Unwanted Rescue
It was only quiet for about an hour before there was a commotion outside the cage room door.
"Alright, alright! Fine!" Shouted sales master's voice. "Hurry up though; I've got to get the rest of these to the lot auction and you know those corporate buyers don't wait." The door burst open, allowing a slice of light from the slave market store front into the dark and dank room as the short, pudgy bastard waddled in. She hated that man. No. The word was too weak. Despised? Still not good enough. Loathed? Nope. Abhorred? That was it. She abhorred that man. She wished him nothing but years of agony in captivity while he searched for an elusive grave. A tall form followed, allowing the door to closed behind them. Her eyes quickly readjusted to the dim light she could see the man: well over six feet tall with an athletic build, dark, messy hair and shrewd eyes that scanned the room of cages. He had a bulky backpack slung over his shoulder that he carried as if it were light weight, lumpy though it looked. As his gaze went from prisoner to caged prisoner she got the distinct feeling that he was angry. Angry people tended to be cruel people, and her liking of cruel people was on par to that of PussNuts there. That didn't change her opinion of him, because that would be going lower than rock bottom. Anyone who wanted to own another person was evil in her mind and deserved to be hated in every way, shape, and form. They had failed to break her of that rage, and she had used it well, despite the electric proddings and beatings, to prevent herself from being purchased so far. Now, according to the fat little shit bag, they were going to corporate auction where it would be easy for her to become deemed "unusable" and "disposed of." If death was the only way out of slavery, then she wanted it. The tall man's mannerisms had drawn her attention. He had started on the far side of the room, walking down the line of cages, asking those that were still occupied questions she might have expected in her past life but never here. Things like "Where are you from?", "What is your favorite food?", "What did you do before you were captured?", "What is one trait you would want in a master?", were all answered in timid voices and fearful looks that darted between his feet and those of Pigface. Finally he came to her cage. "Where are you from?" She looked up from where she sat, knees hugged to her chest to protect what little modesty she had left, glared at him in the eyes, and showed him her middle finger along with her fangs. "Hey!" Shouted Shitbrains, kicking her cage. "Sorry sir," he said to the man. "You don't want her. She never broke in training, and has fought tooth and nail ever since they caught her. You wouldn't believe the amount of tranquilizer that's in her right now. We'll likely not even send her to the lot auction and simply dispose of her 'n count it as a loss." The man waved him off. "Let's move on." He moved through the few remaining cages, all with the standard response. All dreading the lot auction. All terrified of a short life until death at a company plant or work camp. He listened to the last person reply before coming back to her cage. This asshole didn't want to let her go without making her bow. She knew the type; many had come through over the past week. She had been physically forced on her face enough times to know the routine... and to know that she gave them no satisfaction if she did not bow willingly. "What did you do before you were captured?" She snarled at him. Only a few of the other humans that stood in front of her caged remained as unfazed as he did when she did so. He tried again. "What is your name?" She resisted the urge to lunge. That would mean giving up her modesty, and she wasn't about to let that go. Ever since they had pulled the fur out that guarded her private areas to humiliate her dignity and modesty had been forced from her too many times to give it up willingly. Not over this. Instead she stopped snarling, sank lower, and looked him in the eyes. "Fuck you," she sneered. Waster of Oxygen raised his prod, the whine of the capacitors charging deafening in the dark. She flinched, waiting for the electric bite and burn. It never came. She opened her eyes in time to see the man had stayed the prod with his hand and turned to Cactus-ass. His mouth opened and said words that, for the first time since she left 'training', struck horror into her. "I'll take her." "You're fucking kidding me! You want that monster?! She'll eat you the moment you turn your back!" "You were going to take a total loss on her, right?" "Well..." "I'll give you a fourth of that," the man said, tapping the price placard at the top of her cage. She had no clued what they wanted for her. She didn't care. They wanted to sell her and that was all that mattered. Fatty McFatfuck looked shocked. "You're kidding me. A fourth?! That's not even at cost! Do you have any ideal how long it took them to pass her from training?! She almost didn't even do that!" "It's not like you can claim a slave on insurance," said the man. "A third then. It's better than nothing." Shit Snarfer pursed his lips. "Fine. But it's on you to get her out of there without getting killed," he said, motioning to the cage. "Good luck." The man pulled a large paper bag out of the backpack and dug through it. "Now about money," said Cesspool, "How will you be paying? Check? Transfer? I don't take cards; not for that amount-" Out of the paper sack the man pulled out a large wad of cash which he stuffed back into backpack and threw the sack at Fuckface. "Or cash," he said, peering into the bag. "Cash works." He handed the man a key. The walking septic tank then sat down on the floor, opened the sack, and began counting while the man turned his attention back to her. The drugs were starting to wear off and she was steadily getting her mind- and her ability to move- back. He crouched in front of her cage. He was close. Too close. She couldn't pass up the opportunity from someone so stupid. She sprang forward, shooting her hands through the small gaps between the bars. She was going to dig what was left of her broken claws into his skin if she found his flesh and tear it apart. If she found his shirt she was going to pull him off balance so hard he was have bruises the shape of cage bars on his face for weeks. She found too late that he had baited her. Steel cuffs ratcheted down around her chaffed and scarred wrists with lightening speed. To her relief he didn't say anything. He didn't mock. He didn't even smile. He simply stood, unlocked her cage door, and opened it. She shuffled forward with it, too shocked to resist. She recovered quickly and made to kick him, but he sat on her legs before she got her foot more than a few inches off the ground. The tranquilizers were still in her. Fuck. She turned her head, lengthening her arms in an attempted to get her teeth on some part of him. Hopefully his face. She wasn't about to give up her hope for death yet, not when she was so closed to being "disposed of". If she wasn't going to be executed here then she was going to get this prick to give up and do it as soon as possible. Again he was waiting. A heavy muzzle slipped over her face, the straps flipping around her head and neck. She heard them click closed behind her head and adrenaline, what little she had left, dumped into her system. She HATED being muzzled. Shackles were one thing, but only being able to open her mouth half way and for it to be closed around the sides made her feel claustrophobic like nothing else. She fought to control her breathing, and battled the urge to shove her snout between the bars by her wrists in an attempt to vainly claw at it. Warm breath was at her ear. "I know how much you hate it. Let me get you the hell out of here. The faster we leave, the sooner you have an opportunity to maul me later." "Fuck you, asshole." Yet there didn't seem to be any malice or patronizing in his voice. He spoke as if he were attempting to placate a fearful child. She felt a chain wrap around her waist and the click of a lock. She hoped it wouldn't stay there too long. Waist chains had pinched and pulled out enough hair out there as it was. Something padded and stiff wrapped around her ankles, clicking closed one at a time. She waited, and sure enough, the lead from the hobble was attached to her waist chain at the front. That lead was the only restraint she liked, because it wasn't actually a restraint at all. Being hobbled without something holding the connecting chain up was noisy, painful, and full of tripping. The lead solved all of that by holding the hobble off the ground. Weight lifted off her legs, and she tested them, spreading them apart until the (surprisingly silent) chain stopped them. She would be able to walk easily, but running wasn't going to happen. It took her aback. This was the first since her capture that she had been allowed to do little more than shuffle outside of a cage. A hand moved past her head, and she twisted to bite it out of reflex. The muzzle halted her mouth at half open, and the leather on either side ensured her teeth found nothing. She growled in frustration. The hand didn't stop, another joining it holding a padded leather cuff. "Do you see this ridge?" He said, running his thumb over a lump that ran around the center of the cuff. "Eat a dick." He ignored it. "That's a cable. If you claw or chew the leather off you'll be stuck wearing cable cuffs. They'll make you wish for those steel handcuffs, so for your comfort I'm suggesting you let them be for now." "You think I'm just going to kiss your ass because you're restraining me gently-?" "No. I think you've been painfully bound enough times to know the difference between someone imprisoning you and someone trying to live long enough to help you." "Right. Whatever you say, douchbag." He wrapped the cuffs around her wrists and connected them by a plastic coated cable a few inches long. She was a fan of cable. It didn't pinch fur. It was quiet, meaning there was one less reminder of her bondage. It was lighter weight. Something wrapped around her neck, stiff but not unyielding like steel. She felt him fiddle with it for a second, then heard it click. She watched him lock one end of a cable tether to the top of the cell door, and felt the other attach to the collar. He gave the leash a light tug, and the collar gripped her neck like a python. She fought to breathe for a moment before the collar relaxed. The had used a lot of painful collars in her "training", but never something like this, and this didn't even hurt. He hadn't even pulled hard- not even the choke collar was that effective. "Modified martingale," he muttered. "You will only choke yourself, so pay attention and move with me. Got it?" She looked at him in shock. Was he really that dense? "What don't you get?" She snarled. "I don't care. Fuck you asshole. Fuck you and everything you stand for." "You might want to wait and see what I stand for first," he said, picking up the backpack and setting it several feet away from the cage. He pulled a key off a keyring and tossed the ring back into the bag before approaching the front of the cage door. He bend low and whispered. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way. If-" "If you think I'll EVER cooperate you're-" He grabbed the muzzle, effectively interrupting her. "If you help me get you the fuck out of here we'll go straight over and get you something to cover your bare spots with. If not, I can drag you through the street naked. You already know you're coming with me whether you like it or not. How you do it is your choice." Her mind tripped over its self. She was so terribly tired of being naked. It took so much energy, after all she had been through, to keep her body sacred to herself. To let go and accept it would be one step more towards accepting life as a slave. For her to accept was what they wanted. She couldn't ever rest lest the torture and humiliation finally grab ahold of her and drag her down to submission. Being covered would do wonders against that. "Clothes," she said. "Not an old rag." "A towel is in my truck out front. You can have that until we get clothes. First thing. Before we go anywhere else." "Are you BARTERING with your slave?!" Asswipe said mockingly. "What kind of master are you?" "The kind I want to be," he snapped back. "Would you like to get her out to my truck? I can let her go and you can have a crack at it." "Hah. No thanks. She's your problem now, thank god." The man looked back at her. "Well?" She looked him in the eyes. "The towel before I give you anything. Clothes asap." Oh god, she was co-operating! What would they think of her back home if they knew? He held his hand out beside hers. She flexed the cuffs to shake it the best she could. He got up, grabbed the backpack and walked out. Bag O' Rotting meat got up and handed him a fat file envelope and a folder of papers from a cabinet before he crouched low in her face. "I hope he realizes you aren't worth the effort or money and beats you senseless like you should be. Maybe afterwards he can use you for a chained piece of ass- it's all you're good for- but that might be what he wants you for already. Some like them feisty." "My, aren't you brave once I can't move." "Shut up, bitch-slave." "Fuck you, you worthless coward." He raised a foot to kick her in the side. "If you damage a hair on my girl," boomed a voice, "You'll go to block auction with the rest of them." The man towered in the doorway, a hand towel in one hand. She couldn't see his face, silhouetted by the light from the store front, but to her amazement the ambling manure pile put his foot back down and pushed past the man into the front of the market. "Get that bitch out of my marketplace." The door slammed closed. "Oh no!" She called after him, "Get back here and kick me! I want to see how a cage looks on you!" There was a hand in front of her nose, a finger pointing at her. "Don't get us in trouble. That pile of trash isn't worth chancing us having a run-in with the law." She didn't reply, stifling a biting remark towards the man. He stepped behind her and she felt his arms around her ribs. She lifted her elbows and he wrapped the large hand towel across her chest, tucking the corners of the towel into her armpits. He held it there until she clamped her elbows down, holding it in place. It felt like a crack forming in a dam. This simple offer of decency hit her far harder than she expected. There had been an anticipation of a burden being dropped; of no longer having to guard that part of her decency. The feeling of taking a step towards being an individual drove home the realization of how far she they had dragged her away from being a person. She felt the cries of emotions put to the grave not long after her capture, now illuminating her heart against the anger, fear, pain, and hate like lightening against the black of a nocturnal thunderstorm. He moved in front and quickly unlocked the handcuffs. She jerked her arms back after he did. The leather and cable cuffs felt looser as they were able to move down onto her wrists, but she didn't try to slip out of them. Instead she held them at her waist and waited for the man to lock them to the chain. She was all too familiar with the drill. He calmly looped a padlock around the cable and waist chain and clicked it closed before stepping behind her. "Ready to stand?" She stuttered, he mind searching for something that wasn't biting and yet still resisting. The effects of the towel were still thundering around in her head, making it difficult to think. It turned out the question was rhetorical, for thick arms gripped her in a hug and hoisted her straight up. It was help. No beatings and scrambling to her feet while someone screamed at her to stand; a feat nearly impossible to perform in hobbles without breaking one's feet yet well practiced by kiman slaves from training facilities through the marketplaces. There were arms around her not holding her to be restrained, or tortured, or chipped, or tattooed. They simply lifted her, set her on her feet, and let her go again. He was slightly taller than her. An accomplishment for a human, who tended to be shorter and heavier than her own canine-esq kind, for which even she was tall. His face was directly in front of her, focused on the task of unlocking the leash from the top of the cage door. Her legs shook. She told herself that it was from being crouched for so long, but as it moved up, causing the rest of her body to quiver, she knew otherwise. She fought tears, horrified that she was this close to showing just how shallow her strength really was. To showing that he had done something that had left an lasting effect on her. To showing that her will, despite its appearances, had flaws that could be so easily exploited. Her breath was becoming ragged. She had to let something give or risk breaking down and yielding to this man over a simple act of decency so lowly that it would offend any normal person, kiman or otherwise. "Th-thank you." She had almost said "sir" as had been drilled into her, but fought it off. She was choosing to say it, not them making her. He stopped what he was doing and looked at her. His features softened. The anger vanished, though only for a moment, and he smiled at her. "You're welcome." The locked clicked open. He took her leash and lead her towards the closed door out of the viewing room. He paused at it, turned, at looked over the host of eyes watching from behind bars. "A very wise man once said some words that gave his country hope in a time when they faced defeat. So take his wisdom: 'Never give in--never, never, never, never, in nothing great or small, large or petty, never give in except to convictions of honor and good sense. Never yield to force; never yield to the apparently overwhelming might of the enemy.'" He turned and opened the door, and as he did so he muttered in her ear. "That goes for you, too, but you already know that."