The Fleeing Fuctoy

As I slept, the events of the previous day swarmed messily around in my head. Over and over, I saw the end of my career in the sport of slaveboy wrestling, followed by my purchase by the fan sorority and, finally, my rescue by my former rival Simon Fishback and his owner. I still had trouble believing it was all real.

I felt a soft, gentle hand caressing my cheek. Unconsciously, I grabbed it. The next moment, I felt a presence. It seemed to be everywhere at once, then concentrated on my shoulders. It was firm and smooth and warm.

"Hey, Tim?" whispered an angelic male voice.

My eyes fluttered open. In the darkness of the room, I saw Simon kneeling astride me, leaning over me with his hands on my shoulders. His manly face was set in a portrait of tempered anxiety, with his thick, straight brown eyebrows lifted well clear of his piercing brown eyes.

"Tim, are you still with me?"

"Good morning, handsome," I breathed. "What is it?"

"It's time to make our escape," he declared. "You promised."

"But... it's not time yet," I argued, my voice weak and groggy. "I've gotten half a night's sleep."

"Yeah, well, if we wait any longer, my mistress might wake up," he said, getting off me. "Now come on, get up."

With a slow groan, I drew myself up to a sitting position, threw off the covers, then hobbled to my feet. I ran my hands through my long, thin blue hair, arranging it into a semblance of order.

"Let's get some clothes on you," said Simon. "We'd never pass for freemen without clothes."

Looking at him, I suddenly realized, to my mild disappointment, that Simon was fully clothed. Pedestrian nylon pants covered his legs and his treasure, and a plain grey shirt covered his chest.

"Here," he said, as soon as I noticed this, "Put these on."

Dejectedly, I stepped into a pair of shorts on the floor, then drew them slowly up my legs. I bent over and arched my back as the waistline slid up my smooth buttocks, then settled into place around my thin waist. Then, grabbing by shirt, I very gradually slid it on.

"Going commando?" I observed, seeing the lack of underpants.

"It seemed appropriate," Simon shrugged. "Alright, are you ready for this? Remember- be as quiet as a mouse."

I nodded.

Softly, Simon drew open the door and padded out into the main room of the apartment, bare feet falling silently on the light carpet. I banked over to the door.

"Not yet," whispered Simon.

"What?"

"Get me a wad of paper towels, as big as a fist."

Giving him a strange look, I turned to the bathroom and very slowly slid the slick metal door open. Inside, I pulled the toilet paper for five revolutions, then five more. Yanking it free, I carefully folded it in on itself three times, then pressed it between my hands and crumpled it up. After a few seconds, I held up one fist and brought up the wad for comparison. Hastily, I added three more revolutions' worth of toilet paper and added it in, then skulked back out into the main room.

There, Simon waited for me, holding a coil of what looked like rigging rope.

"Okay," he mumbled, "now we're going to go in and restrain my mistress."

"We're what?!"

"Keep your voice down. And, yeah, you heard me. This rope is for tying her, that paper ball is for gagging her."

My face fell.

"I wish you had told me that," I whimpered.

"Sorry. Next time, I will. Now come on."

"Wait- what's the plan after this? So we subdue her, then what?"

"Please, let's just get her hogtied before she hears us."

"O-okay."

Turning, he made his way to the bedroom, then grabbed the handle of the door and, with tectonic slowness, slid it open.

Inside, our owner slept obliviously, her powerful body swelling and contracting under her thick covers. As we crept around her huge bed, I could feel my hands trembling. Looking over, I saw, to my amazement, that Simon was shaking, too.

"Okay, Tim," I told myself, "You can do this. She's just another opponent. Only female. And about half again your size..."

As I stopped at her bedside, across her from Simon, I closed my eyes and took three deep, quiet breaths. When I opened my eyes, I gave Simon an approving nod.

Simon held up three fingers.

I tensed up.

Two fingers.

I gripped the makeshift gag.

One finger.

With the speed of a snake, he thrust his hands under the covers, then seized his mistress' arm and yanked her towards him.

All at once, the mistress awoke, letting out a choked gasp. For that first crucial moment, she did not resist.

As Simon dragged her to the floor, I sprang into action, crawling quickly over the bed and seizing the mistress by her arms. No sooner than I had a grip on them, she stood up, brought up her foot and planted it on Simon's stomach, forcing him back. He slammed noisily into the wall behind him.

I dodged to the side as the mistress inevitably kicked behind her, aiming for my testicles. Once I had my feet back under me, I leapt onto her shoulders, closing my eyes and gritting my teeth as she staggered. The next moment, we hit the ground with me on top.

"Yeah, that's it!" said Simon. "Hold her there!"

Bracing myself, I struggled to stay astride her back as she thrashed and pulled against my grip. Just when she pulled her right wrist free, Simon seized it, pinning it with his knees and tying it tightly.

"Alright," he said, "give me the other one.

Carefully, I brought our mistress' left wrist up to the right one, shaking against her mighty resistance.

"Got it!" crowed out Simon. "I got her!"

Stepping back, Simon watched as our mistress tried and failed to separate her hands. With my weight on her lower back, she still did not bother trying to stand.

"You bastards!" she growled. "You're going to hang for this!"

"Not at your hands, we won't," said Simon, tying her ankles.

"Should I gag her now, Simon?" I asked him.

"Yeah," he said, "and watch her."

As I brought the gag up to her mouth, she pursed her lips, scowling at me. I thought for a moment, stymied, then cracked a naughty smile and slapped her ass, my hand sinking easily into her soft cushion of flesh.

Her angry complexion broke, but she did not open her mouth.

With a quick whipping motion, I gave her another spank.

At the second hit, she let out a girlish yip, and in went the gag. Holding it in with one hand, I looked up, finding my partner gone.

"Simon?"

"Still here," came his voice, from a different room.

"What's next?" I asked.

"Just keep watching the mistress. Make sure she doesn't try anything."

"You promised you'd tell me what the plan was, Simon!"

There was a pause.

"Yeah, I did... okay, come on over here and I'll tell you. Just keep an eye on her."

Gently, I got up off the mistress and looked at her. Rather than struggle, she stared daggers at me. Feeling a rush of nerve, I tousled her hair, then loped off after Simon.

I found him in the computer room, pecking at a keyboard and frantically tapping a screen.

"Okay," he said, "so I'm looking for the deeds to our ownership. If I can find them, and delete them, my mistress will lose her claim to us, so there won't be an investigation. And if we can weasel our way through a rental agency, I can get us a transport to... well, to where I think the resistance is hiding. If we find them, we're home free; they can forge citizenship papers for us."

"So we'll be freemen here?"

"Of course. What else?"

"I don't know, but... just think about it. We live in a city cut off from the rest of civilization. Not hidden in plain sight, but built in the middle of the entire Pacific Ocean. We live in the only place in the civilized world where it's legal to keep slaves. We could go literally anywhere else, and our freedom would be a foregone conclusion. So why stay here?"

Simon paused his typing and looked down, his face slack with thought.

"Where would we go?" he mumbled. "This may be the city that made us slaves, but it's still home. It's all we've ever known. I can't just leave it behind. Can you, Tim?"

Now it was my turn to ponder.

"No," I finally answered.

We fell silent as the he continued his work at the computer.

"It's not here..." he mumbled.

"What?!"

"Relax, the deeds are somewhere. Look in the couch cushions, would you?"

Silently, I crept back into the main room, holding back tears of panic. Kneeling in front of the couch, I poked at each of the cushions, finding nothing suspicious. Then, as an afterthought, I lifted one up.

Sure enough, some papers hid beneath it. Eagerly, I snatched them up and examined them.

The papers were, in fact, only a single sheet, but it contained Simon's name, information and mug shot. As per the custom of this city, it was sealed in waterproof plastic.

"Hey, Simon!" I called, "I think I found it."

"What do you mean, 'you think?'"

"Well... you'd better take a look."

In a moment, Simon was next to me, staring at the paper.

"That's my deed, alright," he mumbled. "And only mine. If yours isn't here, that means she doesn't have it yet. And if your buyers were to look for you, the trail would just lead them to my mistress and that would be the end of it. They'd think she killed you or something."

"So... what do we do about this deed here? Destroy it?"

"No," said Simon, getting up. "We're going to use it."

"How?"

Simon dove into a closet, then emerged a moment later with a collar and leash.

"If we need to get past anyone," he explained, "you can pose as my owner."

I blushed.

"So..." I asked, "Can we get out of here now?"

"Almost."

"Almost?"

"First, I want to square things with my real owner."

With that, he strode back into the room with the bound mistress and pulled out her gag.

"Clara," said Simon, folding his arms. "We're getting out of here. And I don't want to disappear without explaining why we're leaving."

"You bastard," she snarled. "I gave you a good home. I treated you well. What more could you want?"

"Ask that of yourself, Clara. I want freedom."

"You're a slave. You don't deserve freedom."

"As a human being, yes, I do. I don't blame you for withholding it from me, but you shouldn't blame me for escaping. You were a good mistress, Clara, and I hope I've been a good slave. But I deserve better than servitude."

"You're still going to hang for this," she spat.

"Before Tim and I leave, is there anything you want done?"

She sat still, her eyes searing death at him.

"No, then," Simon interpreted. "Goodbye, Clara."

With only that, he took my hand and led me to the apartment door. With a quick little pull, he had the door open, and, with another, he shut it behind us. Now we stood in the silent, still, featureless hallways that connected the apartments.

"I know I've said this before," I piped up, "but... man, you have guts. I can't believe you called your mistress by her first name."

"I always do that."

"What?"

"She said I didn't need to call her 'mistress.' So I played around with a few different titles, and I eventually figured out that she doesn't like being addressed directly. I only call her 'mistress' when she's not around."

"How unusual..."

"That's not the weirdest thing about her. Now come on. We've got to get to the rental watercraft dealership before they open."

"What? Why can't we steal the mistress' boat?"

"We will. But we can only use it to get there. We need a submersible to finish our getaway."

"Why?"

"Because the resistance is hiding underwater, remember?"

With that, he led me into the lobby, where we habitually hushed our footsteps and skulked down to the front door, then out of the building.

Outside, the sun had yet to rise. Blue street lights hung on the edges of the enormous floating concrete islands that served as city blocks. Noiselessly, they cast their calm, synthetic pallor across the shining metal and glass that coated the buildings in this city. In the Venetian roads that ran between the floating buildings, blue light glinted off the crests of small waves, making the water look sharp and glassy. A subtle ambient wind blew past my face and ruffled my clothes.

"It's pretty, isn't it?" I breathed.

"No time to look. Come on, the boat's this way."

I stopped a moment and continued gazing out at the water.

"Now, Tim!"

Reluctantly, I turned and followed him down a path along a canal that led into the building's foundation. There, I saw what had to be nearly a hundred boats lined up on the edges of the pool, bobbing softly on the ripples.

Simon stopped for a moment, then started towards one of the boats, vaulting in as though he owned it.

"Is this the mistress' boat?" I asked.

"It sure is," he said, starting its engine. "And I got the keys."

I stepped in and watched as, with a victorious smile, Simon took the controls. The next moment, the boat lurched to life, and we were off.

As we glided smoothly out from the parking pool and into the watery road, I looked back and beamed.

"You did it!" I celebrated, throwing my arms around him. "You got us out of there."

"Don't thank me yet. We're still not out of the woods."

Still holding onto him, I looked out at the blue-tinted darkness and realized that now was as good a time as any to spring my burning question.

"Simon," I said, "Do you... I mean, are we... well, we've danced around this long enough- are you attracted to me?"

"Yes. Yes, I am. Are you?"

"Oh, yes."

A pause.

"Okay," I said, taking my hands off him, "let me ask you something else: do you love me?"

"How can I? I've only known you for about twelve hours."

My face fell.

"Oh, Tim, I didn't mean it like that..."

I leaned in and hugged him again.

"I know it probably hasn't been long enough," I breathed, "but you've already treated me better than anyone else in my life. I've never been in love before, Simon, but I know it when I feel it."

"I'm... not sure what to say to that, Tim."

"I do. Pull over, would you?"

Simon brought the boat to a halt, his face a portrait of curiosity.

With a naughty smile, I reached over and turned his head to face me, then pressed into a kiss. My fingers curled around his shoulder as we sucked at each other, and, to my delight, he leaned into me, wrapping his arms around my shoulders. Our tongues caressed each other, and, for a few blissful moments, the boat and the water and the looming city around us all melted away. All I could feel was his gentle strength.

We pulled away, and I smiled at him, managing to elicit a smirk.

Then, with a surge of boldness, I felt for his pants. Sure enough, I felt the solid curvature of his manhood beneath the cloth.

"N-not now," he vetoed.

"You hesitated."

"Yeah, I did. Look, I'd love to, really, but we've got an escape to finish. When we find the resistance, then... well, I reckon we'll need only one bed."

I grinned.

"Let's get going, shall we?" he said.

"Lead the way, cowboy."

For a few placid minutes, we rumbled speedily through the city, under arches, around buoys and through thin aquatic side streets. Then he stopped the engine and reversed it for a few seconds, bringing us drifting to a gentle halt.

"We're here," said Simon.

Ahead was a low building with a purple neon band wrapped around its roof. Unreadable cursive was plastered on the marquee, spelling something.

"What's that?" I asked. "It looks like a strip club."

"Well, it's not," said Simon. "It's a..."

He stopped.

"Hold on a second, that really is a strip club."

He stood up and looked around for a moment, then slapped his forehead.

A few minutes of boating later, we stopped again.

"Alright," said Simon. "Now we're at the sub rental."

I could see how Simon got the two buildings confused. This one looked exactly like the strip club, but with a slightly more angular marquee font and a sidewalk wrapping around its perimeter. On the far corner of this sidewalk, a pair of shadowy figures leaned casually against the wall. The telltale candescent lights of cigarettes glowed near their heads, and thin wisps of smoke rose from both of them.

"Alright," said Simon, "follow my lead."

Nimbly, he vaulted out of the boat and onto the sidewalk.

"Uh..." I hesitated, "are we going towards those two?"

"Yeah, but they've got no quarrel with us. We'll be fine."

"And... shouldn't I be in the lead? I'm supposed to be your... you know... your master."

"We won't need to do that act here. Remember, we're just passing through."

As we crept closer to the smokers, I became less sure. They were both women, dressed in only tube tops and jeans cut off halfway down the thighs. One of them had blue hair worn in a ponytail, and looked to be in her mid-twenties. The other looked a few years younger, with purple hair arranged into a bob. Seeing her, I shuddered, remembering a similar-looking woman who had been a part of the sorority that purchased me.

I could not remember if that had happened yesterday or the day before, but it seemed like weeks ago.

"What are you doin' here?" asked the blue-haired woman.

"Nothing of interest to you," said Simon. "If anyone asks, we never saw each other."

With only that, Simon turned away from them and started probing around the wall of the building, gently knocking on its walls and listening carefully for the echo. As he did, the girls whispered to one another.

"Hey, boy," smarmed the purple-haired one, "I don't think you're in any position to tell us what we saw."

Simon turned to them, the confidence draining from his face.

"Tell you what," she continued, "we'll let you go without a fight. But you have to do something for us first."

"Come on, Simon," I whispered, "we can take them."

"No," Simon forbade, speaking at normal volume. "If we start a fight, the authorities will find us. We..."

He looked uncertainly to the women.

"...we have to do what they say."

"That's better," purred Blue-hair. "Now, on your knees, both of you."

I looked to Simon one more time, and his face clearly communicated that he had no more cards to play.

With a little sigh, I looked down, then daintily lowered myself to one knee, then the other. Beside me, Simon dropped to both knees, closing his eyes in shame.

"Which one do you want?" asked Blue-hair.

"Hmm... I think I'll go with that guy. I like his long hair."

To my amazement, she was pointing to me.

"Alright, blue-haired guy-"

"Actually," I interrupted, "my name is Tim."

"Shut up and take off your shirt."

With a little whimper, I brought by hand down to the bottom of my shirt and rolled it up.

"Mm, nice," said my antagonist, looping her thumbs around the waistline of her pants. "Now..."

She slid her pants and panties off with a single movement.

"Lick me."

I hesitated, remembering my ugly experience with the sorority, and looked imploringly up to her. Seeing me, she only smirked.

"Alright," she said, "have it your way."

At that, she put a hand on top of my head and pulled me into her, pressing my nose into her femininity, smearing herself onto me.

Finally, I flicked my tongue out, letting it brush against her smooth dampness for just a moment, then retracting.

"Harder!" she snarled.

With sudden haste, I licked a few more times, changing the angle of my stroke each time. On the last pass, I flicked upward, and I felt my tongue contact the hot, hard nub of her clitoris.

Immediately, I felt her fingers quiver and tighten as she leaned into me and let out a heavy, breathy moan.

"Yeah..." she panted. "More, more, more!"

Quickly, I repeated the move, then stuck my tongue as deep into her as I could get it, feeling my saliva mix with her fluids as her walls pressed in on the sides of my tongue.

"Unhhh," she grunted. "Yeah, push harder!"

For a moment, I hesitated, then pressed against her resistant vagina for a few seconds. Sensing that it wasn't working, I pulled up and worked over her clitoris one way, then the other.