Bought or Rescued? Pt. 01

I thought I had known terror before, but now I was frantic. Sexually assaulted by guards if I didn't please him? I wondered if there would be an opportunity to suicide before they could do that to me.

Twenty minutes after takeoff, my crate clicked loudly. One of the two guards paged the cockpit, "we clear?"

"Yes, just exited US airspace. We will maintain heading for UAE; it will be another hour till we are out of range of US traffic control."

The woman in the cabin leapt up. "I'm so sorry, Rachel; my name is Heather. We had to keep up the act till we were out of US national space. The international crates are wired with GPS based location tracking and microphones to prevent slave rescues. Air Traffic Control routinely monitors the microphones of solitary slaves being exported. The FBI prosecutes slave rescues vigorously. However, due to jurisdiction issues, the crates automatically shut down on crossing the geofenced US border."

She helped me out of the crate, removed my gag and handcuffs, and gave me the antidote to devox. She led me numbly back to get a shower. I was still in a daze until I heard her say, "I will be staying with you through the entire process as your personal assistant. After you've cleaned up, your mother sent a change of clothes for you, then we can talk."

I collapsed on the floor, unable to process the rapid change in my environment. After the Rhodes House Professor, I briefly wondered if this was another hoax. She helped me to my feet and hugged me tightly despite the fact I stunk of fear, urine, semen, and female arousal: my own arousal on my thighs and the female guards cum on my face.

"Rachel, you really are safe. We will rendezvous with a stealth craft and transfer you while we are 40,000' over the Azores. The stealth craft will take you to RAF Brize Norton, near Oxford, while this jet continues on to the UAE. The jet does belong to Prince Fatyan, but he's a British asset and works with us to rescue selected high-value women."

"The prince buying one or more new slaves every month is to give us cover when we find people who are under our protection that come up for auction. He also buys sex slaves for his own use to ensure the US government sees him as a legitimate slave owner."

"Does he really euthanise one slave every month?"

She snorted, "No, that is the story he concocted to account for why he ostensibly buys so many Prime rated girls but never has more than 50 in the harem."

I had one burning question that made no sense, "How? How on earth did you find out I'd been enslaved in Princeton and would be auctioned in Savannah less than four days later? You must have put this rescue together with amazing speed."

The woman and the two guards looked at each other to decide how much to say.

"There's more we can tell you later, but do you remember your Dad insisting you saw a company doctor, and he gave you a shot in your butt?" Rachel nodded.

"Well, that injection carried a GPS device that triggered when it crossed one of the geofences we've erected around each of the major known slave intake, processing, training, and auction locations. The moment you entered slave intake in Princeton, an alarm sounded in London, and a team based in the Azores was activated. When we checked the tag causing the alert, it was escalated to the very top of the company and got the highest-possible emergency priority rating."

"Why? I'm no one."

"Rachel, your parents, are not no-ones; they are senior members of our organisation and very close friends of the man who bought you. Shower first as you are more than a little ripe. We'll explain your current legal status after we switch planes."

Heather helped me into the shower, slave naked except for my collar. I asked her to remove my collar, but Heather said she couldn't.

After adjusting the temperature, she helped me step into the shower and sit on the corner seat, too exhausted to know what to do.

Seeing the extent of my exhaustion, she rapidly shucked her clothing and climbed in with me. As she removed her rollneck top, I saw she, too, was wearing a slave collar. I'd never been one to get hot and wet looking at other women, but she was beautiful. I found myself ogling her as she soaped me down and was sorely tempted to run my hands over her body.

She noticed and laughed, lowering her lip, she said, "here's my slave number; I was one of the rare few rated Prime-Plus. They had to spend several million to rescue me while bidding against other middle eastern royalty. I'm also a Lesbian, so if you want to admire or explore my body, I will take it as a compliment."

I enjoyed that shower and her towelling me off far more than would be decent to admit. She knew that because, despite the shower, I now smelt freshly aroused. I told her I needed to sleep before anything else and pulled her naked body with me into the luxurious king-size bed in the jet's master (pun-intended) bedroom.

She graciously became the big spoon and cuddled me into her arms as I shivered from so many unprocessable emotions roiling my poor mind.

I became aware of an unbearable craving for touch -- just to feel skin against my skin in a gentle, kind, affirming, and loving way. I craved the burst of Oxytocin you get from extended skin contact to start to heal the ache in my heart. I'd always insisted the people I dated sleep nude with me for that reason.

As I finally relaxed and settled further down into her embrace, I realised the bloody hormone injections were still driving a frantic need for sexual release, but I dared not finger myself while she held me. Heather, understanding my predicament from personal experience, nuzzled me.

"When was the last time someone showed you any physical kindness? We find some people are helped if they can quickly replace the memories of the abuse with good memories of loving touch. I'm also pretty sure your body is screaming at you for orgasmic relief, is it not?"

I told her how Dan Richardson had duped me into thinking he was a potential ally and making love to him as he violated me. Before that, only my boyfriend, who'd set me up for enslavement, had fucked me. I didn't have a good memory of sex untainted by my time in America.

Heather rolled me over, "If any of this is unwelcome, I'll stop instantly, but I think you like me enough to let me give you the relief you crave."

I reached out to kiss her. Our mouths fell together into a hopelessly intertwined pair of mutually exploring tongues. I loved how she mixed playing with my tongue and exploring my lips in a sensual dance. She didn't need to drive my arousal; the hormones made it such that I was a fever pitch instantly.

My rational mind wanted me to slow down and savour this new sex partner, but my body had other ideas and was firmly in the driving seat. My hands explored her frantically, running up and down her neck, her luxurious boobs, her thighs and back into her sex. Craving. Wanting. Needing. Longing. Desperate with an unknowable hunger.

I latched onto one boob and gripped the other harder than I would have enjoyed, but I had lost track of such empathy; I just wanted her to pull her into me, to merge myself with her and ultimately lose myself in her embrace.

In hindsight, never mind how hard I groped her, she understood perfectly. I later learnt that I was only the latest in a significant line of girls who had been rescued. She had volunteered for this job as a Lesbian because she knew each girl would be driven by the hormone injections and needing sex but probably too traumatised to be with a man. Her own girlfriend had to give her aftercare after each rescue.

By the time I was humping my sex on her thigh, she pushed me onto my back and kissed her way down to my heat. That first tentative lick was agonisingly slow as she looked up at me to be sure this was what I wanted.

I moaned "Pleeease...." to her and begged with my eyes. Her eyes sparkled as she dove back in, but this time with energy. Her wicked tongue explored my flower, licking and sucking each petal as she worked her way into the centre.

Her tongue pushed its way into the place I longed to feel full. Her tongue felt wonderful, but I begged to be filled. "I need," was all I could moan as she laughed and dove two fingers hard into my needy pussy. She licked up my slit as she pumped her fingers rapidly, curling up into my G-spot on each stroke. She swirled her tongue around the hood of my clit but still wouldn't take my pearl.

I was arching my back, squirming, thrusting my hips up at her trying to get her mouth around my clit. She was wonderfully evil, prolonging the build-up like this. I could stand it no longer. "Mistress, please don't leave me in this state. Please let me cum. I need to cum."

It only took a few seconds of coordinated scraping my G-spot and sucking my clit to make me scream as no lover had ever done. My knees clamped hard around her head, pulling her into me as hard as I could. It couldn't have been comfortable for her, but she understood and gently stroked my thighs.

Finally, I let her go, "fuck, fuck, fuck, I needed that. Thank you, Heather." My cheeks turned bright red when I realised both the men in the cabin would have heard me beg and scream. She saw my blush and put her finger on my lip.

"Don't worry, sweetie. They've done this before and put noise-cancelling headphones on as soon as we went to shower. I wanted to go down on her to thank her, but she firmly declined, saying that as I had called her Mistress, it was too dangerous for my mental health to do anything remotely submissive yet.

Before I was allowed to sleep, the final act was to remove the tracking chip all US slaves received. Heather explained the chip would remain on this plane and go to the prince's harem in case the FBI ever verified its location.

"Sleep now, and I'll wake you when it's time to switch planes."

To be continued.

Part 2 will be Heather's story.