The Gentle Giant

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Axel's POV

My assignment weighs heavily in my pocket. I'm well aware of what this particular job means.

Fourteen submissives.

Fourteen submissives are being shipped off to be breed before they even get a chance at a home.

Yes, most of them probably would never be bought, but not all of them.

I mean, I haven't got to train any of them, by I have met several of them in punishment and I can't figure out how some of them had gotten themselves in trouble.

Most the girls being sent to the breeding facility were too scared of their own shadow to even talk without stuttering, let alone talk back like they were usually accused of.

My job is just to punish them though, not question my orders.

Just like this, it's my job to load them up into the truck to be shipped off, not ask questions.

It's nothing personal after all, just what pays my bills.

Some trainers take it more personal though. I guess I might too if I had trained a submissive for years only to watch them be shipped off to be bred.

Beyond experiencing some of the submissive's behavior in person and knowing they are good subs, I also hear how furious some of the trainers are about the ones being sold.

Apparently many of the submissives are lower grade, less attractive, sick, or damaged, not necessarily subs that are unredeemable and unsellable like they are supposed to be if sent to a breeding facility.

Many of the trainers were given the night off, so they didn't have to watch some of the submissives they trained being taken and shipped away. Of the few good trainers, one is here to see the submissives off.

I can tell he cares from the way he gently wakes them and cradles their bodies to his as he carries them out to the truck. I respectfully try and mind my own business, but I can't help but listen as he gets chocked up saying goodbye to them.

We all know what this means for the submissives. We all know they won't be ever given a home or someone to take care of them.

I break away from the truck and head inside to get one of the last submissives.

I swallow down my emotions and put up my tough facade, willing myself not to be sick with guilt.

I look down at the frail frame of the girl I'm supposed to get. I unlatched her cage and nudged her with my foot, trying to distance myself the most.

It seems cruel, but the other trainers would have done much worse to see her ignoring their commands to rise. "Wake up, you're being moved." I crouch down and shake her.

She lies unmoving and a heaviness settles in my chest. I move her hair from her face and press my fingers to her neck, trying to find a pulse. I purse my lips, feeling the faint beating of her weak heart.

I hear some of my co-workers talking loudly, not caring that we are interrupting the submissives scheduled time of rest, or that they might need us to be less brutal at a time like this.

I look at the girl, watching her struggle to push air in and out of her lungs. I can tell she is sick... and dying. I contemplate whether or not I should just go put her in the truck with the others, or take her to the doctor.

The truth is, nothing good awaits her in the truck. She will be shipped off as a breeder. The only question is if it is crueler to go put her with the others, unconscious and barely holding on, or to take her to the doctor.