My name is Blair Sandburg, I am a Guide.

 

My name is Blair Sandburg; I am a punching bag, a sex slave and a guide. The job description fits very well so why argue, I am too tired to argue. In the beginning I tried to fight them,

tried to keep my sense of me, but the drugs and the abuse have worn me down. Senior Guard Wilson is the only person I know who can call rape a training exercise.  I lie on my bed, looking up at the ceiling of the room I have been given, itís cold in here, the temperature dial isnít working, but I dare not draw attention to myself by telling my sentinel James Ellison.

Heís just survived the Fincham Syndrome heís going to be touchy, and reminding him that his guide was a correction facility bike ridden by most of the guards wouldnít be a good idea.  I can feel my lips twisting into a smile and I clasp my hand over my mouth realizing that if I start to laugh I am not going to be able to stop.  The tears begin to roll down my face, I smash my fist down onto my thigh, harder and harder until all I feel is pain on pain.  Pain is the only thing in the world I can trust, drugs can make me beg to be fucked, but pain is honest, you canít lie to it, it bursts through all your barriers.

Ellison has told me he will give me my life back.  Who the hell is he kidding?  A guide at University?  A fantasy, one Iíve kept in my heart until Ellisonís words robbed me of the fiction.  I curse myself for believing his words earlier this evening, why do I do that, set myself up for the fall?  If I let myself believe, then I am only going to feel it more and if Ellison does carry through his promise, then he wants something in return.  I almost believed that he was the first man in six months to care for me; a good sentinel protects and cherishes his guide.  Huh, whom am I kidding? How could he ever care for me? Alex was my sentinel and she understood I work better under pressure. I feel the laughter building up again, and ruthlessly push it down. Alex knew all about pressure, and pain.

I can hear Ellison moving about, the creak of his bed; my sentinel and my master, is tossing and turning.  I must not make a noise. If he hears me, he will come down, and itís not good to remind him what a tasty morsel he has down stairs.  If I had been anything other than correction facility fodder, I would have gone upstairs and on my knees, the submissive guide begging him to bond; thatís what he needs, and what he denies himself. Yet who am I kidding he canít bring himself to touch me, I can feel his revulsion when he helps me; he can only touch me as a medic, not as a sentinel. Tears that I never knew I could shed, roll down my face, and I catch my breath as I hear the slap of his bare feet on the steps, and my heart freezes in my chest.

He is standing out side of my room.

Oh god!

I have to remember, this is not about sex, this is about power. The rush that sentinels like Alex got from fucking their guide, reminding them that they are an alpha animal, and we are their beta.  I spoke to a guide once; his sentinel took him regularly each time they bonded, in fact liked to bond when he was buried deep in his guideís body. The feral bond, and the guide said that he had got used to it, even liked the feeling of being owned, of being possessed mind, body and soul.  But then he too had gone through Wilsonís loving care, and in the end gave up fighting, just accepted who and what he was.  Only I was too stupid to give up, I had to keep fighting. Even so, each week in that hell hole I lost some of my self worth, understanding finally that all I was going to become was a guide and slave to some knuckle dragging over sensed Neanderthal throwback.

This is everything I have fought against, yet I know how seductive it can be, this need to be cherished and protected. The feeling of being marked so deeply by a sentinel that the GDP can never touch you again.  My mind is playing devils advocate as I argue.  Whatís wrong in giving a sentinel the use of your body, knowing that youíre safe and that he would kill to protect his mate?    Alex was a psycho, she hurt me, and took pleasure in causing pain, to her it made the pleasure all that sweeter Yet even she killed to protect me. I can remember her killing a man who had put me in hospital, when his idea of negotiation for a bank plan had taken a more personal turn. What she had done had been the dark sentinel protecting her guide, but I also had to pay the price for that protection.  She had locked the door to the hospital room and taken me regardless of the tubes, and the painkiller, needing to confirm her ownership. Neanderthal throwbacks each and every one of them.  So is this where Ellison gives in to the call of the wild?  I can feel the shivers traveling the length of my spine, and I clutch the blankets even tighter as if they would protect me. Who am I kidding, if I fight Ellison can do a lot more damage than that bitch Alex ever could.  Unlike Alex, I am his guide, and he legally owns me, a dog has more rights than a claimed guide. He can do anything short of killing me, and that leaves at lot to the imagination.

I am brought back to the present by the door being pushed open, and all my questions are about to be answered.

Ellison is on his way to claim what is his by law, and there is nothing I can do.

If I run, then Sentinel Ellison the ultimate search and rescue machine will hunt me down.

I am just surprised that he waited so long. I guess the only reason he hasnít already pinned me to the bed, or across the dinner table and took what he owns is because Wilson and his cronies tore me inside, and no sentinel wants sloppy seconds.  But it looks like heís finally got fed up with waiting.  Between Wilson and Alex, I am well trained. I can survive this, but Iíd begun to hope that it might be different this time. Itís not the injuries that destroy you, itís the little rays of hope.

Ellison pauses, the door is pulled closed, and he goes back up stairs again to his bedroom, I am safe for the moment, my heart is beating so fast it feels as if it is going to explode. I release my breath in a harsh rush.  Ellison is riding the dragon, the need to bond is like the worse kind of drug, and the only one that can scratch the itch is his guide.

I must have fallen asleep because Ellison is back now.  I panic and find that I am wrapped in blankets and canít get free.  I try to fight myself free of the covers, only to have him pull the blankets up round me.  I flinch at his touch, and see pain in his eyes.

He promises me a new tomorrow.  He holds me in his arms, my face buried against his chest, his hands that could tear me apart, are gentle and caressing, and against all the odds I feel my body relaxing.

For the first time in months, I risk a question.

 

My name is Blair Jacob Sandburg, what am I to you?Ē