or you'll be cleaning my brains up with a mop!" I hear the subtle click of the hammer, as she cocks the weapon.

"WAIT! WAIT!" Tom looks mortified. He is torn between two unacceptable options. He's being forced to take control, and he hates it. "Don't hurt yourself! I'll do it.. just please, don't hurt yourself.

Tentatively, he reaches out with the collar. I have never been more envious in my entire life. Ever since I moved here to work this case, I've had 2 collared women, and Thomas has had none. Somehow, in a single day, we end up with the same number, and he has the hottest bitch out of all of them. That isn't fucking fair.

Slowly, he begins slipping the collar around her throat. For a second, I think he might go for the gun, but she moves it away from him... pressing the barrel against her temple.

As soon as the collar is in place, she kneels, dropping the gun to the concrete. Thomas immediately snatches it up. The lady lowers her head to the dirty pavement and whispers in a worshipful tone. "I consider myself owned."

I can tell that the payload is going to work, pleasing this woman for her obedience. Normally such an erotic sight would cause my pants to tent, but I'm too fucking mad at the moment.

Thomas inspects the gun, and swears audibly. He turns to face me. "This gun... it's... it's just a stupid, fucking BB gun. We just enslaved this woman to save her from stinging herself with a BB!" He continues to examine the object in his hand; it looks almost completely identical to a lethal firearm.

He glares down at the girl. "Did you know this wasn't real?" he demands. The girl shakes her head and shrugs. His eyes are still glowing with aggravation, but he gently lifts the woman to her feet. "Get into the car with us, Ma'am... Fuck. I don't know what I'm going to do with you, but for now we can give you a ride home. Do you have a safe place to stay?"